《Heir Of The Lost Souls》 Chapter 1 – The Breath Beyond Death

Heir of the Lost Souls

Chapter 1: The Breath Beyond Death (Part 1) The cold, damp earth clung to Velmorian¡¯s skin like a burial shroud. Breathing became a struggle. His chest tightened with each shallow gasp. From the void above, whispers echoed¡ªdistant, but urgent.
"He''s awakened..." "Don''t touch him!" "Let him be! He must face his fate!" "Fate? He¡¯s already dead!"
When Velmorian opened his eyes, all he saw was moldy wood and moist soil. He tried to move, but his limbs were numb, as if gravity had become a prison. The voices grew louder, overlapping in frenzied argument.
"Send him back!" "No! He must know the truth!"
Suddenly, the earth above him trembled. It collapsed inward, and then¡ª He was no longer beneath the ground. He was above it. Looking down. At himself. He knelt, hands raised, but there were no hands¡ªonly a faded shimmer of what once was. A translucent echo. A soul without anchor. And before him stood a figure, cloaked in white. Faceless. A robe that seemed to drift in air that didn¡¯t move. A void wearing the mask of calm.
"Those who risk death so easily must first understand what death truly is," the figure said. Its voice was neither male nor female¡ªneither deep nor high. It echoed from many mouths at once.
Velmorian¡¯s thoughts scattered like ash in wind. ¡°Am I¡­ dead?¡± he asked, barely audible. The figure knelt. Fingers made of silence brushed the soil where Velmorian''s grave had been. The dirt stirred. Rotting hands. Shattered bones. Forgotten stones. All rose like memories from deep water.
"Death is not just an end," said the figure. "But you, Velmorian¡­ you have no idea what an end truly means."
New whispers surged, no longer distant. They clawed at his mind.
¡°Don¡¯t go...¡± ¡°You belong here.¡± ¡°The dead¡­ they were once human. Like you.¡± ¡°What will he show you? What will you become?¡±
Velmorian stepped back. The white-robed figure reached toward him. One touch¡ªand the world collapsed into darkness. No floor. No sky. Just a void. A weightless drift. He couldn''t tell if he had a body, but he felt everything.
¡°What¡­ is this?¡± His voice dissolved before it echoed.
A mirror appeared. Its surface was like still water, pitch black, reflecting no light¡ªno self. Then came the voice again:
¡°You wished to see beyond death. So look.¡±
The mirror rippled. A man knelt, bleeding from his chest. He tried to hold his life in with trembling hands. Behind him stood a hooded figure, whispering into his ear. The dying man''s eyes widened¡ªthen closed forever. The mirror blurred, then cleared. Now a woman held a child¡¯s hand, walking through a dark corridor. Whispers followed them. The woman turned¡ªand looked straight at Velmorian. He stepped back again, but there was no ground. Then, his own reflection emerged. It looked like him. But not quite. The figure in white appeared behind the mirror.
"Those who desire death the most are often the ones who¡¯ve never truly lived. And you, Velmorian¡­ even in death, peace avoided you."
The mirror shattered. Velmorian awoke, trembling, on the cold soil of the Forgotten Graves. The sky was starless. Fog swallowed the gravestones, turning them into shapeless sentinels. And in front of him¡ªhis own lifeless body stood, untouched. A figure loomed beside it. The same white-robed presence.
"Now you¡¯ve seen," it said, voice flat and final. "But seeing¡­ is not understanding."
Velmorian opened his mouth, but the figure raised a hand.
"Each question carries a weight. The answers that matter¡ªare the ones you dig up yourself."
Then¡ªa pull. Not gravity. Not wind. A soul being reeled back into flesh. Velmorian gasped. Air filled his lungs like knives. He opened his eyes again¡ªthis time to the very real, very cold ground of a graveyard. But something had changed. He wasn¡¯t the same man who¡¯d fallen. He could feel it¡ªhis heart beat to a different rhythm. The fog whispered. The ground pulsed. Something inside him had shifted. He rose to his feet, shaky but determined. And the voice returned.
"You are not done."
He turned. The figure had not left.
"I¡¯m tired of riddles. What are you? What do you want from me?" Velmorian demanded.
The figure stepped closer.
"I am your end. And your beginning. I am the memory of the forgotten. The end of the remembering. But if you need it simple¡­" "I am Death."
Velmorian stopped breathing. His gaze tried to pierce the void behind that robe¡ªbut there was nothing to see. Only silence that stared back. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"Did I die?"
Death tilted its head.
"You were dead. You are not anymore. You are here to understand why."
With a motion as subtle as breath, Death extended a pale hand. A parchment appeared. Ancient, cracked, but pulsing with invisible ink.
"This is the beginning of your path," Death said. "The names written here are the ones you must kill. Only when one is complete¡­ will the next be revealed."
Velmorian took the parchment. A single name burned into its surface. He didn¡¯t recognize it¡ªbut something about it tightened his grip.
"You want me to be an assassin?"
Death chuckled¡ªa dry, echoing sound.
"I don¡¯t want anything. I require it."
Then¡ªanother object emerged. A dagger. Its blade shimmered like it was forged from shadow itself, edges constantly shifting. The hilt was black, elegant, and ice cold to the touch.
"This dagger condemns whoever it touches. No armor, no magic, no faith can shield them from it. But you must only use it on those the parchment names. Else¡­"
Death didn''t finish the sentence. He didn¡¯t need to. Velmorian took the blade. A coldness bloomed through his veins. It wasn¡¯t steel. It was silence made sharp.
"Why me?" he asked. "Why choose me for this?"
Death tilted its head again.
"I did not choose you. You were simply¡­ suitable. Those who are lost, betrayed, burned by the lies of others¡ª They attract the Lost Souls. And they chose you."
Velmorian''s eyes narrowed. The whispers returned. Not from the sky. Not from the fog. From within.
"Velmorian..." "We see you." "Begin..."
The parchment glowed faintly. The dagger throbbed in his hand. And Death stepped back. Velmorian¡¯s jaw tightened. He clenched his teeth and exhaled slowly through them. The whispers echoed in the hollow of his skull, vibrating like strings pulled too tight. He opened and closed his hands slowly, testing the cold weight of the dagger in his grip. Then, he tucked the parchment into his cloak, tightening the fabric over his chest like a silent vow. His fingers wrapped more firmly around the hilt. It was time to move. As the mist began to shift and drift apart, a narrow path revealed itself. A forest trail, overgrown and veiled in shadows. It stretched west¡ªtoward Aldenora. The stones were slick with moss, the roots twisted like bones beneath the dirt. The trail hadn''t been walked in years. But he was not alone.
"Walk... before the names fade..." "Blood waits..." "They¡¯re watching..."
The voices were never quiet. Some urged him forward. Some whispered caution. Some simply waited. Velmorian moved.
His footsteps were soft, but the ground beneath him seemed to shiver. The mud clung to his boots like regret. There was something else, too¡ªsomething watching. A sensation beneath the skin. Not fear. Not quite. But presence. Then, up ahead¡ªbetween two withered trees¡ªa shape appeared. Humanoid. But wrong. Bent, crooked, too still. A woman? No. A figure draped in vines and decay. Her fingers were long, gnarled like tree roots. Her skin pale and slick, as if it had never seen sun. Moss trailed from her sleeves like rot. She didn¡¯t move. She didn¡¯t blink. But she saw him. Velmorian''s hand moved instinctively to the dagger.
"You stain my path, bearer of blood," the woman said.
Her voice crackled like dry bark in the wind.
"I didn''t know this path belonged to anyone," Velmorian replied, voice even.
She tilted her head, birdlike, studying him.
"You''re handsome. Alive. But your soul is dead. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?"
With a single motion, she raised her hand. Branches twisted behind her¡ªforming a perfect ring. And within it: a mirror of bark and shadow. Velmorian approached slowly. He saw himself. But not the self he remembered. The face was younger, but colder. His once-calloused hands were smooth. His hair¡ªlonger, loosely draped across his face. And his eyes¡ªgreen, but unfathomable. Alive, yes. But touched by something¡­ ancient. He raised his hand to his face, touched his skin.
"Death did not return me as I was," he thought. "This body¡­ is a shell."
"Now you see," the woman rasped. "Death dressed you well. Perhaps if it claims you again, it¡¯ll make you even prettier."
Then¡ªthe forest moved. Branches bent. Roots snapped from the ground like serpents. The path twisted and turned inward. Velmorian reached for the dagger¡ªtoo late. Vines coiled around his arms and legs, dragging him to the earth. The soil hardened beneath him¡ªno longer mud, but stone.
"Writhe for me, blood bearer..."
The witch¡¯s laugh was dry and joyless. A massive branch snapped from above¡ªfalling toward him. Velmorian rolled aside, pain searing through his ribs. He gasped, trying to stand, but vines lashed his throat. Choking¡ªblinded¡ªhe grasped wildly. Then he saw it. The light on her chest¡ªpulsing beneath her ragged dress. Her source. He reached for the dagger.
With a sudden lunge, he stabbed the trunk of a twisted tree beside him. Green ichor poured from its bark like venom. The witch staggered. Her eyes widened. Velmorian broke free, rising with a snarl. The witch raised her hands¡ªsummoning a claw of roots from the air. It swiped downward¡ªaimed to crush him. Velmorian lunged forward. Not as a man. Not as a victim. But as a reaper. He slashed. The dagger¡ªmade of shadow, forged by death itself¡ªcut through the summoned claw like mist. It struck her chest. The world fell silent. Darkness bloomed.
The witch''s scream never came. Her body crumbled, vines wilting, bark turning to ash. The forest exhaled. No bones. No blood. No trace. She was erased¡ªlike a nightmare that forgot how to return. Velmorian stood, chest heaving, the dagger still humming in his hand. Black mist coiled around the blade¡ªthen faded. And then¡ªthe whispers returned.
"The first is done¡­" "Now you want more..." "Not enough..." The Lost Souls continued to accompany him. Were they trying to help, or were they hindering him? The only certain thing was that Velmorian had to get used to living with them. The forest was silent. With the witch gone, Velmorian felt the sinister weight that had surrounded him lift. The trees still loomed dark and massive, but whatever had been stirring inside them was now still. The fog, once a black wound across the forest¡¯s chest, slowly began to dissipate. After a few steps, he saw the faint glow of a campfire in the distance. He followed the signs ¡ª broken branches and footprints ¡ª until he arrived at a campsite where five men were gathered. Axes and jagged saws were strewn about. Logs were piled high, and weary men sat around the fire, eating in silence. One of them stretched his hands toward the flames, rubbing his palms.
¡°This cursed fog kept getting thicker, you know? We could barely see a few feet ahead. But now...¡± He looked up at the sky. ¡°Now it¡¯s clearing. Maybe the spirit of the forest has accepted us.¡±
The others laughed.
¡°The forest? You mean this pile of trees? As long as we cut enough to make money, I don¡¯t care about any spirits.¡±
¡°That fog didn¡¯t just vanish on its own. I¡¯m telling you, something¡¯s going on in these woods.¡±
Velmorian listened in silence, hidden just beyond the reach of the firelight. His eyes narrowed. To them, the fog had been nothing but a nuisance. The witch¡¯s death was a mere coincidence ¡ª something that cleared their path. No one knew what had happened. No one cared. People were used to walking over things they didn¡¯t understand. Velmorian took a deep breath. There was no reason to stop them. But there was no reason to help them either. The Forest Witch was gone, but the forest¡¯s fate remained uncertain. His path lay beyond it. And within him, the whispers were quiet ¡ª waiting, hungry. He simply kept walking.
When Velmorian arrived in Aldenora, he found the city unchanged since his death. Same streets, same cobbled roads, same faces¡­ But he was no longer the same. His former self had been buried with his old body. Now, he walked the city as a stranger. The bakery on the corner still sold warm bread. The blacksmiths still hammered steel in the square. Old friends, former coworkers ¡ª maybe even those who had betrayed him ¡ª all still lived their lives. But none of them recognized him. His new body had given him this anonymity. Velmorian studied himself in shop windows: his chestnut hair, striking but unreadable green eyes, a face that could no longer be placed. He walked the streets he once knew like a wanderer rediscovering lost paths. He listened to conversations, watched movements. Aldenora was familiar ¡ª and foreign. But he hadn¡¯t come back to drown in old memories. The name on the parchment still awaited him. The task was clear. But first¡­ he had to learn what advantages his new identity could offer.
Chapter 2 - Reflection Of The Past As Velmorian walked the streets with heavy steps, every corner whispered a new story. While the city continued its life in the usual flow, time moved differently for him. The memories of his former days seemed to crawl out from beneath every stone. But he was no longer part of the past. In Aldenora, news always spread fastest through the taverns. Rumors traveled quicker than ale, and the city¡¯s greatest secrets spilled from the mouths of the drunk. Velmorian stepped through the door of a run-down yet lively tavern. The inside was thick with tobacco smoke and the sour scent of old beer. In one corner, dice clattered across a backgammon board; in another, the dull clinking of mugs met the deep laughter of men. He wondered if anyone in this place still spoke of his death. In the far corner of the bar, two men spoke in hushed tones.
¡°If he can¡¯t pay his debts, Garran Holt won¡¯t be seeing the next moon,¡± one of them muttered.
¡°Garran? He always finds a way. Probably stolen someone¡¯s coin again,¡± the other chuckled.
Something stirred in Velmorian¡¯s chest. The first name on the parchment had finally surfaced. Garran Holt¡­
¡°This time might be different,¡± the first man said. ¡°Word is, he swindled a merchant. Picked the wrong people to cross.¡±
¡°Who?¡±
¡°I think... one of Hogen¡¯s men.¡±
Velmorian frowned slightly at the name Hogen. In the city, that man was known for laundering dirty money, collecting debts, and running half of Aldenora¡¯s underground. If Garran had truly made an enemy of him, his days were already numbered. That could either make Velmorian¡¯s task easier... Or much more complicated. As Velmorian sipped his drink and continued to listen, the conversation suddenly shifted.
¡°By the way, did you hear about Velmorian¡¯s death?¡± one of them asked quietly.
The other slammed his cup down.
¡°Of course. Threw his life away over a woman. Fool.¡±
Velmorian¡¯s heart gave a small jolt. To hear strangers dissect his past, unaware of his presence, stirred a strange unease within him. But then, one of them said something else.
¡°Don¡¯t speak ill of him,¡± said the first. ¡°He was a good man. Not like the rest of us. At least he had honor. He even forged a sword for me once.¡±
Velmorian sat still, a tight knot forming in his throat. To hear how others remembered him ¡ª some with disdain, others with respect ¡ª brought a wave of tangled emotions. As Velmorian was still processing the words spoken about him, the tavern door suddenly burst open. A gust of cold wind swept in as two large men entered. They didn¡¯t look like the usual drunks or weary travelers. There was a weight in their gaze ¡ª sharp, searching. One of them stepped forward, making his way to the bar with heavy, deliberate steps. The chatter in the tavern quickly dulled. A few men lowered their heads, focusing intently on their drinks. Then, in a deep and commanding voice, the man asked:
¡°Is Garran Holt here?¡±
A short silence fell over the room like a heavy curtain. Most people stared into their mugs or picked at the food before them. Velmorian, however, took another calm sip of his drink ¡ª watching. So Garran Holt had more enemies than just him. He continued to observe in silence, curious who these men were, who they served, and why they were after Garran. The barkeep cleared his throat nervously before replying:
¡°Don¡¯t know anyone by that name.¡±
The man¡¯s eyes narrowed. The one behind him spat on the floor and scanned the room with suspicion.
¡°Don¡¯t lie to us. We know he¡¯s been around here.¡±
Velmorian leaned back slightly, weighing the scene. Clearly, he wasn¡¯t the only one looking for Garran. But the real question was... Were these men enemies ¡ª or tools yet to be used? The tension in the tavern thickened like smoke. Velmorian, ever composed, kept watching. When the men eventually exited, Velmorian followed ¡ª quietly, like a shadow slipping through the cracks of the night. As they disappeared into the alleyways, Velmorian moved after them, careful not to draw attention. He trailed them with practiced ease ¡ª but then, a sensation crept down his spine. He was being watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman passing by. She slowed, turned slightly, and looked directly at him.
¡°You¡¯re not from around here, are you? I don¡¯t recall seeing you before.¡±
Velmorian didn¡¯t answer. He glanced at her briefly, assessing. She smiled softly, as if trying to lure him in.
¡°Not many walk these streets alone. Are you searching for something? Or just wandering?¡±
Velmorian¡¯s gaze locked with hers for a moment. She stepped closer, her interest obvious.
¡°Perhaps you''d like a drink? I could show you around... help a lost soul find his way.¡±
Though Velmorian knew he couldn¡¯t afford to lose time, this unexpected encounter gave him a moment to think. Whether she realized it or not, she had sensed something in him ¡ª something unnatural. Still, Velmorian gave a small, polite nod. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.
¡°Perhaps another time,¡± he said.
And moved on. But that brief distraction cost him. The men were gone. Velmorian clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He wouldn¡¯t give up that easily. He headed swiftly toward the last alley where he¡¯d seen them disappear. That¡¯s when he heard it ¡ª voices from inside a nearby house. A heavy, threatening voice echoed through a cracked door:
¡°When were you planning to pay, Garran? You think Hogen is just some street gambler?¡±
Another voice, frail and trembling:
¡°I swear, just one more week¡­ please, just one week!¡±
Velmorian quickened his pace and peeked through the opening. The large men had Garran pressed against a wall. One of them had already drawn a knife from his belt. No gold was coming. Garran was broke ¡ª and about to be silenced permanently. Velmorian didn¡¯t hesitate. In a single motion, he kicked the door open and stepped inside. The room froze as Velmorian entered. All eyes turned toward him. Hogen¡¯s men instinctively reached for their weapons. But Velmorian didn¡¯t flinch. He spoke in a calm, commanding voice:
¡°Hogen thinks this has gone on long enough. I¡¯m taking over now.¡±
The thugs glanced at each other, confused. The larger one narrowed his eyes.
¡°Hogen sent you?¡± His voice was a blend of doubt and authority.
Velmorian stared coldly.
¡°Do I look familiar to you?¡±
The man hesitated, scanning Velmorian¡¯s posture, clothing, expression. New face. Confident voice. The other one grumbled:
¡°Hogen didn¡¯t tell us anything about this¡­¡±
Velmorian tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips.
¡°Does he tell you everything? If I¡¯m here now, either you¡¯ve been lied to... Or he doesn¡¯t trust you. Which is it?¡±
The thug stood speechless for a moment. Even the larger man stepped back slightly, reassessing the stranger before him. Meanwhile, Garran stared wide-eyed, caught between confusion and relief. He didn¡¯t know what game this was ¡ª but he liked it. Finally, the bigger man gave a slight shrug.
¡°Fine. If Hogen sent you, then it¡¯s your mess now. We¡¯ll be waiting outside.¡±
His partner nodded, and both headed for the door. Velmorian offered a slight nod in return ¡ª just enough to seem in control. They didn¡¯t question further; they just wanted the job done. As the door closed behind them, only Velmorian and Garran remained. Garran whispered, disbelief thick in his voice:
¡°Did Hogen really send you?¡±
Velmorian gave him a mocking smile.
¡°I didn¡¯t realize gamblers were this gullible.¡± Velmorian scanned the room quickly. In the back, he spotted a small window. Lifting the curtain slightly, he saw a narrow alley behind the house ¡ª quiet and empty.
¡°Move,¡± he whispered.
Garran hesitated, but when he saw the look in Velmorian¡¯s eyes, he simply nodded. They slipped out one after the other. Outside, one of the thugs perked up, hearing a faint noise from inside.
¡°What the hell was that?¡±
He reached for the doorknob and opened it¡­ to find nothing. The room was empty. By then, Velmorian and Garran had already disappeared into the dark backstreets. They ran. Through twisting alleys, over slippery stones ¡ª breath ragged, hearts pounding. When Garran realized they were heading for the edge of the city, he finally spoke:
¡°Did you really save me? Or do you just enjoy tricking people?¡±
Velmorian smiled.
¡°If you can tell the difference, you¡¯ve gambled too much.¡±
Garran let out a strained chuckle, still visibly tense.
¡°Didn¡¯t know I owed you a favor.¡±
Velmorian shrugged.
¡°Neither did I.¡±
The streets grew quieter. Soon, they passed beyond the city¡¯s outer walls, heading toward a lone shack on the horizon. Dry grass whispered in the wind. The wooden boards of the building creaked softly, weathered by time. Inside, Velmorian tapped the wooden table with his fingers.
¡°We can stay here tonight. The city¡¯s too quiet, and we don¡¯t know if they¡¯re still after us.¡±
Garran sank into a chair, exhaling deeply.
¡°Can¡¯t believe you actually saved me. I owe you more than I can say.¡±
Velmorian gave a faint smile.
¡°Might want to hold off on the gratitude. We don¡¯t know what tomorrow looks like yet.¡±
¡°True,¡± Garran nodded. ¡°But at least for now, we¡¯re safe.¡±
Velmorian didn¡¯t respond. The shack was cold. The wooden walls creaked gently in the wind. Garran rubbed his hands together and glanced at Velmorian.
¡°Tell me something... Why did you do it? Why save me?¡±
Velmorian looked up at him for a moment. Then, with a shrug:
¡°I don¡¯t like Hogen.¡±
Garran raised a brow.
¡°Seriously? Anyone who likes gold works for him. Not liking him sounds like a luxury.¡±
Velmorian chuckled faintly.
¡°Sometimes luxury is necessary.¡±
Garran watched him with a thoughtful look.
¡°Then I guess I¡¯ve earned a drink for surviving the night, haven¡¯t I?¡±
He pulled a small flask from his belt. Velmorian dipped his head slightly.
¡°By all means.¡±
Garran took a long swig. The heat of the liquor softened the lines on his face.
¡°Want some?¡±
Velmorian shook his head.
¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡±
Garran shrugged, took another drink, and slumped back into his chair. His tension slowly faded. Then Velmorian stepped forward. He reached into his cloak and gripped the dagger. For a brief moment, something shifted in the room. The shadows quivered ¡ª like the corners of the room had drawn breath. When he drew the blade, its black surface swallowed the light. Shadows curled along its edge, yet the steel was solid ¡ª real. In one swift motion, Velmorian plunged the dagger into Garran¡¯s throat. Garran¡¯s eyes widened. He tried to scream, but no sound came. As soon as the blade touched him, the shadows stirred. His body trembled. His pupils dilated. Only Velmorian knew what the dagger truly did. This was no ordinary death. Garran¡¯s body convulsed, like something was being pulled from within. Where the blade pierced, his form seemed to blur ¡ª as if melting into shadow. For an instant, a whisper echoed through the room. Then¡­ silence. When Velmorian withdrew the blade, Garran¡¯s body slumped from the chair. The flask rolled from his fingers, spilling its last drops across the wooden floor. The dagger shimmered ¡ª cold and unreadable. It looked untouched. But Velmorian could feel it. Something moved within the dark steel. Then the whispers returned.
¡°Well done¡­ keep going¡­¡±
¡°Didn¡¯t think you had it in you¡­¡±
¡°This is only the beginning.¡±
They carved into his mind like knives. But the true weight came not from the voices ¡ª but from the memories. The dagger showed him. Suddenly, Velmorian¡¯s mind was pulled into a dark spiral. The world around him vanished ¡ª replaced by fragments of Garran¡¯s past. A woman screamed. Her eyes wide with terror, shielding a small child behind her.
¡°Please¡ªdon¡¯t! No more!¡± she begged.
In the corner stood Garran. His face twisted with rage, a belt clenched in his fist. The child¡¯s sobs echoed like broken glass in Velmorian¡¯s ears. The scene shifted. A table, scattered with playing cards and an empty coin pouch. Across from Garran sat a man ¡ª one of Hogen¡¯s enforcers.
¡°This is your last chance, Garran. How are you going to pay?¡±
Garran¡¯s forehead beaded with sweat.
¡°Just one more week¡­ please...¡±
His voice was the hollow desperation of a drowning man. Another shift. A dim alleyway. Garran gripped a woman¡¯s wrist, dragging her toward the shadows. Her face was pale with fear.
¡°Thought you could run with my coin?¡± he growled.
She replied with something, but Velmorian didn¡¯t hear the words. What he remembered was the slap. And the way she fell. Then ¡ª silence. The memories vanished. Velmorian stood once more in the shack. Garran¡¯s body lay still at his feet. The guilt lifted. He had seen the truth. This man had earned his end. The whispers faded, leaving behind a dense, unnatural stillness. Velmorian looked down at the corpse. His heartbeat had steadied, breath cold and controlled. The first name had been crossed off the list. But the weight of it¡­ lingered. He wiped the dagger on Garran¡¯s sleeve. There was no blood. Only shadow ¡ª and silence. Velmorian sat down briefly, eyes scanning the small, rotting cabin. The fangs of winter clawed at the wooden walls, but he didn¡¯t shiver. Something inside him had changed. Not just from death and return ¡ª but from taking a life and feeling¡­ nothing. Or was it something? That dull ache in his chest. Not guilt. Not relief. Something deeper. A ripple. He heard them again.
¡°More will come...¡±
¡°You¡¯ve only tasted the beginning...¡±
¡°Each death brings truth...¡±
Velmorian stood and took a breath. The parchment in his cloak pulsed faintly, as if sensing the change. He didn¡¯t yet know the next name. But the first had been claimed. And the path ahead¡­ was darker than anything behind.
Chapter 3 — The Second Name Velmorian wanted to reach for the parchment, to learn the second name without delay. As the first name was erased beneath a blackish smear, a new one began to appear. But this time, the letters did not flow like ink¡ªthey emerged as if carved with a blade. And as they formed, Velmorian heard a new whisper: ¡°The next one awaits you...¡± Velmorian narrowed his eyes, focusing on the name. His heart pounded in his chest. He had finally learned who he was meant to kill. Brennar Vark. His eyes widened. His heartbeat echoed in his ears. For a moment, he thought he was mistaken. But no¡ªthe parchment made it unmistakably clear. Brennar, the master blacksmith who had taken him in as an apprentice, taught him the craft of forging, and treated him like a son... He clenched the parchment tightly, his heart thundering. ¡°This¡­ can¡¯t be,¡± he whispered. He was caught between rising anger and helpless confusion. At that moment, the room grew cold. Velmorian took a sharp breath as the shadows stirred. And then he heard a voice¡ªor voices. All at once, from a single place yet in many tones, they spoke as one: ¡°Justice is not what you believe it to be, Velmorian.¡± Death had returned. But Velmorian¡¯s thoughts were fixed on the name etched on the parchment. Memories overwhelmed him. Brennar had been his first teacher. When Velmorian had walked through the doors of the smithy as a child, Brennar had taken him in not just as an apprentice, but as a grandson. For years he taught him how to shape steel, how to temper iron, and that a sword was more than just a sharpened edge. How could this be? Why was Brennar Vark marked for death? Now, with Death before him, he had a chance to ask. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. ¡°Why Brennar? Tell me why I must kill him.¡± Death was silent for a moment. Then, the voice returned, echoing from that single, unknowable source: ¡°Do you truly wish to know?¡± Velmorian frowned. ¡°Yes.¡± Death tilted its head slightly. ¡°Then tell me this, Velmorian... If a man¡¯s death causes no harm to the world, is his continued life righteous?¡± Velmorian scowled. ¡°Of course it is!¡± Death laughed¡ªbut it was not a human laugh. It came from many mouths at once, shrill and deep, a chorus of eerie tones. ¡°Then tell me... What evil is prevented by letting Brennar live?¡± Velmorian had no answer. Words caught in his throat. His mind raced, but clarity eluded him. Death took a step closer. ¡°Your world is not made of black and white, Velmorian. Justice lies beyond the veil of certainty. I did not write that name upon the parchment. But it is there. And you¡ª you must erase it with your own hand.¡± A chill settled deep in Velmorian¡¯s chest. He looked again at the parchment. Brennar Vark remained etched in it¡ªlike something branded into flesh. He turned back toward Death. ¡°And if I refuse?¡± Death paused again before the dark voice echoed once more: ¡°Death cannot be refused, Velmorian. Only delayed.¡± Velmorian clenched the parchment in his fist, holding his breath. He couldn¡¯t do this. Kill Master Brennar? It was madness. No matter what Death said, that name didn¡¯t belong on the list. ¡°No,¡± he said, voice trembling but firm. ¡°His name shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± Death stood motionless. Shrouded in white robes, a faceless figure that watched him with no eyes. But the voice returned¡ªdeep, echoing straight into Velmorian¡¯s thoughts. ¡°A name appears only because it belongs.¡± Velmorian gritted his teeth. ¡°Are you playing games with me? Master Brennar didn¡¯t just teach me to forge steel¡ªhe taught me how to live. Without him, I¡¯d have been just another stray on the streets. He deserves life more than I ever did!¡± Death inclined its head slightly. ¡°So¡­ the question is who deserves to die?¡± Velmorian said nothing. Death raised its hands¡ªor the shadowy forms that extended from beneath the robe¡ªand continued: ¡°Humans fall into the same delusion again and again. If one death is more justified than another, does that mean justice is served? And if so, what lies in the other scale of the balance, Velmorian?¡± Velmorian squeezed his eyes shut. Thoughts crashed through his mind. Was this a test? Was Death trying to teach him something about justice? Or was it simply the consequence of the pact he had made? But deep down, he knew. He could feel it¡ªthe truth lingering beneath Death¡¯s words. Death whispered one final time: ¡°People die, Velmorian. Their goodness or wickedness lives only in the stories they leave behind. But we¡­ we write the final line of every story.¡± Velmorian looked at the parchment in his hand. Brennar Vark¡ªthe name was still there. Etched, waiting to be erased. But what if he chose not to erase it? He quietly brushed the dirt flat with his hands. He wiped the mud from his fingers. He had buried Garran Holt and decided to move on. In the small yard behind the shack, no one would notice the body beneath the soil¡ªat least not for a while. Velmorian took a deep breath and returned to the city. As he walked the narrow streets of Aldenora, he moved among familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. He laid down on the creaking bed of the inn where he stayed. But when he closed his eyes, his mind offered no rest. Master Brennar¡¯s face flickered in his thoughts¡ªghosted by a strange and growing guilt. He had to see him. Even just to say goodbye. At dawn, Velmorian made his way straight to the forge. It was still there¡ªits stone walls stained black with soot, smoke rising from the chimney, the sharp sound of hammer on steel echoing from within. Nothing had changed. He opened the door. Inside, by the great anvil, stood a man hammering a blade with powerful arms. His hair had gone gray, his face was lined with age¡ªbut the fire in his eyes had not faded. Velmorian paused for a moment, then stepped forward with a faint smile. ¡°Good steel,¡± he said, glancing at the blade. ¡°Forged by someone who knows what he¡¯s doing.¡± Master Brennar lifted his head, wiping sweat from his brow as he examined the stranger. Then he spoke in his deep, booming voice: ¡°A guest who knows iron, huh? Have we met before, son?¡± Velmorian gave a small nod. ¡°Perhaps we¡¯ve crossed paths. But I can assure you¡ªI know enough about forging to recognize a master¡¯s touch.¡± Brennar smiled faintly. ¡°Is that so? Then let¡¯s see if you actually know what you¡¯re talking about¡­¡± He gestured to a nearby hammer. ¡°Shape that steel for me.¡± Velmorian picked up the hammer as if it were second nature, striking the hot iron with precision. Brennar¡¯s eyes narrowed in mild surprise. ¡°The way you hold that hammer¡­ just like my old apprentice Velmorian. That boy was a handful¡ªbut he knew how to forge.¡± A chill passed through Velmorian, but not a hint of it reached his face. He smiled, calm and unreadable. ¡°When forging becomes part of your soul, you don¡¯t forget.¡± Brennar laughed. ¡°You¡¯re right, son, you¡¯re right!¡± He returned to the forge. ¡°Now then, tell me¡­ Who are you, and what brings you to Aldenora?¡± Velmorian could already feel the whispers returning. "Are you here for closure... or are you fooling yourself?" "Does his warm smile comfort you? It won''t last." "Is this why we chose you? Remember, the name must be erased." Velmorian decided to lie¡ªhe couldn¡¯t leave his old master¡¯s words unanswered. "I grew up in a village outside the city," he said. "I spent some time apprenticing under my blacksmith uncle when I was young. But lately, our village¡¯s been plagued by bandits¡ªreal trouble. If we don''t arm ourselves, we won¡¯t stand a chance." Master Brennar listened with furrowed brows. "Bandits, huh? I haven''t heard of any such trouble near Aldenora, but times change¡­ You''re not too bad with a hammer. Your uncle must¡¯ve taught you well." Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Velmorian gave a slight bow, as if in thanks. But inside, something was cracking. The whispers didn¡¯t stop. "You''re drowning in lies." "The name still lingers on the parchment." "You must finish this." Velmorian kept hammering the piece of metal Brennar had given him. The steel cried out with a sharp clang, like a scream. The whispers scraped at his thoughts. His fingers were clenched, his palms damp with sweat. All he could think about was his master¡¯s warm smile¡ªand the memories that came flooding back with it. He raised the hammer again, this time striking harder. But the whispers surged in turn. "Are your hands trembling, Velmorian?" "Do you long for the past instead of erasing the name?" He struck again, trying to clear his mind. But the voices of the Lost Souls stole his focus for a brief second. That moment was enough¡ªa drop of molten metal leapt from the forge and landed on his left arm. Velmorian recoiled instinctively, clenching his teeth to stifle the pain. The sharp scent of burnt skin filled the air, but he forced himself not to react. Brennar grunted as he saw the recoil. "You mustn¡¯t hesitate, son," he said with a firm, commanding tone. "Iron doesn¡¯t tolerate neglect." Velmorian took a deep breath and nodded. Brennar glanced at his arm, then chuckled softly. "You said you apprenticed under your uncle, but your moves... you''re still green. The iron commands you¡ªyou do not command it." Velmorian offered a faint smile, though his chest ached. The words echoed¡ªthings Brennar had once told him many times. But now, he was just a stranger standing across from him. Brennar placed a hand on Velmorian¡¯s shoulder. "Work a little harder and you might make something of yourself," he said with a hearty laugh. "But first, go wrap that burn. If you want to make peace with the forge, you need to show it respect." Velmorian lowered his head and stepped out of the workshop. The whispers followed his every step. "Peace with the forge, Velmorian?" "Do his warm words soothe you?" "Remember¡­ blood must be spilled to erase the name." "The longer you wait, the harder it will become." Velmorian paused after just a few steps outside. The sting of the burn mixed with the gnawing whispers left a tight knot in his chest. He felt both a strange satisfaction from the time spent with his master and a growing tension¡ªbecause the cursed name on the parchment still remained. He closed his eyes. ¡°Just a little more time¡­¡± he whispered, not knowing who he was asking¡ªDeath, or himself? But the Lost Souls were growing impatient. "You wait¡­" "But waiting won¡¯t free you." "You must kill him, Velmorian. There is no other way." Velmorian clenched his fists. ¡°I know.¡± He needed to make it feel like an accident¡ªso that Brennar¡¯s death wouldn¡¯t feel like murder. That evening, he made his way to the market square. He entered a small, ramshackle apothecary. The door creaked as he stepped inside. A lone lantern lit the shelves lined with metal canisters, powder sacks, and old chemical concoctions. Behind the counter stood a hunched old man. His eyes were small, and his hands were blackened and calloused. As Velmorian entered, the man slowly lifted his head. ¡°What are you looking for, stranger?¡± Velmorian let his eyes wander over the shelves. ¡°Gunpowder. Not much, just enough to get the job done.¡± The man eyed him suspiciously. ¡°And what job would that be?¡± He then reached up and placed a small pouch on the counter. Velmorian stared at the pouch for a moment. ¡°My garden¡¯s been overrun by rats. Thought I¡¯d go for a more... permanent solution.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll end up blowing up your whole yard, young man. Here, take it. Just be careful not to set your house on fire.¡± Velmorian paid and took the pouch, stepping out of the shop. Before returning to the forge, he paused for a deep breath, as if trying to bury the last of his doubts. ¡°You have to do this, Velmorian.¡± ¡°There is no other way.¡± Later that night, he returned to the forge. The streets were deserted. He remembered how his master would always rise early to stoke the fire in the hearth. The plan was simple. He would place the gunpowder deep in the furnace. In the morning, when Master Brennar used the bellows as usual, the pressure would rise rapidly¡ªthen detonate. Velmorian slipped inside, moving silently among the stone walls that reeked of sleepless nights. He carefully opened the pouch and placed it into the heart of the coals, forcing his hands not to shake. When the deed was done, he left without looking back. Tomorrow... it would all be over. But peace did not come. Velmorian barely slept that night. The small, damp room stank of mildew. He tossed and turned in his bed, his mind a storm of doubt and regret. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his master¡¯s warm smile. The clang of the hammer, his old lessons, echoed in his ears. ¡°The iron is mastering you, not the other way around.¡± The whispers grew louder in the dark: ¡°You had no other choice...¡± ¡°This wasn¡¯t your will¡ªit was his fate...¡± ¡°Blood must be shed, Velmorian. The Lost Souls await...¡± When dawn¡¯s light finally broke through the window, Velmorian opened his eyes, heavy with exhaustion. He took a deep breath. Today, a part of his fate would be fulfilled. He stood in the street near the forge, heart pounding. His hands trembled inside his coat pockets. Then the door opened. Brennar stepped inside, coughing lightly, then shut the door behind him and approached the bellows. Velmorian held his breath as he watched from afar. A thin plume of smoke began to rise from the chimney. Each pump of the bellows was like a drumbeat in Velmorian¡¯s ears. His pulse quickened. He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. And then¡ª BOOM! Velmorian¡¯s eyes widened. The explosion had been far worse than he¡¯d expected. He sprinted to the forge. The sight inside chilled him to the bone. The beams had collapsed. Smoke and ash billowed everywhere. Glowing shards of metal littered the floor. Then he saw him. Master Brennar lay on the ground. A heavy beam had pinned his leg. His chest was scorched, and he gasped for air in a half-conscious daze. Something inside Velmorian shattered. He ran to his master¡¯s side without hesitation. ¡°Master! Hold on!¡± He dropped to his knees, trying to lift the heavy beam. His skin blistered under the heat, but he pushed with all his strength. It didn¡¯t budge. Brennar opened his eyes, wincing in pain. The flickering light of the flames carved deep shadows into his weathered face. His vision was blurred, but in that moment, Velmorian knew¡ªhe recognized him. Brennar reached out weakly. His trembling fingers found Velmorian¡¯s arm and squeezed, ever so gently. ¡°Wait, son¡­¡± his voice was broken and rasping. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ too late now.¡± Velmorian¡¯s heart shattered. He looked at his master in desperation. ¡°No! I¡¯ll get you out of here, hold on, master!¡± Brennar Usta shook his head slightly, a pained but warm smile appearing on his face. His pale lips trembled as they parted: ¡°Don¡¯t bother, son. My time has come.¡± Velmorian¡¯s eyes burned. His hands clenched the beam hopelessly, blood dripping from his palms, but he didn¡¯t even feel the pain. His master, gasping for breath with a wheezing sound, looked at him. There was deep sorrow and understanding in his eyes. ¡°Your grip on the hammer hasn¡¯t changed... Velmorian, my child.¡± Velmorian¡¯s eyes widened, his heart pounding so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. He couldn¡¯t say a word. The tears that fell from his eyes hit the ash-covered ground. Brennar Usta: ¡°I lived with the iron, but now the fire consumes me. This... is not an honorable end for me.¡± Velmorian¡¯s eyes filled with tears. His face darkened with the weight of the tragedy he had caused. ¡°There must be another way... I can save you!¡± Brennar weakly shook his head. His hands, trembling, grasped Velmorian¡¯s wrist and squeezed tightly. ¡°No... my path ends here. No matter how much I suffer, what use is an old man without legs?¡± ¡°Do you see, Velmorian? Blood must be spilled.¡± ¡°Did you think you could save him?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t escape fate.¡± Brennar Usta¡¯s trembling voice spoke once more: ¡°Please, Velmorian¡­ With your own hands, send me from this world.¡± Velmorian took a deep breath. He had finally accepted that he had no other choice. His eyes filled with tears, his voice trembling with pain as he looked at his master: ¡°Forgive me, master...¡± He slowly drew the dagger. The blade forged from shadows gleamed in the dim light. His hands still trembled. A peaceful, comforting smile appeared on Brennar¡¯s face. Velmorian closed his eyes tightly and, with the last shred of human feeling in his heart, drove the dagger into Brennar Usta¡¯s chest. Brennar¡¯s hand slowly relaxed, slipping from Velmorian¡¯s palm. The old man¡¯s chest rose one last time and then lay still. Velmorian remained kneeling on the floor in the now silent workshop. His tears fell, quiet and heavy. As he looked at his master¡¯s lifeless body, he felt the last remnants of his humanity disappear, burning away with the flames. Now, the name on the parchment had been erased. But within Velmorian, a much deeper wound had opened. The whispers of the Lost Souls rose again: ¡°Finally, Velmorian.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve done your duty.¡± Velmorian slowly lifted his head. His face held a much darker expression than before. He remained motionless for minutes. His hands still trembled; his eyes fixed on his master¡¯s lifeless body. At that moment, the dagger shuddered slightly. Velmorian involuntarily looked at the dagger. The blade forged from shadows now offered him something different. Memories. Darkness appeared before his eyes, and then fragments of Brennar Usta¡¯s life began to come to life. The first image was familiar; in the forge, young Velmorian was holding the hammer with trembling hands. Brennar Usta, with his strong but gentle hand, guided his hand, speaking in a patient voice: ¡°Hold the hammer tight, son, it will become a part of you. Don¡¯t let the iron rule you, you must rule it.¡± The images quickly changed; it was a winter day, the day Velmorian fell ill and was bedridden. Brennar Usta, disregarding the harsh storm, had set out late at night to find a healer. The worry on his face mirrored a father¡¯s love for his son. In another memory, young Velmorian was sitting with his master in front of the forge, sharing bread and cheese. Brennar Usta¡¯s face wrinkled even more when he laughed. His fatherly voice echoed in Velmorian¡¯s mind: ¡°That¡¯s enough work for now¡ªeat! How can a scrawny lad like you become a blacksmith?¡± The memories kept flowing; some filled with laughter, others with sorrow¡ªbut always Brennar¡¯s warm, familiar face made Velmorian¡¯s heart ache more and more. One final image flashed in his mind: late at night, Brennar Usta sat in the forge, opening an old chest. Inside was a small wooden toy¡ªVelmorian¡¯s very first. The visions faded, slowly slipping into darkness. Velmorian dropped to his knees, breathless and overwhelmed. Silent tears streamed down his face. Outside, shouting voices broke through the fog of memory: ¡°Is anyone inside?¡± ¡°What happened to Master Brennar?¡± ¡°Put out the fire!¡± Velmorian stirred under the weight of those memories. His eyes were still wet, but he had to leave. He ran to the wooden back door of the workshop, slipped outside, and closed it behind him. As he disappeared down the dark alley, he tried to outrun the images in his mind. But the memories did not leave him. The peaceful, comforting moments shown by the dagger were now thorns in his chest. Even if it had been necessary, he was now crushed under the weight of a past he had destroyed with his own hands. ¡°Do you see now, Velmorian? This is your true punishment. You will not forget.¡± His hurried steps led him into a quiet, empty street. Velmorian collapsed, unable to control himself. He pressed his back against a cold wall and buried his head in his hands. The pressure in his chest was unbearable. ¡°What have I done¡­¡± he whispered. His hands were still stained with his master¡¯s blood. Silent sobs shook his body. The wound in his soul had deepened, becoming an abyss with no return. He raised his head; the sun had risen, but Velmorian¡¯s world was drowned in endless darkness. He sat slumped against the wall, still trembling. His tears had dried, leaving behind only emptiness. He took a long breath and slowly opened his eyes. And at that moment, the world fell silent again. The street sounds, the birds¡ªall seemed to stop. He knew. Death had returned. When he looked up, he saw the white-robed silhouette. As always, Death¡¯s face was formless, undefined. ¡°You mourned longer than I expected, Velmorian.¡± Velmorian looked at it with hollow eyes. He had no strength left to run. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have killed him,¡± he said, his voice cracked and shaking. ¡°It¡­ it was wrong.¡± Death slowly inclined its head. ¡°Wrong? The world is not fair, Velmorian. I told you this before. It wasn¡¯t your choice, but you must accept the consequences.¡± A spark flared in Velmorian¡¯s eyes¡ªan angry blend of rage and helplessness: ¡°You did this. You drew this path, not me!¡± Death¡¯s voice turned cold and firm: ¡°I did not draw your path. You died, and I brought you back. You knew the cost of this second life. So why are you surprised?¡± Velmorian clenched his jaw, struggling to contain the fury rising within. Slowly, he stood and looked Death straight in the eye: ¡°What do you want from me? How many more lives? How many more souls must I take to be free of you?¡± Death remained silent for a moment, then replied with an odd tone of gentleness: ¡°Your purpose is not to be free of me. It is to shape the fate of the Lost Souls. As for me¡ªI am Death. I am inevitable. The day you accept that, your burden will ease.¡± Velmorian shook his head with despair. ¡°I will never accept it.¡± Death paused for a few seconds, then its voice¡ªnow a whisper woven from a thousand mouths¡ªspoke once more: ¡°Time will tell, Velmorian. But remember¡ªwhat matters is not the path you take¡­ It is how you walk it.¡± Death¡¯s white robe faded like mist, and the world began to move again. When Velmorian found himself alone once more, he felt an odd lightness in his chest¡ªpaired with an even deeper weariness. Chapter 4 – The Strange Humor of Fate 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¡ªalmost mocking¡ªvoice caught his attention. "Yes, dear ladies and gentlemen! Tired of the meaningless void of your existence? This little item¡ªwhat 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¡ªwhat 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¡ªexpert 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¡ªtake 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¡ªthugs 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¡ªno 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¡ªyou¡¯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¡ªwe¡¯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¡ªbrilliant 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¡ªany 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¡ªdoes 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¡ªthis 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¡ªI 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¡ªit¡¯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¡ªwithout 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¡ªbut 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¡ªKorrin, 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¡ªeverchanging, 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¡ªlike 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¡ªbut 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¡ªbut 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¡ªhe 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¡ªslippery. 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¡ªTellar.¡± 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 ¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ªa 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¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª "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¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ªyet 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¡ªyou 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¡ªany 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¡ªdrunk 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¡ª 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¡ªthis 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¡ª 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¡ªburning 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¡ª 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¡ªsilent. Dagger and axe clashed. Sparks flew. The tent became a muffled battleground. Velmorian struck again and again¡ª 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¡ªVelmorian¡¯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¡ª The tent flap burst open. Two of Hogen¡¯s men burst into the tent. "Boss¡ª" 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¡ª The woman in the corner of the tent sprang into motion. She snatched the hairpin from her tied hair¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª 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.
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."
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."
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."
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¡ª 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¡ªtea 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¡ªit¡¯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¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª Calm. Silent. Velmorian looked around. But his eyes didn¡¯t linger on their faces... They hovered between them¡ª 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¡ª 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¡ª 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. Chapter 5 - The Nameless Hand of Justice As dawn broke, the stone roads of Aldenora were shrouded in morning mist. The sun hadn¡¯t fully risen yet, but three shadows had already entered the city. Velmorian, Korrin, and Nyla... Three different beings, walking the same path of fate. Velmorian¡¯s steps were steady. Korrin¡¯s, as always, carried a light, sarcastic grace¡ªyet remained alert. Nyla walked a bit further behind. Her eyes scanned the streets, reading the expressions on people¡¯s faces. And those expressions¡­ Had changed. Where once the elderly walked with fearful, hurried steps, now they sat in small squares and chatted freely. There were whispers on the street corners¡ªbut not of fear. Of curiosity, and joy. ¡°Did you hear? Hogen is dead.¡± ¡°Whoever did it¡­ did the right thing.¡± ¡°Finally, someone brought justice...¡± ¡°They say no one will be threatened in the marketplace anymore.¡± Velmorian paused as he overheard the words. From a window, a child leaned out and shouted to his friends: ¡°Mom isn¡¯t scared to open her stall anymore!¡± Velmorian lowered his gaze. For the first time, he could feel the echoes of what he had done¡ªnot through words, but through sight. Korrin, sensing his silence, tapped his shoulder. ¡°You hear that?¡± he said softly. ¡°Sometimes the darkness inside you becomes someone else¡¯s light.¡± Velmorian didn¡¯t respond, but his eyes were full of meaning. The road ahead remained cloaked in shadow¡ªbut for the first time¡­ It felt like flowers were blooming beneath their feet. By the time they reached the city center, the inns had opened and the scent of fresh bread drifted from the bakeries. Just a few streets away, a man was shouting while reading from a flyer: ¡°Hogen Found Dead! The identity of the attacker behind the nighttime raid remains unknown, but the people rejoice!¡± Nyla, upon hearing this, smiled faintly. ¡°Strange, isn¡¯t it? Sometimes one death... means hundreds of breaths find peace.¡± Velmorian narrowed his eyes. ¡°Some deaths are silent. But their echoes last a lifetime.¡± Korrin shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the sky. ¡°So¡­ does that mean we¡¯ve earned breakfast now?¡± The Howling Badger Inn was as lively as ever. Tankards clinked, laughter echoed off the ceiling beams. But at the table tucked away in the back corner, only one person was truly laughing. Korrin was telling another story. His hands gestured wildly, sometimes raising his voice, sometimes slapping the table. ¡°So then the guy turns to me and says, ¡®You had five men!¡¯ And I go, ¡®Which one didn¡¯t you count?¡¯ Because I didn¡¯t even know three of them myself!¡± He laughed at his own joke, clearly enjoying it. Nyla gave a faint smile. One hand held a cup of mulled wine, the other a pouch of herbs. She looked focused, yet her eyes occasionally drifted toward Velmorian. Velmorian, however¡­ He wasn¡¯t really there. His gaze was fixed somewhere between his drink and the wooden table. But in his mind, he was seated at another table. With himself. And the parchment. ¡°Should I tell them? I¡¯m not alone anymore¡­ but this path still rests on my shoulders. Would Korrin trust me? Would he care? Nyla¡­ her eyes say so much, yet she reveals nothing.¡± He slowly reached inside his shirt, Fingers brushing against the hidden pocket where the parchment rested. Its warmth felt different now. As if it, too, wanted something. ¡°They¡¯re carrying me. But can they carry this secret as well?¡± Korrin tossed out another line, let out another laugh. But then he paused. He had noticed Velmorian¡¯s silence. ¡°Hey¡­ is this place boring, or is life just that depressing?¡± he asked with a grin. Velmorian looked up. His eyes settled on the faces at the table. He hesitated. Then, without a word, he reached for the parchment. Korrin¡¯s eyes narrowed with curiosity. ¡°What is it? Some secret treasure map? Let me guess¡­ the X is a trap, right?¡± Velmorian lifted his gaze. There was no sarcasm or hesitation on his face this time. Only weight¡ª As if a decision had risen from deep within his soul. ¡°It¡¯s not a map. It¡¯s a list. And by the time I understood what it was¡­ it was already too late.¡± He slowly pulled the parchment out and spread it on the table. Korrin¡¯s grin faded. Nyla¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°After every death¡­ A new name appears on the parchment,¡± Velmorian said, his voice low but firm. ¡°I don¡¯t choose them. But I¡¯m asked to kill them.¡± A stillness settled over the table. Korrin let out a brief laugh, but this time it was forced. ¡°So what¡­ it¡¯s like some kind of death list? A prophecy of who¡¯s gonna die next?¡± Velmorian shook his head. ¡°No, it¡¯s not a prophecy. At first, the names seemed predetermined. But then they changed. The first name had nothing to do with me¡­ But the second¡­ never mind. The truth is, the names appear whether or not I¡¯m connected to them.¡± Nyla didn¡¯t reach for the parchment, But her eyes never left it. ¡°And you¡­ you follow it without question?¡± Velmorian exhaled slowly. ¡°I question every name. Every death¡­ But in the end, they all bring me to the same place. And if I¡¯m walking this road with you¡ª You deserve to know.¡± Korrin locked eyes with him. His expression was unusually serious. ¡°Secrets don¡¯t carry well on long roads, my friend. But honesty¡ªhonesty¡¯s a shield made of stone. Let¡¯s see if your shoulders can bear its weight.¡± Nyla was quiet for a moment. Then, in a soft, almost playful voice, she said, ¡°So¡­ how far are you into your little death list, Aldenora¡¯s savior-slash-serial killer?¡± Velmorian averted his gaze. The answer was simple. But everything behind it was not. ¡°Hogen was the third. Forget the first two. The fourth is next.¡± Nyla¡¯s eyes widened slightly. ¡°So you killed Hogen¡­ just because his name was on that parchment?¡± Velmorian¡¯s voice dropped low. ¡°No. His blood¡­ it was bound to be spilled. The parchment just told me when.¡± A heavy silence settled over the table. Nyla took a sip of her wine. The thought on her face was as faint and precise as the stain on the rim of her cup. The inn remained loud and bustling. But their table¡­ it stood alone in its stillness. The parchment lay pale, cold, and quiet. But then¡­ That familiar, unsettling stir began again. Letters appeared, one after another. The first letter: L Then A Then the others fell into place: Laedra Linn Velmorian looked at the name. His brow furrowed slightly. The name meant nothing to him. ¡°I don¡¯t know her,¡± he said plainly. But at that moment¡­ Nyla¡¯s breath caught. She set down her cup¡ªtoo quickly. The glass clinked sharply against the wood. ¡°What¡­ did you say?¡± she whispered. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Velmorian turned to her. ¡°This name¡ªLaedra Linn. Do you know her?¡± Nyla didn¡¯t speak at first. Her gaze was locked on the parchment. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Then, finally, a voice: ¡°Know her? Of course I know her. Because of her¡­ I lost everything.¡± Korrin raised an eyebrow. ¡°Who is she?¡± Nyla¡¯s voice lacked its usual mockery. It was sharp. Clean. ¡°Laedra Linn¡­ is a shapechanger. One of those who take more than just faces¡ª voice, walk, mannerisms¡ªeverything. The people think she¡¯s a healer, a wise woman, a savior. But I¡­ I know what she really is.¡± Velmorian narrowed his eyes. ¡°What did she do to you?¡± Nyla looked away. But her voice tremble. ¡°She tricked me. Stole my knowledge. My alchemy formulas, my special mixtures... And then she branded me ¡®dangerous¡¯ and got me cast out of the guild. But I found things¡ªthings I can¡¯t even speak of¡ªtrailing behind her. People still think she¡¯s some kind of saint. But she¡¯s not. She¡¯s a parasite.¡± Silence fell over the table. Korrin stayed quiet for a while. Then slowly turned toward Velmorian. ¡°So this is¡­ revenge, Nyla? Or do you really think this name didn¡¯t show up by accident?¡± Nyla looked at Velmorian. There was a fire in her eyes, not new¡ªold. A scar lit up with memory. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But if this parchment truly seeks balance... Then Laedra Linn¡¯s time has come.¡± Korrin listened carefully, then turned his gaze to the parchment. After a long pause, he looked at Velmorian again. ¡°So killing her¡­ is it the will of the parchment? Or Nyla¡¯s desire? Which weighs more?¡± Velmorian didn¡¯t answer. His eyes scanned the folds of the parchment as if searching for something that might still change his mind. But the writing was already complete. Laedra Linn. The name remained. Not just written on paper, but etched deep into his conscience. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he finally said. ¡°But this time¡­ we have to be careful. If she¡¯s truly what Nyla says she is¡­ it¡¯s our responsibility to find out.¡± Korrin nodded. His smile carried no sarcasm¡ªjust weary acceptance. ¡°Then we start digging. But careful. In this city, everyone looks innocent.¡± Nyla didn¡¯t speak. But her eyes were sharp. Her voice, faint: ¡°I¡¯ll try to find her location.¡± ¡ª By the time Aldenora was still yawning in the early morning haze, Velmorian and Korrin were already on the move. Nyla had parted ways, deciding to gather information through her own channels. But Velmorian had his doubts about that solitary search. Still¡­ he said nothing. Korrin was, as usual, half-joking, half-focused. But this time, his laughter was sparse. The name Laedra Linn had planted a seed of doubt in him as well.
First Stop: The Orphanage District A small building surrounded by old stone walls. Children were playing out front, while a woman cleaned windows and kept a watchful eye. Velmorian approached and offered a polite nod. ¡°This was Laedra Linn¡¯s place, wasn¡¯t it?¡± The woman lowered her head. ¡°Yes¡­ we¡¯re still standing because of her.¡± ¡°Have you seen her recently?¡± She hesitated. ¡°She comes at night sometimes. Quietly in, quietly out. But the children always know she¡¯s been here¡ª Because in the morning, they find toys on their pillows.¡± Meanwhile, Korrin was speaking to a small girl. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. ¡°Last night¡­ I saw one Laedra. But then¡­ there was another one. And both of them looked at me.¡± Korrin¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°Two of them?¡± The girl nodded. ¡°One was outside the window¡­ the other was inside.¡± Velmorian and Korrin exchanged a glance.
Second Stop: The Market Square An old vendor arranging soaps among bundles of dried herbs spoke up: ¡°Laedra? She¡¯s a good woman. But¡­ on some nights, someone walks the back alleys of the market. We hear the footsteps, but¡­ there¡¯s no shadow.¡± Korrin whispered, ¡°A person who walks without a shadow is either not real¡­ or hiding from reality.¡±
Third Stop: The Seamstress ¡°Last month, a child from the orphanage disappeared. No one says anything but¡­ One of the children said, ¡®Flying Teddy came and took me into my dream.¡¯¡± Velmorian froze. Korrin leaned in slightly. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± The woman shrugged. ¡°There are figures... from the children¡¯s dream worlds. Laedra sometimes turns into them. Apparently¡­ sometimes into more than that.¡±
As the sun set, the two regrouped. Plenty of information¡ªno answers. The sun had retreated from the rooftops, shadows had grown long. Velmorian and Korrin returned to the inn¡¯s back courtyard, where they had agreed to meet. But Nyla¡­ wasn¡¯t there. At first, Korrin just shrugged. ¡°Maybe she¡¯s still out digging. She¡¯ll be here soon.¡± But hours passed. The air turned chilly. Street lanterns flickered on. A sense of unease grew in Velmorian¡¯s chest. Even Korrin had stopped smiling. The two began circling the city again. They checked streets Nyla might prefer, inns, alchemist stalls, spice shops¡­ But there was no trace of her. No one had seen her. No one had heard of her. Then¡­ As they walked down a narrow street, a woman and a little girl caught their eye. The woman¡¯s eyes were tearful¡ªbut smiling. The little girl skipped beside her with a bouquet of wildflowers in her hand. Korrin gave a polite nod. ¡°Out for a lovely evening walk?¡± The woman stopped, her expression glowing with grateful surprise. ¡°Yes¡­ thanks to Laedra.¡± Velmorian instantly tensed. ¡°What did you say? Laedra?¡± The woman nodded. ¡°My daughter¡­ she had been burning with fever for weeks. No healer could help. But Laedra Linn¡­ she gave her just a few drops of something. And¡­ look,¡± she said, brushing the girl¡¯s cheek, ¡°She¡¯s smiling. For the first time.¡± Korrin glanced at Velmorian, then turned back to the woman. ¡°Where is Laedra¡¯s cottage?¡± The woman didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Just outside the city. At the end of the old stone road. Up a hill. Red roof, dried herbs hanging out front. You can¡¯t miss it.¡± Velmorian gave a slow nod. ¡°Thank you.¡± The two slowly stepped back. Their steps were heavy, but steady. The evening blue had taken hold of the forest. The stone road had given way to dirt, then to moss-covered steps... With every step, the shadows grew denser, and Velmorian¡¯s dagger pulsed as if following the rhythm of his heart. Korrin brushed a yellow ribbon dangling from a bush. ¡°This is the place,¡± he said. ¡°The child¡¯s mother mentioned it. Dried herbs... red roof... this is it.¡± The cottage was silent. The door closed, but a faint light bled through the window. As Velmorian stepped closer, a crackling sound came from behind. A muffled noise... And then a scream not meant to be heard: ¡°NYLA!¡± Velmorian¡¯s hand instinctively reached for his dagger. Korrin instantly projected an illusion¡ªfootsteps from another direction. The two darted to the side door of the cottage. Inside, the scene was far from what they expected. Nyla lay on the floor. Claw marks across her arms, her eyes filled with fury and shock. And across from her... Laedra Linn. But not in her usual form. She had taken the shape of a massive panther¡ª Midnight-black, with muscles rippling under her fur, Emerald green eyes, and silver-streaked sheen. A low growl rumbled from her throat¡ª not just physical, but laced with magic. The panther readied for another strike at Nyla when Velmorian intervened. Korrin cast another illusion to distract, but the beast didn¡¯t flinch¡ª it was too smart. From the ground, Nyla rasped, ¡°The dagger... use the dagger! Or she¡¯ll take us all one by one!¡± Velmorian hesitated. But in that moment, the panther lunged. In a final reflex, Velmorian drew the dagger and thrust upward beneath the beast. A shriek echoed¡ª but it didn¡¯t belong to the panther alone. It held the terror of a human, the rage of a creature, and the heartbreak of a woman. When Velmorian drove the dagger into the panther¡¯s body, there was no explosion. No blood sprayed. Only¡­ time stopped. His pupils dilated. His breath froze. The world disappeared. In its place¡­ came memories. Velmorian was no longer seeing through his own eyes¡ª but through Laedra¡¯s. One morning¡­ A small child, hands trembling, dropped a piece of bread. Laedra knelt, meeting his gaze. ¡°How about apple pie today instead of bread?¡± she said. The child¡¯s eyes lit up with joy. Another scene: A cold winter night. Laedra sat beside a feverish child in the orphanage. In her hands were healing herbs... But her face was that of another woman. The child didn¡¯t know who she truly was¡ª But he wasn¡¯t afraid. Because she always looked like someone she trusted. Then, another figure¡­ Late at night, under a streetlamp, Laedra was speaking with a man. The man was frightened¡ªLaedra had discovered a crime he¡¯d committed in the past. But she didn¡¯t threaten him with the knowledge. She simply remained silent¡­ And by morning, the man had vanished. No one ever found a trace of him again. Then¡­ A woman¡¯s voice: ¡°She got me expelled from the guild! She stole all my alchemical formulas!¡± It was Nyla¡¯s voice. But that moment¡­ wasn¡¯t present in Laedra¡¯s memory. Instead, there was a shapeshifter quietly looking through Nyla¡¯s notebook. But her expression was one of pain. As if stealing Nyla¡¯s formulas was not a pleasure, but a necessity. A duty. Nyla had been developing forbidden rituals to enter the Temple of the Dead¡ª spells that were frowned upon by the guild. So her formulas were destroyed. And the one who took them¡­ did so to preserve something darker. In the midst of the memories, Velmorian was torn. Laedra did not seem like a malicious soul. But neither was she honest. She protected people. But she used their most vulnerable moments. She helped the innocent. But she had long forgotten her own true face. The visions slowly faded. Only one thing remained¡ª a whisper: ¡°You cannot be our heir if you do not know whom you¡¯ve killed.¡± Velmorian opened his eyes. The dagger was still in his hand. The panther¡¯s eyes had dimmed. But they held no pain. Slowly, Velmorian stood. His hands still trembled. The final shadow shimmer on the blade faded away. He looked down¡ª The panther¡¯s body lay still, Laedra¡¯s last form now no more than a silhouette. Korrin approached in silence. His eyes were friendly, but questioning. ¡°What did you see?¡± he asked. Velmorian lifted his gaze. There was conflict in his eyes¡ªanger, regret, emptiness... But most of all, weariness. ¡°I can¡¯t quite tell what was right or wrong anymore,¡± he said quietly. ¡°But I know this much¡ª she didn¡¯t deserve to die. At least... not like this.¡± Korrin fell silent for a moment. Then his eyes scanned the room. ¡°Where¡¯s Nyla?¡± he asked. No answer. Because at that moment, Velmorian realized it too. Nyla was gone. The back door was slightly ajar. She had slipped away like a shadow. Velmorian cursed silently¡ª At Nyla. At himself. Chapter 6 - Born From Ashes Laedra Linn¡¯s cottage was silent now. But the silence inside was not just that of death¡­ It was the echo of a night where oaths had been broken. Velmorian stepped over the threshold. The night¡¯s chill brushed against his skin, but the cold within him ran deeper. Korrin followed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. The back door of the cottage was still ajar. No trace remained of which direction Nyla had gone. No footprints¡­ no shadow¡­ no sound. Velmorian walked for a while without looking back. The dirt beneath his boots slowly turned into a path laced with grass. ¡°Should we try to find her?¡± Korrin asked softly. Velmorian didn¡¯t stop. ¡°No,¡± he said, his voice calm but resolute. ¡°I made no vow to anyone. But I will never again betray my own beliefs.¡± Korrin bowed his head in silence. Then murmured, almost to himself: ¡°Sometimes¡­ following someone means losing your own path.¡± Velmorian was still lost in the memories he had seen through Laedra¡¯s eyes. A wounded soul¡­ broken, yet still healing others. He had taken a life, and yet¡­ he didn¡¯t feel like a murderer. And Nyla¡ªshe had orchestrated the kill like a game. ¡°Whatever the end of this road may be,¡± Velmorian said, ¡°I¡¯ll reach it not by someone else¡¯s truths... but by my own choices.¡± At the edge of the forest trail, they stepped onto the cobbled main path. The sky was shifting from violet to blue. A new day was about to begin. Velmorian didn¡¯t take out the parchment. Not yet. This time¡­ he would walk not for a name, but for a decision. Aldenora¡¯s marketplace was brimming with colorful fabrics, the scent of spices, and the shouts of vendors. Korrin wandered between the stalls like a mischievous seagull. ¡°Handmade soaps! Handmade pottery! Handmade... lies!¡± he mimicked loudly. A few vendors gave him stern looks, but couldn¡¯t help smiling. Velmorian walked a few steps behind him. The sunlight struck his face, and the market¡¯s hum clashed with the silence in his mind. Korrin stopped by a fabric stand, running his fingers along the velvet. ¡°Look at this, Velmorian. If I wore this¡­ I¡¯d be the most stylish dropout of the Velshara Academy of Magic!¡± Velmorian allowed himself a faint smile. For a few seconds, a thread of peace touched his weary soul. But then¡­ Beyond one of the stalls, he saw a silhouette. Her back was turned. Red hair danced in the light breeze. A green shawl draped over her shoulder. Her fingers were examining a piece of fabric. She said something to the seamstress beside her, then laughed. The voice was familiar. The laughter even more so. Velmorian¡¯s swallow went unheard, but his throat tightened. Nyssara. Korrin kept talking, but Velmorian no longer heard him. A single sentence echoed in his mind: ¡°I died because of her betrayal... and yet she¡¯s still smiling.¡± As Nyssara¡¯s hands moved over the fabric, Velmorian remembered¡ªhe once held those hands. But now¡­ he was just a stranger. Nyssara suddenly lifted her head. As if she had felt a gaze. Her eyes scanned the crowd¡­ but never found Velmorian. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then Nyssara turned back to the fabrics. She kept on living. Velmorian turned away. Korrin had fallen silent, watching him closely. "Your face... darkened all of a sudden," he said. Velmorian closed his eyes, and a thought rose from deep within: ¡°Once, my existence was her whole world. Now, my absence goes unnoticed.¡± When Velmorian opened his eyes again, the market crowd was still the same. Colorful fabrics fluttered, spices filled the air. But the world inside him was quiet. Korrin stepped closer, his voice carrying its usual soft warmth: ¡°Was it someone you knew?¡± Velmorian didn¡¯t answer. But Korrin¡¯s expression showed he already knew. ¡°If I were in your shoes,¡± Korrin said after a brief pause, turning his face to some faraway point, ¡°...I¡¯d still walk over and say hello. Sometimes, final words don¡¯t just free others¡ªthey free us too.¡± Velmorian shook his head slowly. ¡°When I died, she kept on laughing with someone else. That¡¯s an answer in itself, I suppose.¡± Korrin smiled, but this time, the smile held more understanding than amusement. ¡°My friend... sometimes the hardest goodbyes are the ones we never get to say.¡± The two continued walking slowly. Velmorian didn¡¯t look at the parchment. None of the names had ever written pain like this one. And yet, it was one of the deepest. As the market crowd faded behind them, Velmorian remained silent. Nyssara¡¯s silhouette clung to him like a shadow on his shoulder. Korrin didn¡¯t break the silence¡ªfor a while. But then, noticing Velmorian absentmindedly lingering beside a fabric stall, he rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle. ¡°All right, that¡¯s enough,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ve reached peak emotional collapse. Time for the rebound.¡± Velmorian looked at him, not with sarcasm¡ªjust weariness. Korrin, however, grabbed him by the arm. ¡°Follow me. You¡¯re about to meet Aldenora¡¯s finest tailor¡ªand her most impatient customer.¡± ¡°What are you doing?¡± Velmorian asked, offering no resistance, though wary. ¡°I¡¯m bringing some color into your life, my friend. At least enough to wear.¡± He grinned. ¡°We¡¯re finally going to challenge your eternal brown coat and shirt obsession.¡± They stepped away from the crowd and into quieter, stone-paved streets. Through small arched alleys, narrow passages. Eventually, they stopped in front of an old shop, its roof crowned with a small wind chime. Faded golden letters on the sign read: ¡°Maerin¡¯s Needle ¨C Forms May Change, the Soul Remains.¡± Korrin turned to Velmorian. ¡°Ready to meet a coat with a soul?¡± The door to Maerin¡¯s shop opened with a soft chime. Inside, the scents of lavender and aged fabric mingled in the air. Dozens of rolled-up fabrics lined the wooden shelves. On the walls, half-finished garments from various eras hung silently. In the center stood a long cutting table and a stitching station. When Velmorian stepped inside, he couldn¡¯t understand why such a humble place was said to house the city¡¯s best tailor. But when he saw Maerin, his opinion shifted. She was old, yet spry. Her hair was the purest silver-gray, tied into a tight bun. Glasses perched at the tip of her nose, scanning each customer from head to toe with a sharp eye. The moment Korrin stepped in, he threw his arms open. ¡°Madam! I bring you a new customer¡ªalong with a soul begging to be stitched.¡± Maerin looked up. First at Korrin, then at Velmorian. ¡°That soul¡­ looks like a cloud of black fog,¡± she said. Then let out a short chuckle. ¡°Come in, boy. Looks like whatever you¡¯re wearing has been thoroughly punished by your enemies.¡± Velmorian entered as if he hadn¡¯t heard the comment. His eyes wandered over the fabrics, but his mind was still caught in Nyssara¡¯s gaze¡ªa memory of a past long lost. Maerin began circling him to take measurements. ¡°Fighter¡¯s build¡­ but with graceful movements. Perhaps a sword dancer in another life, hmm?¡± Velmorian said nothing. Maerin stared sharply. ¡°Those who carry darkness tend to stay silent. No matter¡­ I know what to do.¡± Korrin, curled up in a corner flipping through fabrics, chimed in: ¡°Don¡¯t make it too flashy. Then again, who am I talking to¡ªyou read people¡¯s souls.¡± Maerin paused for a beat, then nodded. ¡°Someone carrying this much trouble needs solid armor.¡± She turned to Velmorian. ¡°A coat the color of midnight. A shirt in pale grey, with a high collar. Hidden pockets sewn into the sleeves. An overcoat that reaches the knees, slitted on both sides for silent movement. No visible stitching, but inner seams woven with symbols. It will speak of you.¡± For the first time, Velmorian felt something stir inside him. A tailor who didn¡¯t know him¡­ had somehow understood him. He simply nodded. Maerin smiled. ¡°And the dagger?¡± Velmorian flinched again. ¡°We¡¯ll make a special place for it,¡± she said. ¡°It must rest closest to your heart. Hidden¡ªbut always within reach.¡± Korrin grinned. ¡°We¡¯re literally stitching clothes to your soul. Anyway, I¡¯m off to design my own colorful disaster.¡± Maerin stood in front of Velmorian. ¡°When you¡¯re ready, you¡¯ll wear yourself. Clothing isn¡¯t always a cover. Sometimes, it¡¯s the shape of the path you walk.¡±
The next morning, at the break of dawn, the shop door opened again. Maerin stood at the ready. ¡°Your outfits are done, boys. Let¡¯s see if your souls are awake this morning.¡± Korrin burst in, excited. ¡°If I can dance in it, then yes, definitely awake!¡± Maerin turned her gaze to Velmorian, studying him. ¡°Your outfit¡­ it won¡¯t hide you. It won¡¯t shield you from blades. But it will carry you.¡± Velmorian stepped behind the curtain she pointed to. A few minutes later, the curtain slowly drew back. When he stepped out in his new clothes, even the light inside the shop seemed to settle differently on him. A coat in deep shades of night, appearing seamless but woven inside with symbolic patterns. It matched the pale grey shirt beneath it. The overcoat draped over his shoulders moved silently with each step. Korrin let out a whistle. ¡°Is that Velmorian? Or a shadow come to stab our eyes instead of his own heart?¡± Velmorian stared at the mirror. For the first time, his outward appearance matched the weight he carried inside. Then Korrin stepped out from his own corner. He wore a dark navy jacket, lined with bright yellow accents, a vest decorated with golden buttons, and slim-cut trousers. His boots were sharp¡ªeye-catching, but tasteful. Maerin raised an eyebrow. ¡°That confidence radiating off you¡ªsome of it¡¯s thanks to the fabric.¡± Korrin admired himself in the mirror. ¡°Like this, I could deceive, charm, and possibly seduce three noble lords at once.¡± Velmorian tilted his head slightly. ¡°You¡¯re already in love¡ªwith yourself.¡± Korrin winked. ¡°Sometimes, that¡¯s the only relationship that actually works.¡± As the two stepped out of the shop together, the wind of the city brushed against their new clothes. With each step, one of them carried the shadow of the past¡­ The other, the mask of the future. Aldenora¡¯s streets were bathed in midday sun. Moving through the shade in their new outfits, Velmorian and Korrin tried to decide where to head next. Korrin¡¯s eyes locked onto a craftsman¡¯s shop in a narrow alley. ¡°Those silver brooches... don¡¯t they look a bit too noble for their own good?¡± Velmorian was about to respond when his eyes suddenly caught a familiar silhouette in the crowd. Just a few steps away, a woman in a thick cloak¡­ Nyla. She was walking slowly, disappearing into a side alley. Velmorian¡¯s body froze instinctively. Korrin noticed immediately. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°No,¡± Velmorian said, his gaze locked on the silhouette. ¡°Nyla... she''s there.¡± Korrin followed his eyes at once. ¡°She¡¯s definitely walking away. But why did she run in the first place?¡± Velmorian frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But she might have the answers.¡± The two of them began to follow her in silence. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Nyla moved away from the crowd and entered quieter streets. She never looked back¡ªalmost as if she knew they were behind her. At the end of the street, she stepped into a narrow passage between stone houses. Velmorian and Korrin kept a bit of distance. Korrin whispered, ¡°What are the chances this is a trap?¡± Velmorian didn¡¯t answer, but his fingers lightly brushed the hilt of his dagger. The woman finally opened the door to an old stone house, its high walls wrapped in ivy. She slipped inside, and the door closed quietly behind her. Velmorian and Korrin stopped at the corner of the street. They stood in silence, eyes on the door. Korrin raised an eyebrow and murmured, ¡°She might be working on something related to that temple she mentioned to Hogen.¡± Velmorian¡¯s voice was low but firm. ¡°There¡¯s only one way to find out¡­ we go in.¡± The door to the stone house opened heavily, but without a sound. As Velmorian took his first step inside, the air felt almost still. The scent was familiar. Not just the dry roots of herbs¡­ But a subtle mix of lavender and toxic flower extracts. He had smelled this combination countless times leaking from Nyla¡¯s alchemy bag. Korrin stepped in behind him, sniffing. ¡°Yup. She brewed that purple stuff again, didn¡¯t she?¡± Velmorian let his eyes wander through the house. On the table, an open notebook. Familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages. Plant sketches, mixing ratios¡­ and a note scribbled in the margin: ¡°Swallowwort + blood-stained crocus. Doesn¡¯t sedate¡ªdistorts awareness.¡± In the corner, Nyla¡¯s signature purple concoction sat in a glass vial, still steaming. Just then, a creak came from the wooden stairs above. Footsteps slowly descended. Then a figure appeared. Nyla. Her face wore the usual half-mocking, half-indifferent smile. ¡°So¡­ you really came,¡± she said, stepping down the stairs. ¡°If I¡¯d known you¡¯d fall for such a simple trap, I would''ve tied a red ribbon to the door.¡± Korrin rolled his eyes. ¡°Did we walk into a trap, or did you just¡­ come home?¡± Then chuckled softly. ¡°Judging by the decor, you missed this place.¡± Velmorian said nothing. But his hand was drifting toward the dagger at his belt. The smiling woman¡¯s eyes moved from one of them to the other. ¡°There¡¯s only one question left for me to ask¡­¡± she said. She took one more step down. ¡°¡­Did you really believe it?¡± As Nyla descended the stairs completely, even her footsteps echoed against the walls. The dark coat she wore looked more composed than before¡ª but it couldn¡¯t hide the expression in her eyes. Velmorian¡¯s hand was resting on the hilt of his dagger, but he hadn¡¯t drawn it. ¡°Believe in what?¡± he asked, voice cold. Nyla tilted her head slightly, her smile unchanged. ¡°Weren¡¯t you the ones walking beside me? Making decisions together? And now your hand rests on a blade¡­ oh, how quickly friendship fades.¡± Korrin raised his hands, as if searching for middle ground. ¡°Friendship doesn¡¯t fade, Nyla. But when you vanish and draw us into a dark house¡­ a little suspicion is natural, right?¡± Nyla let out a short, sharp laugh¡ª high-pitched, and just a little unhinged. ¡°Suspicion¡­ yes. Just like the kind you feel when you learn someone might stab you in the back.¡± Velmorian¡¯s brows drew together. The silence was becoming too heavy to bear. ¡°Why did you run?¡± Nyla walked calmly into the center of the room. As she passed the table, her fingers trailed across the open notebook. ¡°Run? I simply¡­ realized certain things a little earlier than you.¡± She stopped in the middle of the room. Her eyes locked on Velmorian. Her fingers still hovered over the notebook. ¡°And what I realized¡­¡± she said with chilling calm, ¡°¡­was that you were going to come here to kill me.¡± Velmorian¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Who told you that?¡± Nyla tilted her head slightly. ¡°This city¡­ carries whispers in its walls. But the real whispers were inside your own thoughts. I merely walked a few steps ahead of them.¡± Korrin raised his eyebrows. ¡°All of this cryptic talk is making me more nervous, not less. Speak plainly, Nyla.¡± At that moment, she smiled. Her smile¡­ was cold. Flawless. And then¡­ it changed. In a blink¡ª her body twisted, her silhouette rippled¡ª and Nyla¡¯s face vanished. In her place stood¡­ Laedra Linn. Red hair flowed down. Her eyes turned to a chilling shade of ice blue. ¡°Did you really¡­ think you had killed me?¡± Her voice was identical to Nyla¡¯s¡ª but now layered with an echo, as if two voices spoke at once. Velmorian¡¯s throat clenched. His eyes widened. He understood, in that very moment, the mistake he¡¯d made. He had never looked at the parchment. With a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket. He pulled it out. Korrin stepped back. ¡°This¡­ how is this even possible?¡± Velmorian scanned the parchment. His eyes darted over the lines. The first three names were erased. But the fourth? It was still there. ¡°Laedra Linn.¡± The parchment felt heavier in Velmorian¡¯s hand¡ª no longer just a message, but the weight of guilt itself. ¡°Then¡­¡± he whispered, ¡°¡­the one I killed¡­¡± Laedra took a step forward. ¡°You thought killing a self-proclaimed king made you powerful, Velmorian?¡± Velmorian staggered slightly. His eyes flicked to the notebook, to the plant mixtures, to the familiar scent in the air. Everything¡­ had felt like Nyla. But she wasn¡¯t. It was all¡­ an illusion. ¡°Then where is Nyla?¡± Velmorian asked. Laedra only smiled. ¡°Wherever your dagger struck last... that¡¯s where she is.¡± She stood tall within the shadows. There was no rage in her eyes, nor fear. Only the calm of an actress stepping into the next act of her performance. Korrin was still trying to grasp what was happening, while Velmorian held the parchment in his hands, slowly absorbing the weight of his mistake. Laedra broke the silence. ¡°The night you came to kill me,¡± she said softly¡ªher voice brushed the ears like a whisper, ¡°I saw you approaching the cottage. The dagger¡¯s darkness walked ahead of you. But you made the mistake I expected.¡± Velmorian lifted his head. His eyes didn¡¯t flinch from hers. ¡°You were impatient.¡± Laedra stepped forward, letting her fingers brush along the notebook¡¯s edge, as if every truth was already written on those pages. ¡°While you were drawing near the cottage, I had already incapacitated Nyla. Loyal, angry, ambitious Nyla¡­ Her ambition clouded her vision so much, she forgot I was a shapechanger.¡± Korrin¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°What does that mean?¡± Laedra turned her gaze to him. Her eyes glinted. ¡°Turning her into an unconscious panther wasn¡¯t difficult. She became your victim without even knowing it. Her mind¡­ swallowed by darkness. And I¡­ took her face. Her voice. Her mannerisms. And you¡­ never questioned it.¡± Velmorian felt ice spread through his veins. The dagger¡­ It had struck the panther. Laedra stepped closer, continuing: ¡°When you burst inside, the panther¡¯s roar was still shaking the walls. And I¡­ became the one who fought by your side. The one who guarded your back. And you¡­ trusted me. You struck her with the dagger.¡± She let out a laugh. Not one of joy. Not of sorrow. But of serene pride. ¡°The dagger showed you memories, just as if you had killed me. But that was part of the plan, Velmorian. Because you only saw what you wanted to see.¡± Velmorian stepped forward. His eyes were burning, but his voice was ice. ¡°Nyla¡­ did I kill her?¡± Laedra bowed her head slightly. ¡°Yes. You did. But I don¡¯t blame you. If someone had played such tricks on me, I probably would¡¯ve fallen for them too.¡± Korrin turned his eyes to Velmorian. There was anger in them, disappointment¡ª but above all, a silent mourning. Velmorian¡¯s dagger trembled slightly in his hand. Laedra took one final step forward, then stopped. The look on her face held no triumph¡ªonly tragedy. ¡°Now do you understand? Why my name is still written on the parchment? Though I had assumed you¡¯d checked it by now¡­ I was wrong.¡± The shadows moved. Velmorian¡¯s fingers clutched the parchment tightly. Laedra¡¯s voice echoed from the ceilings¡ª and in that moment, something snapped. Korrin glanced sideways at Velmorian. ¡°This ends now,¡± Korrin said, his voice sharp as ice. Laedra smiled. ¡°You¡¯re ending it¡­ yet you don¡¯t even know who you¡¯re truly fighting.¡± She snapped her fingers. The walls trembled. The light filtering in twisted, bent. When Velmorian took a step forward, the shape of the room shifted. Mirrors emerged¡ªsome real, some reflections. And in each, a different face: Nyla¡¯s smile. Nyssara¡¯s tearful eyes. His own reflection¡ª as a child. Velmorian staggered. ¡°What... what is this?¡± Laedra¡¯s voice reverberated. ¡°Your past. Your sins. Your weaknesses.¡± For a moment, Velmorian was frozen where he stood. But just then, Korrin traced a sigil into the air. His fingertips flared with light¡ªthen vibrated. A warm pulse spread through the room. Mirrors cracked. Several illusions shattered. But Laedra¡¯s face¡­ was still everywhere. ¡°Enough!¡± Velmorian shouted. He drew his dagger. A cold hiss followed¡ª not of metal, but of a soul¡¯s anguish. He lunged like a shadow. Laedra shifted suddenly¡ªtaking on Nyla¡¯s face. She recoiled. Velmorian hesitated, eyes narrowing. ¡°Not this time¡­ you won¡¯t fool me.¡± He swung the dagger. Laedra barely dodged. The fight had begun. With every strike, Laedra changed faces. She showed him Nyla¡ª then Korrin¡ª even the visage of Death itself. But Korrin stayed calm. He slipped between two illusions, whispering another spell. ¡°Burn the false!¡± One of Laedra¡¯s forms caught fire. It roared¡ªmorphing into a panther. Velmorian leapt at it with the dagger, but the panther turned into smoke¡ª and from another corner, Laedra emerged once more. ¡°To think you could defeat me this easily¡­ such arrogance.¡± Velmorian was out of breath. He drove the dagger into the ground. ¡°I won¡¯t fight your games anymore,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll find the real you.¡± He closed his eyes, gripping the dagger tightly. This time, it didn¡¯t show memories¡ª but emotions: fear, guilt, regret. The dagger turned toward Laedra¡¯s true presence. And when he opened his eyes¡ª he saw her. Behind him. He stepped forward. He turned. And struck. Laedra¡¯s body suddenly stopped. Her eyes locked onto Velmorian. A heartbeat of silence. Then¡ª the illusions collapsed. The walls returned to their normal shape. The mirrors cracked. The faces melted away, one by one. Until only Laedra remained. The real one. With trembling lips, she whispered: ¡°I only wanted... to protect them.¡± Velmorian stepped back. The dagger still trembled in his hand. He pulled out the parchment. The name¡­ was beginning to fade. Laedra dropped to her knees. Tears didn¡¯t fall from her eyes¡ª memories did. Childish laughter, crayon drawings, hopeful words flowing across her face. Her final breath came like a quiet plea: ¡°If there was no world to feed them... I would build one. But I failed.¡± And she collapsed. All that remained was a small, torn scrap of paper, written in a child¡¯s handwriting: ¡°Big sister Laedra will never leave us.¡±
Velmorian stepped back, his eyes still fixed on Laedra¡¯s fallen body. But the dagger... kept trembling. Then¡ªsuddenly¡ª A spark exploded in his mind. Darkness fell. Wind howled. For a heartbeat, he heard nothing. And then¡ª the whispers of memories began.
First Vision: Laedra in a small orphanage. Dusty shelves, cracked windows, wind slipping through the walls... But inside¡ªjoy. A little girl draws with a stubby crayon. ¡°Look, Laedra! This is you! And we¡¯re all around you¡ªwe love you!¡± Laedra smiles. An old herb book in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other, stirring food, telling stories to the children.
Second Vision: Laedra in a hidden cellar. Shelves full of alchemy books and herbal concoctions. She¡¯s examining a parchment covered in complex symbols¡ª the map and key to the Lost Temple. ¡°These formulas¡­ if placed in the correct order, with the right symbols¡­ the Temple will open. And the gold inside¡ª it will be theirs. None of them will go hungry again.¡± A shadow appears behind her: Nyla.
Third Vision: Nyla and Laedra at the same table. Laedra speaks with excitement, filled with hope. ¡°Look, if we work together we¡¯ll be faster. Your poison formulas are strong¡ª but if we restructure them¡ª¡± Nyla listens, but her eyes spark. Neither truly trusts the other. A mistake is made. One of Laedra¡¯s formulas is stolen.
Fourth Vision: Laedra realizes Nyla¡¯s true plan. She sees now¡ª Nyla only craved power, not the children¡¯s future. Late at night, she sits in her cottage, alone. ¡°I should¡¯ve been more careful. But now... it¡¯s too late.¡± The path to the Lost Temple is complete. But Laedra walks it alone.
Fifth Vision: Laedra watches Velmorian and Korrin from afar. In her arms, Nyla¡ª still unconscious in her panther form. Laedra takes her face, copies her voice. A tear rolls down her cheek. ¡°Forgive me, Nyla¡­ but I have no other choice. This is¡­ for the children.¡±
End of the Visions. When Velmorian opened his eyes, his hands still clutched the dagger. Sweat traced down his face. Korrin stood in silence, realizing something had changed. Velmorian whispered: "She... truly wanted to help." "She found the path into the Temple. She wanted to give the gold to the children. But... Nyla abandoned her halfway." Korrin dropped his gaze to the ground. "Sometimes¡­ the wrong thing is done with the right intention," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. A silence settled over them. The dagger no longer trembled. But Velmorian did. Night had fallen over Aldenora¡¯s edges. The city slept, unaware of Laedra¡¯s death¡ª but its echo followed the steps of two men. Velmorian walked in silence. Korrin wanted to say something, but held his tongue. Because in that moment, words were useless. Laedra¡¯s memories still turned within Velmorian¡¯s mind¡ª that small drawing in the orphanage, the alchemical formulas, a friend who had become a panther, and a hope that had died at the tip of his blade. Then something happened. The parchment in his pocket stirred. Velmorian stopped. Suddenly, the wind stilled. The shadows bent inward¡ª as if called to an unseen center. The temperature hadn¡¯t dropped, yet every breath turned to mist. And then came the voice. Death. ¡°Have you realized how much easier it is to kill someone¡­ than to understand them?¡± No footsteps were heard. But suddenly¡ªit was there. The white robe did not shine in the moonlight¡ª it absorbed the darkness. Its voice¡­ not a single voice¡ª but a single thought spoken through many mouths: ¡°The parchment has fallen silent. Because you silenced it.¡± Velmorian didn¡¯t answer. ¡°You stabbed a soul whose name was never written. You severed a fate that was never yours to decide.¡± Korrin, unaware, kept walking. Death spoke only to Velmorian. ¡°You were the bearer of this path. But now¡­ the scales of balance have tipped.¡± Velmorian looked straight ahead, unblinking. His voice was slow, but clear. ¡°Her face was Nyla¡¯s. Her voice, her hands¡­ I¡ª¡± Death cut him off. ¡°¡ªYou didn¡¯t kill her for what she was. You killed her for what you wanted her to be.¡± Silence again. Then, Death turned its gaze to the parchment. It had no eyes. But still¡ªit saw. ¡°This mistake cannot be ignored.¡± Velmorian¡¯s dagger grew heavy. He dropped to his knees¡ª his arm aching under its weight. The blade was no longer metal. It was shadow. But the echo within it... was anger. Velmorian knelt, the dagger vibrating in his hand. But this time, it did not guide him. It accused him. Death moved closer. Its robe did not drag¡ª it flowed across the ground without touching it. It did not raise its arms¡ª but its words tore through the sky like thunder: ¡°This world does not belong only to the living, Velmorian. The dead, too, have their rights.¡± Suddenly, the parchment unfurled on its own. There was no wind¡ª yet its pages turned. The fourth name had vanished. Below it¡ª a blank space. And in that space... A charred black scar appeared. No letter. No name. Only a burned, blackened wound. Velmorian squinted, but the more he looked, the deeper it pulled him in. ¡°This,¡± Death said, its voice now echoing from somewhere deeper than the earth, ¡°is the mark left by the sacrifice of an unchosen soul.¡± Another whisper spread. ¡°That mark¡­ will not fade.¡± Velmorian wanted to look away¡ª but he couldn¡¯t. And Death¡ª vanished in the blink of an eye. Swallowed by nothingness. Velmorian remained where he was. That burned mark had etched itself not just into the parchment¡ª but into the soil beneath his knees. From a distance, Korrin called out: ¡°You falling behind, Vel? Aren¡¯t we moving on?¡± Velmorian lifted his head. ¡°We¡¯re going,¡± he said. But deep inside, another voice echoed: ¡°But even you¡­ no longer know where you''re walking toward.¡±