ã€ŠECLIPSA [EPIC FANTASY]ã€‹


 Prologue

    Darkness enveloped the village like a funeral shroud. The sky had long been obscured by heavy, low clouds, from which a fine icy rain fell. Mud mixed with blood squelched underfoot, and flames burst from the windows of burning houses, devouring the remnants of the old world. Silence hung over the village, pierced only by the cries of the dying and the beastly roars of the shapeshifters. Every corner of this place had become a battlefield, every step could be the last.

    In the deserted courtyard, among the wreckage of carts and broken wooden fences, Malrian stood alone. His sword, covered in blood and dirt, trembled slightly in his hand. Before him on the ground writhed a shapeshifter, already dead but not yet cold. The beast''s claws were broken, and its neck was slashed so cleanly that its head was almost severed. It was their first success in a long night. Malrian breathed heavily, occasionally glancing at the smoldering remains. But his rest was short-lived. Two more emerged from the shadows¡ªugly, unnatural creatures with huge claws and gleaming eyes. They moved like predators, but their wounds from the recent fight made them more cautious. One of them shot a brief, malicious glance at Malrian and was the first to disappear into the dark silhouette of the barn. The second, hissing, followed, limping but no less dangerous.

    The third shapeshifter seemed determined to fight to the end. It moved slowly, but its growl made the ground tremble. Malrian, tensing his muscles, raised his sword and prepared. But at that moment, a cry came from the side:

    "Malrian, stop! Don''t chase them!"

    Tamion, keeping his enemy at bay, desperately called out to him. But Malrian only exhaled sharply, almost whispering:

    "Nag."

    And he took off. His mind was racing, but his thoughts were focused on one thing¡ªto finish them all. He rushed across the yard, ignoring the mud and cold. The barn was his target, and nothing could stop him.

    Meanwhile, at the other end of the village, Novian moved through the ruins, a heavy axe in his hands. He felt as if enemies lurked around every corner. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breathing grew heavier. Every sound echoed painfully in his ears. He stopped, hearing a rustle, and prepared. A shadow flickered from around the corner. Without thinking, he swung.

    "STOP, NOVIAN! IT''S ME!"

    The shout made him freeze. In the dim light, he saw Kessel. Her eyes were wide open, and her face was twisted with fear.

    "Damn you!" she hissed, stepping back. "Can''t you even see who''s in front of you? You''re a drunk who can''t tell friend from foe!"

    Novian smirked, lowering his axe:

    "With a partner like you, it''s hard not to drink."

    Kessel muttered something angrily but continued forward, shooting him a dark look.

    Kairon, armed with a longsword, stood near the ruins of an old mill. His gaze was cold and focused. He turned to his companions, noticing their argument.

    "Where''s Malrian?" he asked sharply.

    Kessel rolled her eyes but replied:

    "He ran off. As usual."

    Novian added, shaking his head:

    "You won''t believe it, but he decided to be a hero again."

    Kairon frowned:

    "Despite his recklessness, he''s a great warrior. But his laziness and carelessness will kill him one day."

    Novian chuckled, but after a short pause, he said:

    "The ambush at Yominegem... You''d speak differently if you''d seen how he saved my life there. Though he could''ve just left."

    Kairon remained silent, not giving in to emotion. However, their conversation was interrupted by Tamion, who appeared from around the corner. His clothes were stained with blood, and in his hands, he held the severed head of a shapeshifter. Exhaustion was written on his face.

    "I saw Malrian run after them into the barn," he exhaled, breathing heavily. "I tried to stop him, but I was busy with this."

    He lifted the beast''s head, as if confirming his words.

    "We have to go after him, now!"

    The heroes immediately regrouped and ran toward the barn to protect their comrade.

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    Malrian burst into the barn, his breathing loud and ragged. The darkness inside was thick as tar. The air smelled of rotten hay and stagnant water, and the walls oozed dampness. Malrian slowed his steps, his breathing heavy and uneven. The wounds on his back throbbed, every movement sending a wave of pain through him, but he had no intention of stopping. Ahead, a silhouette flickered¡ªtall, slender, with a sword at its side. In the dim moonlight filtering through the cracks in the boards, he recognized the familiar figure.

    "Tamion? Did you decide to join me after all?" Malrian smirked, taking a few steps forward. His voice was calm, almost cheerful, though his hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his sword. "I thought you''d left me to deal with these bastards alone."

    The silhouette remained silent, swaying slightly as if unsteady. Malrian paid no attention. He was too exhilarated by his victory, too confident that the shapeshifters no longer posed a threat.

    "Alright, listen, don''t just stand there like a statue. I''m out here doing all the work while you lot don''t even cover my back! But you know what? I don''t mind. Admit it, Tamion, you''re lucky to have me. I''m your best warrior. When I finish off these beasts, the first thing I''ll do is make you all drink to my health. And yes, it''s on me!"

    Malrian laughed, his voice echoing off the barn walls. He took a couple more steps and suddenly froze. Something about the silhouette had changed. His eyes narrowed, and a shadow of suspicion crossed his face. "Tamion" stood too still, his form distorted, almost unnatural. Malrian squinted, and at that moment, the moon slipped from behind a cloud, illuminating part of the figure''s face.

    A half-transformed shapeshifter stood before him, clad in twisted, battered armor. Its face was grotesque¡ªone side human, with smooth skin and a short beard, resembling the village elder. The other side was burned, with a missing eye, torn flesh, and bared fangs. The creature had tried to transform fully, but something¡ªperhaps its strength¡ªhad failed it.

    Malrian froze. His brain registered the mistake in a split second. The creature roared and struck with a claw as sharp as a blade. The claw pierced Malrian''s stomach, forcing him to double over in pain. But he managed to react¡ªhis sword sliced through the air, cutting deep into the shapeshifter''s neck. The creature let out a gurgling cry but didn''t fall. It staggered, wheezing, but remained standing.

    And then, from behind, came the sound of footsteps. The second shapeshifter¡ªless wounded but no less dangerous¡ªhad crept up unnoticed. Malrian felt the blow to his back. Claws tore through his skin and muscles, piercing him clean through. The warrior fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the wooden floor.

    "How did you... transform?" Malrian rasped, staring into the eyes of the first shapeshifter. His voice was weak, filled with pain and confusion.

    The shapeshifter grinned, spitting out thick, dark saliva:

    "We''ve completed the first part of the ritual. Times are changing, traveler."

    The second shapeshifter, standing behind him, added quietly:

    "But I''ll honor your request."

    It leaned closer to Malrian''s ear, its voice dripping with venomous mockery:

    "I''ll make sure your team drinks to you... at your funeral."

    The creature bared its teeth in a vile grin, and the final blow was precise. The claw''s blade sliced through Malrian''s throat. He tried to breathe, but his strength left him. The last thing he saw before his face hit the cold wooden floor was their backs. The shapeshifters left the barn, leaving him to die alone.

    When the others reached the barn, they were met with an eerie silence. Tamion was the first to open the doors, his sword at the ready. But inside, they found only a scene of death. The body of one shapeshifter lay against the wall, and beside it was Malrian, his eyes open but lifeless.

    Kessel froze, then abruptly covered her face with her hands, as if trying to hide her emotions. Her voice broke into a hysterical whisper:

    "Why didn''t he listen?! Why?!"

    Her fists clenched, and she shot a furious glare at Kairon, as if he were to blame. Her eyes burned with anger and pain.

    Novian silently approached Malrian''s body. He knelt, gripping his hand, but couldn''t bring himself to speak. His vision blurred, and his face trembled. For him, it was like losing a brother.

    Tamion stood to the side, his hands still stained with blood from the earlier fight. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his expression tense. He clenched his teeth and whispered almost inaudibly:

    "Fool..."

    Kairon, on the other hand, remained cold. His gaze was that of a strategist assessing losses. He stepped forward, examined Malrian''s body, then the shapeshifter''s, and said loudly:

    "Take Malrian''s body. The others too. We move on."

    "The others have names too!" Kessel shouted sharply, her voice trembling with anger.

    Kairon didn''t turn around, his tone icy:

    "Then take care of their gravestones."

    Tamion, gripping his sword hilt, stepped forward, pointing the blade at Kairon:

    "Now''s not the time for your sarcastic remarks."

    Kairon calmly looked at him:

    "Now''s not the time to waste it. The shapeshifters are already far ahead."

    Tamion hesitated for a moment, then lowered his sword:

    "What''s next?"

    Kairon nodded toward the exit:

    "We''ll figure out the plan as we go."

    They set off in pursuit. Kessel and Novian remained by Malrian''s body, unable to move. For them, this wasn''t just a loss¡ªit was a victory for death.

 Chapter 1. Elven Oath

    The solemn sounds of fanfare filled the air, spreading across the main square of the elven city of Ellen¡¯Tanor, glowing in the golden rays of the evening sun. Rows of young elves stood as straight as blades, their gleaming armor reflecting the light of festive fireworks bursting above the crowd. Applause, cheers, and joyful shouts could be heard everywhere. The citizens had gathered in a massive crowd, surrounded by the tall spires of ancient buildings, to bid farewell to those being sent off to serve.

    On a high wooden stage, framed by the fluttering banners of the kingdom, stood the commander-in-chief. His stern gaze swept over the recruits, and his powerful voice echoed across the square:

    ¡°You, the young generation, are the pride of our people! Today begins your journey¡ªa path of honor, valor, and service to the great kingdom. It is you, as representatives of Ellen¡¯Tanor, who will journey to the lands of men to bring harmony and peace. Know that you are the ones who will become legends for future generations!¡±

    The crowd roared in approval, applauding. Eldarion Nightwatch, a slender and focused elf with a silver spear in hand, listened intently to the speech, his gaze filled with seriousness and inspiration. Beside him stood Calador Crimson Dawn, who, in contrast, appeared relaxed and slightly mocking.

    ¡°Hear that? You¡¯re going to be a legend, Eldarion,¡± whispered Calador, shaking his head. ¡°Though, I think our carefree days are over. How long do you think we¡¯ll last before they send us to the front lines?¡±

    Eldarion turned to his friend, his eyes reproachful.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you understand? It¡¯s an honor to serve such a noble mission. We bring peace!¡±

    Calador smirked:

    ¡°The only place I want to draw my blade is in a brothel, Nightwatch. And here you are talking about honor.¡±

    Eldarion frowned:

    ¡°That¡¯s disgusting. You could at least try to be serious.¡±

    An irritated voice came from behind:

    ¡°Both of you, shut up before we get in trouble!¡±

    <hr>

    Several hours passed. The townsfolk began to disperse to their homes, and the recruits were sent to their quarters. Eldarion and Calador found themselves in the barracks, a spacious room with rows of simple wooden bunks. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a warm but dim light on the rough walls. The air was filled with the scent of fresh wood, mingled with the sharp aroma of weapon oil.

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    Eldarion was removing his ceremonial armor, hanging it neatly on a stand. He turned to Calador:

    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand how you ended up here. You always said the army wasn¡¯t for you.¡±

    Calador sighed heavily and shrugged:

    ¡°Not my choice, believe me. Lioneer, the city where I grew up, is known for its wars. All young elves are taken from there to fill the ranks of the army. And given my lineage, they didn¡¯t even leave me a choice. My family is a long line of heroes. Crimson Dawn¡ªsounds nice, doesn¡¯t it? And me? Well, you see for yourself.¡±

    Eldarion smiled:

    ¡°I think you underestimate yourself. I came here voluntarily. My grandfather served in the army, and he always told me that honor, valor, and courage are the most important things for an elf. He raised me, taught me everything I know. He was my role model.¡±

    Calador thought for a moment, then snorted:

    ¡°It¡¯s all nonsense. But you know what, Eldarion? I respect you for your bravery. You¡¯re too good for this war.¡±

    <hr>

    Another elf, Genior, sat nearby, his face twisted with anger. He couldn¡¯t hold back:

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand how you can talk so calmly about service. We, elves, are supposed to help humans? The same humans who killed our Queen Sirena? This is betrayal!¡±

    Calador lazily retorted:

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have come if it weren¡¯t for the circumstances.¡±

    Eldarion turned to Genior, trying to speak softly:

    ¡°Not all humans are terrible. There are those who need our help. We can¡¯t abandon them in their time of need.¡±

    Genior stood up abruptly and approached Eldarion. His voice was low and venomous:

    ¡°You¡¯re a human lackey! You betray your people by praising those who hate us!¡±

    Eldarion took a step back, bewildered. He tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat. The tension in the room reached its peak until Calador calmly stood up and placed a hand on Genior¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Cool off, friend. After all, none of us are here by choice.¡±

    Genior clenched his fists but said nothing. He shot a cold glare at both of them and silently left the barracks, slamming the door behind him.

    <hr>

    Silence fell over the room. Calador shrugged:

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope he doesn¡¯t come back with a knife to slit our throats.¡±

    Eldarion wearily sat down on his bunk, running a hand over his face:

    ¡°There was no need to complicate things like that. We¡¯re here to help. Why is that so hard to understand?¡±

    Calador smirked, sitting down beside him:

    ¡°Because no one likes to die, my friend. Not even for a good cause. But you know what? You¡¯re no coward. Even with your foolish ideals.¡±

    Eldarion looked at him with a slight smile:

    ¡°And you, Calador, aren¡¯t as much of a coward as you pretend to be.¡±

    Calador leaned back, grinning:

    ¡°You owe me your life now for that compliment. Remember that, Nightwatch.¡±

    They laughed, and the tension finally dissipated. Rising, they headed to the mess hall, where a simple dinner awaited them before bed.

 Chapter 2. A fragile alliance

    The dim light of candles barely illuminated the dark room with its high vaulted ceiling and roughly hewn stone walls. The air was thick with tobacco smoke, lazily curling over the massive round oak table. Maps, scrolls, and half-burned papers stamped with seals lay scattered across the table. Guards stood silently along the walls¡ªgrim, armed, and ready. Anyone entering this room underwent strict scrutiny: matters discussed here could alter the fate of the entire world.

    Among those gathered at the table were representatives of all the major races. Hulking goblins, stern dwarves, elven commanders, and a dark elf sat with expressions of deep concentration. At the center of attention was one of the most imposing figures present¡ªThaurin the Vengeful, an orc general. His massive, scarred body stood out even among the other warriors. Clad in heavy armor, his enormous two-handed sword lay nearby, ready for use.

    His voice, rough and powerful, cut through the silence like a hammer striking stone:

    ''''So, we¡¯re here to discuss how to save those wretches in the lands of men? It¡¯s simple: we take an army, march there, and wipe them out. Those pathetic creatures have no place on this earth. They¡¯re weak, vile, and deserve to be erased from the world. Why should we stoop so low as to save those who dug their own graves?''''

    The silence that followed his words was oppressive. For several seconds, no one uttered a sound until Matius, the dwarven representative, broke the silence. Short, stocky, with deep-set eyes and a thick beard, he looked like a seasoned warrior. A crossbow hung at his back, and a short sword rested at his belt. He lit his pipe and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke before speaking:

    ''''Thaurin, the days of the Great War are long gone. We no longer destroy each other. Now we are allies. If you don¡¯t understand that, we¡¯ll have problems. We must help the humans, not kill them.''''

    Thaurin snorted, baring his tusks.

    ''''If you¡¯re so eager to help those worms, go ahead and do it yourself. Just don¡¯t drag the orcs into it. We have more important matters than dealing with their problems.''''

    Matius, remaining calm, released another ring of smoke and continued:

    ''''We are in a united alliance, General. That means we act together. Either you accept that, or return to your mountains and forget about the support of the rest.''''

    Thaurin roared, slamming his fist on the table with such force that papers and maps jumped. The goblins in the corners tensed, and the room filled with tension.

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    ''''Shut your mouth, dwarf! One more word, and you and your halfling runt will regret it.''''

    Matius calmly took a drag from his pipe and blew a stream of smoke directly at the orc:

    ''''Don¡¯t forget who gave you that scar on your left shoulder. I¡¯ll gladly add a couple more if needed.''''

    The silence was shattered by the sharp voice of a goblin sitting to Matius¡¯s right. His face twisted into a smirk:

    ''''Matius, you¡¯re overconfident if you think you can survive this fight.''''

    But before he could finish, Thaurin barked:

    ''''Sit down, disgrace to your kind. At the Battle of Atmer, your cowardly soldiers fled the field, leaving my warriors to die. I lost fifty fighters because of your treacherous blood. I can¡¯t stand allies like you.''''

    The goblin hissed angrily but obeyed. Matius laughed loudly, shaking his head.

    <hr>

    The tension was diffused only by Lucius, the elven commander of the Council. His gleaming armor shone in the candlelight, and his face remained cold and focused. His voice was firm but devoid of emotion:

    ''''Enough. We are here to discuss business, not measure our strength.''''

    He turned to Thaurin, his gaze turning icy:

    ''''You must understand, General. I, like you, hate these humans. If it were possible, I would gladly gut a few more families for their ''past deeds.''''''

    His voice took on a manic edge, causing even Thaurin to tense. Matius closed his eyes, as if trying to hide his unease. Lucius continued:

    ''''But this is not about revenge. These creatures¡ªshapeshifters, the fruit of human folly¡ªpose a threat to us all. If we don¡¯t stop them, they will come to our lands. We must isolate them, and if that means protecting the humans, so be it.''''

    Thaurin exhaled and leaned back. His face showed clear displeasure, but he said nothing.

    Lucius continued:

    ''''Each kingdom will provide four hundred warriors. In two weeks, they will march to Limus. This is only the beginning. Further orders will follow.''''

    <hr>

    The silence was broken by a young halfling sitting next to Matius. His gaze was serious, and he spoke calmly:

    ''''Lucius, what will happen when these monsters are gone? What will become of the humans¡¯ lands? Clearly, they won¡¯t be able to hold their territories.''''

    A heavy silence fell over the room. Everyone exchanged glances, as if silently dividing the lands among themselves. The goblins whispered among themselves, their faces lit with sly smiles. The elves sat motionless, but their eyes grew wary. Thaurin gave a slight nod, his expression stony, while Matius stared intently at the halfling, thinking, This fool risks starting a new slaughter.

    Lucius calmly replied, defusing the tension:

    ''''You¡¯re looking too far ahead, Janian. These questions require time. Right now, we must focus on the first phase of the operation.''''

    He paused, then spoke:

    ''''The first phase is simple: we fortify Limus and prepare for a reconnaissance mission. Further instructions will follow.''''

    The tension eased slightly, but a hidden threat still lingered in the air. No one asked any more questions. The candles continued to flicker, casting long shadows on the walls, while the smoke from Matius¡¯s pipe lazily curled over the table.

 Chapter 3.Words and stars

    The elven barracks towered over the military camp like a formidable sentinel, shrouded in the shadows of a summer evening. The building, constructed of pristine white stone, was adorned with intricate elven craftsmanship, yet every detail, from the wide gates to the sturdy walls, spoke of its primary purpose¡ªprotection. The perimeter of the barracks was surrounded by tall towers, their windows glinting with the reflections of magical lights. A gentle, warm breeze blew over the area, carrying with it the scents of summer¡ªfresh grass, tree resin, and distant flowers.

    Patrols of elven warriors moved silently along the walls, their movements precise and deliberate. In the distance stood a small castle that served as the administrative center of the camp. Lights in the castle windows flickered on and off, betraying the late-night work of those planning the upcoming campaign. Outside, however, the atmosphere was more relaxed. A large bonfire burned in the center of the camp, around which dozens of elves¡ªrecruits and veterans alike¡ªhad gathered. They sat on roughly hewn benches, sipping ale from elegant goblets and sharing stories that elicited bursts of laughter.

    Eldarion and Calador sat nearby, enjoying the evening respite before the dangers ahead.

    Eldarion gazed thoughtfully at the dancing flames:

    ''''I keep wondering what awaits us in the lands of men. Will it be as they¡¯ve told us? Or will it be far more complicated?''''

    Calador chuckled, taking a sip from his goblet:

    ''''Oh, I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be a couple of widows in need of comfort. You know, Eldarion, I can¡¯t wait to use my... natural charm.''''

    Eldarion rolled his eyes, accustomed to his friend¡¯s crude thoughts:

    ''''You do realize this isn¡¯t a pleasure trip, right? We¡¯re heading into dangerous territory to help people, not to disgrace the honor of the army.''''

    But Calador was hard to stop:

    ''''Why disgrace? On the contrary, I¡¯ll help repopulate their lands. That¡¯s pure charity!''''

    A nearby elf, his face flushed from drink, loudly supported Calador:

    ''''Exactly! Someone¡¯s got to restore the population!''''

    Everyone around burst into laughter. Eldarion merely sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but said nothing. His friend, as always, was the center of attention. However, the laughter faded into silence when another elf rose from the circle. Tall and stately, he stood out with his appearance and demeanor. This was Gimlor, a warrior with aristocratic bearing. His gleaming armor reflected the firelight, and his gaze exuded confidence.

    Gimlor raised his goblet, and all eyes turned to him. His voice, resonant and penetrating, carried across the circle:

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    ''''I want to say that I¡¯m proud to be here with you, brothers. Trials lie ahead, but I know that with people like you, they¡¯ll be easier to overcome. I wish each of us to return home with honor, with success, so that our names will be remembered in this kingdom. And let¡¯s not forget each other, so that in the future, no matter how life unfolds, we can achieve power and wealth together!''''

    An elf sitting nearby, Elric, who could barely hold his goblet, shouted loudly:

    ''''Hey, Gimlor, are you planning a coup? Ha-ha!''''

    The joke caused a slight stir; even the guards standing nearby grew alert. But Gimlor didn¡¯t falter. He turned to Elric with a smile and replied loudly:

    ''''I¡¯m only planning to flip your bed, Elric. With your snoring, that¡¯ll be a great victory!''''

    This remark sparked another burst of laughter, and the tension immediately dissipated. The guards turned away, returning to their duties. Gimlor, pleased with the effect, added:

    ''''Let¡¯s drink to honor and courage!''''

    Everyone raised their goblets, clinked them together, and took a large sip.

    <hr>

    Four hours later, the bonfire began to die down, and most of the elves had gone to sleep. However, Eldarion, Calador, Gimlor, and a few of his friends remained by the flames. The atmosphere was quiet and almost intimate. Eldarion, gazing at the slowly dying fire, broke the silence:

    ''''What¡¯s your dream? Each of you.''''

    One of Gimlor¡¯s friends was the first to answer:

    ''''I want to build a house. A big, spacious one, so my children can run around while I work in my forge.''''

    Another elf smiled:

    ''''I want to move to one of the city-states. Live peacefully, far from all this politics and war.''''

    A third elf thought for a moment, then said:

    ''''To travel the world. I¡¯ve always dreamed of seeing the desert lands beyond the kingdom.''''

    When it was Gimlor¡¯s turn, he raised his eyes and spoke softly:

    ''''I want to reach the pinnacle of power. I want to know the truth about the Day of the Bloody Sun. My heart tells me there¡¯s something unclean about that story. My parents, who were not insignificant in the kingdom, heard rumors that don¡¯t align with what we¡¯ve been told. I must find out what really happened.''''

    A heavy silence followed his words. Everyone around the fire exchanged glances, unsure of what to say. Gimlor lowered his gaze, realizing his words had created tension. But Calador quickly intervened to lighten the mood:

    ''''I heard the whole planet is run by greedy halflings. A bum in an alley told me that.''''

    Laughter instantly dispelled the tension. Even Gimlor smiled, shaking his head. Calador added:

    ''''But you know, I like your dream. If you reach the top, don¡¯t forget about me. I want to become a screen star or own the best brothels in the capital. We agreed: we stick together.''''

    Gimlor smirked:

    ''''You, Calador, are a slippery one. But I must admit, you¡¯re an interesting conversationalist.''''

    Eldarion looked at them and, when it was his turn, said quietly:

    ''''My dream is simple. I want to help people. That¡¯s all.''''

    The others nodded. There was no hidden meaning or ambition in Eldarion¡¯s words, but everyone respected him for the purity of his intentions. Gimlor looked up at the stars and said calmly:

    ''''It¡¯s time for us to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.''''

    Eldarion nodded but added:

    ''''You go ahead. I¡¯ll sit here a little longer. Goodnight, friends.''''

    The others wished him goodnight and dispersed. Eldarion remained alone. He sat by the dying fire, gazing at the glowing embers, and pondered the future. His thoughts were deep but calm, like the night that enveloped the elven camp.

 Chapter 4.The Token for the Gravedigger

    The night¡¯s gloom enveloped the guild camp as Novian and Kessel emerged from the forest. The dim glow of campfires reflected off armor, and shadowy figures of adventurers slowly turned toward their approaching footsteps. Here, among the tents, wooden barricades, and watchtowers, life never stood still. The guild was a place where death walked hand in hand with fortune, where gold and blood blended into a dull alloy.

    Novian strode forward, carrying a lifeless body in his arms. It lay motionless, wrapped in tattered cloth, but none present would mistake its size and shape¡ªthis was no ordinary fallen comrade. This was one of their own.

    The men by the fires fell silent, their gazes locked onto Novian and his burden. Conversations died, leaving only the crackling of flames and the soft rustle of the wind. Some squinted, others exhaled heavily. Whispers slithered through the crowd:

    "Whose token are they bringing to the gravedigger this time?"

    "Could it be Kairon?"

    "I bet Tamion finally bit it while cleaning up after his fools."

    At those words, a woman sitting at a nearby table flinched and tightened her grip on her quill. Before her lay an open book, its pages filled with neat lines of records. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Novian before she sharply looked away, inhaling deeply.

    Kessel, silently circling the fire, approached an adventurer holding a mug of ale. Without a word, she snatched it, took a deep swig, and drained it dry before tossing the empty mug to the ground without so much as a glance.

    The stunned man blinked and asked cautiously:

    "You alright?"

    Kessel turned, her eyes blazing.

    "Are you blind? Can¡¯t you see what happened? How the hell did you even become an adventurer, you halfwit?"

    She turned away, storming toward the guildhall, leaving behind only tense silence.

    <hr>

    The guildhall, once a sturdy four-story structure, now bore the scars of time and war. Its wooden walls, once smooth, were marred by deep gashes and weapon marks. Cracked stone foundations held up the beams, and the heavy doors had been repaired more than once after raids.

    But the most striking feature was inside. The walls were adorned with trophies¡ªarmor, daggers, breastplates¡ªbelonging to the greatest adventurers... and those no longer among the living. This unspoken ritual, leaving behind armor in memory of the fallen, was a reminder: the guild never forgot its heroes.

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    Patrols moved along the perimeter, their faces weary but alert. About fifteen men kept watch, waiting for their shift to end. They cast envious glances toward the campfires, where others drank, rested, and shared stories. In an hour, their duty would be over, and they could join them.

    <hr>

    Novian trudged through the camp toward a lone figure sitting in the shadows, slightly apart from the gathering. People stepped aside, their eyes drawn to his massive frame. Despite his imposing presence, his steps were heavy, as if each one was a struggle.

    The men by the fires held their breath, watching. Some clenched their mugs, others gritted their teeth. No one knew for sure whose body Novian carried, but they all understood: if it was being taken to the gravedigger, this wasn¡¯t just another wounded man. This was the end.

    Finally, Novian stopped. Before him sat a man who didn¡¯t look up.

    He appeared to be in his forties, but his eyes held indifference and exhaustion, as if he¡¯d seen death too often to feel anything for it anymore. Long black hair fell over his face, obscuring his expression. His clothes¡ªfaded gray and stained with dirt¡ªspoke of years of labor. A small box and a shovel rested beside him.

    Novian took the final step forward, holding out a token. His fingers gripped it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

    The token lay on his open palm. Novian, usually as unshakable as a boulder, now looked as though this was his hardest battle yet. His stern gaze was filled with pain. He couldn¡¯t speak¡ªonly hand over the token, a final farewell.

    The gravedigger lifted his head, examined the token, and took it. He held it closer to his eyes, then announced flatly:

    "Malrian."

    A metallic clink¡ªthe token dropped into the box. Then, calmly, the gravedigger added:

    "The funeral will be at dawn."

    This time, the silence was absolute. His words struck the camp like a stone dropped into still water. People froze, processing what they¡¯d just heard.

    Whispers began to fill the air.

    "How could Malrian die?"

    "It¡¯s impossible... he was too good."

    "Honestly, it¡¯s a miracle he lasted this long, the way he acted."

    Some stood wide-eyed, others exchanged glances. Malrian had been well-known in the guild, and now everyone who¡¯d heard of him was talking about the loss.

    One thing was clear¡ªno one remained indifferent.

    Novian turned away, his footsteps heavy as he headed toward the guildhall, ready for respite even though he knew peace wouldn¡¯t come.

    At that moment, the woman with the book¡ªthe one who had flinched at Tamion¡¯s name¡ªlet out a deep breath. Her gaze flickered toward Novian before she returned to her notes, scribbling another entry.

    Behind her, around the fires, heated discussions erupted. How had this happened? What had gone wrong in that village? The guild buzzed with theories, whispers, and guesses.

    Malrian was dead.

 å°hapter 5.Disagreements

    The forest closed in around them¡ªdark, grim, as if woven from the night itself. Tree branches interlaced overhead like a dense canopy, nearly blotting out the last glimpses of the evening sky. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth, rotting leaves, and something more sinister. Shadows danced across ancient bark, twisting the trees into writhing demons watching the intruders.

    Kairon and Tamion ran, barely slowing their pace. The ground beneath them was sodden from recent rain, each step accompanied by a muted squelch. The forest lived its eerie life: an owl hooted somewhere distant, a branch snapped, yet nothing moved in sight. Only the two of them¡ªhunters pursuing their prey.

    The shapeshifters'' tracks were clear but erratic, as if the creatures had veered wildly to evade pursuit. Mud caked in their paws left dark smears, making the trail easy to follow¡ªat first. But the deeper they went, the more the tracks blurred, lost in the chaotic patterns of the forest floor.

    Then, the trail vanished entirely. The forest fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by Kairon¡¯s steady breathing and Tamion¡¯s ragged gasps.

    Tamion stopped abruptly, teeth clenched. His whole body trembled¡ªnot from exhaustion, but fury. He crouched, fingers digging into the wet earth, desperate for any sign of their quarry.

    "Are you going to help?!" he nearly shouted, barely containing his rage.

    Kairon slowly turned his gaze to him, one brow arched.

    "Do you really want to keep chasing? We don¡¯t know where this leads. We don¡¯t know if there¡¯s an ambush. And I¡¯m certainly not risking my neck for a dead fool and your childish thirst for vengeance."

    Tamion stiffened. His eyes burned.

    "Choose your next words carefully, Kairon. I wield a blade as well as Malrian ever did."

    Kairon smirked.

    "That¡¯s something we¡¯ll never get to test."

    That was the last straw. Tamion¡¯s fist shot out before he could think.

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    <hr>

    The punch landed hard against Kairon¡¯s jaw, sending him stumbling back. He blinked, wiped blood from his lip, then calmly drew his weapon.

    Silence hung thick between them. Only their ragged breaths cut through it.

    Then they lunged.

    Steel flashed under the moonlight, blades meeting with a metallic shriek. Every strike was lethal, every step precise. Kairon moved economically, deflecting attacks with minimal effort, as if testing Tamion¡¯s resolve.

    Tamion fought with aggressive fury, his movements fast but slightly wild¡ªfueled by rage. He struck again and again, but Kairon parried each blow with icy precision.

    Then Kairon seized an opening. A quick step forward, a flat strike against Tamion¡¯s sword¡ªand the weapon flew from his grip, sinking into the mud.

    Tamion froze for a heartbeat.

    Instead of retreating, he snatched a handful of mud with his left hand and hurled it. Kairon sidestepped easily.

    "Missed," he began¡ª

    But a second clump, hidden in Tamion¡¯s right hand, smacked wetly into Kairon¡¯s face.

    Kairon crashed onto his back. Tamion was on him instantly, pinning him down. His fist slammed into Kairon¡¯s face. Once. Twice. A third time.

    Only when he saw blood seeping from Kairon¡¯s split brow did Tamion pause, chest heaving. He drew a dagger and pressed it to Kairon¡¯s throat.

    Now, the forest was utterly silent. Just two warriors in the mud, one holding the other¡¯s life on a knife¡¯s edge.

    Kairon, still eerily calm, murmured:

    "Will you kill me, Tamion?"

    Tamion said nothing.

    Kairon smirked through bloodied lips.

    "The mud trick... Not bad. You were always the best of that guild rabble. But your loyalty to the team will get you killed one day."

    "I don¡¯t feel excessive empathy for the team, Kairon. It¡¯s pragmatic¡ªtraining new recruits takes too long."

    Kairon chuckled.

    "Honestly? I don¡¯t give a damn what happens to them. But you¡¯ll face a choice one day: stay human, or save the world. I¡¯ve already chosen."

    He let that hang in the air, then added:

    "And don¡¯t forget who taught you to fight."

    Tamion¡¯s grip faltered¡ªjust for a heartbeat.

    Kairon spat blood into his face.

    Tamion flinched¡ªand Kairon twisted, seizing the knife.

    Tamion went rigid.

    Kairon prodded his wound, gave Tamion a long look, then casually tossed the blade aside.

    "We¡¯re returning to camp. And lest anyone forget¡ªI lead this squad."

    Tamion wiped blood from his face and said nothing. He followed in silence, leaving behind the dark forest where the shapeshifters¡¯ trail had vanished.

    The darkness thickened. But the choices they¡¯d made tonight would linger far longer.

 Chapter 6.A sudden meeting and a sad farewell

    The slanting rays of the setting sun pierced through the sparse tree crowns, painting the broken road in crimson hues. The mud squelched unpleasantly underfoot, mingling with blood seeping from the wound on Tamion''s leg. Each step sent a sharp pang of pain through him, but he clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep up. Ahead, walking without turning, was Kairon¡ªhis lean figure like an immovable boulder amidst the chaos.

    Suddenly, Kairon stopped and, without looking back, tossed a dirty, blood-soaked bandage over his shoulder. It landed with a wet slap at Tamion¡¯s feet.

    "Tie your leg," Kairon¡¯s voice was flat, emotionless, as if commenting on the weather. "Cripples are dead weight. You¡¯re slowing us down."

    Tamion¡¯s fists clenched, anger rising like a hot wave up his spine. He bent down, picking up the bandage with fingers trembling from exhaustion.

    "And what about heartless bastards like you? Decoration?" His voice dripped with venom as he tightened the bandage around his wound.

    Kairon didn¡¯t dignify him with a response. But his broad shoulders tensed slightly, and his pace slowed unexpectedly. His eyes narrowed, scanning the gathering dusk for something only he could see. His fingers twitched toward his sword hilt, but after a moment, he relaxed and kept walking.

    The wreckage of the caravan lay before them like a grim painting of destruction. Overturned carts, once laden with supplies, now lay broken and looted. Torn bodies littered the ground, a grotesque mosaic of death. The air reeked of decay, thick with the metallic tang of blood.

    Kairon moved methodically through the carnage, his boots splashing through congealing blood. Without warning, he kicked a flipped wagon¡ªa muffled whimper came from beneath.

    "Come out," his voice was ice, brooking no argument. "Or I¡¯ll drag you out by your hair."

    From under the corpse of a young woman, a girl crawled out. No older than twelve. Her wide, terror-filled eyes looked unnaturally large in her pale, blood-streaked face. Her dress, once light-colored, was soaked in dark blood¡ªnot hers, judging by the lack of wounds.

    Kairon crouched to her level, his shadow swallowing her whole like a predator sizing up prey.

    "Who were your parents?" He paused deliberately between questions. "Why are you alive?"

    The girl said nothing, only clutching a bloodstained bundle tighter to her chest. Kairon slowly drew a dagger and began cleaning his nails, feigning indifference.

    "Lie, and we leave you here," he nodded toward the darkening woods. "These lands are crawling with shapeshifters. They love to... play with their prey. Especially children."

    "I¡¯m Anika," the girl whispered, her voice barely audible. "M-mama told me to run... Then they... used her voice... Called for me..."

    With shaking fingers, she pulled a tarnished guild pendant from under her collar¡ªthe sigil of the "Truthseekers," an elite division known for dangerous investigations.

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    Tamion, who had been silently watching, stepped forward.

    "We¡¯re taking her. The Guild doesn¡¯t abandon its own."

    Kairon rose to his full height. Something dangerous flickered in his usually impassive eyes.

    "Remember that boy?" His voice dropped, making the threat even sharper. "He cost us two lives. Want a repeat?"

    Tamion¡¯s sword hissed halfway out of its scabbard. Kairon didn¡¯t flinch, merely raising an eyebrow as if observing an experiment.

    "Fight me, and you¡¯ll be buried next to Malrian. If we find enough of you to bury."

    Silence stretched between them, broken only by Tamion¡¯s ragged breathing. Finally, with a sharp motion, he slammed his sword back into its sheath, turned, and offered a hand to the trembling girl.

    Torchlight at the Guild gates cast erratic shadows on ancient stone walls. Kessal paced restlessly, her bootprints a tangled mess in the trampled earth. When familiar figures emerged in the distance, she sprinted forward, ignoring the guards¡¯ shouts.

    "What happened?!" Her hands gripped Tamion¡¯s shoulders, then flew to his wounds, assessing the damage. "Where¡¯s... where¡¯s Mal¡ª?"

    Kairon strode past, dragging the bloodstained Anika behind him.

    "Girl. Anika. She¡¯s with us now," he threw over his shoulder without slowing.

    Novian, silent until now, knelt before the girl. His massive, scarred hands gently cupped her face, checking for injuries. Anika shrank into Tamion¡¯s cloak like a frightened animal.

    Kessal pulled Tamion close, her whisper sharp as a slap:

    "He¡¯s planning something again... That girl¡ªanother pawn?"

    Tamion watched Kairon¡¯s retreating back. His reply sounded hollow, distant:

    "Not today, Kess. Not today."

    Smoke from pipes and hearth filled the Guild tavern¡¯s low ceilings, creating a suffocating haze. Adventurers huddled in tight groups, their voices merging into a constant din punctuated by bursts of laughter or curses.

    "''Aid¡¯ after ten years?!" A gray-templed drunkard slammed his fist on the table, making mugs jump. "That¡¯s not aid¡ªit¡¯s robbery dressed as mercy!"

    Kairon leaned against the bar, swirling a glass of undiluted wine. His steel-cold gaze swept the room, silencing chatter wherever it landed.

    "They¡¯ve come to carve up the corpse," his voice cut through the noise. "Men are weak now¡ªvultures always circle weakness. Nothing personal. Just nature."

    Tamion, seated in a corner, spun an empty mug between his fingers. His tone was unexpectedly measured:

    "Without allies, we die. But their terms will bleed us dry. Question is¡ªare we willing to pay that price?"

    Novian, who had been silently observing, suddenly stood. His massive frame blocked the fireplace light, casting a monstrous shadow on the wall.

    "Not tonight," he growled, and strode out without another word.

    Moonlight streamed through Novian¡¯s narrow window, painting eerie patterns on the floor. He sat on the edge of his unmade bed, a near-empty bottle of strong wine clutched in his huge hand. The door creaked¡ªKessal stood on the threshold, her face in shadow.

    "I... heard you," she began hesitantly, stepping inside. "Talking about... Malrian."

    Novian didn¡¯t answer immediately. He took a final swig, then turned to her. Moonlight revealed eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion and drink.

    "In that damned city..." His voice was rough, as if dragged over gravel. "He pulled us from a goblin encirclement. Eighteen of us. Eighteen lives already written off."

    His grip tightened¡ªthe bottle cracked under his fingers.

    "Then... when we were trapped in the ruins, starving... He snuck into their den. Night after night. Stole food. For the squad. For the local kids hiding with us."

    Kessal didn¡¯t hold back her tears. They streaked through the grime on her face, glistening in the pale light.

    "Why... why didn¡¯t you ever say?" Her voice trembled. "We thought... I thought..."

    Novian looked up, and the raw pain in his eyes made her recoil.

    "And I... I didn¡¯t even watch his back when it mattered."

    Silence settled between them, thick and heavy as swamp mist. Outside the door, in the dark hallway, Tamion¡¯s shadow retreated from the crack. His fingers loosened around a bottle¡ªhe never took a sip. Only one thought echoed in his mind, squeezing his heart like a vise:

    What if I¡¯d been faster? What if¡ª?

 å°hapter 7.Swords into the Earth

    Dawn spilled over the guild cemetery like wine on a dirty tablecloth. The gray sky, low and cracked like old pottery, pressed down on the shoulders of those gathered. Fog¡ªthe eternal companion of these grounds¡ªclung to boots, coiled around legs, as if trying to hold everyone back from hasty decisions. The air smelled of damp earth and something sour¡ªperhaps rotting flowers, or maybe stale blood.

    The crowd formed an uneven semicircle around the fresh grave. Hundreds of people¡ªveterans with hollow stares, young mercenaries trying to appear indifferent, even a pair of elves in faded cloaks, their faces hidden beneath hoods. Whispers fluttered like autumn leaves:

    "He pulled me from the rubble in the Grotto..."

    "Without him, our squad would¡¯ve burned that same day..."

    "They say he laughed in those creatures¡¯ faces before he died..."

    An old warrior stepped forward, his face carved deeper by scars than by wrinkles. Without a word, he tossed a rusted dagger into the grave¡ªan ancient guild custom. The metal clinked dully against the coffin lid, and at that moment, somewhere on a crooked oak, a crow cawed. Exactly three times¡ªas if counting the last seconds of someone¡¯s life¡ªbefore vanishing into the gray haze.

    Novian stood motionless, his massive frame like a gravestone. His eyes were dry, but his fingers dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood, dripping onto the trampled grass. Kessel, usually sharp-tongued, now ground her teeth, gripping her dagger¡¯s hilt:

    "Idiot... Had to play the hero..."

    Her voice trembled, anger and pain mixing into a strange cocktail of emotions. Tamion, standing beside her, tensed suddenly. His gaze caught a strange figure in the crowd¡ªa tall man in a gray cloak, unnaturally still amid the shifting mass of people. But when he blinked, the stranger was gone.

    "And where¡¯s our beloved leader?" Kessel hissed, not tearing her eyes from the coffin. "Already found himself new cannon fodder?"

    Tamion didn¡¯t even turn his head.

    "Shut your mouth."

    "You¡¯re seriously defending him?!" Kessel¡¯s voice jumped an octave. A few nearby adventurers glanced their way.

    Tamion spun sharply. His eyes, usually calm, now burned with a cold fire:

    "We weren¡¯t there for Malrian¡¯s last moments. Don¡¯t take this time from him too."

    Kessel recoiled as if slapped. Her lips trembled, but the words stuck in her throat. Novian silently placed his enormous hand on her shoulder¡ªheavy and warm, like a brick from a furnace.

    "You¡¯re right..." she finally forced out. "But that doesn¡¯t mean he can¡ª"

    "It does," Tamion cut in, "because someone has to lead us forward."

    He turned back to the grave, where gravediggers had already begun shoveling damp earth onto the coffin. Kessel sighed and stepped to the edge of the pit, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her cloak.

    The wind lifted petals from the funeral flowers, scattering them across the cemetery. Somewhere in the distance, a cart¡¯s wheels creaked; someone coughed, someone sniffled. The world kept moving, despite death.

    Senika approached soundlessly, like a shadow from drifting clouds. Her fingers nervously traced the spine of a tattered book¡ªthe same one always clutched to her chest like a shield against the world¡¯s cruelty.

    "You... how are you?" Her voice cracked on the last word, turning the question into little more than a breath.

    Tamion slowly turned his head. His eyes reflected the gray sky¡ªempty and boundless.

    "We weren¡¯t friends before the squad..." he began, as if sifting through old coins in his memory. "But he reminded me of someone. A knight from Brayslick. One who kept moving forward, even when the road ended at a cliff."

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    Senika bit her lip. The wind played with her dark strands, hiding her face behind a shifting veil.

    "You rarely talk about the past..." she whispered.

    "Malrian was the same," Tamion said, dragging a hand down his face as if wiping away invisible fatigue. "He smiled, even when the world burned behind him."

    Silence hung between them, filled with the cries of crows and distant voices from the crowd. The wind tore petals from the grave wreath, sending them spinning in a strange dance over the fresh earth.

    Suddenly, Tamion reached into his coat pocket. His fingers found a small bundle wrapped in waxed paper.

    "Here... take it." He held it out to Senika without meeting her eyes. "Forgot to give it earlier."

    Senika unfolded the paper. Mint candies¡ªthe ones she loved. Her lips quivered into a fragile smile.

    "Thank you..." She clutched the bundle as if afraid the wind might steal even this small gift. "Go to your team. They¡¯re waiting."

    Tamion nodded. His gaze swept the cemetery¡ªKessel was kneeling by the grave, whispering through tears. Novian had vanished, likely to the tavern, where it was always too loud and too lonely.

    As Tamion walked away, Senika unwrapped one candy. The sugar crunched between her teeth, the mint flooding her mouth. For the first time that day, she tasted something other than bitterness.

    And at the edge of the cemetery, in the shadow of a half-ruined chapel, a tall man in a gray cloak watched. His fingers drummed slowly against his dagger¡¯s hilt¡ªone, two, three. Exactly as many times as the crow had cawed before flying away.

    <hr>

    The exorcists¡¯ squad headed to their scheduled meeting with Kairon at the guild headquarters.

    The stifling air reeked of parchment, metal, and old blood. Kairon stood over a table littered with maps, his long fingers gliding over markings left in ink and... something darker.

    "Kessel," his voice sliced through the silence like a blade, "your armor isn¡¯t decoration. Next time you limp around like a drunken whore, you¡¯ll lose your head. And I won¡¯t bother picking it up."

    Kessel clenched her fists but stayed silent. Her eyes, red from crying, still burned with fury, but now held something else¡ªcold calculation.

    Novian stood by the wall, his enormous shadow trembling in the guttering torchlight. He stared at nothing, as if seeing not the room but the barn where they¡¯d become one fewer.

    "Novian," Kairon didn¡¯t even look up, "if your sword hits another ally, I¡¯ll rip it from your hands and shove it down your throat. Understood?"

    Silence.

    Novian gave a slow nod.

    "Tamion," Kairon finally lifted his gaze, "you..."

    He trailed off. Tamion¡¯s eyes were empty. Not devoid of emotion¡ªrather, they held too many, burned down to ash.

    "...You already know what I¡¯d say."

    Tamion didn¡¯t answer.

    In the corner, Anika sat with her legs drawn up, fingers worrying the pendant around her neck¡ªthe only thing left of her parents.

    "So what are skinwalkers?" she suddenly asked.

    Kessel sighed, rubbing her temples wearily.

    "Creatures that pretend to be human. Luckily, adventurers can spot them by certain signs. Examining their corpses or questioning witnesses. Plenty of ways. The guild tracks these things closely. They can look like anyone¡ªan old man, a child, your best friend..." She shot a glance at Kairon. "Or even a squad leader."

    Kairon smirked, but his eyes held no humor as he retorted:

    "Good thing they can¡¯t copy a sense of humor, right, Kessel?"

    Kessel said nothing. Wiping his brow, Kairon continued:

    "Did some digging. In this region, they¡¯ve got new tells." He jabbed the map. "White teeth. Too white. Or festering wounds on their backs. Old methods don¡¯t work here."

    "Why?" Anika frowned.

    "Because here, coincidentally, people have bad nails from the water¡ªwhich was our old detection method." Kairon leaned over the table. "So if you see someone with rotting nails, they might just be sick. Or..."

    "...or a skinwalker who wants you to think that," Kessel finished.

    "But why leave signs? Do they want to be found?" Anika pressed.

    Silence fell again, thick as the cemetery fog.

    "Who knows? We¡¯d need to figure out how and why it happens," Novian muttered.

    "We leave in five days," Kairon straightened, his shadow swallowing the room. "If you want to mourn Malrian, do it now. On the road, I need clear heads."

    He turned to the window, where dusk was gathering.

    "Where are we going?" Tamion asked.

    Kairon didn¡¯t turn around.

    "Surprise."

    <hr>

    As everyone dispersed, Kessel led Anika away, muttering about "survival lessons." Novian vanished¡ªlikely to the tavern, where he could drink alone.

    Tamion remained, staring at a bloodstain on the map. It had dried but still reminded him of what they¡¯d lost.

    And outside, in the deepening twilight, the tall man in the gray cloak watched Tamion. His fingers drummed slowly against his dagger¡¯s hilt.

    One.

    Two.

    Three.

    Exactly as many times as the crow had cawed before flying away.

 Chapter 8.Bloody Instructions

    The stone walls of the former crypt absorbed the sweat and fear of a hundred elven soldiers. Water seeped through cracks in the vaulted ceiling, mingling with the soot from oil lamps. At the center, leaning on an oak cane topped with a wolf''s head, stood Captain Darvin¡ªa tall elf whose face was carved with scars. The most prominent gash crossed his left brow, making his predatory yellow gaze even more piercing. His worn officer''s uniform, adorned with tarnished insignia, smelled of gunpowder and old wounds.

    "Limus," his hoarse voice cut through the silence, "will be your new home. Or rather, your mass grave, if you act like idiots."

    A tattered newspaper slammed onto the table: "OUTSIDERS UNWANTED: ''STEEL CLAW'' GUILD EXPELLED FROM CITY."

    Someone in the third row choked. Darvin didn''t even glance their way.

    "Hoods," he struck his cane against the floor, "won''t save you. But without them, they''ll slit your throats before you even open your mouths."

    A nervous crack of knuckles echoed somewhere in the hall. Darvin continued, switching the map''s display. Now at its center yawned the "Zone of Silence"¡ªa black stain spreading across half the continent. At its edge loomed the tiny mark of Varlav, marked with a skull.

    "The human army is nothing but pitiful garrisons guarding their last safe cities. And the guilds..." He snorted derisively. "Mercenaries with expensive swords. They hunt demons in dungeons while the real plague spreads across the land."

    Gimlor, seated in the front row, stood abruptly. His silver hair, tied in a tight ponytail, swayed. "Varlav... That''s three days from human borders. How could a replicant¡ª"

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    "Get that far?" Darvin bared his teeth. "Congratulations. Now you understand why the guilds are failing."

    The cane struck the floor again, making even the steeliest flinch.

    "The guilds call them ''shapeshifters.'' Remember this: anyone they''ve seen becomes their mask. They''re stronger than a trained elf. Faster than fear itself."

    A muffled cough came from the back rows. Darvin lowered his voice. "Most are beasts in human skin. But there are... others. The ones who remember. Speak in your voice. Laugh like your friends."

    Liran, the gaunt archivist with unkempt hair and spectacles perpetually sliding down his nose, leapt up so violently he knocked over an inkwell. "Enough! This is classified!"

    Kaldor, sprawled across the back bench, drawled lazily, "Oho, so the truth is even worse?"

    Gimlor refused to be sidetracked. "What''s the mission''s ultimate objective?"

    Darvin''s cane moved automatically to point at Eclipsa. "There..." His voice cracked. "...lies the graveyard of our hopes. Eclipsa¡ªground zero of the catastrophe, a trove of answers no one wants to face." His gaze swept the room. "Three hundred elves of the ''Shadowblade'' entered. None returned. The Council calls it... ''training exercises.''"

    Liran hurled a chair. "Silence! Final warning!"

    Darvin moved faster than most could blink. His hand closed around the archivist''s throat. A slip of paper fluttered from Liran''s trembling fingers.

    "You''d send them in blind again?" Darvin hissed.

    Liran wrenched free. At the threshold, he straightened his crumpled collar. "Orders are orders."

    The door slammed shut behind him, leaving behind a document faintly inscribed: "OBJECT 14: PHASE ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€."

    Darvin sank heavily into his chair, suddenly aged. "Forget this conversation. We march in three days."

    The soldiers filed out in silence. Eldarion, midway through the column, stepped sideways¡ªcrushing the forgotten paper beneath his boot.

    Outside, new recruits were already being shouted into formation¡ªfresh meat for the grinder.

    Kaldor, the last to leave, scooped up a scrap of newspaper. His fingers froze over the fragment: "...third one found in Varlav..." The ever-present sardonic grin stiffened imperceptibly.

    As the door closed behind the final soldier, the map on the wall rustled¡ªas if stirred by an unfelt wind.