One day later, under the warm blush of the afternoon sun, the village of Kintol breathed as though it had just remembered how. With the tax burden lifted and the looming fear of starvation gone, laughter returned to the streets like birds at dawn. Children chased goats through alleyways. Merchants haggled with flair. The world had grown lighter.
And down by the river—where the water ran clear and cold, glinting like liquid glass—Grace vanished beneath the surface with a fluid dive. Her golden-brown hair fanned behind her like silk in the current, and tiny fish scattered at her playful charge.
Moments later, Valerius slipped into the water after her. Silent. Precise. Shadow-like.
They swam together for a while—circling, diving, gliding just beneath the surface like two creatures born for the river. Grace broke through first, laughing, her arms spreading as she floated on her back.
"You're slower than I thought," she teased, brushing water from her eyes.
Valerius surfaced beside her, only his eyes and brow showing, gaze locked on hers like a predator quietly observing its match.
"I let you win," he said simply. "It's good for morale."
She splashed him with a grin. "This isn't war, you odd creature."
"Everything is war," he replied calmly, voice low and solemn. "Even this."
Grace narrowed her eyes, drifting closer. "Do you always speak like that?"
"Only," he said, tilting his head slightly, "when I'm with someone worth listening to."
A smile crept onto her lips. "You're not as strange as you pretend."
"And you," he countered, "aren't as ordinary as you want them to believe."
But before she could answer, a voice sliced through the air from the riverbank.
"Well, well. Look who's decided the rest of us no longer exist."
Lilith stood with her hands on her hips, mischief practically radiating off her. Beside her stood Freya—cautious, arms crossed—and Brian, who had already managed to get mud on both her knees.
Valerius gave a soft sigh through his nose. "They found us."
"Told you," Lilith said, stepping forward. "One brooding pretty boy shows up and suddenly we're yesterday's bread."
Grace groaned and splashed toward the edge. "Lilith, please. Not now."
"Oh no, now is perfect." Lilith smirked. "You disappear for days and now we find you swimming alone with the ghost-elf? Scandal."
"We're not mad," Freya added softly. "Just... confused."
Brian crouched and squinted at Valerius. "Is he still doing that eye thing?"
Valerius blinked slowly above the water. "It's called watching."
"Creepy," Brian muttered.
"He's not creepy!" Grace said quickly. "He just... doesn't talk much."
Lilith raised an eyebrow. "Oh, he talks. Just only to you. Which is exactly why it's spicy."
Valerius turned toward her. "You've far too much time on your hands."
Lilith curtsied with exaggerated grace. "And you have far too many secrets."
The laughter that followed was quick and genuine, tension melting into familiarity.
But it didn't last.
Three boys emerged from the trees further down the bank, shirtless and loud, their shadows stretching long in the late sun. The one in front—tall, cocky, and golden-haired—walked like he owned the soil. Corman.
"Looks like the party started without us," he called out.
Grace's smile died. "This part of the river is taken. Go further downstream."
"It's a river, not your bath," Corman replied, stepping closer. "We've been swimming here since we were kids."
Lilith whispered, "Great. Corman's in one of those moods."
"You've been acting strange lately," Corman said to Grace, arms crossed. "Ever since he showed up. Got you under some kind of spell, has he?"
Valerius didn't move. He merely floated, his gaze sharp and glacial.
"Maybe he's a mage," another boy chuckled. "Or maybe Grace just likes the quiet ones."
Grace's voice turned cold. "You've had your fun. Now leave."
"Why?" Corman sneered. "Don't want your pretty boy to mingle with us?"
Valerius rose from the water like something ancient and regal, bare shoulders glistening. He said nothing, but his presence struck like a shift in weather.
Corman faltered.
"We're allowed to swim."
"Then do it," Grace snapped. "Just not here."
Freya whispered, "Can we not start a fight...?"
Lilith grinned. "Too late, I've picked sides."
Brian snorted. "We know."
Then came the voice—measured and deep.
"You're still here?" Valerius said, calmly. "Leave. You're bothering us."
Corman stiffened. "Fine. River's cold anyway."
They walked off, muttering.
Grace sank into the water beside Valerius. "Idiots."
"You looked ready to break his jaw."
"I was," she said. "And thank you... for not doing anything stupid."
He stroked his chin. "I did consider breaking a few teeth."
She laughed. "You're terrible."
"Imagine him trying to talk," he murmured. "Mouth like a crumbled gate."
Grace giggled. "You're impossible."
Their eyes lingered. His—still unreadable. Hers—searching.
Then she splashed him. "Bet you can't catch me!"
She dove.
He hesitated... then followed.
The river carried them both.
From the shore, Lilith rolled her eyes and began stripping off her shoes. "Come on, girls. Let's remind Grace what fun looks like."
Before anyone could react, she had peeled down to her undergarments and leapt into the river with a whoop.
"Lilith!" Grace shouted.
Brian followed her, slipping as she went. "If she drowns, I'm not dragging her out."
Freya sighed. "This is madness..."
"You already stepped in," Brian grinned. "Might as well drown with style."
Moments later, they were all in the water—laughing, splashing, jostling like children.
Lilith spun around. "Alright! Breath-holding contest. Last one to surface wins eternal glory."
Valerius drifted near, half-curious.
"On my count," Lilith said, raising her hand. "One. Two. Three—go!"
They all went under.
Seconds passed.
Grace popped up first, laughing. "Choked on my own hair!"
Brian followed. "Lilith kneed me!"
"I was clearing space," Lilith gasped, surfacing with flair. "Freya?"
Freya emerged slowly. "I touched something... not right."
Valerius was still gone.
"…He's still down there?" Freya whispered.
"He's fine," Grace said, less confidently.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Lilith began pacing in place. "Okay. Is he dead?"
"Lerius?" Grace called.
Nothing.
Four minutes.
Brian bit her lip. "He drowned."
Then, on the sixth minute, the surface parted.
Valerius rose without a gasp, standing tall, breath calm, gaze serene.
Lilith stared. "You were dead!"
Valerius tilted his head. "I used to do this with my siblings. Became a sort of game. I've... adapted."
"Ten minutes?!" Brian said. "You fish."
"I once did fifteen."
Freya leaned to Grace. "Is he always like this?"
Grace chuckled. "Worse."
Lilith swam closer. "You cheat. You probably don't have lungs."
"I do," he said smoothly. "Two. I just know how to use them."
Brian splashed him. "You're counting next."
"I don't play games," he replied.
"You just did."
"I win. That's different."
The group burst into laughter, and the river, for a while, was the only world that mattered.
Valerius smiled—just barely—but it stayed longer than the ripple behind him.
---
Far away, across dust-laced plains and meadows kissed gold by the afternoon light, hooves pounded like war drums. Gavurn rode at the head, his cloak snapping behind him, eyes narrowed against the wind.
"Do not slow down!" he roared. "We'll be in Kintol by dusk!"
His ause—snorted and galloped harder, steam rising from its flanks. The rest of the riders surged behind like shadows in pursuit of thunder, a blur of dark armour and intent. Trees blurred past. Wind tore at their capes. And ahead, the quiet village of Kintol waited, unaware of what storm approached.
---
In Weston, Mathen could not sleep.
The hours dragged on like chains pulled through stone. Night had bled into morning, and now—well past noon—he still lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his chamber as if it mocked him with its stillness.
His bed was a throne of unrest. Silken sheets clung to his sweat-slicked skin. His eyes—dry, bloodshot, fever-bright—twitched with every blink. Thoughts spun around him like vultures: betrayal, fear, fury, and above all... impatience.
His hands trembled on the velvet pillow. His jaw clenched.
"They delay," he muttered to no one. "They stall... they wait... like fools."
The walls seemed to close in. The air was thick, heavy, scented with perfume and rot. He sat up, wild-eyed. The light filtering through the curtains mocked him with its serenity.
Then, without warning, he screamed.
"I'LL GET MY CRYSTALS MYSELF!"
The room quaked with the force of his outburst. Birds scattered from the terrace. Servants down the hall froze in terror.
In a blur of rage, Mathen stormed to the window. His bare feet cracked the marble tiles as he moved. With one furious motion, he shattered the glass with a burst of energy. Shards rained down like jagged diamonds.
The wind roared in.
He climbed onto the sill, robes billowing like wings behind him. With teeth bared and veins pulsing in his neck, he launched himself forward—
—and took flight.
The sky screamed past him. Clouds ripped apart in his wake. A trail of pressure carved through the heavens as he hurtled straight toward Kintol, eyes locked on one thought alone:
Take what is owed. Burn what resists.
---
Back by the river in Kintol, the water had stilled. The earlier splashes and games now gave way to that soft tiredness that comes after too much joy.
Freya hugged herself. "I'm getting out. If I stay any longer, I'll catch a cold."
Brian stretched. "Good idea. I think my fingers have wrinkled into raisins."
Lilith flicked her wet hair over one shoulder. "I don't feel cold. But I'm bored now."
Brian rolled her eyes. "That's because you thrive on chaos, Lilith."
"And yet you still follow me." Lilith winked, then added, "Come on, let's dry off before we all turn into prunes."
The three girls waded out of the water, squabbling playfully as they reached for their clothes.
Valerius, still chest-deep in the river, watched with a strange calm. Then he muttered under his breath, "We should get out too. I wouldn't want to get sick in this backward place."
He swam to shore and climbed out, water dripping down his frame in rivulets. He settled himself on a large, sun-warmed rock beside his neatly folded clothes. His eyes were distant, the light behind them dimmed by a shadow that hadn't left since the Beniek Ruin.
Behind him, Grace heard the word.
"…Backward?"
She said it softly, like the word had landed somewhere it shouldn't have. Still in the water, she blinked and followed him out, squeezing the water from her hair.
Freya, already wrapping herself in a dry tunic, whispered to Brian, "Was that rude or just... him?"
Brian shrugged. "He's always like that. I think he's allergic to normal."
Valerius sat still, elbows on his knees, eyes empty as stone. Inside, the memory returned—unforgiving, vivid.
He stood in the ruin, hand gripping a jagged stone disk, arm raised. Ziraiah stood before him, eyes wide, unmoving, scared. She didn't plead. Didn't cry. Just watched him, she couldn't move.
His fingers tightened around the stone. One second more and he would have brought it down on her skull.
But then another image cut through.
Eryndor, sprawled on the cracked floor, blood pooling beneath him. His right leg—gone. His arms wrapped around Ziraiah, shielding her, trembling. He said nothing. No scream. No curse. Just held her tight.
Valerius's jaw tensed. The weight of the disk. The silence. The guilt.
It had nearly happened.
And even now, he resented the man who made him do it.
Grace approached slowly, noticing the change. She saw his hunched shoulders, the twitch in his brow. She sat close beside him, her voice quiet.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "You look… somewhere else."
He didn't look at her. "I'm fine. It's just... I've been through a lot."
Grace folded her hands in her lap. "You can talk to me, you know. Sometimes saying things out loud helps more than we think."
Valerius turned his head slightly, studying her for a long moment.
Then, with a faint smirk, he said, "You people really are huge, aren't you."
Grace narrowed her eyes. "Don't change the subject."
He sighed and leaned back, staring at the sky.
"In the last two months," he said slowly, "I've been kidnapped. Arrested. Kidnapped again. Taken to a hellish ruin. Nearly killed my sister. Cut off my brother's leg. And almost died."
He looked at her and offered a crooked smile. "My life has been... really shitty."
Grace stared, lips parted. "Oh my God… I'm so sorry."
Valerius shook his head. "I don't need your pity, Grace. You don't know how dangerous this world really is."
He turned toward her, eyes sharper now. "I hope you never do."
She hesitated. He wasn't just brooding—he was breaking in slow motion.
He added, quieter now, "Since I got here, all people have wanted is to use me. It's a miracle I'm still alive. A miracle I survived that place."
Not far off, Lilith elbowed Brian and whispered, "Hey, look. They clearly have a thing for each other."
Brian grinned. "Told you."
Freya smiled faintly. "It's kind of sweet."
Inside Valerius's mind, a voice stirred.
"Didn't I tell you to shut your mouth?" Yelleen chided dryly.
Valerius answered inwardly, Don't worry. It's just Grace.
"If you say so. It's your decision."
Back on the rock, Valerius exhaled.
And then... he began to talk.
He told Grace everything.
About Yilheim.
About the ruin.
He didn't skip over the pain or spare her from the horror—he laid it bare, voice even, like it happened long ago and was just remembering what it once felt like.
By the time he finished, Grace had gone still. Her hands gripped her knees tightly. Her chest rose and fell, but her voice had vanished.
Tears slipped quietly down her cheeks.
Valerius turned to see them and blinked. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."
Grace wiped her face, sniffled, then laughed—barely a sound, almost a breath.
"No… don't apologise," she said. "You survived all that, and you're still here. Still standing."
She looked at him fully, her eyes glassy but fierce.
"You're not broken, Valerius. You're… still you, and your siblings are still alive and well."
He didn't answer. Just watched her.
She leaned in, voice soft but full of conviction.
"If you ever feel like the weight is too much… you don't have to carry it alone anymore."
A pause.
Then, awkwardly, she added, "And for the record… this place might be backward, but I'm glad you're here."
Valerius blinked.
And smiled.
Valerius rose from the stone, shaking off the cold that had settled into his shoulders. His voice came quiet, but steady.
"Come on. Let's go home."
Grace wiped her cheeks, blinking back the last of her tears. "Yeah… okay."
She pulled on her clothes slowly, still shaken, but steadied by his presence. The wind had cooled, and the river's laughter had long faded. Together, they walked through the trees—silent for a while, then side by side.
Valerius said nothing, but he noticed the way she glanced at him every few steps, as if still trying to see inside him.
She didn't ask anything else.
She just walked with him.
---
Dusk fell like a curtain.
In the far hills, the tremor came—not thunder, but hooves. Hundreds.
Black-armoured knights thundered across the plains, white cloaks flaring behind them like wings of death. Their blades glinted beneath the dying sun. Behind them rode the mages, robed and hooded, their staves humming with pale blue fire, their expressions carved from stone.
In Kintol, the day had just begun to settle.
Children still played in the fields.
Then came the first horn blast—sharp, imperial, final.
A silence fell.
Then chaos.
Doors were kicked open. Men were dragged out screaming. Women clutched their children and begged. The knights answered with steel.
A farmer tried to resist—his throat was opened before he took a step.
A mother pleaded. Her baby was torn from her arms.
Cries echoed off stone and thatch as the peace Kintol had barely begun to taste was ripped from its bones.
"Where are the crystals?" a knight bellowed into a weaver's home.
"We—we don't have any," the man stammered, shielding his wife.
The knight grabbed her, shoved her to the floor. "Tell me where they are—or bleed."
The man dropped to his knees. "Please… we don't know anything…"
Steel flashed. Blood splashed the wooden walls.
The man's scream broke the air.
"NO! MARA!"
The knight turned. "Useless." He split the man in two and turned to the children cowering in the corner. He raised his blade—then paused. The girls' sobs rang in his ears. He lowered the sword, sneered, and smashed their furniture instead.
"Nothing," he snarled as he stormed out.
On the streets, Gavurn walked. His silver-blue armour gleamed in the firelight. His helmet cast shadow over his eyes, but not his intent. Knights saluted as he passed. Villagers screamed as they died behind him. Smoke curled from burning roofs.
"Cleanse every house," Gavurn ordered, voice steady. "They are hiding the crystals."
In Thomel's home, they found nothing and left the place in ruin.
In Anya's home—they found her grandson.
The boy screamed as the knight seized him by the throat.
"Where are the crystals, woman?"
Anya dropped to her knees. "Please… please, I've told you—we gave everything. We have nothing left!"
The knight stared at the crying boy.
Anya sobbed. "Please… he's all I have left…"
The knight let the boy go—only to step forward and drive his fist into Anya's stomach. It tore straight through. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She collapsed.
"Nooo! Grandma Anya!" her grandson wailed.
The knight threw him aside and ransacked the home. "Nothing," he spat, and moved on.
Elsewhere, in a modest stone cottage near the edge of the village, Jeron screamed.
"Nooo—no! Please!"
A knight slammed his boot down on Jeron's head, grinding it against the floorboards.
Through the open door, firelight flickered—his home was burning.
A mage stood outside, palm raised, the house behind him already engulfed. Flames licked the walls, swallowing the laughter that once lived there.
Inside, Jeron's family screamed—his wife, his daughter, his little boy.
And then… nothing.
Just fire.
Jeron's face was crushed into the dirt, but he no longer fought. His arms trembled, then gave out. His breath hitched. Tears spilled freely.
He could not save them.
He could not even scream anymore.
The knight looked down at him with contempt. "Don't think this one knows where they are."
The mage turned, his face indifferent, and moved to the next house.
Kintol became a village of screams.
---
Inside the new house,
Frederick dropped his hammer.
Anna ran to the window. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Frederick… they're killing people."
Grace backed away, pale. "No… no no no…"
Valerius was already moving.
"Everyone. Downstairs. Now."
Frederick blinked. "What?"
"There's a basement," Valerius said. "I built it myself. Beneath the foundation. Hidden."
Anna clutched Grace's hand. "Why would you—?"
"No time," he growled, pulling the rug aside and slamming his hand against the hidden latch. A trapdoor opened. A dark stairwell led into shadow.
Frederick grabbed Anna. Grace hesitated.
"What about the others?"
Valerius looked at her. For one brief moment, just her.
"I can't save everyone."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she nodded.
They descended quickly. Valerius slammed the hatch shut and pushed a cabinet over it. Darkness swallowed them.
Only breathing remained.
Then Valerius whispered, "No one speaks. Not unless I say so."
Anna held Grace close. Frederick stood beside them, fists clenched.
Grace's voice trembled in the dark. "Why are they doing this?"
Valerius didn't answer.
He sat down against the wall, his fists shaking.
Damn it, he thought. What is wrong with this fucked-up world?
The muffled scream of a dying man pierced the boards above.
And the village wept.
---
To Be Continued...