ã€ŠDirge of the Brokenã€‹


 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1

    The misty drizzle seeped through the dense canopy, mingling with the bone-chilling cold of the Forest of Shadows. If not for the faint glow of light orbs bobbing around me, the glade would have been ink-black. The air was heavy, oppressive, as though the forest itself held its breath.

    But none of that mattered. I was still high on the taste of victory even if it was small. I had just slayed a Skulk, an elder Skulk at that. It would take an elite team of well coordination adventurers to normally hunt a shadow-spawn of this calibre but for me, it was just another walk in the park.

    ¡°My, oh my. The princeling actually slayed a lord of the forest,¡± came a mocking voice, shattering the fragile quiet.

    Bertie, the chief of Twist Trunk Village, emerged from the shadows, his smug grin illuminated by torchlight from his torch. His gaudy but cheap clothing clung to him, damp from the drizzle. Behind him stood two shivering goons clutching torches too tightly, and further back, five figures in black armor loomed like harbingers of death.

    ¡°What are you... doing here?¡± I gasped, staggering back, every breath laboured. My voice cracked¡ªdeliberately so. ¡°Where¡¯s my team?¡±

    Of course, I was annoyed to put on this idiotic act, but the situation demanded for it.

    Bertie offered a mocking bow, his grin widening. ¡°No need to fret, my lord. They¡¯re... resting. Permanently, I¡¯d wager.¡± At that, his lackeys chuckled nervously, though the armored knights remained silent, their presence a weight in the clearing.

    ¡°What is the meaning of this, chief?¡± I asked with a flustered voice, but my irritation had probably seeped through my facade as Bertie face drew a scowl.

    ¡°Still arrogant, huh? I agree whole-heartedly that slaying a Skulk alone is a feat worthy of celebrating, but my prince, no one is going to celebrate.¡± Then his lips contorted into a cruel smirk. ¡°Because no-one will know it,¡± he said while signalling with his hand.

    The five knights stepped onto the light. They are covered in a black armour, from head to toe. And from a single glance I could say they were of the best quality, not something belongs to this forgotten corner of the kingdom.

    And that¡¯s exactly why we were here.

    ¡°How d-dare you!?¡± I shouted with confidence, and of course with a cracking voice. ¡°To raise your sword against a prince! When my father, King Valen, hears of this, you¡¯ll all hang!¡±

    Bertie slightly flinched at that and eyed the knights, probably reassessing his hand, then smiled ¡°Oh, prince, no one will hear anything. You drank too much, challenged a shadow-spawn to impress some tavern girl, and died a fool¡¯s death. Tragic, really.¡±

    Now he was again grinning from ear to ear, joined by his two companions while the knights surrounded me.

    ¡°How insolent!¡± I shouted while drawing my sword. ¡°I swear on my name I will slay you, you wretched cur! Even it is the last thing I do!¡±

    This made the chief visibly terrified. As I watched, he hid behind a tree, with his goons.

    The cowardice of the traitor brought a fleeting smile to my lips, but the metallic scrape of unsheathing blades drew my focus back to the ring of dark knights that surrounded me. Their silhouettes¡ªsilent and foreboding¡ªloomed like shadows cast by a dying flame. Despite my trust in my own skill, I knew these knights were not to be taken lightly.

    I gripped the hilt of my blade, a flawless creation from the Royal Forge, and settled into my stance.

    Breathe. In and out.

    The knights closed in, their blackened armor catching faint glimmers of light, their formation tight, suffocating. They moved without wasted motion, a death march in perfect synchrony. Their silence was unnerving. No taunts, no battle cries¡ªjust the dull scrape of metal against metal, the whisper of steel slicing through the cold air.

    The first knight struck. No hesitation. His blade hissed toward my neck, a flawless execution.

    And then¡ª

    The world bent.

    The downward arc of his sword slowed, the faint reflection of my face stretching across its polished surface. The other knights stood mid-motion, their weapons hovering in the still air, their lunges incomplete. Even the drifting embers from the torches nearby seemed caught in the moment, frozen like stars in a sky of absolute silence.

    I moved.

    A single step to the right, deliberate, measured. The sword¡¯s edge drifted past, missing me by mere inches. I turned my body at just the right moment to let another strike scrape against my thigh¡ªa shallow cut, bleeding just enough to sell the illusion.

    The world snapped back into motion.

    Pain flared where the blade had kissed my flesh, sharp and immediate. I let out a gasp¡ªa mix of surprise, agony, and carefully placed theatrics. A poisoned blade. Subtle, but I recognized the dull ache seeping into my bloodstream. Clever bastards.

    Then came the onslaught.

    Steel clashed in the air, each strike a relentless effort to cut me down. I ducked under a horizontal slash, pivoted to avoid a thrust aimed at my ribs, and deflected another aimed for my heart. Their strikes were methodical, precise, seeking to wear me down, to break the supposed novice in their midst.

    I let them.

    Every cut was intentional. A nick on my arm, a shallow wound on my ribs¡ªenough to look convincing, but never enough to slow me down. I played my role well. A desperate, struggling prince.

    Then I retaliated.

    As the next sword came for me, I moved into its path¡ªtoo close, too fast. The knight faltered, off balance, not expecting me to close the gap. My sword slammed against his breastplate, not to kill, but to send him staggering. A feint. A trap.

    I lunged, my fingers wrapping around the edge of his helmet. Heat surged from my palm, metal glowing molten beneath my grasp. He locked up instantly, body twitching before going still. The air filled with the sickening scent of burned flesh, his form now a silent, lifeless husk encased in his own armor.

    "One down," I muttered, wiping a trickle of blood from my brow. The warmth running down my forehead blurred my vision. "Four to go."

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    A shrill voice echoed from the trees, taunting, demanding: "What are you waiting for?! Kill him already!"

    The remaining knights hesitated¡ªnot out of fear, but calculation. Their eerie, soundless presence remained unshaken. Even the one I¡¯d just reduced to a smoldering corpse had died without a scream.

    They moved in.

    Faster this time, abandoning the slow, methodical approach. I backpedaled, parrying where I could, twisting to avoid a cleaving strike that would have split me in two. I let them drive me back, stumbling, my body sagging with exhaustion¡ªor at least, that¡¯s what I wanted them to believe.

    Then one overextended.

    I ducked beneath his swing and barreled into him, using his own momentum against him. We crashed into the dirt, his weight momentarily pinning me¡ªuntil I twisted and drove the pommel of my sword against his visor.

    Once. Twice.

    By the third strike, the metal bent inward.

    By the sixth, the visor cracked.

    By the tenth, his skull caved in.

    Then pain exploded across my skull.

    A boot connected with the side of my head, sending me rolling across the dirt. My vision blurred, ringing filled my ears, and before I could recover, another knight was on me.

    A fist slammed into my face.

    Another.

    Another.

    My world spun between bursts of darkness and pain, every blow hammering against bone, flesh, and will. My body screamed at me to move, to fight back, but the weight pressing me into the earth was suffocating.

    Finally, the strikes stopped.

    My arms were pinned down, a sharp blade pressing into my throat. My sword lay discarded, my dagger out of reach.

    Above me, my faceless executioners stood still.

    Perfect.

    I continued to struggle against their restraints to keep up the show as Bertie again emerged from the forest.

    ¡°You gave me a little scare there, prince," Bertie stammered, his voice trembling despite the forced bravado.

    He looked terror-stricken. His face was pale, beads of sweat trailing down his temples, and his hands fidgeted nervously at his sides. The two thugs standing behind him were in even worse shape, their wide eyes darting around like trapped animals, as if already imagining the executioner¡¯s blade.

    Their torches made my mind snapped into attention as the light orbs, which I conjured before, were still floating and illuminating the glade.

    For a supposedly defeated man to hold several spells¡­ anyone can see the problem with that, but no one had noticed it. Not yet, at least.

    Need to finish this fast

    ¡°Unhand me, you wretches!¡± I screamed. ¡°Bertie! You cretin! The k-kingdom wil-¡± I was interrupted by another punch to the face.

    ¡°How unsightly, prince Kaelan,¡± Bertie said. He had finally recovered a little colour on the face. ¡°The rumours are true I guess... but then again, you slew a Skulk. Hmm.¡±

    Shit. This is not good was what my mind screamed. It all would be moot if they noticed.

    ¡°You vermin! What evil are you concocting in that head of yours!?¡±

    The eyes of the village chief gleamed, and I sighed internally relieved. The fool was itching to gloat.

    ¡°You royals! And all those pompous lords¡ªyou¡¯ve never understood us, never cared to, and you never will!¡± Bertie ranted, his voice rising with unhinged fervour. ¡°If you had, you wouldn¡¯t find yourself grovelling under the boot of a Wraith knight!¡±

    I tried to laugh but it came as coughs. It seemed I had gotten injured after all.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother Kaelan, it¡¯s all going to end. I will soon put you out of your misery.¡±

    I clenched my teeth, forcing out a sharp, derisive laugh. "How utterly naive. Do you honestly believe a ragtag group of bandits can stand against the king and the might of the kingdom?" I sneered, watching his face twist in anger. "You wouldn''t last a single day once the Imperial Army is dispatched. And when they learn you killed me¡ªoh, trust me, they will¡ªyou¡¯ll curse the day you drew breath."

    "You wish, prince!" Bertie spat, his voice rising into a shrill, unhinged giggle. "You think I''d be stupid enough to challenge the king without reason? No, no! I''ve seen it. I''ve seen IT." His voice dropped to a whisper; his eyes wide with feverish intensity. "The power. The POWER!" His laugh turned maniacal.

    His madness was palpable, his pupils darting around wildly. "It was beautiful," he muttered, voice trembling, almost reverent. "The most exquisite thing I¡¯ve ever seen. They danced around me. I could feel their whispers in my bones. But when I reached for them¡ª" His eyes flicked to his hands as if recalling the touch, "they slipped away. Like smoke."

    Okay¡­ Another nutjob.

    His grin twisted into something grotesque, the mania now consuming him entirely. "But they didn¡¯t listen to me. Not yet." His breath quickened. "But you¡ª" He jabbed a shaking finger at me, "You¡¯re different. Your blood will summon them. They¡¯ll see me. They¡¯ll hear me." His laugh cracked, a sob cutting through it, but his eyes burned with a fervor beyond human comprehension. "I¡¯ll be one of them, prince. Then... no one will laugh at me again."

    We are back on the track. Little bit more and I can be finally done with all of this.

    ¡°Die! Die, you rotten slab of meat! They will summon a spirit for me! MY own spirit from the outerplanes¡ª¡±

    "Farewell, prince," said the same cold voice, the blade at my neck pressing forward, its sharp tip poised to end everything.

    But it didn¡¯t find its mark. The sword shattered in a burst of sparks, the remnants falling harmlessly to the ground.

    The hand that had wielded it now hung uselessly in the air, as my rescuer stepped forward.

    "I had my doubts," a voice drawled from the shadows. "But you really succeeded."

    "Though," another voice chimed in, "I¡¯m more surprised you actually let them hit you!"

    "He almost slipped a couple of times," came a third, "but... he held on, I suppose."

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m just glad someone else now knows that playing the victim isn¡¯t as fun as it sounds,¡± another voice snickered.

    ¡°People, can we just get this over with?¡± came a fifth, an impatient sigh. "I wanna go hooome!"

    "Finally!" a new voice added, tinged with glee. "We have some names!"

    One by one, cloaked figures emerged from the shadows, stepping onto the glade with a kind of eerie synchrony¡ªmy teammates.

    ¡°AAaargh!¡± Bertie screamed, stumbling back. His face twisted in a mix of disbelief and panic. "H-How are y-y-you here?!" His breath came in ragged gasps. "The potion¡­ How¡­ Wha¡­" His eyes darted to the fallen sword, the shattered fragments catching the faint light.

    He looked like a man losing his grip on reality. The smell of his fear was thick in the air, pungent with the scent of sweat and something else¡ªsomething darker.

    "The p-poison¡­" he whispered, his voice cracking. "It was supposed to be deadly..." His gaze shifted to the two goons beside him, who were similarly frozen, mouths hanging open in disbelief.

    "The master wizard said it could kill an army¡­" Bertie¡¯s voice faltered, his words barely coherent now.

    Vyk, who had stepped forward with a knowing smirk, casually wiped his hands on his cloak. "That was rat poison, and diluted at that," he said, his tone almost bored.

    Bertie¡¯s eyes went wide, his lips trembling as if he couldn¡¯t quite process the absurdity of the situation. The two goons stood motionless, their expressions a mix of horror and confusion.

    Even the remaining knights of Wraiths seemed stunned¡ªsilent, their gaze shifting from one another to the cloaked figures emerging from the mist.

    ¡°Finally,¡± I muttered, rising to my feet. The job was done. I could finally end this charade.

    Two of the remaining knights stepped back cautiously, eyes narrowed, while the third struggled to stem the bleeding from a grievous wound. The three remaining thugs hesitated, inching toward the forest with wary glances over their shoulders.

    ¡°Miri, round them up,¡± I commanded, keeping my gaze locked on the two knights crouching, ready to lunge.

    "Aye, aye, captain!" Miri called back, her voice light, though there was a glint of determination in her eyes. She saluted clumsily before flashing a grin at the wounded knight. "Sorry, hun, but not tonight."

    The air seemed to tremble as Miri¡¯s called forth the magic of the earth. With a violent shudder, vines erupted from the ground beneath her feet, twisting and writhing like serpents eager to constrict their prey. The stony earth cracked and groaned, unable to resist the pull of her magic.

    The vines slithered toward the thugs and the shrieking chief, ensnaring them in an instant, their desperate struggles only feeding the power of the encroaching tendrils. Then, with a low hum, the vines wrapped themselves around the injured knight. They coiled tighter, forming a cage of living wood and magic. The cage was too small to allow any movement from the knight, his body trapped in a suffocating prison. But as the vines took hold, the air around the cage shimmered with a faint, ethereal light, as if the magic itself was imbued with a sense of purpose. The glow pulsed gently, like a heartbeat of the world itself, sealing the knight¡¯s fate.

    I didn¡¯t spare a second glance, though. I was focused on the two knights in front of me. But just as I took a step forward, a small explosion erupted in the distance. A crackling burst of fire magic ripped through the air, followed by a guttural cry. One of the thugs had used fire magic to scorch his bindings, setting himself free. The other thugs, too, were starting to show signs of stirring.

    Miri hadn¡¯t used her anti-mana vines on the others, like she had with the knight. Without that, the thug had been able to channel mana, slipping through her magical grasp.

    ¡°You never know...¡± I muttered under my breath. ¡°Vyk, go.¡±

    ¡°On it, sir,¡± came the swift reply, and the shadows around us seemed to shift, coalescing into the form of the assassin as he melted into the darkness, leaving no trace of his presence.

    ¡°Hmm. I wonder how I missed him,¡± Selene mused aloud, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.

    ¡°Whatever,¡± I said, giving a casual shrug, though my mind was already calculating. ¡°We¡¯ll know soon enough.¡±

    I felt the shift in the air before the sword strike even came. The knight behind me aimed a blow at my unguarded back, but I tilted my head slightly, just enough to let the blade miss by a hair''s breadth. The air buzzed with the tension of the strike, but it was nothing more than a near miss.

    Without hesitation, I grabbed the sword by its blade. I twisted my wrist, sending a surge of heat through the blade. It screamed in protest as the metal softened, glowing red-hot before it melted like wax in the grip of my power.

    The molten metal sizzled as it dripped onto the ground, and I couldn''t help but smile.

    Interesting.

    The sting from the molten metal should not have been there. I hadn¡¯t expected to feel the heat so intensely¡ªit was almost as if the blade had reacted to my own power in some way. It was a small thing, but it made me pause, a flicker of curiosity igniting in my chest. There was something more at work here than just simple steel.

    ¡°Fucking freak,¡± muttered Lyrik, which pulled me back from my thoughts.

    Our priest, Aleric, voiced his concern as I willed my sword to return to my hand. "It would be better if we could capture those two as well. Killing them feels like a waste."

    "Priest Aleric, they¡¯re already as good as dead," Selene interjected before I could respond, her tone clipped and final.

    I let her words settle for a moment, then commanded the world to halt. Time obeyed, freezing in silent reverence. Every breath hung in midair, and every fragment of light shimmered, suspended in place.

    Moving through the unnatural stillness, I strode to the knight gripping his weapon and placed my blade at his throat. With calculated precision, I drove it through. His body remained frozen in the moment of death, as though unaware of its finality.

    I turned my attention to the second knight. A pulse of raw energy erupted from my palm, obliterating him in a blinding flash. When the world resumed its flow, his remains scattered across the glade, lifeless and still.

    "They only sought to drag us into their death throes," I muttered, watching the first knight¡¯s body crumple to the ground.

    Turning to Selene, I gave a curt nod. "Tell the crew to clear the glade and collect the Skulk."

    Then I turned to Bertie, whose wild eyes darted around, searching for an escape that didn¡¯t exist.

    "Let¡¯s go," I said, my voice low and unyielding. A faint smirk tugged at my lips. "We have some catching up to do."

 Chapter 2

    Bertie spat blood onto the ground, glaring at me with a mix of fury and fear. ¡°You don¡¯t scare me, boy,¡± he growled, though his voice wavered ever so slightly.

    ¡°That, I don¡¯t mind, Chief. But what I do mind is you wasting my time with this defiance,¡± I said, sitting across from him. Between us sat a rotting table, its edges splintered and stained. ¡°We can end this quickly. You tell me everything: who those black knights are, who they work for, who you work for, what they¡¯re doing in the Forest of Shadows, how you got involved with them, their goals¡ªeverything you know.¡±

    I leaned back slightly, letting my words settle. ¡°In return, I¡¯ll grant you a painless death and spare the rest of your friends from any repercussions.¡±

    The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, filling the makeshift tent. Erected far from both civilization and the forest, it was starkly utilitarian¡ªjust the table, two chairs, and the two of us. Other two prisoners were being held in separate tents, identical to this one, while a fourth tent remained empty¡ªuntil Vyk brought in the escapee.

    As the quiet dragged on, my mind churned. A concoction of emotions brewed within me. There was a flicker of satisfaction¡ªwe were finally close to a solid lead. But beneath it lay the gnawing fear of failure, a shadow that loomed over every step of this mission. The escalating activity of this cultists troubled me deeply, their unchecked chaos threatening the kingdom, and their ultimate goals an ominous mystery. Adding to the frustration was the Royal Inquisition, withholding crucial information from us.

    ¡°You¡¯re a real charmer, aren¡¯t ya, lad?¡±

    Bertie finally broke the stillness, his voice dripping with derision. ¡°For a moment, I almost considered your offer. But nah¡­ hit me with your worst, kid. You¡¯ve got no idea what they¡¯re capable of!¡±

    Hard way it is, then.

    I rose from my chair slowly, the legs scraping against the uneven floor. I had hoped to avoid this, but Bertie had left me no choice. Before I could take another step, a faint ripple of mana brushed against my senses.

    An approaching presence.

    Selene sat by the crackling fire, her fingers gently plucking the strings of her lute, each note floating into the night air, adding a melancholic hum to the eerie quiet that surrounded them. The fire¡¯s glow cast long shadows across the hastily assembled tents. Despite the music¡¯s soothing tone, her mind was elsewhere, fixed on the task ahead, the weight of failure pressing down on her like a boulder.

    She had been instructed to play a hypnotic tune, a melody designed to lull the prisoners into submission, to soften their resolve and make the interrogation easier. The thought of manipulating the prisoners¡¯ minds, of bending their will with nothing more than music, left a bitter taste in her mouth. But it was the price of being a part of this mission. And though her hands moved with the grace of long practice, her heart wasn¡¯t in it.

    ¡°He¡¯s desperate,¡± she muttered under her breath, her voice barely a whisper lost in the crackling of the flames.

    Time was slipping through their fingers, and she could feel it, like sand in the wind. The day she had been dreading was fast approaching¡ªthe dreaded audience with the king, the inevitable report on their progress. Or the lack thereof. Months had passed in this cursed mission, and the results had been scant at best.

    At the start, none of them had taken the task seriously. She had been as naive as the others, thinking it would be a simple matter of finding a few criminal bandits, rooting them out, and returning to the court with stories of their heroics.

    But that had been months ago, and now, they were only more deeply entangled in their failures.

    Time had become their enemy. Leads turned out to be false, more often than not. Their enemies always seemed to be one step ahead¡ªslipping through their fingers like smoke. Every time they thought they had a breakthrough; it dissolved into nothing. They had captured soldiers, only to see them commit suicide or mutilate themselves to avoid capture. Their informants had been murdered before they could speak, their bodies turned up days later in places they¡¯d never expected. One entire village had been wiped out¡ªslaughtered¡ªto prevent any word from leaking. It was as if their enemies were always lurking in the shadows, anticipating their every move.

    And then came Twisted Trunk. The whole situation had been a gamble, a desperate measure they had taken when all other options had failed. Kaelan, her prince, had thrown himself into the heart of danger, something he had never done before. The results were still unclear, but the tension in the air was palpable. Selene found herself torn between doubt and hope, the delicate balance between despair and belief. She wanted to believe in Kaelan, in his quiet brilliance, but the stakes were too high.

    Her thoughts drifted involuntarily to her past; memories long buried in the recesses of her mind. She hadn¡¯t allowed herself to think of them in a long time, but now, as the fire crackled before her, the floodgates had opened.

    She was an orphan. Always had been. She couldn¡¯t remember her parents¡ªcouldn¡¯t even remember the faces of the people she should have called family. No siblings to comfort her.

    She had learned early that the world was a cold and indifferent place. From the time she could walk, she had learned to survive on her own.

    Her life had always been a fight¡ªscrapping for every meal, hiding in alleys, avoiding the cruel eyes of those who had more than she could ever dream of. But one fateful day, when she was no older than four, maybe five, everything had changed.

    She had been digging through a pile of discarded food scraps near the Maple Brew pub, her small fingers sifting through the rubbish, when a boy had appeared.

    He wasn¡¯t like the others she¡¯d met. He was older, maybe by three years, dressed in rags like she was, but there was something about him¡ªsomething¡­ different. His eyes weren¡¯t filled with contempt or indifference, like everyone else¡¯s. No, this boy¡¯s eyes¡­ they were curious. Warm. Unafraid.

    ¡°Do you know the way to the slums?¡± he had asked her, his voice lilting with an odd accent.

    It wasn¡¯t just his words¡ªit was the way he looked at her. Most people, adults or children, looked through her or past her, never truly seeing her. But this boy? He looked at her like she was important. He spoke to her as if she mattered. And for the first time in her life, Selene felt seen.

    ¡°Are you¡­ Hmm. Maybe she¡¯s deaf,¡± he had said, when the silence stretched, scratching his chubby cheek with confusion.

    She couldn¡¯t help but notice that. Though he wore the same rags she did, his posture was different. He stood upright, proud, not hunched like the rest of them. His hair was clean, shiny even, and his face was free of the grime that clung to every other orphan.

    It was strange.

    ¡°Anyhow, it doesn¡¯t matter. I will find my own way!¡± he had declared, as if the world itself could not stop him. He had passed by her without a second thought, heading further into the alley.

    ¡°E-excuse¡­ m-me,¡± she had stammered, summoning all her courage. ¡°I-it¡¯s dangerous. Y-you shouldn¡¯t go there. There are b-bad people¡­¡±

    She had warned him, because she had seen what lurked in those alleys. She had narrowly escaped death too many times to count, slipping past the worst of humanity¡¯s cruelty. There were others, who weren¡¯t so lucky.

    ¡°Really!?¡± he had whirled around, his voice almost a shout, and there was something in his eyes¡ªsomething¡­ wild. His gaze was fierce, yet full of something she couldn¡¯t quite grasp.

    Thinking back, Selene could see it now. His eyes had been¡­ alive, like something brighter than the dim, broken world she knew.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she had nodded, her voice barely a whisper, ¡°really.¡±

    And then, he was gone¡ªrunning, faster than a child should be able to move. Her heart had raced, unsure whether to be afraid for him or in awe.

    That night, he had returned¡ªdrenched in sweat, his face flushed with the kind of exhilaration she had never known. He had taken her by the hand and led her away from the alley, away from the trash heaps, away from the life she had known.

    To his home.

    Or more accurately, to his palace.

    The chaos of those first days had been a blur, but it had been a blur of warmth, of something Selene hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d been longing for¡ªbelonging. The boy, whose name was Kaelan, had taken her in without question, without hesitation. And though she hadn¡¯t known it then, that moment had shaped the rest of her life.

    The memory made her smile, a rare and fragile thing.

    But the smile soon faded as she felt the familiar presence on the edge of her senses.

    Vyk.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    I glanced at Bertie before stepping out of the tent. His eyes were closed, and he swayed lightly to Selene¡¯s haunting tune, the melody wrapping around him like an invisible chain.

    Her music worked¡ªsame as always. The thought brought a fleeting smile to my lips, but it was quickly stolen by the sight that greeted me outside.

    Vyk emerged from the shadows, dragging a barely recognizable bundle of flesh that might once have been a man. Blood dripped from the assassin¡¯s gloves, leaving a faint trail in the dirt.

    ¡°Reporting, sir!¡± Vyk snapped to attention, giving me the sharp military salute customary of Aelorian soldiers, before unceremoniously dropping the mangled body in front of me.

    I took one look at the pitiful figure and turned my gaze to Vyk. ¡°At ease, Vyk,¡± I said evenly. ¡°Explain why he has no arms and is barely breathing.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Vyk replied, his voice steady, professional, and entirely unapologetic. ¡°Initially, we couldn¡¯t identify him because he was wearing a ring of concealment. When he noticed I was pursuing him after his escape, he decided to face me rather than continue running. From our initial clash, I determined he was at least a High Mage in rank and posed an immediate threat, requiring neutralization as per protocol. So¡ª¡±

    ¡°So,¡± I interrupted, my tone sharpening, ¡°you cut off his arms, drained him of mana, and beat him until he had one foot in the grave. Am I correct, soldier?¡±

    Vyk didn¡¯t flinch under the reprimand. His face remained impassive, as if carved from stone. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± he confirmed.

    ¡°Assuming you¡¯ve already searched him,¡± I continued, letting my voice drop to a dangerous calm, ¡°did you find anything of value?¡±

    Without a word, Vyk produced a small cloth and handed it to me. His gauntleted hand was steady, even as flecks of blood smeared across the fabric.

    Unfolding the cloth, I read the words scrawled across it: ¡®We will celebrate when the moon is full.¡¯

    The cryptic message sent a flicker of unease through me, but I kept my expression unreadable.

    ¡°Rylas,¡± I called, glancing toward my ever-silent guardian. The towering warrior appeared from the edge of the campfire¡¯s light, his heavy boots crunching against the dirt. ¡°Bring me the note Bertie had on him.¡±

    Rylas handed me the parchment without a word, his expression as stoic as ever. The note bore a chillingly simple message: ¡®Price is one prince.¡¯

    I held the two pieces of evidence side by side, comparing the handwriting and the material of the cloths.

    ¡°They¡¯re identical,¡± Selene murmured from beside me. She had abandoned her lute for a moment, leaning in to examine the notes with a critical eye. Her voice was soft, but there was a tension to it¡ªa subtle tremor that betrayed her unease.

    It was undeniable. The same hand had written both messages.

    I folded the cloth and parchment with deliberate care. ¡°Put him in his tent and tell Aleric to stabilize him,¡± I instructed Vyk, my voice cool and composed. ¡°He needs to live long enough to answer questions.¡±

    Vyk hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his military discipline won out. ¡°Understood, sir.¡± He hauled the limp body over his shoulder with ease and disappeared into the shadows without another word, as Selene again played her tune.

    I turned back toward Bertie¡¯s tent, pushing aside the flap and stepping inside. The stench of sweat and fear clung to the air. Bertie was still swaying, utterly unaware of the storm brewing outside.

    But as I closed the tent flap behind me, I couldn¡¯t shake the lingering weight of those two notes, their words burning in my mind like embers waiting to ignite.

    Selene¡¯s melody started to dance through the air, light and capturing, a thread weaving through the fabric of the night. I returned to my seat across from Bertie, his head lolling to one side. He cracked one eye open, glared at me with defiance, then shut it again, retreating to his stubborn silence.

    ¡°Let me tell you a story, Bertie,¡± I began, settling into my chair. ¡°I think you¡¯ll like it.¡±

    He didn¡¯t react, but I pressed on, my voice calm, almost conversational.

    ¡°Once, there was a boy who had everything. Loving parents, a roof over his head, food on the table for every meal, friends who laughed with him, and even a girl he fancied. A charmed life, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    Bertie shifted slightly, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

    ¡°But fate is cruel, as fate often is. Disaster struck, and the boy lost everything. A plague swept through, stealing his parents, his friends, even the girl he fancied. He would¡¯ve become an orphan if not for a distant aunt, an old woman who barely had the strength to care for herself, let alone him. She took him to her village¡ªsome forgotten, backwater place he¡¯d never heard of.¡±

    I saw it then; the slight twitch in his hand, the grinding of his teeth.

    ¡°The town he left behind had running water, markets bustling with life, places to play, places to dream. But the village? It was a prison, barren and suffocating. The adults ignored the boy, but the children¡ªoh, they weren¡¯t so kind. They bullied him relentlessly, tore at him until even his name, the beautiful name his parents gave him, was stripped away. ¡®Lugh,¡¯ they mocked. It was no longer his. It became something ugly, twisted by their cruelty.¡±

    ¡°¡­Stop,¡± Bertie muttered, his voice low and trembling.

    I ignored him, leaning forward. ¡°As time passed, the village forgot about him, but he didn¡¯t forget. When he saw others laughing, bantering, living, he remembered what he¡¯d lost. The pain festered like an unhealed wound, eating away at him¡ª¡±

    ¡°I said STOP!¡± Bertie¡¯s scream tore through the air. He was shaking now, teeth bared like a cornered animal. ¡°Stop, please¡­ stop¡­¡± His sobs racked his body, each one a jagged edge cutting through him.

    But I didn¡¯t stop, he had his chance.

    ¡°Time didn¡¯t heal him. It only deepened the scars. He sought solace, purpose, anything to dull the ache. And when he found it, it wasn¡¯t in kindness or hope¡ªit was in power. He thought power would fill the void, that it would shield him from the pain. But it only dragged him further into the abyss.¡±

    ¡°I SAID STOP!¡± Bertie thrashed violently against his bindings, the coarse rope digging into his skin. His cries were raw and broken, each word trembling with desperation. ¡°You bastards¡­ always the same... humiliating me, hurting me¡­ mocking me at every turn!¡±

    His struggles waned for a moment, his head hanging low as harsh, uneven breaths rattled from his chest. When he spoke again, his voice cracked under the weight of his anguish.

    ¡°I tried to move on,¡± he muttered, barely audible. ¡°I really did. I thought I could forget it all¡ªleave it behind. But then he showed up.¡± His head snapped up, his eyes blazing with a mix of hatred and despair. ¡°That smug bastard had to come back. Now of all times!¡±

    His voice broke completely, and for a moment, the fire¡¯s flickering light danced across the wet streaks on his face.

    ¡°And when I asked him why¡­¡± Bertie¡¯s lips curled into a manic grin, his tone turning almost sing-song. ¡°He... he took me to them.¡±

    The words seemed to hang in the air like a curse. He chuckled darkly, the sound bubbling into a giggle that chilled the night. His eyes gleamed with a haunting mix of terror and reverence.

    ¡°It was a full moon, red as blood,¡± he whispered. ¡°That¡¯s when they came. Gods¡­ such power¡­ such beauty. I couldn¡¯t even breathe. But the bastard, he had one too.¡± Bertie¡¯s gaze snapped back, wild and accusing. ¡°Not me, though. Not me!¡±

    His laughter spiraled into madness, a cruel echo that cut through the stillness. His whole body shook as he threw his head back, cackling as though the truth itself was some cosmic joke.

    ¡°It¡¯s unfair! UNFAIR!¡± he screamed, his voice raw and guttural, every syllable dripping venom. ¡°He¡¯s a scum! A worthless, sniveling wretch! So why? Why does he get to have everything¡ªeverything¡ªwhile I lose it all?!¡±

    His voice cracked into a whimper, and his trembling form slumped in defeat, the firelight casting shadows that flickered like ghosts around him.

    I watched him unravel, his walls crumbling brick by brick, his defiance reduced to quiet, broken sobs. The man who once carried himself with pride and cruelty now sat hollow, stripped of his armor, stripped of his facade. And for a moment, something stirred in me¡ªan old wound, long scabbed over but never truly healed.

    I saw myself in him, once upon a time. Lost. Robbed. Betrayed. A man clawing for power, not because he wanted it, but because it was the only path he could see through the storm.

    That storm had consumed me once. It had taken everything¡ªmy dreams, my identity, my sense of purpose¡ªand left me a hollow shell, scrabbling to fill the void. Watching him now, I felt that same emptiness yawning beneath my feet, a reminder of how easy it would be to fall back into its grasp.

    Was he truly any different from me? Or was I simply better at hiding the cracks?

    A gentle hand rested on my shoulder, grounding me. Pulling me back to the present. ¡°It¡¯s over, Kaelan,¡± Selene whispered, her voice soft as a lullaby.

    When did she stop stringing her lute? When did she step beside me?

    Her fingers were light, almost hesitant, as though she feared I might shatter if she held on too tightly. Her smile was sad, her eyes searching mine, but I couldn¡¯t meet them. I didn¡¯t want her to see what lingered there¡ªthe doubt, the pain, the questions I couldn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°Is it?¡± I murmured, my voice barely more than a breath. My gaze drifted back to the man before me, broken in more ways than one. ¡°Or is this just the beginning?¡±

    Selene said nothing, her silence heavier than words. But the hand on my shoulder stayed, firm and steady, anchoring me to the moment as if she sensed the turmoil I refused to show.

    ¡°YOU!¡± Bertie¡¯s voice cut through the air like a jagged blade, the final burst of venom from a dying man. His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine, hatred burning even as his strength failed. ¡°If you had just died¡­ just died¡­ If you hadn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    His words disintegrated into choking gasps, his body convulsing violently as blood spilled from his mouth. It wasn¡¯t just rage consuming him now¡ªit was the poison, the inevitable rot of a life lived too fast and too recklessly.

    ¡°He¡¯s lost,¡± I muttered, the words escaping before I realized I¡¯d spoken aloud. It was a quiet confession, more to myself than anyone else, as if naming the truth could somehow make it less bitter.

    Mira stepped forward, her presence like the first breath of spring cutting through the stifling air. She had entered the tent without a sound, her movements so fluid and deliberate that they seemed almost unreal. The soft glow of the lamp caught in her teal hair, lending her an ethereal quality.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mourn him, my prince,¡± she said, her voice calm and steady, though tinged with something deeper¡ªempathy, perhaps, or resignation. Her emerald eyes met mine, unwavering. ¡°His body was already fragile when we found him. The drugs¡­ the life he led¡­ this was inevitable.¡±

    Her words wrapped around me like a bittersweet melody, hanging in the dim light of the tent, threading through the stillness. There was no reproach in her tone, only a quiet understanding. She wasn¡¯t trying to comfort me. She wasn¡¯t telling me it would be alright. She was simply stating a truth I already knew.

    Bertie¡ªor Lugh¡ªsputtered again, blood now seeping from his eyes as his breath rattled, uneven and shallow. His body twisted in agony, and the flicker of pity I felt was quickly eclipsed by something colder: the need to end it.

    I raised my hand, the mana pooling at my fingertips, but Mira stepped in, her touch as light as a whisper on my wrist. ¡°Let me, Kaelan,¡± she said softly. ¡°You¡¯ve done enough.¡±

    I hesitated, then let my hand fall.

    Mira stepped closer to the convulsing man, her wooden staff glowing faintly in the tent¡¯s dim light. Her voice rose, clear and strong, carrying the weight of ancient knowledge and unshakable faith.

    ¡°Great spirit, eternal guardian of life and light, I call upon thee. With your boundless grace, cradle this weary soul, guide him gently through the veil, and lead him to a place where pain no longer lingers, where shadows hold no dominion. May he find solace in your embrace, freed from the burdens that chained him in this life. Let his steps tread softly on the path of peace, and may he never wander lost in the darkness again. In your hallowed name, O radiant protector, I beseech your mercy and blessing upon his journey.¡±

    The air shifted, and a soft, golden light enveloped his broken body. It was warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the grim reality of the moment. Shadows that had clung to him like shackles dissolved into nothingness, chased away by the radiance.

    When the light faded, so did he. His body stilled, his chest no longer rising, and in his final moment, his eyes cleared. The anger and fear vanished, replaced by something I hadn¡¯t expected¡ªa faint, serene smile.

    ¡°Your Highness¡­¡± he whispered, his voice barely audible. ¡°Be careful¡­ The darkness¡­ may dim your light.¡±

    And then he was gone.

    I stared at the empty shell of a man, his parting words echoing in my mind.

    Light? I thought bitterly. That light died a long time ago.

    ¡°Tell Rylas and Aleric to give him a proper burial,¡± I finally said, my voice steady despite the heaviness in my chest. Turning toward Mira, I met her weary gaze. ¡°How did it go on your end?¡±

    She sighed, the sound laden with fatigue. ¡°Nothing. The knight is a flesh puppet, as we feared. It just follows orders, retaining only fragments of consciousness. As for the the lackey? Just a villager who followed the chief for an easier life. He knows nothing.¡±

    ¡°Then our only lead forward is the mage,¡± Selene interjected, her tone sharp but measured.

    I glanced at the stilled corpse, slumped on the chair, Lugh¡¯s smile frozen in death. ¡°Lugh left us with some clues, at least,¡± I said, retrieving the two notes from my pocket. ¡°Look closely. The note the mage carried is newer than the one Lugh had¡ªboth the ink and the fabric it¡¯s written on. That means the invitation was meant to be given tonight, after Lugh succeeded in killing me.¡±

    After we exited the tent, Mira took the notes from my hand, inspecting them under the firelight. Her fingers traced the delicate markings. ¡°You¡¯re right. It seems that way. So, the mage acted as the bridge between Lugh and the criminals.¡±

    Selene placed a thoughtful hand on her chin, her brow furrowed. ¡°But what about the man Lugh mentioned¡ªthe one who took him to them? If we connect it to his childhood, the only ones who fit are Ray and that old man. From what we gathered, Ray used to bully Lugh before disappearing suddenly.¡±

    Her words mirrored my own thoughts. But before I could respond, Aleric emerged from the mage¡¯s tent, his white robes marked with crimson streaks. I stepped forward to meet him.

    ¡°How is the mage, Priest Aleric?¡± I asked.

    Aleric bowed respectfully; his expression somber. ¡°You may proceed, Your Highness, though I must warn you¡ªhe may not cooperate.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Aleric,¡± I replied, inclining my head in gratitude. ¡°Oh, before I forget¡ªcould I burden you with overseeing Lugh¡¯s burial?¡±

    ¡°Lugh?¡± he echoed, his brows knitting in brief confusion. Realization flickered in his eyes, followed by a pained smile. ¡°Ah, I see. Very well.¡±

    With another bow, he departed, leaving me to the grim task ahead.

    I entered the tent, alone. The smell of blood and sweat thick in the air. The mage lay sprawled across an old wooden table, the surface creaking beneath his weight. Blood stained both the table and the ground beneath it, dried into dark, crusted pools.

    His body was broken, a torso without limbs, a mind filled with nothing. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, but his eyes were hollow, staring into emptiness.

    As I studied his vacant gaze, Aleric¡¯s earlier warning made sense.

    I wouldn¡¯t be asking the mage anything, as no words would escape those lips¡ªonly silence.

    Mind sweep, then.

    The thought filled me with a bitter distaste. I loathed this technique with every fiber of my being. To dive into someone¡¯s consciousness, to tear through their memories and hopes, was a vile act. It wasn¡¯t just the grotesque images I might encounter¡ªit was the invasion itself. Happy moments, buried sorrows, dreams wished upon stars, nightmares twisted by fear... all laid bare for me to sift through, like a scavenger in a graveyard of their soul.

    I clenched my fists.

    The mage didn¡¯t deserve this. No one did. But he was a piece of the puzzle, and leaving that piece untouched wasn¡¯t an option.

    ¡°For both of us,¡± I muttered under my breath, ¡°there¡¯s no other way.¡±

    I stepped forward, my hands glowing faintly with magic as I prepared to cast the spell. My heart was heavy, but my resolve was firm.

    For the answers we need... I¡¯ll bear this sin.

 Chapter 3

    Consciousness and the subconscious are almost the same, two realms shaped by thoughts and memories. The only difference is that the subconscious is a graveyard¡ªa burial ground for hopes and dreams, laid to rest beneath the weight of life¡¯s disappointments. It is here that the most haunting truths reside, unguarded and raw.

    And it was here, in this dark and unyielding void, that I found myself.

    His name was Nell.

    Just Nell. A typical boy born in an unremarkable village, nestled in the shadow of mountains too small to be named. He grew up on tales of heroes¡ªwarriors who wielded gleaming swords and mages who bent the elements to their will. Heroes who stood tall against darkness, slaying evil and bringing light to the world.

    Nell wanted to be one of them, too.

    As a child, he would run through the fields, a stick in hand, imagining himself a knight. He dreamed of standing on a battlefield, the wind carrying his name to the heavens as he struck down a fearsome villain. In his dreams, he was fearless, unyielding, righteous.

    But the coldness of reality was a cruel teacher.

    The heroes he admired weren¡¯t real. The world didn¡¯t care for righteous hearts or valiant souls. There were no grand battles or evil villains. There was only hunger, toil, and an endless cycle of survival.

    Nell¡¯s stick became a pitchfork, and his dreams turned into ashes, scattered by the harsh winds of life.

    I walked through the echoes of his memories, each one a window into his soul. They were fragmented and incomplete, like shards of glass scattered across a dark room. I saw the boy who believed in heroes, the young man who realized they didn¡¯t exist, and the broken man who became what he once wished to destroy.

    Nell was older now. His hands, once small and soft, were calloused and stained with dirt. He stood in the village square, his eyes hollow as he stared at a traveling knight who had stopped for rest. The knight¡¯s armor was polished, his sword gleaming in the sunlight. The villagers whispered in awe; their admiration palpable.

    But not Nell.

    He saw the stains of blood that wouldn¡¯t wash away, the exhaustion hidden beneath the knight¡¯s stoic mask. He saw not a hero but a man, burdened by the weight of a world that demanded sacrifices without end.

    And in that moment, something in Nell broke.

    The dream he had clung to as a child¡ªthe dream of becoming a hero¡ªshattered. The pieces sank into the depths of his subconscious, joining the countless others buried there.

    I pulled away from the memory, my chest heavy with the weight of his despair. This was the reason I loathed mind diving.

    His path had diverged after that day, leading him down a road filled with shadows. Nell had wanted to slay evil, but he became the very thing he despised.

    Was it desperation? Survival? Or had he simply lost faith in anything better?

    The next memory yanked me in before I could dwell on it further. The edges of the scene swirled like a mist, solidifying into something tangible yet surreal.

    I was panting, each breath like knives stabbing into my chest. Pain lanced through my body, sharp and unrelenting, and my left arm hung limp, blood dripping in a steady rhythm onto the cracked, parched ground. The scent of iron was thick in the air, mingling with the rusted tang of the blade clutched in my trembling right hand.

    Before I could fully process where I was, a voice slashed through the haze like a blade.

    "Blasted thief! I knew you were a backstabbing prick the moment I saw you!"

    I turned toward the sound, heart hammering.

    It was him¡ªthe wandering knight from the previous memory. But the man before me now was a shadow of the imposing figure I remembered. His once-pristine armor was gone, replaced by a rough tunic smeared with grime and sweat. A crude bandage snaked around his midsection, crimson seeping through the fabric in a slow, damning bloom. He was injured¡ªbadly¡ªbut his bloodshot eyes burned with unyielding rage.

    ¡°I¡¯ll gut you, bastard!¡± he bellowed, his voice raw, almost feral. In his hand, he brandished a dagger far finer than the one I held. The blade glinted menacingly in the moonlight, its edge sharp enough to split air. ¡°I¡¯ll wear your hide for the world to see!¡±

    He lunged, and that was when I understood.

    I wasn¡¯t watching. I was inside.

    This wasn¡¯t Nell¡¯s memory anymore¡ªit was mine to live.

    Fear seized me, icy and primal. My hands trembled; feet rooted to the ground as if the earth itself sought to claim me. The emotions weren¡¯t mine¡ªit was Nell¡¯s¡ªand his instincts screamed for retreat, his fear threatening to drown me in its suffocating tide.

    But fear had no place in my mind.

    I bit down on my tongue, the sharp tang of blood snapping me back to myself. The jolt was enough to break Nell¡¯s hold, his memories tugging at the edges of my mind, demanding I replicate his actions, his choices. The urge was insidious, a siren song pulling me toward assimilation.

    But I wasn¡¯t Nell, and I refused to be consumed.

    At the last possible second, I forced Nell¡¯s legs to move. The motion was clumsy, but it saved me. The knight¡¯s blade whistled past, close enough for the wind to kiss my cheek. His momentum carried him forward, his shoulder slamming into me like a battering ram.

    I hit the ground hard, the breath driven from my lungs. Nell¡¯s body screamed in protest, his limbs weak, his muscles untrained.

    The knight was on me in an instant, his blade raised high. I rolled to the side, narrowly escaping a strike that would¡¯ve split my skull. The ground tore at me, dirt and grass clinging to sweat-slicked skin as I scrambled to my feet.

    The knight lunged again, his blade flashing in a deadly arc. I ducked, a fraction too slow, and the blade grazed my shoulder. Pain bloomed, hot and sharp, as blood began to seep into the coarse fabric of my tunic.

    I retaliated with a wild slash of my own, aiming for his arm. The blade bit shallowly into flesh, enough to draw blood but not enough to deter him.

    He snarled, his fist swinging toward my face. I barely dodged, stumbling out of his range.

    The fight dragged on, each clash of blades sapping more of Nell¡¯s already-depleted strength. My breathing grew ragged, my vision swimming with the telltale haze of blood loss. The knight, too, was slowing, his movements heavy and deliberate, but he still had the advantage.

    ¡°Wretched bastard!¡± he spat, his voice slurred and thick with rage. ¡°You poisoned my water!¡±

    His steps faltered, his legs trembling beneath him, each movement growing more labored.

    The accusation jolted something loose in my mind¡ªa fragment of memory not my own. I saw Nell, his hands shaking as he poured a viscous liquid into the knight¡¯s water skin, his face a mixture of fear and determination.

    The poison was taking hold now, its effects evident in the knight¡¯s sluggish movements, the sweat pouring down his face. But it wasn¡¯t enough¡ªnot yet.

    He still had the strength to kill me.

    Desperation clawed at me. The body wasn¡¯t mine, but it had become my cage. Every motion, every breath, was a battle against the frailty of Nell¡¯s form.

    I had no choice.

    Pushing against the memory¡¯s grip, I seized full control of Nell¡¯s body. The sensation was jarring, like donning a suit that didn¡¯t quite fit. But it gave me the edge I needed.

    As I adjusted, a distant rumble echoed¡ªa sound like rolling thunder.

    The memory was fracturing.

    The knight charged again, his blade arcing wide. With full control, I moved smoothly, ducking under his swing and driving my fist into his bandaged wound. The knight crumpled forward with a guttural cry, clutching his side. His dagger slipped from his grasp, landing with a dull thud.

    I wasted no time. Snatching up his blade, I turned it on him. He had fallen to his knees, his body trembling, his breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

    I hesitated. For a brief moment, his broken form reminded me of something¡ªsomeone¡ªelse.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Then the rumble came again, louder, closer. The edges of the world began to darken, the cracks in the memory spreading like a spider¡¯s web.

    There was no time for doubt.

    I drove the blade into his throat.

    The knight¡¯s body jerked once, then went still.

    I slumped to the ground, my chest heaving, the dagger slipping from my bloodied fingers. The ache in Nell¡¯s body was all-consuming, a dull roar that drowned out everything else.

    But it wasn¡¯t over.

    A faint pull tugged at my chest¡ªan instinct, an urge buried deep in Nell¡¯s fragmented memories.

    Search him.

    The cracks widened, darkness flooding the periphery of the scene. The void loomed closer, devouring the edges of the world. I forced myself to my feet, fighting against the heaviness in my limbs, and began searching the knight¡¯s body with trembling hands.

    Time was running out.

    My fingers brushed against something¡ªparchment. I yanked it free, unfolding the crumpled letter. The seal was broken, the ink smeared, but the words were legible. I scanned them hurriedly, my eyes burning the message into memory.

    The thunder roared, deafening, a final crescendo to the chaos. The void surged forward, devouring everything in its relentless path, leaving no trace of the memory behind.

    And then, nothing.

    I staggered back into the mindscape, my footing unsteady, as the surreal expanse of Nell¡¯s memories came back into focus. Around me, they stretched infinitely¡ªfragments of a life both ordinary and extraordinary, a labyrinth of fleeting moments suspended in time. The letter remained seared into my thoughts; the ink still fresh in my mind.

    But the Nell¡¯s memory of battle with the knight was gone, reduced to a faint echo that dissipated into the nothingness of forgotten time. Yet within that fading fragment, I had seen it clearly.

    The truth.

    Nell hadn¡¯t fought back. Not really. His desperate attempts to survive were clumsy and half-hearted. His body moved, but his spirit was already crushed. He¡¯d managed to disarm the knight, but there was no follow-through, no killer instinct. He had hesitated, and that hesitation had cost him everything. The knight, already dying from the poison, had unleashed his fury, pummeling Nell into submission. His survival had been less an act of will and more an accident of circumstance¡ªa cruel twist of fate that left him alive to bear the weight of his choices.

    A miracle, perhaps, but a hollow one.

    I exhaled, steadying myself, forcing the revelation to settle into the recesses of my mind.

    But in the end, it didn¡¯t matter.

    I had what I needed. The memory may have crumbled, its edges fraying into the void, but its purpose was served.

    I turned my attention back to the memories around me, their shimmering edges flickering like dying embers. Somewhere within this vast expanse lay the answers I sought. The truth of Nell¡¯s choices. The purpose behind his ambitions. And the thread that connected him to the black knights.

    The next memory unfolded like a story already nearing its end, the air thick with a sense of finality. I wasn¡¯t in Nell this time but hovering close, an unseen observer, as his world unraveled.

    The room was dimly lit by a single lantern resting on a scarred wooden table. Its flickering light painted long, shifting shadows across the modest home¡ªa place built on hard work and quiet endurance. This was no barren shack like the one Nell had grown up in. It was warm, alive with the subtle marks of a family¡¯s touch.

    Nell sat at the table, his fingers tracing the edge of a dagger. The blade was too fine, too lethal, to belong to a farmer. Its polished steel gleamed in the soft light, and its presence felt almost alien amidst the humble surroundings. Beside it lay a small leather pouch, its seams worn but sturdy, heavy with coin that jingled faintly when Nell moved it.

    From the adjoining room, soft footsteps broke the silence. A woman appeared, drying her hands on a faded cloth. She was older than Nell, her face lined with the quiet determination of someone who had weathered more storms than she could count.

    ¡°You¡¯re still awake,¡± she said, her voice tinged with curiosity and something heavier¡ªconcern, perhaps.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Nell replied, not looking up at first. Then, as if summoning courage, he glanced at her and offered a faint, almost apologetic smile. ¡°Figured I¡¯d see you before I head out.¡±

    Her steps faltered, and her eyes moved to the dagger and the pouch. ¡°You¡¯re leaving?¡±

    Nell nodded, his hand tightening ever so slightly around the hilt of the blade. ¡°Before dawn.¡±

    She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, her movements deliberate, measured. ¡°Does Eric know?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Nell said simply, shaking his head. ¡°Didn¡¯t see the point.¡±

    Her expression darkened. ¡°Didn¡¯t see the point in telling your brother-in-law that you¡¯re running off again? That you¡¯re leaving us behind?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like that,¡± Nell said, his voice low but firm. ¡°This is different.¡±

    Her laugh was bitter, cutting through the quiet. ¡°Different? It¡¯s always different with you, isn¡¯t it? Every time you run off chasing some dream, it¡¯s always supposed to be the thing that changes everything. And every time, you come back broken and worse off than before.¡±

    Nell flinched but didn¡¯t argue. Instead, he picked up the pouch and slid it across the table toward her. ¡°Take this.¡±

    She eyed it suspiciously but didn¡¯t touch it. ¡°What¡¯s in there?¡±

    ¡°All I¡¯ve saved,¡± he said simply, his voice betraying a hint of weariness.

    Her brow furrowed. ¡°Why are you giving me this?¡±

    ¡°Because I won¡¯t need it where I¡¯m going,¡± Nell replied, his words weighted with a finality that made her blood run cold.

    She stared at him, searching his face for answers he wasn¡¯t giving. ¡°Nell¡­ what are you doing?¡±

    He didn¡¯t respond immediately. Instead, he looked down at the dagger, his thumb brushing against its hilt. ¡°I¡¯m doing what I should have done a long time ago.¡±

    Her breath hitched, tears glistening in her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re always chasing something. Always running toward something you can¡¯t even name. And every time you leave, you break what¡¯s left of us a little more.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t just a dream, Rhea,¡± Nell said, his voice rising slightly, a crack forming in his composure. He gestured around the room, his movements sharp, almost desperate. ¡°Look at this place. Look at what I¡¯ve become. Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life tilling dirt and barely scraping by? I need to be more than this. I can¡¯t live like this anymore.¡±

    Her voice softened, though her words cut deeper. ¡°And what about us? What about your family?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need me anymore,¡± Nell said, standing abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. ¡°You¡¯ve got Eric. You¡¯ve got the kids. You¡¯ve got a life. I need this, Rhea. For once in my damn life, I need to do something for myself.¡±

    Rhea rose too, tears spilling over now. ¡°You¡¯re my brother, Nell. That doesn¡¯t change just because I have a family. You matter to me. To us. Can¡¯t you see that?¡±

    For a moment, something flickered in Nell¡¯s eyes¡ªdoubt, regret, maybe even guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the hardened resolve of a man too far gone to turn back.

    ¡°I¡¯ll write when I can,¡± he said, his voice hollow.

    Rhea shook her head, her shoulders sagging under the weight of his words. ¡°Then go. But don¡¯t come back here expecting us to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart again.¡±

    Nell faltered, her words hitting harder than any blow. But he didn¡¯t respond. Instead, he picked up the dagger, tucked the pouch into his belt, and turned toward the door.

    The next morning, before the sun even peeked over the mountains, the village was still and quiet. The cold air clung to the earth like a shroud, the sky a muted canvas of gray and blue.

    Nell was gone.

    No farewell. No backward glance. Only the faint imprint of his boots in the dirt, fading with the morning dew.

    And for Rhea, the silence he left behind was deafening.

    The next memory unfolded like a tapestry woven with unease, each thread drenched in tension.

    Deadman¡¯s Swamp stretched out before me, its skeletal trees clawing at a perpetually gray sky. The air was heavy with decay, the fetid mist clinging to the ground like a living thing. This no-man¡¯s-land, straddling the border of Aeloria and the Republic of Draela, was a haven for the wicked and the desperate¡ªa fitting backdrop for the horrors it concealed.

    Nell trudged through the mire, his every step sinking into the mud with a wet, sucking sound. The journey had left him hollowed out, his body lean from near-starvation, his mind sharp with paranoia. He clutched the knight¡¯s dagger tightly, its once-polished blade dulled by exposure and use. Each night he would sharpen it obsessively, as if the ritual alone kept him alive.

    Two months of this. Two months of avoiding border patrols, outpacing unseen predators, and surviving on whatever scraps the desolation could offer. Yet, despite it all, Nell moved forward with the unyielding determination of a man chasing salvation¡ªor damnation.

    By the time he reached his destination, a clearing deep within the swamp, he was more shadow than man, his ambitions etched into the hollows of his face.

    Next memory came to life with startling clarity.

    It was night, though the misty swamp¡¯s gloom made it impossible to discern the time. Flickers of lantern light bobbed through the haze as shadowy figures converged in a clearing surrounded by twisted trees and stagnant pools of water.

    Nell had finally arrived at the place mentioned in the letter. The knight, who had crossed paths with Nell¡¯s village only to die from poison, had also been traveling here. That single event, seemingly chance, had drawn Nell into something far larger than himself.

    Some were already gathered in the misty clearing, their faces a mix of apprehension, greed, and barely veiled malice. Thieves, cutthroats, deserters¡ªeach wore desperation like a second skin. The heavy air reeked of sweat, damp leather, and the faint stench of decay wafting from the surrounding swamp.

    Some boasted loudly, their voices rough and dripping with bravado.

    ¡°Wraiths pay good coin,¡± rasped a grizzled man, his voice roughened by years of cheap liquor and poorer choices. He spat into the mud, baring a grin of jagged teeth. ¡°Blood-soaked hands are worth their weight in gold to them, or so I¡¯ve heard.¡±

    ¡°Bah!¡± A stout dwarf snorted; his tone as sharp as the axe he was polishing with a scrap of oiled cloth. The weapon¡¯s edge glinted dangerously in the lantern light. ¡°Don¡¯t feed us your dung, lad. They don¡¯t even hire proper sellswords. Why would they take in a spineless bastard like you?¡±

    The grizzled man¡¯s grin twisted into a snarl. He slammed a boot into the mud, stepping closer to the dwarf. ¡°Spineless, eh? You¡¯ve got a death wish, stump?¡± He crouched low, his hands flexing into fists that seemed to pulse with a faint, fiery glow. ¡°Let me show you what the Flaming Fist can do!¡±

    Some schemed, undeterred by the rising tension, their whispers winding through the misty air like serpents in the heart of these dead waters.

    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± a silken voice cut through the growing chaos. An elf stepped from the shadows with a grace that seemed utterly incongruous with the swamp¡¯s muck. His emerald eyes gleamed with a faint amusement, his expression betraying a subtle disdain for the scene before him. ¡°Why waste your energy posturing when neither of you will live long enough to see who¡¯s right?¡±

    The dwarf and the Flaming Fist both turned toward him, their expressions a mix of irritation and suspicion.

    ¡°What do you mean, elf?¡± the grizzled man growled, his fists still crackling faintly.

    The elf smirked, leaning casually against a crooked tree. ¡°Just that you may want to save your energy,¡± the elf said, his tone light but laced with an edge. ¡°In my travels, I¡¯ve heard so many rumors, I don¡¯t even know who¡¯s right or who¡¯s wrong. For all I care, this could be a trap to catch and kill us, or something.¡±

    Elsewhere, murmurs spread like ripples in the water, the crowd buzzing with rumors and fears.

    ¡°Whole village wiped clean,¡± muttered a wiry man, his voice low and shaky. ¡°Not just the people¡ªlivestock, too. Ash and blood. That¡¯s all they left.¡±

    ¡°Is that true?¡± another man hissed, his eyes darting nervously to the misty abyss beyond the clearing. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can do this anymore.¡±

    In another circle, a gaunt woman with beady eyes leaned in, her voice dripping with malice. ¡°It¡¯s the kids they want,¡± the woman murmured, leaning in like she carried a forbidden secret. ¡°Heard they twist ¡¯em into... things. And the men? Ain¡¯t men no more when they¡¯re done. Just... husks. Killers.¡±

    ¡°I heard they sacrifice virgins,¡± another voice added, this one hoarse and whispering, as if uttering the words too loudly might summon the devils themselves. ¡°Blood pacts with demons. That¡¯s how they keep their power.¡±

    ¡°Devils, gods, or whatever¡ªthey can have their fun,¡± a towering woman rumbled, flexing her fingers. ¡°So long as they pay up.¡±

    The voices overlapped, a discordant chorus of bravado, fear, and macabre speculation. Their words painted a picture of the Wraiths as something far more sinister than just a criminal organization.

    I watched and listened, piecing together fragments from the chaos. They spoke in exaggerations and wild speculation, but every rumor carried a shard of truth buried beneath the bluster.

    My focus sharpened as I spotted someone who didn¡¯t belong here.

    Through the swirling mist and shifting bodies, a figure stood apart, his posture calm and deliberate.

    Gavin. The Crown Prince¡¯s right hand.

    His presence wasn¡¯t merely stupefying¡ªit was enlightening. Either Gavin had turned traitor, or the Royal Inquisition was leagues ahead of us, their agents embedded within the Wraiths¡¯ ranks.

    Before I could probe further, the swamp itself seemed to react.

    A ripple of mana swept through the clearing, silencing the crowd as though the swamp had grown tired of their chatter. The mist thickened, pressing in from all sides like a living thing.

    From the darkness, a figure emerged. Cloaked in black, a staff in hand, they moved with deliberate menace. The air around them shimmered and bent, reality twisting as if recoiling from their presence.

    ¡°Those who have ever ended the life of a breathing man,¡± the figure intoned, their voice smooth yet brimming with menace, ¡°step forward.¡±

    The air grew heavier with every word, pressing down on the gathering like an unseen weight.

    Nell¡¯s body stiffened, his hand gripping the knight¡¯s dagger until his knuckles turned white. Slowly, he stepped forward. So did nine others, the crowd shrinking into a sparse line of those who had blood on their hands.

    ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± one man stammered, his bravado crumbling into panic. ¡°We were promised¡ª¡±

    The figure raised their staff, and the air seemed to thicken, a suffocating weight pressing down on the clearing. The man¡¯s words died in his throat, swallowed by the oppressive silence.

    The ground beneath the remaining crowd darkened, the swamp¡¯s stagnant waters shifting unnaturally. Tendrils of blackened liquid slithered upward, coiling around legs like living serpents. They tightened, pulling and dragging, eliciting screams that pierced the mist. The noise was raw, desperate¡ªa final, futile attempt to escape the inevitable.

    But it was already too late.

    The darkness crawled over their bodies, seeping into their skin like ink soaking into parchment. One by one, they convulsed, their features contorting in agony. The tendrils writhed and twisted, consuming them entirely, until their forms were reduced to motionless black husks.

    Then, with a sound that was neither an explosion nor a collapse but something in between, their bodies burst. Blood and viscera painted the clearing, a macabre rain that pooled and coalesced in the air above the survivors.

    The crimson orb hung there, pulsating like a grotesque heart, its surface rippling as if alive.

    I remained unmoved, my gaze fixed. This wasn¡¯t my body, nor were these my emotions. The nausea, the wide-eyed terror¡ªI knew they belonged to Nell, a phantom of his fractured mind. For me, this was something else entirely.

    Information.

    The screams faded into echoes, but my focus had sharpened. I studied the mage¡¯s movements, every subtle flick of their staff, every arcane word murmured under their breath. The blood ritual itself fascinated me¡ªthe mechanics of it, the precision with which it unfolded. This wasn¡¯t chaos. It was orchestrated, deliberate, and brutal.

    The surviving few stood paralyzed, their faces pale, spattered with the remains of the unworthy. Their fear was palpable, thick enough to choke on, but they didn¡¯t dare speak.

    For me, there was no fear. Only clarity.

    This wasn¡¯t just a demonstration. It was a statement. A grotesque spectacle meant to weed out the unworthy, to instill a fear so deep it would root itself into the marrow of their bones. A warning. And yet, for all its horror, it was undeniably effective.

    The mage lowered their staff, their voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade.

    ¡°You have been chosen for the cause,¡± they said, their tone devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable authority. ¡°The rest were unworthy. Consider yourselves fortunate.¡±

    Fortunate.

    The word rang hollow, its irony as sharp as the tension that lingered in the air.

    ¡°From this moment forward,¡± the mage continued, ¡°you belong to us. Your lives, your blades, your blood¡ªthey are all ours. Fail, and you will beg for a death as merciful as theirs.¡±

    The memory wavered, its edges blurring as the thunder of the void approached once more.

    And then it shattered, leaving me alone in the mindscape.

 Chapter 4

    A flicker of consciousness snapped me into place.

    The scent of old wood and faintly burning wax filled my nose, grounding me in the dim room. I was seated at a worn, uneven table, my hands resting on its splintered surface. The body felt sluggish, unfamiliar¡ªNell¡¯s body.

    The single candle at the center of the room illuminated little, but enough for me to see the pristine white robe I was wearing. Its fabric was soft and elegant, far beyond anything someone like Nell could have owned. My fingers brushed the material, taking in the strange juxtaposition of my surroundings: threadbare walls, a cracked floor, and this...luxury.

    The knock came suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts. It wasn¡¯t frantic but deliberate¡ªthree evenly spaced raps, each louder than the last.

    I rose from the chair, my movements clumsy as Nell¡¯s weak muscles protested. My hand hovered over the doorknob before I twisted it open.

    A man stood there, taller than Nell but thin to the point of gauntness. His white robe mirrored mine, except for the crimson armband tied neatly around his left arm. The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows on his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, but his smile was wide, almost too welcoming.

    ¡°Are you ready?¡± he asked, his voice calm but with an edge of something I couldn¡¯t quite place. ¡°It¡¯s time for the acceptance ceremony.¡±

    I nodded, or rather, Nell nodded, and the man¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Good. Follow me. There¡¯s no need to worry¡ªit¡¯ll be over before you even know it. And the power you¡¯ll gain after that... well, you¡¯ll see soon enough.¡±

    The man turned on his heel, his robe swishing lightly as he stepped into the corridor. I followed, stepping out of the small room into a labyrinth of twisting, shadowed hallways. The walls were smooth stone, damp in places, and lined with sparse, guttering torches.

    ¡°Where are we?¡± I asked, testing the boundaries of conversation through Nell¡¯s voice.

    The guide glanced over his shoulder; his expression carefully neutral. ¡°Deep beneath the surface. Somewhere safe, where no one will find us.¡±

    I chuckled softly, injecting a casualness into Nell¡¯s tone. ¡°Good to know. It¡¯s always a pain when some self-righteous pricks show up at the worst moment to ruin everything.¡±

    The man¡¯s smile grew a fraction, a flicker of genuine amusement. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± he said, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. ¡°You¡¯re a curious one, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    There it was¡ªthe faintest hint of suspicion beneath his words. The distant crack of splintering glass echoed in my mind, warning me that I was pushing the memory to its limits.

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± I asked, keeping my tone light.

    ¡°When you arrived, you reeked of nerves and hesitation,¡± he said, his voice measured. ¡°But now¡­ you seem different. Like there¡¯s more to you than meets the eye.¡±

    Observant.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just say life teaches its lessons,¡± I replied, tone smooth.

    He didn¡¯t press further, and we continued through the twisting corridors in silence, the damp walls seeming to close in with every step.

    After a few minutes, I broke the quiet. ¡°So, is it true? What they¡¯re saying about demons? Am I going to make a pact with them?¡±

    The man¡¯s steps faltered briefly before continuing. ¡°You¡¯ll see soon enough.¡±

    ¡°And after the ceremony?¡±

    This time, he slowed, turning to face me. His smile was sharper now, colder. ¡°That depends on you. If you succeed, the Wraiths will open doors you never even known or knew. If you fail... well, you don¡¯t have to worry about doors. Or anything else, for that matter.¡±

    The cryptic response was expected, but I wasn¡¯t satisfied. ¡°What kind of doors are we talking about?¡±

    The guide stopped abruptly, turning to face me fully. ¡°The kind that changes everything,¡± he said, his smile sharpening. ¡°But these doors always require a toll. Remember that.¡±

    Before I could push further, he resumed walking, his pace quicker now as the corridor began to slope downward.

    Eventually, the hallway widened into a chamber lit by dozens of candles. The air was thick with the acrid scent of melted wax and blood, and the centerpiece was an enormous arcane circle carved into the stone floor, it¡¯s runes filled with blood, glowing faintly as if alive.

    Standing near the circle were two familiar figures: the dwarf and the elf from the swamp. They wore robes like mine, their expressions devoid of emotions.

    The guide gestured for me to join them, then stepped back into the shadows near the chamber entrance.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you again,¡± the dwarf muttered, his voice as gruff as ever. He crossed his arms, his eyes scanning me critically.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    The elf smirked, leaning lazily against the wall. ¡°Fate works in funny ways, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°What happens now?¡± I asked, slipping into Nell¡¯s tone while steering the conversation.

    The dwarf shrugged. ¡°We stand here, we chant some words, and if we¡¯re lucky, we walk out with a demon in our heads instead of bits of us splattered on the walls.¡±

    The elf chuckled; his grin sharp. ¡°If all they do is whisper, consider yourself fortunate.¡±

    Their calmness struck me as odd. No fear. No anticipation. Just... apathy.

    Trying to dig deeper, I asked, ¡°What are you planning to do after this? Any grand schemes? Old grudges to settle?¡±

    The elf and dwarf exchanged a glance, their expressions momentarily unreadable.

    ¡°Plans are for mortals,¡± the elf finally said, his tone almost languid. ¡°When you¡¯ve lived as long as I have, plans lose their charm. I¡¯m just here for the ride.¡±

    The dwarf scoffed. ¡°Typical elf. Always rubbing it in, eh?¡± He looked at me, his expression softening into something vaguely reminiscent of amusement. ¡°Nothing grand, kid. Just survival. A little more power goes a long way in my line of work. Name¡¯s Vomraic.¡±

    ¡°I''m Nell, sir. Just Nell.¡±

    The elf chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. ¡°No need to remember my name, friends. But, if you¡¯re curious, though, I¡¯ve heard whispers.¡± He glanced toward the chamber entrance, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. ¡°They¡¯re planning something big¡ªsomething that¡¯ll shake things up.¡±

    ¡°Something like what?¡±

    ¡°Silent Rock,¡± he said, smirking as if the name alone carried weight. ¡°They¡¯re gearing up for a raid. ¡®Harvesting materials,¡¯ they called it. Sounds quaint, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    The dwarf chuckled darkly. ¡°Heartless cunts.¡±

    Our chatter fell away as the chamber''s atmosphere shifted abruptly. From a side entrance, a figure emerged, and all eyes turned toward them.

    They moved with a deliberate grace, draped in a cloak of white that cascaded down their form, edged with threads of gold that glimmered faintly in the candlelight. Beneath the cloak, a pristine white robe inlaid with gold embroidery and crossed with crimson gems shimmered like a garment worthy of royalty. Their face was obscured by a mask, smooth and unblemished, leaving only their piercing eyes visible¡ªa gaze that seemed to pierce the soul.

    In their hands, they carried a golden tray, its intricate patterns catching the flickering light. Upon it rested a chalice, and in its presence, the room itself seemed to hold its breath.

    The chalice was a masterpiece, a vision of celestial beauty wrought from the purest gold. Its surface was a tapestry of intricate carvings, each detail a story: celestial beings locked in eternal dance, mythical creatures frozen in motion, and sacred symbols radiating an aura of reverence. The cup itself, shaped like a blooming lotus, rested atop a slender stem entwined with delicate vines and leaves, as though life itself had been captured in metal. The craftsmanship was unparalleled, each filigree and gradient in the gold speaking of both divine artistry and unspeakable devotion.

    My gaze was fixed on it, almost hypnotized by the chalice¡¯s otherworldly brilliance, until the figure spoke. Their voice was a blend of tones¡ªlow, high, layered¡ªas though many voices spoke in perfect unison, shaking me from the chalice¡¯s spell.

    ¡°I''m the judge of today¡¯s trials and you stand on the precipice of transformation,¡± the figure began, their voice layered and inhuman, cutting through the room like a blade. ¡°Behind you lies the life you¡¯ve known¡ªfragile, fleeting, and powerless. Ahead is a path that few have the courage to tread. It is not a path of salvation or righteousness. It is a path carved in blood and bound by will. A path for those who will claim what they desire, no matter the cost.¡±

    The figure stepped closer to the circle, their presence heavy and suffocating. ¡°There are no illusions here. We offer no mercy, no false promises of justice or divine favor. The power you seek does not come freely¡ªit demands sacrifice, suffering, and the utter rejection of weakness. To step forward is to sever yourself from the world you once knew. Family, honor, morality¡ªthese are chains that bind lesser beings. You will break them, or they will break you.¡±

    They gestured toward the chalice, its golden surface glinting in the candlelight like a predator¡¯s eye. ¡°Take this chalice, and you will become something greater. You will shed the frailty of mortal ambition and rise as a force that cannot be denied. The Wraiths do not tolerate mediocrity. Only those willing to destroy who they were to become what they must will endure.¡±

    The figure¡¯s voice dropped lower, colder. ¡°But should you falter, should you hesitate¡ªknow this: there is no turning back. To walk away now is to forfeit everything. We will take your mind, your name, your very existence. The world will never know you were here, and you will wander as a shadow until the day your body rots. A fitting end for those too weak to choose.¡±

    The air grew heavier as the figure¡¯s gaze swept over the room. ¡°And yet,¡± they continued, their voice softening into a dangerous whisper, ¡°to drink is not survival¡ªit is the beginning of something far greater. It is an embrace of truth. The world belongs to those willing to claim it, not those who wait for permission. With every sip, you will draw closer to the power to bend the world to your will. But mark my words¡ªpower never comes without a price. You will not leave this chamber as who you were. You will belong to the Wraiths, body and soul.¡±

    The figure stepped back, their presence still commanding every eye. ¡°This is the moment that defines you. Choose strength, or accept oblivion. But choose now¡ªbecause hesitation is death.¡±

    The chamber fell into a suffocating silence, the kind that wraps around you like a noose. Every flickering candle, every crack in the stone seemed to watch, to wait, as if the very room hungered for a decision.

    No matter how much I tried, I couldn¡¯t control the rush of exhilaration and terror coursing through Nell¡¯s body. His heart hammered in his chest, his breaths coming shallow and rapid. He wasn¡¯t just excited¡ªhe was desperate, clawing for a chance to seize the power dangled before him like forbidden fruit.

    ¡°Now, what path will you choose?¡± the figure whispered; their tone softer but no less commanding. The words slithered through the air like smoke, wrapping around Nell¡¯s resolve. Nell trembled, barely able to contain himself, yearning to move, to take the chalice before anyone else could claim it.

    I tightened my grip on his instincts, straining against his overwhelming desire, but it wasn¡¯t necessary. Someone else stepped forward first.

    ¡°Bwahahaha!¡± The laugh broke the silence like a hammer on glass, sharp and jarring. ¡°It seems you can actually offer something after all,¡± came the gruff voice of the dwarf.

    Vomraic¡¯s steps were steady, deliberate, his stout frame radiating a confidence that bordered on arrogance. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get this over with.¡±

    The masked figure tilted their head ever so slightly, an unspoken command. From the shadows, two servants emerged, their movements silent and precise. One of them was my guide, his red armband unmistakable. They approached Vomraic, gesturing for him to step into the center of the arcane circle.

    The dwarf complied without hesitation, his boots scuffing against the blood-etched markings on the stone floor. The servants retreated to the edge of the room, their voices joining in a low chant. The words were foreign, guttural, each syllable carrying a strange weight that seemed to resonate in my bones.

    At first, nothing happened. The chamber remained still, the only sound the rhythmic cadence of the chant. But then, slowly, the air grew heavier, charged with an energy that prickled against my skin. The flickering candle flames began to shift, their golden glow bleeding into crimson.

    The arcane circle beneath Vomraic¡¯s feet pulsed, its lines of blood glowing brighter with each beat, as if mirroring a heartbeat¡ªno, not one heartbeat. Two. Something else had joined the rhythm.

    The chamber darkened, shadows creeping into every corner, swallowing the edges of the room until only the circle remained illuminated. And then it came: a presence. It was immense, suffocating, pressing down on everything and everyone in the room. It wasn¡¯t just in the air; it was in the walls, the floor, the very stone seemed to vibrate with its arrival.

    A shadow fell over Vomraic, though there was nothing to cast it. It loomed above him, around him, shifting and writhing like a living thing. It wasn¡¯t entirely there, yet it felt more real than anything else in the chamber.

    The chalice rose.

    It lifted from the tray as if pulled by invisible strings, floating gracefully through the air. Even in the eerie crimson glow, its golden surface seemed to shimmer with a light of its own, a haunting beauty that drew every eye.

    Vomraic reached for it, his hands steady despite the oppressive weight of the room. He grasped the chalice, and for a moment, he hesitated, his reflection warped in the shimmering liquid within.

    ¡°In my name,¡± Vomraic began, his voice low and steady, like the rumble of distant thunder. ¡°I, Vomraic, son of Rotdrak, son of Bentharn, cast off the ties of kin and clan.¡± He paused; his fists clenched around the chalice. ¡°The name forged by my forebears; the memories carved into stone by my blood¡ªI relinquish them all. For what use is a name to the nameless? What good is kin to the forsaken?¡±

    The circle¡¯s glow pulsed in time with his words, its eerie crimson light licking at his boots as though it could taste his resolve. Vomraic straightened, his broad shoulders set, and his eyes gleamed with fierce determination.

    ¡°I will take the strength you offer, no matter the cost. I will bear the darkness as my guide and lord, for even the brightest steel is forged in the blackest fire. You who dwell in the shadows¡ªhear me!¡±

    His voice rose, carrying the weight of centuries of dwarven pride.

    ¡°I swear on the stone of my soul, on the blood of my ancestors. I shall give you my loyalty, my blade, and my very life. But know this¡ªwhen you bind yourself to me, you bind yourself to a will as unyielding as the mountains. Together, we will shape the world in blood and shadow, leaving a mark that no hammer can erase!¡±

    He brought the chalice to his mouth, his hand steady despite the seething energy that radiated from it. As he lifted it to his lips, he muttered a final, gravelly vow, more to himself than to the onlookers.

    ¡°Let the weak crumble and the strong rise. If this be the price for power, then so be it.¡±

 Chapter 5

    The room seemed to hold its breath as Vomraic drank. The liquid slid past his lips, thick and viscous, leaving a faint, oily sheen on the rim of the chalice.

    At first, nothing seemed to happen. Vomraic stood rigid in the circle, his grip tightening on the chalice. Then his eyes widened, and his entire body jerked violently.

    The chalice slipped from his trembling hands, striking the floor with a metallic clang that echoed unnaturally in the chamber. Its contents spilled across the arcane circle, the crimson liquid spreading like veins through the glowing runes.

    The air turned frigid. Shadows writhed at the edges of the circle, creeping closer like sentient, predatory things. His scream ripped through the air, raw and primal, as the blood within the circle surged upward, coiling around him like living tendrils. The crimson ribbons bound him, constricting tighter and tighter until his stout frame seemed to vanish beneath them.

    All at once, the candles snuffed out, plunging the chamber into darkness. Only the circle remained alight, its glow now searing and blood-red, casting grotesque, flickering silhouettes on the walls.

    Then the transformation began.

    Vomraic¡¯s eyes snapped open, glowing a malevolent crimson that pierced the gloom. His tan skin turned ashen, cracking like parched earth, revealing a dark, stone-like texture beneath. Two horns, wicked and jagged, burst from his forehead with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating like a breaking bone.

    His fingers contorted, nails elongating into razor-sharp claws, each movement accompanied by a grotesque popping of joints. His legs twisted unnaturally, bones snapping and reshaping, transforming into gnarled, bestial limbs. The air filled with the stench of sulfur and burning flesh as his form shifted further from mortal to monstrous.

    Then came the howl.

    It was inhuman, a piercing, guttural cry that seemed to emanate not just from his throat but from the very air around him. The mana-infused howl tore through the chamber like a shockwave, hurling us back against the walls. The force ripped the mask from the figure¡¯s face, exposing a sickly pale visage¡ªhollow eyes wide with terror, lips trembling as they muttered inaudibly.

    Vomraic¡¯s transformation wasn¡¯t just a change; it was a violent act of unmaking and remaking. The shadows danced around him like they were alive, feeding on the essence of his pain and reshaping him into something that should not exist.

    As the howl subsided, the chamber fell deathly silent, save for the faint crackling of the circle¡¯s light and Vomraic¡¯s labored, guttural breathing. He stood there¡ªno longer a dwarf, no longer a man. His presence was oppressive, his crimson gaze sweeping the room like a predator¡¯s, exuding power and malice in equal measure.

    "Wha¡­ H-how¡­ a complete possession¡­ right from the start," the now-unmasked man stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief. His pale face, slick with sweat, twisted in confusion and dread. "I should... I should report this," he mumbled, his words mechanical, as if his mind struggled to process what he had witnessed.

    But my attention was pulled to the guttural laughter emanating from the transformed being¡ªVomraic no longer.

    "Whahahaha! Finally, freedom!" The voice, deep and resonant, reverberated through the chamber, laced with an unnatural glee. The creature stretched its new limbs, each movement accompanied by grotesque pops and cracks, testing its newfound form. "Hmm, this body... far better than I feared. Unlike that wretched Athiel¡¯s failure, this one is... satisfactory."

    Its gaze, burning with malevolence, shifted to the judge, who stood frozen, his eyes wide with terror.

    "What are you doing, animal?" the creature snarled, its voice dropping to a guttural growl. "Kneel!"

    The single word was laced with mana, a palpable command that hit us like a wave. The judge fell instantly to his knees, his head striking the stone floor with a sickening thud.

    "I-I¡¯m sorry!" he sobbed, his voice breaking as he pressed his forehead to the ground repeatedly. "Forgive me... forgive me..." His trembling form was a pitiful sight, a man stripped of all dignity, groveling as if in the presence of a god.

    The creature tilted its head, a cruel smile stretching across its face. "Good. You remember your place." It chuckled, the sound grating like a blade dragged across stone. "Now, crawl to the Council and inform them of my ascension. Tell them another Servant has been born."

    It straightened, flexing its claws. "Hah, now then, I will¡ª"

    The creature¡¯s sentence cut off abruptly as its head jerked violently to the side. It froze, its expression flickering with confusion and a flicker of fear.

    "Wha¡ª?"

    Another jerk, this time harder. Its body began to tremble, spasms rippling through its limbs. The twisted grin faltered as panic set in.

    "What is this?" it growled, its voice edged with desperation.

    Abruptly, its right arm twisted unnaturally, snapping with a sickening crack.

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    "Arghhh!" the creature howled, the sound distorted, like the demon¡¯s raw agony.

    Its left arm followed, bending backward at an impossible angle. Then its legs. Its spine. One by one, bones snapped and twisted, the body contorting into a grotesque parody of its former self. The once-terrifying being was now a broken, writhing abomination, its windpipe crushed, silencing its screams to rasping gasps.

    The scene was horrifying, even to me, a visceral display of pain and agony.

    Then, with an audible, wet sound, the body exploded.

    Blood and gore painted the chamber, the walls, and everyone within. The air was thick with the stench of iron and decay. A grotesque silence fell, broken only by the faint dripping of blood onto the stone floor.

    The judge, drenched but still trembling, dared to stand, his pale face streaked with gore.

    But the spectacle wasn¡¯t over yet.

    As the groveling man struggled to his feet, the blood coating me and the others began to stir. It moved unnaturally, flowing upward and toward the center of the arcane circle like a serpent obeying its master¡¯s call. The sight was mesmerizing and horrifying all at once¡ªa grotesque spectacle that defied logic.

    The blood, glistening darkly in the dim candlelight, gathered into a pulsating sphere. It quivered and expanded, growing larger as more of the crimson liquid joined it. Slowly, the sphere began to elongate, taking on a rough, humanoid shape. Then came the sound¡ªwet, organic cracks and snaps as bones materialized within the form, weaving themselves into a framework. Flesh followed, sinews stretching and twisting over the growing skeleton, until a layer of smooth, pale skin sealed the grotesque creation.

    When it was done, a figure stood in the center of the circle¡ªa being both otherworldly and unnervingly human.

    The creature flexed its hands, examining its new form with detached curiosity.

    Then it spoke.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t lie,¡± the voice said, rich and smooth, resonating with an unsettling charm. ¡°This power... I don¡¯t even have the words to describe it. It¡¯s... intoxicating. I feel like I could take on an army. Alone.¡±

    The tone was unmistakably Vomraic¡¯s¡ªgruff yet confident, tinged with the faintest hint of awe. But there was something more layered beneath it, a subtle undercurrent of malevolence. It wasn¡¯t the tone of the demon that had possessed him, but much closer to Vomraic.

    I was able to take in its form more clearly as the flames of the candles flickered back to life, casting the chamber in an unsettling glow.

    It stood tall¡ªfar taller than before. Where Vomraic had been stout and sturdy at just over four and a half feet, this new form loomed close to six feet, its presence dominating the space. The figure before me was no longer a dwarf. No, it wasn¡¯t mortal anymore. It was something other, something twisted.

    Its skin was a pale gray, smooth yet strangely luminous, with a texture that seemed almost too perfect, like marble come to life. The stocky build that had once defined Vomraic was gone, replaced by a lean, athletic frame, each muscle taut and coiled with unnatural strength. The once rough, weathered face of a miner and warrior had transformed into something eerily symmetrical, its sharp features almost beautiful in their cold precision.

    But the most disturbing part was the eyes. Glowing faintly gray, they burned with an unrelenting intensity, devoid of any emotion save for an overwhelming sense of superiority.

    The judge was frozen in place, his pale face betraying his shock and fear. He stood stiffly, his wide eyes locked onto the transformed figure as if unable to comprehend what he was seeing. I wasn¡¯t much better. Even as I tried to maintain composure, I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me. A silent dread had gripped the room, shared by every onlooker.

    The creature¡ªVomraic, or whatever he had become¡ªtilted his head slightly, examining his surroundings with an almost lazy disdain. Then he smirked, his lips curling into something that might have passed for amusement if it weren¡¯t so utterly devoid of warmth.

    ¡°You,¡± he said, his voice smooth and laced with power, the rough edge of his dwarven accent barely recognizable now. ¡°Why don¡¯t you inform the¡­ Council, was it? Tell them I want to meet them.¡±

    He paused, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly as if recalling something. A faint glimmer of irritation crossed his face before he continued.

    ¡°No, on second thought, I¡¯ll go to them myself,¡± he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

    With a gesture, a robe materialized around his form¡ªa deep, inky black that seemed to drink in the light around it. The fabric shimmered faintly, like oil on water, and hung perfectly across his broad shoulders.

    ¡°The memory implant,¡± he murmured to himself, his tone irritable, ¡°what a hassle. It¡¯ll take time to adjust to having that demon¡¯s thoughts and experiences cluttering my own.¡±

    Then his gaze swept the room, and the air seemed to grow colder with every second. Those gray eyes moved methodically, scanning each person, lingering on them just long enough to make their skin crawl. There was nothing human in that stare¡ªit was a predator sizing up prey, calculating, dispassionate.

    When his eyes locked onto me, the world seemed to still.

    Then the memory shattered, leaving me standing in the mindscape, again.

    But this time, I was not alone.

    ¡°Curious,¡± he said, his voice smooth and rich, every syllable carrying an unsettling charm that felt both disarming and dangerous. ¡°You¡¯re not like the others¡­¡±

    He took a step closer, in the abyss we were in. The movement unhurried, almost casual. ¡°You¡¯re hiding something. Or rather, someone.¡±

    His gaze narrowed, a flicker of something sharper crossing his expression. ¡°Who are you, brat? You¡¯re not that boy, just wearing his skin. I can¡¯t see your soul¡ªan anomaly, in all senses of the word.¡±

    The question hung between us, demanding an answer.

    ¡°Speak,¡± he said, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable weight. ¡°Or I¡¯ll strip away your secrets myself.¡±

    ¡°Why should I?¡± I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. ¡°You are unable to engage me here and if I reveal my identity, you are sure to come after me, and that would be little problematic. Tell me demon, do I look like someone gullible?¡±

    He froze, his expression twisting into one of confusion, the he threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the mindscape like the rumble of distant thunder. ¡°Well, your current appearance certainly looks that way.¡±

    That made me chuckled. He got me there.

    ¡°What a fascinating creature you are,¡± he said, the smile never leaving his face, though his tone grew quieter, more deliberate. ¡°You have my full attention now, and I will find out who you are in time.¡±

    He paused, his gray eyes narrowing slightly, as if savoring a private realization. The air between us grew heavier, charged with a suffocating presence. ¡°Ah, yes,¡± he said at last, his voice soft but carrying a weight that seemed to vibrate through the mindscape. ¡°The demon Kramiel is no more, just as the dwarf Vomraic is no more. Their purposes... fulfilled. Their essences devoured.¡±

    His smile widened, cold and deliberate, a predator baring its teeth. ¡°What stands before you now is Abbodan¡ªthe Destroyer.¡±

    I inclined my head in a measured bow, mocking but deliberate. ¡°Forgive me my lord, but as of right now, I cannot give me my name as our meeting was¡­ unexpected, but no less enlightening¡± Straightening, I met his gaze, my voice cutting through the tension. ¡°Our paths will cross again, Abbodan. When that day comes, you¡¯ll also disappear, just like Vomraic and that demon.¡±

    His grin faltered for just a moment, his form flickering slightly.

    ¡°Enjoy what little time you have, Abbodan,¡± I said, the golden fire beginning to spark at my fingertips. ¡°For even the sky has limits, and I plan to find yours.¡±

    Golden fire surged from my fingertips, a controlled inferno that swept through the mindscape like a tidal wave of light. Shadows twisted and screamed as they disintegrated, memories fractured and burned to ash, and Abbodan¡¯s looming specter dissolved in the brilliance. Every flicker of flame was a declaration, a deliberate purge of darkness, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake.

    The searing brilliance faded, and a hollow silence followed. My consciousness lurched, the mindscape collapsing like a shattered mirror. When I opened my eyes, reality slammed into me¡ªthe cold air of the tent, the stench of blood sharp and unyielding, and Nell¡¯s lifeless body crumpled before me, a grim testament to his folly.

    I stood over Nell¡¯s ruined body, his head a grotesque ruin of shattered ambition. His story was a lesson¡ªa warning etched in blood. A family abandoned, a life gambled, all for power he could never wield. And yet, for a fleeting moment, I felt the faintest echo of pity.

    Not for the fool he had become, but for the man he might have been.

    With one final glance, I turned and stepped out of the tent, the cold air biting against my skin. There was no time for sentiment. Abbadon¡¯s appearance was an unexpected complication, one that required immediate adjustments. Plans had to change.

    "Vyk," I called.

    Vyk emerged from the shadows with the fluid grace of a predator, his dark cloak settling around him like a second skin. He saluted without hesitation, his sharp eyes scanning my face for unspoken orders. There was no questioning, no hesitation¡ªonly silent efficiency. A perfect tool, honed for moments like this.

    ¡°It¡¯s an emergency,¡± I said, my voice carrying the weight of urgency. ¡°Gather everyone. Now.¡±

    He saluted again, his figure dissolving back into the darkness as swiftly as he had appeared.

 Chapter 6

    Vyk pressed his back against the rough bark of a tree, the cold seeping through his cloak, sharp as a blade. His breath misted in the air, vanishing into the abyss of the night.

    The silence pressed in¡ªthick, expectant¡ªonly broken by the quiet melody Selene strummed on her lute, the notes whispering like ghosts. Mira sat next to her, eyes closed in something that could¡¯ve been meditation, but Vyk knew better. The elf wasn¡¯t as serene as she seemed.

    Prince Kaelan had just entered the tent where the escapee was being held. The thought sat bitter on Vyk¡¯s tongue. If it were up to him, the bastard would¡¯ve been dead the moment they caught him¡ªlimbs severed, head rolling in the dirt. He didn¡¯t understand why Kaelan bothered with people like that. Weak, desperate men who had already chosen their fates.

    Why waste time? Why drag this out?

    Tch. He clicked his tongue, rolling his shoulders.

    He let his back slide down the trunk, settling onto the damp ground, his elbows resting on his knees. His mind wandered despite himself, slipping into the shadows of his memories. Faces blurred together¡ªtargets, allies, corpses¡ªjust a sea of nameless figures who had never mattered beyond the missions.

    But one face always stood out.

    Kaelan.

    The boy-prince who commanded their group with a precision that Vyk couldn¡¯t ignore. The one who gave orders with the ease of a seasoned warlord, despite barely being out of childhood. It was unnatural. Unnerving, even.

    Vyk had long stopped trying to understand him. Kaelan wasn¡¯t someone you figured out¡ªhe was someone you followed, whether out of loyalty, necessity, or sheer survival.

    At first, when the group was first assembled under King Valen¡¯s orders, the arrangement had been clear. The Crown Prince, Arkyn, had inserted Vyk into the team¡ªnot as just another sword, but as a safeguard. A failsafe, should anything happen to his younger brother. Kaelan knew it. They both did. But the prince had never addressed it, never acknowledged the silent line drawn between them.

    The mission had seemed simple at first¡ªhunt down a group of so-called bandits terrorizing Aeloria. But the moment they started chasing shadows, Vyk had known it wasn¡¯t that simple. It was never that simple.

    What grated on him more was that the Royal Inquisition, led by the Crown Prince himself, was already working on this case¡ªfar ahead of them. So why were they here? Why send Kaelan out like this, knowing he was already so far behind?

    Politics, most likely. The kind of bullshit Vyk despised.

    If the rumors were true, this was just a push to shove the last of the royal siblings into the spotlight. Kaelan, the prince no one really knew, no one could pin down. Some said he was a prodigy, others called him a puffed-up child. Truth was, no one knew. He never showed his hand, never let anyone see more than what he wanted them to. His instructors kept their mouths shut. His inner circle, even smaller.

    Five months and thirteen days. That¡¯s how long Vyk had been watching him.

    And what he¡¯d seen? It left him with more questions than answers.

    Kaelan was a commander¡ªthere was no denying that. He was decisive, pragmatic, always two steps ahead of everyone else. He planned battles like he was playing a game no one else could see. And yet, for all his brilliance, the battlefield wasn¡¯t kind to him.

    Vyk had come to respect the prince¡¯s mind, but there were times it made him furious.

    Sometimes, Kaelan was ruthless. Cutting down obstacles like they were nothing, making calls others wouldn¡¯t dare make. And yet other times, he hesitated. Showed mercy where there should¡¯ve been none. Held back when a clean kill would¡¯ve solved everything. It made no sense. And worse, it worked. Somehow, even his most idiotic decisions led exactly where he wanted them to.

    And then there were the other moments. The ones that unsettled Vyk the most.

    Sometimes, Kaelan looked lost. Not in thought, but truly lost¡ªlike a man drowning in an abyss no one else could see. It wasn¡¯t something a teenager should wear on his face. When it happened, Selene and Mira were always close, their quiet presence grounding him in a way Vyk couldn¡¯t understand. They knew something he didn¡¯t.

    And that? That pissed him off more than anything.

    Vyk¡¯s instincts prickled¡ªa phantom warning creeping up his spine. The night had been still, suffocating in its silence.

    Then, movement.

    Kaelan strode out of the tent, his posture wound tight, his movements clipped and controlled¡ªtoo controlled. The firelight cast jagged shadows across his face, but it couldn¡¯t hide the cold edge to his voice.

    ¡°Vyk.¡± A single word, razor-sharp. ¡°It¡¯s an emergency. Gather everyone. Now.¡±

    Vyk pushed off the tree immediately and shadow leaped near the prince and saluted, his expression darkening. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Kaelan¡¯s eyes flickered toward the campfire, where Mira and Selene already sat. ¡°I¡¯ll inform them. Get the others.¡±

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    Vyk held his gaze for a second longer, but Kaelan was already turning away, his posture tense.

    Tch.

    Vyk saluted, but it wasn¡¯t out of obedience¡ªit was just muscle memory at this point. He turned on his heel and let the shadows swallow him whole.

    He didn¡¯t know what the hell had just happened. But if Kaelan was calling it an emergency?

    It sure as hell wasn¡¯t good.

    With a sharp exhale, Vyk melted into the shadows, and they embraced him without question.

    The first presence he sensed was Rylas and Aleric, stationed a few hundred meters from the camp.

    A few effortless strides through the darkness, and he arrived near them¡ªjust in time to see the chief¡¯s body hoisted onto a makeshift spire. Flames crackled, consuming the remains, casting long shadows across the earth.

    Aleric¡¯s voice wove through the night, a solemn hymn laced with quiet sorrow.

    ¡°¡ªcarries the sight of the weary and the secrets of the lost, we offer our prayers. Lugh of the Twisted Trunk has finally found respite from the storms that raged within and without. Their life, though marked by hardship and sorrow, still yearned for the light. May the divine light guide them to a haven of peace, where the wounds of this world can finally heal, and where they may find the solace that was denied them in life.¡±

    Rylas stood beside him, silent as he watched the fire do its work. The heat twisted the air, distorting the body within. The fire was a beacon¡ªboth for the achieved and the lost.

    No one spoke for a while.

    Vyk broke the silence first. ¡°His Highness calls for you. It sounded urgent.¡±

    The other two finally turned to him, Rylas¡¯ brow furrowed, Aleric¡¯s expression unreadable.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Rylas grunted, his voice carrying that quiet, restrained menace that made him a terror on the battlefield. A force of nature. It was no wonder he had been assigned as Kaelan¡¯s personal guard.

    Vyk gave a slight bow, more out of habit than necessity. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He didn¡¯t tell me.¡± His gaze flicked to the burning spire. ¡°Thought the prince ordered a burial.¡±

    Aleric sighed. ¡°He did. But it wouldn¡¯t have lasted. The animals would¡¯ve dug him up by morning.¡± He watched the flames consume what remained of Lugh. ¡°This way, at least, he stays whole. Whatever that¡¯s worth.¡±

    Vyk didn¡¯t reply. It wasn¡¯t his concern.

    His job was to deliver a message, not linger on the dead.

    He turned toward the Twisted Trunk, the ruined village resting a few miles away, before glancing back at the two. ¡°It¡¯d be best if you get back to camp. Posthaste.¡±

    And with that, he disappeared into the darkness, already moving to find Ewin and Lyrik.

    As he neared Twisted Trunk, he re-emerged from the shadows, slowing to a jog. No need to spook the villagers¡ªif they were even capable of fear anymore. The track, if it could even be called that, twisted through barren land, where the trees thinned, and the ground hardened to dry, cracked earth. The closer he got, the heavier the air felt, the kind of stillness that warned of a place long abandoned by fortune.

    Then, Twisted Trunk.

    You didn¡¯t arrive at Twisted Trunk. You just¡­ found yourself in it, like stumbling into a ditch in the dark. A blemish on an already miserable landscape, a place no one wanted, not even the gods.

    As the village came into view, the sight was no better than before. The homes, if you could call them that, were huddled together like beggars in the cold, roofs sagging under the weight of time and neglect. The wood was rotting, the walls barely standing. Nothing here thrived¡ªonly endured.

    Then, a sound. A commotion.

    That was new.

    Vyk slowed, rounding a corner toward the village square¡ªor the space that passed for one. The first thing his eyes found was the gnarled husk of the twisted trunk itself, dead and looming over the square like a corpse refusing to rot.

    Then he saw the people. They weren¡¯t drifting shadows for once, not mere ghosts waiting for life to leave them. They were gathered, tense and whispering, eyes fixed on something.

    And then he saw it.

    The elder Skulk.

    A heap of ink-black limbs and lifeless, curling tentacles. The monster Kaelan had slain.

    Vyk stared at the corpse for a long moment. He had no delusions¡ªit was a kill worthy of songs, the kind of feat that would turn a lesser noble into a war hero overnight. But Kaelan? He¡¯d brushed it off like it was just another task to cross off a list. As always.

    Vyk shook his head. Dwelling on it was pointless.

    ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    The voice came out of nowhere, and his body tensed on instinct before his training reined it in.

    ¡°Look up, assassin.¡±

    Vyk didn¡¯t have to. He already knew.

    Perched atop the nearest roof, Ewin lounged like a man without a care in the world, bow in hand, smirking down at him with that infuriatingly smug elven grace.

    ¡°Tell me, why are you here, and not at the camp?¡±

    Vyk barely suppressed a sigh. Of all the damn times.

    ¡°It¡¯s an emergency,¡± he said flatly. ¡°His Highness ordered for a meeting. Immediately.¡±

    For once, surprise flickered across Ewin¡¯s face. ¡°Well well well¡­¡± he mused, hopping down effortlessly. ¡°So, Kaelan¡¯s finally found something. Took him long enough.¡±

    Vyk ignored the bait.

    Ewin landed lightly a few steps away, stretching lazily before turning toward the forest. ¡°I wonder what this is about,¡± he murmured, then threw a glance over his shoulder. ¡°See you at camp.¡±

    ¡°Wait¡ªwhere¡¯s Lyrik?¡±

    But the elf was already gone. Of course. The bastard was already gone.

    Vyk exhaled sharply, scanning the gathered crowd. If Lyrik was anywhere, he¡¯d be¡ª

    Ah.

    There, in the thick of a drunken little spectacle, was the swordmaster himself.

    Surrounded by a gaggle of wide-eyed children and eager villagers, Lyrik stood with a chipped tankard in hand, swaying slightly.

    ¡°¡ªit charged at me, screeching like a banshee, trying to rip me in half! Look! Look at those damn tentacles!¡± He gestured wildly at the Skulk¡¯s corpse, his voice half-slurred, half-roaring. ¡°That thing could crack a boulder!¡±

    Vyk closed his eyes briefly. This was going to be painful.

    ¡°But me? Me!?¡± Lyrik pounded his chest. ¡°I laughed in its cursed face! Grappled it right ¡®round the neck, I did! We tumbled through the stone glade like a pair of drunken sailors¡ª¡± He paused, blinking. ¡°Do you lot even know what a sailor is?¡±

    A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. Even Vyk felt an involuntary smirk twitch at his lips, though he buried it quickly.

    Lyrik took a swig from his tankard, and a villager eagerly rushed to fill it again.

    ¡°Finally!¡± he continued, voice thick with drink and bravado. ¡°I pinned it down! Strangled it with my bare hands! It begged for mercy¡ªsquealed like a little piglet! But I had a job to finish, and finish it I did! Drove my blade straight through its eye! You folks know what happened next!¡±

    A chorus of gasps, cheers, and delighted shouts. Children clamored for more tales, men clapped him on the back, and women hovered just close enough to be noticed.

    Vyk rolled his eyes and slipped through the chaos, approaching quietly until he was close enough. He didn¡¯t bother getting Lyrik¡¯s attention the normal way.

    Instead, he sent a sharp mana transmission straight to his mind. ¡°Enough with the theatrics. The prince ordered to gather. Now.¡±

    For a heartbeat, Lyrik stood frozen, his drink halfway to his lips, the laughter and chatter around him a dull hum in the background. Then, realization dawned. His eyes flicked through the gathered faces, searching for Vyk, but the damn assassin had already melted away into the night.

    "Son of a¡ª" Lyrik muttered under his breath, biting back a curse.

    The villagers, oblivious to the sudden shift in his mood, were still pressing in. The children pulled at his sleeves, their wide eyes alight with admiration, begging for just one more tale. The men clapped him on the back, offering fresh tankards and shouting for another round. The women¡ªwell, some were looking at him with an entirely different kind of interest.

    And gods, for a moment, he considered staying.

    But Vyk¡¯s tone had been sharp. Urgent.

    Which meant trouble.

    Lyrik exhaled, plastering on a grin as he carefully peeled the smallest hands from his arm. ¡°Ah, little ones, I¡¯d love to stay and regale you with another harrowing tale of my unmatched skill, but alas¡ª¡± he sighed dramatically, ¡°¡ªa hero¡¯s work is never done.¡±

    A chorus of groans erupted from the children, a few of them stomping their feet in protest. ¡°Come on! Just one more!¡±

    One of the bolder village women stepped forward, her voice as smooth as the wine she had been sipping. ¡°Leaving so soon?¡± She leaned in, tilting her head. ¡°You¡¯ve certainly earned a bit of celebration.¡±

    Lyrik hesitated, caught between duty and temptation. But before he could even entertain the idea, a low chuckle sounded from somewhere in the shadows¡ªfaint, but unmistakable. Vyk.

    Bastard¡¯s probably watching.

    Lyrik huffed, straightening with a lazy stretch. ¡°Another time, my dear,¡± he said, flashing the woman a roguish grin. He took a step back, only for another drunk villager to swing an arm over his shoulder.

    ¡°You¡¯re not getting away that easy, hero! You haven¡¯t even finished your drink!¡±

    Lyrik resisted the urge to groan. This was getting ridiculous.

    He ducked low, slipping beneath the man¡¯s grip and spinning on his heel. With practiced ease, he maneuvered through the bodies pressing in on him, dodging reaching hands and sidestepping the occasional attempt to refill his tankard.

    Just as he reached the edge of the crowd, he heard someone shout, ¡°Oi! He¡¯s running!¡±

    Lyrik cursed under his breath and broke into a light jog, ignoring the laughter and playful jeers from behind.

    By the time he finally slipped out of the village and into the darkness beyond, he let out a breath of relief.

    ¡°Damn prince better have a good reason for this,¡± he muttered, setting off toward camp.

 Chapter 7

    The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows against the eight of us. Tension hung thick in the air, coiling tight like an unseen noose. Even Lyrik, usually the first to crack a joke, sat still. The night stretched around us, vast and suffocating.

    I exhaled. Time to break the silence.

    ¡°The Wraiths aren¡¯t just a rogue faction,¡± I said. ¡°They have access to something worse.¡±

    ¡°What, deeper pockets?¡± Lyrik scoffed, tipping back his tankard, though his usual arrogance lacked its usual bite.

    ¡°Listen,¡± I snapped, cutting through whatever sarcasm he was about to throw next. ¡°This isn¡¯t just some cult running amok in the shadows. They¡¯re making pacts¡ªreal ones. With demons.¡±

    The fire popped. Someone cursed under their breath. No one laughed now.

    Selene was the one to break the silence. ¡°You¡¯re saying they¡¯ve made pacts?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°With the beings from the Outer Planes.¡±

    A ripple of unease passed through the group.

    The Outer Planes¡ªan astral realm anchored to the real world, yet existing beyond mortal comprehension. A place where form was meaningless, where beings existed not in flesh but as shifting masses of essence, their shapes dictated by thought, will, and intent.

    These entities, neither fully alive nor dead, could be categorized into three kinds.

    The first were the malevolent ones, commonly called demons. Chaos given form, they thrived on destruction, whether through whispers of corruption or outright carnage. Some craved suffering, others sought oblivion, but all were dangers beyond comprehension.

    The second were the virtuous ones¡ªbeings who lent power to mortals they deemed worthy. But their perception of justice was not always kind. Some protected, others judged, and a few enforced their ideals with terrifying zeal, deciding who lived, who died, and what ¡®righteousness¡¯ truly meant.

    And then there were the neutral ones¡ªthe silent watchers. They did not guide, did not corrupt, did not care. They existed outside the grand struggle, detached, unbothered. Whether they possessed a purpose beyond observation, no one knew.

    These beings had no place in the mortal realm¡ªyet here the Wraiths were, forging pacts with them.

    ¡°¡­Demons?¡± Aleric¡¯s voice was quiet but strained. His grip tightened around the prayer beads at his belt.

    Rylas leaned forward, arms crossed. ¡°And you¡¯re sure of this?¡±

    I met his gaze, unwavering. ¡°One moment, he was a dwarf. The next, he wasn¡¯t.¡±

    Selene¡¯s eyes glinted with calculation. ¡°Describe it.¡±

    ¡°Their bodies change¡ªcompletely. It¡¯s not just power, not just mana augmentation. It¡¯s a full transformation. Whatever they were before¡­ it¡¯s gone.¡±

    Mira, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. ¡°And you saw all of this?¡±

    I nodded.

    Ewin let out a low whistle. ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is¡ªwe¡¯re dealing with demon-infested lunatics.¡±

    ¡°More or less.¡±

    Lyrik groaned. ¡°Fantastic. Just when I thought this mission couldn¡¯t get worse.¡±

    Rylas let out a slow breath, something between a sigh and a growl. ¡°That explains why they killed themselves before capture. If word got out, the whole continent would come for them.¡±

    Aleric¡¯s lips moved soundlessly in a whispered prayer. His fingers clenched tighter. ¡°Demons¡­ That¡¯s¡­¡± His throat bobbed. ¡°That¡¯s blasphemy.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Rylas corrected, voice grim. ¡°That¡¯s treason against reality itself.¡±

    Ewin¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°What are they after?¡±

    That was the question, wasn¡¯t it? One I wasn¡¯t about to answer fully.

    ¡°They¡¯re planning something,¡± I admitted. ¡°And I do know one piece of it.¡±

    I let the firelight flicker across my face before I spoke again.

    ¡°They¡¯re going to raid Silent Rock.¡±

    A ripple of tension passed through the group.

    Lyrik swore. ¡°You mean that backwater mining town?¡±

    ¡°Population of about a thousand,¡± Mira murmured, brow furrowing.

    Selene¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°I believe they are not after the silver veins.¡±

    Mira¡¯s voice was eerily calm. ¡°More like resources.¡±

    Aleric¡¯s lips parted in quiet horror. ¡°People¡­¡±

    I nodded. ¡°They called it ¡®harvesting materials.¡¯¡±

    Ewin let out a humorless chuckle, a dry, hollow sound. ¡°That¡¯s a damn lot of materials.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re talking a mass slaughter,¡± Rylas growled. ¡°A sacrifice.¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°No. If all they wanted was bodies, they¡¯d hit smaller, nameless villages.¡±

    ¡°Like Twisted Trunk,¡± Ewin murmured.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Lyrik gave a bitter laugh. ¡°Exactly like Twisted Trunk.¡±

    Selene furrowed her brow. ¡°Then why there?¡±

    Mira tilted her head, thinking. ¡°Religious cults always follow a pattern. They seek power, spread influence, recruit followers. But more importantly¡ª¡± she glanced at Aleric, ignoring his tight-lipped disapproval ¡°¡ªthey need proof.¡±

    The fire crackled.

    ¡°Their so-called divine artifacts,¡± she continued. ¡°Relics supposedly blessed by their gods. The proof that their faith is real. That¡¯s what cults kill for.¡±

    Silence.

    Her words settling over like ash, thick and choking.

    ¡°The Wraiths avoid attention at all costs,¡± she pressed on. ¡°Yet they¡¯re risking exposure now. Which means only one thing.¡±

    My eyes flicked to the flames. Mira was good.

    ¡°They¡¯re after something in the mines,¡± I said.

    Mira nodded. ¡°It¡¯s highly probable. Perhaps an ancient ruin beneath the town, or even¡­¡± she hesitated, ¡°a Monolith.¡±

    A sharp breath sucked the air from the group.

    Ewin¡¯s smirk faded. ¡°A Monolith?¡± He muttered a curse under his breath. ¡°If that¡¯s true¡­¡±

    Rylas tensed. ¡°Then we¡¯re in for a clusterfuck.¡±

    Lyrik ran a hand through his hair. ¡°We¡¯re walking straight into this madness, aren¡¯t we?¡±

    I let the moment stretch. Then, I spoke.

    ¡°Or, we ride to Astradel.¡±

    The fire flickered, throwing long, wavering shadows over us. No one spoke at first.

    Then¡ªLyrik exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His usual smile was gone, replaced with something raw, something close to rage.

    ¡°So let me get this straight.¡± His voice was low, measured, but beneath it was a barely leashed fury. ¡°We know innocent people are about to be butchered like livestock. Just like before. And instead of stopping it, we¡¯re going to ride away?¡±

    His fingers dug into his knee, knuckles white. ¡°I¡¯ve seen this before, Kaelan. We all have. We know how it ends.¡± He laughed, though not because of amusement. ¡°You think the Wraiths leave survivors? That they burn a village and just walk away?¡±

    The silence pressed in. No one argued.

    ¡°Children.¡± The word hung in the air, leaden. ¡°Families. Mothers clutching their sons, begging for mercy that won¡¯t come. Fathers dragged into the streets. And we¡¯ll let it happen.¡±

    His hands curled into fists. ¡°And you expect us to sleep at night? To live with it?¡±

    His voice hardened, the fire reflecting in his eyes. ¡°No, I get it. You¡¯re thinking long-term, right? You want the king¡¯s support, the kingdom¡¯s resources. You want to win the war.¡±

    His jaw clenched.

    ¡°But at what cost?¡±

    His words settled in the space between us, heavy and suffocating.

    Vyk exhaled through his nose. ¡°And what do you expect us to do, Lyrik?¡± Vyk¡¯s voice was honed steel, measured and precise. ¡°Storm into Silent Rock like some grand, doomed saga? We are eight.¡± He let the number settle. ¡°They are an army.¡±

    He tilted his head slightly, gaze cold. ¡°You think the universe bends for righteous men? It doesn¡¯t.¡±

    His gaze flicked over the group. ¡°No clear numbers. No intelligence. No fallback plan. No guarantee we¡¯d make it out alive. We got nothing.¡± His tone sharpened. ¡°And if we die at Silent Rock, we lose everything.¡±

    He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto Lyrik¡¯s. ¡°You think emotion makes you right? That it¡¯s more important than the mission?¡± His voice dropped. ¡°It¡¯s not.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the righteous thing to do!¡± Lyrik snapped.

    ¡°It¡¯s suicide,¡± Vyk countered. ¡°It¡¯s exactly what they want.¡±

    Rylas ran a hand down his face, torn. ¡°Tch. We don¡¯t even know if we¡¯d make it in time.¡±

    Lyrik¡¯s fists tightened. ¡°So, we just let them do this?¡± His voice cracked. ¡°We just let it happen?¡±

    Ewin sighed, running a hand through his hair before looking at them both, golden eyes flickering in the firelight. ¡°You¡¯re both too damn focused on the extremes,¡± he said, voice cool. ¡°This isn¡¯t just about people or the risk to us. It¡¯s about what happens after.¡±

    His gaze flicked to Lyrik. ¡°Say we go to Silent Rock. Say we win. Say we pull off a miracle and kill every Wraith there.¡± He tilted his head. ¡°Then what?¡±

    No one answered.

    His smile was humorless. ¡°Then we¡¯ve got the rest of them hunting us down, and we¡¯re running blind.¡± His fingers tapped against his knee. ¡°Meanwhile, if the Wraiths find a Monolith, and we¡¯re too busy bleeding out in this nameless town to stop them?¡± His smirk vanished. ¡°Then we¡¯ve lost the war before it¡¯s even begun.¡±

    Mira nodded. ¡°If they think an artifact is there, slaughter is the least of our worries.¡±

    Aleric exhaled shakily. ¡°You¡¯re saying they won¡¯t just massacre the town, but they¡¯ll bring something back?¡±

    ¡°If there¡¯s something there,¡± I said carefully, ¡°then stopping them is important. But if we go in oblivious, we might lose more than we could afford.¡±

    Lyrik¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°If we don¡¯t go, no one survives.¡±

    Ewin hummed. ¡°So, gamble that we get there in time, or go to Astradel and secure real backing.¡±

    Lyrik turned to him; voice raw. ¡°By then, they¡¯ll be gone. And every single person in that town will be dead.¡±

    Selene finally spoke; her voice quiet but absolute.

    ¡°I stand with Kaelan.¡±

    Lyrik turned sharply, frustration bleeding into his expression. ¡°And you¡¯re just fine with that?¡±

    Selene met his gaze. ¡°I trust his judgment,¡± she said, voice steady. Then she shook her head. ¡°No. I trust him.¡±

    She exhaled softly, her fingers tightening slightly on the hilt of her sword. ¡°More than I trust myself.¡±

    The fire crackled between them.

    Lyrik searched her face for something¡ªdoubt, hesitation¡ªbut found none.

    And that, more than anything, silenced him.

    Rylas sighed. ¡°Astradel, then.¡±

    Vyk¡¯s nod was final. ¡°It¡¯s the smarter choice.¡±

    Mira¡¯s voice was distant. ¡°We leave at first light.¡±

    Aleric¡¯s grip on his prayer beads tightened. ¡°The king must know.¡±

    Ewin smirked, but it didn¡¯t reach his eyes.

    Lyrik stood, his voice hollow. ¡°Kaelan, if this goes wrong¡­ can you live with it?¡±

    I met his gaze. ¡°If it does, I won¡¯t have to.¡±

    The fire burned. No one moved. No one spoke.

    The decision had been made.

    But no one could pretend to be at peace with it.

    The weight of it sat on their shoulders, pressing down like an unseen hand.

    There was no turning back.

    Because this was war. And in war, there were no good choices.

    Only the ones you had to live with.

    ***

    The fire had burned low, reduced to embers that pulsed like dying stars against the darkness. A thin mist clung to the earth, curling around the edges of camp, whispering through the trees. Beyond the fading glow, the world was silent¡ªno beasts stirred, no distant voices called. Just the quiet breathing of their sleeping companions, the occasional shift of a restless dream.

    I pulled my cloak tighter against the pre-dawn chill, eyes fixed on the dark horizon.

    It was my turn to keep watch.

    ¡°You¡¯re thinking too hard again.¡±

    And Selene¡¯s turn was as well.

    I glanced across the fire. Selene sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, the dim light flickering over her face.

    I huffed. ¡°And you¡¯re assuming too much.¡±

    She smirked, tilting her head. ¡°Please. I¡¯ve seen that look before¡ªyou¡¯re brooding. You get it right before you do something reckless.¡±

    I exhaled a small laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t do reckless.¡±

    Selene snorted. ¡°Oh really? You want me to start listing things?¡±

    I groaned.

    Too late. She was already counting on her fingers, grinning. ¡°How about the time you almost drowned, betting you could hold your breath forever? Or the time you jumped from the balcony, thinking you could fly? Or when you kicked a knight¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop, stop!¡± I reached across and clamped a hand over her mouth, which she promptly giggled against. ¡°Okay, you win, alright?¡±

    She nodded, laughing as I let go. ¡°I almost forgot¡ªI seem to recall a certain prince taking the blame for a broken stained-glass window.¡±

    I shot her a flat look. ¡°What was I supposed to do? You threw a book at it.¡±

    ¡°And you stepped forward before I could say a word.¡± She grinned, resting her chin on her knees. ¡°That was reckless.¡±

    ¡°That was tactical.¡± I leaned back, smirking. ¡°You were already on thin ice. If you got caught again, they would¡¯ve shipped you off to a monastery to ¡®cultivate inner discipline.¡¯¡±

    Selene rolled her eyes. ¡°You make it sound like I was some uncontrollable menace.¡±

    ¡°You set a stable on fire.¡±

    ¡°That was one time.¡±

    I gave her a deadpan stare.

    She coughed into her fist. ¡°Fine. Maybe two.¡±

    I smirked. ¡°Since we¡¯re on the topic, remember why you threw that book?¡±

    She stiffened.

    I grinned. ¡°Little Sel missed her best friend, and when she saw he was trapped with a bunch of old fogies, she grew jealo¡ªAww! Why did you hit me?!¡±

    She ignored me, stubbornly looking away, pouting.

    She didn¡¯t answer me, just looked ahead not turning towards me. I continued, aiming for a little revenge. ¡°Hah, it¡¯s mother¡¯s fault, really. Spoiling you rotten, trying to make you all prim and proper¡­ but look at you¡ª¡±

    I didn¡¯t get to finish.

    Selene turned sharply, eyes narrowing, her voice like cold steel. ¡°What did you just say?¡±

    A warning. One I should¡¯ve heeded.

    ¡°W-well¡­¡± I coughed, backpedaling. ¡°I mean, Mother¡¯s a hypocrite. Telling you to be a ¡®proper lady¡¯ when she spent half her youth hurling spells and chasing monsters.¡±

    Selene crossed her arms, unimpressed.

    I pressed on, desperate to shift the target. ¡°Look at Alina! She was a terror, and still is! Even after becoming the Saintess of Light, nobles flee when they hear she¡¯s coming.¡±

    Selene raised a brow.

    I sighed. ¡°And then there¡¯s you.¡±

    Her brow twitched.

    ¡°Kaelan,¡± she said, voice dangerously level. ¡°You¡¯re making it worse.¡±

    I realized, too late, that I was walking on thin ice.

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I muttered, seizing the lifeline she¡¯d so graciously thrown.

    A comfortable silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant rustling of the wind through the trees.

    Selene shifted, watching me carefully, her expression softer than usual. ¡°You never did tell me why you took the blame.¡±

    I glanced down, dragging the toe of my boot through the dirt. ¡°You¡¯ll have to be more specific. There¡¯s a long list.¡±

    She nudged me, and I huffed a quiet laugh.

    ¡°If you must know,¡± I said, meeting her gaze, ¡°it¡¯s because we¡¯re partners.¡±

    A flicker of something soft, something fragile passed through her eyes, catching in the firelight.

    I held the moment for just a second longer before smirking. ¡°Partners in crime. Better to share the blame than take it all yourself, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    For a heartbeat, she said nothing.

    Then, her expression shifted and a sharp smack landed on my head.

    I winced. ¡°Ow.¡±

    Selene tilted her head, huffing. ¡°I thought it was because you were a martyr.¡±

    I scoffed, rubbing the spot she hit, but my grin didn¡¯t fade. ¡°Hardly.¡±

    The fire crackled between us, but for once, it wasn¡¯t the only thing keeping the cold away.

    After a moment, Selene nudged my boot with hers. ¡°Well, for what it¡¯s worth, I repaid the favor.¡±

    I arched a brow. ¡°How?¡±

    She grinned. ¡°Do you think those kitchen cookies magically appeared in your room?¡±

    My expression stilled. ¡°¡­That was you?¡±

    Selene laughed. ¡°Who else? You were always skipping meals, locked up with your studies. I figured if you weren¡¯t going to take care of yourself, someone had to.¡±

    I stared at her.

    For years, I had assumed it was one of the castle maids¡ªsome kindhearted soul who pitied the lonely prince.

    I opened my mouth, but for once, no words came.

    Selene smiled softly, nudging me again. ¡°You can thank me properly later.¡±

    I shook my head, letting out a quiet chuckle.

    It didn¡¯t last.

    Because the moment of warmth¡ªthe fleeting nostalgia¡ªwas swallowed by the weight of reality.

    Of what we had seen.

    Selene¡¯s laughter also faded. Slowly.

    Too slowly.

    She turned back to the fire, watching the embers pulse like dying stars. ¡°Kaelan.¡±

    I looked at her.

    She exhaled, barely more than a whisper. ¡°What happened to us?¡±

 Chapter 8

    What happened to us?

    The question should have been simple. But it wasn¡¯t.

    It carried the weight of five months, which felt like an eternity.

    Five months of chasing whispers, of stepping into villages where the silence was louder than screams. Of bodies nailed to doors, of wells clogged with the dead. Of places where the air itself felt wrong, where the trees twisted like they had been listening too long.

    Five months of hearing the same words, over and over, from the lips of people who already knew they were going to die.

    "Help us."

    "Please."

    "Save my child."

    We had seen things that stuck to us, that soaked into our bones and refused to leave.

    I thought of the Selene¡ªthe girl who left Astradel, bright-eyed and unbroken.

    The one who still believed the world made sense.

    I looked at Selene now, and I knew.

    She wasn¡¯t that child anymore.

    I turned away, staring at the dark horizon.

    "We grew up."

    For a moment, neither of us spoke.

    Then came a rustling behind us.

    Lyrik stumbled out of his tent, stretching, rubbing the back of his head. ¡°Gods, you two are up early.¡± His voice was still hoarse with sleep, but his mood had shifted from the night before¡ªless sharp, less bitter.

    I arched a brow. ¡°You mean we¡¯re still up.¡±

    Lyrik yawned, rolling his shoulders. ¡°Same thing.¡± He smirked, eyes flicking between them. ¡°What, were you whispering coos?¡±

    Selene leaned back on her hands, smirking back. ¡°If we were, you just ruined it.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Lyrik grinned. ¡°Can¡¯t have too much sentiment in the morning. Might soften you up.¡±

    I sighed, shaking my head. ¡°Wake the others. We need to move.¡±

    Lyrik saluted lazily before making his way through camp, nudging boots, kicking over bedrolls. The moment had passed.

    Selene stretched, standing up. ¡°Looks like that¡¯s our cue.¡±

    I followed, brushing the last remnants of warmth from my mind.

    Rylas was up first, stretching with a groan. Mira followed, murmuring something about the forest¡¯s mana flow. Aleric rubbed at his face, still caught in the edges of some half-remembered prayer.

    Ewin, of course, stayed buried under his blanket.

    Lyrik, ever the menace, crouched beside him and whispered, ¡°Wake up, beautiful.¡±

    Ewin didn¡¯t even open his eyes. ¡°Try that again, and I¡¯ll put an arrow through your foot.¡±

    Lyrik grinned. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡±

    I sighed. ¡°Hurry up. We still have somethings to deal with before leaving.¡±

    The camp moved with quiet efficiency. Bedrolls were rolled, tents disassembled, the fire smothered to embers. Weapons were checked with the absentminded precision of routine¡ªmovements honed by repetition, requiring no thought.

    Nell¡¯s body had already burned atop a spire, standing beside Lugh¡¯s. Aleric had insisted on it. The flames had long since died, leaving only drifting embers and the lingering scent of charred remains.

    But there was one last task. The last of the five knights.

    Bound at the wrists, kneeling in the dirt, head bowed. The same unnatural stillness he had since capture.

    We had left him alive the night before, out of pragmatism rather than mercy.

    But there was no point in keeping him now.

    I walked toward the knight, Selene at my side. Rylas and Vyk followed, weapons ready but unnecessary. There would be no resistance.

    The closer we got, the more wrong the air around him felt.

    His armor, still stained from the battle, sagged over his frame. His skin had the ashen tone of something long-dead, yet the faint rise and fall of his chest proved otherwise. His head remained down, loose like a puppet with cut strings.

    I stopped a few steps away, studying him.

    Then I spoke.

    ¡°Do you hear me?¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    The knight didn¡¯t react.

    I tried again. ¡°Do you remember your name?¡±

    Still nothing.

    Mira had been right. A puppet, not a man. Whatever will had once belonged to him had long since been swallowed whole.

    He didn¡¯t plead. Didn¡¯t tremble. Didn¡¯t speak.

    Lyrik rolled his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    Selene frowned. ¡°We should be quick about it.¡±

    Aleric exhaled, fingers twitching toward the prayer beads at his belt. ¡°We should at least¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Vyk¡¯s voice was cold, sharp. ¡°There¡¯s nothing left to pray for.¡±

    No one argued.

    Lyrik stepped forward, blade whispering free.

    A single, clean stroke.

    No fanfare. No final words.

    The body collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. Blood darkened the earth beneath it.

    Silence.

    Then¡ªRylas spoke.

    ¡°We burn it.¡±

    Vyk nodded. ¡°No traces.¡±

    The flames rose, devouring what was left of the hollow shell.

    By the time the fire died, there was nothing but ash.

    ***

    The road stretched ahead, winding like a lazy river through the landscape. Step after step, Forest of Shadows faded behind us, swallowed by the trees and the passage of time.

    And yet, it lingered.

    Not in the air, not in the scenery, but in us¡ªwoven into the silence between footfalls, in the way we carried ourselves. Even after everything, we still walked as though expecting something to crawl out of the shadows.

    But there were no shadows here.

    The world had changed.

    The trees weren¡¯t gnarled anymore, their branches didn¡¯t look like reaching hands. The leaves weren¡¯t brittle corpses¡ªthey were green, fresh, shifting softly under the wind¡¯s fingers. The air smelled clean, crisp with the scent of wildflowers peeking out from the roadside.

    I inhaled deeply, rolling my shoulders. The tension didn¡¯t leave. But for the first time in days, it loosened.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Lyric announced, stretching like a cat, ¡°we survived another day. That deserves a celebration.¡±

    I huffed, already sensing where this was going. ¡°Celebrating what, exactly?¡±

    Lyrik grinned. ¡°That we¡¯re not dead. Which, considering the last five months, is an achievement.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that,¡± Mira mused.

    Ewin sighed. ¡°We should be worried. But instead, I¡¯m debating whether I should drink you under the table again.¡±

    Lyrik gasped in mock offense. ¡°Again? I let you win last time.¡±

    ¡°You were unconscious in your own ale,¡± Rylas said flatly. ¡°It wasn¡¯t even a contest.¡±

    Lyrik beamed. ¡°Exactly. I was resting, storing energy for the next round.¡±

    I shook my head, biting down a small smirk.

    Lyrik¡¯s grin sharpened, eyes flicking between me and Selene. ¡°Speaking of celebrations¡­ I heard some soft murmurs this morning.¡±

    Selene groaned. ¡°Don¡¯t start.¡±

    ¡°Come on.¡± Lyrik smirked; his tone downright wicked. ¡°It was sweet, really. Moonlight, a flickering fire, two souls sharing a quiet moment¡ª¡±

    I cut him off. ¡°You¡¯re making it sound a lot more poetic than it was.¡±

    ¡°There wasn¡¯t any moon last night.¡± Mira pointed out absently, adjusting the strap of her bag.

    Ewin snorted. ¡°Damn, you¡¯re right! What were you two whispering about, then?¡±

    Rylas, walking a few paces ahead, glanced over his shoulder. ¡°Probably not what Lyrik¡¯s thinking.¡±

    Lyrik gasped. ¡°You wound me, Rylas. I am a man of class.¡±

    Ewin grinned. ¡°A man of exaggeration, more like.¡±

    Lyrik ignored him. ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡ªit felt romantic.¡±

    Selene huffed. ¡°And a lot less annoying.¡±

    Lyrik clutched his chest dramatically. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m hurt! Can¡¯t a man appreciate young love?¡±

    Selene and I exchanged a glance.

    Then, at the exact same time¡ª

    I sighed. ¡°I suppose he has a point.¡± She nodded. ¡°The ambiance was there.¡±

    Lyrik blinked, thrown for just a second. ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    I tilted my head, adopting a thoughtful expression. ¡°The mist rolling in, the stars overhead¡­¡±

    Selene clasped her hands together. ¡°Soft whispers, longing stares¡ª¡±

    I nodded. ¡°A shared past, a bond stronger than words.¡±

    Lyrik squinted, suspicious. ¡°Hold on¡ª¡±

    Mira sighed dramatically. ¡°How tragic.¡±

    Ewin smirked. ¡°How scandalous.¡±

    Rylas muttered under his breath, ¡°How ridiculous.¡±

    Selene sighed wistfully. ¡°Ah, what a night¡­¡± Then she clicked her tongue. ¡°Undone by the ineptitude of a numbskull.¡±

    Lyrik¡¯s face twisted. ¡°Alright, now you¡¯re ruining it.¡±

    Selene shot me a smirk, and I smirked back.

    ***

    I smelled White Creek before I saw it.

    It smelled of bread, spice, river mist. Of life.

    By the time they reached White Creek, the sun had risen high, its light spilling over a town far different from Twisted Trunk.

    Lyrik stretched, sighing. ¡°I can actually smell civilization.¡±

    Then we stepped through the village gates, and the world shifted.

    Laughter. People. Voices that weren¡¯t screaming.

    Merchants shouted from stalls stacked high with glazed pastries, skewered meats, bright fruits piled in woven baskets. A baker kneaded dough on a wooden slab, flour dusting his apron. A fisherman slung a net over his shoulder, water still dripping from his catch.

    A pair of children raced past, barefoot and laughing, weaving between carts and vendors. Their mother called after them, half-scolding, half-smiling.

    I slowed my pace, taking it in.

    It was so... normal.

    Selene¡¯s voice was quiet beside me. ¡°It¡¯s strange.¡±

    I turned toward her. ¡°What is?¡±

    She swept her gaze across the village, at the people moving without fear. ¡°How easy it is to forget. If you didn¡¯t know what was out there¡ª¡± she nodded toward the road behind us, toward what we had left behind, ¡°¡ªyou¡¯d think the world was simple.¡±

    I looked back at the market, watching a merchant argue with his wife over the price of apples. A girl leaned over a stall, pointing excitedly at a silk scarf dyed the color of a sunset.

    I exhaled. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s the trick. They know what¡¯s out there. But they also know how to keep moving.¡±

    Selene hummed. ¡°Then maybe we should too.¡±

    The only inn in White Creek stood near the heart of the village. A sturdy, two-story building stood firm, its wooden beams weathered but unyielding. A hanging sign creaked above the entrance, painted with the image of a white trout leaping over a river rock. The Silver Catch.

    Inside¡ªwarmth.

    A fire crackled in a stone hearth, and the scent of roasted venison and mead thickened the air. Despite the early hour, the tavern half of the inn was already alive¡ªnot as a rowdy den, but as a meeting ground for locals. Fishermen, merchants, travelers, and drunkards alike.

    A few men huddled near the bar, already deep into their drinks. One was loudly insisting he could wrestle a river beast. Another was slurring his woes about a wife who had thrown him out.

    Ewin whistled, stepping inside. ¡°Middle of the day, and they¡¯re already at it?¡±

    Lyrik smirked. ¡°White Creek¡¯s got its priorities straight.¡±

    Rylas, unimpressed, shot them both a look. ¡°Try not to make a scene.¡±

    Lyrik grinned. ¡°Have I ever made a scene?¡±

    Rylas didn¡¯t bother answering.

    Mira strode toward the bar, already handling logistics for our stay. She never wasted time.

    A low whistle cut through the tavern¡¯s din.

    "Well, well, what do we have here?" The man''s voice was thick, a little rougher than usual, and he leaned against the bar, a half-empty tankard clutched in his hand. His grin was wide, a touch too wide, and his eyes held a glint that wasn''t entirely friendly. "Don''t see a lass like you in here every day. All alone, are you, sweetie?"

    He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, and a few of his companions, already loosened by the ale, joined in with similar low noises. "How ¡®bout I keep ya comp¡¯ny, eh? Hah¡­ betcha don¡¯ get offers like this too often."

    I saw Mira¡¯s smile¡ªthin, sharp, not quite reaching her eyes. Her grip tightened around her staff, fingers curling like she was deciding which spell would send him flying the farthest.

    She didn¡¯t get the chance.

    A tankard, still half-full of ale, whizzed through the air, impacting the man¡¯s face with a wet, heavy thunk. He let out a surprised grunt, his eyes widening in shock before he toppled off his barstool, hitting the floor with a muffled groan.

    ¡°You filthy swine!¡± The voice that ripped through the room was like a thunderclap, cutting through the haze of drunken chatter. It belonged to the woman behind the bar, her face a mask of righteous fury.

    Middle-aged, gray-haired, and stout¡ªnot in physical size, but in the sheer force of her personality¡ªshe held a wickedly sharp dagger in one hand, its point glinting menacingly in the dim light. Her eyes blazed with a fire that could make even the most hardened brawler think twice.

    ¡°How dare you speak to a lady in such a manner?¡± she bellowed, her voice echoing off the rafters. ¡°You¡¯re a disgrace to yourself and your kin! May your tongue rot in your mouth for those words! You shame all decent folk!¡±

    The drunkard, his face now a mottled mix of ale and swelling, had gone a sickly pale. He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, whimpering slightly, barely managing to get to his feet. His drunken bravado had completely evaporated, replaced by a stark, sobering fear.

    ¡°Get out before I throw you out myself!¡± she snapped, her voice laced with venom. ¡°You¡¯ll find my boot a lot less welcoming than my ale.¡±

    She didn¡¯t have to tell him twice. He stumbled toward the door, clutching his bruised and rapidly swelling face, too drunk¡ªor, more likely, too terrified¡ªto even glance back at his stunned companions. They, too, seemed to have sobered up rapidly, their drunken amusement replaced by a nervous silence as they watched their comrade¡¯s ignominious retreat.

    The woman turned to Mira, her scowl melting into something warmer. ¡°Sorry, lass. It¡¯s not usually like this. Word gets around that a place is doing well, and suddenly all kinds of filth crawl out of the woodwork.¡±

    Mira finally faced her, a pleasant¡ªif slightly amused¡ªsmile now gracing her lips. ¡°Thank you for that. I didn¡¯t know what to do.¡±

    The woman snorted, eyeing the staff in Mira¡¯s grip. ¡°I think you had an idea.¡± Her gaze flicked toward our group. ¡°I just didn¡¯t want any blood on my floor. Swear to Luminara herself, it¡¯s a pain to clean up after.¡±

    Mira chuckled, slipping onto a stool at the bar. ¡°Does this happen often?¡±

    The woman turned, likely about to answer, but¡ª

    ¡ªa sigh cut through the noise.

    Barely loud enough for the rest of the tavern to catch, but just enough for the gathered party to hear.

    Ewin.

    I blinked; my attention pulled away from Mira¡¯s conversation. Ewin sat with his arms crossed, looking profoundly disappointed.

    ¡°Damn shame,¡± he muttered, shaking his head.

    I frowned. ¡°What is?¡±

    Lyrik leaned in, mirroring Ewin¡¯s posture, his own expression one of mock sorrow. ¡°The wasted potential, Kaelan.¡±

    He gestured vaguely toward the bar. ¡°Six hours of walking, aching feet, and not even the reward of a decent tavern brawl? Truly, a cruel fate.¡±

    I exhaled through my nose, unimpressed.

    Selene, beside me, scoffed. ¡°Idiots.¡±

    Mira was making her way back toward us, but her return barely registered against the duo¡¯s dramatics.

    ¡°Come on, it¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve seen a good fight,¡± Lyrik lamented.

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me,¡± Ewin agreed. ¡°Just a bit of chaos. Just a bit.¡±

    Selene rolled her eyes. ¡°Mira doesn¡¯t do brawls¡ªshe¡¯d bury the whole tavern in a forest.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what makes it fun,¡± they both said at the same time.

    ¡°Sorry to disappoint,¡± Mira cut in, brushing past them, ¡°but I was just going to put him to sleep¡ªtemporarily, of course.¡±

    ¡°Damn shame,¡± Ewin repeated.

 Chapter 9

    I looked at Mira as she adjusted her coin purse. ¡°The owner¡¯s wife handled the rooms. Four for the night. Already paid for,¡± she said.

    ¡°Good work.¡± I nodded toward Mira before scanning the rest of them.

    I leaned against the table, keeping my voice low. ¡°Here¡¯s the plan.¡±

    The others followed suit, pulling up chairs or leaning in, instinctively keeping their backs to the more boisterous drinkers.

    ¡°We leave at midnight,¡± I continued. ¡°For now, we¡¯ll get some rest and a late breakfast.¡± I glanced at Rylas and Aleric. ¡°You two will handle the horses. Get eight, make sure they¡¯re sturdy and fast enough for the road ahead.¡±

    Rylas gave a short nod. Aleric, still rubbing his temple from lingering fatigue, sighed but nodded as well.

    ¡°Mira, Selene,¡± I turned to them. ¡°Stock up on supplies¡ªrations, medicine, anything we might need for the journey to Old Milltown. Prioritize efficiency. We travel light.¡±

    Selene gave a thumbs-up, while Mira simply hummed in acknowledgment.

    ¡°Lyrik, Ewin.¡± I tilted my head toward the livelier part of the inn. ¡°See what you can dig up. News, rumors, anything of value. Get people talking.¡±

    Ewin grinned. ¡°You mean Lyrik gets people talking while I drink?¡±

    ¡°Exactly.¡±

    Lyrik scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think you only keep me around for my social skills.¡±

    I gave him a pointed look. ¡°If the shoe fits.¡±

    Lyrik sighed dramatically but didn¡¯t argue.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Vyk?¡± I scanned the room.

    The group exchanged glances.

    ¡°Probably creeping on an old woman to scare her life away,¡± Ewin drawled, smirking as he leaned back in his chair.

    ¡°Or he¡¯s out there doing your job,¡± Rylas added dryly.

    Ewin rolled his eyes. ¡°Whatever.¡±

    I sighed, shaking my head.

    Shifting the focus back, I continued, ¡°Make sure to get some rest. It¡¯ll take at least four days to reach Old Milltown.¡± I pushed my chair back, stretching slightly. ¡°I¡¯ll be in my room if you need anything.¡±

    ¡°Of course, his highness needs his own room,¡± Lyrik smirked, arms crossed. ¡°Back to scheming, ain¡¯t ya?¡±

    I just smiled.

    Lyrik snorted, shaking his head. ¡°What did I expect?¡± Then, his gaze landed on a young boy wiping down a table with a worn rag. ¡°Oi, you there! Boy! Come ¡®ere.¡±

    The boy hesitated for half a second before hurrying over, his wide eyes flicking between us.

    Rylas leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. ¡°What¡¯s the specialty today?¡±

    At that, the boy brightened, puffing out his chest slightly as if he had been waiting for someone to ask.

    ¡°Ah! Sirs, you¡¯re in luck! Our specialty today is a hearty vegetable stew. It¡¯s been simmering all day¡ªrich, thick, and full of good, wholesome goodness. We¡¯ve fresh bread from the oven to soak it up with.¡± Then, he paused and his gaze flicked toward Mira, voice dropping slightly as if sharing a secret. ¡°If you¡¯ve a bit of coin to spare, we¡¯ve roasted a goose this day. Plump and juicy, cooked slow over the fire.¡±

    A collective hush fell over our group.

    Real food. Not charred meat cooked over a weak campfire. Not half-rotten rations bought from Twisted Trunk. Not stale bread hardened from cold nights.

    Real food.

    The first to react was Lyrik, who thumped his hand on the table, grinning ear to ear. ¡°Excellent! Fill the whole damn table up with everything you¡¯ve got! And bring some ale¡ªthe best you can offer.¡±

    Then, with a dramatic flourish, he shot up from his chair and turned to the gathered patrons, voice carrying over the tavern¡¯s chatter.

    ¡°The first round¡¯s on me, good folks of White Creak!¡±

    The tavern roared in approval. Chairs scraped against the wooden floors, mugs clanked, and cheers erupted from drinkers eager for free ale. A few older men laughed, raising their tankards in salute, while a group of barmaids rolled their eyes but smiled all the same.

    Lyrik basked in the attention, grinning like a man who had just been knighted.

    Ewin leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. ¡°I give it ten minutes before he¡¯s singing.¡±

    Selene sighed but smiled nonetheless. ¡°Five.¡±

    The boy rushed off, and soon, the first thing to arrive was the smell.

    A delicious wave of roasted herbs, slow-cooked broth, and freshly baked bread swept through the air. It was thick, mouthwatering, wrapping around us like a warm embrace after weeks in the cold. The fire in the hearth crackled, adding to the atmosphere, and the clatter of plates from behind the counter signaled that the feast was coming.

    Then came the food.

    Large wooden bowls of vegetable stew were set in front of us, the surface glistening with a rich sheen of oil and herbs. Thick slices of fresh bread followed, their golden crusts warm to the touch, steam still rising from their insides.

    And finally¡ªthe roasted goose.

    It was a glorious thing, golden brown with crisped skin that had been glazed and basted until it gleamed. The aroma of spices, butter, and slow-roasted fat curled through the air, so intoxicating that even Rylas, who usually ate in silence, exhaled in something that almost sounded like relief.

    There was no waiting.

    No planning.

    No need for caution.

    The moment the food was placed down, we tore into it.

    The first bite of stew was a revelation. Rich, hearty, seasoned perfectly¡ªit filled the mouth with warmth and real flavor, something we hadn¡¯t tasted in what felt like years.

    Lyrik groaned dramatically. ¡°By the gods, I forgot what real food tastes like.¡±

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Ewin took a massive bite of bread, nodding through a full mouth. ¡°It¡¯s hot,¡± he mumbled, but he still took another bite, clearly uncaring.

    Rylas, never one to waste words, merely exhaled sharply, then went back in for another spoonful.

    Even Mira, usually the quietest among us when it came to meals, hummed under her breath before swallowing. ¡°Decent,¡± she admitted, but her bowl was already half-empty.

    Aleric, ever the priest, whispered a quiet prayer of thanks before diving in.

    For a while, no one spoke.

    There was nothing to say.

    The food was warm. It was filling. It was good.

    After days in a ruined village, after six hours of travel with nothing but the taste of dried meat and dust in our mouths¡ªthis felt like a luxury.

    The ale came next, dark and foamy, cheap but surprisingly smooth. Lyrik lifted his mug high. ¡°To not dying in the woods!¡±

    Mugs clinked together, and for a moment¡ªjust a moment¡ªthe heaviness of the past weeks faded.

    We ate, we drank, we relaxed.

    And then, slowly, we started to disperse.

    Lyrik was the first to finish, stretching with a loud groan before pushing back from the table. ¡°I think it¡¯s time I grace the fine folk of this establishment with my presence.¡±

    Ewin smirked. ¡°You mean harass the locals until they either love or hate you?¡±

    Lyrik gasped dramatically. ¡°How dare you? I am a pillar of conversation and charm.¡±

    Selene snorted. ¡°A pillar of nonsense.¡±

    Undeterred, Lyrik stood up, ale in hand, and immediately dove into the crowd. Within seconds, he was chatting with an older man at the bar, gesturing wildly as if recounting some grand adventure.

    Rylas, shaking his head, stood as well, rolling his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll see if the stable has any decent horses.¡± He glanced at Aleric. ¡°Coming?¡±

    Aleric nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll handle the negotiations.¡±

    One by one, the group filtered out, leaving only a few of us at the table.

    Mira returned from the counter, four keys in hand. She placed one in front of me. ¡°Here. Room¡¯s upstairs, second on the left.¡±

    I took it without question, standing up from my chair. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    She nodded, pocketing the others before heading off to find Selene.

    I exhaled, rolling my shoulders.

    I made my way toward the stairs, weaving past laughing villagers and the hum of an alive town.

    I climbed the steps.

    I closed the door behind me, shutting out the noise of the tavern. For the first time in days, the air smelled of wood and candlewax instead of rot and blood.

    It was quiet.

    Almost too quiet.

    ***

    The gates of the abyss loomed before him.

    Two massive doors, carved from obsidian so dark it seemed to swallow the light, stood sealed like the entrance to another world. Silver veins ran through their surface, pulsating slowly, like the faint heartbeat of something ancient and unfathomable.

    Even standing before them felt wrong.

    Mark swallowed; his throat dry. He had seen wonders in his lifetime¡ªstood on battlefields that tore the sky apart, held his own against titans, walked halls of power where kings whispered of war and conquest.

    Yet here, he felt like nothing.

    Two sentries stood at either side of the doors, clad in midnight-black armor that seemed forged from shadow itself. They did not shift. They did not speak. They did not need to. The very air around them crackled¡ªnot with mana, but with something deeper, something unspoken, as if the world itself had bent to accommodate their existence.

    And these were just the guards.

    Mark had thought himself powerful once. Celebrated. A force whispered about across the continent.

    But before them, he was barely even mortal.

    One of the sentries finally moved, a single gauntleted hand rising to press against the obsidian.

    The moment steel met stone; the doors opened.

    A silent parting, smooth, weightless. Not a creak, not a whisper of resistance. Just absolute compliance¡ªas if the very fortress bent to the will of its true master.

    And beyond the threshold lay the throne room.

    Mark stepped forward.

    His first mistake.

    The air changed the moment he crossed the boundary.

    It was subtle¡ªno sudden gust of wind, no visible shift. But something had altered.

    The world itself had become heavier.

    The chamber before him stretched into impossible vastness, as if the very concept of space had unraveled and reformed to accommodate something far beyond human scale.

    It was dark, endless, yet not void of opulence. Lavish beyond comprehension.

    Towering obsidian columns lined the sides, their twisted carvings spiraling toward the unseen ceiling. Sigils¡ªancient, crawling with meaning¡ªetched themselves across every surface, pulsating with a slow, measured rhythm. Each carried weight. Purpose.

    Two grand chandeliers hung high above, each an abomination of impossible craftsmanship¡ªsilver and black crystal interwoven, suspended by nothing yet refusing to fall. They did not illuminate so much as they demanded visibility, casting a pale, unnatural glow that banished shadows only where it was permitted.

    And at the far end of the room, reigning over this titanic dominion, sat the Throne.

    It was colossal.

    An onyx monolith, jagged yet deliberate, too vast, too overwhelming to be made for human proportions. Silver veins ran through its surface, breathing, shifting, forming patterns that no eye could follow. It was less a seat and more a manifestation¡ªa declaration that this was a place where dominion was absolute.

    But even the throne, this seat of ineffable power, paled before the one who sat upon it.

    The Empress.

    A presence so absolute it felt as though reality itself had adjusted to make space for her.

    She did not look up.

    Draped in immaculate white, she sat at ease, one hand resting lightly on the armrest, the other holding an unfurled scroll. She read in silence, her expression unbothered, detached¡ªas if the affairs of this world no longer required her immediate concern.

    She was perfect.

    Not in a way that could be described in mortal terms, but in the way the moon was perfect¡ªunreachable, untouchable, an eternal thing whose presence shaped the very tides of the world.

    Her hair, white as untouched snowfall, cascaded over the throne¡¯s arm, spilling like liquid silver, gleaming even in the dim light. Her skin was pale, unmarked by time, untainted by imperfection¡ªless like flesh and more like sculpted divinity.

    Even as she ignored him, her mere existence wrapped around his lungs, crushed his ribs, held him in a vice that neither hand nor blade had placed upon him.

    Mark¡¯s body froze.

    His breath shook.

    Every fiber of his being screamed that he was in the presence of something beyond him.

    Then, another voice cut through the silence.

    ¡°Captain Mark.¡±

    Not hers.

    Mark¡¯s eyes darted down toward the base of the dais, where another figure stood.

    Cordelia Wolf.

    Dressed in raven-black, a contrast of darkness beneath the light, she exuded power in a way different from the Empress. If the Empress was the sky, this woman was the storm.

    Her gown, flowing like a cascade of midnight, clung to her form with effortless elegance. Her gaze, cold and measuring, pinned him in place just as efficiently as the throne¡¯s presence.

    She was known across the continent. The Calamity of the Moonless Night.

    A monster in human form. A woman who could reduce cities to nothing if she so willed it.

    ¡°Your report, if you would,¡± she said.

    Mark tried to respond.

    He could not.

    He couldn¡¯t move.

    Couldn¡¯t breathe.

    His very thoughts felt caged, bound by an unseen force that pressed down on every inch of his existence.

    Not magic. Not some spell.

    It was her.

    Even without acknowledging him, the Empress¡¯s presence alone had shackled him in place.

    His knees buckled.

    His breath hitched.

    The world itself had decided he was beneath her.

    And then¡ª

    ¡°Speak.¡±

    A single command.

    A single permission.

    The weight lifted¡ªjust enough.

    Mark gasped, his body collapsing to one knee before he could even think. His head bowed, sweat beading at his brow, his hands clenching into fists against the floor.

    He had never bowed to kings. Never once knelt for emperors.

    But here?

    Here, there was no choice.

    ¡°¡­My Empress,¡± he rasped, voice hoarse. ¡°I bring my report.¡±

    Silence stretched.

    The Empress had not moved. She had not so much as acknowledged his presence. The weight of her throne-bound stillness pressed down on him, an unseen noose tightening with every second that passed.

    It wasn¡¯t impatience. It wasn¡¯t disinterest.

    It was deliberation.

    A slow, unhurried calculation that stripped him bare without her ever needing to look at him.

    Mark swallowed against the tightness in his throat, but his lungs barely obeyed.

    The only sound came from the measured tap, tap, tap of Cordelia Wolf¡¯s nails against the gold, silver and ebon grimoire in her hands. The voice of the Calamity, when it came, was velvet-laced steel. ¡°Go on.¡±

    He inhaled sharply.

    It took every ounce of discipline¡ªevery instinct he had honed as a warrior¡ªto suppress the tremor threatening to creep into his voice. Because in this moment, he wasn¡¯t a warrior.

    He was prey.

    ¡°Wraiths recently had a major shift in power.¡± His voice was steady, but the air itself was unsteady, warping under the sheer force of the presence before him. ¡°A new figure emerged¡ªan unknown. He challenged two of the seven councilors and killed them both.¡±

    Still, no reaction.

    Not from the Empress.

    Not from Cordelia.

    Mark forced himself to continue. ¡°As a result, the Head Councilor engaged this new power in combat.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Their battle¡­ ended in a tie.¡±

    He took a breath, both to fill his lungs and to steady himself. ¡°His name,¡± Mark pressed on, ¡°is Abaddon the Destroyer. He has since been inducted into the Wraiths as the new Sixth Councilor.¡±

    Silence.

    Mark understood.

    She did not care.

    Abaddon. The Wraiths. Their struggles for power.

    They were beneath notice.

    He swallowed, moving forward.

    ¡°But more importantly,¡± he forced himself to say, ¡°my men have confirmed it. There is indeed a Monolith in the mines beneath Silent Rock. We believe it originates from either the Age of Arcana or the Age of Shadows.¡±

    The air stilled.

    Not just the air¡ªeverything.

    A stillness that went beyond silence. A stillness that did not belong in this world.

    Mark¡¯s pulse should have quickened, but it did not. His breath should have shuddered, but it remained suspended, trapped, as if existence itself waited.

    Then¡ª

    The world exhaled.

    Mark¡¯s stomach lurched.

    The air warped.

    It was not a sound. Not a gesture.

    But something had shifted.

    Something immeasurable.

    And for the first time since he had entered this throne room, he felt true fear.

    And Mark felt his body breaking beneath it.

    Cordelia finally spoke. ¡°Is that all, Captain?¡±

    Mark¡¯s forehead nearly brushed the floor. His heartbeat felt too loud.

    ¡°One last piece of information.¡±

    Quick. Get it out.

    ¡°We have encountered Gavin of the Royal Inquisition on multiple occasions,¡± he said, keeping his words carefully measured. ¡°But as per your orders, we did not engage. He seemed to have informed the Aelorian Inquisition of the Wraiths¡¯ activities in Silent Rock¡ªhowever, he does not appear to have knowledge of the specifics.¡±

    He exhaled, slowly. ¡°That is all, my Empress.¡±

    A final silence.

    Then, Cordelia spoke. ¡°You are free to leave.¡±

    Relief almost cracked his ribs.

    He tried to stand.

    The weight did not lift.

    His body remained locked; knees pressed against the cold floor.

    Was there more? Had he failed?

    His lungs burned, but he did not dare inhale too sharply.

    Then¡ª

    "Leave."

    The command did not come as a reprieve. It came as an absolution. A verdict.

    And the world released him.

    Mark rose immediately¡ªbowed as deep as he could without collapsing¡ªand turned on his heel, heading straight for the towering obsidian doors.

    They opened without a sound, a void parting to release him.

    He stepped through.

    The moment the doors sealed behind him¡ª

    His legs gave out.

    The weight, the suffocating, crushing presence that had shackled his very soul, was gone.

    And yet¡ªit wasn¡¯t.

    Phantom pressure lingered, pressing against his ribs, coiled around his spine like a predator unwilling to let go. His mind knew he was free. His body did not.

    His knees hit the stone floor with a dull, resounding thud, his muscles trembling so violently that he barely caught himself on his hands. Breath. He needed to breathe. But his lungs¡ª

    Had they forgotten how?

    The silence of the corridor should have been a relief. Should have felt less. But his own ragged, gasping breaths were deafening, and the vast emptiness around him no longer felt like an escape¡ªonly a reminder of what he had survived.

    His forehead pressed to the cold stone, grounding himself in its solidity. It was real. The world was real. He was still here.

    Not there.

    Not there.

    A laugh nearly tore itself from his throat¡ªhollow, disbelieving. Had it only been minutes? A fraction of an hour? It felt like lifetimes had passed in that throne room.

    For the first time in his life¡ªMark prayed.

    Not for strength. Not for victory.

    But in relief. That he was alive. That he had left that room with his mind, his will, his soul still intact.

    And he swore to the gods above¡ª

    Never again.

    Not for power. Not for gold. Not for all the kingdoms in existence.

    He would never return there again.

    But the fate was a fickle lady. And he would come to know it soon.

 Chapter 10

    The evening air carried a lingering warmth, though the sun had begun its slow descent beneath the horizon. A soft breeze threaded through the streets, stirring loose leaves and carrying the scents of fresh bread, burning wood, and river salt.

    I walked at a steady pace, letting my surroundings seep in.

    A walk.

    That was all I had in mind when I stepped out of the tavern.

    The walls of my rented room had felt suffocating after a while¡ªnot from discomfort, but from sheer stillness. Too much silence had never suited me. It left room for thoughts I didn¡¯t want to entertain, for memories I preferred to keep buried.

    So, I walked.

    The streets of White Creek bustled with the final hours of the day¡¯s business. Merchants were packing up their stalls, their hands moving with practiced ease as they secured crates of unsold goods. Some bartered even as they closed, eager to get rid of perishables before the night settled in.

    The scent of roasting meat clung to the air, mingling with the sharper tang of freshly cut herbs from the apothecary¡¯s shop. Somewhere down the road, a baker called out his final loaves at half-price, drawing a small gathering of townsfolk.

    It was familiar.

    Not in the way Astradel¡¯s towering spires and polished marble halls had been, but in a way that reached deeper. The hum of conversation, the simple pleasures of an honest day¡¯s work¡ªit reminded me of the nights I used to sneak out of the castle, wandering among the people I was meant to rule over.

    Not as a prince. Just as Kaelan.

    I let myself get lost in it.

    At least, until the world jolted back into motion.

    ¡°Hey, mister! You¡¯re new here!¡±

    The voice came from my right¡ªa shrill, excited declaration.

    Before I could react, a small mob of children swarmed me.

    I blinked.

    Seven, maybe eight of them. Barefoot, dust-covered from an entire day of play, and brimming with that endless energy only children seemed to have.

    One of them¡ªa boy with an unfortunate mop of straw-colored hair¡ªstepped forward, arms crossed. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°And why do you look so fancy?¡± another, a girl this time, demanded.

    I glanced down at my attire¡ªdark leathers, a cloak that, while practical, was far better kept than what most travelers wore. It wasn¡¯t royal, but compared to the simple tunics of the villagers, I supposed I did stand out.

    I crouched slightly, meeting them at eye level. ¡°Who, me? I¡¯m just an adventurer passing through.¡±

    The group exchanged glances, eyes lighting up.

    ¡°An adventurer?¡± The smallest of them, a boy who looked barely five, tugged at my sleeve. ¡°Do you fight monsters?¡±

    I placed a hand over my chest, feigning deep offense. ¡°Of course I do! We hunt evil creatures, protect villages, and sometimes¡ª¡± I leaned in conspiratorially, voice dropping to a whisper, ¡°¡ªwe even slay dragons.¡±

    The reaction was immediate.

    Gasps.

    Shouts of excitement.

    One of the older boys smacked his friend¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I told you adventurers were real!¡±

    The girl from before squinted. ¡°You¡¯re making that up.¡±

    I grinned. ¡°Am I?¡±

    She faltered. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, debating whether I was a liar or some kind of legendary hero.

    ¡°Prove it,¡± she said at last, arms crossed. ¡°If you¡¯re really an adventurer, then play with us.¡±

    I arched a brow. ¡°That¡¯s how I prove it?¡±

    ¡°Yep!¡±

    The rest of the children cheered in agreement.

    Before I could argue, a small hand latched onto mine, tugging insistently. ¡°Come on! We were playing Hunter and Beast! You can be the Hunter!¡±

    I huffed a laugh, allowing myself to be pulled along. ¡°Fine, fine. But I better get a proper introduction first.¡±

    The children quickly rattled off their names¡ªthough I doubted I¡¯d remember them all¡ªbefore explaining the rules.

    The rules were simple.

    One child played the Beast, running and hiding through the village, while the rest of us¡ªthe Hunters¡ªhad to track them down. Once found, the Beast could either be captured or challenge the Hunter in a test of strength.

    The game had already begun before I could fully process that I¡¯d agreed to play.

    The straw-haired boy who called himself Ren took off in a flash, weaving through the busy evening streets with practiced ease.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    I let them go at first, watching as the pack of children shrieked and darted after him, their laughter echoing between buildings. I gave myself a head start, taking a slow breath.

    Then, I ran.

    The air rushed past me as I took off, boots skimming over packed dirt and stone. Ren was fast¡ªhis small frame let him slip through gaps between carts and crates where the other children had to slow down or stumble. He twisted down a narrow alleyway, his laughter ringing out like a challenge.

    I wasn¡¯t the only one chasing. The other Hunters, determined to catch him first, surged ahead, dodging townsfolk who either stepped aside with amused grins or called out half-hearted scoldings.

    ¡°Oi! Watch where you¡¯re going, you little terrors!¡±

    ¡°Let ¡®em be,¡± a merchant chuckled, shaking his head as he secured his cart for the night. ¡°Kids ought to run wild once in a while.¡±

    A woman leaning against her doorstep raised a brow at me as I followed after them. ¡°Bit old for this game, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    I smirked mid-stride. ¡°Call it an undercover mission.¡±

    She laughed, shaking her head, and I pushed forward.

    Ren bolted past a fruit stand, nearly knocking over a basket of apples. The vendor barely caught it in time.

    ¡°Ren, you little menace!¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Miss Nali!¡± he called over his shoulder, not slowing in the slightest.

    I grinned. This was a chase.

    I could work with this.

    I adjusted my pace, cutting diagonally to intercept. The children ahead of me had speed but no strategy¡ªthey followed blindly, drawn toward their target like moths to a flame. But Ren? He was clever. He slipped past obstacles at the last second, forcing his pursuers to stumble, duck, or crash into barrels.

    One of the younger boys tripped and fell flat on his stomach. I grabbed his collar mid-stride, hauling him back onto his feet without stopping.

    ¡°Stay close,¡± I advised. ¡°We¡¯ll flank him.¡±

    The boy nodded, eyes wide with excitement, and sprinted alongside me.

    Ren ducked behind a cart, thinking he¡¯d bought himself time. Wrong move.

    I veered left¡ªthen cut through a stall¡¯s empty space¡ªemerging right in front of him.

    His eyes went huge.

    ¡°Oh, shi¡ª¡±

    I lunged.

    Ren shrieked as I grabbed him around the waist, lifting him clean off the ground and spinning him in the air. He flailed wildly, laughing between breathless protests. ¡°I surrender! I surrender!¡±

    The other children skidded to a halt, panting and cheering. Some clapped, while others collapsed dramatically into the dirt, acting as if they¡¯d just run the entire length of the village.

    I set Ren down, ruffling his hair. ¡°Not bad, little Beast. You had a solid lead.¡±

    He grinned up at me, triumphant despite his capture. ¡°You cheated!¡±

    I raised a brow. ¡°Using my brain is cheating?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    Laughter erupted from the group, their energy infectious.

    As the chaos swirled around me, my gaze flickered toward the edge of the square¡ªjust in time to catch a hooded figure slipping into an alleyway.

    A moment of pause. A flicker of instinct.

    But before the thought could settle, a voice broke through the noise.

    ¡°Alright, your turn.¡±

    I turned back just as Kina, the first girl, stepped forward, hands on her hips, her expression daring.

    The children erupted in fresh excitement.

    I blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the Beast now.¡±

    ¡°Hold on¡ª¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡± Ren pointed. ¡°Run!¡±

    The children exploded forward.

    I had half a second to react before they all lunged.

    I turned on my heel and bolted.

    Laughter erupted behind me as they gave chase, and for a fleeting moment, I felt weightless.

    I didn¡¯t have the nimble advantage they had, but I had speed. I leapt over a short fence in a single bound, landed smoothly, and cut through an alley. The space was tight¡ªI had to turn my shoulders to avoid knocking into hanging laundry¡ªbut I pushed forward.

    The sound of rapid footsteps and excited shrieks closed in behind me.

    I grinned. They were fast.

    I sprinted toward a wagon, using the wheel as a foothold to propel myself onto a low rooftop. From there, I vaulted to the next building, my boots barely making a sound on the tiles.

    I crouched, peering down as my pursuers poured into the street below.

    The smaller ones had no hope of spotting me from this angle, but Kina was sharp. She narrowed her eyes, scanning.

    I shifted, barely. A single sound.

    She whirled around, pointing up. ¡°There! He¡¯s cheating again!¡±

    ¡°Tactical advantage!¡± I called down.

    They all groaned.

    One of the older boys crossed his arms. ¡°We can¡¯t get up there!¡±

    ¡°Not my problem.¡±

    Ren pouted. ¡°You have to play fair.¡±

    I sighed, dramatically resting my chin on my fist. ¡°Fair, huh?¡±

    Then I jumped.

    I landed right in their midst.

    Chaos.

    Shrieks, laughter, a full dogpile attempt. Hands grabbed at my cloak, my arms, my belt¡ªbut I twisted, slipped free, and took off again.

    We ran through the streets, weaving through people, past lantern-lit stalls, over fences and crates. The town blurred into motion¡ªlight and laughter, the golden hues of sunset blending into deep indigo.

    I let them win, in the end.

    Ren caught my wrist in a daring move, and before I could shake free, the rest of the kids tackled me down.

    I hit the dirt, laughing.

    For a long moment, that was all there was. No war, no mission, no weight on my shoulders¡ªjust this.

    The sun had nearly set by the time the children relented, letting me breathe. They flopped onto the ground beside me, grinning and breathless.

    ¡°Alright,¡± I exhaled, sitting up. ¡°I admit it. You got me.¡±

    Kina smirked. ¡°Of course we did.¡±

    Ren crossed his arms, nodding. ¡°We¡¯re the best.¡±

    I chuckled. ¡°No argument there.¡±

    The evening bell tolled in the distance. Parents¡¯ voices began calling their names, pulling them home.

    One by one, they left, waving as they went.

    Only Ren hesitated.

    He scuffed his foot against the dirt. ¡°Are you leaving soon?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Tonight.¡±

    A beat of silence.

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna fight bad guys, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    I considered lying.

    But I placed a hand on his head instead, ruffling his hair. ¡°Yeah, kid. I am.¡±

    He beamed. ¡°Then come back, okay? A real hero always returns.¡±

    The words struck deeper than they should have.

    I forced a smile. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±

    Satisfied, he ran off, disappearing into the dusk.

    I sat there for a moment longer, watching the last of the sunset bleed into the horizon.

    The warmth of the moment still lingered.

    But deep down, I knew¡ª

    Heroes don¡¯t always come back.

    ***

    By the time the last child had disappeared into the embrace of their home, the village had begun to settle into the rhythm of dusk. The warm glow of lanterns flickered to life, dotting the streets like fallen stars, and the once-bustling market had quieted to a murmur as merchants packed away the remnants of their trade.

    Yet, I did not return to the inn.

    Instead, my feet carried me away from the streets, past the last rows of cottages, toward the whisper of running water.

    And there it was¡ªthe creek.

    The namesake of this village.

    The river moved like liquid gold, dragging the last light of the sun into its depths.

    It wasn¡¯t a rapid, rushing thing. It was slow¡ªmeasured. A lazy current that carved through the white sandbanks, its surface catching the fire of the dying sky, turning the water into a shimmering, fractured mirror.

    The White Creek

    I stepped closer, my boots pressing into the pale sand, the grains shifting underfoot. A gust of wind whispered through the reeds, stirring the long grass, sending ripples across the surface of the water. It was warm, carrying the scent of the earth, of distant smoke from cookfires, of the lingering spices of the market long since closed.

    The village behind me was winding down.

    Merchants had packed their stalls, their voices lower now, speaking in murmurs instead of the day¡¯s lively calls. The clatter of wooden crates, the rustling of tarps being pulled over carts¡ªit all felt distant, part of another world, another life. The kind that belonged to people who knew nothing of what lay beyond the safety of their borders.

    I sank down onto the sand, resting my arms on my knees, watching the river stretch out before me.

    It was a strange thing.

    Watching something move without effort. Without purpose. Without the need to control.

    A single petal floated by, pale pink against the gold and crimson of the water. It drifted in slow spirals, caught in the current, surrendering itself to wherever the river chose to take it.

    The villagers were like that.

    Drifting. Following a path already carved out for them. Never knowing the hands that shaped the banks of the river.

    Never knowing how easily the course could change.

    A breeze stirred the sand beside me, and I exhaled slowly, watching the ripples distort the reflection of the sky.

    There had been a time¡ªyears ago¡ªwhen I had wondered. Wondered about what ifs.

    What it would have been like to be one of them.

    A boy with no more worries than whether the harvest would be good this season. Whether the girl at the bakery would smile at him. Whether he would learn his father¡¯s trade, or take a different path.

    A boy without blood on his hands.

    But that boy had never existed.

    I had been born into something else entirely. Not just thrown into the current¡ªbut shaping it.

    If the world required cruelty, I could wield cruelty. If it demanded mercy, I could grant it. If it needed a monster, I could become one.

    And I had.

    Not because I enjoyed it. Not because I took pleasure in it.

    But because I understood it.

    The wind picked up, rushing through the trees at the far end of the river, shaking loose a flurry of leaves. They danced as they fell, catching in the breeze, twisting and turning before settling on the surface of the creek¡ªjoining the petal, spinning together before the current carried them away.

    I watched them go.

    They could be anything.

    A kingdom. A faction. An empire.

    Men and women who thought themselves unshakable, untouchable. Who had spent lifetimes carving their names into the world, only to be swept away the moment the tide shifted.

    The river would take them, just as it had taken all who came before.

    And I¡ª

    I would decide where the current led next.

    The last of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky burned in its final descent¡ªdeep reds, soft violets, the faintest traces of indigo creeping in from the edges of the world.

    The stars would come soon.

    I leaned back, resting against my palms, letting the quiet settle over me.

    Tomorrow, the road would take me forward again.

    But for now¡ª

    I sat, and I listened to the slow, unhurried song of the river for long time.

    The water whispered against the banks, carrying the last golden hues of the dying sun on its surface before swallowing them into darkness. Without a moon, the river had no silver sheen, no reflection¡ªonly an abyss stretching endlessly, shifting and restless under the breath of the wind. The white sands, which gave this village its name, seemed even paler in the absence of moonlight, ghostly under the dim glow of distant lanterns.

    But even this serenity could not hold me forever.

    A presence stirred behind me¡ªfamiliar, yet sudden, as though it had always been there, waiting to be noticed.

    I did not turn. I simply stood, brushing off the sand, and cast one final glance at the darkened river. Then, with steady steps, I made my way back.

 Chapter 11

    The road stretched before us, winding and uncertain. At times, it curved like a serpent; at others, it lay straight and unyielding. The evening sun cast long, skeletal shadows through the thinning foliage, its dying light staining the land in hues of ember and ash. In the distance, the hollow dirt hills of Hollowed Valley loomed¡ªsilent and waiting. A day¡¯s ride to Old Milltown at our current pace.

    We had left White Creak at midnight two days prior, the dense, verdant forests slowly giving way to barren, wind-swept hills. Now, the land stretched open and vast, offering no shelter, no refuge¡ªjust the endless press of the horizon. The grasslands swallowed us whole, the only sounds the steady clatter of hooves and the occasional howl of the wind. Our pace was relentless, with only brief stops to rest the horses and snatch moments of restless sleep.

    The monotony was broken only by the occasional clash¡ªgoblins and kobolds lurking in the tall grass, their eyes gleaming like embers in the twilight. They were no more than a nuisance, dispatched without ceremony. Yet, as their bodies fell, they left behind the scent of blood in the air, mingling with the dry, sunbaked soil¡ªa reminder of what lay ahead.

    Before we departed, Aleric and Rylas had secured eight fine horses, sturdy and swift enough for the journey ahead. Selene and Mira gathered what provisions they could¡ªwater, dried meat, and herbs for the wounds we were certain to earn. Yet, no amount of preparation could lighten the weight pressing upon us.

    Ewin and Lyrik, however, had enjoyed themselves the most. They spent their time drinking and mingling with the crowds, fishing for information between rounds of ale. But all they managed to gather were exaggerated drunken tales, local myths, and the endless woes of weary villagers¡ªnothing of true value.

    Vyk, on the other hand, returned to us mere minutes before our departure, bringing something far more intriguing. After splitting from the group to scout the village, he had uncovered troubling signs¡ªmerchants conducting quiet dealings in the shadows, selling only to dark-cloaked figures in secluded corners at odd hours.

    Unfortunately, he hadn¡¯t been able to dig deeper before it was time to leave, leaving us with nothing but questions¡ªand a lingering sense of unease.

    The further we rode, the quieter we became. Conversations died in our throats, swallowed by the growing unease that coiled around us like the cooling dusk. In White Creak, we had allowed ourselves a moment of respite, a fleeting illusion of normalcy. But now, beneath the vast, indifferent sky, reality pressed down upon us once more.

    As evening stretched into dusk, the world dimmed to shades of deep amber and violet. The air carried the scent of dry soil and distant rain, whispering through the tall grass that lined the weary road.

    That was when I saw them first¡ªa cart, precariously tilted on the roadside, one wheel half-buried in the softened ground. Two figures stood beside it, their voices sharp and restless, cutting through the hush of twilight. Their arms flailed as they argued, the tension between them palpable even from a distance.

    Vyk, ever vigilant, was the next to notice.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got company,¡± he said, his tone measured. ¡°One and a quarter mile ahead.¡±

    At once, the group stirred. Tired eyes sharpened. Fingers curled tighter around reins, brushing instinctively against the hilts of swords, daggers, or, in Mira¡¯s case, the polished wood of her arcane staff. No weapons were drawn, but readiness settled over us like a coiled spring¡ªtense, waiting.

    As we rode closer, the scene became clearer. Splintered wood lay scattered across the road. A broken wheel leaned awkwardly against the dirt, its jagged edge catching the fading light. The cart, laden with sacks¡ªgrain, most likely¡ªlooked as though it had been abandoned mid-struggle.

    The sight only deepened our unease. This was a well-worn trick among bandits: a wreck, a plea for help, and an ambush waiting in the shadows.

    ¡°I told you the load was too heavy!¡± the younger man snapped, throwing his arms in the air.

    ¡°For all the hells, just listen for once! How many times must I tell you? It was the road!¡± the older one shot back, his voice thick with exasperation. ¡°The rain¡¯s been worse than I expected¡ªit washed out the ground beneath us!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a fool, old man! That¡¯s why I told you to remove some of the sacks.¡± The younger one¡¯s voice rose again, frustration sharp as a blade. ¡°But no, you wanted more coin! Now look at us¡ªstranded in the middle of nowhere!¡±

    As we closed the distance, I studied them more closely. Beneath their frustration, there was an undeniable resemblance¡ªthe same sharp nose, the same furrowed brows when they scowled. Brothers, perhaps. Or cousins.

    Their shouting faded as they noticed us. Lyrik, the people¡¯s man, urged his horse forward, breaking from the group. With his usual easy-going charm, he called out, ¡°You boys seem to have a bit of a problem.¡± He swung off his horse, offering a friendly smile. ¡°Need a hand?¡±

    The two men exchanged glances before the older one turned to Lyrik. His voice was weary, his posture tense but not hostile. ¡°Nothing to worry about, my lords and ladies,¡± he said. ¡°We can handle it ourselves.¡±

    Lyrik''s smile didn''t waver, but I saw it in his eyes. He was measuring their response¡ªjust as I was.

    Aleric dismounted, giving the broken wheel a once-over now that an ambush seemed unlikely. ¡°It¡¯s not just stuck¡ªit¡¯s splintered. That¡¯s not something four hands can fix alone.¡±

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Selene and Mira followed suit, stepping off their horses. The rest of us¡ªVyk, Rylas, Ewin, and I¡ªremained mounted. Vyk¡¯s eyes were cold, weighing possibilities. I knew what he was thinking. Coincidence was a rare thing in our world. And a broken cart, just as night fell? That was no coincidence at all.

    Ewin, on the other hand, barely hid his boredom, letting out a slow yawn. Rylas waited for my word, his stance patient.

    As for me? I simply watched, mildly amused, curious to see where this would lead us.

    Mira took the lead, her voice measured, diplomatic. ¡°Where are you headed? These roads aren¡¯t safe.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re on our way to sell our harvest in the markets at Ol¡¯ Milltown,¡± the younger one answered. Then, with a touch of curiosity, he added, ¡°Where are you folks coming from?¡±

    ¡°White Creak,¡± Rylas grunted.

    At that, the older man¡¯s expression shifted, a flicker of recognition lighting his weary eyes. ¡°White Creak? We¡¯re from Rose Hills, just a ways from there.¡±

    Selene seized the moment. ¡°We¡¯re headed to Old Milltown ourselves. Perhaps we could travel together.¡±

    The wariness in their posture eased, though hesitation remained. The older man glanced at our horses¡ªragged, exhausted from hard riding. ¡°You seem to be in a hurry. We¡¯d only slow you down.¡±

    Before he could say more, the younger one cut in, eager and hopeful. ¡°Though, a helping hand would be much appreciated.¡±

    The sun hung low, staining the sky in bands of rust and violet. The wind, once a gentle whisper, had grown restless, rustling through the dry grass. It carried a certain unease¡ªthe kind that settled into the bones, making the hairs on the back of the neck prickle.

    We were out in the open.

    Lyrik exhaled through his nose, cracking his knuckles. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get this over with before something finds us.¡± He shot a glance at Aleric. ¡°Priest, tell me it¡¯s fixable.¡±

    Aleric, crouched beside the broken wheel, running his fingers along the jagged splinters. His brows knitted together in quiet contemplation. ¡°The axle¡¯s taken a hit, but the real issue is the wheel itself.¡± He let out a breath. ¡°It needs reinforcement, or it¡¯ll crack again the moment it takes weight.¡±

    The older man shifted uneasily. ¡°We don¡¯t have the coin for a new wheel.¡±

    ¡°No need,¡± Mira murmured from leaning on her staff, her voice laced with a measured calm. She extended a hand toward the ground. A faint, green glow shimmered at her fingertips, and from the ground, wood began to rise¡ªsmooth, strong, and unnaturally perfect. The scent of fresh bark filled the air, an unnatural contrast to the dry, dying grasslands.

    The younger man swallowed hard. ¡°By the gods¡­¡±

    Aleric, however, merely nodded. ¡°A fine gift. Though next time, Mira, try not to make it look so¡­¡± He gestured vaguely. ¡°Boisterous.¡±

    Mira smirked. ¡°But that¡¯s half the fun.¡±

    Lyrik had already grabbed the conjured wood, testing its weight before handing it off. ¡°Enough chatter. Let¡¯s fix this thing.¡±

    As they worked, I kept my eyes on the road. Vyk did the same, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his blade. ¡°Something¡¯s watching,¡± he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

    I didn¡¯t ask how he knew. Vyk¡¯s instincts were rarely wrong. But even more so, because I knew it as well. High above in the sky, unnoticed by anyone, someone¡ªor something¡ªwas watching.

    Behind us, Selene was speaking in hushed tones with the older man. ¡°You said you¡¯re from Rose Hills?¡±

    He nodded, distracted as he stole a glance at our horses. ¡°Aye. Just north of White Creak.¡± His eyes lingered on our mounts, their sweat-matted coats, the dust clinging to their legs. ¡°You¡¯ve been riding hard.¡±

    Selene¡¯s smile was measured. ¡°The road hasn¡¯t been kind.¡±

    The younger man, oblivious to the undercurrents, spoke up. ¡°Must be nice, traveling like you do. Seeing the world.¡±

    Ewin, who had barely lifted a finger to help, scoffed. ¡°Seeing the world? You mean barely sleeping, constantly fighting for our lives, and running from things most sane people wouldn¡¯t even believe in?¡± He yawned. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s real magical.¡±

    The young man hesitated. ¡°Oh.¡±

    Meanwhile, Lyrik and Aleric worked with efficient familiarity, though their voices were laced with a subtle edge.

    ¡°Hold it steady,¡± Aleric murmured, hammering the wood into place.

    ¡°I am holding it steady,¡± Lyrik shot back, gritting his teeth.

    ¡°You¡¯re moving it.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re moving it.¡±

    Aleric stopped, exhaling sharply. ¡°Lyrik, for the love of the stars¡ª¡±

    Mira sighed, watching from the sidelines. ¡°If I have to conjure another piece of wood because you two can¡¯t work together, I¡¯m charging you both in blood.¡±

    Lyrik grinned despite himself. ¡°Charming.¡±

    Aleric wasn¡¯t amused. He pressed a palm against the newly placed wood, closing his eyes. A faint, golden glow spread from his fingertips, the divine energy seeping into the structure, reinforcing it with quiet strength. ¡°That should hold,¡± he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

    The older man watched, his voice measured. ¡°You¡¯re a priest?¡±

    Aleric met his gaze. ¡°Of sorts.¡±

    The man¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°Don¡¯t see many priests carrying daggers.¡±

    Aleric only smiled. ¡°Times are changing.¡±

    With the cart repaired, we stepped back. The silence stretched, lingering longer than it should. The younger man looked relieved. The older man remained wary.

    ¡°By the way,¡± Ewin drawled, his voice carrying that ever-present laziness. ¡°How did you two manage to stay out of trouble?¡± He ran a hand through his hair, shifting in the saddle. ¡°By the dead, I¡¯ve lost count of how many vermin I¡¯ve put down. But you¡­¡± His gaze flicked to their empty belts. ¡°You don¡¯t even have weapons¡ªexcept for that rusted bit of iron. What¡¯s stopping the beasts from tearing you apart?¡±

    Young man shifted uncomfortably. The older man¡¯s fingers curled around a small pouch hanging from his neck. His voice came out measured, careful. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ somethin¡¯ Granny made. Brings luck. Keeps the beasts off us. And blesses us with good trade¡ªgood coin.¡±

    Silence.

    A silence that stretched just long enough to make the duo even more uneasy.

    Selene cleared her throat¡ªgentle, measured, as if trying not to spook them further. ¡°That¡¯s wonderful.¡± She turned her gaze to Mira, a silent cue. ¡°As you can see, we also work in the craft. Maybe we could improve it? Strengthen the blessings.¡±

    The duo shifted their gazes between us. Then the older one took the pouch off his neck and presented to Selene slowly. ¡°It¡¯s very important to us, to me.¡±

    As Selene took the pouch to her hands, I was able to get a better look, from my vantage point atop my mount. A simple pouch¡ªweathered, unremarkable. But there was something there. A faint pull. Mana, but weak. Druidic, if I had to guess.

    And a tinge of Old magic, which was fading.

    Selene then handed it to Mira, who also looked at it closely, turning the pouch this way and that. ¡°When was this made?¡± she asked, flicking her gaze to me. Then, ever so slightly, she shook her head. I gave her a small nod.

    ¡°¡¯Bout two months back, when the horrors came,¡± the younger one muttered.

    ¡°Horrors?¡± Rylas grunted, his expression sharpening.

    Young man nodded. ¡°Aye. Before that, just the usual¡ªwolves, the odd bandit, nothin¡¯ we couldn¡¯t handle. Then, all of a sudden¡ªmonsters. Things we ain¡¯t never seen, not even in old tales.¡±

    The air seemed colder.

    Older one exhaled sharply, rubbing his arms like shakin¡¯ off a bad memory. ¡°One day, things were normal. The next¡ª¡± He shook his head. ¡°Like the land turned sour overnight.¡±

    Vyk, ever watchful, edged his horse forward. His voice was quiet, yet it held a weight to it. ¡°Who¡¯s this Granny you spoke of?¡±

    Older man glanced at the other before answering. ¡°She¡¯s just¡­ always been there. Since before any of us can remember. Even our granddad calls her Granny.¡±

    The younger man nodded. ¡°Says she ain¡¯t changed a day since he was a wee lad. She¡¯s been in the village longer¡¯n anyone.¡±

    Lyrik, wiping his hands on a cloth, arched a brow. ¡°You two are brothers?¡±

    At that, the tension cracked just slightly. The duo smiled bashfully.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± The older man said, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°With all this goin¡¯ on, forgot our manners. Name¡¯s Robert.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Henry,¡± the younger one chimed in, giving a small nod.

    The air, once taut with caution, loosened just enough for the conversation to shift.

    Lyrik took that moment to step in, his grin widening as if the unease in the air didn¡¯t exist. ¡°Well then, Henry, Robert, let me tell you¡ªyou¡¯re lucky we came along. The gods must favor you, because I have been known to work miracles.¡± He placed a hand over his heart, voice dripping with exaggerated charm.

    The shift was subtle, but effective. Attention pulled away from caution and toward Lyrik¡¯s presence. The brothers, whether out of amusement or mere instinct, glanced his way instead of us.

    Selene joined in just enough, offering a playful scoff. ¡°And here I thought you only worked miracles at the tavern.¡±

    ¡°That too,¡± Lyrik quipped without missing a beat.

    The tension ebbed just slightly, enough for Aleric to chime in with casual remarks¡ªsometimes countering Lyrik¡¯s boasts, sometimes adding to them. The conversation was light-hearted, but never aimless.

 Chapter 12

    They were guiding the brothers.

    Robert and Henry, for their part, eased into the rhythm of it. Their shoulders lost a fraction of their stiffness. Their words became looser. Laughs came easier. And in that comfort, small details slipped through.

    They spoke of Rose Hills¡ªtheir land, their harvest, the worsening roads. The horrors¡ªbeasts and monsters, though, remained a topic untouched. Avoided, even.

    Vyk, who had dismounted, leaned silently against the cart. He was listening, measuring. Watching how they responded. Where their eyes strayed. What they didn¡¯t say.

    Mira drifted toward my horse, silent as a whisper, unnoticed by the brothers. She reached up and tapped my knee lightly, a subtle signal. Dismount.

    I glanced at Rylas, then at Ewin¡ªwho was idly spinning an arrow between his fingers, his expression unreadable. He flicked his eyes to me once and went back to feigning boredom.

    I slid off my horse, handing the reins to Rylas, who took them without a word. The others knew what to do. Their chatter, their movements, all remained natural¡ªjust enough to make our quiet departure less noticeable.

    Mira led the way, moving away from the road, away from the brothers, guiding me into the rolling grasslands. A few dozen yards were enough. Enough to slip beyond their hearing without alerting them that we had done so.

    Mira hummed, her gaze settling on the pouch now resting once more against Robert¡¯s neck.  ¡°I felt the druidic mana on it,¡± she murmured.

    I nodded, gazing toward the sky, a faint smile curling my lips. ¡°I noticed.¡±

    A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. ¡°It was more than that, wasn¡¯t it?¡±

    She shifted slightly, leaning into me, her warmth barely noticeable beneath the cool breeze. Her long elven ears twitched¡ªan elegant, unconscious movement. Her presence, so effortless, so graceful, was like a single bloom in an untouched meadow.

    ¡°A charm to mesmerize¡­¡± she mused, her voice as smooth as flowing water. ¡°Spiced with Old Magic.¡±

    I turned to her, my smile deepening. A moment of genuine surprise flickered through me¡ªbut she had already caught it.

    ¡°What?¡± she giggled. ¡°Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d notice?¡±

    I chuckled, her teal-colored hair brushing my fingertips as the wind rolled in. "Forgive me, my lady, but I never had such thoughts."

    She laughed again, softer this time.

    The dark sky stretched endlessly above us, stars cold and distant, the moon¡ªa promise of fullness to come, peeking through drifting clouds. The grass, silvered by night, bent and swayed under the breath of the wind. Mira¡¯s hair lifted with it, strands catching the light like woven silk.

    She didn¡¯t belong to this world.

    Not because she was elven. Not because she had lived. But because she seemed so¡­ untouched by time.

    I exhaled slowly. ¡°Old Magic¡­ I guess that¡¯s what kept the beasts and monsters away.¡± I paused, tilting my head slightly. ¡°Things just got more complicated.¡±

    Mira hummed, turning the thought over. ¡°Yeah¡­ paired with an arcane tracking circle.¡±

    I looked at her with a smirk. ¡°That explains the thing circling above us.¡±

    She turned toward the sky, her eyes glowing softly¡ªa sign of mana enhancement. Her pupils dilated, adjusting to the darkness in ways that normal sight never could.

    ¡°I can¡¯t see anything anomalous,¡± she murmured. ¡°Even with mana enhancements. But¡­¡± She paused, her voice turning quieter. ¡°I sense something. The same signature as the pouch.¡±

    I followed her gaze upward.

    At first, I saw nothing but the blackened sky, streaked with drifting clouds. But then, I saw it.

    A dot.

    A stain of pitch-black against the night. A shadow darker than the void itself, suspended impossibly high. Miles above. Where nothing living should be.

    My vision wasn¡¯t enough.

    Not yet.

    Mira and I stood in companionable silence, the cool wind weaving through the grass, rustling past us like a whisper. After a moment, she offered me a final smile, her touch lingering¡ªlight, fleeting, yet deliberate.

    Then, without a word, she turned and walked back toward the others, where laughter and easy conversation flowed, tankards passing between hands, a small fire between them.

    I had been so absorbed that I lost track of time.

    I watched her go, her teal hair cascading down her back, catching the moonlight of the crescent moon as it swayed with her steps. Then she slipped seamlessly into their conversation, a tankard passing into her hands.

    I remained still and turned my eyes back to the sky.

    And then, I changed them.

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    I willed the transformation into being.

    Not my body. Not my face. Only my eyes.

    A slow breath. Eyes closed. The shift was painless, but I felt it¡ªthe rewiring, the new connections being made.

    I opened my eyes.

    And the world was not the same.

    The stars no longer merely glowed¡ªthey blazed, celestial embers burning with an intensity beyond mortal comprehension. They pulsed and twisted, each a knot of swirling energy, their light stretching into faint, unseen threads that wove across the sky like strands of a cosmic web.

    The sky itself was no longer empty. It breathed. It moved. It was a living tapestry, laced with ribbons of arcane residue, shifting and undulating like silvered smoke in an endless void. Faint trails of mana drifted between the stars, currents of power unseen by normal eyes.

    Below, the world pulsed.

    The landscape was the same¡ªyet utterly changed.

    The grass no longer bent passively beneath the wind. It shimmered. It sang. Each blade pulsed with an unseen current, veins of mana threading through the land like the lifeblood of something vast, ancient, and watchful. Where once I saw only dirt and stone, I now saw layers upon layers of energy, shifting in colours beyond human perception¡ªhues that whispered of something more, something infinite.

    The trees, distant but standing vigilant, were stitched with spectral outlines, their roots glowing with latent power, drinking from unseen wells beneath the surface. The wind itself carried ghostly remnants of magic, echoes of spells long faded, drifting like embers carried on an eternal current.

    Everything was alive. Everything was connected.

    And the thing above us?

    It was no longer a speck.

    Now, I saw it fully.

    A raven.

    Suspended against the heavens, blacker than the night itself. Motionless. Unmoving.

    It did not beat its wings. It did not drift with the wind. It simply hung there, as if perched on an invisible thread woven between the stars.

    And then¡ª

    It noticed me.

    Its head jerked sharply, twisting too fast, too precise. Our eyes met.

    For a fraction of a second, something ancient and knowing stared back at me.

    Then it burst into mist.

    A soundless implosion of black vapor, tendrils curling into the wind like dying embers. It did not dissolve. It did not fade.

    It simply ceased to be.

    The sky, once occupied, was now empty.

    I exhaled, lowering my gaze to the rolling grasslands and undoing my transformation.

    The night remained unchanged, the wind still whispering through the open fields. The others were laughing, talking, unaware.

    Only Mira, seated near Selene, paused. Her gaze flickered toward me¡ªjust for a moment.

    I exhaled, slow and steady, before turning back toward the group. They sat around a small fire, embers flickering in the dim light. Their conversation faded as they noticed my approach, their attention shifting to me.

    "We¡¯re stopping here for the night," I said, my voice even. "Make camp."

    There was no argument. The decision was expected.

    The clearing we chose was a patch of flattened grass, far enough from the road to remain unnoticed, but close enough to allow for a swift departure if needed. The fire, small and controlled, crackled softly at the centre of the group, its glow casting shifting shadows against the worn faces of my companions.

    We carried no tents¡ªonly bedrolls. Practical. Efficient. Easy to pack up at a moment¡¯s notice. Each of us had done this a hundred times before¡ªthere was no need for words. Selene unrolled hers near Mira, who had already settled against a tree. Lyrik, ever the opportunist, claimed a spot closest to the fire, while Vyk and Rylas, ever disciplined, chose positions on the outer edges, their backs partially turned to the camp, instinctively guarding the perimeter.

    Ewin muttered something about "shitty accommodations" as he kicked out his bedroll, but I caught the faintest smirk on his lips.

    The brothers, Robert and Henry, had it better¡ªor at least, more sheltered.

    They carried a small tent, barely enough for the two of them, its fabric worn but serviceable. Robert worked in silence, driving stakes into the dirt, while Henry grumbled about the uneven ground. The dynamic between them was clear¡ªRobert was the practical one, used to work. Henry, though not lazy, carried the complaints of someone who had never fully embraced hardship.

    I took first watch.

    So did Robert.

    It was an unspoken thing. He didn¡¯t ask, and I didn¡¯t offer. We simply remained awake.

    The fire burned low, its embers pulsing like the slowed heartbeat of the night. Beyond it, the land stretched in silent waves of silvered grass, the Hollowed Valley distant but ever-present.

    Robert sat near the fire, legs crossed, his rusted sword resting across his lap. He wasn¡¯t looking at me, but I knew he was aware of my presence.

    "You don¡¯t sleep much, do you?" he said after a long silence.

    I glanced at him, expression unreadable. "Neither do you."

    A low chuckle. "Guess not." He prodded the fire with a stick, sending a few stray sparks into the night. "Henry sleeps like a log. Always has. Me?" He exhaled through his nose. "Never trusted the night much. Too many things like to hide in it."

    I hummed in quiet agreement.

    The wind shifted, rustling the grass. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled¡ªfaint, far, yet something about it felt wrong. The kind of sound that made men listen too long to the dark.

    Robert noticed it too.

    His grip on his rusted sword tightened ever so slightly.

    "Lot of strange things happening these days," he muttered. "Monsters where there shouldn¡¯t be. People disappearing. Whole places just¡­ gone."

    He wasn¡¯t just talking. He was fishing.

    I leaned back against a rock, watching the fire¡¯s slow burn. "Strange times," I agreed, offering nothing more.

    He studied me for a long moment before looking away.

    The watch continued. The night stretched on.

    Robert shifted, gripping his sword loosely, the firelight casting half his face in shadow. Then, with no warning, he spoke.

    "You ever hear the stories?"

    I gave him a sidelong glance. "Which ones?"

    He smiled, but it wasn¡¯t a friendly one. "The kind that make people sleep with their doors barred."

    He hadn¡¯t spoken in a while. But when he did, his voice carried a weight that made the night feel colder.

    ¡°Y¡¯ever heard of the Night Caller?¡±

    I said nothing.

    He nodded, as if he hadn¡¯t expected an answer. ¡°Not surprised. Ain¡¯t the kind of tale that gets written down. Only passed along, whispered when the sun¡¯s gone and the wind starts acting strange.¡±

    The wind stirred, curling through the grass around us.

    He took a slow breath, eyes flicking toward the valley. ¡°It was before my time. Before even my father¡¯s time. But my granddad¡ªhe remembered it well.¡±

    His fingers tapped against his knee, slow and steady.

    "It happened in a village long gone now. Wasn''t too different from Rose Hills¡ªsmall, quiet, the kind of place where everybody knew everybody. Where you¡¯d wake up and see the same faces every morning, where things didn¡¯t change much, and folk liked it that way."

    He exhaled. "Until the calling started."

    The fire cracked, sending a brief flicker of light dancing across Robert¡¯s face. His expression didn¡¯t change, but there was something in his eyes¡ªsomething that had been passed down, not through memory, but through fear.

    "It began with the children."

    He rubbed his hands together, his movements slow, deliberate.

    "One by one, they started waking up at odd hours. Not crying, not screaming¡ªjust sitting up in their beds, staring at the walls, listening to something only they could hear."

    His voice was quiet now, like a man trying not to wake something that might still be listening.

    ¡°At first, folk didn¡¯t think much of it. Kids wake up in the night. Maybe it was a shared dream, maybe it was the wind. But then, they started speaking.¡±

    The breath of the night pressed closer.

    ¡°Not to their parents. Not to each other. Just¡­ to the air. Muttering under their breath, voices hushed, like they were answering someone only they could hear."

    His fingers curled against his knee, knuckles white.

    "They asked questions. The same ones. Over and over."

    He swallowed.

    "¡®What¡¯s your name?¡¯

    ¡®Why are you out there?¡¯

    ¡®Where are you hiding?¡¯¡±

    The fire popped.

    "And always, the same pause before they whispered their last question¡ªlike they were waiting for an answer."

    He exhaled, slow and steady.

    "¡®When will I see you again?¡¯"

    A gust of wind curled through the grass, setting the flames flickering.

    Robert continued, voice gruffer now. "Folk tried to brush it off, but after a week, the children started leaving their beds."

    His jaw tensed. "Every night, just before dawn, they¡¯d get up. Walk to their doors, try to unlock them."

    His fingers drummed against his knee; his breath slow.

    "Most of the parents caught on. Started locking doors from the outside. But some didn¡¯t wake up in time."

    A pause.

    "And those children walked straight into the woods."

    The fire was small now, barely more than embers, but it cast enough light for me to see the set of his jaw, the way his fingers curled into a fist.

    "Some of ¡®em were found wandering just outside the village come morning, dazed, confused, not a mark on ¡®em. But others¡­"

    He inhaled sharply through his nose.

    "Others didn¡¯t come back at all."

    I waited, for him to continue.

    His voice was lower now, rougher. "Folk started keeping watch. It wasn¡¯t the woods that took ¡®em. Wasn¡¯t wolves or bandits. They never found footprints, never found bodies. Just¡­ gone."

    His fingers tightened.

    "Then one night, a father woke up to the sound of his boy crying."

    His voice went hoarse for a moment, as if the words themselves scraped his throat raw.

    "He found him standing at the window, tears running down his face. When he asked him what was wrong, the boy said¡ª"

    Robert¡¯s eyes flickered, his voice dropping to a whisper.

    "¡®They¡¯re getting closer.¡¯"

    The flames guttered low, barely more than dying embers now.

    "The father didn¡¯t sleep after that. None of ¡®em did. But watching didn¡¯t help."

    Robert exhaled through his nose. "By the end of the month, half the village was gone. The rest left. Just packed up and left their homes to rot. And that was the end of it."

    Silence.

    A long, heavy silence.

    Finally, I spoke. ¡°And the Night Caller?¡±

    His gaze flicked toward me, sharp beneath the dim glow of the embers. "Ain¡¯t no one ever seen it. Ain¡¯t no one wants to."

    He shifted, stretching out his legs. "But if you ask me? It¡¯s still out there. Waiting. Looking for more folk to answer when it calls.¡±

    His voice was gruff, but I could hear it¡ªthe smallest tremor beneath the words.

    I turned my head slightly, eyes drifting toward the Hollowed Valley.

    The hills sat still. Silent.

 Chapter 13

    The midnight hour stretched long over the open grasslands, the sky a vast canvas of shifting blues and shadowed blacks. A crescent moon hung low, its silver light faint but sharp, like a blade glinting in the dark. Wisps of clouds drifted sluggishly, the wind brushing through the tall grass¡ªnot in a gentle roll, but a slow, creeping shudder.

    In the distance, a lone tree hunched against the horizon, its twisted branches reaching upward, almost human in silhouette. The air smelled of damp soil, a promise of distant rain, but beneath it lingered something else¡ªan invisible weight pressing at the edges of awareness.

    The camp was still, the fire reduced to glowing embers, its light barely pushing against the darkness. The company lay scattered around it, wrapped in the heavy embrace of sleep, yet none of them truly at peace. Lyrik twitched from time to time, fingers curling and uncurling as if grasping at something in a dream, his breathing uneven. Selene had rolled onto her side, her brows furrowed, muttering soft, broken words under her breath. Mira, who rarely surrendered fully to sleep, lay still, eyes closed but ears flicking at every stray gust of wind, as though her body refused to trust the night. Ewin had drawn his cloak tight around him, face turned away, his bow resting within arm¡¯s reach, a quiet habit of readiness even in rest.

    Rylas, as always, was motionless, his presence like an immovable weight at the edge of the firelight. He had not unrolled his bedroll, had made no attempt to rest, simply sitting with his back against a rock, arms crossed, his sword within reach. He did not need to be awake to be ready.

    Robert, like the others, had also given in to exhaustion, shifting once for comfort before falling into deep, steady breathing.

    The next watch had passed, but I hadn¡¯t woken anyone. They needed the rest. And I didn¡¯t mind the solitude.

    The night was never truly silent. The wind whispered through the tall grass, carrying distant sounds with it¡ªsome familiar, others less so.

    Beyond the valley, an eerie cry drifted through the night¡ªtoo shrill for a wolf, too unnatural for a bird. A guttural howl followed, deep and distorted. The kind that sent a prickle down the spine.

    I let my mana seep outward, unfurling like mist. The night felt it. The distant cry stilled. A hesitation, a flicker of understanding. Then, the soft rustling of retreat¡ªsomething that had wandered too close but now thought better of it.

    For a moment, silence stretched. The wind picked up again, as if nothing had disturbed it.

    Then¡ªa raven cawed.

    A single, jarring note that should have shattered the quiet.

    Yet no one stirred.

    The fire pulsed softly. Beyond its glow, a shadow moved. A raven, black as the void between stars, circled the camp in slow, deliberate turns. Its wings beat without sound, gliding in unnatural silence.

    I frowned. Something felt off.

    The company remained still¡ªtoo still. Mira, who noticed everything, didn¡¯t stir. Even Rylas, ever-alert, remained unmoving. As if the raven existed in a world separate from theirs.

    But I saw it. I heard it. And I knew¡ªit was meant for me.

    Slowly, I extended my arm.

    The raven hesitated mid-circle, then folded its wings and dove. It didn¡¯t descend like a bird¡ªit fell, weightless, a whisper in the air. Then, too fluid to be natural, it perched lightly on my hand.

    And I felt¡ªnothing.

    Not the weight of claws, not the warmth of a living thing. It was there, yet it wasn¡¯t. Wisps of black coiled from its form, dissolving into the air like ink in water, reforming with every shift of its feathers.

    A mana construct.

    I smiled. Of course.

    I knew exactly who it belonged to.

    The raven clicked its beak once, then pushed off my hand. It didn¡¯t flap its wings¡ªit simply lifted, gliding as if carried by an unseen force.

    One final, silent loop over the camp. Then, it tilted its wings and vanished beyond the hills, swallowed by the night.

    The fire flickered low, the wind carrying the crisp scent of open grasslands. The company slept on, unaware of the presence that had passed through our camp.

    I exhaled, casting a final glance at them.

    They would be fine.

    Then, without a word, I stepped beyond the firelight and into the waiting night.

    *

    The raven drifted ahead, a shadow against the star-flecked sky, its form flickering like a dying ember as it glided effortlessly through the open night. I followed, unhurried, my steps steady against the shifting grass. The land stretched endlessly before me, a sea of silvered blades swaying in slow, rhythmic waves beneath the crescent moon¡¯s glow. The wind curled around me, cool and whispering, carrying the scent of rain that had yet to fall.

    There was no urgency. No words spoken; no signal given. And yet, the raven led, and I followed.

    The campfire had long since disappeared behind me, swallowed by distance and shadow. With every step, the silence deepened, as if the world itself was retreating, leaving only the night.

    Then I saw her, as the raven disappeared into mist, its dark wisps curling away into the night like whispers lost to the wind.

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    She stood beneath the moon, a shadow draped in black silk. Her gown flowed like dark water, shifting without movement, shimmering with faint, hidden patterns in the pale light. Her hair, sleek as ink, cascaded down her back, untouched by the night¡¯s breeze.

    Her face was a study in contrasts¡ªskin pale against the dark, eyes black as the void. They held mine. For a heartbeat, something flickered in their depths¡ªa hesitation, a breath held too short. Her fingers twitched, then stilled. No one else would have noticed. But I did.

    Then, she moved.

    A curtsy¡ªslow, precise. Not a servant¡¯s bow, but a queen¡¯s gesture. Her gown pooled around her like ink, measured and controlled.

    Her black eyes, sharp and knowing, never wavered. Her lips, full and blood-red, remained unsmiling. The moonlight traced the high, elegant lines of her cheekbones, casting shadows that made her beauty feel distant¡ªuntouchable. She was beautiful, undeniably. But it was a beauty edged with something else ¨C something powerful, something dangerous.

    "My Lord." Her voice, smooth as silk, held a faint, almost imperceptible hesitation.

    I let the silence linger, watching her perfectly poised curtsy. "Rise, Cordelia."

    Cordelia rose at my command, movements as fluid as the night around us, the hem of her gown barely disturbing the grass beneath her. She did not rush. She never did. Her gaze lifted, meeting mine¡ªnot hesitant, not searching, but with the quiet weight of something known, acknowledged.

    I let the silence stretch between us, letting the moment settle. Then, with the barest flicker of amusement, I said, ¡°A surprise, seeing one of your familiars.¡±

    A breath of wind passed between us, cool against my skin. Her lips curved¡ªnot quite a smile, but the shadow of one.

    ¡°I was surprised as well, my lord.¡± Her voice was smooth, steady, yet there was something in it¡ªnot quite warmth, but something just a shade softer than her usual edge. ¡°I knew you were passing through the area, but I never expected our paths to cross¡­ and certainly not through one of my own.¡±

    Her gaze flickered, briefly, deliberately, toward the distant forest.

    ¡°Granny,¡± I murmured.

    Cordelia inclined her head slightly. ¡°Yes.¡±

    She turned, stepping lightly through the grass, and I followed¡ªnot because she led, but because she had more to say.

    ¡°It was centuries ago,¡± she began, her tone drifting as if pulling the memory from a place long untouched. ¡°After an¡­ incident, I withdrew from the world.¡±

    She did not elaborate.

    I did not ask.

    ¡°For a time, I lived in seclusion, deep within the forest. No magic. No disturbances. Just silence.¡± The way she said it, not wistfully, not regretfully, but simply as a fact, made it clear¡ªit was not peace. It was absence.

    ¡°I veiled myself as an old woman,¡± she continued, ¡°simply because it was easier. People do not ask much of the old. They pass them by without a second glance, dismissing them as fragile, harmless.¡±

    Her eyes sharpened slightly, lips curving at the irony. ¡°It was convenient.¡±

    A pause. Then, her voice softened just slightly, just enough to make the words feel distant, yet precise.

    ¡°One day, as I walked through the woods, I heard a sound¡ªfaint, broken. A child, crying.¡±

    The wind stirred through the grass, carrying the scent of damp soil and distant rain.

    ¡°He was five. Maybe six.¡± Her gaze did not waver, but her voice dropped just slightly, as if recalling the way the child¡¯s cries had once pierced the quiet. ¡°Lost. Huddled beneath the roots of a fallen tree. His cheeks were streaked with dirt, his hands shaking.¡±

    ¡°Did you approach him?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    She tilted her head slightly, as if seeing the memory in front of her. ¡°I asked him where he had come from, how he had gotten lost, where his parents were.¡±

    The way her voice carried the next words, I already knew the answer.

    ¡°He couldn¡¯t remember.¡±

    Her fingers brushed absently against the folds of her gown; her expression unreadable. ¡°He told me about his parents, his home, his village. But how he had come to be there? That part was¡­ missing.¡±

    I remained silent.

    ¡°I had no intention of interfering.¡± She exhaled lightly, as if amused by her past self. ¡°But I knew of the village he spoke of¡ªonly whispers, overheard from the hunters who passed through the woods. It took time to find it, especially without magic, but¡­¡±

    She stopped walking.

    For a moment, there was only the rustle of the grass, the cool wind pressing against the folds of our cloaks.

    Then, in a voice smooth and precise, she said, ¡°By the time we arrived, the village was burning.¡±

    A flicker of something passed through her gaze¡ªtoo fleeting to name, too measured to be grief.

    ¡°Bandits.¡±

    The word hung in the air, heavy and absolute.

    ¡°I shielded the boy before he could see.¡± Her voice did not soften, but there was an edge there¡ªa quiet, deliberate action. ¡°Not out of empathy, my lord. But sympathy. The difference matters.¡±

    It did.

    Sympathy was fleeting, passing. Empathy required one to feel.

    I said nothing, waiting.

    ¡°The mind is strange,¡± she continued. ¡°Memories do not disappear without reason. He did not forget how he got lost. He simply could not bear to remember.¡±

    I already knew. The boy had escaped. He had run when the bandits came, tearing through his home, his family, leaving behind nothing but screams and fire. His mind had done what his body could not¡ªit had fled.

    Cordelia¡¯s gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the village lay, distant but present.

    ¡°I searched the region, a momentary impulse. Several other villages had been struck.¡±

    Her hands folded lightly in front of her, the motion absent, almost thoughtful. ¡°There were survivors. Not many. I gathered them. Made a camp.¡±

    A slow breath, almost amused. ¡°And, as these things tend to, the camp grew.¡±

    A village. A town. A place that was never meant to be, yet existed all the same.

    She finally turned her gaze back to me, her expression cool, unreadable. ¡°They depended on me. But not as one depends on another human.¡± The moonlight traced the curve of her jaw, the sharp edges of her poise. ¡°I was not one of them. I was¡­ something else.¡±

    She was the keeper. The guardian. A presence as distant as the moon, yet inevitable as the tide.

    I understood.

    ¡°And so, you left.¡±

    A nod. ¡°Yes. But I left something behind.¡±

    Her lips curved slightly¡ªnot in amusement, but in acknowledgment.

    ¡°A Vestige.¡±

    The weight of understanding settled easily between us.

    For a moment, the world stretched still again, the quiet holding something almost surreal between us.

    Then, Cordelia exhaled lightly, tilting her head just so. ¡°She was watching the brothers. And then¡­ she noticed you.¡±

    She met my gaze, eyes steady.

    ¡°That is why I am here, my lord.¡±

    I studied her for a moment longer, the wind shifting once more, cool against my skin. The night pressed close, stretching vast and silent around us.

    Then, with a slow, measured breath, I said, ¡°Of course you are.¡±

    The silence stretched between us, deep as the night itself. The wind whispered low through the tall grass, carrying with it the distant rustling of unseen creatures, the hush of a world that never truly slept.

    Cordelia stood poised, unhurried, as if waiting for the right moment to let the words slip past her lips. The moonlight traced faint silver along the sharp edges of her features, her midnight gown shifting like liquid shadow as the breeze coiled around her.

    Then, finally, she spoke.

    "Though unexpected, my lord, this meeting is fortunate. Developments are already in motion, and the currents are shifting faster than anticipated."

    She took a step closer, her gaze steady. "The first matter: the courier you expected has arrived ahead of schedule. He is already in Old Milltown, waiting until you and your party reach the town."

    A beat. Her voice softened just slightly, a measured pause before the next piece fell into place.

    "The second matter concerns Ewin." Her eyes flickered, faintly amused. ¡°A delegation from House Syltharion of Ilythrin has come bearing an urgent order¡ªthe immediate summoning of Ewin. His wife is soon to give birth."

    I exhaled through my nose.

    Not surprising. Expected. Yet¡­ here it was.

    Ewin had been racing against it since the beginning, counting down the weeks, knowing each step brought him closer to his departure.

    "A childbirth," I murmured, more to myself than to her.

    A birth among elves was not just an event¡ªit was an celebration. A child born to an elven family was a rare and momentous thing, and House Syltharion would expect Ewin¡¯s presence not just as a father, but as a guardian to his legacy. To their legacy.

    Cordelia inclined her head slightly. "For elves, a child born is a rare blessing, one that echoes across generations. The delegation will not wait long."

    The group will soon be seven instead of eight.

    I turned my head slightly.

    "And the third?"

    "Wraith activity in the Hollowed Valley. A small group intends to spook a herd of Rumblehorns into stampeding through your path."

    A faint pulse of irritation stirred beneath my skin. Rumblehorns. Massive, armored, territorial. Herbivores, but that hardly mattered. When enraged, they would charge through anything in their way¡ªtrees, stone, flesh.

    Cordelia¡¯s gaze flickered toward the distant hills. ¡°They will time their spooking at first light, ensuring the Rumblehorns cross directly into your path.¡±

    I glanced toward the valley, where the land lay still beneath the crescent moon. A fragile, waiting silence.

    "They expect us to move at sunrise," I murmured. "So, we won¡¯t."

    Cordelia tilted her head slightly in understanding. ¡°You intend to leave now, before they¡¯re ready.¡±

    "If I wait until dawn, I walk into their timing. If I move now, they walk into mine."

    I turned back to Cordelia, my voice measured, certain.

    "You have done well to inform me. I will move the company at once."

    She did not object. ¡°The brothers?" she asked.

    "They will return to their village. Have your Vestige¡ª¡®Granny¡¯¡ªwatch over them until they return to Rose Hills. The mana on the pouch is waning."

    Cordelia nodded once, accepting the command without further comment.

    The wind stirred around us, the grass whispering secrets to the night. I let the silence settle before adding, "I have no intention of stumbling into pitfalls I already know the size and depth of."

    Cordelia¡¯s gaze met mine, her lips curving slightly. "A wise choice, my lord."

    I tilted my head slightly. "It is not wisdom, Cordelia. It is the simple truth. Even if you know the depth of a pit, there is always a chance to break an ankle."

    Her amusement did not show, but I felt it in the way she exhaled, measured and slow. "Then I suppose it is fortunate that you never misstep."

    "Let¡¯s not test that theory tonight."

    And with that, I turned, striding into the embrace of the waiting dark, the path ahead already set. Behind me, Cordelia¡¯s presence faded, vanishing into the night as if she had never been there at all.