Velmorian walked away from the crowded heart of Aldenora, heading toward a small antique market set up near the outskirts of the city. He wandered through the stalls in silence, trying to drown out the thoughts swirling in his mind. As he walked between worn parchments, forgotten paintings, and odd trinkets, a cheerful—almost mocking—voice caught his attention.
"Yes, dear ladies and gentlemen! Tired of the meaningless void of your existence? This little item—what was it called again? Never mind! This thing will absolutely make your life better!"
Velmorian turned toward the source of the voice with curiosity. Behind a wooden stall stood a young man wearing a colorful, patchwork hat, holding a small, oddly-shaped figurine and waving it in the air. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he moved dramatically with every word.
Velmorian smiled without meaning to. The young man immediately noticed.
"Ah! A true antique enthusiast! Or is that smile just a mask? Tell me, stranger—what tragic tale has brought you to the loneliest corner of this fine market?"
Velmorian hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice tired but carrying a faint trace of amusement.
"Just clearing my thoughts."
The young man spread his arms theatrically.
"Then you''ve come to the right place! I''m Korrin—expert in all things unnecessary and the most reliable distributor of useless advice! And you, mysterious friend, what name do you go by?"
Velmorian paused for a second, then replied slowly.
"Velmorian."
Korrin raised an intrigued eyebrow.
"Velmorian, huh? Your name sounds far more mysterious than mine! Do you think our meeting here is just chance, or is it some twisted joke played by fate?"
Velmorian let out a light chuckle, surprised at how the fog in his mind had briefly lifted.
"Fate and I don’t have a good history," he said, shrugging slightly.
Korrin laughed and gave him a knowing look.
"Ah, we already have something in common! After all, fate’s got it in for us all. Come, my friend—take this ridiculous figurine as a gift. Let it remind you that even the most useless things can sometimes have a place in your life."
The heaviness in Velmorian’s chest eased ever so slightly. He nodded, accepting the offer. Strangely, Korrin’s upbeat energy was comforting.
Maybe this coincidence was exactly what he needed.
As Velmorian examined the small figurine, shouts rang out from the far end of the market. Three men strode between the stalls, scattering fear among the vendors. They stepped aside in silence, hoping not to be noticed. Velmorian immediately recognized them—thugs from Hogen’s gang.
Leading them was a tall man with a deep scar on his chin. He raised his voice threateningly:
"Boss Hogen sends his regards! Time to pay up, folks. You owe us for your safety."
Velmorian turned his face slightly, relieved that Hogen hadn’t come in person. Still, the crowd was uneasy—no one dared resist.
But when the thugs approached Korrin’s stall, the young man spread his arms theatrically.
"Security? My dear friends, the only thing more dangerous than you in this market was the poisonous mushrooms I sold last week. Please, step away—you’re scaring off my customers!"
The thugs exchanged annoyed glances. The scarred man stepped closer to Korrin.
"Looks like we’ve got a funny guy here. Maybe we should shorten that tongue of yours."
Korrin chuckled mockingly.
"Ah, classic thug talk. Can’t you at least try to be original?"
Just then, one of the thugs spotted Velmorian in the crowd. His face twisted in fury.
“Hold on! I know you… You’re the bastard who helped Garran Holt escape!”
Their leader, the scarred man, turned toward Velmorian and narrowed his eyes.
“So you’re the rat, huh? The boss put a bounty on your head—we’re not letting you slip away again!”
Velmorian took a step back, but there was nowhere to run. Korrin moved beside him, whispering with a grin,
“Looks like your mysterious past is even messier than mine, my friend. Got some bad history with these folks?”
Velmorian replied with a serious expression,
“Something like that. I hope you can handle yourself.”
Korrin’s smile widened.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
The thugs lunged forward. Velmorian grabbed a metal rod from a nearby stall and raised it in a defensive stance. He blocked the first strike with practiced ease and quickly knocked another attacker back with a swift move.
Meanwhile, two thugs rushed Korrin, who didn’t look the least bit panicked. He brought his hands together theatrically and shouted,
“Gentlemen, I recommend you close your eyes. This might be a bit... dazzling!”
A bright flash erupted from his palms—brilliant and blinding. The thugs screamed in pain, clutching their eyes as the flash overwhelmed their senses.
Velmorian turned to Korrin in surprise. The young man beamed.
“A little trick of the light. Surprised you, didn’t I?”
Taking advantage of the chaos, Korrin kicked a weapon away from one of the stunned men while Velmorian took out the rest. Within moments, the thugs were on the ground, groaning and rubbing their eyes.
Their leader growled,
“You’ll regret this! The boss will make sure of it!”
Then they bolted, fleeing from the market.
Korrin clapped Velmorian on the shoulder with a hearty laugh.
“Fighting alongside you was more fun than I expected! So, tell me—any more enemies I should be aware of? Just so I can plan my week accordingly.”
Velmorian gave a faint nod, surprised but pleased.
“That trick you pulled… What was that?”
Korrin winked.
“Oh, just a little magic. A gift from my grandmother. Honestly, it rarely works this well. Maybe you’re my good luck charm!”
Velmorian chuckled, a rare warmth settling over him.
“So what now?”
Korrin spread his arms with mock grandeur.
“First, we help tidy up the mess. Then we celebrate our brilliant teamwork over drinks. That was our official debut!”
Velmorian nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. He was surprised by how natural this felt. For the first time in a long while, fate wasn’t playing its usual cruel jokes.
As the market slowly recovered, merchants rearranged their goods, and the crowd thinned out. Korrin was still smiling, as if the fight had been nothing more than a dance rehearsal.
Velmorian remained silent, placing the metal rod he had used as a shield onto the ground. He took deep, steady breaths. Even in all the chaos, Korrin’s light-heartedness had brought a strange kind of calm.
Korrin turned to him and winked.
“Unless you’re planning to wander off alone and brood in the dark, how about coming with me? I’ll take you to a place I like.”
Velmorian gave a small nod. He didn’t feel like saying no. For the first time in a while, he was willing to let someone step into his silence.
Together, they walked through the quieter, stone-paved backstreets of Aldenora. Their path led to a small hill just outside the city, beside an old, abandoned windmill.
When they reached the top, the city stretched below them, bathed in the twilight of early evening.
Korrin sat down on the grass, leaning against a tree. He pulled a small flask from his belt, took two sips, then offered it to Velmorian.
“Here, friend. A little healing potion for after-battle wounds.”
Velmorian hesitated, but took the flask. One small sip. It burned slightly on the way down but warmed him from within. Korrin remained quiet for a moment, listening to the whisper of the wind.
As he retrieved the flask, his eyes wandered to the sky.
“Let me ask you something… If a man starts believing in the act he plays when he no longer knows what he feels—does it remain a mask, or does it become part of who he is?”
Velmorian looked at him. He didn’t answer, but his expression said enough—this wasn’t a foreign question to him.
Korrin exhaled softly and continued,
“Sometimes I act like I don’t care. I joke, I mock, I laugh… because being serious drains me. But deep down… maybe I care too much.”
Velmorian gave a slight nod.
“I understand,” he said. “Because I carry the same weight by showing nothing at all.”
Korrin turned his eyes to Velmorian again, this time his smile was gentler.
“So you’re like me, huh? One thing on the outside, something else inside.”
“More like… someone who’s forgotten how to show what’s inside,” Velmorian said.
Korrin stayed silent for a moment. Then he stood, slowly scanning the horizon. The night wind blew across the hilltop, rustling the leaves above them.
“My friend,” he said while hooking the flask back to his belt, “this road we walk is long. You never know who’ll be by your side and when. But know this—I could’ve turned and run in that market. I didn’t. And I won’t.”
Velmorian looked at him, giving a small nod.
“I didn’t run either.”
Korrin winked. “Now that’s what I call a good beginning.”
Korrin tilted his head, listening to the wind again, then suddenly shook the flask and turned to Velmorian with a grin.
“You know, I used to be quieter. As a kid, nobody even noticed me.”
Velmorian raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You? Quiet?”
Korrin nodded, eyes narrowing slightly with the memory, though his smile never faded.
“Until I ended up in that strange academy in Velshara. One day, my teacher said: ‘You were born in chaos but think clearly. You influence others without being seen. You should study Mirage Weaving.’”
Velmorian’s curiosity was evident. “Mirage Weaving?”
Korrin lifted his chin proudly.
“That’s right! One moment I’m in two places at once. Or I vanish and leave a smiling image behind. Sometimes, I create five people around me during a negotiation. Other times, I just play rock-paper-scissors with my own clone for fun.”
Velmorian smiled. “So you play with yourself?”
Korrin smirked. “Only one can win, you know. The good part is—it’s always me!”
They both laughed softly. The wind had grown stronger, but their conversation was warm enough.
“Jokes aside,” Korrin said, his tone softening, “that magic didn’t just let me escape. It made me who I am. I learned to become what people wanted to see. Sometimes, hiding the truth is the greatest form of survival.”
Velmorian nodded. “And you chose to place a smile where truth should’ve been.”
“Exactly,” said Korrin. “But not all my smiles are lies. Some are just… temporary masks.”
In that moment, Velmorian felt something. Not a thought, but a quiet emotion. A sliver of understanding about Korrin’s complicated, yet sincere world.
After a pause, Korrin let out a breath—without drama this time.
“Now it’s your turn. Someday, will you tell me your story, Velmorian?”
Velmorian gazed at the city lights for a while, then slowly nodded.
“Maybe one day. But when that day comes… I might need to bring a stronger drink.”
Korrin burst into laughter.
“Deal, my friend! But for now, let’s toast to this night.”
Korrin raised the flask, and the two drank once more in silence.
The night deepened—but now, the darkness wasn’t just sorrow; it carried the quiet weight of something new. Trust, still forming, but real.
Soon after, Korrin slid down by the tree and closed his eyes. His breath was calm, and that faint grin still lingered on his lips. The exhaustion of the day carried him gently into sleep.
Velmorian, however, couldn’t sleep.
For him, the night was not silence, but the echo of thoughts.
Memories of Brennar still danced behind his eyes.
And now, a new face—Korrin, smiling in sleep.
But that was exactly what gnawed at him.
The parchment.
He reached for the hidden pocket beneath his shirt. The cold leather crinkled beneath his fingertips. It felt like something alive—everchanging, reacting to each breath he took.
Velmorian slowly unfolded it.
The first name… was gone.
The second… now only a fading memory.
And on the third line… new letters began to stir.
First, a “K.”
Velmorian’s heartbeat quickened.
Then an “O.”
A chill ran down his spine.
“No…” he whispered.
Korrin.
Clear, distinct, undeniable.
Velmorian froze.
His breath turned erratic.
For a brief moment, he lifted his gaze and looked at Korrin, still asleep.
Was it him?
Really?
But then…
The letters trembled.
They began to fade—like a mistake being undone.
And then they rewrote themselves:
Hogen.
Velmorian blinked.
Rubbed his eyes.
Looked again.
Hogen.
Plain and solid.
The sun began to rise, replacing the cool night breeze with the first warmth of dawn.
The stone houses of Aldenora slowly embraced the light, and birds sang somewhere in the distance.
Velmorian closed his eyes for a moment, feeling that first warmth on his skin.
The cold from the night hadn’t left… but now, he could walk beside it.
A soft groan.
Korrin stirred, stretching out with his hair messy and his eyes barely open.
“I dreamed I was playing rock-paper-scissors,” he muttered. “I kept winning every round. Guess the magic works after all.”
Velmorian gave a faint smile. “Still playing with yourself?”
Korrin winked. “No one wants to be my opponent, imagine that.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Korrin clutched his stomach.
“Come on, friend. Let’s go to the Roaring Badger Inn. My hunger’s heavier than my legs.”
Velmorian hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“Alright. I’ve been alone long enough anyway.”
They set off together.
As they walked through cobbled streets, Korrin occasionally tossed out cheerful greetings or teasing remarks to sleepy townsfolk. Velmorian remained quiet—but this time, not brooding.
Resolved.
When they arrived at the Roaring Badger Inn, Korrin collapsed into a chair. Velmorian sat across from him. A server came to take their breakfast orders, and as they waited, Velmorian broke the silence.
“I need to kill someone.”
Korrin’s hand stopped mid-air, fork frozen between plate and mouth.
He looked at Velmorian, a smile still on his face—but his eyes had turned sharp.
"Is that how you always start your lovely morning chats?"
Velmorian didn’t avert his gaze. “His name is Hogen.”
Korrin’s brows furrowed. That name was no stranger to him.
“You mean the bastard who sent those thugs to the market? The ones we gave a little beating last time?”
Velmorian nodded. “The parchment… It showed his name this morning. And this time, I have no hesitation.”
Korrin was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“You know, a lot of rumors paint him as more than just a criminal. He''s... connected. But if the parchment wrote his name, then your path has no choice but to cross his.”
That’s when Velmorian noticed something in Korrin—he wasn’t judging.
He wasn’t questioning.
He hadn’t even asked what the parchment was.
He just… understood.
Korrin took another bite of his pastry and spoke with a full mouth:
“So... you’re telling me after this breakfast, things might get messy?”
Velmorian offered a small but genuine smile. “Very messy.”
Korrin nodded, grinning as he swallowed his bite.
“Well then, enjoy it while you can, my friend. Who knows… this might be our last peaceful meal.”
After finishing, Korrin turned serious. “If you’re ready, I can show you the places Hogen left his stink on.”
Velmorian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you knew him.”
Korrin sighed. “Hard not to. He’s a parasite feeding off the outskirts of Aldenora. Thrives on fear, grows through violence. But he’s careful—slippery. If we’re going to learn anything about him, we won’t go straight.”
“Then who do we go to?”
Korrin winked, his smile returning. “To the Alley of the Cursed Women.”
Velmorian tilted his head.
Korrin shrugged. “Name’s misleading. No women there. Just one man. Talks too much, trusted by few, but knows everything—Tellar.”
They made their way south of Aldenora, toward older, worn streets where cobblestones were cracked and wall markings faded.
At the end of a narrow lane stood an archway leading to a shadowed courtyard.
At a cluttered table, hunched over a pile of books and scrolls, sat an old man. His glasses were smudged, but his fingers danced expertly over parchment.
Korrin leaned forward. “Tellar.”
The man didn’t look up.
“You again, you illusionist nuisance. What is it this time?”
Korrin doffed his hat and gave a playful bow.
“This time it’s serious, Tellar. We need Hogen’s whereabouts.”
That made the man look up.
He eyed Velmorian carefully.
“You... the newcomer?”
Velmorian said nothing.
Tellar turned to Korrin. “This’ll get you both in deep trouble.”
Korrin’s tone shifted. “Already there. We just want to steer it the right way.”
Tellar sighed and slowly opened a nearby box, pulling out a torn map.
He pressed his finger down on a forested edge.
“Here. Claimed an old hunter’s camp. Surrounded by thorn brush. Hard to approach, but night guards are lazy. Hogen stays inside mostly. Rarely comes out.”
Velmorian studied the map intently.
Tellar’s eyes locked on him.
“Don’t underestimate him. He built his own little world out there. He’s not afraid to die. But… he hates being alone.”
Velmorian kept the map in his coat pocket.
The folds of the paper whispered that the road ahead would not be easy.
But he had already made his choice.
So had Korrin.
They quietly left the outer districts of Aldenora.
The sun leaned westward, shadows stretching long.
Before them lay a forest path, overrun with ivy and twisted roots.
According to Tellar’s directions, Hogen’s camp was at the end of an old hunter’s trail, where oak and black pines grew thick.
As they walked along the forest path, Korrin finally broke the silence.
“I have to say, my friend... The further we step away from the city, the less room there is for jokes.”
Velmorian didn’t reply, but gave a slight nod.
Korrin pulled a small scroll from his pack — tied with thin leather strings, filled with his own spell patterns.
“If we’re not planning on charging straight into the camp, I’d better prep a few... ‘distractions’. Redirecting eyes takes finesse, you know.”
Velmorian crouched beside a bush, studying the ground. The path was old, but still in use. Footprints... cart tracks... and beside them, a skull symbol, cleanly carved into a pebble.
There was no hiding Hogen’s trail. He wasn’t avoiding being found—
He wanted to be found.
As the sun began to dip, the tree line where the camp was located appeared in the distance. Velmorian crouched low, eyes fixed on the thin line of smoke.
“There,” he said.
Korrin squinted. “They’ve lit a fire. Even if they’re not many, they feel safe. That’s good... because pride is the easiest thing to deceive.”
Velmorian stood up silently. “We wait for nightfall. Then we observe. The layout, the guards, where Hogen is… We won’t move in blind.”
Korrin nodded. “Rushing in without a plan would be suicide. Luckily, you’ve got a genius at your side.”
Velmorian raised an eyebrow. “Are you really a genius?”
Korrin grinned. “Nope. But I’m a damn good liar.”
They retreated deeper into the woods, careful to stay out of sight.
As night fell, a heavy stillness cloaked the trees—
But it wasn’t peace.
It was the stillness of a reckoning.
The forest grew darker, draped in velvet shadow.
Above, the stars gleamed like distant eyes.
Velmorian and Korrin had taken position on a ridge to the south of the camp.
Through the trees, they could see the flickering glow of the campfire.
Behind a bush, Korrin was conjuring a decoy illusion—a mirrored guard’s silhouette, appearing as if from across the fire. A simple trick, but effective.
Velmorian, however, wasn’t watching the fire.
His eyes were fixed on the camp, but his mind... was slipping again.
The first whisper came when not even a leaf stirred.
“Your task is clear, Velmorian. Hogen must die. Time is running out.”
Velmorian clenched his jaw, eyes shut tight. But the voices didn’t stop.
The second whisper was more mocking. More poisonous.
“Use Korrin. He could make it easier.”
A knot twisted in Velmorian’s gut. Korrin stood only steps away, still focused, still helping. Just a smiling ally. But the voices... they insisted.
Then the third whisper came, from somewhere deeper.
As if from inside his bones, from a memory not yet lived:
“Don’t trust him...”
“He’ll turn on you. They all do.”
Velmorian pressed his eyes shut.
His fingers, without thinking, wrapped around the hilt of the dagger.
There was a hollow ache in his chest.
Korrin’s face hovered in his thoughts.
And just then—
Korrin crept close, whispering.
“Velmorian? You zoned out. Are you ready?”
Velmorian turned slightly.
His eyes seemed to rise from the darkness.
“I’m ready,” he said.
But inside, the whisper still echoed:
“Trust no one…”
The camp was alive, in stark contrast to the quiet of the forest.
Men sat around the fire, polishing their weapons; others rotated on watch duty.
Velmorian and Korrin hid behind thick brush on the camp''s southeastern edge.
Korrin whispered under his breath, preparing a spell.
A faint light shimmered at his fingertips, and moments later, an illusionary guard appeared on the far side of the camp.
The figure walked realistically, even glancing briefly at the fire.
Velmorian gave a small nod.
“It’s working.”
But just then, one of the men near the fire stood up.
He stabbed a stick into the ground and squinted at the illusion.
He tilted his head slightly, as if something just didn’t feel right.
Korrin’s whisper turned to a strained breath.
“He noticed. Not sure what he saw, but he’s suspicious.”
Velmorian watched without blinking.
The man stepped forward... but another guard called to him.
“Sit down. My turn for watch.”
The man hesitated, then returned to his seat.
For now... the danger had passed.
Velmorian exhaled—
but movement on the northern edge of the camp caught his eye.
A man stepped out, wearing a leather vest, an axe slung over his shoulder.
He rubbed his hands together against the night chill.
But his walk was steady—
and aimed directly toward their path.
Velmorian dropped into a crouch, melting into the brush.
Korrin dismissed the illusion with a flick of his hand.
Footsteps approached.
Dry leaves crackled.
Velmorian’s hand slipped toward the hilt of his dagger.
A cold ache pulsed in his chest.
The blade pulsed in response—
"Death approaches."
Korrin whispered,
“Follow me. We’ll circle around.”
The man was only steps away now.
One more step and he’d notice the dip in the ground where they hid.
Velmorian rose silently, merging with the dark.
Korrin whispered another incantation—
and suddenly, a few meters away, an owl’s cry pierced the silence.
The man flinched and turned.
“Damn birds…”
He muttered a curse and retreated.
Footsteps faded.
Silence returned.
Korrin sighed.
“Nights... always full of surprises.”
He glanced at Velmorian. “Now the real question: What’s our next move?”
Korrin still held the tension from their close call—
but the familiar smirk was back.
Velmorian remained quiet.
Not from fear, but from intense focus.
He watched the camp.
The men around the fire had begun to relax.
As the night wore on, vigilance faded and exhaustion crept in.
Velmorian spoke through the brush.
“There’s a stream near the north ridge. No guard posted there.
I can slip in through that side.”
Korrin nodded.
“If you need a distraction, I can cast a little shadow play from the west side.
There are three guards—
but two look like they’re losing a battle with sleep.”
Velmorian’s eyes stayed fixed on the camp.
“I’m going in. I need to see Hogen’s tent.
How he lives. How he moves.
Maybe I’ll catch him in a moment of weakness.”
Korrin glanced at him.
“You going alone?”
Velmorian touched the hilt of his dagger.
“I may look alone…
but I’m not.”
Korrin paused for a moment, then smiled faintly.
“Then I’ll go stir the shadows a little. If the night’s on our side, we might as well use it properly.”
Velmorian slipped toward the water’s edge, his steps leaving no trace on the soil, light as the wind.
He crept beyond the bushes, crossing the thorny barrier that marked the camp’s edge.
Silently, he slipped inside.
Korrin, meanwhile, whispered another spell from behind.
On the camp’s western flank, a wave of shadow fell over the guards’ line of sight.
Silhouettes flickered. Shapes moved—yet there was no sound.
The illusion was convincing.
One guard stood up, frowning.
“There’s something there…”
But the other grumbled.
“Again? I told you—you need sleep.”
Velmorian was already inside.
The camp’s tents were scattered, rough but functional.
Three men sat near the fire, eyes heavy with exhaustion, watching the flames.
And behind them... a large tent made of black cloth.
Hogen’s tent.
No guards stood near it.
But a small bell was chained to the front flap—any attempt to enter would surely trigger it.
Velmorian crouched behind the brush.
He allowed himself a single breath.
His eyes scanned the camp, and the dagger at his side gave a slight tremble.
He was getting close.
Darkness itself waited for his decision.
Velmorian crawled forward on his knees, slipping past the firelight’s edge, inching toward the tent.
Moonlight glinted on the dark fabric.
Faint shadows moved within.
He pressed his ear to the back of the tent.
A muffled chuckle. A man’s voice.
Hogen.
And a woman.
Velmorian narrowed his eyes.
This was a moment of weakness.
The body relaxed. The mind distracted.
Unguarded.
He slowly unsheathed the dagger.
The shadow-forged blade slid into his hand soundlessly.
It didn’t tremble this time.
It was steady.
So was he.
He circled around the tent.
Away from the bell-tied entrance.
Held his breath.
He ran his fingers across the fabric, then gently pressed the dagger’s edge against it.
“Slice…”
A soft, silent tear opened on the back of the tent.
Velmorian peered inside.
Hogen lay shirtless, an arm draped around the woman beside him.
He looked drunk—drunk on lust, on power, on victory.
His eyes were half-lidded.
Not like a warrior.
More like a man intoxicated by the seduction of triumph.
The dimness inside was bathed in the flickering glow of the firelight leaking through the tent’s seams.
The woman leaned on Hogen’s shoulder, her voice little more than a murmur.
Yet Velmorian heard every word as though meant for him.
“You know,” she said, her fingers tracing circles on Hogen’s chest,
“There’s a temple… out past the marshes. Abandoned.
They say it once belonged to spirit-callers.
Now it’s empty. Crumbling.”
Hogen chuckled, slurring his words.
“Spirits, huh? Can’t steal gold from ghosts.”
The woman narrowed her eyes and let out a soft laugh.
“But you can take what they left behind.
Everyone thinks that place is cursed. No one dares go near it.
I went. I was the only one to step inside.”
Velmorian’s eyes narrowed.
Her voice was calm. But her words were precise.
Deliberate.
Planned.
The woman continued,
“Behind the walls... there are tomb chambers, gilded with gold.
Some compartments remain sealed.
But those who enter... sometimes find more than just gold. They hear whispers.”
Hogen paused.
“What whispers?”
The woman turned her eyes away, her voice suddenly cold.
“The kind that come from nowhere… yet pierce right through you.
Voices that tell you what to do—
And ask for nothing in return.”
Velmorian’s heart raced.
The dagger trembled once again in his fingers.
He knew those words.
He knew that feeling.
The Lost Souls.
This woman... she knew them.
And this temple—this was no mere treasure site.
It was the heart of the whispers.
The woman softened again, as if those eerie words had never been spoken. She smiled.
“The gold inside is still waiting for you, Hogen. But don’t tell anyone. Treasure... isn’t meant to be shared, is it?”
Hogen grinned.
“If it’s true... I’ll drown you in gold.”
Velmorian exhaled slowly and began to retreat from the tent.
His mind was a whirlwind.
The mission required blood.
But now, a new door had opened.
And behind it... echoed the naked voice of fate.
He slipped silently through the slit he had cut.
Shadows cloaked him like a ghost.
Inside, Hogen’s voice was smug and slow.
“Bathed in gold… sounds nice.”
The woman laughed softly.
But at that exact moment, Velmorian stepped fully into the tent from the dark corner.
Hogen’s back was turned, but the woman saw him.
Her eyes widened for a moment—
But she didn’t scream.
The dagger in Velmorian’s hand shimmered.
The whispers surged:
“Now, Velmorian.”
“This blood seals fate.”
“The name must be erased.”
Hogen turned.
He was a formidable man.
Broad-shouldered, his bare chest marked with old tattoos.
On his back: a cracked battle axe sigil.
His eyes—burning amber with a hint of red, full of beastly rage.
“Who the fuck are you?!” he roared.
Velmorian didn’t answer.
He slashed his dagger—
But Hogen dodged with surprising agility.
He grabbed a handaxe from beside the bed and rose.
The woman moved aside, but she didn’t flee.
Her gaze stayed locked on Velmorian—silent.
Dagger and axe clashed.
Sparks flew.
The tent became a muffled battleground.
Velmorian struck again and again—
But Hogen was a true fighter. Despite his bulk, he dodged with practiced ease, seeing every opening.
“You picked the wrong man to kill!” he snarled.
But the voice still echoed inside Velmorian:
“Until the name is erased… we cannot rest…”
One strike.
Another.
Finally—Velmorian’s blade bit into Hogen’s shoulder.
The man let out a roar that echoed through the camp like a war cry.
“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”
Footsteps thundered outside.
Shouts erupted.
And at that moment—
The tent flap burst open.
Two of Hogen’s men burst into the tent.
"Boss—"
But before the sentence could finish, one of them was struck from behind.
Korrin.
He had approached from outside under the cover of illusion, cloaked in shadow.
Before the second guard could even step through the flap, he had already dropped the first.
The other man lunged into the tent.
Velmorian stood to face him, but the guard slashed with his sword and knocked him to the ground.
And then—
The woman in the corner of the tent sprang into motion.
She snatched the hairpin from her tied hair—
And in a flash, it became a dagger.
With precision, she plunged it into the man’s back.
He let out a strangled cry and collapsed.
Velmorian looked at her, breathless.
She didn’t meet his eyes. She only murmured:
“He doesn''t get to win every time.”
Velmorian pushed himself up—
And with one final motion, drove his dagger into Hogen’s chest, slamming him against the tent pole.
Hogen’s eyes froze wide.
His lips parted, searching for words—
But only blood escaped.
He sank to his knees…
And fell.
“Another name erased…”
“Well done, Velmorian.”
“One step closer to victory…”
Hogen’s lifeless body lay sprawled on the floor.
The dagger remained in Velmorian’s hand—
But now, it was different.
It was… breathing.
Its warmth shifted.
Its body quivered in his grasp.
Velmorian’s eyes closed on instinct.
And the memories began.
<hr>
First vision:
A crowded market square.
Vendors broken.
People hiding in fear.
Hogen, flanked by his men, pushes an old man to the ground.
"No money, huh? Then say goodbye to your granddaughter."
<hr>
Second vision:
A backroom in an old tavern.
A sword, a pouch of gold, and narcotics on the table.
A merchant pleads:
"But these goods are forbidden, Hogen."
"Forbidden? I’m the only law here."
<hr>
Third vision:
A boy kneels, eyes wide with terror.
"Please… my father will pay the debt. Just a few more days."
Hogen draws his sword.
"Debts don’t wait."
<hr>
Velmorian’s chest tightened.
With every vision the dagger poured into him, a cold certainty crept deeper.
This man… deserved it.
This death was justice.
At least, that’s what the dagger whispered.
When Velmorian opened his eyes—
The woman was still there.
She glanced once at the fallen axe, then toward the shouting voices growing louder outside the camp.
“They’re coming!” she hissed.
“What are you waiting for—tea and biscuits? Move!”
Korrin knelt swiftly beside a dead guard and pulled something from his pocket.
A strange, compass-like object.
“Not for direction,” he muttered. “But some tools… point to paths.”
The woman lifted the rear flap of the tent.
“There’s a trail behind here. Covered in brambles, but under the night’s shadow—it’ll hide you. If you’re lucky, they won’t follow.”
Velmorian gave her a brief nod.
“Are you coming with us?”
The woman paused, eyes lingering on Hogen’s corpse.
Then, with a cold smirk, she replied:
“If I stay here, I’ll be chained and burned by sunrise.
Yes... I’m coming.”
Three silhouettes slipped through the back of the tent into the forest.
Behind them: cries of alarm, “I saw something!” shouts, and arrows flying into empty shadows.
But that night—
The darkness was a loyal friend.
Far from the camp, they stopped at the edge of an abandoned quarry.
Moonlight struck the fractured stone.
Their breaths were still quick—
But they were safe.
The hum of the camp had faded into the distance.
Even the flicker of flames no longer reached them.
Velmorian dropped his satchel onto a boulder and steadied his breathing.
Korrin clutched his side with a grin.
“Surviving tonight? That’s a miracle.
Or as you might put it… fate’s strange sense of humor.”
He winked.
Nyla leaned against a stone with calm, deliberate steps.
She pulled a small leather pouch from her belt and inspected its contents—
Roots, wrapped cloths, glass vials.
Velmorian glanced at her.
A brief silence followed.
Then, he asked:
“Your name?”
She answered without looking up.
“Nyla.”
Korrin chuckled softly.
“Sounds... poisonous.”
Nyla turned to him, her eyes tired, but glinting with threat.
“Not yet.”
Velmorian’s face remained unreadable.
“You helped us. Why?”
Nyla looked up to the sky.
“Because Hogen was never truly loyal to me.
To him, I was just a pretty decoration... or a target when it suited him.
I don’t help men like that.”
Korrin nodded.
“Good enough for me. You?”
Velmorian thought for a moment.
Then slowly nodded.
“For now.”
Nyla sat between the stones, pulling out a small jar.
She unscrewed the lid and applied a violet liquid to a scratch on her arm.
Korrin squinted.
“Is that magic?”
Nyla smiled.
“Plant extract. Cleans the wound, dulls the pain.
I can make poisons too… but for now, we’re at peace.”
Korrin nudged Velmorian playfully with his elbow.
“See, my friend?
Now our little group has someone who can brew both healing and harm.
Only thing we’re missing... is breakfast.”
Velmorian gave the first true smile of the night.
“If we live to see morning... we’ll consider it.”
Silence fell over them.
Words were done.
Only the stones remained, slowly losing their warmth in the night air.
Nyla, now finished treating her wound, closed her eyes.
Korrin sat at the edge of the rock, gazing at the stars—
Calm. Silent.
Velmorian looked around.
But his eyes didn’t linger on their faces...
They hovered between them—
In the space between.
Something had changed.
The wind shifted.
The dagger at his waist trembled ever so slightly.
And then…
He came.
Clad in white robes, his face still undefined.
Born of shadow and light entwined.
He stood silently across the stone,
Visible only to Velmorian.
“Everyone else is either asleep... or blind while awake.”
Velmorian met his gaze without flinching.
He was no longer afraid.
Only weary.
“You again?”
Death’s voice echoed like a thousand whispers.
“With every life you take, I draw closer, Velmorian.
And with every step, you become more like me.”
Velmorian tilted his head slightly.
“I don’t want to be like you.”
Death glided closer.
His steps left no trace.
But his presence smothered every other sound.
“The Lost Souls await you.
They’ve split into two.”
“Some long to cross over and find peace in death.
Others... crave vengeance.
To return to the living world and reclaim what was stolen.”
Velmorian rested his hands on his knees,
His face in shadow—
But his eyes were sharp.
“What do they want from me?”
“They want your guidance, Velmorian.
With you, they will either find peace...
Or burn the world with the fire of their vengeance.”
“They never tell me what to do.
They just want blood. That’s all.”
“The lives you''ve ended… they were real.
But the true path begins now.
Blood was only the key.”
Velmorian’s eyes narrowed.
“You mean the temple, don’t you?”
“The dagger you carry is the key to that place, Velmorian.
But it won’t become a key…
Until all ten names on the parchment are gone.”
Death bowed his head.
“That place—
It is where the whispers lead.
And when you arrive…
I will be waiting.”
The wind shifted again.
The robe fluttered like it was unraveling into the breeze…
And without a sound,
Death vanished.
Korrin glanced sideways at Velmorian.
“Did you say something?”
Velmorian blinked.
Shook his head slowly.
“No… just talking to myself.”
But he knew the truth.
He was never alone.
Not anymore.