《Arcastra》


 1. An interesting proposition(Rouis)

    The dilapidated building seemed to stand upright out of sheer defiance, a precarious assembly of blackened planks and reddish stones. The walls, eaten away by fungi and invasive mold, allowed the wind to whistle through gaping cracks.


    The door creaked as it opened, revealing a suffocating and dim interior. The air, heavy with the rancid smell of beer and sweat, clung to the nostrils like an invisible threat.


    Beneath his boots, a floor of packed dirt mixed with filthy straw crunched softly, littered with debris and dried mud stains. Wobbly tables and benches, stained and poorly crafted, were scattered in a nearly chaotic disarray.


    On the walls, only a few tanned hides broke the grimy emptiness, while flickering candles and smoky torches cast dancing shadows like specters.


    Behind a soiled counter, a stocky old man watched with his gaze lowered. The innkeeper looked as worn as the establishment he inhabited.


    ¡ª ¡°Do you have the coin, Rouis?¡± Barca asked, his tone shakier than he had intended.


    His hand gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles whitening under the strain, as though seeking support to keep himself steady. A drop of sweat, cold despite the stifling heat of the room, slid down his spine.


    With a sudden movement, he grabbed a bottle from the shelf. The glass clattered against the wooden counter, releasing a splash of brown liquid that pooled into a sticky puddle, emitting an acrid smell. Barca carefully avoided Rouis¡¯s gaze, fixing his eyes instead on the puddle as if it held an escape route.


    ¡ª ¡°Drink it and go¡­¡±


    Rouis, unperturbed, took the glass between his fingers and slowly swirled it. A thin, sharp smile stretched across his lips. He raised the glass to his mouth and drank it down in one gulp, his expression unwavering, the bitterness of the alcohol drawing barely a furrow of his brow.


    Barca, on the other hand, trembled. His sweaty hands nervously grazed the bottles within his reach, searching for something to do. Rouis tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed on the innkeeper¡¯s.


    He let the silence settle, sharp as a blade hanging over its prey.


    ¡ª ¡°Thanks for the drink,¡± he finally murmured.


    The tone, light and almost friendly, sent a chill through Barca greater than any explicit threat could have. Rouis straightened up, his imposing silhouette casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the old man¡¯s. With a mocking smile, he turned on his heels.


    Barely out of the bar, Rouis felt the darkness envelop him like a damp, icy cloak. Every uneven cobblestone under his boots seemed to conspire against him, their grime-slick surfaces faintly reflecting the sparse flickers of light. The air, heavy with the stench of rot and spoiled meat, clawed at his lungs, thick and suffocating.


    In the corners, mounds of refuse shifted imperceptibly, revealing massive rats whose robust bodies slid through the debris with unsettling ease. One paused briefly, its red eyes gleaming in the gloom, before vanishing into a crack in the wall.


    The facades of the buildings oozed with moisture, rivulets of filth tracing erratic paths down the blackened stones. Through gaping windows, flickering shadows hinted at deserted interiors haunted by silence.


    The wind whistled, making the rusted signs of abandoned shops creak. Tattered clothes hanging from sagging lines flapped feebly, like flags of surrender in this forsaken quarter. Farther ahead, dingy taverns opened their black mouths, swallowing staggering figures without question.


    Rouis moved forward, his eyes scanning the deserted alleys. His hand, almost instinctively, brushed the hilt of his sword¡ªa reassuring gesture amid the familiar chaos. Suddenly, at the corner of a narrow street, a shadow slipped by, swift and elusive. He slowed, his muscles tensing slightly. In this part of town, real danger never announced itself¡ªit waited in silence.


    A faint, flickering light, barely visible through a broken window, caught Rouis¡¯s attention. It danced in his memory for a moment, rekindling an image he hadn¡¯t summoned in years.


    ¡ª ¨¦milie¡­


    His little sister twirled around candles, her bare feet skimming the floor with the effortless grace of a carefree child. Her hands, smeared with wax, flitted through the air as she laughed at her own wonder. The flames danced with her, casting shadows that seemed to breathe life into the walls of their home.


    Their mother, sitting nearby, would burst into that crystalline laughter capable of dispelling even the heaviest clouds. Her eyes shone with a brilliance Rouis had never seen elsewhere, a mix of strength and tenderness that could transform an ordinary moment into an unforgettable memory.


    A fleeting but painful warmth surged through his chest. That memory, so sweet, belonged to a world he no longer recognized. The darkness of the alleys seemed to press in around him, but he clung to the memory, like a shipwrecked man clutching a lifeline.


    ¡ª Why did I let that light fade? he wondered briefly, before shaking the thought away. The night did not forgive distractions.


    His still-numb legs pulled him back to the present. He moved forward, but a cold sweat traced a line down his spine, sticking his coat to his skin. Each step seemed louder than the last, amplified by the silence that wrapped itself around the place.


    Rouis scanned his surroundings, his eyes skimming over grimy walls and boarded-up windows. Nothing. Not a shadow, not a movement. Yet the feeling, that creeping sensation of being watched, intensified, seeping into his mind like a wave of black ink. He quickened his pace slightly, his senses sharpened to the edge.


    At the entrance of a narrower alley, he hesitated. The space was so confined that the walls, oozing with damp and mold, seemed ready to close in on him. A sliver of sky, barely visible, traced a pale fissure through the darkness. He stepped into the oppressive corridor, each step an effort. The facades, covered in crumbling plaster and rotting wood, emitted an acrid stench that clung to his throat.


    The windows, barricaded with nailed planks, stared back at him like empty sockets.


    No place to hide, no alcove to pause. Everything here was exposed, as though the alley itself was daring him to continue. The few abandoned storefronts, their signs eaten away by mold, resembled carcasses, locked in a state of eternal decay.


    A sudden crack broke the silence. Rouis froze, his breath shallow, his gaze sweeping through the shifting shadows. Nothing. But his heart pounded in his chest like a frenzied drum. Something was there¡ªhe could feel it¡ªlurking in the darkness, waiting for its moment.


    ¡ª "I know you''re there!" Rouis shouted, his voice echoing faintly before being swallowed by the thick, eerie silence.


    The mist came without warning, as if the ground itself had exhaled a foul breath. It erupted suddenly, spreading in a dense, shifting veil that swallowed everything in its path. The air grew heavy with an acrid, stagnant smell, reminiscent of a cellar where mold and decay had long taken hold. Each breath felt heavier than the last, filling his lungs with a sticky sensation and leaving a metallic taste lingering at the back of his throat.


    It slithered along the ground, sinuous, coiling around his boots and climbing in thick tendrils up his legs. It wasn¡¯t still; it moved, undulated, pressed against him, then withdrew, as if it were alive¡ªcurious or malevolent. At moments, he thought he felt a faint pressure against his skin, a cold, damp caress that vanished as quickly as it came.


    Rouis tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. Around him, the mist seemed to devour everything¡ªthe ground, the walls, even the sky. Every contour was swallowed by the shifting whiteness, leaving behind an oppressive void. He tried to orient himself, but every direction looked the same, as though this sea of fog was intent on engulfing him. A cold sweat slid down his neck. He didn¡¯t move, but a shiver ran down his spine.


    Then came the sounds. At first barely audible, almost like whispers, then clearer: footsteps. Heavy. Slow. Uneven. They echoed faintly, as if from some distant place, but the thick air seemed to draw them closer with each passing moment. The uncertain rhythm of the steps heightened his unease¡ªa tempo too erratic to belong to anything truly alive.


    Rouis drew his sword in a swift motion, the blade hissing sharply before sinking into the silent embrace of the mist. He stood ready, weapon raised, but a fleeting thought crossed his mind: this mist wasn¡¯t just an obstacle. It was aware, almost watchful. It encircled him like a predator toying with its prey, seeking to cloud his senses.


    At the edge of his vision, he thought he saw something move¡ªa shadow, or perhaps a form even darker than the mist itself. But every time he tried to focus on the movement, it vanished, swallowed by the white expanse. Was it his imagination, or was the mist deliberately deceiving him?


    He remained still, his muscles taut, as the air around him seemed to grow heavier. It felt suffocating, not from a lack of oxygen, but from the oppressive weight of this malevolent atmosphere. Yet he refused to move further, his senses sharpened to their limit, waiting for the slightest sign. Something was approaching, and he knew he wouldn¡¯t be alone for much longer.


    At last, a silhouette emerged. At first blurry, it gradually grew sharper, its contours cutting through the shifting haze. A hunched old man, dressed in a black top hat, advanced with a slow but deliberate stride. His movements were so measured they seemed almost calculated, and his face, etched with deep wrinkles, bore gray spots that appeared and vanished with the flicker of the shadows.


    Morven.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ve been looking for you, Mr. Rouis," said Morven, his voice smooth and devoid of warmth.


    His gaze locked onto Rouis¡¯s, but it wasn¡¯t just a simple exchange of looks. It felt probing, as though Morven were digging into something deeper, rifling through his very thoughts. Rouis felt a tension building in his chest, the unsettling sensation of being examined from within, but he betrayed nothing.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re lucky to meet me in the flesh," he retorted with a light, almost mocking smile. Yet the faint tightening of his fingers around the hilt of his sword betrayed his heightened alertness.


    ¡ª "I need you for a mission," Morven said, his voice resonating through the mist.


    There was something hypnotic about his tone¡ªa softness, almost musical, each word rolling off his tongue with a captivating fluidity. Yet beneath that perfection lurked a subtle discord, an imperceptible tremor or strange resonance that sent a shiver through Rouis. It wasn¡¯t a natural voice; it felt crafted, engineered, like an auditory mask meant to charm or manipulate. And yet, something was off¡ªan anomaly, difficult to pinpoint but impossible to ignore.


    Morven tilted his head slightly, a movement of mechanical precision, almost too fluid to seem natural. Then, without a word, he turned slightly, revealing another figure in the mist.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.Draxis.


    The albino giant stepped forward with a heavy tread. Each step landed with a faint resonance, absorbed by the thick, shifting air. His massive form seemed to emerge from the mist itself, a spectral figure in the endless whiteness. His skin, so pale it was nearly translucent, reflected the last traces of light, giving him the appearance of a statue carved from living marble¡ªsmooth, yet deeply fissured.


    The scars crisscrossing his face etched irregular, unsettling lines, as if some cruel artist had tried to reshape him, only to abandon the work in a fit of senseless rage. His lips, stitched shut with thick black threads, formed a grotesque and unmoving line¡ªa mask of silence betraying no words, no emotion.


    But it was his eyes that captivated. Bright and unblinking, they seemed to absorb everything: the light, Rouis¡¯s gaze, and perhaps even a piece of his confidence. Those narrow sockets radiated a cold, disarming intensity, like a void pulling in any attempt to understand. Rouis turned his eyes away, more out of survival instinct than conscious choice.


    Draxis didn¡¯t utter a word. He extended a massive hand, gnarled and rough, as if carved from ancient bark. With a slow but precise motion, he tossed a leather pouch. The dull thud it made upon landing in Rouis¡¯s hands echoed faintly, stretching unnaturally, the sound reverberating in the air like something unreal.


    The pouch¡¯s leather, cracked and worn, bore the scars of a long journey or many trials. A faint scent of heated metal and damp earth wafted from it.


    Rouis opened it. A golden glow spilled out, briefly dancing across his tense features. The coins inside, radiant and pristine, gleamed with an intensity that seemed too perfect, almost unreal in the suffocating gloom.


    ¡ª "Consider this an advance," Morven said, his voice smooth as velvet. "You¡¯ll receive three more once the mission is complete."


    This time, his tone slipped into Rouis¡¯s ears with a silkiness that sent a shiver down his spine. Yet it left behind a strange sensation, like a dissonant note hidden within an otherwise flawless melody. The echo of his words lingered in the air, swirling with the mist.


    ¡ª "I accept," Rouis replied firmly, though his thoughts remained alert, swirling as restlessly as the mist around him.


    Morven inclined his head again, the gesture as precise and identical as before. The repetition, almost unnaturally perfect, carried an enigmatic weight, like a puzzle with no solution. Without another word, he turned away. His movement was so fluid it seemed as though he floated, as if the laws of physics held little sway over him. Draxis followed, his immense bulk advancing with a measured slowness, each step leaving a vibrant imprint in the air, like an echo etched into the mist.


    The mist came alive immediately. It didn¡¯t just surround them¡ªit embraced them, coiling around their figures with deliberate slowness, almost lovingly. Each wisp seemed to caress, test, before fully enveloping them. As it thickened, their outlines blurred, dissolving into this spectral shroud. It was like watching a canvas fade, its lines vanishing under an invisible, silent rain.


    Morven disappeared first, his body fading gently, as though drawn into an unseen abyss. Draxis, larger and more imposing, lingered a moment longer, his shadow defying the mist until the very end. Then, only his eyes remained¡ªtwo glowing points, suspended in the air like isolated beacons. They flickered faintly, seeming to regard Rouis one last time, before extinguishing, swallowed by the void.


    The mist closed over them with a solemn slowness, like the waters of a lake swallowing a thrown stone. But something lingered. Rouis thought he heard a sound¡ªa faint murmur, barely a breath. Was it a final message or just a remnant of the moment?


    Impossible to tell. The sound faded quickly, leaving behind an oppressive void, a silence so heavy it seemed to crush the space around him.


    Frozen in place, Rouis didn¡¯t move immediately. His fingers brushed the pouch, as though to confirm it was real.


    The air suddenly felt lighter, but the sensation wasn¡¯t comforting. It felt hollow, artificial, as if masking a void, an absence. Rouis inhaled slowly, his breath briefly mingling with the mist before vanishing.


    His movements were slow, almost cautious, as he fastened the pouch to his belt. A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it was just a facade. Beneath the surface, a dull tension gripped his spine. His thoughts wandered to Falk¡¯s tavern, where he could already imagine the comforting burn of alcohol.


    Yet a cold shiver crept up his spine, lingering at the base of his neck like an invisible hand. It wasn¡¯t just the chill of the night or the strangeness of the moment. It was something else. The mist itself seemed to have left a mark on him, an invisible imprint.


    He inhaled again, trying to dispel the unease, but it clung to him.


    Falk, once a feared highwayman, had traded his sword for an apron. Yet despite his new life, a part of him remained perpetually alert. Every movement, every glance betrayed a man accustomed to watching, assessing risks, and reacting before things spiraled out of control. He didn¡¯t need words or weapons to command respect. Even when scrubbing burnt pans or lining up tankards on the counter, a quiet tension radiated from him¡ªa tacit reminder of who he had been.


    The idea of Falk playing the perfect homemaker drew a mocking smile from Rouis.


    The tavern was a squat block with blackened walls, standing like a bastion defying time. Inside, the lantern light fought against the ambient darkness, casting shifting shadows on the weary faces of the patrons. The smells of roasted meat and warm beer filled the air, while conversations and laughter created a din that was almost soothing.


    But as Rouis crossed the threshold, something shifted. The laughter faltered, glances darted away, and a subtle tension settled over the room.


    Two men seated at the table he aimed for immediately left when their eyes met his. Rouis dropped into the chair with a heavy thud, a smug, almost insolent grin playing on his lips. He surveyed the room. The serving women bustled between tables, but none dared meet his gaze. Eventually, one approached after he called her over, dragging her feet with palpable nervousness.


    ¡ª ¡°Two whiskeys and the day¡¯s meal,¡± he ordered without looking at her.


    ¡ª ¡°Yes¡­ right away,¡± she stammered before hurrying off, nearly running.


    Falk appeared soon after, emerging from the crowd like an imposing shadow. His clenched fists and piercing glare betrayed a simmering anger.


    ¡ª ¡°Get out, Rouis. You haven¡¯t paid the last few times,¡± he growled.


    Rouis pulled a gold coin from his pouch and tossed it toward Falk. It spun in the air before landing in the innkeeper¡¯s palm.


    ¡ª ¡°Satisfied?¡± Rouis asked nonchalantly.


    Falk didn¡¯t respond. He slammed his fist onto the table, making its surface tremble. Rouis opened his mouth to reply, but Falk had already turned away, leaving behind a palpable tension.


    Shortly after, the server returned with his meal and two glasses. Rouis downed them in one go, relishing the familiar burn of the alcohol, before turning his attention to the lamb on his plate.


    His respite was short-lived. An inebriated man, swaying unsteadily, placed a heavy hand on the waitress¡¯s backside.


    Anger flared within Rouis, swift and unrelenting. He rose in a flash, crossing the room with determined strides.


    ¡ª ¡°You¡¯ve got a problem?¡± he asked, his voice sharp as a blade.


    The bald man turned, a mocking smile on his lips. But before he could answer, one of his companions placed a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡ª ¡°That¡¯s Rouis¡­¡± the man murmured, a warning.


    The bald man spat on the ground. Without hesitation, Rouis struck, his fist crashing into the man¡¯s temple with a dull thud. The body collapsed, limp, a thin trickle of blood running from his ear.


    His companions sprang to their feet. Rouis dodged one blow and retaliated with a punch to the second man¡¯s liver, folding him in half before he crumpled to the floor.


    A sharp crack sounded behind him. Pain exploded in his back, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. His attacker lunged, but Rouis reacted instinctively, landing a brutal punch to the man¡¯s jaw.


    Falk¡¯s deep voice cut through the chaos.


    ¡ª ¡°Out. Now.¡±


    He grabbed Rouis by the collar and dragged him to the entrance. With one powerful motion, he hurled him into the street.


    Rouis hit the ground hard, the biting chill of the night stinging like a whip. He lay still for a moment, watching the door slam shut with a decisive clack. The commotion of the tavern already felt like a world away, replaced by the oppressive silence of the street.


    Rouis drew a deep breath, the icy air mingling with his exhaustion. For the first time that evening, he felt a dull fatigue settle into his limbs.


    A hand extended in front of him, firm and steady. Rouis looked up. Kaldr, his golden curls tousled by the night breeze, smiled with feigned lightness, a mischievous glint in his eyes.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re a real clown," Kaldr said, his voice vibrating with genuine amusement.


    ¡ª "Three at once," Rouis replied, his voice hoarse, his breath still ragged.


    ¡ª "Impressive, jester. Next time, try staying on your feet," Kaldr added with a mocking grin.


    Despite his exhaustion, Rouis swung a clumsy punch, but Kaldr easily blocked it, his smirk unwavering.


    ¡ª "Still as predictable as ever. Come on, sit down before you collapse completely."


    Kaldr slipped an arm under Rouis¡¯s shoulder and helped him walk. The park¡¯s ground seemed to fight them with every step. A tangle of thick, gnarled roots jutted from the muddy earth, where dead leaves and debris formed an uneven carpet. The paved path, worn by time, was broken and disjointed, overgrown with wild grass. The trees, their bare branches like claws, rose against the black sky, casting a web of shifting shadows under the hesitant moonlight.


    ¡ª "Still as predictable as ever. Stand up straight, I¡¯m not here to scoop you up," Kaldr teased with a lopsided grin.


    He offered Rouis a firm hand, grabbing it without hesitation and hauling him to his feet with strength. His other arm slipped under Rouis¡¯s shoulder to steady him. Despite his teasing tone, every movement Kaldr made was precise, imbued with a near-fraternal care. Rouis grunted an inaudible thanks, his legs trembling under his weight. Each step reignited a fresh burst of pain in his ribs, but he clung to Kaldr, refusing to give in.


    They entered the park, each step a struggle against the treacherous terrain. Thick roots, twisted like frozen serpents mid-battle, rose from the muddy ground, ready to snare any careless foot. The clinging mud slowed their progress, sticky and insidious, while damp, heavy leaves formed a slick, uneven layer beneath their boots.


    The paved path, a relic of some long-lost order, was now a shattered memory. Its fractured stones, overrun by wild grass clawing through the cracks, vanished into the chaos of nature. The surrounding trees, stripped bare and warped by the winds, stretched their gnarled branches skyward, forming tortured silhouettes. Under the faint moonlight, these mutilated giants cast shifting shadows. The cold, whistling wind wove between the trunks, carrying indistinct murmurs.


    Panting, Rouis looked up. The branches above seemed to lean toward him, watching silently and ominously, witnesses to their slow progress. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, and each step roused a dull ache in his ribs.


    ¡ª "Looks like even the trees are mocking you," Kaldr said, his teasing smile lighting up his face. "But hang in there. I¡¯m not carrying you the whole way."


    A tired smile tugged at Rouis¡¯s lips.


    They finally reached the heart of the park, where a massive trunk stood¡ªa relic both imposing and unsettling, a silent witness to centuries of trials. Its deep cracks, oozing dark, viscous sap, resembled gaping wounds that had never fully healed. Thick roots spiraled outward, sinking into the muddy ground as though holding the tree upright despite the weight of the years¡ªor perhaps imprisoning it forever.


    ¡ª "I know you enjoy sleeping under the stars," Kaldr quipped, gesturing casually toward the trunk.


    Kaldr guided Rouis to the massive tree. With a mix of strength and nonchalance, he eased him gently against the rough bark.


    ¡ª "There you go. The tree will support you better than I will," he said with a sly grin.


    Rouis groaned, sliding slightly against the knotted wood, his breathing labored. The bark, rough and cold, pressed into his bruised back, amplifying his pain with cruel precision. Kaldr, meanwhile, settled next to him, his back against the same trunk. His relaxed posture stood in stark contrast to his friend¡¯s battered state.


    A moment of silence passed, broken only by the whistling wind weaving through the bare branches. Then, without warning, Kaldr reached into Rouis¡¯s pouch.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re too slow, so I¡¯ll help myself," he announced, his tone provocatively light.


    Rouis tried to stop him, but his hand only brushed Kaldr¡¯s sleeve.


    ¡ª "Bastard," he growled, each word weighed down by effort. "One day, that¡¯s going to cost you."


    Kaldr raised an eyebrow, as if seriously considering the warning, while the gold coin chimed softly between his fingers.


    ¡ª "Maybe," he finally replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. "But not today."


    The gold coin caught the moonlight, gleaming briefly before vanishing into Kaldr¡¯s pocket with a fluid motion. Rouis attempted to push himself upright, but his body refused. A sharp pain flared in his ribs, forcing him back against the trunk with a muffled groan. His hands slipped over the gnarled roots, sinking into the cold mud. The gritty, damp earth beneath his fingers was a cruel reminder of his state¡ªvulnerable, unable to defend himself.


    Kaldr stood, brushing off his clothes as if nothing unusual had happened.


    ¡ª "Rest up, Rouis," he added with unexpected gentleness.


    His footsteps faded slowly into the silence of the park, interrupted only by the sporadic creaking of branches. Rouis remained still, breathing shallowly. Each breath sent a jolt of pain through him, but he took a moment to assess himself. Nothing broken¡ªjust bruises.


    He rolled slightly onto his side, his muscles protesting each movement, and instinctively checked for his pouch. Frustration welled up as he realized it was noticeably lighter. He gritted his teeth, caught between irritation and a faint hint of resigned amusement. Kaldr¡­


    The trunk at his back seemed to watch him. Silent and imposing, its deep cracks oozed dark sap, like gaping wounds. Was it a protector amidst the chaos or a mute witness to his weakness? Rouis couldn¡¯t decide, but he found it hard to look away from its unmoving silhouette.


    A tree wind slipped beneath his clothes, biting insistently at his skin. Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed above him, abrupt and distinct. A branch shifted ever so slightly, casting a fleeting shadow across his face. For a moment, he felt a presence¡ªfaint but undeniable¡ªlike something watching him from the darkness.


    Fatigue overwhelmed him before he could delve deeper into the feeling. Darkness claimed him, soft yet relentless. In that fleeting moment, he found an unexpected calm, as though the world, harsh as it was, offered him a reprieve.

 2. The Puppets (Kendrys)

    Sweat trickled down Kendrys'' body, a crushing and familiar heat burning within her like an untamed fire. Lying down, her hands bound by thick roots, she was unable to move. Every muscle in her body, strained to the limit, seemed to cry out under the futile effort to free herself. Her breath came in short gasps, and a dull tingling coursed through her immobilized limbs.


    Above her, a blurry figure appeared, wavering in her muddled vision. Marte. His features were hollowed by exhaustion, marked by deep circles under his eyes, but a faint smile lit up his lips.


    ¡ª "You''re finally awake," he murmured softly.


    Kendrys blinked.


    ¡ª "You look exhausted, Marte," she replied.


    ¡ª "I am¡­" he admitted, sitting down beside her with a weary sigh.


    ¡ª "How long¡­ have I been asleep?" she asked.


    ¡ª "Three weeks," Marte answered.


    Kendrys abruptly sat up, a sudden wave of energy coursing through her body. The roots binding her arms snapped. She swayed slightly but steadied herself.


    ¡ª "We need to return to the capital. Immediately," she declared.


    Marte, slumped over, lifted his eyes to her with a desperate slowness.


    ¡ª "Not without me," he murmured. "I need to rest."


    Kendrys turned her head towards him, her gaze softening slightly.


    ¡ª "Was it you who healed me?" she asked.


    Marte nodded slowly, a tired smile playing on his lips.


    ¡ª "Yes¡­ but it nearly drained all my energy."


    ¡ª "Thank you, Marte."


    He nodded faintly, his eyelids half-closed.


    ¡ª "Rest here," he advised in a weak but firm voice. "It¡¯s safer than rushing to the capital. Let¡¯s wait a few weeks, and we¡¯ll go back together¡­ once I¡¯ve recovered."


    But Kendrys shook her head.


    ¡ª "They might need me there," she said.


    Marte sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping further.


    ¡ª "Take care of yourself," he murmured at last.


    She nodded, her eyes meeting his one last time.


    ¡ª "I promise."


    Without another word, Kendrys turned and left the room. Her steps echoed on the old wooden stairs.


    Marte remained slumped on the couch, his gaze fixed on the closed door. A sigh escaped his lips, and he briefly closed his eyes, letting his fatigue envelop him.


    At the bottom of the staircase, a young woman waited for her, a relieved smile lighting up her face. Her hands, clasped in front of her, betrayed a nervousness she tried to conceal.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re finally awake," she said.


    ¡ª "Do we know each other?" Kendrys asked.


    The young woman gently shook her head.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m a friend of Marte," she explained. "This inn belongs to me."


    The words eased some of the tension in Kendrys¡¯ shoulders. She nodded in acknowledgment.


    ¡ª "Thank you for helping me," she finally said.


    ¡ª "It was my pleasure," the innkeeper replied with a soft laugh. "Marte¡¯s still upstairs?"


    ¡ª "Yes, he¡¯s resting. He really needs it."


    The young woman sighed deeply.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m glad to hear that. He wasn¡¯t eating anymore, spending his nights watching over you. His plants were draining all his energy," she murmured.


    ¡ª "Where can I find a horse and some food?" Kendrys finally asked.


    The innkeeper returned a moment later with carefully packed provisions, then directed her to the nearest stable.


    As a gesture of gratitude, Kendrys pulled out a well-filled purse from her pocket and offered it to the young woman.


    ¡ª "Take this," she said.


    But the woman gently pushed the purse away.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s not necessary," she replied.


    Kendrys hesitated for a moment, her fingers still clutching the purse, before putting it back in her pocket.


    ¡ª "Thank you for everything," she said at last.


    The young woman gave her one last smile. Kendrys, after a brief exchange of looks, bowed slightly in respect before turning on her heel. She crossed the threshold of the inn, provisions in hand, her mind already set on the road ahead.


    *****


    Kendrys was finally approaching the castle, its imposing towers cutting against the gray sky after five days of relentless riding. The fortress, perched atop a steep mountain, loomed ahead.


    The icy mountain wind whistled past her ears, slipping into her clothes and tossing the rebellious strands of her hair. Despite the fatigue weighing on her shoulders, Kendrys kept her posture straight and regal, her mount advancing with steady steps along the rocky path leading to the castle gates.


    The heavy black iron doors stood tall before her, guarded by eight armored soldiers. Their rigid stances, almost martial, signaled their readiness. As Kendrys slowed her approach, one of the guards, evidently their leader, stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.


    ¡ª "Who are you?" he demanded in a grave voice.


    Still on horseback, Kendrys let a brief silence hang before locking eyes with the guard. She pulled a royal insignia from her pocket, holding it aloft for all to see. The daylight glinted off the golden emblem, drawing their attention.


    ¡ª "Kendrys," she declared. "Royal Guard."


    The guard captain furrowed his brows, squinting as he scrutinized the insignia.


    ¡ª "No one is allowed entry, by order of the king," he finally said.


    Kendrys didn¡¯t flinch. Sitting tall in her saddle, she met his gaze with an icy intensity. Her face remained impassive, but her eyes gleamed with a sharp light, like a blade poised to strike.


    ¡ª "Send a messenger to the king," she said. "Tell him Kendrys is at the gate."


    The guards exchanged uncertain glances, a heavy silence stretching between them. One of them, younger, looked as if he might say something but reconsidered under the captain¡¯s sharp gaze.


    ¡ª "Wait here," the captain ordered, nodding to one of the soldiers.


    The soldier hurried off toward the castle, his boots clattering against the uneven cobblestones. Kendrys followed his retreat with a piercing gaze before returning her attention to the remaining guards.


    She dismounted, her boots kicking up a dry cloud of dust, and tied her horse to a wooden post. Always on alert, Kendrys turned her eyes toward an inn on the outskirts. The wind carried snippets of muffled conversations.


    She had barely taken ten steps when a piercing scream shattered the relative calm. The sound, so close, came from a nearby alley. Her senses sharpened instantly. She rushed toward the source of the cries, her boots striking the uneven pavement with urgency.


    Rounding the corner sharply, the scene before her made her catch her breath. A man was advancing slowly, his face frozen in a strange, vacant expression¡ªmechanical, almost. His blood-soaked clothes clung to his body, and his shuffling steps seemed devoid of any will.


    Around him, bodies lay scattered on the ground. Their chests had been torn open, gaping, painting the street with sprays of blood and fragments of flesh. The air was thick with the metallic stench of blood and death.


    A burning anger surged through Kendrys. Her fists clenched, and in an instant, flames erupted around her hands¡ªvivid, untamed fire crackling at her fingertips. Without hesitation, she hurled a fireball directly at the man. The attack struck its target, and his body was engulfed in flames, collapsing with a sinister crackle.


    The man¡¯s back suddenly exploded with a dull thud, scattering charred flesh around him. Two glowing eyes emerged from the scorched mass, shining with malevolent light, as a grotesque smile twisted what remained of his face.


    ¡ª "Missed, little human," a cavernous voice jeered.


    A black cat sprang from the corpse, its sinister laughter slicing through the air like a razor. It leapt onto the roof of a nearby house, its movements swift and fluid, defying gravity.


    Furious, Kendrys raised her flaming hand and launched another fireball at the creature. But the cat, with supernatural agility, dodged the attack effortlessly, landing on another rooftop.


    ¡ª "Missed again," it mocked. "At this rate, you¡¯ll end up burning down the entire town."


    Kendrys gritted her teeth, her fiery gaze locked onto the creature. With a sharp motion, she extinguished her flames, aware of the danger her powers posed in such a confined space. Instead, she chose to pursue the demon on foot, her rapid steps echoing through the cobblestone streets.


    The cat bounded from roof to roof, a fleeting black blur against the gray sky. Despite all her energy and determination, Kendrys couldn¡¯t catch up. Her muscles burned, her breath grew ragged, but she did not slow.


    After several minutes of frantic pursuit, the demon vanished into the shadows of the alleys. Kendrys came to a halt, panting, her hands trembling with frustration. Refusing to give up, she let flames envelop her once more and rose into the air, surveying the city from above.


    From this vantage point, she scanned every corner, every rooftop, every dark alley. Her eyes desperately sought any movement, any flash of black. But there was nothing. The demon had vanished.


    Kendrys descended slowly, her anger still simmering, and fixed her gaze for a moment on the street where it had all begun. The mutilated bodies, the dried blood on the cobblestones. She clenched her fists. This wasn¡¯t over.


    Kendrys returned to the starting point, where several guards had gathered. Their faces were marked with fatigue and worry, their armor, though polished, seemed to weigh down their movements.


    She brandished her insignia with a firm gesture.


    ¡ª "It was a demon. I¡¯ll file a report," she announced.


    The guards, visibly shaken, instinctively stepped aside, though their eyes remained fixed on her, a flicker of fear and confusion within them. As they began to disperse, Kendrys grabbed one of them by the arm.


    ¡ª "I need to enter the castle," she ordered.


    The man stiffened under her grip, carefully avoiding her gaze.


    ¡ª "No one is allowed inside."


    ¡ª "Why?" Kendrys pressed.


    The guards exchanged nervous glances, hesitation hanging heavily in the air between them. After a moment of silence, one of them cleared his throat before murmuring:


    ¡ª "There¡¯s a plague."


    Kendrys narrowed her eyes.


    ¡ª "A plague of what?"


    Another guard, older and more experienced, stepped forward. He nodded slowly, inviting her to follow.


    Without a word, she fell into step behind him. They walked in silence to their barracks, where the atmosphere was even more oppressive. The place seemed drained of all hope.


    Inside, the guards removed their armor with weary motions, the metallic clatter of pieces hitting the floor breaking the heavy silence. One of them pulled out a bottle of rum and slammed it onto the table, a desperate attempt to escape the grim reality.


    ¡ª "Care for a drink?" he asked.


    ¡ª "No," Kendrys replied.


    The soldier shrugged and poured himself a generous amount, followed by his companions. The amber liquid shimmered in the flickering candlelight.


    Finally, the guard who had led her spoke.


    ¡ª "The plague began a few weeks ago," he said in a low, somber tone. "At first, it was just the servants. We didn¡¯t worry too much¡­ until it reached the royal bloodline."


    Kendrys remained motionless, her hardened features masking the storm of thoughts swirling within her.


    ¡ª "How many victims?" she asked.


    The guard hesitated, downing his glass before answering.


    ¡ª "Many. It¡¯s impossible to say exactly how many. The castle is under quarantine. No one goes in, no one comes out. Those who tried¡­ never returned," he added.


    ¡ª "Who¡¯s been affected?" she insisted, her tone growing sharper.


    ¡ª "Rumor has it that even the lords have been stricken," another guard murmured.


    A heavy silence settled once more. Kendrys, standing tall and composed, seemed like a statue of discipline, though inside, her mind churned with unease.


    After a long moment, she reached out, grabbed the bottle of rum, and poured herself a glass. She stared at the liquid for a moment, her gaze distant, before downing it in one gulp. The burning taste clung to her throat.


    ¡ª "Thank you for the information," she finally said, setting the glass down with a sharp clink.


    She turned on her heel and left the barracks. Outside, the cold air lashed at her face, but she didn¡¯t slow her pace


    *****


    As night fell, Kendrys slipped into the forest bordering the castle. The gnarled trees twisted like petrified figures in an eternal dance, their intertwined branches forming a dark and oppressive canopy. The wind whistled through the foliage.


    Each step on the mossy ground cracked old branches beneath her boots. She knew this place.


    Every corner, every turn was etched into her memory.


    She pushed aside a thick bush. As if moved by its own will, the foliage parted gently, revealing a discreet opening hidden under a thick layer of moss. Kendrys took a deep breath and crouched to enter the passage.


    The tunnel plunged beneath the castle¡¯s foundations, darkness swallowing her almost immediately. The air was cold and damp, and each breath carried a faint taste of earth.


    Her hands slid along the rough, wet walls, where fine spiderwebs clung to her skin. She grimaced, stifling a shiver of disgust. She hated spiders.


    To pierce the oppressive darkness, she summoned a flame to the tip of her finger. Its flickering light revealed a narrow, spiraling staircase descending deeper into the earth¡¯s bowels. Each step was worn, crumbling from the passage of time, and Kendrys had to brace herself against the wall to keep her balance.


    The dull clatter of her boots echoed in the enclosed space, each sound reverberating endlessly through the tunnel.


    After what felt like an eternity, she finally reached the tunnel¡¯s end. The light of her flame revealed a forgotten courtyard where nature had reclaimed its domain.


    The worn cobblestones had all but disappeared beneath a dense carpet of greenery, where climbing plants and wildflowers bloomed in disarray.


    But what drew her attention was the enormous rose bush standing at the courtyard¡¯s center. Its twisted and imposing branches seemed to rise from the ground like an ancient entity, and its roses, a deep, vibrant red, were as large as clenched fists.


    Kendrys stepped closer, an odd curiosity compelling her to reach for one of the roses. She carefully plucked the flower, but as soon as the stem was cut, its petals burst like fireworks, scattering into a myriad of glowing fragments.


    Startled by the reaction, Kendrys stared for a moment at the bare stem still in her hand. She slipped it into her pocket.


    Her attention then shifted to a hidden door, almost entirely concealed behind a wall of climbing ivy. The thick leaves covered the surface of the aged wood, making the door nearly indistinguishable to an untrained eye.


    She pushed aside the plants, revealing the door. Her hand rested on the rough wood, hesitating for a moment. Then, with a slight push, the door opened with a sharp creak.


    The air changed immediately¡ªdrier, heavier, laden with the scent of aged wood and damp stone. Kendrys stepped inside, softly closing the door behind her. The castle''s darkness wrapped around her like a familiar shadow, and her senses sharpened once more.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Inside, an oppressive silence reigned. The air, thick and stale, carried an acrid smell that clung to her throat and burned her nostrils. Kendrys inhaled slowly, then conjured a thin layer of flames around her body.


    She moved forward cautiously, her senses on high alert, scanning for any signs of danger. When she reached the steward¡¯s office, a faint light glowed from within. Through the partially open door, she spotted Soren, bent over his desk, his quill gliding across the parchment.


    ¡ª "I know you¡¯re there, Kendrys," he said calmly, without lifting his eyes.


    Kendrys extinguished her flames and stepped through the threshold.


    ¡ª "Have you sent your report?" he asked.


    ¡ª "Not yet," she replied.


    Soren set his quill down and raised his head. His eyes, ringed with deep shadows, were dull, almost lifeless, and his face, usually severe, was etched with an unusual weariness.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m listening," he said simply.


    Kendrys took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.


    ¡ª "I spent a week in the north," she began, her gaze locked on Soren, gauging his reaction. "I found flocks of sheep dead, all drained of their blood."


    She paused.


    ¡ª "I had to hide for several days before discovering it was the work of blood-drinking flies. They seemed drawn to a nearby marsh."


    Soren nodded faintly, his expression impassive, as though expecting more.


    ¡ª "There, I found a witch," she continued. "She captured me, but Marte intervened. He killed her."


    ¡ª "Where is he now?" Soren asked.


    ¡ª "Still there," she replied, watching his face for any reaction.


    ¡ª "Very well," he murmured, returning to his writing.


    The scratching of the quill against the parchment filled the room with a steady, monotonous sound. Kendrys stood still, her eyes fixed on Soren¡¯s every movement.


    ¡ª "Do you need anything else, Kendrys?" he asked without looking up.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ve heard about an epidemic," she replied.


    This time, Soren stopped writing. He remained still for a moment, as if her words had shattered an invisible barrier. Slowly, he lifted his head and met her gaze with his glassy eyes.


    ¡ª "Yes," he said at last. "Many have died. Those who survived are now immune, but no one can leave the castle."


    A cold shiver ran down Kendrys¡¯ spine.


    ¡ª "Have you discovered the cause?" she pressed.


    Soren stared at her for a long moment, his gaze hollow.


    ¡ª "No," he replied curtly, before returning to his writing, as though her question held no significance.


    Kendrys remained motionless, her mind swirling with unease. A deep, visceral discomfort crept into her, impossible to ignore. Something here was profoundly wrong.


    She turned on her heel and left the room.


    As Kendrys returned to her room, she was struck by an acrid stench of sulfur permeating the air. Each breath seared her throat, making the atmosphere almost unbearable. She opened the window in search of fresh air, but the smell lingered, clinging to her like a malevolent shadow.


    Kendrys ignited, allowing her flames to engulf her body, and leapt into the street below.


    Around her, the townsfolk shuffled along with dragging steps, their feet barely lifting from the cobblestones as if they no longer had the strength. Their arms hung limply by their sides or swung in slow, disjointed motions, like puppets without strings. Some carried bags or baskets, their fingers gripping the handles with an odd stiffness, their joints seemingly locked.


    Their heads were slightly tilted, their faces turned toward an unseen horizon. Their gazes were fixed on an invisible point, their pupils dilated and unmoving. No blinking, no spark of awareness in their eyes¡ªonly an abyssal void, as though their souls had been stripped away.


    A woman with dull hair, wrapped in a faded shawl, passed a few steps from Kendrys. She carried a basket overflowing with apples, one of which rolled to the ground, shattering against the cobblestones. The woman didn¡¯t stop, didn¡¯t even glance down, continuing her relentless march without a hint of concern.


    A man dressed in a tattered tunic stumbled along nearby, his movements jerky, as if battling invisible strings pulling at his limbs. His head turned slightly in Kendrys¡¯ direction, but his gaze passed through her as though she wasn¡¯t there.


    A cold shiver ran down her spine. What she was witnessing was far from natural. An invisible, malevolent force seemed to be controlling these bodies.


    Pushing aside the oppressive feeling, Kendrys made her way to a nearby tavern. Inside, the atmosphere was stifling, almost suffocating. Laughter erupted from the patrons at intervals, but it rang hollow¡ªdistant echoes, forced, almost mechanical.


    Kendrys scanned the room. The patrons slumped in their chairs, raising their tankards with clumsy, uncoordinated gestures. Their eyes were devoid of emotion, of life, of any trace of humanity. Empty shells. She suppressed a shiver and forced herself to move forward.


    Behind the counter, a server was furiously polishing glasses, his movements rapid and repetitive, like a well-oiled machine¡ªbut one lacking grace.


    After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Kendrys approached the counter. The server, as if sensing her presence before she even arrived, turned abruptly, his face twisted into a rigid, almost grotesque smile.


    ¡ª "What can I get you?" he asked in an unnaturally cheerful tone.


    ¡ª "A beer," she replied.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ll get that for you right away," he declared with exaggerated enthusiasm before disappearing behind the bar.


    She took a seat at a table. A few minutes later, he returned with a frothy tankard in hand. She thanked him with a slight nod before lifting the drink to her lips. Discreetly, she sniffed the liquid, and a strange, subtle but unmistakably suspicious scent wafted up to her nose.


    Kendrys pretended to drink, then discreetly emptied the contents of the tankard into a plant beside her. She watched the plant closely, expecting an immediate reaction. But nothing happened. The plant remained still, its leaves unblemished.


    She placed the empty tankard on the counter and waited, her gaze sweeping the room in search of a clue, a sign. Ten minutes later, the server reappeared, his rigid smile still plastered across his expressionless face.


    ¡ª "Would you like another beer?" he asked.


    ¡ª "No, this is perfect," she replied.


    ¡ª "Very well, madam," he said, executing a clumsy bow before walking away.


    His steps, unnaturally long and oddly synchronized, gave his silhouette a grotesque, almost surreal appearance. Kendrys followed him with her eyes.


    As she stood to leave the tavern, a cold hand, hard as stone, suddenly clamped down on her arm, halting her mid-step. A shiver rippled through her body, but she spun around sharply, her hair igniting instantly.


    In front of her stood a small, dark-haired man with an unremarkable appearance, yet his eyes, milky white, stared beyond her, fixed on an invisible point. Despite his blind gaze, Kendrys felt the chilling penetration of his presence. A wide smile stretched across his face.


    ¡ª "Can I help you?" she asked sharply, flames dancing around her shoulders, ready to erupt.


    The man didn¡¯t respond. His smile twisted even further, a grotesque grimace that continued to stretch unnaturally, revealing uneven, yellowed teeth. His icy hand gripped her arm with an inhuman strength.


    The man¡¯s skin began to smolder, cracking and blackening under the heat, releasing the scent of burning wood. Yet he remained motionless, impervious to the pain, his smile frozen in place.


    With a cry of rage, Kendrys gathered her strength and shoved him violently. The force hurled his frail body backward, slamming him into a table with a dull thud. The entire room seemed to hold its breath for a moment. Then, in perfect synchronization, the other patrons of the tavern rose to their feet.


    Their movements were slow but coordinated, their heads turning toward Kendrys in unison. They advanced silently, forming a menacing mass, intent on encircling her.


    Kendrys felt her heart race, but her instincts took over. In one leap, she stepped back, flames erupting around her. Her feet left the ground in a fluid motion as she propelled herself through the window in a burst of light and shattered glass.


    The shards sparkled briefly before clattering onto the cobblestones with a metallic ring.


    Outside, the horror escalated. The streets were swarming with a seething crowd, their glassy eyes reflecting the same soulless void as those she had left inside. Hundreds of figures converged toward her.


    On the rooftops, shadowy forms climbed with inhuman agility, tearing off tiles and hurling them in her direction.


    Kendrys took a deep breath. Her flames roared back to life, engulfing her in fiery wings. With a single powerful beat, she ascended into the air, soaring above the seething mass pursuing her.


    The streets, rooftops, and every corner of the city seemed animated by this dark force. She turned her sights toward the prison.


    In front of the heavy prison gates, four sentinels stood motionless. Their postures were upright, their expressions rigid, but their eyes were fixed on some distant point.


    ¡ª "Visitation hours are over for today," they said in unison, their voices monotonous.


    Kendrys produced her royal insignia.


    ¡ª "I need to enter. Now," she commanded.


    The guards remained still for a moment before one stepped forward.


    ¡ª "Follow us," he said in an icy tone, without meeting her gaze.


    They advanced through the prison¡¯s corridors, their footsteps echoing against the stone floor in perfect rhythm. But something was wrong. Kendrys observed the walls, the intersections. This path was unfamiliar to her.


    ¡ª "Where are we going?" she asked.


    There was no answer. The guards continued walking, their boots striking the stone floor in a cadence that was almost hypnotic. Their movements were too precise, too mechanical to be natural.


    Kendrys abruptly stopped. Her instincts on high alert, she reached out and grabbed the arm of the nearest guard. The coldness she felt made her nearly recoil. This wasn¡¯t the chill of human skin. It was something far colder, far more alien.


    A shiver of disgust ran down her spine, her eyes widening slightly.


    ¡ª "This isn¡¯t possible¡­" she murmured, more to herself than to the guards.


    Acting on instinct, Kendrys unleashed her flames, a reflex born of urgency. The intense heat lit up the corridor, roaring around the guards and engulfing them in a fiery wave.


    What happened next only deepened her unease. There were no screams, no defensive movements, not even a step back. The figures stood motionless, as if they felt neither pain nor fear.


    Within seconds, the flames consumed their bodies. But as the firelight dimmed, their true forms were revealed.


    Crude wooden fragments lay scattered on the floor, lifeless. Thin cracks ran along the charred remains.


    Kendrys stepped back, her breath quickening as her mind struggled to rationalize what she had just witnessed.


    Pushing her thoughts aside, she quickened her pace, her breathing uneven. When she finally reached Fulger¡¯s cell, a disturbing scene awaited her.


    Inside, Fulger sat casually, surrounded by the dismembered bodies of about a dozen officers. Their limbs, now lifeless, revealed wooden surfaces beneath their torn uniforms. Splinters and fragments of wood littered the ground.


    Fulger slowly lifted his gaze to her. His eyes, weary yet tinged with amusement, met Kendrys¡¯ intense stare. A faint smile played on his lips, an almost mocking expression.


    ¡ª "You¡¯ve been visiting often these days, Kendrys," he said.


    Kendrys frowned, ignoring his remark.


    ¡ª "What are these¡­ things?" she demanded.


    Fulger shrugged nonchalantly, his smile widening slightly.


    ¡ª "Puppets," he replied simply, as if the word explained everything.


    Kendrys knelt beside one of the bodies. Her fingers brushed against the rough wooden surface, finely carved. There was no trace of life essence, no hint of an aura¡ªjust inert wood.


    ¡ª "We need to leave. Now," she declared, standing up.


    Fulger didn¡¯t move immediately. He watched her, his dark eyes glinting with an unreadable expression.


    ¡ª "Why?" he retorted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.


    Kendrys didn¡¯t answer. She placed her hands on the cell bars, and an intense heat spread through the metal. The surface began to glow red, then melt, droplets of molten iron dripping to the floor.


    Fulger, still seated, observed the display with detached interest. When the bars had been reduced to a pool of liquid metal, he finally stood, a shadow of exhaustion passing over his face.


    ¡ª "Impressive," he murmured, though his tone carried no sincerity.


    Kendrys wasted no time. She grabbed his arm.


    ¡ª "We¡¯re moving. Now," she ordered.


    Fulger let out a soft chuckle but followed her without protest. Together, they stepped over the remnants of the cell.


    Behind them, shards of wood and molten metal lay scattered in the dark.


    In the shadowy corridors, dozens of puppets stood in rows, motionless like disembodied sentinels.


    Fulger abruptly stopped, letting go of Kendrys¡¯ hand.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ll handle this," he said.


    Before she could respond, Fulger began to tremble, as though containing a power too immense to control. His hands, raised before him, glowed with streaks of light that danced along his fingers. Suddenly, bolts of lightning erupted from his palms, flooding the corridors with blinding white light.


    The energy crackled around him, filling the air with an intense hum that resonated like distant thunder. The raw heat and sheer force emanating from him made the stone walls tremble slightly.


    With a swift motion, Fulger unleashed an arc of lightning toward the walls, triggering a destructive wave that rippled through the confined space.


    The puppets, caught in the storm of energy, shattered under its impact. Their wooden bodies splintered, fragments flying against the walls and scattering across the floor. Some disintegrated into a rain of glowing embers, falling to the ground in smoldering remnants


    When the attack ceased, silence fell abruptly. Only the residual sparks crackled faintly on the ground. Kendrys swept the corridor with her gaze. The puppets had been obliterated.


    Fulger lowered his arms, his shoulders slightly slumped from the effort. Wisps of smoke still curled from his fingers, and his breathing, though steady, betrayed a hint of fatigue.


    ¡ª "You could say thank you," he finally said, an ironic smile playing on his lips.


    ¡ª "Impressive," she admitted. "But don¡¯t linger. This isn¡¯t over."


    They escaped the prison, but no sooner had they crossed the threshold than a deep rumble filled the air, followed by a deafening crash. A tide of puppets surged from the alleyways, their disjointed bodies rushing toward them with terrifying speed. Their jerky, mechanical movements created a cacophony of creaking wood and clattering against the cobblestones.


    ¡ª "There are too many..." Fulger murmured hoarsely.


    He clung to Kendrys¡¯ arm, his legs buckling under the strain.


    ¡ª "Follow me!" she commanded, pulling him along.


    She knew of a secret passage out of the city, but Fulger grew heavier with each step. His strength was failing, and every stride seemed to pull him closer to the thin line between life and death.


    The puppets pursued them relentlessly¡ªcrawling, leaping with an almost supernatural agility. Some, half-destroyed, dragged themselves over their fallen comrades, their wooden fingers scraping against the pavement in a desperate attempt to reach them.


    Fulger suddenly stopped, yanking Kendrys backward.


    ¡ª "What are you doing? They¡¯re coming!" she shouted.


    He turned his head slowly toward her, a sad smile forming on his lips.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m going to slow them down," he said. "I can¡¯t keep going."


    Before she could respond or protest, he raised his arms. A rumble filled the air, and a blinding light erupted from his palms. Lightning exploded with devastating intensity.


    The puppets were cut down by the wave of energy. Their bodies shattered into pieces, splinters of wood flying in every direction. The shockwave made the ground quake, and nearby buildings trembled under the impact.


    But the display of power left Fulger utterly drained. He collapsed abruptly, his limp body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.


    ¡ª "Fulger!" Kendrys screamed, rushing to his side.


    She slipped her arms under his shoulders, desperately trying to lift him. But he was too heavy, and his breathing grew irregular. Around them, the puppets, though diminished, continued crawling, their broken forms inching closer with an eerie persistence.


    Kendrys unleashed flames in every direction, creating a blazing circle around them. The air grew stifling, saturated with the acrid stench of burning wood. Yet the horde seemed endless¡ªeach puppet destroyed was replaced by two more.


    Her energy waned quickly, and her breaths grew shallow. The puppets crept closer, their charred bodies forming a relentless, writhing mass.


    A piercing scream shattered the chaos. Kendrys looked up just in time to see a metal bar slicing through the air, impaling Fulger.


    ¡ª "No!" she screamed.


    Lightning streaked furiously across the clouds. A second bar pierced his chest, pinning his body to the ground.


    Kendrys froze, paralyzed by horror.


    ¡ª "Fulger..." she whispered, tears streaming down her face.


    The flames around her surged, fueled by uncontrollable rage and grief. They cascaded through the streets like a tidal wave, consuming everything in their path. The puppets were reduced to ashes.


    With a powerful beat of fiery wings, Kendrys rose into the air, leaving behind a city ablaze. The streets, the buildings¡ªeverything was swallowed by an uncontrollable inferno.


    Kendrys fled the capital, her body weighed down by exhaustion. Behind her, the burning city became a hellish spectacle. Among the many structures devoured by the fire, one tower stood out. Tall and imposing, it still rose above the destruction, but its top, cloaked in an incandescent shroud, twisted under the relentless heat.


    Flames clung to its stone walls like greedy claws, licking its surface in a hypnotic dance. Thick plumes of black smoke billowed from its gaping openings, merging with the sky, already darkened by ash.


    Suddenly, a deep crack reverberated through the air, followed by a series of detonations echoing like thunderclaps. The base of the tower, weakened by the flames and intense heat, fractured. Large sections of its walls collapsed inward.


    The top wavered. Then, with a deafening roar, it slowly toppled, succumbing to its own weight.


    As the tower collapsed completely, it sent a cloud of dust and ash billowing into the air, mingling with the smoke.


    The fire, seemingly alive, appeared to possess its own will. It crawled along the fa?ades of buildings, devouring structures like an insatiable predator. The flames spiraled skyward, licking at the ash-laden sky.


    As Kendrys flew farther away, the inferno continued its relentless spread, reaching the city¡¯s outskirts in infernal waves.


    At the periphery, chaos reigned supreme. The streets, overrun with panicked residents, echoed with piercing screams. Disoriented figures ran in all directions¡ªsome carrying buckets of water, others clutching bags containing whatever they could salvage.


    Children cried, clinging to their parents¡¯ arms, while frightened animals scrambled to escape the growing hell.


    The flames, fueled by the wind and flammable materials, had transformed into a wall of fire, spreading inexorably. They snaked through narrow alleys, leaping from roof to roof with terrifying speed. Each blaze erupted with a roar, an infernal symphony drowning out the cries and pleas for help.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s her!" a voice shouted from the crowd, piercing through the chaos. "She caused all of this!"


    Other voices joined, their fear and anger mingling with the roaring flames.


    Scattered gazes shifted skyward. There, Kendrys wavered clumsily, rising into the air. Ash swirled around her, carried by the heat.


    Below, faces twisted with hate and terror. Kendrys could feel their fury reaching up to her, burning as fiercely as the fire consuming the city.


    She clenched her fists, summoning what remained of her resolve. Each beat of her fiery wings carried her a little farther, but her body felt heavy, her power slipping from her control.


    The flames continued to grow behind her, their crimson light illuminating the outskirts. She turned her eyes away from the destruction she left in her wake, but she couldn¡¯t escape the reflection of her actions within the fire¡¯s glow.


    Her gift finally failed. The flames surrounding her flickered and died, leaving Kendrys exposed. Gravity took hold, and her body plummeted. The wind screamed in her ears as the ground rushed toward her.


    She crashed hard at the forest¡¯s edge, the brutal impact knocking the air from her lungs. Pain exploded through her body, every bone and muscle screaming in protest. A dull throb pulsed through her, leaving her motionless for a moment, unable to move.


    Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she struggled to fill her lungs. Her trembling hands sought support from the soft earth, but even that simple motion felt insurmountable.


    Slowly, she pushed herself up, swaying on unsteady legs. Every movement was agony, every step an ordeal. Limping, she made her way toward the shadows of the forest.


    Behind her, the capital still burned. A sea of fire, alive and insatiable, continued its relentless advance.


    She didn¡¯t dare look back. Yet even without turning, she could feel the oppressive heat of the inferno at her back, a presence she couldn¡¯t escape.


    Kendrys trudged forward, dragging her feet through the soft earth of the forest. Her legs trembled, her strength draining with every step, but she didn¡¯t stop.


    She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, as though trying to channel her rage and despair. She had caused this catastrophe.

 3. Bound by the Unseen (Thana)

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    Thana walked with measured steps, his sharp, bright red shoes striking the cobblestones with a hypnotic regularity. With each movement, the multicolored diamonds of his outfit seemed to catch the light, scattering in shifting bursts like a flame in the wind. Ahead of him, the road remained deserted, but around him, in the sun-drenched fields, silhouettes froze, held captive by silent curiosity.


    A man, leaning against a rickety cart, halted his motion, his fingers clutching the rough wood, his gaze fixed on the radiant singularity passing before him. Further along, a woman in a crimson- stained apron paused mid-motion, a cluster of grapes still hanging between her fingers, her breath held as if she feared breaking the silence of the moment. Even a child, crouched at the edge of the road, dropped his stones abruptly, the pebbles tumbling to the ground as his widened eyes followed the advancing figure.


    Thana did not avert his gaze. He continued on his path, impervious to the suspended stares, indifferent to the hushed murmurs that barely bloomed before fading.


    Nothing in his stride, however, betrayed the slightest interest in his surroundings. He walked, calm and unyielding, as though the road itself existed solely to unfold beneath his steps.


    Further ahead, within a perfectly aligned row of meticulously tended vines, a young boy was working with an almost choreographic precision. His hands moved deftly among the vines, pruning and adjusting with the ease of a master despite his youth. Intrigued by the scene, Thana halted his march and approached, his shadow stretching to the boy''s feet.


    ¡ª"I¡¯m looking for a place to quench my thirst," he said.


    The child looked up, initially frozen by the strangeness of the man before him. His gaze slowly drifted down to the red shoes, climbed back up to the colorful attire, and finally settled on Thana¡¯s impassive face. Surprise, mingled with caution, flashed briefly in his eyes before polite reflex took over. He extended his water bottle, almost mechanically.


    Thana grabbed it and drank eagerly. The fresh droplets slid down his throat, tracing invisible shivers across his skin. When he was finished, he handed the empty bottle back to the boy, a fleeting smile lighting up his features.


    ¡ª"Is your master here?" he asked.


    The boy nodded, pointing to a towering figure on the horizon. The manor, draped in climbing vines and haloed by sunlight glinting off its windows, dominated the landscape. Thana fixed his gaze on the building, an unreadable glimmer passing through his eyes.


    ¡ª"Take me to him," he added.


    Intrigued by the request and the strange demeanor of his companion, the boy dashed off, his slender legs bounding between the rows of vines with youthful energy. Thana watched him, his face expressionless, before turning his attention to the clusters of grapes hanging around him. With a nonchalant gesture, he plucked one, brought it to his lips, and bit into a grape. The exquisite sweetness burst on his palate, but the pleasure was fleeting, quickly overtaken by the cold determination etched into his gaze.


    The wait stretched out like a taut string, each moment adding weight to the atmosphere. Finally, figures emerged from the fading light. Slowly, with an almost ceremonial gravity, a group of men approached, their heavy steps pounding the earth. Three hulking figures draped in dark coats flanked an old man in the center. His measured gait radiated crushing authority. The weathered face of the man, carved by years and struggles, resembled a mask of stone. His piercing, icy eyes locked onto Thana''s.


    ¡ª"Are you looking for me?" the old man called out, his thunderous voice shattering the stillness. Thana lifted his gaze.


    ¡ª"I¡¯m looking for a friend," he replied.


    The old man didn¡¯t answer immediately. His features stiffened, his expression closing like a door. Then his eyes, hard as shards of steel, scrutinized Thana.


    ¡ª"A fiery woman," Thana clarified.


    The master of the estate¡¯s face grew even tenser, his features taking on a deathlike rigidity. He raised his hand in a slow gesture. The air around him contracted, an invisible ripple undulating through the space. Then, without a sound, a black portal appeared at his side. Its edges shimmered with a darkness so profound it seemed to devour the surrounding light.


    ¡ª"I must find her."


    The old man remained motionless for a moment, his eyes narrowed into icy slits. Then, without a word, he stepped through the portal¡¯s threshold, his companions close behind. Their silhouettes disappeared into the shadow, swallowed by the darkness. And suddenly, Thana was alone on the deserted road, bathed in the hesitant, fading light of the day.


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    Thana did not stay still for long. All around him, the air seemed to thicken, vibrating with an energy that defied the natural. A chill coursed through his body, but it wasn¡¯t merely internal¡ª the very atmosphere seemed to share in it. The shadows of the trees, previously still, began to quiver and then undulate as though caught in an invisible wind. They stretched and contorted, slowly taking on grotesque, humanlike shapes. Tormented faces emerged from the dark outlines, their mouths open in silent screams. Hollow sockets fixed their gaze on Thana.


    It was then that his own body began to unravel. His skin stretched and split with a sharp crack, releasing a torrent of flesh and bone. His eye sockets sank into his skull like two bottomless pits, and his jaws shattered, scattering fragments into the heavy air. His entire head imploded in a grotesque burst, its pieces flying apart in a chaotic explosion. The shadows, echoing this destruction, wavered and trembled violently.


    Reality wavered. The colors of the world inverted suddenly: the lush greens of the trees turned spectral white, the sky became an inky black, and the blood spilled from Thana shimmered like liquid silver. A low rumble resonated through the ground.


    Then, everything froze. The fragments of Thana began to converge. They slid toward one another with an inhuman fluidity. Each piece found its place.


    The screaming faces in the shadows slowly faded, their forms dissolving into the outlines of the trees, but their expressions of terror remained etched in the air.


    When his face was fully reformed, Thana lifted his head. Not a single scar remained, but his gaze had changed. His pupils, a deep black, now glowed with a cosmic light. Entire galaxies danced within them, dying stars, consumed worlds. A chilling aura emanated from him, and even the wind seemed to halt, restrained by an instinctive fear.


    Thana continued his march. Each step seemed to bring him closer to an invisible boundary, a threshold between the tangible world and a reality he could not yet grasp. When he finally reached the banks of a river, the landscape before him seemed unreal. The black water, disturbingly still, did not reflect the starry sky; it seemed to devour it, each glimmering star disappearing into its unfathomable depths.


    Then came the voice. Soft and melodic. It emerged from the night like an ancient whisper, resonating in the air, in the water, in the trees themselves.


    Thana stopped, frozen by the vision before him. On the river, a figure appeared, floating above the water like an ethereal mirage. A woman. No, something far greater, far older. An entity. She moved with supernatural grace, her feet barely grazing the smooth, still surface of the water, without disturbing its tranquility.


    Around her, her black hair danced in the air, alive, as if animated by its own will. It stretched into infinite undulations, rising and falling, blending with the wind, but that was not all. As it extended, it seemed to consume space, reaching beyond the river to embrace the entire land. Wherever it passed, light vanished, and the world disappeared.


    Thana stepped forward, but each step was heavier than the last, as if the very ground resisted him. The air around him vibrated. When he finally spoke, his voice broke the oppressive silence. ¡ª"Mother, may I assist you?"


    The woman stopped. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. And the water beneath her feet, until then motionless, began to ripple. Her gaze fell upon him, and Thana felt his breath catch. It was not a human gaze: within her pupils, he saw entire worlds being born and collapsing, cosmic currents swirling, fragments of reality tearing apart and vanishing.


    ¡ª"I did not grant you permission to intervene," she said.


    He remained silent for a moment, swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat. Then he smiled, a bitter, tight smile, before letting out a short, almost mocking laugh.


    ¡ª"A human dares to defy his fate, and I should remain indifferent?"


    Nyx turned her gaze away, without so much as a sigh, toward the starry sky. But as her eyes left Thana, an invisible wave rippled outward. The river trembled, and suddenly, the water rose in chaotic motion. Waves surged around her. A low rumble rose from the ground, and a fissure appeared on the riverbank, snaking beneath Thana''s feet.


    Without paying attention to these disturbances, Nyx resumed her walk. Her hair, like living shadows, extended in all directions. The trees, unable to resist their grasp, snapped with ominous cracks, their branches falling into the darkness. Rocks vanished, swallowed by the shifting blackness, and even the moonlight faded.


    ¡ª"We are not to meddle in the affairs of mortals," she finally declared.


    Thana stood motionless. Nyx''s figure was slowly disappearing, but her aura lingered. A sense of emptiness, of absolute silence, seeped into the air. Yet something still burned within him. An


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    obsessive fascination for this entity that transcended everything he could comprehend. And yet, beneath that fascination, a dull frustration was rising.


    He lifted his eyes to the sky, now void of light. The night had thickened, tangible, clinging, like a veil of shadow wrapping around everything.


    *****


    Thana finally reached the capital. It loomed before him, perched atop an imposing mountain. The


    peaceful villages and rolling hills he had passed now seemed like relics of another time. Here, stone reigned supreme. The towering walls, carved from the very rock of the mountain, seemed to absorb the light. The crenelated towers, bristling with gleaming spears and flags whipping in the wind, rose like sharp fangs, challenging the sky.


    From the valley below, the winding path leading to the city snaked through steep slopes, lined with rocks and roots that seemed eager to trap unwary travelers.


    When he finally reached the monumental gates, he was greeted by motionless guards, frozen like statues, their silhouettes almost blending into the dark stone of the walls.


    Their gazes, sharp as blades, pierced the passersby, scrutinizing every movement with relentless precision. As Thana approached, the group stirred. Three guards stepped into his path, their silhouettes stark against the imposing shadow of the walls.


    ¡ª"Halt!" barked the first. "State your name and your purpose."


    Thana slowed, his steps halting a few meters from the guards. He raised his eyes to them, his gaze cold and inscrutable as it settled on the one who had spoken.


    ¡ª"Mardeh," he replied.


    ¡ª"''Mardeh''? That¡¯s it?" hissed the second guard, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "That¡¯s not a name."


    A faint smile flickered across Thana¡¯s lips, a smile devoid of warmth.


    The first guard frowned, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.


    ¡ª"Remove your cloak," he ordered. "And be clearer about your business."


    Slowly, Thana unbuttoned his cloak and let it slide from his shoulders. The sword hanging at his belt, with its hilt engraved with intricate patterns, immediately drew their attention.


    ¡ª"Nice weapon," murmured the third guard as he stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the blade. ¡ª"Who gave it to you?"


    Thana didn¡¯t answer. He inclined his head slightly.


    "Well, stranger?" pressed the first guard. "Speak, or you¡¯ll go no further."


    Thana lowered his gaze to the cobblestones before him, as if absorbed by an invisible thought. When he raised his head, his expression had changed, his eyes ignited with something elusive¡ªa frozen flame burning within.


    "Gatekeepers... You¡¯re so fascinating," he murmured, almost to himself. "Always so convinced of your own importance, and yet... so fragile."


    The guards exchanged uneasy glances, disturbed by the strangeness of his words. The second guard gripped the hilt of his weapon tightly and stepped forward.


    "Fragile?" growled one of the guards.


    But before he could go further¡ª


    A sharp, brutal sound shattered the air, like a thunderclap. The first guard¡¯s skull exploded, a burst of blood spraying in all directions, spattering the walls and cobblestones. Fragments of bone and flesh flew, hanging briefly in the air before falling heavily to the ground.


    The two remaining guards, frozen in stupefaction, didn¡¯t even have time to react. An invisible, relentless force struck them down. Their heads split open with a sickening crack, like overripe fruit. Their bodies collapsed almost in slow motion, lifeless, disjointed like puppets with severed strings. The metallic clatter of their weapons echoed across the cobblestones.


    Thana remained motionless. Not a single muscle in his face twitched. His icy, unfathomable eyes swept over the bodies at his feet, as if assessing a flawed work of art. No flicker of satisfaction, no hint of regret crossed his gaze. He stood there, distant and unshaken, like a detached spectator. He bent down to pick up his cloak. A droplet of blood, clinging to the hem, slid down the fabric before being wiped away with a single motion. He draped it back over his shoulders.


    His footsteps, steady and resonant, broke the silence that had fallen like a shroud over the site of the carnage. Behind him, the bodies lay still, frozen in their brutal deaths. The blood-soaked cobblestones gleamed faintly under the wavering light.


    And in that oppressive silence, his final words lingered, etched into the ether like an eternal condemnation:


    ¡ª¡°You are so fragile.¡±


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    Beyond the walls, the capital sprawled in all its chaotic frenzy, clinging to the steep slopes of the mountain like an animal clutching rock to avoid a fall. Its narrow, winding streets, resembling tangled veins, formed a labyrinth brimming with life. The cries of merchants rose in an incessant din, their raspy voices competing to catch the attention of passersby.


    The buildings, made of raw stone and dark wood, stood in an almost haphazard disorder. Some seemed to defy gravity, embedded directly into the steep mountain slopes, while others leaned precariously, as if ready to collapse under their own weight. Their pointed roofs, crowded together, created an uneven mosaic¡ªa sea of gray and black slates.


    Thana moved forward. The commotion slid off him without leaving a mark, as though an invisible aura repelled the chaos. His steps were precise, steady, and his stride seemed unnaturally fluid amidst the stumbling crowd. Nothing could disturb his determination.


    His path eventually led him to a narrow, shadowy alley, barely illuminated by the hesitant light of a flickering lantern. There, nestled between two crumbling buildings, was a tavern.


    The wind-beaten sign creaked like a dismal whisper, and the grimy windows emitted a dim, yellowish light, overshadowed by the shadows dancing within.


    Thana pushed the door open, and a harsh creak rang out. Conversations gradually died down, as though the air itself absorbed the words. Glances briefly turned toward him, but most patrons quickly averted their eyes.


    The atmosphere shifted around him. The air grew heavier, almost tangible, and the light from the lanterns dimmed.


    He stopped in front of the counter. The corpulent man behind the bar raised weary eyes to him, his gaze briefly settling on the visitor before returning to his glass, which he wiped with a mechanical motion. Yet, he could not ignore the overwhelming aura emanating from Thana, and his movements grew hesitant.


    ¡ª"I¡¯m looking for a woman who controls flames," said Thana.


    The bartender froze, his face locked in an expression of hesitation. Slowly, he glanced around, ensuring no one was listening, before turning his attention back to Thana.


    ¡ª"Maybe I know something... or maybe I don¡¯t," he replied, his lips curling into a nervous smile. ¡ª"What do you want?" Thana retorted.


    ¡ª"Money," answered the bartender.


    The air around them suddenly vibrated, like an invisible shiver rippling through the room. The bottles on the shelves clinked, and the lanterns flickered. Thana raised his hand, and under the terrified gazes of the patrons, it began to grow. His fingers elongated, twisting into monstrous claws, while his palm expanded, grotesquely oversized.


    The bartender, paralyzed with fear, opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. The gigantic hand descended upon him, gripping him like a rag doll. The fingers, black and veined with a reddish glow, coiled around his body, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.


    In a dark corner of the tavern, an old man, wrapped in a tattered cloak, watched the scene without blinking. Unlike the other patrons, who cowered or tried to flee, he showed no fear. His dull eyes fixed on Thana with a strange intensity, as if he recognized in him a power he had faced ¡ªor revered¡ªbefore. His lips moved softly, murmuring words in an ancient, guttural language. As Thana¡¯s monstrous hand tightened its grip around the bartender, the old man tilted his head slightly.


    ¡ª "If you value your life, tell me what you know," Thana commanded. His voice resonated in the tavern, cold and inhuman, freezing the air.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.The old man stopped murmuring for a moment, his fingers tightening around the table in front of him. A single word escaped his lips:


    ¡ª "An¡¯kara."


    The bartender, meanwhile, thrashed helplessly, his legs flailing frantically in the air. His face, distorted by fear, was drenched in sweat, and his voice cracked as he screamed:


    ¡ª "Yes! Yes!" he finally cried, his voice breaking with panic. "She¡¯s part of the royal guard! You¡¯ll find her in the castle¡ªplease, spare me!"


    A heavy silence fell. The patrons, frozen in mute horror, stared at Thana, unable to look away from the nightmarish scene.


    Thana studied the bartender for a moment, as if weighing the value of his words. Then, slowly, inexorably, he closed his hand.


    The sound that followed was dull. The bartender¡¯s body burst with a wet crack, spraying blood, flesh, and bone across the walls and counter. Fragments rained onto the floor with splatters.


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    The silence lasted only a moment. Screams erupted almost simultaneously. Patrons bolted toward the exit, overturning tables in their frantic escape, while others, paralyzed with terror, huddled under chairs, their silent prayers lost in the heavy air.


    Amid the chaos, the old man remained still. Slowly, he rose, his eyes still fixed on Thana.


    ¡ª "An¡¯kara... You still walk among us," he murmured.


    Thana, indifferent to his words and to the carnage he left behind, picked up his cloak, carefully shaking off a drop of blood before draping it over his shoulders. As he stepped through the door, a cold draft swept through the room, momentarily extinguishing the lanterns. But as the light timidly returned, something else stirred.


    The blood-stained floor, littered with debris, began to tremble. At first, it was just a faint quiver, but it grew stronger, becoming a low rumble that seemed to rise from the very bowels of the earth. The remaining patrons froze, their eyes wide with unspeakable horror.


    A thin, winding crack appeared at the center of the room, widening like a gaping wound on the blood-stained floor. A strange, hot, and fetid breath wafted from it, accompanied by a guttural gurgling. Then, with a terrifying crack, a monstrous mouth emerged.


    It was grotesque and enormous, lined with uneven fangs that gleamed like obsidian blades under the flickering light. A viscous tongue, as thick as a tree trunk, slithered out of the maw, leaving behind a black, sticky trail. The creature¡¯s lips, rough and cracked, contracted in a slow, unbearable motion, exhaling a stench so vile it caused some of the survivors to stagger.


    The screams doubled in intensity. A woman tried to run for the door, but the tongue shot out, swift as a whip, wrapping around her waist and yanking her violently into the gaping mouth. Her scream was abruptly silenced with the sound of jaws snapping shut.


    ¡ª "No... no... mercy!" cried a man, desperately clinging to a table. But the insatiable mouth widened further, consuming everything in its path. Chairs, tables, and even the bodies of the patrons were swallowed one by one, disappearing into the abyss with grotesque sucking noises. In a corner, the old man remained motionless. His eyes, fixed on the creature, were filled with an odd sense of understanding. He spread his arms, as if to embrace his fate, and murmured one last time:


    ¡ª "An¡¯kara... Your judgment is perfect."


    The tongue struck him with blinding speed, pulling him into the maw, which snapped shut with a final, resounding clap.


    Outside, Thana was already walking into the night. Silence fell behind him, heavy and absolute, as if the tavern had never existed.


    *****


    The castle loomed before Thana, imposing and austere, its sharp towers slicing through the sky


    like claws of stone.


    The main gate, massive and bristling with rusted iron fittings, stood like a dark maw ready to devour any intruder. Before it, four guards kept watch, their armor glinting in the pale light.


    The four guards turned toward him. Their sharp gazes assessed the stranger with suspicion, and one of them, taller than the others, stepped forward to block his path.


    ¡ª "Are you lost, stranger?" he called.


    Thana did not respond immediately. His calm but piercing eyes slid from the guard to the gate, as if these men were not even worthy of his attention.


    ¡ª "My name is Mardeh."


    The guard frowned, crossing his arms over his breastplate.


    ¡ª "And what do you want here, Thana? Strangers don¡¯t pass through these gates without good reason."


    ¡ª "I¡¯m looking for a woman who controls fire," Thana replied.


    The guards exchanged furtive glances.


    ¡ª "We don¡¯t answer to you," retorted a second guard, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword. "You have no business here. Turn back to where you came from."


    Thana allowed a faint, imperceptible smile to cross his face and stepped forward.


    ¡ª "Stop immediately!" growled the third guard.


    But Thana did not stop.


    ¡ª "I don¡¯t need your permission."


    The guards, enraged by his arrogance, drew their swords.


    ¡ª "You¡¯ll go no further," one guard threatened.


    Thana continued forward, his gaze fixed on the gates, as if no obstacle¡ªneither man nor steel¡ª could stand between him and his goal.


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    The first guard, unable to contain his rage any longer, leapt forward, his sword raised high. With a guttural cry, he brought the blade down with all his strength. It severed Thana¡¯s arm cleanly, sending a geyser of blood spraying across the cobblestones. Yet Thana did not slow. Not a single expression crossed his face.


    The second guard thrust his sword into Thana¡¯s abdomen. The blade sank to the hilt, but instead of collapsing, Thana planted his feet firmly on the ground and continued to advance. A dark, thick trail of blood marked his path.


    The guards, frozen in horrified disbelief, watched this mutilated man continue walking, his broken body undeterred. Thana moved forward still, inexorable, an unstoppable force that transcended flesh, fear, and even death. He did not stop.


    The third guard, seized by a visceral horror at the macabre scene unfolding before him, brandished his spear with desperate resolve. With a cry of rage and terror intermingled, he hurled it with all the strength he could muster. The spear tore through the air and slammed violently into Thana¡¯s shoulder, driving him to the ground.


    This time, Thana fell. His body seemed to yield under the force of the impact, the spear pinning him to the cold cobblestones as blood slowly seeped from the wound. Yet even on the ground, his face remained impassive. His eyes, fixed, hard, and implacable, never wavered from the massive gates of the castle.


    ¡ª "He¡¯s completely mad!" shouted the guard, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.


    His comrades, relieved to see Thana on the ground, burst out laughing as well. But their laughter had a strange edge to it.


    As they let their guard down, silence fell once more, heavy and oppressive.


    Thana moved. Slowly, he extended his uninjured arm to grab his severed limb, still lying beside him. The guards'' laughter died instantly, replaced by horrified disbelief.


    Under their incredulous gazes, Thana repositioned his arm against the bloody stump of his shoulder. What happened next defied all comprehension. Veins coiled around each other, bones snapped back together with dry cracks, and flesh seemed to melt and reform. The blood that had been pouring out moments earlier was drawn back as if by an invisible force, leaving his skin intact, smooth, as though the injury had never existed.


    The guards stepped back, their faces blanching visibly. One of them muttered, his voice trembling with fear:


    ¡ª "What... is that?"


    Thana stood up, the spear still lodged in his shoulder. His icy gaze swept over the guards, not with anger, but with an indifference far more terrifying.


    He pulled the spear from his shoulder. The blood that briefly seeped from the wound vanished almost instantly. He dropped the spear to the ground, where it clattered like the toll of an impending sentence.


    Without a word, he took a step forward.


    The guards were frozen in terror, unable to look away. Thana reached into his cloak, the movement so slow and deliberate it seemed to suspend time itself.


    When he withdrew his hand, he held a dark green wrought-iron lamp, its intricate engravings shifting and undulating. The tinted glass, threaded with glowing red veins, pulsed faintly.


    ¡ª "Tick-tock... tick-tock..."


    Thana paused, his cold smile freezing in place. The lamp trembled in his hand.


    ¡ª "Not yet," Thana murmured, his eyes dropping to the object.


    The lamp¡¯s engravings briefly lit up, a vivid pulse coursing through them. The faint murmuring sound transformed into a low hum.


    The guards recoiled.


    ¡ª "What... what is that?" one of them stammered, his voice breaking with panic.


    Before anyone could act, the lamp vibrated violently, and a spiraling green light burst forth. The light twisted, creating a suffocating wave of heat that made the air around them shudder.


    The three closest guards were caught in a swirling vortex of glowing red energy. Their bodies, gripped by an invisible force, were violently lifted off the ground, suspended in the air.


    They struggled, desperately flailing, their hands searching for something to hold onto. Their cries, muffled and faint, died out before they could even fully form.


    Their silhouettes, frozen in postures of terror, were inexorably drawn toward the lamp. Their flesh folded under an overwhelming force, completely absorbed into the object. In an instant, they vanished entirely, swallowed by the red light.


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    The lamp vibrated intensely in Thana¡¯s hand, emitting a low hum, like a rapidly beating heart, before gradually calming. The engravings etched across its surface briefly glowed with a sinister light, as if inscribing the souls it had just consumed.


    The last guard, the sole survivor, collapsed to his knees. His trembling hands sought nonexistent support on the icy cobblestones, while his lips murmured incoherent, fragmented prayers, as though his words shattered under the weight of his fear. His gaze, unable to look away, remained fixed on the lamp.


    The green light flickered, pulsing faintly like a beating heart. Then, suddenly, it intensified.


    ¡ª "Insufficient," murmured a raspy voice.


    Thana lifted his head, his gaze settling on the guard.


    The guard tried to rise, but his legs refused to move, pinned to the ground by a visceral terror. His lips quivered.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m looking for a woman who controls fire," Thana declared.


    The guard shook his head frantically, tears streaming from his eyes. But no words escaped his mouth.


    Thana stepped forward, his shadow stretching unnaturally under the greenish glow of the lamp, enveloping the hapless guard like a shroud. He crouched slowly toward him.


    ¡ª "Speak," he whispered.


    The lamp stirred, a vivid flame slipping from the tinted glass, writhing like a serpent as it slithered slowly along the guard¡¯s body.


    The light penetrated his pupils. His breath hitched, and his body convulsed before going completely rigid. His torso arched, his arms twisted at impossible angles, and his head fell back. His eyes, now devoid of humanity, glowed with a red light. The features of his face, once marked by panic, were frozen into a stoic expression. His mouth opened slowly.


    ¡ª "Her name is Kendrys..." he finally murmured, his voice now a cavernous whisper, as though emanating from the depths of the lamp. "She is... in the castle... on the seventh floor..."


    Thana remained motionless. The lamp vibrated violently, its guttural hum growing louder. A burst of green light erupted suddenly, enveloping the frozen guard. He no longer moved, but his body began to change.


    His skin turned translucent, its color draining completely until it became a diaphanous veil barely clinging to his muscles. The dark veins beneath his flesh began to pulse, each beat following the rhythm of the lamp¡¯s light. They coiled around his limbs like serpents, swollen with an alien, corrosive energy.


    A sinister crack resounded. His bones, visible beneath the skin now stretched taut like a glass film, shimmered and subtly distorted under an invisible pressure. His joints snapped violently, his fingers twisting into grotesque angles as his hands groped futilely at the empty air.


    His flesh, seized by an unbearable tremor, began to crack slowly. Thin but deep fissures appeared along his arms and legs, releasing a reddish mist¡ªa blend of vapor and light¡ªthat rose toward the lamp.


    His muscles, locked in rigid spasms, started to dissolve into ethereal filaments that floated briefly before being absorbed.


    His face, already frozen in terror, began to deform. His cheeks hollowed, his eyes, unnaturally wide, lost their luster and became two empty sockets glowing with a foreign fire. His lips, twisted into a silent grimace, crumbled like ash, revealing a jaw that dislocated with a dull snap.


    Every part of his being seemed to resist, as if refusing to be erased, but the lamp was relentless. The guard, now more shadow than man, was suspended between the world of the living and an unknown dimension. His outline blurred, vibrating under the lamp¡¯s intensifying green light, until he fragmented entirely.


    In one final, blinding burst, his body was sucked away in a sudden, violent motion, as though swallowed into a bottomless void. The emptiness he left behind was absolute: no trace, no imprint on the cobblestones, not even a lingering scent. He had been erased, consumed by the lamp.


    The lamp¡¯s hum faded gradually, replaced by silence. It grew cold, inert.


    Thana lowered his gaze to the object, his icy eyes briefly meeting the engravings as if reading a secret only he could understand. Slowly, he ran his fingers across the lamp¡¯s metal, tracing its etched surfaces with deliberate care.


    ¡ª"Always insatiable," he murmured.


    He slipped the object back into his cloak. His footsteps echoed heavily on the cobblestones. Thana entered the castle, where activity buzzed around him. The corridors resounded with hurried footsteps of servants, the rustle of fabrics, and the ceaseless murmur of conversations spilling


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    from adjacent rooms. Silhouettes moved back and forth. Voices rang out intermittently: orders delivered in commanding tones, hushed replies, and the metallic clatter of utensils emanating from a distant kitchen.


    A servant, his arms laden with linens, bumped into Thana. He collapsed instantly, his body convulsing before his final breath escaped in a sinister gurgle.


    Thana reached into his cloak and pulled out a small pouch. From it, he withdrew a pinch of silvery dust, which he blew into the air. The dust sparkled briefly before dispersing, carried by a faint breeze. Immediately, a wave of coughing and spasms swept through the castle''s occupants. Servants, guards, and even nobles succumbed, their bodies crumpling like limp dolls onto the cold stone floors.


    Thana ascended the stairs to the seventh floor. Doors passed by him, each adorned with intricate carvings.


    When he reached the corridor of the seventh floor, he placed a hand on the stone wall. The next moment, his body faded as if his silhouette dissolved into a translucent mist. He moved forward without hesitation, passing through the wall.


    On the other side, the stones seemed to tremble slightly, as if protesting the intrusion, before settling back into place behind him.


    Beyond the wall, Thana found deserted chambers, where dusty beds seemed to await occupants who hadn¡¯t arrived in decades.


    He continued on and entered a dimly lit room, where a man lay sleeping in a canopy bed. His loud snores echoed through the space, oblivious to the approaching threat.


    Before the man could open his eyes, a dozen knives shot out from the darkness, slicing through the air before embedding themselves in Thana¡¯s body. The sound of blades piercing flesh resonated, grim and chilling. Three knives lodged into his skull, while the others pierced his torso, arms, and legs.


    ¡ª "Well done. You spotted me," Thana said, his tone light.


    Around him, dozens of floating blades hovered in the air like metallic serpents, poised to strike at any moment.


    ¡ª "Your power is fascinating... but dangerous," Thana added with an amused smile.


    The man finally opened his eyes.


    ¡ª "Who are you?" he asked, his voice rough.


    ¡ª "You don¡¯t really want to know," Thana replied.


    The man, summoning his strength, focused his power. The knives floating in the room suddenly launched toward Thana. The impact hurled his body against the wall, where he remained pinned, nailed in place by the blades.


    ¡ª "What do you want?" the man roared.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m looking for Kendrys," Thana replied.


    ¡ª "Why?" the man gasped.


    ¡ª "Because she¡¯s going to do something I won¡¯t like in the future. I need to kill her before it happens."


    ¡ª "You should worry about your own fate," the man growled.


    But Thana was already advancing. The knives, still embedded in his flesh, no longer seemed to affect him. His torn skin began to heal itself.


    ¡ª "Unfortunately for you, you¡¯re going to die," Thana announced.


    The blades passed through his body, slicing through him as if he were nothing more than an illusion. The man, trembling with rage and terror, instinctively stepped back.


    Thana extended his hand, his icy fingers brushing the man¡¯s forehead. At that moment, his eyes transformed into shards of pure light, blinding and inhuman. The man convulsed, his body wracked by uncontrollable spasms. A wave of invisible energy crashed down on him, shattering his will like a fragment of glass.


    ¡ª "I warned you," Thana murmured, a cold smile curling his lips.


    ¡ª "Where is Kendrys¡¯ room?" Thana asked.


    ¡ª "Room seven-twenty-nine... but she¡¯s not there."


    ¡ª "Where is she?" Thana pressed.


    ¡ª "I... I don¡¯t know..."


    A sigh of irritation escaped Thana.


    "How tedious," he muttered, his tone so low it sounded as if he were speaking to himself.


    He began pacing the room. After a moment, he stopped abruptly. In one fluid motion, he pulled out his lamp. An incandescent light erupted immediately, enveloping the man in a burning spiral.


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    The man didn¡¯t even have time to scream. His body was consumed in a fraction of a second, swallowed by the luminous vortex. The room fell silent once more.


    Thana gently ran his fingers over the engraved surface of the lamp.


    ¡ª "You like that, don¡¯t you?" he asked.


    The lamp responded with a faint hum.


    Thana made his way to room seven-twenty-nine.


    Upon entering, the stark austerity of the space struck his senses. The small, sparse room offered only the bare essentials: a narrow bed, a worn wooden table, and a window letting in the fading twilight. Everything in the room exuded simplicity, except for the desk.


    The desk was cluttered with personal effects: an empty inkwell, scattered papers, and a hairbrush carelessly set to one side. He picked up the brush, his fingers brushing over its bristles.


    He turned his gaze toward the window. The city, cloaked in the soft hues of twilight, stretched endlessly before him. Thana stood still for a moment, gazing at the rooftops merging into the growing shadows.


    But the moment was brief. His attention quickly returned to the desk. He rifled through the papers with growing impatience, flipping them carelessly. The documents revealed nothing of note¡ª mundane reports and unremarkable notes.


    A faint sigh escaped his lips as he set the papers down. His gaze returned to the brush he still held between his fingers. After a moment of hesitation, he slipped it into his pouch.


    ¡ª "This might come in handy," he murmured before turning away.

 4. Unknown Terrain (Rouis)

    The square of Brun-le-Comt¨¦ exuded life and harmony. The surrounding gardens burst into a symphony of colors: scarlet tulips, golden daffodils, and bright blue forget-me-nots formed a vibrant tableau. The paved walkways, lined with shrubs trimmed with near-artistic precision, guided passersby with a sense of calm. The soft song of a solitary bird drifted through the air, mingling with the murmur of conversations and the distant creak of carts on cobblestones.


    At the center of the square, the white marble statue of Helric the Wise stood proudly. Towering four meters tall, it cast a protective shadow over the heart of the city. The king stood with dignity, one hand raised as if to bless or soothe, his face carved with a precision that evoked timeless authority. A sword hung at his belt, and his cape, frozen in eternal motion, added to his grandeur.


    At his feet, bas-reliefs depicted his greatest achievements: walls as solid as stone, a library housing the world''s knowledge, and peace accords that had spared generations from conflict. Freshly laid flowers surrounded the base of the statue, a testament that his memory still lived on in the hearts of the townsfolk.


    Rouis was absentmindedly gazing at the statue, searching for a moment of calm amidst the bustle around him, when a feminine figure appeared at the edge of his vision. She moved with grace, her long red hair dancing in the soft sunlight. Each step seemed deliberate, each movement accentuated by her green satin dress, which clung to her form with an elegance that bordered on provocative. Her freckles lit up her face, but it was her eyes¡ªpiercing and inquisitive¡ªthat truly captivated.


    ¡ª "Rouis?" she called, her voice clear but tinged with a hint of impatience.


    He nodded silently, without responding.


    ¡ª "This won¡¯t take long," she continued, her gaze briefly flicking over him, as if evaluating his usefulness, before returning to the statue.


    Rouis¡¯s fingers instinctively tightened around his bundle, his knuckles whitening slightly. A wave of discomfort crept up his neck, spreading to his temples, while an involuntary twitch shook his shoulders. It wasn¡¯t so much her words that grated on him, but her tone¡ªa blend of superiority and detachment that seemed to dismiss everything in its path. He inhaled slowly, suppressing a biting remark he knew would serve no purpose.


    ¡ª "My name is Ambre," she said at last, her smile faint but tinged with polite coldness, as though fulfilling an obligation.


    ¡ª "Let¡¯s go."


    ¡ª "I haven¡¯t eaten yet," she replied, her tone casual.


    Rouis didn¡¯t answer. He reached into his bundle and pulled out a piece of stale bread. The bread, hard and dusty, looked more like a relic than an offering. He handed it to her without a word, his expression impassive. Ambre wrinkled her nose slightly, her eyes settling on the item as if it were an indecipherable puzzle. Her expression wavered between thinly veiled disdain and incredulity.


    ¡ª "Seriously?" she murmured, an ironic smile tugging at her lips.


    Rouis shrugged indifferently. He bit into the bread, his teeth crunching against its tough surface, before stowing the remainder back in his bundle. It wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d encountered such a reaction, and he knew it wouldn¡¯t be the last. Why bother explaining? He retreated into stoic silence, letting unnecessary words die on the edge of his lips.


    Ambre averted her gaze, her irritated pout betraying a hint of disapproval she seemed unwilling to voice.


    The sun continued to bathe the square, its rays gently tracing the perfect contours of Helric¡¯s statue.


    She spun around abruptly and walked briskly, forcing Rouis to quicken his pace to avoid falling behind. The streets, wide and impeccably paved with smooth stones, were flanked by imposing buildings. Their facades boasted wrought-iron balconies and shutters painted in soft pastel hues. Shops lined both sides of the street, proudly displaying their wares behind gleaming windows. Delicate hanging pots and overflowing flower boxes added a lively touch, releasing subtle hints of jasmine and lavender into the air.


    They passed through the doors of a spacious tea salon, where an atmosphere of refined elegance immediately enveloped them. The interior, spread across two levels, exuded understated sophistication. On the ground floor, small polished wooden tables were carefully arranged around a central basin. Iridescent lotus flowers floated serenely on the water, their reflections dancing on the calm surface under the soft glow of hanging lamps.


    Waiters in black silk tunics embroidered with delicate patterns moved gracefully between the tables, their steps choreographed with precision. They carried trays bearing steaming teapots set on fine porcelain adorned with intricate floral designs. A majestic living wall, stretching from floor to ceiling, drew the eye¡ªa vibrant mosaic of exotic plants with radiant foliage. Silver ferns shimmered under the light, while purple ivy intertwined with pearly white orchids, exhaling a subtle, soothing fragrance.


    Upstairs, a dark wooden balcony overlooked the scene, offering a panoramic view of a lush hanging garden. Plush armchairs, upholstered in deep red velvet, were arranged along the railings, inviting visitors to relax. Through large bay windows, the cobblestone alleys of the old town could be seen winding below, bathed in a gentle golden light.


    A group of about ten women sat near the basin, their laughter ringing out as they shared delicately decorated porcelain plates of cakes. Ambre chose a secluded table and settled herself with elegance, crossing her legs and resting her hands on the polished edge.


    Rouis paused for a moment, his eyes sweeping the room. He scanned every corner, his shoulders slightly tense, assessing each face and gesture, as if searching for the faintest hint of a hidden threat.


    Soon, a pale-skinned man dressed in an elegant black suit approached with a measured gait.


    ¡ª "Have you decided, madam?" he asked, his tone neutral yet marked by a distant politeness.


    ¡ª "A platter of pastries and a violet infusion," Ambre replied with cold confidence, her gaze already elsewhere.


    A few minutes later, he returned with a plate overflowing with delicately arranged sweets and a teapot emitting a fine wisp of steam. Without hesitation, Rouis pulled out a chair and sat down across from Ambre, the slight creak of the chair echoing faintly in the hushed room. She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, her features unmoving, except for a single arched eyebrow betraying her irritation.


    ¡ª "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice cold but low, as though to avoid drawing attention.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m sitting," he replied simply.


    ¡ª "Stand. You¡¯re supposed to protect me," she insisted, her tone weighted with impatience that seemed more directed at herself than him.


    Rouis gritted his teeth, his fingers briefly brushing the edge of the chair before reluctantly rising to his feet. He stepped back a few paces, positioning himself behind her with his arms crossed. His eyes swept the room. Conversations continued, but here and there, he caught furtive glances and muffled snickers. Nothing seemed to suggest any real threat.


    Unbothered, Ambre selected a pastry, bringing it to her lips with an almost affected slowness. Rouis averted his gaze, focusing on a distant point to avoid meeting her eyes.


    ¡ª "Ambre! What a joy to see you!"


    A voice broke through the subdued murmur of the room, and a short, round woman stepped forward, her bracelets jingling with every movement. Her blonde hair framed an animated face, her bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement.


    ¡ª "Imelda!" Ambre exclaimed, rising fluidly to greet her with an embrace.


    Their hug was brief but sincere, marked by a shared smile. Imelda grasped Ambre¡¯s hands, holding them gently before taking a seat beside her.


    ¡ª "When are you leaving?" she asked, her fingers absently toying with a shimmering bracelet on her wrist.


    ¡ª "Today," Ambre replied, adjusting the fold of her dress, her tone as light as a breath.


    Imelda sighed softly, her cheeks flushing faintly.


    ¡ª "I wish I could come with you to the capital," she said, a glimmer of envy in her eyes.


    ¡ª "So do I. But I¡¯ll bring you back something," Ambre promised, her smile warming her features.


    Imelda chuckled softly, tilting her head slightly.


    "Blue silk from the north, perhaps?" Imelda asked, a playful note in her voice.


    ¡ª "Of course," Ambre replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.


    Imelda leaned forward slightly to pick an assortment of candied fruits, her movements measured yet delicate. The two women exchanged a knowing glance.


    ¡ª "We need to leave," Rouis interjected calmly but firmly, breaking their exchange.


    Both women turned to him, their smiles fading slightly. Imelda raised an eyebrow, amusement gleaming in her eyes.


    ¡ª "Is he your escort?" she asked, her tone laced with mischief. "He¡¯s tall but scrawny."


    Ambre let out a soft laugh, shaking her head gently.


    ¡ª "And yet, he came highly recommended," she replied with a playful wink.


    The two women burst into laughter, their crystalline tones contrasting sharply with Rouis¡¯s stoic expression. Without a word, he approached the table, grabbed a pastry, and bit into it. Silence fell immediately around them.


    ¡ª "How rude!" Imelda exclaimed, her lips pressing together as her gaze oscillated between disdain and amusement.


    Ambre blushed faintly, averting her eyes while smoothing an imaginary crease on her dress.


    ¡ª "Let¡¯s go," Rouis said, his voice low but resolute.


    He grabbed Ambre¡¯s arm to prompt her to stand, his gesture lacking finesse. Before she could move, Imelda sprang to her feet, her bracelets jangling loudly.


    ¡ª "You have no right!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the subdued ambiance of the salon.


    In a swift motion, her hand flew up and struck Rouis¡¯s face with a sharp slap that echoed to the far corners of the room. The murmurs around them ceased instantly. A nearby patron carefully placed her teacup down, her gaze fixed on the scene.


    Rouis didn¡¯t flinch. His face remained expressionless, but a glacial glint flashed in his eyes, like a shard of glass catching cold light. His posture was rigid, his shoulders slightly tense, and his fists clenched. Two servers appeared quickly, stopping a few steps away.


    Instinctively, Rouis¡¯s hand drifted toward the hilt of the dagger concealed beneath his belt. The familiar feel of leather against his fingers offered a fleeting sense of control, but he stopped just short of drawing it, his gaze locked on Imelda.


    She met his eyes, and for a moment, a shadow of doubt crossed her face. Her previously quick, indignant breaths slowed slightly, as though she hesitated. Her cheeks, still flushed with emotion, betrayed an uncomfortable mix of determination and uncertainty.


    The tension between them was almost palpable, like a taut rope ready to snap.


    Three more servers suddenly emerged from the shadows, their steps perfectly synchronized. Their straight, black silhouettes formed a silent yet imposing line in front of Rouis, creating a human barrier that seemed to silently declare: Not a step further.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡ª "Stop!" Ambre shouted, her voice slicing through the silence like a shard of shattered glass.


    She rushed toward Rouis, her face marked by an urgency she struggled to conceal. Her fingers gripped his arm, digging into his skin with an almost desperate strength. Through the fabric of his shirt, her nails left red marks.


    ¡ª "I..." he began.


    ¡ª "Be quiet," Ambre murmured through clenched teeth.


    Rouis¡¯s shoulders stiffened at her response, but she didn¡¯t release his arm. Instead, she gave it a small tug.


    ¡ª "Are you all right, madam?" one of the servers asked. His pale face and respectful tone were weighed down by a distrust he made no effort to hide.


    Ambre nodded slowly, holding back a sigh. Her lips formed a forced smile, but her briefly averted gaze betrayed her unease.


    ¡ª "Yes, everything is fine," she replied, her tone firmer than she intended, as if she were trying to convince both the man and herself.


    The servers exchanged a quick glance before stepping back in perfect unison. Their eyes, however, remained fixed on Rouis, their stares heavy like an invisible shadow.


    Rouis, still motionless, finally released his grip on the hilt of his dagger. His arm fell slowly to his side, though his fist remained slightly clenched. A thin trickle of blood dripped from a shallow cut on his forearm, landing on the white marble floor with a striking crimson splash, like a flaw on an otherwise perfect painting.


    Taking a deep breath, Rouis guided Ambre toward the exit with measured, almost mechanical movements. Though controlled, his actions radiated a quiet tension, like a coiled spring ready to snap.


    Cool air enveloped them as they stepped outside, but the atmosphere between them remained strangely heavy.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m sorry," he murmured at last, his voice rough and low.


    Ambre turned her head slightly toward him, her face still locked in an inscrutable expression. Her lips trembled for a moment, but no words came. She eventually gave him a brief nod.


    Rouis slowed his pace slightly, glancing back now and then to ensure she was following. There was no urgency to their walk, yet the silence between them seemed to stretch time itself. Neither of them made any effort to fill the void that hung heavily over their shoulders. Still, a faint sigh escaped Ambre¡¯s lips, so soft it might have gone unnoticed. That fragile sound, almost a whisper, revealed the faintest crack in the tension.


    Rouis pushed open the creaking door of a small stable on the outskirts of town, holding it for Ambre before stepping inside. The space smelled of fresh hay and tanned leather, a scent Ambre greeted with a visible grimace. Her meticulously polished boots sank slightly into the earthy floor, and she instinctively lifted the hem of her dress to keep it from brushing the dust.


    ¡ª "Surely we could have found something better," she muttered, her gaze sweeping over the modest stalls where a few horses stirred gently.


    Rouis didn¡¯t respond, focusing instead on evaluating the animals. His attention settled on a sturdy brown stallion, its coat faintly glistening under the flickering light filtering through the gaps in the wooden walls. A white star marked its forehead, and its well-defined muscles spoke of quiet strength.


    The stable hand, an old man with a face weathered by time, approached with a slight limp.


    ¡ª "Strong, steady, and built for long journeys," he said, patting the horse¡¯s neck.


    ¡ª "It¡¯ll do," Rouis replied, handing over the agreed-upon payment.


    Standing a few steps away, Ambre crossed her arms, her gaze shifting between the horse and Rouis.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re kidding, right? That horse is huge. How am I supposed to get on it?"


    Rouis glanced at her, a barely perceptible smile tugging at his lips.


    ¡ª "With a bit of effort," he replied, taking the reins.


    He led the animal out of the stable, where the fading daylight brought out the warm tones of its coat. Once outside, Rouis mounted in one smooth motion before extending a hand to Ambre. She looked at him as though he were asking her to scale a mountain.


    ¡ª "Seriously? You couldn¡¯t have picked a carriage or, I don¡¯t know, something more comfortable?"


    ¡ª "Not an option," Rouis replied calmly but firmly. "Now get on."


    Ambre groaned but eventually took his hand, hauling herself up with an awkwardness that earned an amused sigh from Rouis. Once seated behind him, her hands gripped his waist with noticeable stiffness.


    ¡ª "You could warn me before you start moving!" she snapped as the horse began to trot leisurely down the path.


    ¡ª "And you could stop complaining," he replied without looking back.


    Their progress was punctuated by the rhythmic sound of hooves on packed earth, a steady beat that seemed to soothe everything except Ambre¡¯s persistent irritation.


    ¡ª "This saddle is uncomfortable. My legs hurt," she continued, her voice cutting through the calm of the twilight.


    ¡ª "You can always walk," Rouis suggested, the smile in his voice betraying his sarcasm.


    Ambre fell silent for a moment before mumbling something unintelligible. The road stretched ahead of them, bordered by tall grasses and bushes, while the first shadows of the forest loomed on the horizon. The sun, sinking slowly, cast golden hues over the trees, and the air carried a refreshing coolness.


    Ambre shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.


    ¡ª "If we fall, it¡¯ll be your fault," she added eventually.


    ¡ª "Then hold on tight," Rouis retorted, shrugging slightly.


    He guided the horse with confidence, his eyes fixed on the winding path that gradually disappeared into the shadow of the woods. The silence, occasionally broken by Ambre¡¯s sighs and remarks, wasn¡¯t oppressive.


    As the day wore on, the forest enveloped them with a presence that felt almost alive. The towering, twisted trees stood like ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches intertwining into an oppressive canopy that filtered the sunlight. What light remained fell in scattered beams, casting shifting patterns of shadow on the forest floor, blanketed with dead leaves and withered ferns. The air was thick with the scent of moss and damp earth¡ªheavy, yet strangely comforting. At each step, the rustling of blackthorn bushes added an undercurrent of tension, like a whispered warning from the forest itself.


    By dusk, the sky blazed with hues of purple and gold, and the shadows of the trees stretched long across the path. Rouis slowed the horse and stopped near a small clearing. He dismounted effortlessly, his boots sinking slightly into the soft earth.


    Turning to Ambre, he extended his hand.


    ¡ª "Get down," he said simply.


    Ambre raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.


    ¡ª "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice teetering between annoyance and a faint trace of worry she tried to mask.


    ¡ª "We¡¯re going to eat and rest," he replied, unfastening the pack secured to the saddle. "Now, get down."


    Ambre stared at him skeptically, then cast an incredulous glance around.


    ¡ª "Here?" she repeated, disbelief dripping from her voice as she gestured vaguely at the forest surrounding them.


    ¡ª "Yes, here," he replied calmly, though an ironic glint danced in his eyes.


    She pressed her lips together.


    ¡ª "You couldn¡¯t find somewhere more¡­ civilized?"


    ¡ª "Get down," he insisted, this time more firmly.


    With an exasperated sigh, Ambre grabbed his hand. Rouis guided her down gently, but she wobbled slightly as her feet hit the ground.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s uneven," she grumbled, adjusting her dress. "And dirty."


    Rouis allowed himself an amused smile.


    ¡ª "Welcome to the forest."


    She shot him a furious look, but he was already unloading the horse, seemingly unfazed by her growing irritation.


    ¡ª "Go gather some firewood," he added simply, without giving her any further attention.


    ¡ª "Excuse me?" she asked, her gaze defiant.


    ¡ª "Branches," he repeated. "For the fire. Unless you¡¯d prefer to sleep in the dark."


    Ambre crossed her arms, her clenched fists betraying her rising frustration.


    ¡ª "Fine," she muttered at last.


    She glared at him for a moment, her brows knitted, before turning on her heel with an exaggerated sigh. Her heavy steps crunched through the dead leaves underfoot, her straight back radiating a pride she was determined to maintain. Her figure quickly vanished into the trees, swallowed by the growing darkness.


    As she walked off, Rouis tied the horse securely to a sturdy trunk, knotting the reins with care. He gathered a few stones and arranged them into a circle for the fire, then lit it with practiced ease. Flames burst to life, casting flickering light across the trunks and pushing back the shadows that had begun to gather around them.


    Ambre returned shortly after, her arms laden with branches that she dropped noisily beside the fire. Strands of hair clung to her sweat-dampened forehead, and she avoided meeting Rouis¡¯s gaze.


    ¡ª "Here," she said curtly.


    Unfazed, Rouis handed her a bowl containing a simple mixture of meat and grains that he had been cooking over the fire. A light steam rose from it, carrying the aromas of roasted meat and toasted grains.


    ¡ª "Here," he said, a sly smile playing at his lips.


    Ambre stared at the contents of the bowl, a look of disgust etched across her face.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m not eating that," she declared curtly.


    ¡ª "That?" Rouis replied, raising an eyebrow, his tone feigning innocent confusion.


    ¡ª "That¡­ thing," she clarified, waving her hand in the air as if trying to dispel an unbearable odor.


    Rouis shrugged, visibly unaffected by her disdain.


    ¡ª "Suit yourself," he said simply.


    He took back the bowl and sat by the fire. Each bite was a comforting blend of warmth and simplicity, and he made no effort to hide his enjoyment, savoring the meal with exaggerated slowness. Ambre sat at a distance, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames. She seemed lost in thought, and for once, she said nothing.


    Once he was done, Rouis stood, pulled a worn sleeping bag from his pack, and held it out to Ambre.


    ¡ª "Here," he said plainly.


    Ambre looked up at him, hesitating for a moment. She brushed the fabric lightly with her fingers before taking it, her movements cautious and filled with suspicion.


    ¡ª "And you?" she asked, her tone softening slightly.


    ¡ª "I don¡¯t need it," he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.


    She stared at him, incredulous.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re going to hurt yourself," she murmured, her voice wavering between concern and sarcasm.


    Rouis shrugged, a hint of amusement in his gaze.


    ¡ª "You¡¯ve never slept on fresh grass under the stars?" he teased with a soft laugh.


    Ambre flushed slightly and averted her eyes. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she turned her head and said brusquely:


    ¡ª "Turn around."


    Rouis complied, turning slowly, the corner of his mouth still curved in a sly smile. But just before fully looking away, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The sleeping bag struck his back with a dull thud.


    ¡ª "I told you not to look!" she shouted, her voice trembling between anger and embarrassment.


    ¡ª "I thought you were finished," he replied with a chuckle.


    Ambre, red with frustration, turned her back on him. Rouis, meanwhile, stepped away slightly, his senses alert. The distant rustling of leaves and the occasional crackle of burning wood were the only sounds breaking the night¡¯s silence. Other than their footprints, everything seemed calm.


    When Rouis returned to the camp, Ambre was lying in the sleeping bag, her face partially hidden by the fabric. Her eyes, however, remained wide open, following the hypnotic flicker of the flames.


    ¡ª "Aren¡¯t you cold?" he asked, sitting near the fire, his gaze sweeping cautiously around them.


    She shook her head.


    ¡ª "Tell me a story," she said suddenly, her voice soft, almost hesitant.


    Rouis stared at her, surprised by the request.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m not your entertainer," he replied.


    Ambre turned her eyes away, but her shoulders quivered slightly. That¡¯s when Rouis noticed the silent tears rolling down her cheeks. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand over his tired face.


    ¡ª "Fine," he said at last, his voice heavy with weariness.


    He let the silence stretch for a moment, staring into the flames as if searching for the words in their flickering dance. When he finally spoke, his tone was neutral, almost detached, as if recounting someone else¡¯s story:


    ¡ª "The first time I broke a jaw, I was twelve or thirteen. I was with a friend... a real brat. We¡¯d ventured into some grimy underground tunnel to steal jewelry."


    Ambre, intrigued, propped herself up slightly in the sleeping bag, resting her head on her hand. Her eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with an almost childlike curiosity.


    ¡ª "Do you still keep in touch with her?" she asked, her tone betraying a mix of excitement and hope.


    Rouis slowly turned his head toward her, his gaze hardening, growing colder.


    ¡ª "She¡¯s dead," he said icily, each word falling with an implacable weight.


    Ambre¡¯s enthusiasm vanished instantly. She froze for a moment, her features marked by awkward shock. Her hand instinctively moved to her arm, an unconscious gesture to hide her discomfort.


    ¡ª "Aren¡¯t you sad?" she murmured.


    ¡ª "No," he replied simply, his tone devoid of warmth.


    Ambre furrowed her brow slightly, staring at him as if trying to decipher the meaning behind the words he wasn¡¯t saying.


    ¡ª "You have no heart," she said finally, her voice a mix of reproach and disappointment.


    A bitter smile flickered briefly on Rouis¡¯s lips.


    ¡ª "Maybe not," he admitted, before turning his gaze away. "Anyway, we were in the tunnel and had just stolen the jewelry..."


    ¡ª "I¡¯m not interested anymore," Ambre interrupted sharply.


    She turned onto her side, her back to him, with deliberate brusqueness.


    ¡ª "Good night," she added curtly, punctuating her words with a mock snore to signal the end of the conversation.


    Rouis watched her for a moment, his eyes fixed on her unmoving back. Then, he lay down on the cold grass, crossing his arms behind his head, and let his gaze drift to the stars. Sleep eluded him. The night was quiet¡ªalmost too quiet. The fire crackled softly, its flickering light casting dancing shadows on the surrounding tree trunks.


    After a long while, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small amulet.


    Made of copper, it was oval in shape with irregular edges, as though hastily carved. Its surface was etched with intricate spiral patterns, which seemed to capture the firelight, shifting between a deep coppery brown and a pale, almost ethereal green. Rouis turned it slowly between his fingers.


    Each motion stirred a buried sensation, an echo from a time he preferred to leave behind. His features, so firm just moments earlier, softened slightly, betraying a weariness far deeper than mere physical exhaustion.


    A faint rustling behind him broke Rouis from his contemplation. He turned his head slightly, his muscles instinctively tensing. In the shadows of the bushes, a bird stood motionless, its small dark feathers almost blending with the gloom. Its eyes shone like two bright specks.


    Rouis remained still, his senses on alert, but the bird, after a brief hesitation, spread its wings with a sharp flutter. The light breeze from its takeoff stirred the dead leaves on the ground before it vanished into the darkness above the trees, leaving the night to reclaim its fragile stillness.

 Haunted Count

    Lives in isolation, far from the noise of the crowd.


    It¡¯s been ages since he last stepped outside,


    His true nature he keeps well hidden beneath his collar.


    They say he is a demon who devours men,


    That he thirsts for blood and flesh.


    In the darkness, he prowls and waits,


    To lure his prey with cunning and deceit.


    There are days when cries can be heard,


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.Screams, howls, and wails of terror.


    But no one knows where they come from,


    Nor why the Haunted Count utters them.


    There are days when lights are seen,


    Flames and flashes illuminating the tower.


    But no one knows what occurs up there,


    Nor why the Haunted Count ignites them.


    There are days when laughter echoes,


    Songs resounding in the air.


    But no one knows who sings them,


    Nor why the Haunted Count hears them.


    The Haunted Count, in his tower so high,


    Lives in isolation, far from the noise of the crowd.


    It¡¯s been ages since he last stepped outside,


    His true nature he keeps well hidden beneath his collar.


    They say the Haunted Count is a demon,


    A prisoner of his own instincts.


    But no one truly knows.

 The Warrior Princess

    The Warrior Princess, so brave and proud,


    With her sword, she fought for her people.


    But when the time came to give life,


    Death claimed her, leaving behind an immortal child.


    This baby, so full of promise,


    Vanished into the shadows.


    No one knows where he went,


    Or what he became¡ªit remains a complete mystery.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The princess is gone, but her legend endures,


    And her immortal child has become an enigma.


    People still speak of him, wondering


    If he left for another world or if he lingers still, somewhere.


    Some say he is a savior,


    Others claim he is a monster.


    But one thing is certain¡ªhe is the son


    Of a warrior princess who gave her life for her kingdom and her family.


    Her name will forever remain in memory.

 The Ugly Man

    The ugly man, with a face carved by sorrow,


    Wanders by day, surrounded by murmurs so narrow.


    Passersby avert their eyes, murmur sharp words of disdain,


    As if his presence weighed on the air¡¯s bright domain.


    But when evening falls, under the moon¡¯s gentle gleam,


    The shadow of the ugly man fades like a dream.


    His silhouette rises, noble and bright,


    His face transformed, a radiant delight.Stolen novel; please report.


    In alleys bathed in the glow of streetlights¡¯ embrace,


    He strides with grace, under gazes misplaced.


    Laughter rings out, hearts race for his sight,


    For at night he dances, carefree and alight.


    The crowds search for him, beguiled by his charm,


    Unaware of the cruel fate that day can disarm.


    For with the dawn, he returns to exile¡¯s guise,


    Donning the mask of an ugly man despised.


    So his life flows, between rejection and desire,


    A fate torn apart by dual realms that conspire.


    Yet in his heart, a spark forever insists:


    Beauty still slumbers, even in the saddest abyss.

 5. The Dawn of Conflict (Kendrys)

    A few months before.


    The door slammed with a violence that seemed to shatter the very air. The echo, like a shockwave, reverberated through the dark walls before dissolving into the icy stillness of the room. Soren, slumped in a worn leather armchair, seemed sculpted from shadow, frozen in a posture where despair vied with exhaustion. Between his fingers, a trembling candle cast fleeting shadows on the walls, as if trying to animate a room drained of life.


    Kendrys entered with determined steps, though every movement betrayed an electric tension, a restrained energy on the verge of erupting. Her boots struck the stone floor, shattering the grim harmony of silence. Her eyes, gradually piercing the darkness, fell upon Soren. His face bore the ravages of sleepless nights.


    He raised his head with a slowness that seemed to defy time. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, low, rising like a whisper:


    ¡ª "It¡¯s late, Kendrys."


    These seemingly simple words shattered a dam within her. An ardent, irrepressible anger surged in her chest.


    ¡ª "This marriage, I won¡¯t accept it," she snapped, her voice vibrant and sharp like a blade.


    Fire ignited within her. An unbearable heat burst from her palms, and flames erupted, tearing through the darkness. Their dancing light transformed the room, revealing every crack in the walls and every imperfection in the objects.


    Soren remained impassive. Slowly, he set down the candlestick he was holding on a desk cluttered with annotated manuscripts and books. The candle, strangely, shifted in hue, changing from mauve to a spectral green, as if reacting to the blaze that had awakened in the room. He finally stood, his movements imbued with an almost ritualistic gravity.


    ¡ª "This alliance is essential, Kendrys," he declared, his voice cold and unyielding. "Our survival depends on it."


    The flames around her flared, licking the air with restrained fury. The heat became unbearable, crushing, making the atmosphere heavy and suffocating.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m not a pawn on your chessboard," she retorted.


    Soren fixed her with a glacial stare, locking eyes with her.


    ¡ª "If you don¡¯t control yourself, this power will destroy you," he said calmly.


    Those words struck Kendrys brutally. She inhaled deeply, battling the fire consuming her body and mind. Her eyelids closed, and slowly, very slowly, the flames subsided. Silence returned, but it was no longer the same.


    Soren averted his gaze, his eyes settling on the candle that continued to flicker. The shifting light danced.


    ¡ª "This marriage is necessary, Kendrys," he repeated.


    She faltered under the weight of his words, as if struck by an invisible blow. Her gaze turned away, unable to meet Soren¡¯s any longer. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper:


    ¡ª "Soren..."


    But he did not reply. His silence was not a refusal; it was an impenetrable wall. Kendrys felt tears welling in her eyes, burning like embers, but she refused to let them fall. She turned on her heel, leaving the room with a final slam of the door.


    Soren remained alone, frozen in a near-cadaverous stillness.


    Kendrys dashed through the castle¡¯s deserted corridors, her footsteps echoing like drums on the icy stone tiles. Each echo seemed to amplify the turmoil within her, her heart pounding in rhythm with a simmering anger and an urgent need to flee. The nocturnal air, sharp and biting, seeped through the narrow windows, curling around her like a hostile embrace.


    Outside, the black night extended its veil, rendering the world intangible. The shadows didn¡¯t merely dance around Kendrys; they twisted and stretched, forming fleeting silhouettes that seemed to watch her every move. The garden sprawled before her, a labyrinth of branches and foliage.


    She finally reached a dense bush, a thick vegetative wall that, at a glance, seemed impenetrable. But Kendrys plunged into it without hesitation. The branches parted at her passage as if recognizing her authority, revealing a clearing that seemed almost unreal.


    Bathed in the silvery light of a veiled moon, the clearing had an almost dreamlike quality. The ground wasn¡¯t just carpeted with flowers; their petals seemed to pulse gently, emitting a fragile glow, as if they were breathing in harmony with the nocturnal breeze. The place exuded such profound tranquility that it became a sanctuary, far from intrigues, far from the invisible chains that imprisoned Kendrys.


    At the center, Marte lay among the flowers. His reclining figure didn¡¯t just harmonize with the scene; he was part of it, like a painting suspended outside time. His eyes were closed, and the silvery light brushed against his face.


    Kendrys stopped in her tracks, her breathing gradually calming, as though the clearing absorbed her agitation. Her fists, still clenched, slowly loosened.


    ¡ª "Are you asleep?" she whispered.


    Marte slowly opened his eyes, his eyelids seeming to struggle against an invisible weight. His dark gaze settled on Kendrys with a disarming intensity, burdened by a sadness so profound it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. A soft sigh, heavy with meaning, escaped his lips.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m sorry, Kendrys," he finally said.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s not your fault," she replied, shaking her head. Yet her voice carried a note of bitterness, a pain she couldn¡¯t suppress.


    Marte turned his gaze away, letting his eyes wander over the silvery reflections of the moon dancing on the flower petals.


    ¡ª "This situation doesn¡¯t please Soren either," he murmured.


    ¡ª "He doesn¡¯t care at all!" Kendrys burst out, her voice shattering the clearing¡¯s tranquility like a blade slicing water. A simmering anger rose within her, burning, and her entire body vibrated under its intensity.


    ¡ª "He keeps talking about power games, as if nothing else matters!"


    Marte observed her for a moment, silent, his features etched with gravity. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm.


    ¡ª "He didn¡¯t choose to become the head of the bloodline."


    At those words, something shifted around them. Thorny vines gently emerged from the ground, curling toward Kendrys¡¯ hand. Their spines brushed against her skin without harming her, like a timid caress.


    ¡ª "They feel your distress," Marte murmured, his eyes fixed on the plants.


    Kendrys closed her eyes, surrendering for a moment to the strange embrace. The vines seemed to whisper promises of calm¡ªpromises she knew were illusory but desperately wanted to believe, if only for a moment. Then she reopened her eyes, the harsh reality settling over her like a cold blade.


    ¡ª "Who am I supposed to marry?" she asked, her voice broken, trembling.


    Marte turned his head slightly, as if seeking refuge in the shadows of the clearing. His lips parted, but no sound came immediately.


    ¡ª "You don¡¯t know?" he finally murmured, his tone laced with painful hesitation.


    Kendrys slowly shook her head, but her breathing quickened. A deep fear crept into her, tightening her throat like an icy grip.


    ¡ª "The Haunted Count of the Black Thorn family," he revealed at last.


    The silence that followed was crushing. Kendrys froze, Marte¡¯s words reverberating in her mind like an endless echo. Her fingers trembled slightly, and she lowered her eyes to the still vines.


    ¡ª "Have you met him?" she asked.


    Marte nodded, his gaze drifting into a shadowed place where memories replayed. His jaw tensed slightly, a sign of a strain he was trying to conceal.


    ¡ª "Only once," he murmured after a long pause. "And it left a deeper impression than I ever expected."


    He took a deep breath, his hands nervously fidgeting with the petals of a nearby flower.


    ¡ª "He¡¯s¡­ massive. Far taller than I am. His black hair cascades down, but not like ours. It seems to absorb light, as if rejecting any warmth."


    He hesitated, searching for the right words, then continued in a lower, almost fearful tone:


    ¡ª "But his eyes¡­ Steel gray, sharp, inhuman. When he looked at me, it was as if my mind became an open book, every thought laid bare."


    A shiver ran through Marte, and he briefly averted his eyes before continuing hesitantly:


    ¡ª "His skin is¡­ strange. Pale, almost translucent. Not like a human face, but as if it has forgotten what it means to be alive. A whiteness so unsettling it feels as though he has never known sunlight or warmth."


    He stopped, his fingers tightening around the stem of a flower.


    ¡ª "What struck me the most is that he seems outside of time. His face bears neither youth nor age. He could be twenty-five or fifty."


    His words hung in the air for a moment.


    Kendrys felt a coldness take hold of her¡ªnot like a chilling wind, but as if her very blood refused to flow. The image of the count imposed itself in her mind, so vivid that she could have sworn he stood before her. This figure of shadow and ice already haunted her.


    ¡ª "I feel¡­ alone," she murmured unconsciously.


    Marte, ever watchful, tried to dispel the oppressive tension with a faint smile.


    ¡ª "My plants didn¡¯t sense him the way you or I did. They seemed¡­ drawn to him," he said. "They clustered around him, as if they recognized him in a way I don¡¯t understand."


    These words, instead of calming her, deepened her unease. The thought that he could exert an influence even over nature itself sent a shiver through her. Kendrys nodded, but her mind was already elsewhere, seized by an internal storm.


    As she left the clearing, each step felt heavier, as if the ground sought to hold her back. Yet inside her, a rage was building, growing stronger with every movement. This anger, familiar and dangerous, consumed her entirely. She clenched her fists, and an intense heat spread beneath her skin.


    Her breathing quickened, short and fiery, as though each breath fed the blaze rising within her. The heat beneath her skin became unbearable, radiant, and soon, her entire body was engulfed in an incandescent fire. Flames erupted, rising from her arms and legs, dancing across every inch of her being. They didn¡¯t burn her flesh, but they completely overtook her.


    Her limbs seemed ready to explode under the intensity of this raw energy. She clenched her fists, her fingers crackling with flame, and realized she could no longer stay. If she let this fury run free, the tranquil clearing would be reduced to ashes.


    In an almost instinctive motion, her feet left the ground. The flames surrounding her propelled her with terrifying lightness, each beat of her heart fueling the power that carried her. She rose, a blazing silhouette fleeing the clearing.


    The icy night air whipped against her face, powerless against the fire that burned within her. The flames did not waver; they pulsed, alive, vibrant, responding to the storm raging in her mind. The clearing disappeared behind her, swallowed by shadows, as she propelled herself toward the rear of the castle.


    As she approached the rocky, barren lands, the flames illuminated the cracked stones.


    Kendrys landed heavily among the rocks, a wave of heat radiating from her. Her flames, brilliant and fierce, licked the night air, casting a flickering, otherworldly glow over the desolate landscape. The surrounding silence, dense and suffocating, was broken only by the relentless crackle of her fire.


    She stood motionless for a moment, her eyes scanning the darkness. The flames danced around her. Her breathing, harsh and rapid, echoed like the roar of a forge at full blast.


    Her gaze fell upon an immense rock ahead¡ªa dark, unyielding monolith, indifferent to the chaos she carried. It defied her with its stillness, a silent force unmoved by her fury. Kendrys advanced, each step driven by fierce determination, her flames intensifying with every movement.


    Reaching the massive stone, she stopped, her clenched fists trembling under the heat and rage boiling within her. Without hesitation, she pressed her burning hands against the rock¡¯s rough surface. A wave of searing heat burst from her palms, penetrating the stone, breaking its resistance.


    The rock groaned, fissures spreading under the assault. The surface, once solid and unyielding, began to warp and soften, melting like molten metal. Kendrys let out a guttural, hoarse cry¡ªa mixture of rage and release. Her arms sank into the softened stone, her flames surging until the air around her vibrated with intensity.


    But it wasn¡¯t enough. Not yet. She stepped back slightly, the flames swirling around her in a furious storm, and then brought her fists down on the rock with devastating force. Each blow unleashed a wave of heat so intense that the air seemed to shatter into invisible fragments.


    Shards of stone flew in all directions, sparkling in the heat like fragments of stars torn from the sky. Kendrys continued, striking again and again, her movements becoming almost mechanical, driven by uncontrollable rage. The ground trembled beneath her feet.


    At last, the flames began to subside, weakening as her breathing slowed. Around her, there was nothing left of the rock. Where it once stood, there remained only ashes and gleaming fragments, faintly glowing in the night. Kendrys straightened, her fists still clenched, her gaze fixed on the empty space before her.


    Her ragged breath echoed in the returning silence, but the storm within her still raged, lurking just beneath the surface.


    ¡ª "Calm yourself, Kendrys."


    Soren''s voice slipped into her mind, soft yet weighed down by a familiar fatigue. That murmur, almost reproachful, made her shiver¡ªnot in relief, but in irritation. A sharp defiance stirred within her, a silent rebellion against this intrusion. She hated his ability to breach her mental barriers, to force an intimacy she had not consented to. Every time, she felt stripped bare, exposed, as if her thoughts were being wrenched from her, and that sense of helplessness only stoked her fury further.


    The flames around her responded to this anger, flaring up and crackling with almost feral energy. Their reddish glow bathed the surroundings in an infernal hue, while the ground beneath her cracked under the searing heat. The fissures spread like luminous veins, and fragments of stone shattered and melted into molten pools. The air itself seemed to bend under the heat, rippling like a distorted canvas.


    ¡ª "You risk terrifying the ones you seek to protect," Soren continued, his voice almost detached. "Come back to me."


    She closed her eyes, struggling to contain the storm raging inside her. Her ragged, labored breathing sounded like a fiery bellows. She inhaled deeply, pulling air laden with heat into her lungs, and forced herself to channel her power.


    Slowly, almost reluctantly, the flames began to recede. They flickered, hesitated, and then extinguished one by one, leaving only residual warmth around her. Kendrys opened her eyes to the scene of desolation she had left in her wake.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The ground, once solid, was now a cracked, blackened expanse. The stones, reduced to ashes or glittering fragments, still bore the scars of her rage.


    His voice dissipated in her mind like a mist, but his command remained, heavy and imperative. Kendrys stood frozen for a moment, her fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. Her eyes fixated on the ashes and dust she had created. She hated obeying. Even more, she hated feeling like a threat she couldn¡¯t control.


    At last, she raised her gaze toward the horizon, where the castle stood like a dark, unmoving silhouette, unyielding in the face of her turmoil. A deep sigh escaped her lips. She knew she had no choice.


    With a fluid, almost mechanical movement, she rose into the air. The remnants of the clearing faded beneath her, the residual warmth of her flames yielding to the biting chill of the night. Yet, the icy wind could not quench the fire still burning within her.


    Kendrys strode toward Soren¡¯s office, her brisk pace betraying an irritation she no longer tried to hide. The door, ajar, allowed a flickering light to seep through¡ªthe only movement in an almost oppressive darkness. Inside, Soren sat slouched in his armchair, motionless, his gaze fixed on a dying candle. The fragile, wavering flame cast undulating shadows on his expressionless face, while melted wax carved winding trails.


    She stepped in, her footsteps halting just before the light. He did not lift his eyes.


    ¡ª "Did you call me?" she finally asked.


    Soren lifted his head slowly, his empty gaze passing through her. The silence he allowed to stretch between them carried a weight that seemed to fill the entire room, pressing down on Kendrys. Finally, he spoke, his tone flat, devoid of warmth:


    ¡ª "Bandits have been spotted in the south, a few dozen kilometers from the castle. They must be stopped."


    Kendrys felt a wave of anger rising within her, her fist clenching instinctively. She hated that tone, that way he issued orders as though she were nothing more than a pawn in a game he controlled.


    ¡ª "Why me?" she growled, her voice vibrating with rage.


    Soren did not move. He remained still, his silhouette merged with the shadows, his face as unyielding as a wall.


    ¡ª "You seem to need an outlet," he finally replied.


    She glared at him, her fiery gaze searching for a crack in that impassable wall. But there was none. Soren was a block of ice, unshakable, and every interaction with him reminded her of the same lesson: striking this wall only fed her own fury.


    She took a deep breath, but the air she swallowed did nothing to extinguish the fire burning inside her. Kendrys knew he wouldn¡¯t change his mind. No more than she could ignore the order he had just given.


    Without a word, she turned on her heel. The cape she wore swirled around her, a fleeting shadow in the dying light of the room. The door closed behind her with a sharp snap.


    *****


    At dawn, as the day barely began to break, painting the sky in pale gray hues, Kendrys entered the courtyard. A black horse awaited her, imposing, its flanks glistening faintly under the morning dew.


    The animal stood still, yet it radiated a contained energy. Kendrys approached with determined steps, her fingers closing around the reins. In one fluid motion, she mounted the horse and urged it forward.


    She set off without a backward glance, the castle quickly dissolving into the morning mist. The hooves struck the ground with hypnotic regularity, each impact resonating like a heartbeat. The wind, cold and sharp, whipped against her face, but Kendrys did not falter. Every part of her focused on a single goal: to move forward.


    The day stretched into an unrelenting gallop. The landscape blurred past her, hills rising and falling like waves of stone, offering no refuge, no respite. The sun, high in the sky, bathed the land in a harsh light, emphasizing the arid expanse of the horizon. Kendrys, resolute, kept her eyes fixed on the distant line where the sky met the earth.


    It wasn¡¯t until dusk approached that the first touches of color appeared in the sky. The deep red of the setting sun, mingled with golden hues, painted the clouds like a fiery canvas. Yet this beauty went unnoticed. Kendrys did not slow. Her horse, loyal and tireless, seemed to share her resolve despite the fatigue weighing on their muscles.


    Finally, as the shadows of night began to stretch, Kendrys spotted a village nestled between two hills. From afar, it appeared as a dark smudge, a cluster of bricks in a barren landscape. The dying light of the day wrapped the place in an eerie, almost otherworldly aura.


    A shiver ran involuntarily through Kendrys. It wasn¡¯t fatigue. Instinct, that trusted ally she never questioned, whispered a warning. She slowed her horse, letting it trot gently as she approached.


    The village¡¯s narrow streets seemed abandoned, deserted. The silence was absolute, yet not soothing¡ªit was dense, tangible, weighed down by an invisible tension. The houses, built of dark, time-worn bricks, stood like silent silhouettes. Their crimson fa?ades seemed to absorb the last rays of daylight.


    The windows, black and gaping, resembled empty eyes that tracked her every move. Even her horse, usually stoic, snorted softly, its ears twitching nervously. Kendrys reached for her weapon, her senses sharp, every fiber of her being taut.


    She stopped in front of a stable set slightly apart from the other buildings, its crude architecture amplifying the desolation that emanated from the place. After a brief hesitation, she knocked on the rough wooden door. The sound of her knocks echoed in the silence like a strangled cry.


    The wait was long. Too long. Kendrys frowned and knocked again, this time more insistently. A flickering light appeared behind a grimy, small window, casting an indistinct shadow inside. Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a bald man with a stern expression. His hard features and piercing gaze scrutinized her with palpable distrust.


    ¡ª "What do you want, girl?" he asked gruffly.


    Kendrys, upright and impassive, met his gaze squarely.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m looking for a place to sleep and feed my horse," she said.


    The man studied her for a moment, his eyes drifting toward her black steed, still restless.


    ¡ª "That your horse?" he asked at last.


    She nodded, her expression remaining stoic. However, the metallic glint of two silver coins she pulled from her pocket seemed to erase any reluctance. The change was immediate¡ªhis expression softened.


    ¡ª "Boy!" he barked, turning toward the interior. "Take care of the lady¡¯s horse!"


    A thin boy appeared at the top of a narrow staircase, his ill-fitting clothes accentuating the fragility of his frame. He descended awkwardly, avoiding eye contact, but managed a hesitant smile in Kendrys¡¯s direction before taking the horse¡¯s reins and leading it away.


    ¡ª "Follow me," said the young man.


    The room he showed her was tiny and austere, a simple stone box where the walls, covered in peeling paint, seemed to close in around her. A sour smell lingered in the air. The bed, though covered with clean sheets, looked as hard as a block of stone. Kendrys approached it briefly but quickly turned her attention to the narrow window.


    Outside, the night stretched out like an abyss. The dim light of a few lanterns wasn¡¯t enough to pierce the darkness. The blackness felt almost alive. Crossing her arms, Kendrys stared into the void warily.


    A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She turned abruptly, on guard. The boy entered timidly, his hesitant steps creaking on the wooden floor. He didn¡¯t lift his eyes.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ll bring your meal at 9:00 PM," he said in a low voice.


    Kendrys, seated on the edge of the bed, watched him intently.


    ¡ª "Why not downstairs?" she asked.


    The boy hesitated, visibly searching for his words. His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally replied:


    ¡ª "If you prefer¡­ you can come downstairs at 9:00 PM," he said at last.


    She nodded, marking the end of the exchange. The boy slipped out, his footsteps echoing as he moved away, leaving Kendrys alone.


    She lay down on the bed, her hands clasped behind her head, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each second weighing like a burden. The tension in the air did not dissipate. Kendrys closed her eyes.


    At precisely 9:00 PM, Kendrys sat up and descended the narrow staircase. Each step creaked under her weight. She reached the dining room, a cramped and oppressive space where the uneven stone walls seemed to curve slightly, as if closing in around her.


    At the center of the room, a round oak table dominated the space. Its deep grooves and worn edges spoke of years of rough and indifferent use. Seated on the edge of the table, the boy she had seen earlier was diligently peeling vegetables.


    ¡ª "Your mare is magnificent," he said suddenly, looking up at her.


    Kendrys, surprised by the remark, inclined her head slightly, a faint smile brushing her lips.


    ¡ª "Thank you. Her name is Elia. And you can use ''tu'' with me," she added, her tone softening.


    The boy hesitated, his fingers nervously fiddling with a chipped knife.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ve never seen a horse so beautiful," he finally admitted, his eyes briefly lighting up with admiration.


    Kendrys shrugged with a short laugh.


    ¡ª "She is beautiful, it¡¯s true, but she has her own personality."


    The boy nodded, a clumsy smile crossing his face before he stood and disappeared into a small adjoining kitchen. When he returned, he carried a steaming bowl of broth and a piece of bread, which he placed carefully in front of her.


    ¡ª "Thank you," she said simply, taking the bowl in her hands to savor its comforting warmth.


    She bit into the bread, but it proved as hard as a stone. Frowning, she tried soaking it in the broth to soften it, but even then, it stubbornly resisted.


    The boy, standing near the table, watched her silently. His gaze followed her every movement with poorly concealed attention. Kendrys raised her eyes to meet his.


    ¡ª "Are you hungry?" she asked bluntly.


    The boy blushed immediately, lowering his gaze as he fidgeted.


    ¡ª "No, no," he replied hastily, shaking his head with exaggerated fervor.


    Kendrys, not pressing further, reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver coin, holding it out to him. The boy hesitated, his eyes lingering on the coin with visible longing, but he eventually shook his head, politely refusing. Determined, Kendrys stood up and, without a word, gently took his hand and placed the coin into his palm.


    ¡ª "Keep it," she said.


    He looked up at her, surprised, before lowering his head, murmuring a nearly inaudible thank-you. His fingers closed around the coin.


    Kendrys returned her attention to the meal. The bread, true to its nature, remained as unyielding as wood. With a sigh of defeat, she set it down on the table, finally turning her gaze back to the boy.


    ¡ª "Have you heard anything about brigands?" she asked.


    The boy seemed to freeze. His hands, which had been nervously smoothing his shirt, stilled. He lowered his eyes, scratching his head hesitantly, his dark hair becoming even more tousled.


    ¡ª "Yesterday¡­ there was an attack on the village," he murmured. "Seven people¡­ dead."


    Kendrys remained silent. Her gaze rested on the boy, whose features hardened.


    ¡ª "Were there any survivors?" she asked.


    He shook his head slowly, his eyes dark with a somber glint.


    ¡ª "No," he said gravely.


    The silence between them stretched, heavy and almost tangible. Kendrys searched for words to fill the void, to offer some semblance of comfort, but none came to her.


    ¡ª "What time did it happen?" she finally asked, returning to what she knew best: getting answers.


    ¡ª "During the night," he replied.


    Suddenly, Kendrys stood, her abrupt movement slicing through the silence that had settled between them. She grabbed her coat and slipped it on.


    ¡ª "Where are you going?" the boy asked, his voice tinged with a hint of panic.


    Kendrys turned halfway toward him.


    ¡ª "I need to think," she said simply, heading for the door.


    Before she could reach it, the boy took a quick step and grabbed her arm. His fingers trembled. Kendrys stopped, surprised by his boldness. His eyes were shining.


    ¡ª "You can¡¯t go out," he murmured in a pleading voice. "The brigands are still in the area, and if¡­"


    He trailed off, visibly searching for his words.


    Kendrys¡¯s expression softened.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ll be careful," she promised with a smile¡ªa gesture she didn¡¯t often make.


    But he shook his head.


    ¡ª "Then I¡¯m coming with you."


    Before she could respond, he grabbed a belt hanging from a hook near the door and fastened it around his waist. A knife dangled at his side. Kendrys placed a hand on his arm.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s not necessary," she said.


    ¡ª "I can¡¯t let you go alone," he replied.


    Kendrys sighed, a mix of irritation and resignation. She finally nodded.


    ¡ª "Fine," she said at last. "But stay behind me."


    They stepped out of the inn, leaving behind the flickering light and warmth. The cold night air wrapped around them instantly, sharp and heavy with moisture. The darkness was as black as ink, with the faint glow of lanterns illuminating only a tiny portion of their path.


    Kendrys led the way, her senses on high alert, her boots striking the ground with steady rhythm. The boy gripped the hilt of his knife tightly, his eyes scanning the shifting shadows that danced with the wind.


    They moved through the deserted streets, bathed in the pale light of the moon. The boy walked beside Kendrys, his eyes wide, frantically searching the darkness. His labored breathing echoed in the silence.


    They stopped in front of an imposing house, a dark, massive silhouette outlined against the night sky. Its three stories seemed to rise defiantly, absorbing all light and emanating an almost crushing presence. The windows, black and gaping, resembled empty eye sockets, and the fa?ade exuded an unsettling aura.


    ¡ª "We should go back to the inn now!" the boy pleaded.


    Kendrys crossed her arms and looked at him calmly, her piercing gaze meeting his. She shook her head.


    ¡ª "We¡¯ve barely started," she replied.


    The boy clenched his fists, his shoulders tense like a bowstring about to snap.


    ¡ª "I know, but it¡¯s dangerous¡­" he murmured.


    Kendrys noticed how his hands trembled, his fingers clutching at something unseen for stability. He didn¡¯t want to leave her alone, but fear seemed to pull him back like an invisible force.


    ¡ª "You can go back. I¡¯ll join you," she declared.


    ¡ª "Are you sure?" he asked, hesitant.


    ¡ª "We¡¯ll meet at the inn," she said firmly, putting an end to the discussion.


    Kendrys turned and approached the black door of the house. As she placed her hand on the cold handle, a jolt of energy coursed through her, an electric sensation that made her shiver slightly. She felt a strange tension.


    The handle turned slowly, and the door creaked open, the sound almost imperceptible.


    A gust of icy air escaped from within, wrapping around her like a warning. Kendrys raised her free hand, and a flame burst forth from her palm.


    ¡ª "Don¡¯t go in," the boy murmured, his voice barely a whisper. His wide eyes glimmered with desperate fear.


    Kendrys gave him one final look.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ll be careful," she said.


    She stepped over the threshold, letting the darkness engulf her. The door closed slowly behind her, cutting the boy off from the faint halo of light she had carried with her.


    Outside, he stood motionless, alone in the night, his hands still trembling slightly as he stared at the house, as though it might swallow him whole.


    Inside, the darkness was profound, but the light of the flame dancing in Kendrys¡¯s palm pushed back the immediate shadows around her. Its flickering glow cast strange, shifting shapes on the worn walls, distorting every detail into an almost surreal vision. Each of her steps elicited a faint creak.


    She moved slowly, her senses heightened, scanning every corner illuminated by her flame. The shadows, though temporarily banished, seemed always ready to return, lurking just beyond her field of vision.


    Kendrys kept advancing, her eyes searching for clues in the illuminated space ahead, her mind remaining on high alert. She knew that this light, though comforting, might also attract things she couldn¡¯t yet see.


    But something was wrong. A smell, faint at first, began to creep into her nostrils. It was acrid, sharp, almost organic, and it grew more unbearable as she moved forward. Kendrys wrinkled her nose, instinctively trying to locate the source of the stench.


    Her gaze fell on a door leading outside. Passing through it, she discovered a garden overrun by wild vegetation. Tall, dense grass brushed against her legs. The air, heavy with moisture, seemed to carry the nauseating smell, which grew increasingly potent as she approached a wooden shed, half-hidden by a tangle of thick brambles.


    The shed seemed to be waiting. Kendrys, pulling out her knife, began cutting through the brambles. Each stroke sent shards of thorns falling to the ground, while the branches scratched at her clothes. When she finally reached the door, a wave of apprehension washed over her. She took a deep breath.


    As she pushed the shed door open, a swarm of flies suddenly erupted, a dark, writhing mass seemingly expelled by the room itself. The buzzing that accompanied them filled the air, sharp and frantic, drilling into Kendrys¡¯s ears with an almost painful intensity.


    The insects, black and glistening, swirled around her in chaotic spirals. Their wings vibrated in the flickering light of her flame. Some darted toward her face, their legs brushing against her skin. Kendrys instinctively stepped back, raising her arm to shield herself while waving the other hand to drive them away.


    The dense, disorderly swarm fled the shed like an uncontrollable exodus, bursting into the night as a disjointed mass. The buzzing, deafening at first, began to fade as the flies dispersed.


    With them came a nauseating stench, immediately enveloping the space around Kendrys. It was an acrid, suffocating odor¡ªa mixture of decay and rusted metal. It clung to her nostrils, sharp and almost alive. Kendrys wrinkled her nose, her stomach churning under the assault of the foul smell.


    The air was thick, heavy. Kendrys brought her arm up to her face, attempting to filter out the unbearable odor.


    She entered the shed cautiously, guided only by the flickering light of the flame in her hand. As soon as she stepped inside, a viscous liquid clung to her shoes, emitting a dull and unpleasant squelch with each step. A shiver of apprehension rose within her, but Kendrys, accustomed to far worse situations, moved forward carefully.


    The walls, illuminated by the light, were streaked with long trails of deep crimson. What at first glance appeared to be paint was, upon closer inspection, something far more sinister. Kendrys didn¡¯t need to examine it long to realize its true nature¡ªit was dried blood.


    She noticed the dark stains streaking the walls, forming chaotic, disorderly patterns. Some trails ran down in uneven waves, stopping abruptly as if they had been interrupted.


    She clenched her jaw. This was neither the time nor place to let fear take hold.


    The floor was cluttered with debris long abandoned to decay: rotting wood, stained scraps of fabric, and a thick layer of dust smothering every surface. The stagnant air carried a sour stench, a blend of mildew and something more acrid.


    Her attention was drawn to a chest, half-buried beneath the debris. The rusted lock seemed ready to give way with the slightest effort. With a precise kick, she forced the lid open, the action punctuated by a dull thud.


    Inside, dusty and insignificant objects were piled up: fragments of tools, pieces of tarnished metal, and half-disintegrated fabric. But it was a book, lying at the center, that immediately captured her attention. The cover, worn and cracked, was marked with indecipherable symbols.


    Kendrys reached out cautiously, her fingers brushing against the damaged surface before grasping the book. A strange warmth seemed to emanate from it. When she opened it, the yellowed pages revealed intricate symbols and hastily scribbled notes in a language she didn¡¯t recognize. The characters, drawn by a nervous hand, seemed to vibrate under the light.


    She didn¡¯t have time to linger. A dull noise from outside shattered the silence. She closed the book abruptly, her heart racing as she tucked it under her coat.


    Kendrys turned toward the door. As she stepped out, the cool night air swept around her. A few meters away, the boy stood motionless, his face pale and his wide eyes fixed on the entrance as if fearing she might vanish.


    ¡ª "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice trembling.


    Kendrys nodded.


    ¡ª "Yes, let¡¯s head back to the inn," she said.


    The boy, relieved, nodded. Together, they left the overgrown garden, their footsteps echoing softly on the hardened ground.

 The Fly-Man

    In a palace steeped in opulence and pride,


    A noble lived, with his grandeur as his guide.


    His steps crushed the weak beneath their weight,


    His words, like daggers, dictated their fate.


    But the breath of night, bearer of malediction,


    Slipped in silence, touching his ambition.


    One evening, amidst fractured mirrors¡¯ decay,


    He saw his reflection grotesquely splay.


    His hands twisted into an insect''s claws,


    His limbs deformed, his soul breached its laws.


    Pustules bloomed, gold tarnished to mire,


    And his laughter dissolved into a buzzing choir.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    As his body withered, his spirit collapsed,


    Breaking, fading, a shadow perhaps.


    He cried to the night, but no one replied,


    His echoes vanished into a cursed void wide.


    In gilded halls, he now takes flight,


    A witness to splendor devoid of its might.


    The guests feast on, unaware of his plight,


    Blind to the decay that shadows their light.


    His meals are scraps, sullied and stale,


    Where once he sipped wine, amber and pale.


    His throne reduced to a desecrated ghost,


    A kingdom of ruins, memories, and loss.


    In his wanderings, madness gnaws at his mind,


    A noble turned monster, to despair resigned.


    He mutters alone, conjuring phantom feasts,


    Haunted by laughter of long-dead beasts.


    One night, a whisper chilled the revelers¡¯ air,


    A sound, a shiver, from beyond their care.


    They say at each forgotten banquet¡¯s end,


    A fly buzzes close, a damned soul to send.


    Thus, etched forever in the eternal night,


    Is the fate of a man blinded by pride¡¯s light.


    A warning tolls, a resonant chime,


    For those who revel blind to the winds of time.

 6. The Shadows of Bourg-en-Clair (Rouis)

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    The entrance to Bourg-en-Clair loomed like a fortress guarding a jealously protected treasure. The stone walls, blackened by time and weather, rose high into the sky, standing as a bulwark against the passage of ages. The watchtowers, sturdy and austere, cast their shadows over the cobbled path, amplifying the overwhelming sense of grandeur. Every battlement, every arrow slit seemed to stare at visitors, weighing on them like invisible eyes.


    The main road, lined with cobblestones worn smooth by the endless passage of caravans, led to a monumental gate. The massive wooden doors, reinforced with heavy iron bands, bore the scars of past battles: gashes and burns, relics of a bygone era that was never truly forgotten. At the top of the towers, green flags emblazoned with a golden lion fluttered proudly, their undulating movement a silent warning.


    Guards clad in black armor stood on the ramparts, their silhouettes stark against the pale sky. Motionless, almost statue-like, their bows were at the ready, and their gazes, though hidden beneath their helmets, seemed to pierce through even the most deeply buried intentions. Below, a line of soldiers stood straight-backed at the entrance, their gleaming breastplates reflecting the sun''s rays. The captain, identifiable by a golden lion insignia, oversaw the scene with calm yet unmistakable authority, his eyes scanning every detail.


    Rouis and Ambre were abruptly stopped before the monumental gate. A massive guard, his face partially hidden beneath a helmet of worn metal, stepped forward with deliberate slowness. His cold, piercing eyes swept over their figures, as though attempting to unearth hidden motives.


    ¡ª "Your identity and the purpose of your visit," the guard demanded, each word laced with unyielding authority.


    Rouis inclined his head slightly, keeping his tone deliberately neutral.


    ¡ª "Travelers. We¡¯re simply looking for a place to rest."


    The guard narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing every syllable. After a brief silence, he gestured with his hand. Two soldiers approached, their boots echoing in unison on the cobblestones, accompanied by the metallic clinking of their armor.


    ¡ª "Search them," he ordered in an uncompromising tone.


    The first soldier placed a firm hand on Rouis¡¯s shoulder. The touch, though measured, carried a silent warning.


    ¡ª "Stay still," he said, his voice edged with menace.


    Rouis complied, remaining perfectly composed. He watched as the soldier methodically searched his clothing, gloved hands lingering on the folds of his jacket, inspecting the seams, and patting down the belt that held his sword.


    ¡ª "A fine blade," the guard remarked, his tone tinged with sarcasm. "Do you know how to use it?"


    Rouis barely raised an eyebrow, his expression impassive.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s mostly for show," he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips.


    Meanwhile, Ambre clenched her fists as another soldier approached her bag.


    ¡ª "There¡¯s no need to look in there," she hissed, her voice a mix of annoyance and defiance.


    The soldier looked up, a cold smile appearing beneath the edge of his helmet.


    ¡ª "We must check. For security reasons, of course."


    Frustrated, Ambre turned away, her cheeks flushing slightly. She crossed her arms, attempting to mask her irritation, though her tense fingers betrayed her true feelings.


    After a long moment, the soldier inspecting Rouis straightened.


    ¡ª "Nothing to report," he said flatly, though his gaze lingered on Rouis one last time, as if to ensure he hadn¡¯t overlooked anything.


    The captain, who had remained still until now, made a simple gesture. The heavy gates began to open, their hinges emitting a deep, almost ominous groan.


    On the other side, Bourg-en-Clair revealed itself in striking contrast. The meticulously maintained cobblestone streets were lined with white-stone houses, their pristine facades reflecting the daylight. Red-tiled roofs, aligned with near-perfect precision, added a touch of warmth to the scene. The town was alive with activity: merchants boasted about their wares with cheerful shouts, the melodic chime of bells rang out from a nearby church, and the laughter of children playing near fountains mingled with the constant hum of lively conversations.


    All of this stood in stark opposition to the austere rigor of the guarded entrance. Here, the joyful chaos seemed to defy the imposing order of the walls.


    ¡ª "There are so many guards," Ambre murmured, her voice wavering between astonishment and a hint of unease she struggled to hide.


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    The sheer number of soldiers seemed disproportionate for a town of this size. The black-armored troops patrolled methodically, their boots striking the cobblestones in a calculated, almost hypnotic rhythm. At every street corner, their sharp gazes swept over the passersby, as though searching for an unseen threat.


    Ambre shifted slightly to observe the bustling surroundings, but she quickly averted her eyes, uncomfortable under the weight of the soldiers'' inquisitive stares.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s excessive," she added in a hushed tone, as if even the walls might overhear her.


    Rouis, still silent, let his gaze drift slowly toward the ramparts. His narrowed eyes assessed the soldiers'' positions, the layout of the streets, and the organization of the patrols, memorizing each detail with methodical precision. He appeared neither troubled nor impressed, though his face bore an expression of cold focus.


    ¡ª "They¡¯re taking no chances," he finally murmured, almost to himself.


    While Ambre sought refuge in the bustling streets, Rouis remained still for a moment, arms crossed, scanning the horizon.


    The two of them crossed the threshold of the inn, drawn by the promise of warmth and comfort. Hanging from a rusted chain, a wooden sign carved with the image of a bed and a steaming mug swayed slightly in the wind. The door, made of weathered planks, creaked with a long, sighing groan as it opened, revealing the interior.


    The inn was bathed in soft, flickering light. Oil lanterns hung from the beams, casting dancing shadows on the rough stone walls, while the fireplace, where a wood fire crackled, filled the room with comforting warmth. Sturdy wooden tables, worn smooth from years of use, added to the cozy atmosphere.


    The walls were adorned with faded maps, some illegible, others depicting lands with long- forgotten names. Above the counter, a clock carved in the shape of an owl marked the time with its slow, deliberate ticking, lending a soothing rhythm to the ambiance.


    A few patrons were seated, their voices blending into a murmur that was almost melodic. In one corner, a jovial merchant spoke animatedly, punctuating his words with sweeping gestures that made his beer mug sway precariously. At another table, a solitary man hidden beneath a dark hood appeared lost in thought, his fingers idly tapping the hilt of a knife.


    The innkeeper, a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face, stepped forward, wiping his hands on a stained apron. His warm smile offset the starkness of the surroundings.


    ¡ª "Welcome, travelers! You¡¯ve arrived at the perfect time: the fire is roaring, and the kitchen is ready," he said with a cheerful pride.


    In no time, two steaming plates were set before them. Tender, juicy lamb was paired with golden potatoes delicately seasoned with herbs. The aroma filled the air, promising a feast.


    Starving, Ambre grabbed her fork eagerly and attacked her meal with disarming voracity, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of the fireplace.


    ¡ª "This is... perfect," she murmured between bites, her eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and relief.


    Rouis, on the other hand, ate slowly. He took his time to savor each bite, his calculating gaze sweeping the room. His eyes lingered briefly on the hooded man, then on the maps on the walls, before returning to the innkeeper bustling behind the counter.


    ¡ª "Long journey?" the innkeeper asked, setting a tankard down in front of another customer. He turned slightly toward Rouis and Ambre, a sly smile on his face.


    ¡ª "If you need advice, listen: avoid talking to the man in gray. A free tip," he added with a wink before disappearing behind the counter.


    The crackling of embers, the clinking of cutlery, and the faint whisper of wind seeping through the cracks. For a moment, the outside world felt distant, almost unreal. But Rouis¡¯s constant vigilance was a reminder never to let one¡¯s guard down completely.


    After finishing their meal, they headed to the market to gather provisions for their journey. Spanning a wide plaza, the market teemed with life. Wooden stalls draped in vibrant cloths formed a maze of winding alleys where merchants and buyers jostled for space. Above the stands, banners adorned with floral motifs fluttered in the breeze, adding a festive touch to the lively commotion.


    The air was thick with scents: the sharp aroma of fresh herbs, the sweetness of ripe fruits, and the smoky savoriness of grilled meats combined in an intoxicating symphony. The merchants¡¯ shouts echoed incessantly:


    ¡ª "Golden apples at unbeatable prices!"


    ¡ª "Top-quality dried meats straight from the mountains!"


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    The clinking of coins and the rustling of bags filled with goods created a familiar, rhythmic backdrop to the bustling scene.


    As they ventured into an alley lined with neatly arranged stalls, their steps led them to an herbalist''s particularly intriguing stand. Blown-glass vials and ceramic jars, meticulously labeled, were displayed in perfect rows. The handwritten labels promised wonders: "Moon Camomile," "Elixir of Life," "Evening Balm," and "Dream Powder." Small wooden boxes revealed sachets of medicinal teas and dried herb blends in a variety of hues. Nearby, stone mortars and pestles, worn but sturdy, awaited use, ready to release the aromas of the plants.


    Behind the counter stood the herbalist. Her gray hair, carefully braided and adorned with small wildflowers, framed a serene face illuminated by piercing green eyes. Her dark brown linen dress, paired with a wide leather belt, was adorned with pockets from which silver scissors, small knives, and seed sachets peeked out.


    A customer, leaning over the counter, was seeking advice.


    ¡ª "This back pain has been tormenting me for weeks. What do you recommend?"


    The herbalist nodded gently, examining the man with a critical eye.


    ¡ª "Try this," she said, handing him a clay pot labeled Evening Balm. "Massage it in twice a day. But remember, the mind is just as important as the body."


    Fascinated, Ambre slowed her steps, her fingers brushing against a sachet of medicinal tea resting on the stall.


    ¡ª "Are you looking for something specific?" the herbalist asked with a smile.


    ¡ª "Not this time," Ambre replied, slightly caught off guard. She hesitated for a moment before turning away and rejoining Rouis, who was waiting for her a little farther ahead.


    Rouis, for his part, observed the scene with a watchful eye. His gaze lingered on the herbalist¡¯s belt and her silver tools. Something in her poise and confidence piqued his curiosity. Yet he said nothing. He continued walking, his face impassive, though his mind was analyzing every detail of the market like a puzzle to be solved.


    As they walked away, the herbalist¡¯s gaze lingered on them for a moment.


    Next, they passed by the blacksmith¡¯s workshop, an imposing figure at the heart of the market''s bustle. Bare-chested beneath a thick leather apron, he hammered forcefully on a glowing blade resting on his anvil, each strike resonating like the beat of a drum.


    With every impact, sparks flew in an ephemeral dance, briefly illuminating his face, weathered by heat and labor. Around him, sturdy stalls displayed an impressive array of goods: elegant, slender swords, imposing axes, and practical tools like sickles and hammers. Each blade, meticulously polished, gleamed under the light. Rouis paused for a moment, his eyes settling on a finely crafted dagger, his scrutinizing gaze evaluating its quality.


    A few steps away, a fabric stall caught Ambre¡¯s attention. Rolls of cloth were carefully arranged, forming a palette of colors and textures: raw, durable linens sat alongside shimmering silks with iridescent hues. Ambre stopped to stroke a deep blue fabric, her fingers sliding slowly over its cool, smooth surface.


    ¡ª "This blue, it¡¯s the color of twilight," the merchant murmured with a smile, as if sharing a secret. Ambre returned the smile, captivated by the poetry of his description, before reluctantly placing the fabric back with care.


    A little farther on, the tempting aroma of fresh bread and pastries enveloped them. A round-faced, smiling baker, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of her oven, offered samples of her creations: fruit tarts brimming with sweet fillings, golden loaves infused with the scent of herbs, and crispy biscuits.


    ¡ª "Try this; it¡¯s my specialty," she said, handing a still-warm piece of tart to Ambre, who eagerly accepted it.


    ¡ª "Delicious," Ambre breathed after a bite, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction.


    Nearby, a cheese merchant had set up a stall overflowing with aromatic wheels of cheese, their rinds varying from cracked to smooth and waxy. Goats grazed peacefully nearby, tethered to stakes adorned with colorful ribbons. The cheeses, in all shapes and sizes, released robust aromas that mingled with the sweet scents of pastries.


    ¡ª "This one comes from the high hills," the merchant declared, pointing to a round wheel with a golden rind. "It¡¯s been aged six months in a stone cellar."


    Not far away, an entire alley was dedicated to local artisans, transforming the area into an open- air gallery. Finely crafted silver jewelry sparkled under the light, their designs evoking stars and spirals. Wooden sculptures, depicting animals or mythological scenes, seemed almost lifelike. Brightly colored pottery was carefully arranged, each piece a work of art.


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    A bard, sitting casually on an overturned barrel, played an enchanting melody on his lyre. The crystalline notes floated through the air, mingling with the market¡¯s lively hum. A small crowd had gathered around him, some swaying gently to the rhythm, others exchanging dreamy glances. A daring child stepped forward to place a flower at the bard¡¯s feet, eliciting a radiant smile from him. Meanwhile, energetic children dashed and laughed between the stalls, occasionally brushing against the displays to the dismay of the merchants. One of them accidentally bumped into Rouis, who caught him by the collar before he could fall.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡ª "Be careful, kid," he said in a calm but firm tone before letting him go. The boy nodded, intimidated, before dashing off again.


    As they continued on their way, an imposing armory stood at the edge of the market. Its stone walls, supported by sturdy oak beams, exuded an air of strength and history. Above the entrance, a wrought-iron sign depicting a shield adorned with two crossed swords swayed gently in the breeze, clinking softly. The tiled floor echoed beneath their steps, each sound adding a subtle solemnity to their approach.


    Upon entering, a familiar scent of metal, leather, and maintenance oil filled the air. Wooden racks overflowed with an array of weapons: finely sharpened swords, sturdy axes, and maces adorned with intricate engravings. Shelves displayed decorated shields and helmets, their visors seeming to silently observe each visitor. At the center of the room, wooden mannequins were clad in imposing armor, ranging from gleaming breastplates to intricately woven chainmail hauberks.


    The merchant, short and stocky, stood behind a massive blackened wooden counter, his ring- covered fingers idly playing with a dagger. He spun the blade in his hands with practiced ease, his piercing eyes quickly assessing Rouis and Ambre. A fleeting smile crossed his lips when his gaze met Rouis¡¯s calm demeanor.


    ¡ª "Welcome," he said, inclining his head slightly.


    Rouis ignored the greeting and approached a weapons rack. His gaze drifted over the displayed arms, settling on a slender sword whose blade reflected a silvery gleam under the dim light. He reached out, brushing his fingers over the polished wooden hilt before lifting it slowly. The blade, perfectly balanced, swayed slightly in his palm as he rotated it to gauge its weight. He said nothing, the only sound being the creak of his leather belt as he adjusted his grip.


    he merchant set down the dagger he had been handling and crossed his arms. His rings glinted as he leaned an elbow on the counter, watching Rouis¡¯s movements closely.


    ¡ª "How much?" Rouis asked, his voice cutting through the silence without taking his eyes off the weapon.


    The merchant let the moment linger before replying, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. ¡ª "Three silver pieces. A fair price for a blade of such quality."


    Rouis didn¡¯t answer immediately. He lowered the sword slightly, his fingers adjusting their grip on the hilt, before raising his eyes to the merchant. A simple nod¡ªa tacit agreement.


    Satisfied, the merchant extended his hand to receive the coins, but Rouis, already sheathing the blade, added in a neutral tone:


    ¡ª "A storage belt. And twelve throwing knives."


    The merchant¡¯s smile widened almost imperceptibly. He stepped away from the counter, rummaging through shelves without a word. When he returned, he placed a sturdy leather belt and a small pouch of knives on the wooden counter with deliberate care, as if presenting a treasure. Without even inspecting the items, Rouis counted the silver coins and placed them on the counter. The metallic clink echoed briefly before disappearing into the merchant¡¯s gloved hand.


    Meanwhile, Ambre wandered among the racks, her eyes sparkling with an almost childlike fascination. Her fingers slid over the hilts of weapons, grazing the polished leather and metal. Every blade seemed to catch her attention, but she quickly moved on to the next, unable to linger. ¡ª "Try this," Rouis said, approaching her with a sword in hand.


    Ambre turned quickly, excitement flickering in her eyes. She eagerly grabbed the blade, but as soon as she felt its weight, a small gasp of surprise escaped her lips. The sword, heavier than she had anticipated, slipped from her grasp and clattered loudly to the ground, drawing a brief glance from the merchant.


    The merchant, leaning against the counter, raised an amused eyebrow but said nothing. Ambre, her cheeks flushed, hurried to pick up the weapon, her fingers trembling slightly.


    ¡ª "This isn¡¯t for me," she admitted with an embarrassed smile, carefully avoiding Rouis¡¯s mocking gaze.


    Rouis retrieved the weapon with a smooth motion.


    ¡ª "Merchant, show us some daggers," he said calmly.


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    The merchant disappeared into the back room and returned a few moments later with a red velvet cushion. Three daggers rested on it, their blades shimmering under the dim light.


    Ambre stepped closer, her eyes bright with curiosity. She hesitated for a moment before placing her fingers on a marbled blade set in a purple wooden hilt veined with delicate patterns.


    ¡ª "This one," she declared firmly, her fingers gently tracing the smooth surface of the handle. Rouis, on the other hand, chose a different blade. He selected a robust steel dagger mounted on a braided leather hilt. He let it sway slightly between his fingers, testing its balance with a precise motion.


    ¡ª "This one will do," he said simply, his neutral tone contrasting with Ambre¡¯s enthusiasm.


    But the young woman wasn¡¯t ready to yield.


    ¡ª "I want the other one!" she insisted, her impatience breaking through in her voice.


    Rouis shrugged, his indifference barely concealed. The merchant, sensing an opportunity, presented them with a matching sheath. Made of dark brown leather, it was adorned with engraved patterns and accented with faintly shimmering gold threads. The silver clasp, delicately etched with floral designs, added a touch of elegance, while the velvet-lined interior promised perfect protection for the blade.


    ¡ª "Six gold pieces," the merchant announced, his smile widening slightly.


    Without hesitation, Ambre retrieved the coins from her purse and placed them in the merchant¡¯s hand with visible pride. Rouis, watching the exchange, allowed a faintly mocking smile to touch his lips but said nothing.


    Outside, Ambre eagerly tested her new acquisition, her eyes alight with excitement. She waved the dagger energetically, but her awkward, overly dramatic movements made her look more comical than intimidating. The blade traced chaotic arcs in the air, each swing betraying her complete lack of technique.


    In an attempt at a martial flourish, she spun on her heel, her arms outstretched in an exaggerated motion. Her foot caught on an uneven cobblestone, and she teetered precariously, nearly colliding with a passerby. The man jumped back with his hands raised in protest as the dagger slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground with a metallic ring before coming to a halt.


    Rouis, who had been silently observing, couldn¡¯t suppress a mocking smile. Crossing his arms, he tilted his head slightly, as if to better enjoy the spectacle.


    ¡ª "Try not to hurt someone before you¡¯ve learned how to use it," he remarked.


    Ambre, stung, raised her chin with feigned dignity. She placed one hand on her hip, the other reaching out toward the fallen dagger.


    ¡ª "Maybe you could teach me, then," she retorted.


    Rouis let out a brief laugh, shaking his head slightly. He bent down to pick up the dagger, spinning it deftly between his fingers before handing it back to her.


    ¡ª "Teach you? No, I¡¯d rather watch you try," he replied, a sly grin lighting up his face. "It¡¯s much more entertaining."


    Ambre snatched the dagger from his hand with an annoyed sigh, clutching it tightly as if to compensate for her embarrassment with a newfound seriousness. She muttered something unintelligible, her cheeks tinged with pink.


    Still amused, Rouis gestured for them to continue walking. As they moved forward, his gaze remained sharp, ever alert to their surroundings.


    Ambre, however, walked with newfound determination, the dagger firmly gripped in her hand.


    ¡ª "Wouldn¡¯t that be good old Rouis, eh, brother?" called a raspy voice, each word drawn out with a hint of mockery.


    Rouis turned slowly. In front of him stood a short, stocky man with a predatory grin, his uneven teeth gleaming under the lantern light. His messy black hair and scruffy beard gave him a disheveled, almost feral appearance. His worn leather vest jingled faintly, stuffed with what looked like a dubious collection of trinkets hidden in its many pockets.


    Beside him loomed a giant, motionless and menacing. A scar running across his right eyebrow added to the intensity of his piercing gaze.


    ¡ª "I don¡¯t know you," Rouis replied, his eyes darting between the two as he quickly assessed his options.


    The short man let out a dry laugh.


    ¡ª "Oh, but we know you. And you¡¯re not welcome here," he added, his grin widening even further.


    Rouis didn¡¯t move, his arms crossed but his muscles taut.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m not staying," he replied sharply.


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    The attack came brutally and without warning. The smaller man lunged forward, his fist aimed at Rouis¡¯s face. Rouis dodged with a quick step, blocking a second strike before countering with a clean hit to the man¡¯s jaw. His attacker stumbled back, clutching his face with one hand.


    But the giant didn¡¯t wait. With a smooth motion, he swung a metal pipe, bringing it down with crushing force. Rouis raised his arm to block, but the impact reverberated through his bone, drawing a muffled groan from him. Before he could recover his footing, a second blow struck his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.


    ¡ª "Rouis!" Ambre screamed, her voice slicing through the chaos like a blade.


    She gripped the dagger she had bought earlier with both hands, her thumb sliding nervously over the polished handle. Her breathing quickened, but she refused to give in to panic.


    Clenching her teeth, she took a step forward, brandishing the blade with a trembling hand.


    ¡ª "Stop!" she shouted.


    The short man turned toward her, a sneer spreading across his scarred face.


    ¡ª "Look at that... the little doll wants to play," he chuckled, a dry, mocking laugh escaping his lips.


    Ambre, though trembling, forced herself to stand her ground. Her fingers tightened around the dagger¡¯s hilt as she took another step forward, raising the weapon higher.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m warning you! Let him go, now!" she shouted, her voice a mix of fear and determination. The giant, who had been focused on his task, slowly turned his head toward Ambre. His icy eyes locked onto hers, slicing through her fragile courage like an invisible blade. Without a word, he took a step in her direction, the iron pipe swaying slightly in his massive hand. The metal seemed to whisper a promise of pain, a silent threat that froze Ambre in place.


    She felt her heart stop, her breath becoming erratic. Instinctively, she stepped back, her boots scraping against the cobblestones. Her hands trembled, the dagger wavering slightly in her grip. Part of her screamed to run, but another, quieter part clung desperately to the idea of staying and protecting Rouis.


    The giant advanced again, raising the pipe slightly in a slow but deliberate motion, heavy with intimidation. Ambre, frozen, felt a strange warmth spread down her legs. It took her a moment to realize what had happened. Terror had overpowered her control, and humiliation rose within her like a suffocating wave.


    The smaller man, noticing the scene, burst into a coarse, cruel laugh.


    ¡ª "Look at this, brother! She pissed herself!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Ambre, his shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter.


    The giant, a faint sneer tugging at the corner of his lips, lowered his pipe slightly, his deep voice cutting through the tense air.


    ¡ª "Brave one, huh?" he chuckled, shaking his head, his eyes still fixed on her.


    Ambre felt tears welling in her eyes, but she refused to lower her head. The shame weighed heavily on her, but another emotion surfaced¡ªburning and insidious: rage. Clutching the dagger tightly in her hand, she refused to give in to their mockery.


    The smaller man lost interest in her, amused, and turned his attention back to Rouis. His fists came down again, brutal and erratic, each impact punctuated by his laughter. The giant, meanwhile, resumed his methodical rhythm, raising and striking his pipe with relentless precision. Ambre felt her body stop trembling. She gripped the dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and her feet ceased retreating.


    ¡ª "Let him go!" she screamed again, her cry resonating with renewed intensity.


    This time, the giant slowed, his gaze once again settling on her, evaluating her resolve. His expression remained unreadable, but his shoulders tensed slightly.


    Ambre stepped forward, raising the dagger higher despite her trembling hands. She pointed the blade directly at the giant, focusing her courage on that single motion to avoid faltering.


    ¡ª "You don¡¯t want this to end badly," she said, her voice wavering slightly but tinged with defiance she struggled to maintain.


    A sharp whistle sliced through the air, piercing the chaos and halting the action instantly.


    ¡ª "The guards!" growled the smaller man, his laughter extinguished in an instant, replaced by raw panic.


    The two attackers froze, their furtive glances meeting as if assessing the severity of the situation. Then, without a word, they bolted into the shadows of the alleys, their silhouettes quickly vanishing into the darkness. The hurried clatter of their boots on the cobblestones echoed one last time before fading, leaving behind an oppressive, almost suffocating silence.


    Ambre collapsed to her knees beside Rouis, her ragged breaths mingling with sobs she no longer tried to suppress. Her trembling hands clutched his shoulders, shaking him gently but with


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    desperate urgency.


    ¡ª "Rouis, get up..." she murmured, her voice breaking with emotion. Tears streamed down her cheeks, carving trails across a face marked by fear. "Please... stay with me."


    Rouis¡¯s eyes fluttered open slightly, his heavy lids struggling against the overwhelming weight of exhaustion. Each breath he drew seemed like a battle.


    ¡ª "The... guards... Ambre... don¡¯t... get caught," he murmured, his words dragged out by his ragged, labored breathing.


    His eyelids closed slowly, his body surrendering to an unbearable exhaustion.


    Ambre¡¯s heart pounded wildly as she scanned the alleys around her, her eyes desperately searching for help that refused to come.


    She slipped her arms under Rouis¡¯s shoulders, pulling with all her strength to lift him. But his heavy, inert body remained rooted to the ground, unyielding to her efforts. Her trembling arms gave way, and she fell backward with a muffled cry¡ªa mix of frustration and despair.


    ¡ª "Someone, help us!" she finally screamed, her voice tearing through the silence of the deserted streets.


    Her plea echoed through the empty alleys, but no answer came. Exhausted, Ambre curled up next to Rouis for a moment, her gaze fixed on him, searching for any sign, any movement, any proof that he wasn¡¯t slipping away from her.


    The minutes stretched endlessly, each beat of her heart amplified by the oppressive silence. The city, shrouded in darkness, seemed to transform into a hostile entity¡ªa silent witness to their anguish.

 6.1 A Well-deserved Rest (Rouis)

    An old man opened the door to his house, his movements slow and cautious. He peered into the dark street, where Ambre, tears streaming down her face, was hurriedly approaching him. His shoulders sagged slightly when he saw her, as if his body carried the weight of decisions not yet made.


    ¡ª "Please, help me," she begged, her voice broken by emotion.


    The old man stared at her for a moment, his squinted eyes scanning her face as though searching for the truth in her words. His calloused hands rested on the edge of the door, hesitating between closing it or opening it further.


    ¡ª "Two men¡­ attacked us," she managed to say, her voice strangled by sobs.


    She pointed shakily toward Rouis, her fingers trembling with uncontrollable spasms.


    The man followed her gesture, squinting as he took in Rouis¡¯s lifeless body sprawled across the cobblestones. His features briefly hardened, but then he nodded slowly, a sigh escaping his lips.


    ¡ª "This way," he said at last.


    With awkward yet resolute movements, they lifted Rouis. His limp arms and dragging feet scraped heavily against the ground, each step punctuated by muffled groans of pain. Ambre struggled to support him, her legs buckling under the strain, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to let go.


    The house¡¯s door, low and narrow, was made of uneven wooden planks reinforced with tarnished iron bands. It creaked loudly as it opened, breaking the oppressive silence of the night. A modest yet comforting warmth emanated from within, carried by the crackling of a fire in the hearth.


    They laid Rouis on a straw mattress placed in the corner of the room. The old man straightened slowly, wiping his wrinkled forehead before glancing at Ambre.


    The room was modest yet imbued with an odd sense of serenity. The rough stone walls exuded solidity, and the packed-earth floor was scattered with straw mats.


    A low table, a few wobbly chairs, and a battered chest occupied the space, while dried herbs hung from the ceiling, diffusing a soothing yet slightly acrid aroma. An oil lantern cast a flickering light across the room.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ll fetch water and bandages," the old man said.


    Ambre sat beside Rouis, her gaze fixed on his pale face, marked with blood and bruises. She placed a trembling hand on his, her fingers gently squeezing his as if trying to transmit a fragment of strength she barely had herself.


    ¡ª "Hold on," she murmured, her voice barely audible, broken by tears.


    The old man returned shortly after, a basin of clear water in one hand and a worn first aid kit in the other. He set them down near the mattress, kneeling with a weary sigh.


    ¡ª "This won¡¯t be pleasant," he warned, soaking a clean cloth.


    He began to clean Rouis¡¯s wounds, carefully wiping away the blood and embedded dirt.


    The cloth brushed against a deep gash, drawing a rough groan from Rouis as his face twisted in pain. His fingers twitched, as if searching for something to grip.


    ¡ª "Breathe slowly," the old man murmured as he applied antiseptic to an open wound, his movements precise yet filled with care.


    Ambre, still standing, watched every movement with palpable anxiety. Her hands trembled, but she refused to look away, even as Rouis¡¯s groans tore at her heart. The lantern¡¯s light danced across her face, illuminating the tears that continued to stream down her cheeks.


    In one corner of the room, the fire crackled softly, filling the oppressive silence with a comforting sound. Yet every noise from outside made Ambre whip her head toward the door, as if expecting to see the shadows they were fleeing burst through at any moment.


    *****


    The room, cluttered with mismatched trinkets, seemed frozen in another time. The yellowed floral patterns on the wallpaper created an almost oppressive frame, as if the walls themselves were observing his pitiful state. A deep, muffled, and menacing voice echoed in his mind:


    ¡ª "You are so weak."


    Rouis opened his eyes with difficulty, each heartbeat pounding painfully in his chest. His entire body protested at the mere thought of movement, his muscles stiff and his joints feeling rusted from the pain. Lying on the canopy bed, he stared for a moment at the heavy, faded red velvet curtains, which seemed to press down on him like a silent weight, holding him captive.


    He inhaled deeply, but the air he drew in ignited a sharp burning in his bruised ribs, triggering a wave of pain that radiated to his side. A grimace twisted his face as he attempted to move, but his broken arm, securely bandaged against his chest, cruelly restricted his motions. His free hand weakly slid across the mattress, searching for support.


    The coarse fabric of the mattress offered little comfort, and the mere effort of pressing on his palm made his arm tremble. Each movement seemed to rekindle the memories of the blows he had endured, his body still bearing the marks of violence. He slowly bent one knee, but even that small motion unleashed a dull ache in his hip, climbing up to his back. He froze, panting, eyes shut tight to hold back the surge of pain.


    ¡ª "Come on..." he murmured to himself, his voice rough and broken, as if willing himself to keep going despite everything.


    This time, he grasped the wooden frame of the bed with his uninjured hand, his fingers slipping slightly on the polished, worn surface. He clenched his teeth and pulled with his still-functional arm, but the imbalance caused by his immobilized arm drew a groan from his lips. His torso rose laboriously, every muscle protesting the effort. At last, he managed to sit upright, his breath coming in short gasps, sweat beading on his temples.


    A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, blurring his vision. He remained still, gripping the edge of the mattress, waiting for the spinning world to settle. His free hand clutched the bed frame so tightly that his knuckles whitened.


    The wooden floor creaked faintly as he placed one foot on the ground, then the other. His legs trembled under his weight, a prickling discomfort coursing from his calves to his toes. Each attempt to steady himself sent a sharp pain shooting through his immobilized shoulder. He gritted his teeth, taking shallow breaths to stave off another wave of agony, his face etched with a mixture of effort and frustration.


    With agonizing slowness, he shifted his weight onto his feet, though his body remained hunched. The tension in his chest and back, compounded by the awkward position of his broken arm, prevented him from fully straightening. Every movement, no matter how small, awakened a new surge of pain.


    The silence in the room was almost oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards and his labored breathing. The antique frames hanging on the walls, depicting peaceful and idyllic landscapes, stared back at him with cruel indifference. Their tranquil stillness stood in stark contrast to his struggle to remain upright.


    He staggered slightly and caught himself against a nearby piece of furniture, gripping it tightly to avoid falling. His uninjured hand slid across a cluttered shelf, nearly toppling a porcelain figurine. Grimacing, he slowly straightened his back as much as the pain would allow. His eyes swept the room, taking in the objects frozen in oppressive stillness: books piled haphazardly, silent music boxes coated in a fine layer of dust, and vases scattered about like remnants of another life.


    Rouis drew another breath, this time more cautiously, and took a tentative step toward the door. His legs trembled, his chest seemed to pull in opposing directions, and his ribcage protested with each inhalation. But he pressed on, hunched over, his eyes fixed on the distant goal of the exit.


    Step by step, he moved forward, though each motion was an ordeal wrested from pain. The door handle seemed to retreat further with every step, but he refused to stop. His thoughts, blurred and chaotic, were a mix of anger, frustration, and a relentless instinct to survive. Each step echoed in the room, a defiant challenge to the silence and the suffering that weighed on him.


    When he finally reached the door, Rouis placed a clammy hand on the rough wood, his fingers slipping slightly over its uneven surface. He paused, his breath shallow and labored, his bruised ribs protesting with every gasp. His legs quivered under his weight, threatening to give out at any moment. Clenching his teeth, his muscles taut with effort, he slowly pushed the door open. A sharp creak shattered the silence, reverberating like a warning into the darkness beyond.


    A steep staircase revealed itself, descending into oppressive shadow. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, pressing against him like an invisible wall. Rouis gripped the banister with his uninjured hand, his fingers digging into the rough wood to keep his balance. He paused, his gaze fixed on the abrupt descent before him. The thought of falling flickered through his mind, a brief flash of panic he pushed aside with a slow, deliberate breath.


    He placed a hesitant foot on the first step, the creak of the wood breaking the oppressive silence.


    A sharp pain shot through his side, traveling up to his immobilized shoulder. His breath hitched, but he pressed on, gripping the banister like a lifeline. Each step echoed in the stairwell, amplified by the acoustics, an unintentional announcement of his presence. The wood groaned beneath his weight, one creak after another, and each step seemed to drain him further of his strength.


    A wave of warmth drifted up from below, brushing against his face, offering a fleeting promise of comfort. The distant crackle of a fire resonated softly, a sound that might have soothed him if not drowned out by his pain and exhaustion. Even this warmth couldn¡¯t lift the oppressive weight bearing down on his shoulders.


    Rouis briefly closed his eyes, his hand sliding along the banister as he moved step by agonizing step.


    The metallic taste of exertion filled his mouth, and bursts of light danced before his eyes with every motion. Yet he continued, his body bent under the weight of suffering, driven by a force he struggled to identify.


    The staircase seemed to stretch endlessly, each step becoming a challenge unto itself. And still, he moved forward, step by step, like a man refusing to bow to the storm.


    Finally, Rouis reached the bottom of the staircase, his legs trembling from the effort. His ragged breathing filled the room, mingling with the soothing crackle of the fire in the hearth.


    Before him, an old man sat on a couch draped in worn fabric. Long gray hair framed his oval face, etched with the marks of age, and a thick beard streaked with silver strands added to his solemn demeanor.


    Rouis¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, his instincts urging him to remain cautious. Every muscle in his exhausted body was tense, ready to react.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m the one who treated you," the old man said, his deep voice laced with kindness.


    ¡ª "What happened to me?" Rouis asked, still dazed, his thoughts drifting between hazy memories of the attack and the present.


    ¡ª "Two men assaulted you," Luc replied.


    The memory of the blows came rushing back: the weight of the iron pipe, mocking laughter, and the searing pain that split his skull. Rouis clenched his teeth, his numbed hands trembling slightly.


    ¡ª "Without that damn iron bar, I would¡¯ve beaten them," he muttered, a flicker of anger in his eyes.


    ¡ª "Where¡¯s the girl?" Rouis asked, instinctively searching for Ambre.


    ¡ª "She went to run some errands," Luc said, nodding slightly toward the door.


    The old man rose carefully, his measured movements betraying a fatigue deeply rooted in his bones. He took a ladle from near the hearth and filled a bowl with steaming soup. The comforting aroma of onions, vegetables, and broth filled the room, wrapping Rouis in an unexpected warmth.


    ¡ª "Here, eat," Luc said, handing him the bowl.


    Rouis took the bowl with his uninjured hand, lifting it slowly to his lips. The hot, savory liquid slid down his throat, soothing his battered body slightly.


    ¡ª "Do you want some bread?" Luc offered, glancing toward the table where a rustic loaf rested.


    ¡ª "No, thank you," Rouis replied, though an involuntary growl from his stomach betrayed his need.


    Luc shrugged with an amused smile and sliced two thick pieces of bread. He topped them with generous chunks of golden-crusted cheese, placing them on a plate.


    ¡ª "You sure?" he asked with a sly smile, holding the plate out toward Rouis.


    Rouis hesitated for a moment before nodding, a resigned sigh escaping his lips.


    ¡ª "Fine," he said at last.


    Luc sliced two more pieces of bread and added chunks of cheese, setting them down in front of Rouis. Taking a piece, Rouis dipped it into the soup, the simple, rich flavor awakening a buried memory. He thought of his mother, of the herb concoctions she used to prepare¡ªsome of them inedible, especially the ones with nettles. A fleeting smile crossed his face.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s good," Rouis murmured between bites.


    Luc nodded, a satisfied smile softening his features.


    ¡ª "Glad you like it. My wife used to make this soup," he said in a gentler tone, tinged with nostalgia.


    Silence settled between them again, broken only by the sound of spoons scraping bowls and the steady crackle of the fire. Rouis, his gaze lowered, ate slowly but with appetite, savoring every bite.


    ¡ª "What brings you to this town?" Luc finally asked, breaking the calm with a curious but unintrusive tone.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m escorting Ambre to the capital," Rouis replied, biting into his cheese-covered bread.


    Luc furrowed his brow slightly, thoughtful.


    ¡ª "Does that have anything to do with the attack you suffered?"


    ¡ª "None. Pure coincidence," Rouis replied without hesitation.


    Luc remained silent, his eyes briefly scrutinizing Rouis, as if weighing the truth of his words. Meanwhile, Rouis finished his meal, hungrily emptying the bowl of soup and the bread that accompanied it. Without a word, Luc refilled the bowl, adding two more slices of bread.


    Rouis ate just as eagerly the second time, but even as his stomach gradually filled, a gnawing hunger lingered¡ªa reminder of the hardships of the past hours. Finally, he leaned back against the chair, a sigh of exhaustion escaping his lips.


    Luc, on the other hand, suddenly seemed older. His face, illuminated by the flickering firelight, was lined with deep wrinkles, and his figure appeared frailer than before. He sat down slowly, as if weighed down by an invisible burden.


    The silence stretched again, punctuated only by the murmuring fire and the now-relaxed breaths of Rouis, who finally felt the warmth of comfort dull, for a moment, the pain that consumed him.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m going to take a nap. You can stay here or take a walk outside," Luc said, gesturing to a chair before heading upstairs.


    On the chair rested a pair of keys bound by a wrought iron ring, their tarnished surface bearing the marks of time. Beside the keys, simple clothes were neatly folded: an off-white linen shirt, slightly worn at the elbows, and a pair of sturdy brown canvas trousers, practical for long journeys. A supple leather belt, adorned with a polished metal buckle, completed the ensemble, silently awaiting its future wearer.


    When Luc left the room, silence fell like a heavy blanket. Rouis, still somewhat dazed, slowly made his way toward the kitchen, his thoughts still swirling around the recent events.


    The kitchen walls were covered in floral-patterned wallpaper, some corners peeling slightly to reveal layers of purple paint beneath. The low ceiling, yellowed with age, was supported by dark wooden beams. Beneath his feet, wide wooden floorboards creaked intermittently, adding a subtle soundtrack to his steps.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    In the center of the room stood a small formica table surrounded by mismatched chairs. A plastic-coated tablecloth adorned with fruit motifs covered the surface, atop which rested an unlit oil lamp. The solid wood cabinets, painted in chipped white, revealed shelves filled with mismatched plates, bowls, and glasses, each piece carrying its own character.


    At the far end of the kitchen, a heavy wooden door caught his eye. Its timeworn surface bore deep scratches carved into the wood with brutal precision. The gashes, irregular yet unmistakably violent, slashed diagonally across the door, as if a determined creature had once tried to force its way through.


    Each groove etched into the wood seemed to tell a silent story, a frozen moment where an uncontrollable force had been unleashed upon the door. The edges of the scratches, slightly frayed, revealed the thickness and sturdiness of a wood that had once been inviolable.


    The flickering light of the oil lamp accentuated the texture of the scratches, casting sinister shadows that danced on the surrounding walls, as if echoing the fury of the past.


    Rouis stood motionless for a moment, his gaze fixed on the marks as if hypnotized. A question formed in his mind, heavy and inevitable: What had left these traces?


    When he opened the door, a cold breeze greeted him, unveiling a small, well-kept garden.


    The vegetable patch, sheltered by the surrounding trees, thrived despite the season. Rows of carrots, tomatoes, and herbs stood in near-military precision.


    A paved path wound gently through the garden, leading to a wooden bench placed under a towering oak tree. Though its bare branches had shed their leaves, the tree retained an imposing presence.


    After a moment of observing the snow-covered garden, Rouis decided to return inside to get dressed. The shirt and trousers folded neatly on the chair seemed harmless enough, but with a broken arm, every movement became a trial.


    Opening the door once more, a sharp, icy breeze seeped through to his skin, carrying with it the unmistakable chill of winter. Before him stretched the same small, well-tended garden, now blanketed in a pristine layer of snow.


    The vegetable patch, protected by the surrounding trees, revealed crops resilient to the winter. Rows of cabbages with thick, frosted leaves stood proudly, while leeks, their slender, dark-green stalks, pierced the snow. Farther along, root vegetables like carrots and turnips hinted at their presence beneath a thin layer of frost. A few hardy herbs, such as thyme and rosemary, added a touch of green to the landscape, their leaves releasing a faint fragrance even in the cold.


    A paved path meandered softly through the garden, its edges softened by the fresh snow. It led to a wooden bench placed under the grand oak tree, its bare, skeletal branches seeming to stand watch over the serene space.


    Rouis lingered for a moment, taking in the snow-draped landscape. Winter¡¯s breath seemed to slow time, and the silence¡ªbroken only by the faint rustling of wind through the trees¡ªdeepened the sense of isolation.


    He grasped the shirt with his uninjured hand, brushing his fingers over it as if trying to figure out how to proceed. Sliding his first arm into the sleeve was a calculated effort, the fabric dragging awkwardly over his skin.


    But threading his bandaged arm through the other sleeve ignited a sharp, throbbing pain that radiated all the way to his shoulder. He froze for a moment, teeth clenched, his breath shallow and uneven.


    ¡ª "Come on," he muttered through gritted teeth, as though trying to will himself forward.


    He resumed with painstaking care, his movements slow and deliberate. The shirt¡¯s fabric grazed against his battered chest, amplifying the pulling sensation in his ribs. Each button became its own battle, a clash between his determination and his body¡¯s protests.


    Putting on the trousers proved just as arduous. Bending slightly to pull them on triggered a painful tension in his hip, drawing a grimace as he straightened up. The belt, though simple, required additional effort to fasten, each movement pulling at his strained muscles.


    When the clothes were finally on, Rouis stood still for a moment, his breath shallow, his fingers gripping his thigh. The pain lingered¡ªdull and unyielding¡ªbut he had pushed through. He raised his head slightly, a faint glimmer of determination flickering in his tired eyes, and moved slowly toward the door.


    As he stepped outside at last, an icy gust bit at his face, seeping deep into his bones. He shivered despite himself, instinctively pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders to shield against the biting cold that blanketed the town. Above him, the gray sky stretched endlessly, flurries of snow drifting lazily down to add to the already thick layer covering the streets.


    The rooftops of the houses, whitened by snow, formed a uniform, muted landscape. The bare branches of trees, heavy with powder, bent slightly under the weight of winter. The cobblestones of the alleys, hidden beneath the pristine mantle, muffled the usual sounds of the town. An eerie tranquility hung in the air, broken only by the hurried steps of its inhabitants.


    Passersby, bundled in heavy coats, thick scarves, and knitted hats, rushed through the alleys. With every step, they left deep footprints in the fresh snow, their breaths forming fleeting clouds that rose into the icy air.


    Not far away, the distant chime of church bells echoed at regular intervals, adding a soft melody to the wintry atmosphere. Shop windows, adorned with candles, glowed warmly, casting an inviting light onto the snowy streets.


    Across the square, children in colorful outfits played in the snow. Their laughter rang out like cheerful echoes, warming the frosty air. Some, armed with snowballs, engaged in lively battles punctuated by bursts of joy, while others meticulously shaped snowmen. Snow swirled around them, sparkling under the diffuse rays of weak light.


    Rouis walked slowly, his boots sinking slightly into the fresh powder, each step producing a muffled sound, almost soothing in its quietude. The cold air bit at his cheeks, and his breath turned to vapor before his lips. His gaze, however, was distant. He scanned the scene around him absentmindedly, but his mind remained fogged, mired in the fatigue and memories of the past few days.


    At the corner of a street, Rouis finally spotted a caf¨¦ with a modest sign. Through its lit windows, he could make out figures seated inside, their hands wrapped around steaming cups. The interior seemed bathed in soft light, offering a warm refuge from the biting winter.


    Seeking some respite, Rouis made his way to the entrance.


    The caf¨¦''s floor shone under the dim lights, the black-and-white checkered tiles reflecting subtle gleams. Persian rugs in rich colors added contrasting warmth, while the walls, adorned with geometric wallpaper, seemed to hum softly under the gentle glow of brass sconces.


    The counter, imposing and majestic, was crafted from dark wood topped with polished marble. Behind it, a coffee machine exhaled plumes of steam, filling the air with the aroma of freshly ground beans. The servers, dressed in green silk uniforms, moved with measured elegance, their precise gestures contributing to the caf¨¦''s hushed atmosphere.


    In one corner, dark wooden shelves held ceramic jars filled with loose coffee and tea, their handwritten labels lending an artisanal touch. Nearby, glass cases revealed golden biscuits and cakes, inviting patrons to indulge.


    Rouis sat by a slightly fogged window, watching bundled-up passersby navigate the snowy street outside. The falling snowflakes danced in a silent choreography, blanketing the world in an immaculate cover. For a moment, he lost himself in the tranquility, but a cold, scornful voice shattered his peace:


    You are so weak.


    He started, his eyes darting nervously around the room.


    ¡ª "Who said that?" he murmured, but no one answered.


    The other patrons continued their conversations, though some cast brief, curious glances in his direction. He clenched his fists.


    You are so weak, the voice repeated, louder and more insistent this time.


    Rouis stood abruptly, his chair toppling over with a loud clatter.


    ¡ª "Show yourself!" he hissed, his voice slicing through the caf¨¦¡¯s muted ambiance.


    The murmurs stopped. The patrons froze, staring at Rouis, their gazes tinged with disbelief and unease.


    The server, alarmed by his outburst, approached quickly.


    ¡ª "Calm down, sir," he said firmly.


    The voice echoed again, sharper, more precise. A surge of uncontrollable anger exploded within Rouis, and before he could think, he struck the server in the stomach. The man collapsed with a dull thud, his breath knocked out of him.


    The silence that followed was suffocating. Conversations, the clinking of spoons, even the faint music¡ªall had ceased. Every eye in the room was fixed on Rouis, whose chest rose and fell rapidly under the weight of anger and adrenaline.


    Suddenly aware of what he¡¯d done, a wave of shame and confusion crashed over him.


    He took a step back, his eyes darting around for an escape. Then, without a word, he turned and left the caf¨¦ in haste, bumping into a table on his way out.


    Outside, the icy air hit him like a brutal shock. He walked quickly through the snowy streets, his heavy, uneven steps leaving chaotic imprints in the powder. The snow muffled the sound of his footsteps, but his heart pounded so loudly it seemed to echo in his head.


    Why? Why that voice?


    He barely felt the biting cold against his face; an internal storm raged within him. Shame, doubt, and a simmering anger tangled together, clouding his mind.


    When he finally saw the old man¡¯s house, he slowed. His shallow breaths formed small clouds of vapor in the frigid air, but his thoughts remained turbulent, far from finding the calm he so desperately sought.


    As he entered, a gentle aroma of vegetables and herbs filled the air. Ambre, focused, was slicing carrots with precision, her knife moving in a steady rhythm. When the door creaked open, she lifted her head, her eyes widening in surprise. She immediately abandoned the knife and rushed toward Rouis, arms outstretched.


    ¡ª "Rouis! You¡¯re finally awake!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up.


    Before he could respond, she wrapped him in an embrace filled with warmth that caught him off guard. His body, still sore, protested under the pressure, but he said nothing.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re kinder than usual," he joked, a tired smile forming on his lips.


    Ambre quickly pulled back, her cheeks flushing pink. She lowered her gaze, nervously twisting the edge of her apron.


    ¡ª "I thought you were going to die," she murmured, her trembling voice betraying emotions she struggled to hide.


    She took a deep breath before continuing:


    ¡ª "It¡¯s a good thing Luc saved you. He stitched up your arm and watched over you."


    Rouis nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. When I find my purse, I¡¯ll give him ten gold pieces, he thought, grateful to the old man.


    He turned to Ambre.


    ¡ª "We¡¯ll have to get moving soon."


    Ambre frowned.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re not fully healed yet, Rouis! Your arm is still broken!" she exclaimed.


    Rouis shrugged, dismissing her objection with a casual wave of his hand.


    ¡ª "We don¡¯t have much time. We¡¯re already behind," he said plainly, as if to end the discussion.


    Ambre clenched her fists.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re not invincible. If you leave too soon, you¡¯ll make things worse, and we won¡¯t get anywhere!" she protested, her eyes locked firmly on his.


    But Rouis averted his gaze, refusing to respond.


    ¡ª "How long was I asleep?" he finally asked, his voice calmer but tinged with suspicion.


    ¡ª "Three weeks," Ambre replied after a brief hesitation, as though she feared he might explode.


    Rouis¡¯s eyes widened. He straightened abruptly, his fists clenching the edge of the table.


    ¡ª "Damn, damn, damn! That¡¯s impossible!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the small room.


    Ambre, visibly irritated by his reaction, shrugged and resumed slicing the carrots.


    ¡ª "It¡¯s not the end of the world," she said lightly.


    At that moment, Luc entered the room, his hands still dusted with flour. He greeted Rouis with a warm smile.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re up; that¡¯s a good sign," he said, stirring the contents of a steaming pot.


    He added a handful of fresh herbs before turning to Rouis, crossing his arms.


    ¡ª "But don¡¯t rush things. Those kinds of injuries take time, and leaving too soon could cost you more than three weeks of rest."


    Rouis, still tense, slumped into a chair. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. Three weeks. An eternity lost. The delay could cost them dearly.


    The crackling of the fire in the hearth, the comforting aroma of soup, and the rhythmic sound of Ambre¡¯s knife against the cutting board filled the room.


    Rouis stood slowly, stretching his aching muscles.


    ¡ª "What happened to the kitchen door?" he asked.


    Luc, hunched over a pile of vegetables he was chopping with precision, barely lifted his head.


    ¡ª "Wolves broke it down and ate all the supplies," he replied with a sigh.


    Rouis frowned, his thoughts racing.


    ¡ª "That doesn¡¯t sound like normal wolf behavior," he said.


    Luc froze mid-motion, his knife suspended in the air. He fixed Rouis with an unusual intensity.


    ¡ª "It surprised me as much as it does you," Luc said. "I heard a loud noise one night, came downstairs, and it was already over. No food left, the door completely destroyed. They¡¯ve even come back several times."


    The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the occasional crackle of wood in the hearth. Rouis nodded slowly, but his gaze remained fixed on the door, as if it held answers just out of reach.


    The evening unfolded in an unusual quiet. After a simple yet comforting meal, Luc and Ambre retired upstairs, leaving Rouis alone in the kitchen.


    He pulled a chair near the door and sat down, his dagger resting on the table within easy reach. His muscles tense and his mind alert, he scanned every corner of the room, mentally noting each detail. The biting cold seeped through the cracks in the door, and outside, snow continued to fall silently, blanketing the world in an immaculate shroud.


    A sudden jolt woke him. In front of him stood Ambre, leaning over, her face tight with urgency.


    ¡ª "You didn¡¯t hear anything?" she exclaimed, her voice wavering between irritation and exasperation.


    Rouis jumped to his feet, still groggy, his mind struggling to grasp reality.


    He swept the room with his gaze. The cold air seemed sharper than before, but that wasn¡¯t what caught his attention. Where, just the night before, sacks of flour and meat had been neatly stored, there was now nothing.


    ¡ª "No, I¡­ I didn¡¯t hear anything," he murmured, dazed.


    Ambre, already near the door, was scanning the scene.


    ¡ª "Come here," she said sharply.


    Rouis approached, his stiff muscles protesting every step. Together, they examined the door. Unlike the previous incursions, there were no scratches, no signs of brute force. The door appeared untouched, as though nothing had happened.


    Ambre slowly turned to him, crossing her arms. Her piercing, accusatory eyes seemed to dig into him, searching for the truth in his expression.


    ¡ª "If you were hungry, you could¡¯ve just said so," Ambre sighed, her tone heavy with irritation.


    Rouis felt a simmering anger rise within him, but he pushed it down.


    ¡ª "I didn¡¯t eat anything," he repeated, his voice firmer, almost cutting.


    ¡ª "What a scoundrel!" she snapped, her eyes blazing with indignation. "You ate all the food and won¡¯t even admit it!"


    Rouis clenched his fists, feeling his patience erode.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m telling you, it wasn¡¯t me!"


    ¡ª "Then who?" Ambre shouted, her voice shattering the heavy silence in the house.


    At that moment, Luc descended the stairs, his dragging steps amplified by the quiet. His disheveled hair and weary expression testified to his exhaustion.


    ¡ª "What¡¯s going on here?" he asked, his voice gravelly, tinged with fatigue.


    Ambre spun toward him, gesturing accusingly at Rouis.


    ¡ª "The food is gone again, and Rouis claims he didn¡¯t hear a thing!"


    Luc frowned, his gaze shifting slowly between the two of them. He lingered on Rouis for a moment before turning to Ambre, his posture radiating quiet authority.


    ¡ª "Calm down," he said firmly. "Blaming each other won¡¯t help us figure out what¡¯s happening here."


    Rouis took a deep breath, running a hand over his face in an attempt to collect his thoughts. A question haunted him, insistent and unsettling: What if it really was me¡ªwithout my knowing?


    His eyes drifted toward the threshold. A strange footprint, barely visible in the snow, caught his attention. It was too large for a wolf, but too imprecise to draw any conclusions.


    Luc sighed deeply and moved toward the door to examine it more closely. His rough fingers traced over the wood, pausing on the grooves left by past claw marks. He narrowed his eyes in concentration before straightening up and turning to face Rouis and Ambre.


    ¡ª "Maybe there¡¯s a passage or hiding place we haven¡¯t discovered yet," he said. "I¡¯ll search the house."


    Luc dug into his pocket and handed Rouis a few bronze coins.


    ¡ª "You¡¯ll do the shopping for lunch," he said simply.


    Rouis took the coins, his gaze briefly shifting to Ambre. She, however, said nothing. She turned on her heel and marched upstairs, her steps brisk, her back straight, and her chin slightly raised.


    Luc watched her retreat, a faint smile playing on his lips, then turned to Rouis.


    ¡ª "She¡¯ll get over it," he said softly.


    He rummaged in his pocket again and pulled out another coin, handing it to Rouis.


    ¡ª "In case you want a beer."


    Rouis raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised by the gesture.


    ¡ª "Thanks," he replied, slipping the coin into his pocket.


    Luc headed to the kitchen, pulling out a few eggs and a piece of bacon, which he set on the table. Within minutes, he had lit the fire and started preparing an omelet. The mouthwatering aroma of cooking quickly filled the room.


    Ambre, however, didn¡¯t come down for lunch. Sitting at the table, Rouis watched absentmindedly as Luc placed two full plates in front of them.


    ¡ª "She was really worried about you," Luc said, breaking the silence.


    Rouis looked up, a skeptical glint in his eyes.


    ¡ª "I doubt it," he replied curtly, poking at his plate with his fork.


    Luc, unfazed, smiled slightly before continuing:


    ¡ª "I¡¯m serious. She stayed by your side every night. She changed your sheets, checked your bandages, and made sure you didn¡¯t lack anything."


    Rouis remained still, Luc¡¯s words echoing in his mind. He lowered his head slightly, tracing the rim of his glass with his finger. A mix of guilt and gratitude crept over him.


    ¡ª "I didn¡¯t know," he murmured at last.


    Silence fell again, broken only by the faint scrape of cutlery against plates. The two men ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.


    Luc broke the silence once more, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.


    ¡ª "Want a beer?"


    Rouis looked up, a faint smile finally crossing his lips.


    ¡ª "With pleasure."


    Luc got up, opened a cupboard, and returned with two cold beers. He handed one to Rouis before sitting down across from him. They clinked their bottles together, the soft chime echoing pleasantly in the cozy kitchen.


    Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing the town in a pristine white cover.


    *****


    Rouis quickly completed his shopping, slipping the provisions into his bag before heading toward a tavern whose sign had been dulled by years of exposure. The door creaked as it opened, releasing a rush of warm air heavy with the aromas of beer, burning wood, and spices. Inside, the flickering light of wrought-iron chandeliers cast dancing shadows on walls adorned with eclectic memorabilia: felt hats adorned with feathers, tarnished copper lanterns, and musical instruments hung like forgotten relics.


    Rouis chose a secluded table, where the dimness offered a semblance of privacy. The table¡¯s surface, worn with age, bore the scars of countless evenings: carved initials, deep scratches, and rings left by countless tankards. He settled in with a fresh beer in hand, savoring the first sip as its familiar bitterness spread across his tongue.


    His gaze was drawn to an old map of the kingdom hanging on the wall, yellowed and torn at the edges. Almost unconsciously, he rose and approached it. His fingers brushed over the weathered paper, tracing the winding borders. He found his hometown, a tiny, barely visible dot on the map.


    His thoughts drifted to the dusty alleys and familiar faces of his childhood. He remembered afternoons spent running with friends, their laughter echoing between the walls of the houses, and the sweet taste of apples stolen from neighboring orchards. But those memories, once so vivid, now felt veiled, like a photograph faded by time.


    He wondered what had become of them¡ªhis friends, and the girl with the golden braid he had never forgotten. Perhaps, with the fortune he hoped to amass, he could find her again. But a persistent question lingered: Would she even recognize him? And what if he had changed so much that he was a stranger to her now?


    Through the large window of the tavern, Rouis watched the passersby. Snow fell gently, settling on the bundled shoulders of hurried walkers. Their steps crunched against the cobblestones, mingling with the quiet murmur of conversations and distant laughter. Yet their faces, etched with anxiety and the wear of daily life, seemed to tell a story he couldn¡¯t quite grasp.


    A wave of melancholy swept over him, cold and sudden like an icy breeze. Everything here felt foreign. Even the sounds of the tavern¡ªthe clinking of tankards, the hum of voices¡ªseemed distant, distorted by the haze of his memories.


    He closed his eyes for a moment, and in the silence of his mind, he found the familiar sounds of his childhood: the ringing of bells in the distance, the splash of water on stone, and joyful voices calling his name. When he opened his eyes again, reality reclaimed its place, bringing with it a nagging question: Would his hometown still be recognizable? And even if it was, would he find a part of himself there?


    With a sigh, he returned to his table and picked up his tankard. He took a long sip, trying to drown his unease in the bitterness of the brew. Yet even the beer couldn¡¯t silence the whirlwind of thoughts assailing him.


    His gaze drifted back to the map, where his hometown seemed to call to him silently. With one final sigh, he placed the tankard back on the table and closed his eyes briefly, allowing the bitterness of his memories to intertwine with that of the present.

 Ja?s

    In a kingdom of shadows, on the edge of silence,


    A child wandered, burdened with a sentence.


    His eyes burned with strange, unearthly tears,


    From which stones sprang forth¡ªcrystals of despair.


    His first cry birthed a fallen gem,


    A crimson ruby, drowned in pain¡¯s stem.


    Each sob he could not hold inside


    Became a jewel, a shard where sorrow would reside.


    They feared him, this cursed child,


    For his tears were treasures and yet reviled.


    Men craved the brilliance of his luminous weeping,


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.While he, on his knees, prayed for an end to his searing suffering.


    His small hands, dust-stained and frail,


    Held gems that bore his tragic tale.


    Topazes of regret, opals of loss,


    Each stone a fragment of his prison¡¯s cross.


    One day, they caged him in golden bars,


    Far from the world, his tears turned to scars.


    Merchants of misery came to behold,


    Each fallen drop a revelation untold.


    But the child, broken, became a flame,


    A blaze consuming his soul and name.


    He stood tall, hands reaching toward the skies,


    And his tears ceased in a solemn rise.


    The stones turned to glittering dust,


    An echo of stars beneath the night¡¯s crust.


    He left the cage, leaving emptiness profound,


    And silence marked where he was once found.


    Since then, they say beneath misty skies,


    Glimmering stones can be found where destiny lies.


    Yet none can say if the child lingers still,


    Or if he became a shadow, guarding treasures at will.

 7. The Witch鈥檚 Lair (Kendrys)

    Kendrys clenched the vial in her hand until it shattered, shards of glass biting into her skin. Blood welled up in crimson beads, mixing with the dense liquid seeping from the broken flask.


    Her legs buckled, her body growing heavier as her muscles betrayed her. A blinding white light consumed her vision, and the world disappeared. Kendrys felt an invisible force engulfing her, pulling every fiber of her being into an unfathomable abyss.


    When she reopened her eyes, she stood in a space that defied all logic. No ground, no horizon, just a luminous void in perpetual motion. Before her, a formless mass floated, devouring the light around it.


    ¡ª "Don¡¯t step forward," murmured a soft voice.


    The words, though barely audible, imposed themselves on her as an injunction she couldn¡¯t ignore. Kendrys blinked, still disoriented, her mind struggling to adapt to this unreal environment.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m looking for¡­" she began.


    The voice cut her off, its tone now sharp and icy.


    ¡ª "I know who you¡¯re looking for," it replied.


    A cold shiver ran down Kendrys¡¯s spine. Survival instincts took over, awakening a visceral sense of distrust. Nothing about this place, nothing about this entity, felt safe.


    ¡ª "What do you want?" she asked.


    ¡ª "An artifact."


    ¡ª "What artifact?" she snapped warily.


    ¡ª "The Book of Gildardere."


    ¡ª "That book has been lost for centuries," she said.


    The Book of Gildardere. A legendary relic, its pages were said to contain forbidden secrets capable of reshaping the world. An artifact many dismissed as a fable.


    ¡ª "That¡¯s a lie. It¡¯s still in the castle."


    Kendrys took a deep breath, trying to steady the tumult of her thoughts. If what this creature said was true, the implications were staggering.


    ¡ª "Give me information about the man, and I¡¯ll find the grimoire," she responded.


    ¡ª "He¡¯s closer than you think," the voice murmured. "Bring him to me, and I¡¯ll give you his name."


    A crystalline laugh suddenly echoed, sharp and chilling, rising in the empty space like an endless reverberation. Kendrys felt a cold sweat bead at the back of her neck, her heart pounding at a frantic rhythm.


    The light around her flickered, then everything collapsed. She woke with a start, her breath ragged, her body trembling.


    A sharp pain in her hand pulled her back to the present moment. Looking down, she noticed the drops of blood trickling from her wounds.


    With a swift but clumsy motion, she wrapped her hand, trying to steady the tremors that lingered in her fingers.


    ¡ª "He¡¯s closer than you think," she murmured to herself.


    Struggling to her feet, Kendrys felt her legs shaking under the weight of her own body. An unusual fatigue weighed on her, as if the brief contact with that entity had drained part of her vitality. She glanced around her darkened room. The shutters blocked out any external light, leaving a compact, almost tangible darkness. Yet, it wasn¡¯t the blackness that unsettled her. She still felt its presence.


    Her mind was in turmoil, a storm of thoughts colliding with fragments of the dream still vivid in her memory. Images, words, sensations looped incessantly, refusing to fade. Kendrys knew she didn¡¯t have the luxury of rest.


    She lit a small lamp on her desk. Sitting down, her body¡¯s mechanical movements betrayed her exhaustion. She opened a notebook, the blank pages seeming to wait to capture her thoughts.


    The Book of Gildardere.


    She methodically wrote down everything she remembered: the entity¡¯s voice, its demand, the chilling laughter that still echoed in her mind.


    Setting the pen down, she closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers massaging her temples. Each thought led to another, like an endless maze. How could such a legendary artifact, believed lost for centuries, still be here, hidden somewhere in this castle?


    If the creature was telling the truth, it meant that a far greater conspiracy was at play. This could only be the work of powerful hands, orchestrating events from the shadows.


    Kendrys clenched her jaw. She was exhausted, but frustration stoked a flame within her that refused to die out. Someone in this castle had hidden the book.


    She closed the notebook with a sharp motion, her fingers sliding over the rough cover.


    Kendrys was awakened by a faint creak. A page entered her room, carrying a tray of food. The sun, already high, flooded the room with a golden light, but the soothing warmth did little to lift the fatigue weighing on her. The night had been short, haunted by the previous day¡¯s events, and her restless thoughts had kept her from finding true rest.


    She ate quickly, the taste of the food bland on her tongue, as though she had lost the ability to perceive flavor. Her mind remained consumed by the mission ahead, each bite taken mechanically, more out of necessity than desire.


    After finishing her meal, Kendrys left her room. Her steps were brisk, almost nervous, as she made her way to Soren¡¯s office. It was essential to inform him of her discoveries. However, she knew the conversation would be far from easy. Soren was not a man to receive unexpected news with calm acceptance.


    Arriving at his office, she paused. The slightly ajar door revealed a room steeped in silence. Gently pushing the door open, she stepped inside.


    Soren¡¯s desk was immaculate, every paper neatly stacked, the quills carefully arranged in their inkwell. The chair was pushed against the desk.


    Leaning slightly against the desk, Kendrys fell into thought. If Soren wasn¡¯t at his post, it meant he had either been called away for an urgent matter or had chosen to be elsewhere. She had no choice but to wait, though patience was not in her nature.


    Kendrys crossed her arms, her gaze lingering momentarily on the stack of documents in front of her.


    The hours stretched on, each passing minute amplifying Kendrys¡¯s impatience. She paced the hallway restlessly.


    At last, the heavy doors creaked open, and Soren entered. His gaze immediately fell on her.


    ¡ª "You wanted to see me?" he asked.


    Kendrys nodded.


    She stepped into the room.


    ¡ª "How can I help you?" he continued.


    ¡ª "I have a lead on the murders," she stated.


    Soren froze slightly.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m listening," he said.


    ¡ª "I visited the families of Fylk and Jerffe," she began.


    She watched his reaction carefully. Soren¡¯s features hardened, and a shadow of irritation crossed his face.


    ¡ª "Who gave you permission?" he demanded.


    Kendrys¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. She had no intention of being intimidated.


    ¡ª "I found something interesting," she replied simply.


    Soren furrowed his brow but remained silent, waiting for her to continue.


    ¡ª "The man we¡¯re looking for smells of sulfur," she said. "He¡¯s a foreigner, with chestnut hair, brown eyes, and colorful clothing."


    A silence settled between them. Soren stared at her for a long moment.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ll look into it," he finally said.


    Without another word, he averted his gaze. With a quick, brusque gesture, he dismissed Kendrys.


    The door shut behind her with a sharp snap.


    Kendrys found herself alone in the corridor, her irritation simmering. She clenched her fists.


    Soren might have been right to remain cautious, but his behavior was far from flawless. Everything about his demeanor suggested he was intent on keeping her at arm¡¯s length.


    Taking several deep breaths, Kendrys closed her eyes for a moment to calm the anger rising within her. This was not the time to lose her composure. No matter Soren¡¯s attitude, she needed to keep her focus.


    Determined to continue her investigation, Kendrys headed toward the Herb Quarter, a bustling crossroads where the city never slept. The narrow, cobblestone streets formed a maze dominated by nocturnal activity. The air was saturated with a cacophony of sounds: bursts of laughter, animated conversations, clinking glasses, and the cries of merchants promoting their spicy specialties. The intoxicating aromas of grilled meats, exotic spices, and fermented drinks filled the atmosphere.


    Kendrys weaved her way through the crowd, avoiding rowdy groups and insistent vendors, before spotting a particularly lively tavern. Its reputation as a haven for those looking to lose themselves¡ªor to hide¡ªmade it the perfect place for her investigation.


    Kendrys stepped inside. The dark wooden walls, worn smooth by years, seemed to absorb the laughter and murmurs. A large fireplace occupied one corner of the room, its fire crackling softly.


    She climbed the stairs to the upper level, preferring the vantage point to observe the entire room. The heavy wooden tables, covered with brown-and-cream checkered tablecloths, were occupied by patrons deep in conversation. Some laughed, others spoke in hushed tones, all seemingly oblivious to the young woman¡¯s presence.


    Settling at a table near the railing, she scanned the comings and goings with sharp attention.


    Her eyes drifted over each face, searching for one that matched the description of the killer. Yet none of the men present, despite the diverse clientele, resembled the foreigner she sought.


    Minutes stretched into hours, each passing moment feeding her frustration. Around her, conversations buzzed, intermingling with bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, but none of what she overheard offered the faintest lead.


    At last, Kendrys rose and descended to the bar. The bartender, a short, stocky man with a face etched by time, greeted her with a polite smile.


    ¡ª "What can I get for you, ma¡¯am?" he asked.


    ¡ª "Have you seen any foreigners recently?"


    The man shrugged slightly, setting down the glass he was wiping.


    ¡ª "I see plenty of foreigners here," he replied.


    Kendrys tilted her head.


    ¡ª "A man with chestnut hair, wearing colorful clothes?" she clarified.


    The bartender shook his head slowly.


    ¡ª "No, ma¡¯am. Haven¡¯t seen anyone like that."


    She nodded her thanks, masking her disappointment, and left the bar.


    The night continued in the same frustrating vein. Kendrys visited a dozen establishments, each noisier and more crowded than the last. Yet none held the answers she desperately sought.


    As she stepped out of the final bar of the evening, the cool night air greeted her, stinging her cheeks lightly. She took a deep breath, letting her gaze wander to the stars piercing through the darkness. Her frustration was palpable, but she knew she couldn¡¯t afford to give up.


    *****


    As Kendrys returned home, she noticed a letter slipped under her door, sealed with the royal insignia. Her heart tightened as she picked it up. Breaking the seal with a swift motion, she unfolded the parchment, her growing nerves making her hands slightly unsteady.


    The instructions were clear: she was being sent north to investigate a series of mysterious murders¡­ of sheep.


    Kendrys¡¯s jaw clenched as she read.


    A quiet fury rose within her, burning like a flame on the verge of erupting. There was no doubt in her mind that Soren was trying to sideline her, relegating her to an insignificant mission far from the truly important matters.


    She tossed the letter onto the table with a sharp gesture before leaving her room, her boots striking the floor with force. Her mind was boiling as she made her way to Soren¡¯s office, ready to confront him. But upon arriving, she found Marte leaning against the wall. He lifted his head as she approached, his expression darkened.


    ¡ª "What¡¯s wrong?" he asked.


    ¡ª "They¡¯re sending me north," she said, her voice tinged with anger.


    Marte nodded.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ve been sent on a mission too. To the south, to track down a group of brigands," he replied.


    Kendrys let out an exasperated sigh, her fists clenching.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m hunting sheep killers," she growled.


    Marte smirked.


    ¡ª "A thrilling mission," he joked.


    His smile only fanned the flames of Kendrys¡¯s frustration. She felt heat rising within her, and flames began to flicker around her foot. Clenching her fists, she fought to contain her power, her breathing quickening.


    ¡ª "It¡¯ll be fine, Kendrys," Marte tried to reassure her.


    But she wasn¡¯t ready to calm down.


    ¡ª "I need to speak to Soren immediately," she declared.


    Her anger simmered, on the verge of boiling over, but her control remained intact¡ªbarely.


    After hours of waiting, it was the steward who finally appeared.


    ¡ª "I need to see Soren," Kendrys demanded.


    The steward remained stoic.


    ¡ª "He is occupied and won¡¯t return for several days," he replied, his hands clasped behind his back.


    Kendrys crossed her arms, a spark of defiance in her eyes.


    ¡ª "Then I¡¯ll wait," she said firmly.


    ¡ª "You must leave at dawn. Your missions are urgent," added the steward, clearly eager to end the discussion.


    ¡ª "Bullshit, they¡¯re pointless missions!" she snapped.


    The steward frowned, a glimmer of irritation breaking through his stoic fa?ade.


    ¡ª "This is an order from your superior and the royal house," he declared with icy authority.


    Still seething with quiet rage, Kendrys left the room. Marte followed her.


    ¡ª "This doesn¡¯t feel right," he murmured, his gaze dark. "Why are they trying to send us away from the capital?"


    ¡ª "I don¡¯t know," Kendrys replied. "But I have useful information. The man we¡¯re looking for smells of sulfur. He¡¯s a foreigner, wears colorful clothing, and he¡¯s tall, with chestnut hair and brown eyes."


    Marte nodded slowly, pondering her words.


    ¡ª "Interesting," he said thoughtfully.


    Kendrys gestured to him, indicating she needed solitude, and left him behind.


    As she returned to her quarters, her thoughts swirled relentlessly. Why were Soren and the royal house so intent on sending them away from the capital? Something was brewing, and she was determined to uncover it.


    She shut the door to her room with a sharp motion.


    *****


    At dawn, everything was ready. Her horse, a dark-coated stallion with taut muscles, pawed impatiently near the stables, its breath forming small clouds in the icy air.


    Nearby, neatly packed provisions awaited: warm clothing to combat the frigid northern winds, a compass, sturdy ropes, and her sword, always within reach. Kendrys cast a dark glance at the preparations, fully aware that this mission would divert her from far more pressing matters.


    She mounted her horse, her jaw clenched. It would take her several weeks to reach her destination, hunt down brigands, and return.


    On the first day, she pushed her horse hard, covering nineteen leagues. Hills, shadowy forests, and frozen fields blurred around her in monotonous succession, but Kendrys did not slow her pace.


    When night fell, she found shelter in a small inn at the heart of a village. The weathered wooden structure emitted a flickering light that seemed to struggle against the encroaching darkness. Inside, the atmosphere was muted yet heavy. The many conversations were laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of unease.


    Kendrys settled in a corner of the common room, her ears attuned to every snippet of dialogue. Every discussion revolved around a single topic: the mysterious sheep killers terrorizing the region.


    ¡ª "Not a sound at night, and come morning, only bones remain," murmured a woman, clutching her shawl tightly around her. "Blackened bones, like they¡¯ve been burned¡­"


    ¡ª "No predator does that," an old man added.


    ¡ª "And that smell! It stinks like hell," a young man chimed in.


    The villagers¡¯ faces, pale and drawn, were etched with an almost tangible terror.


    After observing and listening for a while, Kendrys rose and approached the counter. The innkeeper greeted her with a nod.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡ª "Would you like something to eat, ma¡¯am?" he asked.


    ¡ª "Not exactly," she replied. "I¡¯d like to know more about what¡¯s happening to your sheep."


    The innkeeper stiffened slightly, his expression darkening.


    ¡ª "There¡¯s not much to say, ma¡¯am," he muttered, lowering his voice. "They vanish, or¡­ what¡¯s left of them is barely believable."


    Kendrys didn¡¯t break her gaze.


    ¡ª "Have you seen anything? Or anyone?"


    ¡ª "Nothing. Just those carcasses¡­ And that smell. Folks say it¡¯s the devil himself," he said, his tone trembling.


    ¡ª "What kind of smell?" she pressed.


    ¡ª "A sharp, acrid smell," he finally answered.


    She nodded, thanking the innkeeper, and returned to her seat by the fire. Her thoughts swirled relentlessly.


    That night, Kendrys barely slept.


    The second day proved even more grueling. Kendrys covered a dozen leagues, but her horse, despite its strength, began to show clear signs of fatigue. Its flanks heaved, and its hooves dragged across the ground, leaving uneven prints in the packed dirt. With a frustrated sigh, Kendrys halted in a nearby town. She left her horse at a stable to rest and rented another, younger and more energetic mount.


    As she prepared to leave the town, Kendrys spotted a shepherd near a pen, his sheep huddled close around him as if seeking protection. The man, clad in a worn coat, gazed at the horizon with a somber expression.


    Kendrys guided her horse toward him, slowing her pace to avoid alarming him.


    ¡ª "Good day," she called out.


    The shepherd turned to her, wary, his brows furrowed.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m looking for information about the sheep attacks. Have you seen or heard anything strange?"


    The shepherd let out a deep sigh.


    ¡ª "Nothing," he replied.


    He turned slightly, gesturing with his chin toward a small clearing below.


    ¡ª "And then, come morning, that," he said in a weary tone.


    Kendrys dismounted her horse and stepped toward the clearing, her gaze immediately falling on the scattered carcasses. The bones, blackened and porous, seemed almost unreal, as though burned from within. The air around her was heavy, saturated with an acrid stench that turned her stomach.


    She straightened and returned to the shepherd, her expression grave.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re sure you didn¡¯t notice anything? No movement, no sound?"


    The shepherd shook his head, his shoulders slumping slightly.


    ¡ª "Believe me, ma¡¯am. If I had seen or heard anything, I would have stepped in," he growled, his fists clenched.


    Kendrys stared at him for a moment, searching for any detail in his words or demeanor that might help her move forward. But there was nothing¡ªnot even a hint.


    ¡ª "Thank you," she said finally, her tone softer.


    The shepherd nodded silently and returned to his flock, his steps heavy. Kendrys mounted her horse again, casting one last look at the clearing. The scene remained etched in her mind: the bones, the smell, and the total lack of clues.


    The following days were marked by a succession of similar attacks. The sheep continued to die inexplicably, and each scene was identical: blackened bones, a suffocating odor, and no trace of the culprit. Kendrys questioned other shepherds, other villagers, but their responses echoed the same frustrating refrain of fear and helplessness.


    Determined to shift her approach, Kendrys decided on a different strategy. One night, she climbed into a tree near an isolated sheepfold, hidden among its thick branches. The cloak she wore shielded her from the biting cold, but she cared little for the discomfort. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, watching every shadow and potential movement.


    Hours passed. Every whisper of the wind, every distant creak kept her on edge. Kendrys felt her breathing sync with the occasional bleating of the sheep, her body taut like a drawn bow.


    But nothing. The night remained still, as if frozen. No sign of the presence she was hunting, no disturbance in the air thick with mystery.


    As dawn broke on the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, Kendrys climbed down from her vantage point. Her limbs were stiff and numb.


    *****


    She continued her watch for several days, her nights fragmented by brief moments of restless sleep. Every shadow in the darkness, every creak or crack fed her heightened sense of vigilance. But that morning, as darkness mingled with the tentative first light of dawn, something shifted. Kendrys felt a chilling shiver race down her spine, jolting her upright.


    A sense of imminent danger gripped her. Her fingers ignited with flames. The air felt heavy, charged.


    Then came the buzzing.


    A strange, high-pitched, grating sound vibrated through the air, cutting into her mind like a blade. Kendrys raised a hand to her forehead as a violent migraine took hold, the sound growing more insistent.


    The sheep, which had been calm until now, suddenly grew restless. Their bleating turned into panicked screams, their bodies trembling under an inexplicable terror. Kendrys descended from the tree, her boots sinking into the damp earth. She raised her hands, flames dancing in her palms, ready to face whatever was approaching.


    The air shifted again, and a suffocating, acrid stench filled her nostrils. Before she could process it, a swarm burst forth from the darkness¡ªa writhing mass of flies, black as the night, their bloated bodies glistening with blood in the light of her flames.


    They swarmed toward her, a voracious black tide, their buzzing rising to an earsplitting roar. Kendrys unleashed a wave of fire, a searing blast that tore through the swarm, reducing it to ashes. The flies exploded mid-flight, but for every group incinerated, more seemed to appear from nowhere.


    Around her, the sheep screamed, their panic rising to a fevered crescendo. Kendrys turned her head, and her heart clenched. The animals were collapsing one by one, their bodies convulsing before going still. Their skin blackened and cracked.


    A lump formed in her throat. She ran toward them, her flames extinguishing momentarily as she knelt beside a dying sheep. Her gaze met the animal¡¯s, filled with a suffering she could hardly bear.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m sorry," she murmured.


    She stood, her hands igniting once more. She unleashed flames to grant the creatures a swift and merciful end. Each act weighed heavily on her, but she knew she couldn¡¯t let them suffer any longer.


    When the last sheep fell, silence descended¡ªabrupt and oppressive. Kendrys remained motionless, the flames in her palms flickering faintly, mirroring her exhaustion.


    Slowly, she straightened, scanning the surroundings. The swarm had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Yet the stench of death lingered, clinging to the air like a curse.


    *****


    Back at the inn, Kendrys pushed the door open with a weary motion. Her footsteps echoed on the worn wooden floor, each movement betraying the exhaustion accumulated from her fruitless investigations. The air inside was heavy, saturated with the scent of stale beer and damp wood. She headed toward the counter, where the innkeeper, a stocky man, was polishing a glass, his gaze distant and lost in thought.


    ¡ª "Are there any marshes nearby?" she asked.


    The innkeeper froze. It was a fleeting moment, but Kendrys didn¡¯t miss the slight twitch of his shoulders, the sudden tension hardening his features. His eyes darted nervously around, as if merely speaking of those places might summon some unseen curse.


    ¡ª "Yes..." he finally murmured. "But I wouldn¡¯t advise going there, ma¡¯am. Many people disappear in those lands. They¡¯re¡­ cursed."


    Bingo, she thought.


    A cold smile brushed Kendrys¡¯s lips. The word "cursed" only confirmed what she had already suspected.


    ¡ª "Where are they?" she pressed.


    The innkeeper shook his head, his features tightening further under the weight of a fear he didn¡¯t even try to hide.


    ¡ª "I strongly advise against setting foot there," he repeated. "Those aren¡¯t places for a lady like you."


    Kendrys stood motionless, impassive. The silence thickened around them. Then, slowly, she pulled a gold coin from her pouch and slid it across the counter. The metallic clink echoed like a dissonant note in the heavy atmosphere of the inn.


    ¡ª "Please," she said in a calm, almost gentle tone.


    The innkeeper stared at the coin for a moment, his hesitant fingers brushing against the cold metal. The internal conflict was clear on his face: give in or try, futilely, to dissuade this woman who clearly had no intention of backing down.


    Finally, he let out a deep sigh. Reluctantly, he tore a piece of worn tablecloth from a nearby table and began tracing a crude map.


    ¡ª "Here¡¯s the marsh," he said at last, pointing to the winding lines he had drawn. "This ¡®circle¡¯ in the center, that¡¯s a cave. Take the road north. After five leagues¡­ you¡¯ll find it."


    Kendrys picked up the sketch, studying it closely. Her lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile.


    ¡ª "Perfect," she said, sliding a second gold coin onto the counter.


    The innkeeper nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on her, filled with an unease he couldn¡¯t hide.


    ¡ª "Bring a meal to my room¡­ and a beer," she added, turning away.


    She ascended the stairs to her room slowly, still feeling the weight of the innkeeper¡¯s watchful eyes on her back.


    *****


    Kendrys woke at dawn, her body sore from a restless night spent tossing and turning in bed. The thoughts of the previous day had haunted her sleep, and she could still feel the weight of exhaustion pressing on her shoulders. She ate a sparse breakfast of dried meat, her jaw working mechanically while her mind was already focused on the marshlands.


    Wasting no time, she saddled her horse and set out, knowing the day would be long and grueling. The road wound through desolate landscapes, where the cold, damp wind lashed against her face.


    By late afternoon, Kendrys finally spotted the marsh. A stretch of stagnant water spread out as far as the eye could see, its surface broken by clumps of decayed vegetation and patches of black sludge.


    The air around her was heavy, thick with the acrid stench of rot and mildew.


    She slowed her horse. The dead trees lining the marsh loomed against the gray sky, their bare branches reaching out like claws. Bubbles broke the water¡¯s surface, releasing small puffs of foul-smelling gas.


    Dismounting, Kendrys grabbed a stick she found near a withered bush. She advanced to the edge of the marsh and plunged the stick into the water. The wood sank slowly, disappearing into the thick sludge.


    ¡ª "Too risky," she murmured.


    She stepped back, her boots sinking slightly into the spongy ground. The muddy terrain seemed eager to swallow anything that ventured too far. A direct exploration wasn¡¯t just perilous¡ªit was potentially deadly.


    Kendrys ignited in a swift motion, an incandescent aura enveloping her body. She lifted off the ground, but no sooner had she risen than a low rumble echoed¡ªa menacing, oppressive buzzing.


    Swarms of flies erupted from the shadows, a writhing, furious tide descending upon her like a living wave. Kendrys unleashed flames in every direction, forming a circle of light and heat that incinerated the first waves of the assault.


    But the flies scattered, maneuvering around her fire. Some clung to her arms and legs, their unexpected weight trying to drag her down. Others darted straight for her face.


    A shiver of revulsion ran through her. Their bloated bodies, filled with dark liquid, burst mid-flight as they hit her flames, releasing a foul stench of burned flesh and decay.


    The buzzing grew louder, no longer just a sound but a direct assault on her senses. Kendrys felt as if the noise were piercing her mind, shaking her focus and leaving her vulnerable.


    She shifted tactics. Her flames, which had been cast out in random waves, concentrated into a precise jet, a searing lance that tore through the writhing mass. Flies exploded by the hundreds, but their numbers seemed endless. Smaller, faster ones zigzagged between her attacks, slipping through to latch onto her hands and shoulders.


    Kendrys felt her strength waning. Her arms grew heavy, her movements slowed by the strain. Sweat streamed down her face, mingling with the oppressive heat of her flames. A dull ache settled into her muscles, sapping her energy further.


    But she refused to yield. Closing her eyes for a moment, Kendrys channeled all her energy, all her rage, into one final act. An explosion erupted from her body, a wave of pure heat that swept everything in its path. The light was so intense it briefly illuminated the surrounding marshlands.


    When the light faded, an oppressive silence filled the air. Kendrys hovered in midair, panting. Around her, black ashes swirled gently, falling slowly like a funereal shroud.


    She descended cautiously to the ground, her legs buckling slightly under her weight. The nauseating stench of burned flesh lingered, but she paid it no mind. Her entire body trembled from exhaustion, but her gaze remained fixed on the entrance of the cave looming before her.


    Wiping the sweat from her forehead with a trembling hand, Kendrys took a deep breath.


    Inside, the air was so thick it felt almost tangible, saturated with a nauseating stench that clung to every breath.


    The silence around her wasn¡¯t complete. Faint sounds echoed in the darkness: the intermittent drip of water, an indefinable scraping, almost imperceptible, and occasionally what sounded like a distant breath. Kendrys felt her heartbeat quicken, her nerves stretched taut like cords ready to snap.


    Suddenly, a crack sounded behind her. She spun around abruptly, the flame in her hand flickering under the force of her movement.


    An immense figure emerged from the shadows. A towering woman, well over two meters tall, slid out of the darkness with menacing slowness. The lower half of her body ended in a long, scaly tail that undulated with a sinister grace across the slimy floor.


    Her sparse, tangled hair revealed patches of exposed skull. Her eyes, two piercing, luminous orbs, locked onto Kendrys with an unnerving intensity.


    When she smiled, a row of razor-sharp teeth glinted in her mouth.


    ¡ª "What brings you here, child?" murmured the creature, her voice soft and languid, a stark contrast to her terrifying appearance.


    Kendrys straightened her stance.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ve come to kill you," she replied.


    A laugh echoed through the cave, a guttural, distorted sound that seemed to emanate from multiple places at once.


    ¡ª "Such audacity..." the creature murmured, a cruel smile spreading across her lips.


    Without warning, the cave walls began to tremble. Cracks formed, and thousands of insects poured forth¡ªa writhing tide that seemed to materialize from nowhere. Massive flies, black beetles, and unknown crawling creatures surged toward Kendrys with terrifying speed.


    The swarm converged on her, pushing against her barrier of flames. Some darted toward her face, their wings brushing her skin like razor blades, while others crawled up her legs, their clawed feet leaving painful scratches.


    Kendrys, already weakened from her earlier battles, struggled to maintain her flames. Her arms trembled from the strain, her breath coming in ragged gasps.


    A jolt of energy coursed through her body, forcing a cry from her lips. The force of the shock hurled her against the cave wall. Her back hit the stone with a dull thud, and she slid to the ground, gasping. Each breath was a labor, and pain radiated through her entire body.


    In front of her, the witch rose, her massive, scaly tail slithering slowly across the floor.


    ¡ª "How long can you hold out, little flame?" the creature murmured.


    Kendrys, despite the numbing pain engulfing her, clenched her fists. Her flickering flames cast a faint light over her face, etched with exhaustion, but her gaze remained resolute.


    ¡ª "Long enough to snuff you out," Kendrys whispered.


    The witch erupted into an inhuman laugh, a guttural, bone-chilling sound.


    ¡ª "Then show me, little flame."


    The creature lunged with surprising speed, her tail slicing through the air before slamming down like a blade. Kendrys rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack. The scaly tail struck the ground with such force that it left a gaping crack, shards of rock splintering in all directions.


    Kendrys staggered to her feet, raising a flaming hand that she hurled in a sweeping arc. The fire struck the witch square in the chest, and a black vapor hissed from her seared skin. A piercing screech filled the cavern.


    ¡ª "How dare you!" the creature roared, her face contorted with wild rage.


    The witch wasted no time. She swung her tail in a sweeping motion, forcing Kendrys to leap backward. Before Kendrys could regain her footing, the creature¡¯s claws lashed out, aiming for her shoulder. Kendrys countered with a burst of flame, but the impact pushed her back several steps.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re quick, I¡¯ll grant you that," the witch murmured. "But how long can you last?"


    Kendrys didn¡¯t answer. She planted her feet firmly, ignoring the pain pulsing through her limbs, and summoned all her energy. An intense flame roared to life around her, illuminating the cavern with blinding light.


    The witch hesitated, a flicker of caution crossing her face.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m still burning," Kendrys said.


    She unleashed a searing orb from her hands, a swirling fireball that hurtled toward the witch. The resulting explosion shook the entire cavern.


    When the dust settled, Kendrys was on her knees, her flames flickering faintly around her. Her breaths were labored, her body trembling from exhaustion.


    Before her, the silhouette of the witch emerged from the shadows. Though she bore the scorch marks of Kendrys¡¯s flames, her predatory smile remained intact.


    ¡ª "Impressive," the witch murmured. "But look at you¡­ You¡¯re at your limit, little flame.¡¯¡¯


    Before Kendrys could react, the witch¡¯s scaly tail lashed through the air with blinding speed. The precise, merciless blow struck her chest, lifting her off the ground like a rag doll. She was hurled into a stone pillar.


    The pain was immediate¡ªsharp and crushing. A muffled cry escaped her lips as the air was violently forced from her lungs. Her body hit the ground with a heavy thud, her flames extinguished. She tried to breathe, but each attempt was agony, her ribcage compressed by an invisible weight.


    The witch advanced slowly, her scaly tail dragging across the ground with a sinister scrape. Her movements were deliberate, almost mocking.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re not ready for this fight," the creature whispered.


    ¡ª "But you amuse me¡­ that¡¯s something, at least," she added, a predatory smile twisting her lips.


    Lying on the cold, damp ground, Kendrys felt rage boil within her. That burning frustration intertwined with the pain, forming a lump in her throat. Her hands trembled, desperately trying to summon a flame, but her body refused to obey.


    Her thoughts spiraled into a storm of anger and helplessness. Was this how it was going to end? No. She couldn¡¯t fail now. Not here.


    ¡ª "Not¡­ yet," she murmured, her voice barely audible, fractured by the effort.


    The witch paused, her smile widening as if savoring this final spark of defiance.


    ¡ª "Rest, little flame," she said softly, almost tenderly. "This is only the beginning."


    Before vanishing into the shifting darkness of the cave, the witch stopped for a moment, regarding Kendrys with a curious gaze. Her eyes gleamed with malevolent amusement.


    Kendrys, her eyelids heavy, felt the darkness creeping into her mind. Her vision narrowed, the edges of the cave growing blurry and indistinct. The last thing she saw was the imposing shadow of the witch melting into the gloom. Then, all went black.


    *****


    Kendrys slowly opened her eyes. Her eyelids, heavy as lead, resisted every effort to lift them. A dull pain throbbed in her skull and spread throughout her body, every muscle screaming under the weight of what felt like an insurmountable effort. She pushed herself up slightly, her movements sluggish and shaky. That¡¯s when the mocking voice of the witch echoed through the room.


    ¡ª "Ah, so you¡¯re finally awake, little one?" the creature taunted.


    Kendrys¡¯s gaze landed on the imposing figure of the witch. Without thinking, she tried to summon her flames. But nothing. Absolutely nothing.


    A shiver of panic ran down her spine. She tried again, more desperately this time, her trembling fingers reaching into the air. Still nothing. Her breathing quickened, her heart pounding violently in her chest.


    She turned toward the bars of her cage. They were black, gleaming ominously. On impulse, Kendrys grabbed them, yanking at them with all the fury she could muster.


    The witch, leaning casually against a wooden beam, watched the scene with a cruel smile.


    ¡ª "Your power won¡¯t work behind these bars," she explained. "That¡¯s blackstone. It absorbs your flame."


    Kendrys felt her heart sink. This material¡ªsomething she¡¯d never even heard of¡ªcompletely smothered her power. The thought of being stripped of her strength, her only defense, terrified her more than anything else.


    The witch straightened, and her shadow stretched across the wall, immense and grotesquely distorted by the dim light.


    Kendrys¡¯s eyes darted around the room in growing horror. In the gloom, she could make out cows and pigs hanging from hooks affixed to the ceiling. Their lifeless, bloodied bodies swayed gently, as if carried by an unseen current. Drops of blood fell into buckets below, their steady dripping echoing through the morbid silence.


    ¡ª "Be patient, little one," the witch sneered. "Your turn will come soon enough. But for now¡­ I¡¯m satisfied."


    Kendrys felt a wave of nausea rise within her, her stomach contracting painfully. She tried to respond, to shout something, but her dry, irritated throat produced only a hoarse rasp. The witch, satisfied, turned on her heels and disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone.


    The days stretched into a slow agony. Kendrys lost track of time, trapped in a darkness that seemed eternal. Hunger gnawed relentlessly at her insides, a constant, stabbing pain. Her parched throat burned with every attempt to swallow. Her muscles, stiff and aching, were almost useless, and her mind teetered between moments of clarity and strange visions¡ªa disorienting mix of nightmares and hallucinations.


    One day, the silence was broken by heavy footsteps. The witch returned, holding a freshly killed rat in her hands. She tossed it at Kendrys¡¯s feet.


    ¡ª "Eat it if you want to live," she commanded, her voice sharp and cutting.


    Kendrys looked down at the animal. Its half-flayed body revealed dangling entrails, and the metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils instantly. Nausea surged violently, and she fought the urge to vomit.


    A mix of rage and disgust overtook her.


    She grabbed the rat with one hand and, in a burst of fury, hurled it with all the strength she had left. The carcass hit the ground near the witch¡¯s feet, splattering her dark robe slightly.


    The witch burst into a chilling laugh.


    ¡ª "Good," she said, her smile stretching even wider. "Weakness will make you all the sweeter to devour."


    Kendrys retreated to the back of her cage, her legs buckling beneath her. She curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back, refusing to give in to vulnerability.


    Each day became an unbearable trial. Her strength ebbed away, and hope crumbled like a flickering flame on the verge of extinguishing.


    One day, when she expected nothing, the ground beneath her began to tremble. At first, it was a faint vibration, almost imperceptible, like a whisper rising from the depths. But within moments, the trembling intensified, growing stronger and more forceful. The chains binding her rattled ominously, and Kendrys opened her eyes, her mind dulled by exhaustion and pain.


    Shrill screams erupted. An infernal cacophony filled the space, each cry reverberating directly in her skull. Pain hammered through her temples like relentless blows, paralyzing her, plunging her into a visceral terror.


    She clenched her teeth, her thoughts a chaotic storm, trying to stave off the panic threatening to engulf her. Her senses were overwhelmed, reality itself seeming to warp under the onslaught of the maddening sounds.


    Then, suddenly, another noise pierced through the chaos like a blade slicing the air: footsteps. Fast, purposeful. Their echo resonated in the cave.


    Before she could comprehend what was happening, a brilliant light burst forth, cutting through the darkness.


    Kendrys squinted, blinded by the sudden burst of light. She turned her head with difficulty, her movements sluggish from exhaustion. Her eyes, still dazzled by the brightness, struggled to make out the figure approaching her. Then, the metallic groan of her cage¡¯s bars jolted her from her stupor.


    The bars screeched as they twisted open, and strong hands grabbed her with a gentleness that was almost painful. She felt the reassuring pressure of the firm grip as she was pulled out of the oppressive prison.


    She tried to resist, to summon her flames for protection, but only faint, trembling flickers sparked from her fingers.


    ¡ª "Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s me¡ªMarte," he murmured.


    She let herself go, trusting the hands that guided her, her thoughts too foggy to fully comprehend what was happening.


    A steady arm slid around her waist, supporting her weight.


    ¡ª "Hold on, Kendrys."


    Her legs buckled beneath her, unable to bear her any longer.


    Kendrys felt her eyelids grow heavier, each blink sending a dull wave of pain rippling through her skull. Her body felt frozen, as if carved from the cold stone on which she lay. Even breathing demanded an unbearable effort. She was nothing more than dead weight, crushed by exhaustion and the lingering chaos within her.


    All around, faint whispers floated through the air. They were distant, muffled, like echoes from another world. She wanted to listen, to understand the voices that seemed to call to her, but everything was blurry and confusing, like a dream she couldn¡¯t escape.


    Then, a gentle, comforting warmth brushed against her hand. At first barely perceptible, it grew more tangible, cutting through the fog enveloping her mind. Kendrys struggled to open her eyes.


    She fought, her eyelids trembling, and finally managed to part them slightly. Her vision was still hazy, as though the world were swaying before her. Then, a face began to take shape.


    ¡ª "Marte¡­?" she murmured. "You¡­ weren¡¯t you in the south?"


    Marte leaned closer, his face weary but illuminated by a fragile smile.


    ¡ª "Don¡¯t talk too much," he whispered softly, his words as gentle as a caress. "You need to rest."


    His hand tightened lightly around hers. Kendrys wanted to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Her fatigued mind struggled to grasp the reality of the moment, while her body began to give in under the weight of her exhaustion.


    ¡ª "Hold on, Kendrys," he murmured.

 The Scales of Hell

    In the earth¡¯s depths, where lava roars,


    A demon-dragon slumbers, cursed to its core.


    Its scales, dark red, gleam like flames,


    Charged with curses and infamous claims.


    When the ground splits with an abyssal cry,


    The dragon emerges, colossal and nigh.


    Its gaze pierces the stifled skies,


    Bearing promises none dare defy.


    ¡°Come forth, mortals,¡± rumbles its thunderous voice,


    ¡°I offer my scales, fragments of infernal choice.


    But in return, I demand a vow, a promise,


    A pact sealed in fire and distress.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The scales shimmer, forbidden treasures bright,


    At times hope, at others a poison¡¯s bite.


    Those who dare reach out and pay,


    Are forever marked by what they say.


    A warrior sought strength to vanquish his foes,


    He touched a scale, felt power bestow.


    But every blow struck shattered his mind,


    His thirst for victory left torment behind.


    A desperate lover wished to revive a flame,


    She took the scale, sealing her claim.


    But her lover returned as a shadow of yore,


    A haunting specter, lost evermore.


    The dragon watches, still and keen,


    Each promise a note in its binding theme.


    Its power swells with each solemn decree,


    Feeding on regret, hearts left empty.


    Beneath ebony skies, the lava subsides,


    The dragon retreats to its fiery tides.


    But its return is etched in distant stars¡¯ shine,


    For at every full moon, it breaks its binds.

 Chapter 8.1 : The Puppeteer

    ¡ª "You''re in quite a state," Thana remarked, a cruel smile stretching across his lips. His voice, soft yet icy, resonated in the oppressive darkness of the cave.


    ¡ª "It''s been ages since I last had a shower," the old man replied in a hoarse and weary voice. Each syllable seemed torn from his dry and fatigued throat. His body was nothing more than a carcass, his protruding bones casting shadows under parchment-like skin, streaked with scars.


    Chained in this dark and cold cave, he was no longer a man but a relic. His gaze, clouded by endless fatigue, slowly rose to meet Thana''s. There was neither defiance nor fear in his eyes, only the echo of a being who had long abandoned the idea of fighting¡ªor even hoping.


    ¡ª "I have a proposition for you," murmured Thana, his voice sliding through the air like slow poison. "Capture a woman for me, and I will grant you your freedom."


    The deep wrinkles that lined the old man¡¯s face told stories of decades of suffering.


    ¡ª "I have little choice," he finally replied.


    Thana tilted his head, his smile widening.


    ¡ª "You could always refuse," he whispered.


    The old man closed his eyes, his features tightening briefly. He knew all too well the horrors Thana was capable of inflicting. He understood that the choice presented to him was nothing more than a cruel illusion.


    ¡ª "Very well," he murmured at last, his voice nothing more than a hollow echo. "I accept."


    A metallic clink echoed in the darkness. The chains that had bound him fell heavily to the ground. The old man, now freed, immediately collapsed, his emaciated body struggling to bear its own weight.


    A cold glow, emanating from an invisible source, illuminated his ravaged face. His slumped shoulders, trembling hands¡ªeverything about him screamed exhaustion and submission.


    Thana, unmoving, observed him.


    ¡ª "You must capture a woman who wields fire," Thana declared, stepping closer, his shadow spreading like a dark tide along the walls of the cave. "Her name is Kendrys."


    He placed his icy hand on the old man¡¯s shoulder. A brilliant light erupted instantly, flooding the space.


    The old man¡¯s wrinkled skin smoothed out, the creases vanishing as if they had never existed. His atrophied muscles regained strength. His dull, graying hair transformed into a cascade of gold. With a sharp crack, his spine straightened.


    Thana stepped back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.


    ¡ª "That¡¯s better," he exclaimed. "You have a new chance. Don¡¯t waste it."


    The young man, stunned by his transformation, brought a trembling hand to his face. His fingers brushed against his smooth skin, as if to confirm he wasn¡¯t dreaming. Thana, unfazed, then held out Kendrys¡¯ hairbrush.


    ¡ª "She¡¯ll return to the city in a few weeks," Thana murmured. "Catch her."


    With another gesture, a new transformation came to life. Clothes materialized around the young man: a dark coat, adorned with intricate embroidery, draped over his shoulders. In his hand appeared a pouch overflowing with gold, its metallic clink resonating in the silence.


    ¡ª "With this," Thana continued, "you will blend in unnoticed."


    The young man clutched the pouch tightly in his fingers. His heart pounded wildly, a mix of excitement and fear. He knew failure was not an option.


    Armyr, now rejuvenated and revitalized, felt a new energy coursing through his body. Every movement he made was imbued with a precision and strength he hadn¡¯t experienced in centuries. His fingers, once trembling and weak, opened and closed with confidence.


    Thana calmly raised his hand. A portal materialized in the air before them, its swirling, blinding light tearing through the atmosphere. Armyr hesitated for a moment, casting one last glance at his captor. Thana''s imposing shadow, still and impenetrable, seemed to follow him even in that moment of uncertainty. Then, Armyr stepped into the light.


    He emerged in a narrow alley, and the fresh air hit him square in the face. A familiar scent flooded his senses: a mixture of damp earth, refuse, and spices¡ªthe scent of a bustling city. He inhaled deeply, welcoming the mix as if it were an intoxicating perfume. No matter how harsh it was, it was the scent of freedom.


    He raised his eyes to the twilight sky. The vivid hues of orange and purple painting the horizon at sunset overwhelmed him with an emotion he thought long extinguished. A tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another. Every shade of light, every movement of air around him, felt miraculous.


    He closed his eyes, letting this outside world imprint itself upon him. Then, rejuvenated and free from all pain, he opened his eyes once more and walked forward with firm steps toward the city stretching out before him.


    The cries of merchants echoed in the air, mingling with the clinking of coins and the rustling of exchanged fabrics. Laughter burst forth here and there, punctuated by the dull rumble of cart wheels on cobblestones. Armyr let himself be carried by this cacophony, his eyes scanning the crowded streets.


    His attention was drawn to a dense crowd gathered outside a bar. The energy was palpable: men and women laughed loudly, their voices rising above the music of a flutist. The acrid smell of tobacco smoke and the sweeter scent of alcohol lingered in the air.


    Armyr slipped through the throng, his young and nimble body allowing him to move fluidly. He stepped inside the establishment, where the warmth and noise engulfed him. The flickering light of candles reflected off the wooden walls, while bursts of laughter and lively conversations filled the space.


    ¡ª "What can I get you?" the server asked, his apron stained with grease and wine.


    ¡ª "The special of the day and a beer," Armyr replied.


    He made his way to a table near the window, where the soft twilight light brushed against the rough wood. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the striated surface. Every texture, every sensation seemed new.


    The coarse, uneven grain of the wood contrasted with the cool air seeping through the slightly open window.


    A smile appeared on his lips. These simple gestures, so mundane for others, were priceless treasures to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the moment, before the server returned with a steaming plate and a mug of beer.


    ¡ª "Here you go," the man said with a tired smile, setting the order on the table.


    Armyr nodded in thanks, his eyes fixed on the plate as if it held a fragment of the world he was rediscovering. He cut a piece of meat and brought it to his mouth.


    The warmth and flavor burst on his palate¡ªa blend of salty juices and spices that transported him to blurry, distant memories.


    He paused for a moment, unable to contain the emotion rising within him. A tear rolled down his cheek, followed by more. He felt ridiculous and vulnerable, but there was no one to judge him.


    After savoring every bite, Armyr pushed away his empty plate and drained his mug in one last gulp. With his stomach at ease and his soul strangely light, he stood and walked to the counter. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a gold coin, shining like a star.


    The server, seeing the coin, froze for a moment, his eyes wide.


    ¡ª "I... I don¡¯t have enough change to give you," he stammered.


    Armyr gave him a smile.


    ¡ª "Keep it," he said simply, before turning toward the exit.


    Armyr stepped out of the tavern, and a soft purple glow bathed the city as twilight spread like a veil over the rooftops. The first stars timidly pierced the sky, their fragile light heralding the imminent arrival of night. Armyr walked at an unhurried pace, leaving behind the bustle of the lively streets.


    The sounds of the city gradually faded, replaced by the whispers of nature. The chirping of crickets resonated in the cool air, accompanied by the gentle breath of the wind playing with the tall grass. Far from human activity, the shadows of houses grew fewer, their silhouettes dissolving into the deepening darkness.


    Eventually, Armyr stopped in front of a small, isolated farm, surrounded by fields. A light shone through a window. Armyr inhaled deeply, the scent of the earth mingled with the subtle aroma of distant harvests filling his lungs.


    He approached the wooden door, his footsteps faintly echoing on the dirt path. His fingers knocked three firm times on the rough wood. After a few seconds, the door creaked open on its hinges.


    A corpulent man, dressed in patched clothes, appeared in the doorway. His face, worn by hard labor, creased as he scrutinized Armyr with suspicion. His eyes scanned the young man¡¯s pristine attire, its elegance starkly contrasting with the modest surroundings. A shadow of disdain crossed his face.


    ¡ª "What do you want?" he growled.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m looking for a place to stay for the night," Armyr replied.


    The farmer furrowed his brow, looking Armyr up and down.


    ¡ª "We don¡¯t offer rooms here," he replied curtly, crossing his arms.


    Armyr pulled a gold coin from his pouch. The metallic glint briefly illuminated the doorway, and the farmer¡¯s gaze latched onto it immediately.


    ¡ª "Just one night," Armyr insisted, holding out the coin.


    The man took the coin, rolling it between his calloused fingers. He brought it to his mouth and bit the edge. Satisfied, he nodded with a resigned sigh.


    ¡ª "Alright, but only for one night," he grumbled, slipping the coin into his pocket.


    Armyr nodded silently. The farmer grabbed a lantern resting by the door and led his guest through dim, poorly lit corridors. The walls, damp and swollen, exuded a smell of wet wood and mildew.


    They climbed a creaking staircase before reaching a small room on the upper floor. The modest, austere space contained only a wobbly bed with rough sheets and a poorly fitted window that allowed a draft of cold air to seep through.


    ¡ª "Here you go," the farmer said.


    ¡ª "This will do," Armyr murmured to himself, his gaze scanning the room without searching for more than the bare essentials.


    The farmer turned on his heel, closing the door behind him with a loud click. Armyr remained motionless, staring at the rusty handle for a moment. Silence settled in again, broken only by the groaning of the floorboards.


    He placed his pouch on the table and sat on the bed. The frame let out a low, rough creak, an almost plaintive sound, as if the aging structure protested against the weight of a new occupant. Armyr opened the window, letting the night breeze sweep into the room. The cool air brushed against his skin. He took a deep breath.


    Removing his sweater, Armyr lay down on the bed, a peaceful smile lighting up his face. The mattress was hard and squeaked under his weight, but it didn¡¯t matter. He let out a satisfied sigh, savoring the night wind that caressed his skin through the open window.


    His fingers brushed against the rough sheets as he stared at the ceiling, where dancing shadows played under the distant light of a lantern. Everything felt so alive, so vibrant, that even the imperfections of this room seemed precious to him.


    ¡ª "This world..." he murmured to himself, almost in disbelief.


    He closed his eyes, his thoughts fading away, and drifted to sleep, a smile still lingering on his lips.


    A few hours later, a sudden jolt woke him. Armyr found himself sprawled on the cold floor, the blankets scattered around him. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the bed, which now tilted precariously to one side.


    He burst into laughter.


    ¡ª "Even the beds can¡¯t handle me anymore," he joked, getting to his feet.


    Armyr felt a surge of energy coursing through his limbs, as if every fiber of his body had come alive once more.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    He raised his foot and delivered a sharp kick to one of the bed''s legs.


    The wood gave way with a crack, splintering under the impact. Shards fell to the floor, and the faintly sweet scent of broken wood briefly filled the room. Armyr crouched down to pick up a piece of the wood.


    Kneeling near the window, he pulled a blade from his bag and began carving the piece of wood. Each stroke of the blade cut clean, precise lines into the rough surface.


    When he was finished, he examined the makeshift stake. The sharp tip he had shaped glinted faintly.


    He took his knife and pressed the point against his palm. The blade cut into his skin.


    A crimson line appeared, and blood began to flow¡ªwarm and vivid. Armyr held his hand above the stake and clenched his fist, letting the dark liquid drip onto the wood. The blood seeped into the rough fibers.


    A faint smile played on his lips.


    He slid the stake between his shirt and pants, ensuring it was securely hidden yet easily accessible. Then he stood, casting one last glance around the room.


    ¡ª "Time to move on," he murmured.


    Armyr left the room, his quiet footsteps echoing on the worn wooden floor. The house was enveloped in silence, disturbed only by the creaking of the old building and the whisper of the wind.


    In the kitchen, the dim light of a lantern illuminated the farmer, seated at a sturdy wooden table. Empty bottles were scattered around him.


    The farmer clutched a half-empty mug, his rough fingers gripping it with unnecessary force, as if trying to extract something it no longer held. His cheeks, flushed with alcohol, and his glassy eyes betrayed his state.


    ¡ª "Dinner was served at 7. You should¡¯ve come down," he grumbled.


    Armyr regarded the man for a moment before replying.


    ¡ª "I wasn¡¯t hungry."


    His stomach protested silently, but he ignored it.


    The farmer let out a short, bitter laugh that faded almost instantly.


    ¡ª "Not my concern," he muttered, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp.


    The sound of the mug being slammed back onto the table reverberated through the room. His gaze hardened, his bleary eyes finally locking onto Armyr.


    ¡ª "Everything alright?" Armyr asked.


    The farmer frowned, a deep crease forming on his forehead.


    ¡ª "What¡¯s it to you, kid?" he retorted.


    Armyr shrugged.


    ¡ª "My grandparents were farmers. I used to help them a lot when I was a teenager."


    The farmer grumbled something unintelligible, his fingers tapping compulsively on the wood.


    ¡ª "Hope you¡¯re still helping them," he muttered.


    ¡ª "They¡¯re dead," Armyr replied.


    The farmer¡¯s tapping slowed, then stopped altogether. He lowered his eyes to the worn surface of the table.


    ¡ª "Everyone dies," he murmured at last.


    A draft made the lantern¡¯s flame flicker.


    ¡ª "Maybe," Armyr replied.


    The farmer straightened up, his movements betraying the weariness of a man worn down by time. Without a word, he grabbed a bottle and filled another mug, which he handed to Armyr.


    ¡ª "Bottoms up, kid," he said.


    Armyr took the mug, raised it to his lips, and drank in large gulps, savoring the warmth of the alcohol spreading through his stomach.


    The farmer, visibly pleased to see his guest enjoying the drink, filled a second mug.


    ¡ª "You¡¯ve got a good tolerance, kid!" he exclaimed, patting Armyr on the shoulder.


    ¡ª "Are you alone here?" Armyr asked.


    The farmer¡¯s smile disappeared instantly. A shadow crossed his face.


    ¡ª "Yes, alone. My wife passed two winters ago, and my sons¡­ they still haven¡¯t come back since the war."


    A heavy silence fell, each word hanging in the air like a stone sinking into a bottomless well. Armyr lowered his gaze slightly, feigning a compassion he didn¡¯t feel, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his mug.


    ¡ª "It must be hard managing the farm on your own," he murmured.


    The farmer shrugged, a bitter smile crossing his face.


    ¡ª "I lived through the Great War, you know. The one where you weren¡¯t even born yet. You get used to it over time," he added, as if speaking more to himself than to his guest.


    Armyr nodded.


    ¡ª "If you help me milk the cows, you can sleep here," the farmer offered.


    Armyr inclined his head.


    ¡ª "I¡¯ll think about it," he replied.


    The farmer shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.


    ¡ª "Young folks never seize opportunities. You¡¯re all lazy!" he declared.


    Armyr burst into laughter.


    ¡ª "You¡¯re not wrong," he admitted.


    He reached out for another mug, but the farmer grabbed his wrist, stopping him.


    ¡ª "Those are for workers," he declared.


    Armyr withdrew his hand, the faint smile still lingering on his lips. He fixed his gaze on the farmer.


    ¡ª "Then maybe I should work," Armyr murmured, his smile widening. He stood up.


    He drew the stake from its hiding place. The tip, dark and gleaming under the flickering light of the flame, pulsed like a waiting heart.


    The farmer¡¯s eyes widened in a mix of confusion and terror as he stared at the weapon. He instinctively stepped back, his trembling hands fumbling for the edge of the table.


    ¡ª "What the hell are you doing, you idiot?" he asked, his voice breaking with panic. His breathing quickened.


    Armyr stepped closer.


    ¡ª "You have nothing to fear," Armyr murmured.


    But his icy smile betrayed the confidence of a man who already knew how this scene would end.


    The farmer tried to retreat. His legs hit a chair, which toppled over noisily.


    ¡ª "Don¡¯t do this¡­ I can give you anything you want!" he stammered, his trembling hands raised in a desperate gesture of supplication.


    Armyr tilted his head. For a brief moment, he seemed to weigh the man¡¯s words.


    ¡ª "Anything I want?" he repeated.


    ¡ª "Yes, anything you want," the farmer replied.


    His words faded into the oppressive silence of the room. Armyr didn¡¯t move, his cold expression unchanged. His piercing, steady eyes seemed to probe the man¡¯s soul, as if assessing every word, every breath.


    Then, without another word, he struck with the stake.


    The wood pierced the farmer¡¯s chest with a sickening sound¡ªa visceral mix of tearing flesh and splintering bone.


    The farmer¡¯s eyes widened, and his breath caught in a strangled gasp. An expression of disbelief and pain twisted his features.


    A guttural, harsh, inhuman groan escaped his throat as his body arched violently. Blood spurted from his lips, splattering the table and the floor.


    The farmer¡¯s hands grasped at the stake in a final reflex, his bloodied fingers fumbling to pull out the weapon embedded in his heart. But his strength quickly failed him. His hands fell limply, striking the table with a dull thud.


    His head tilted back, his eyes now vacant and unseeing, as a final breath escaped his parted lips.


    At last, he collapsed to the floor.


    Armyr gazed at the lifeless body. His eyes scanned every detail: the stake lodged deep in the heart, the blood that continued to flow, and the man¡¯s frozen features, twisted in a fear etched into eternity.


    A cold satisfaction glimmered in his eyes, devoid of any trace of remorse.


    With a gesture almost ceremonial, he wiped a splash of blood from his sleeve. His movements, slow and meticulous, carried no sense of urgency, as though time itself had frozen in the room.


    ¡ª "Promise kept," he murmured.


    A cold draft swept through the room. Armyr turned his gaze away, letting it drift into the darkness beyond the window. The night stretched out before him, vast and unfathomable¡ªa sea of ink from which he drew a strange comfort.


    He inhaled deeply, savoring the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and damp wood.


    ¡ª "Life¡­ full of contradictions," he murmured.


    This calm was but a fleeting illusion.


    The farmer¡¯s skin began to twist, his muscles contracting as if trying to escape something unseen. A blackish hue spread beneath his flesh, snaking through his swollen veins, while a sinister cracking sound filled the air.


    His joints, bent at impossible angles, moved with a grotesque slowness.


    His fingers clenched, his nails digging into the wooden floor, leaving deep gouges behind. His eye sockets, once clouded and dulled by alcohol, were swallowed by total darkness. Two unfathomable abysses replaced his eyes¡ªblack voids devoid of any humanity.


    Then, his body rose. Each movement seemed pulled by invisible strings.


    Armyr stepped back, not out of fear, but to better admire his creation. A cold gleam passed through his eyes as he took in every detail of the transformation.


    ¡ª "Perfect," he murmured.


    He extended the blood-stained stake to the man, now emptied of all humanity.


    ¡ª "Take it," he ordered. "Go. Find the farmers. Killing is your only purpose. Every living being you encounter must be eliminated."


    The possessed farmer grasped the weapon, his rigid fingers closing around the handle as if responding to an invisible force. He slowly turned his head toward the door.


    Moments later, the stillness of the night shattered under the weight of a scream¡ªa visceral, terror-filled howl. It was followed by another, shorter and muffled, as if strangled by the night itself.


    Outside, under the pallid glow of the moon, the puppet moved with stiff, disjointed steps. Each motion seemed accompanied by a creak, as though his bones¡ªor what remained of them¡ªprotested against this unholy animation. His face, contorted into a fixed rictus, was nothing more than a grotesque mask devoid of humanity. The stake he held was his scepter, and with it, he proclaimed a reign of death.


    The first victim emerged from the shadows, a young man with an uncertain gait, his features drawn by sleep. He had wandered out from his farm. He had no time to scream, nor even to understand. The stake sliced through the air with a whistle and plunged into his chest.


    His eyes widened, filled with shock, as a guttural rasp escaped his throat. He tried, with a trembling hand, to grasp the dark wood that impaled his torso, but his fingers faltered before reaching it. His pain was only the grim prelude to a deeper horror.


    His body convulsed, wracked by uncontrollable spasms. Beneath his skin, his veins turned ink-black, forming a tortured network that snaked across his limbs. A dry, metallic crack echoed in the air as his bones broke and rearranged themselves. His shoulders dislocated, then snapped back into place with a sharp, jerky movement.


    When he finally rose, he was no longer a man. Though his silhouette remained human in appearance, there was something deeply unsettling about it.


    The woman stood there, huddled against the tree, her child pressed tightly to her chest. She wanted to make herself small, invisible. But her eyes couldn¡¯t look away from the scene unfolding before her.


    She had seen it all. The farmer¡ªor what he had become¡ªhad charged at their neighbor. She had watched the stake rise, then fall with cruel precision, piercing his chest. The man¡¯s scream had died as quickly as it had been born, smothered by the death that claimed him within seconds.


    But it wasn¡¯t over. She had seen the man convulse on the ground, his veins writhing beneath his skin, his body rising again¡ªgrotesque and disfigured. Nothing human remained in him. That was the moment fear overcame her. She screamed, a desperate cry that tore through the air.


    The two puppets lifted their heads in unison. Their black, empty eyes turned toward her. For a brief moment, she hoped they might hesitate, might retreat. But no. They began to run, moving with an inhuman speed and coordination.


    She clutched her child tighter and began to run, her bare feet sinking into the cold mud.


    Each step slowed her further. Her legs trembled, her breath came in ragged gasps, but she refused to give up. Behind her, the heavy, uneven footsteps of the puppets grew closer. Their growls, mingled with clicking and creaking sounds, filled the air.


    The farmer was the first to catch her. She felt a freezing grip seize her arm. Turning, her gaze met the creature¡¯s. That once-familiar face, now frozen in a grotesque expression, seemed to judge her for a moment before the stake struck.


    It plunged into her chest with a dull thud, and a searing heat spread through her body.


    She fell backward, her scream fading into a gurgle. She released her child, who dropped to his knees in the mud, his eyes wide with terror. He watched his mother collapse, her fingers weakly clawing at the ground. Then her body began to twist. Her veins turned ink-black, and her face contorted into something monstrous.


    The boy sobbed, his small frame wracked with tremors. He tried to scream, but a rough growl behind him shattered his courage. The second puppet grabbed him roughly. Its claws sank into his frail shoulders, and the stake, relentless, found its mark.


    A burning pain shot through his body, and he gasped, his eyes meeting his mother¡¯s one last time.


    He collapsed. But no sooner had his body hit the ground than it began to move again. His silhouette, so fragile a moment earlier, became another abomination. He rose smoothly.


    The quartet turned in unison toward the village. The stake, glistening with a mixture of fresh and clotted blood, passed slowly from hand to hand. With each transfer, a guttural murmur rose from their throats¡ªa sound that resembled laughter, a morbid mockery aimed at the living.


    In a nearby barn, an old man was huddled among the bales of hay, his body trembling with fear. He covered his mouth with his gnarled hands to muffle his sobs, but his rapid, ragged breaths seemed determined to betray his hiding place. His heart pounded furiously, and he barely dared to breathe. They can¡¯t find me. Not here.


    Through a gap between two misaligned planks, he watched in horror as the scene outside unfolded. The distorted silhouettes of the puppets moved through the courtyard, hunting the remaining villagers.


    He squinted, and his throat tightened. Among them was a child, a frail boy.


    The old man stifled a scream of terror when he saw the child stop. The boy¡¯s head slowly pivoted¡ªtoo slowly¡ªat a grotesque angle that should not have been possible. His black, empty eyes fixed directly on the barn.


    No... He can¡¯t have seen me... He can¡¯t have seen me! he thought, curling further into the hay.


    The silence that followed was even worse. Then came the first creak¡ªthe distinct sound of a plank giving way. Then another. And another. The footsteps drew closer, each one echoing like a hammer striking the old man¡¯s heart. His clenched fingers gripped the damp hay, while cold sweat trickled down his forehead.


    He closed his eyes, whispering a silent prayer. Please, let them pass by.


    But a new sound shattered his fragile hope¡ªa louder, sharper noise: a wooden blade splintered. A dark, blood-soaked tip suddenly burst through the wall just inches from his face.


    The old man stifled a scream, pressing his hand against his mouth. The stake withdrew, then came back, this time slightly lower. He knew it was the end. His thoughts raced chaotically.


    One final crack echoed, followed by a blinding pain. The stake pierced his chest with a dull, sickening thud, and a searing heat spread through his torso. His eyes widened as he toppled forward, his fingers releasing the hay. He tried to draw a breath, but it caught in his throat with a choking gurgle.


    Everything around him seemed to slow, each second stretching into an eternity.


    His blurry gaze lifted one last time. Through the gap in the planks, he saw the child. The puppet was staring at him.


    The hay beneath him soaked up his blood, and his strength faded away.


    Armyr stepped toward the table. He pulled out a chair, the creak of the wood briefly cutting through the distant tumult, and sank into it. His fingers brushed against a bottle of beer resting on the table. He removed the cap, the metallic clink falling to the floor.


    He brought the bottle to his lips and savored a long sip. The bitterness of the drink resonated within him. His eyes drifted to the window. Beyond the grimy glass, the shadows of the night seemed to vibrate, as if imbued with a life of their own, dancing to the rhythm of the distant cries. They were no longer mere absences of light: they rippled, twisted, stretched, creeping insidiously toward the edges of the room.


    Armyr reached for another bottle of beer. He uncorked it and tilted it to pour more into his half-filled mug. But the liquid froze in place. The beer hung suspended, caught mid-pour between the neck of the bottle and the mug.


    Around him, everything became still. The silence, absolute, weighed on the room like a heavy shroud. Yet the air vibrated with a muffled, oppressive tension. The shadows, lurking in the corners, stirred. They detached themselves from the walls and ceiling, gliding toward Armyr.


    One pressed against his sleeve. Armyr furrowed his brow. Still here, aren¡¯t you? he thought, his mind weighed down by their presence. He set the bottle down on the table, as if to signal he wasn¡¯t intimidated. Yet a cold glint flickered through his eyes.


    The shadows were not his allies. He could feel their oppressive attention, like an invisible hand brushing the back of his neck. They murmured without words, as if trying to read him or waiting for him to falter. But Armyr would not falter. Not before them.


    A smile stretched across his lips. It wasn¡¯t satisfaction, but a challenge¡ªa way of showing he would not yield, even under their gaze. He briefly closed his eyes, and his voice rose:


    ¡ª "The mission will be accomplished."


    The shadows stirred at this declaration, quivering slightly as if carrying his words elsewhere, far beyond. Their movement was almost imperceptible, but their presence grew even more oppressive, their attention more intense. They rippled one last time before retreating.


    Armyr reopened his eyes. His gaze drifted to the window, where the shadows of the night outside vibrated to the rhythm of distant screams. Each howl, each desperate gasp formed a symphony he no longer truly listened to. It was all already behind him.


    His footsteps echoed in the still room, each sound stretching as if to mark his passage. Before leaving, he placed a hand on the door and murmured:


    ¡ª "This is only the beginning."


    As he stepped through the doorway, the bottle of beer, which had hung suspended in the air, finally obeyed the laws of the world. It slid off the edge of the table, spinning gently before crashing to the floor. The glass shattered, scattering glinting fragments and amber droplets everywhere. The liquid spread across the wooden planks, seeping into their crevices.

 The Child of Chaos

    In a village on the edge of quiet plains,


    Arrived a child, frail as a fleeting refrain.


    His eyes, vast as the misty horizon,


    Held shadows deep, an abyss to wisen.


    ¡°Who are you, little one?¡± the elders inquired,


    ¡°I come from the wind, lost and tired,¡±


    He replied in a voice soft and clear,


    His innocence a mask, his intent severe.


    They welcomed him with bread and warmth,


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.Gave him a bed, gestures heartfelt and kind.


    But beneath each smile the child displayed,


    A seed of doubt silently stayed.


    Neighbors, once united as flowing streams,


    Began to whisper under light¡¯s gleam.


    ¡°Why did she give him more than I?¡±


    ¡°Is his gaze false? Should we deny?¡±


    In their homes, shadows crept and grew,


    Laughter faded, hearts withdrew.


    Each word spoken became a spark,


    Igniting flames, disputes stark.


    The child watched, calm and mute,


    A subtle smile, chaos absolute.


    For he was a demon from a distant land,


    A harbinger of discord, by chaos planned.


    When the first stone flew in the morning¡¯s pale light,


    The child vanished, carried by winds out of sight.


    He left behind a shattered village forlorn,


    Ashes of friendship, lives torn.

 Chapitre 8.2 : The Doom Tide

    The next morning, Armyr entered the dining room. Nine puppets stood there, frozen in grotesque postures. The farmer was at the center, surrounded by three men, two women, and three children. Their bodies, stiff and disjointed, seemed suspended between life and death.


    Their black, vacant eyes stared at an indistinct point in space, but a faint tremor occasionally flickered through their eyelids¡ªa slight spasm that betrayed a lingering tension. Their skin was stretched and pale, almost translucent under the cold morning light.


    Armyr approached, his gaze sliding over their frozen features. He tilted his head slightly, observing a child whose hand trembled faintly.


    ¡ª "Good work, farmer. You¡¯ve earned yourself a beer," he said.


    The farmer grabbed a bottle of beer from the table. But as he brought the neck to his lips, the liquid poured out in a continuous stream down his chin, drenching his torso and pooling on the floor.


    Armyr burst into laughter.


    ¡ª "Even that, you can¡¯t enjoy anymore, can you?"


    A murmur floated through the air. It was like a breath, a jumble of indistinct words emanating from the puppets themselves. Armyr narrowed his eyes, focusing on one of the men whose lips trembled slightly, as though he was trying to speak. But no coherent words escaped his mouth.


    ¡ª "Now, go get wood. Carve it into stakes. I want a proper arsenal," Armyr declared.


    The puppets began to move. Their gestures remained jerky, almost spasmodic, their limbs shifting in abrupt, irregular motions. One of the children stumbled, his leg bending at an impossible angle, but he immediately straightened up, his fixed expression betraying no pain.


    An hour later, they returned, carrying dozens of freshly carved stakes. Their march was silent, but their feet occasionally struck the ground with incongruous force, producing a dull thud. Armyr drew a cut across his wrist to soak the stakes with his blood.


    The dark liquid slid over the wood, absorbed as if by a sponge. Armyr ran his fingertips over them, a smile on his lips.


    ¡ª "Tonight, you will attack the neighboring farms. Drive these stakes into their hearts. Every heartbeat must cease. Until then, keep cutting wood. We will need more stakes."


    The puppets scattered outside, their misshapen silhouettes slicing through the forest. The sound of breaking trunks and flying splinters echoed in the stillness of the morning. Armyr, his hands clasped behind his back, watched them in silence. Everything was unfolding exactly as he had planned.


    *****


    Upon arriving in the city, Armyr took in its bustling energy. Twilight had given way to a gentle darkness. The air was saturated with the aromas of grilled meat, spiced soups, and freshly baked bread from street ovens, mingled with the sharper scent of still-smoldering embers.


    Children¡¯s laughter as they played around the stalls blended with the lively conversations of merchants and customers.


    Improvised stalls lined up under colorful awnings, overflowing with fruits, fabrics, and trinkets. The cheerful tumult of haggling and vendors¡¯ calls provided a striking contrast to the serene shadows of the stone facades sleeping quietly behind them. Armyr moved through the crowd, his eyes scanning faces and gestures. Every detail intrigued him.


    His wandering eventually led him to an inn. Its stone walls, draped in ivy and adorned with climbing flowers, stood out under the glow of lanterns hanging by the entrance. Armyr pushed the door open, and a mix of warmth and calm immediately enveloped him. Inside, the air was filled with the scent of a crackling fire and a spiced stew simmering somewhere in the background.


    Making his way to the reception desk, he exchanged a few glances with weary travelers seated at small wooden tables.


    ¡ª "A room," he requested.


    After a brief exchange, he climbed the stairs. The wooden steps creaked under his weight. Once inside his room, Armyr took in the surroundings. The walls were adorned with modest engravings. But it was the bed¡ªwith its soft mattress and clean sheets¡ªthat captured his attention. As he lay down, he felt his tense muscles begin to relax.


    A few hours later, after a restorative sleep, Armyr descended to the ground floor. Behind the counter stood a woman in her thirties, her face lit up by a warm smile.


    ¡ª "What are the specialties of the capital?" he asked.


    The woman answered enthusiastically:


    ¡ª "You¡¯re a tourist, I suppose?"


    ¡ª "Yes, in a way," Armyr replied.


    The innkeeper¡¯s smile widened, a glimmer of pride in her eyes.


    ¡ª "Oh, there¡¯s so much to discover here. How long are you planning to stay with us?"


    ¡ª "A few weeks," he answered.


    ¡ª "Then you must try the royal palace¡¯s chocolate!" she declared with excitement. "It¡¯s an expensive luxury, but unforgettable. There are also the Hurna chasms and our famous cuberdons, a local treat."


    ¡ª "Cuberdons? What are those?" Armyr asked.


    ¡ª "Oh, they¡¯re triangular sweets made of sugar, filled with a sweet syrup inside," the woman explained, her face lighting up with an almost childlike enthusiasm. "A true delight, believe me! You can¡¯t leave the capital without tasting one."


    A smile stretched across Armyr¡¯s lips, and he gently licked them.


    ¡ª "Near the castle," she continued, "there¡¯s a grand gallery where the best artisans of the capital and the world exhibit their creations. If you enjoy art and discoveries, it¡¯s a place not to be missed."


    He inclined his head.


    ¡ª "Thank you for your recommendations," he said before leaving the inn.


    Outside, the city was brimming with life.


    Armyr allowed himself to be swept up by the bustling energy, wandering through the alleys. His eyes scanned the crowd, capturing every detail¡ªthe hands exchanging coins, the smiles slipping into conversations, the gestures of a child pointing at a colorful treat.


    He stopped in front of a stand where large golden waffles, drizzled with melted chocolate, gleamed under the light. The sweet aroma evoked in him a fleeting, blurry memory of a time when such pleasures were accessible. He chose one, paid, and bit into the simple yet comforting treat. The warmth of the chocolate and the crispness of the waffle brought him an unexpected moment of satisfaction.


    Heading toward a park illuminated by lanterns, he found a secluded bench and sat down. Around him, groups of people were chatting and laughing. For a moment, Armyr observed the lively scene as though he were a spectator watching a theatrical performance.


    As he finished his waffle, a woman in her thirties appeared in his field of vision. Visibly cheerful and tipsy, she approached with energy. Her crystalline laughter echoed in the air like carefree music.


    ¡ª "Do you want to drink with us?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.


    Her disheveled hair, cheeks flushed from alcohol, and disarming smile formed a fascinating picture. A strange curiosity rose within him, tinged with a hint of amusement. A bright, almost charming smile appeared on his face.


    ¡ª "With pleasure," he replied, standing up.


    She led him to a group of about ten people sitting in a circle on the grass, surrounded by bottles and scattered mugs. The air was thick with the sweet scent of alcohol and the lively voices rising above their laughter. Someone handed him a glass of banana-flavored liquor, which he accepted with a polite smile. He brought it to his lips.


    The conversations, songs, and jokes created a carefree symphony in which Armyr blended with surprising ease. He laughed heartily, shared fictitious anecdotes, and exchanged knowing glances. Yet behind every smile, every burst of laughter, a cold detachment lingered. He was merely an actor in this masquerade.


    When the intoxication began to creep into his mind, he seized a moment of distraction to slip away discreetly. His steps led him to a vendor selling skewered meat, whose smoking grill released an irresistible spicy aroma. He bought six skewers and devoured them with an almost animalistic intensity, savoring each bite as a raw offering to a voracious hunger.


    Satisfied, slightly dizzy from the alcohol, he returned to the inn. His steps wavered slightly, and a satisfied smile floated on his lips.


    *****


    Armyr spent the day wandering through the vibrant maze of the capital¡¯s streets. The shops stretched out in a dazzling explosion of colors and captivating scents. The stalls overflowed with ripe fruits, pastries, and handcrafted goods, each detail catching his attention. He strolled aimlessly, stopping here to sample a cheese, there to try a local dessert with a delicate sweetness. These rich and varied flavors rekindled forgotten fragments of a humanity he had long since abandoned. Yet, despite their brilliance, everything felt strangely hollow, like a shadow of an inaccessible past.


    When night fell, he returned to the farm. Upon his arrival, a hundred puppets were bustling about in the courtyard.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Crossing the threshold of the house, Armyr stepped into the kitchen, where the full extent of their work was revealed. Hundreds of meticulously carved and stacked stakes filled the room. The air was thick with the acrid scent of freshly cut wood, a heavy aroma that clung to the walls and seemed to seep into his skin. A grimace of satisfaction appeared on his lips.


    Their efficiency exceeded his expectations, and a shiver of triumph ran down his spine.


    Exhausted from his day of wandering and aware of the monumental tasks ahead, Armyr withdrew to his room. But despite the promise of rest, his sleep was restless, troubled by fragments of dreams he couldn¡¯t quite grasp. When he awoke at dawn, a persistent fatigue weighed on his shoulders¡ªa weariness that seemed to emanate from his very bones.


    Forcing himself to rise, he began tackling an essential and grueling task: soaking dozens of stakes in his blood.


    Each cut traced across his wrist released a stream of vibrant, thick, crimson liquid that ran down the rough stakes. The blood seemed to hesitate for a moment before seeping into the wood''s fibers. The stakes darkened, taking on an almost charcoal hue.


    Each drop, as it fell, shattered the silence of the room.


    The effort was exhausting. Every cut drained more life from his body, his arms growing heavy, his movements slower. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, sliding down his temples to mix with the blood that stained his hands. Yet Armyr did not falter. His movements remained methodical, relentless. The pain was there¡ªburning and deep¡ªbut he ignored it with icy determination.


    The stakes, now transformed, were no longer mere pieces of wood. Their surfaces seemed to pulse faintly.


    He placed the final stake onto the already imposing pile before him and straightened. Armyr clenched his fists, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders, but a cold flame burned in his eyes.


    ¡ª "Prepare me something to eat," he ordered.


    The puppets moved into action, their mechanical footsteps echoing on the wooden floor in a steady, monotonous rhythm. Three hours later, they returned, presenting before him a veritable feast. The massive table was laden with an abundance of meticulously arranged dishes: roasted meats, grilled vegetables with a smoky aroma, and still-warm loaves of bread.


    Armyr sat down. But as he brought the first bites to his lips, he felt a dull frustration rising within him, insidious like a creeping shadow.


    Every flavor was bland to him. The juicy, expertly seasoned cuts of meat held no particular allure. The tender, fragrant vegetables lacked the depth he sought. Even the warm, soft bread brought only fleeting satisfaction. As he ate, the void within him stretched wider, unrelenting. Something was missing.


    His jaw tightened. He set down his fork. Tilting his head, he let his gaze sweep over the puppets standing in the shadows, frozen like statues.


    ¡ª "It will never be enough," he murmured.


    Exhausted, Armyr retreated to the austere comfort of his room, allowing his body to shed the accumulated fatigue. He spent several days resting, surrounded by a silence broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the puppets tending to his every need. They brought his meals directly to his bed. This ceaseless ballet marked time that seemed to stretch infinitely.


    While Armyr regained his strength, his mechanical army continued its relentless work. One by one, the neighboring farms fell under his control.


    The nights were filled with muffled screams and the sound of stakes striking flesh, while the days saw the farm¡¯s courtyard swell with new silhouettes. In just a week, his ranks had grown to three hundred creatures, each ready to carry out his slightest command.


    When Armyr finally emerged from his isolation, a cold gleam in his eyes, he knew the time had come to expand his influence beyond the farms. Standing at the threshold of the house, he surveyed his army. The puppets formed a uniform mass, their expressionless faces turned toward him like statues awaiting divine orders. Armyr raised his hand.


    ¡ª "Go," he breathed.


    At that moment, the sinister army moved as one, like a single organism. It poured onto the neighboring village. No prayer, no scream, no barricade could withstand this dark tide of destruction. Armyr¡¯s shadow spread, and with it came unrelenting chaos.


    Within two weeks, the number of his puppets had reached terrifying proportions. Five thousand creatures stood ready to unleash darkness upon anyone who dared defy their master. Villages and towns fell one after another, consumed by this dark wave that seemed never to falter.


    *****


    The mist stretched over the fields, thick and shifting, shrouding the landscape. On the horizon, three mounted silhouettes emerged, their blurred outlines barely visible through the damp air. The guards advanced slowly, their wet armor glistening in the pale light. The horses, imposing and restless, snorted in short bursts, their nostrils exhaling icy vapor.


    At the farm, the door creaked open with a piercing screech. The farmer, under Armyr¡¯s relentless control, stepped out. His empty eyes betrayed no emotion, and he bowed his head in a gesture of submission.


    The guards exchanged glances. One of them, the oldest, furrowed his brow as he observed this figure. His hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword.


    ¡ª "Have you seen anything strange in the area?" he called out.


    The farmer shook his head.


    Irritated by the silence, the nearest guard dismounted, his boots sinking into the mud. He moved forward, his sharp gaze scanning every corner of the farm.


    ¡ª "Who are you?" he growled suddenly, his eyes locking onto a figure emerging from the shadow of the doorway.


    Armyr descended the steps, a smile playing on his lips.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m just a passerby," he replied.


    The farmer bowed his head again. The guards exchanged uneasy looks, suspicion glinting in their eyes.


    ¡ª "This place reeks of death," murmured one of the riders who had remained mounted, his fingers gripping the reins tightly. "We should leave."


    ¡ª "We leave when I say so," the eldest retorted sharply, his muscles tense, his gaze fixed on Armyr.


    He took another step forward, his hand sliding over the hilt of his sword.


    ¡ª "Give me a good reason not to cut you down right here, stranger," he demanded.


    Armyr burst into laughter.


    ¡ª "If you insist, go ahead and try," he replied.


    That was the breaking point. Rage flared in the guard¡¯s eyes, and he drew his sword. But before the blade could strike, Armyr moved.


    His hand shot out from beneath his coat, a wooden stake gripped tightly in his fingers like the instrument of an inevitable sentence. The weapon cut through the air with a sinister whistle, finding its mark with unerring precision.


    The stake drove into the guard¡¯s eye socket. A wet squelch accompanied the impact, followed by a cracking sound, as though an overripe nut had been shattered. The skin tore around the wood, releasing a thick liquid that trickled down his cheek, leaving a reddish trail on his pale skin. A brief flash of white appeared¡ªa fragment of dislodged bone¡ªbefore vanishing into the bloody mass.


    A strangled gurgle rose from his throat, his breath catching on the sudden surge of blood.


    The sword slipped from his trembling hands. A wave of terror and agony overwhelmed the guard, clouding his mind. His fingers clawed desperately at his mutilated face, futilely trying to pull free the weapon that sealed his fate.


    His legs buckled, unable to bear his weight. He collapsed. A scream tore from his lips¡ªa desperate, piercing cry that rose into the air like a final echo.


    The guard writhed on the ground, his fingers fumbling frantically around the stake embedded in his eye socket.


    Armyr watched the scene with chilling composure. He studied the spectacle intently. Slowly, he adjusted the sleeve of his coat.


    Silence fell once more.


    The two remaining guards froze for a moment, the scene searing itself into their minds like a horrific vision. Their shock quickly gave way to uncontrollable rage. A savage cry erupted from their throats. Their heels struck their horses'' flanks, and the animals surged forward.


    The nearest rider, his jaw clenched in fury, shouted as he swung his blade in a furious arc, aiming for Armyr¡¯s head.


    But before the steel could reach its target, the farmer threw himself into its path.


    The sword plunged into his chest. The wood cracked under the impact, splinters flying and scattering into the air around the blade. The farmer collapsed to the ground. His body twisted into a grotesque contortion, joints dislocated, as fragments of wood lay scattered around him.


    His vacant eyes stared at an unseen point.


    Even the horses hesitated at the sinister sight. They pawed the ground nervously, their nostrils blowing heavy clouds of vapor into the cold air. Armyr stepped back.


    ¡ª "Stop, scoundrel!" one of the guards shouted.


    Armyr dashed down the stairs leading to the kitchen. There, under the flickering lantern light, a scene of unsettling order unfolded. Hundreds of stakes filled the room.


    The guards burst into the kitchen, panting, their furious gazes sweeping over the organized chaos surrounding them. They stopped for a moment, stunned by the strange collection.


    The older of the two stepped forward, his sword still raised, his gaze moving back and forth between the stakes and Armyr. His features, stern yet marked by tension, betrayed a mixture of anger and doubt.


    ¡ª "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled.


    Armyr gave a sinister smile, his eyes gleaming.


    ¡ª "I¡¯m a puppeteer... and you¡¯ve just walked into my trap," he declared.


    Dozens of puppets emerged.


    The two guards exchanged a glance. Fear was evident in their eyes, but they clenched their teeth, tightening their grips on their swords.


    ¡ª "They¡¯re just puppets! They can¡¯t harm us!" one of the soldiers roared, though his voice trembled despite himself.


    The second guard swallowed hard, his fingers slipping on the hilt of his weapon, damp with sweat.


    ¡ª "Stay focused! This... this isn¡¯t natural," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the advancing puppets.


    Armyr, concealed behind a wooden wall, observed the scene with excitement.


    ¡ª "Kill them," he ordered, his voice sharp as a blade.


    The puppets lunged at the guards.


    ¡ª "Fall back!" the first guard shouted, raising his sword.


    But the puppets were too fast. One leaped forward, its stake aiming for his flank. However, the weapon slid off his armor with a screech. The guard, startled, stepped back, his sword sending a shower of sparks as it collided with another stake aimed at him.


    Another puppet sprang forward. Its weapon struck the guard but glanced off his shoulder. With an enraged cry, the soldier raised his sword and struck.


    The blade whistled through the air, cleaving into the puppet¡¯s wooden body in an explosion of splinters. The puppet split in two, its pieces falling to the ground with a dull thud.


    ¡ª "These things can¡¯t hurt us!" he roared.


    Behind him, the second guard struck another puppet, shattering it with a blow. The puppets, undeterred, adjusted their tactics. Their assault became more calculated. They targeted the joints of the armor, their stakes seeking the neck, armpits, or backs of the knees.


    ¡ª "Fall back!" the first guard bellowed, desperately trying to fend off the onslaught.


    One puppet twisted at a grotesque angle, its stake driving forcefully into a weak spot behind the guard¡¯s armor. The wood penetrated his flesh. The guard choked, his eyes widening in a mixture of pain and disbelief.


    ¡ª "No!" his companion screamed.


    Another puppet leapt onto him, its weight throwing the guard off balance. He stumbled backward, his sword slipping from his grasp.


    The puppets surrounded their prey, giving no respite. When the assault ended, both guards lay on the ground, their bodies motionless and broken.


    Armyr emerged from the shadows. His puppets froze in place.


    Outside, the horses tied to their posts snorted nervously, their hooves pounding the muddy ground. Armyr stopped in front of the animals.


    He drew his sword. The metal whistled through the air, a sharp sound that resonated like an irrevocable judgment. He brought the blade down on the neck of the first horse, slicing through its flesh.


    A red torrent gushed out, splattering the ground. The horse whinnied, its eyes rolling in panic, before its legs gave out. Its body collapsed with a heavy thud, its final breaths fading in a series of spasms.


    The second horse pulled back, straining against its tether, its nostrils exhaling powerful clouds of vapor. But Armyr, relentless, struck again with his sword. Blood sprayed onto his dark coat.


    A tear rolled down his cheek.


    He raised his eyes to the sky, where the clouds loomed like an oppressive, almost living mass. A fleeting moment of doubt crossed his mind¡ªa thought he dared not voice, a whisper he quickly silenced.


    He lowered his head, his expression hardening. He wiped the tear away with the back of his hand. In a pool of blood, he briefly saw his reflection¡ªdistorted and indistinct.

 The Birth of a New Era

    On a hill beneath a silver moonlit sky,


    Appeared a demon, with beauty to terrify.


    His face sculpted by immortal hands,


    His eyes, twin abysses, flames that command.


    A young woman, alone, lifted her gaze,


    And saw the being who broke her life''s haze.


    She told the tale, her lips trembling with fear,


    But no one believed her vision so clear.


    Years passed, as the wind sang its tune,


    Each night she climbed, her heart in a swoon.


    On the silent hill, she awaited his return,


    But the demon remained a shadow, a love to yearn.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Forty winters marked her silvered hair,


    Her faded hopes etched in a face worn with care.


    One night of despair, on the brink of her end,


    She sought to leave this world, her pain to transcend.


    But a hand, gentle as an ancient dream,


    Touched her shoulder, breaking her scheme.


    She turned, and saw him once more,


    The demon, unchanged, as stunning as before.


    That night, beneath the starlit sky,


    They shared a sacred embrace, souls set to fly.


    Time stood still, their spirits aflame,


    At last, she found peace in love¡¯s sacred name.


    Months passed, and joy began to grow,


    Her belly rounded, a miracle to show.


    With hair now white, her days bathed in light,


    She carried a child, her happiness so bright.


    Nine moons rolled by in shadow and fear,


    And at last, the child, robust, appeared.


    But his first cry rang like a funeral knell,


    For the mother departed, her final farewell.


    The demon returned, silent and strong,


    He took the child, love¡¯s painful song.


    And beneath the glow of a mourning moon,


    He vanished, leaving the hill in eternal ruin.