Vel ran faster than ever, gripping the amulet, lungs burning and heart racing as he rushed toward camp. The path blurred past while he focused on the distant campfires.
When he reached the clearing, his chest tightened. Mari's usual spot by the fire sat empty, her absence a void among the settling refugees.
"Where's Mom?!" Vel muttered under his breath, scanning frantically for any sign of Von. But his father's imposing figure was nowhere to be found either.
Desperation clawed as he spotted Kazar near her things. The old shaman packed slowly for her departure, each movement heavy with unspoken burden.
Vel rushed toward her without hesitation, barely stopping himself from colliding with her makeshift pack. "Kazar! Have you seen my Mother? Or my Father?"
Kazar turned to face him, her expression calm but tinged with curiosity at Vel's frantic tone. "Your mother went looking for you," she said evenly, brushing dust from her hands. "She was worried when you didn't return to camp quickly. If you're here now, she'll be back soon."
He glanced down at the amulet in his hand, its carved surface digging into his palm as if urging him to act quickly. His mind raced through options: Kazar could help relay this news... but what would that do? She'd likely just inform someone else—someone who might waste precious time deliberating instead of taking action.
Then it struck him—the Seer. Of all people left in Elnor, only the Seer might possess answers beyond guesswork or logic. If anyone could glean something from this amulet or provide insight into Landre's fate, it would be him.
Without another word to Kazar, Vel spun on his heel and sprinted toward where he last remembered seeing the Seer.
The Seer sat motionless by the campfire, his aged face tilted upward, eyes closed as if communing with the stars themselves. The faint crackle of burning wood punctuated the quiet of the camp, casting shifting shadows over his worn robes. Vel approached cautiously, his breath still ragged from running. He hesitated just outside the firelight, clutching Landre's amulet tightly in his palm.
"Seer," Vel called softly, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to startle the old man.
The Seer's head turned, eyes catching the firelight. His serene expression suggested he'd expected the interruption. "What is it, child?" he asked with patient weariness.
Vel stepped closer, extending his trembling hand to reveal the amulet resting on his palm. The grooves of its carving seemed to glow faintly under the firelight. "I found this," he began, his voice wavering. "It's my sister's... Lan-neechan's. She could be—" His words faltered as a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard before continuing, forcing himself to meet the Seer's gaze. "Can you... do your 'magic'? Tell me where she is?"
The Seer's gaze fell upon the amulet, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he reached out to touch its surface. As soon as his wrinkled skin made contact, a sudden jolt ran through his body, and his eyes rolled back, turning a milky white. The calm expression on his face began to warp, his features seeming to suck inward as if being pulled into the depths of his own mind.
Vel felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched, transfixed by the Seer's transformation. He had witnessed this before, back in Oakhaven, but it still sent a chill through him. The old man's body stiffened, his breathing slowing to an almost imperceptible pace.
Suddenly, the Seer's lips began to move, whispers spilling forth in a language that sounded like the rustling of dry leaves. Vel strained to make out the words, and amidst the murmurs, he caught snippets of phrases that sent a shiver down his spine: "... darkness... beyond the veil... whispers of the forsaken... false prayers echoing through the void... where the dead resign..."
The Seer's words lingered, weighted with otherworldly power. Vel's heart hammered as he tried to grasp their meaning.
The milky film faded from the Seer's eyes, his features softening as the trance lifted. Vel waited, hoping for clarity about the haunting prophecy.
Vel's fingers curled tighter around the amulet as he stared at the Seer, his voice trembling with urgency. "What did you see?"
The Seer's gaze remained unfocused, his breathing still shallow. Slowly, as if emerging from a deep abyss, he blinked and spoke in a low, gravelly tone. "Not much... flashes of a place shrouded in darkness... voices murmuring... prayers, perhaps?" His words dragged as though weighed down by the remnants of his trance.
Vel leaned forward, his chest tightening. "Prayers? What kind of prayers?"
The Seer shook his head faintly, his expression unreadable. "I cannot say... they were indistinct, like whispers carried on the wind." He paused for a moment, drawing a slow breath before continuing. "But amidst it all... I saw a symbol."
Vel's heart skipped at the mention of the symbol. "A symbol? What kind of symbol?"
The Seer's hand moved to the ground near the campfire, trembling slightly as he reached for a stick lying nearby. He took it with deliberate care and began tracing into the dirt, his strokes firm yet cautious.
Vel watched intently as lines took form—a star emerged first, its points connected by faint lines that intersected in strange ways. Then came a circle enclosing the star, binding it within its boundaries. At its center, an intricate design began to take shape—something resembling an eye staring unblinkingly from within.
The Seer finished and leaned back slowly, gazing down at what he had drawn. The flickering firelight danced over the crude lines etched into the earth.
Vel crouched closer to inspect it, his brow furrowing deeply. The image sent an uneasy shiver through him—there was something haunting about it that he couldn't quite place. "Is that all?" His voice came out quieter than he intended.
The Seer turned to face him fully now, his eyes carrying their usual distant wisdom. "Like I told you before," he said softly but firmly, "I can only see what Tyr allows me to see."
Vel stared at the symbol etched into the dirt for several long moments as silence settled between them.
Vel's breath caught as he studied the crude drawing. The lines rippled before him, tugging at buried memories while his fingers traced the grooves of Landre's carved amulet for stability.
Vel's eyes widened as the memory struck him. The acolyte who'd led Von away—there had been something off about him. A flash of dark ink on his wrist when his sleeve rode up, revealed for just a moment. The same symbol now etched in the dirt before him.
His stomach lurched. That man wasn't from the church at all.
"The acolyte," Vel breathed, his voice barely audible. "He had this mark on his wrist."
The Seer's head snapped up, his gaze sharpening. "You've seen this before?"
"Yes—no—I mean, I didn't realize until now." Vel's words tumbled out. "He took Dad to find Lan-neechan, but... that symbol. It wasn't a church symbol at all."
The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. The stranger's odd demeanor, his convenient appearance, the way he'd smoothly directed Von away from the church. It hadn't been chance—it had been calculated.
"Landre's amulet... the alley... and now this," Vel whispered to himself, his voice shaking with every word. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus despite the overwhelming dread crawling up his spine.
Vel gritted his teeth and rose to his feet abruptly, the amulet knocking softly against his knuckles as he tightened his grip on it. If that acolyte bore this mark... if he was connected to whatever had happened to Landre... then Von—his father—had been misled from the very beginning.
This wasn't just one person's doing. They were working together.
Vel's fists trembled at his sides as anger surged through him like a wildfire threatening to consume every rational thought he had left. He turned away from the firelight and started toward camp with hurried steps, unable to stop replaying that moment outside the church over and over again in his mind—the faint mark on that acolyte's wrist and Von's unknowing trust placed in him.
Vel stumbled at Mari's call. He turned to find her rushing over, her face both relieved and frustrated, hair clinging to her sweaty brow and apron crooked.
"Vel! Where have you been?" Mari's voice carried both worry and exasperation as she reached him. She knelt slightly to meet his eyes, her hands gripping his shoulders firmly. "You can't just disappear like that, especially not now."
Vel opened his mouth to speak, the words tumbling over each other in his mind. He thrust the amulet toward her, the carved surface glinting faintly under the campfire's light.
"Lan-neechan's amulet," he said quickly, his voice rising with urgency. "I found it in an alley. It doesn't make sense—she wouldn't just leave it there! Something's wrong—"
Mari's brow furrowed as she took in his panicked tone and the amulet clutched in his hand. For a moment, her gaze softened with recognition of Landre's handiwork on its surface. But then she shook her head and straightened up, brushing her hands against her apron as though dismissing the thought.
"Vel," she began gently but firmly, "you're jumping to conclusions again. We don't know what happened yet. Maybe Landre just dropped it by accident while running an errand."
Vel clenched his fists tightly around the amulet, shaking his head vehemently. "No! That doesn't explain why it was hidden! Or why—" He faltered for a moment before continuing with a strained voice. "I think someone took her! There's this symbol—"
Mari's grip on Vel's shoulders tightened, cutting off his frantic words. "Enough," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I understand you're worried. I am too. But we can't act on theories alone."
Vel's protests died in his throat as he saw the fear hiding behind her composed expression. Her hands trembled slightly against his shoulders.
"We need to wait for your father to return," Mari continued, releasing him to smooth her apron. "Or at least until morning. I'll alert the guards nearby about the amulet, but you—" She fixed him with a stern look. "You need to stop wandering around and get some rest in the tent."
"But Mom—"
"No buts." Mari's tone left no room for argument. "You've done what you could for now. The guards will keep watch, and we'll sort this out properly when your father returns."
Vel's shoulders slumped in defeat. The weight of the amulet felt heavier in his hand as he nodded reluctantly. He knew better than to push further—it would only make Mari more determined to keep him close.
The trek to their tent dragged on, his mind churning with questions. Inside, lantern light danced across canvas walls. Landre's vacant bedroll drew his gaze, the emptiness gnawing at him. He'd wait until morning as asked—but if his sister wasn't found by dawn...
Vel clutched the amulet tighter. He'd act alone if he had to, regardless of who tried to stop him. No one—not even his parents—would keep him from finding Landre
The dim, bluish hue of pre-dawn seeped through the thin fabric of the tent. Vel's eyes fluttered open, dry and heavy, but his mind remained restless. He shifted under the blanket, his body stiff from lying in the same tense position all night. Sleep had been fleeting, and even when it came, his thoughts churned ceaselessly like a stormy sea.
Landre's sleeping space remained untouched beside him. The sight made his chest tighten. Von's absence was more subtle—his parents' tent door slightly ajar—but it carried the same weight. Only Mari still lay in her bedroll, her breathing slow and steady in the stillness of early morning.
Vel sat up abruptly, rubbing his face with trembling hands. His pulse quickened as he stared at the amulet on the ground beside him where he had placed it last night. Its carved surface seemed dull in the faint light, but its presence alone was enough to reignite his urgency.
He couldn't wait any longer.
He grabbed the amulet and tucked it securely into his pocket before rising quietly to his feet. His movements were deliberate, careful not to wake Mari or anyone else around them. The camp was silent save for distant rustling leaves and occasional murmurs of half-asleep refugees shifting in their tents.
Vel slipped outside into the brisk morning air, pulling his cloak tightly around himself as he surveyed the camp. A few villagers stirred faintly in their makeshift shelters, but most were still lost in uneasy dreams.
He set off without hesitation.
Vel's breath clouded the air as he moved through the still-slumbering market. The faint clatter of wooden crates and the shuffle of feet broke the silence as a few vendors began setting up their stalls. Their murmurs blended with the creak of carts, filling the crisp morning with an undercurrent of life.
His gaze darted to the alley ahead, narrowing as he approached it. The same place where he had found Landre's amulet. His fingers brushed against its surface in his pocket as if seeking reassurance from its weight.
The alley was just as he had left it—narrow, dim, and unremarkable at first glance. Vel scanned every corner, his sharp eyes searching for something—anything—that might have escaped his notice before. He crouched near the spot where he'd picked up the amulet, running his fingers over the damp earth and cobblestones.
Nothing.
Vel bit his lip, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. Maybe it didn't happen here... maybe somewhere close by?
Straightening up, he cast one last glance at the alley before turning to follow its winding path further into Elnor's quieter outskirts. His boots scuffed against uneven stone as he traced along its length, feeling an odd pull in his chest to keep going.
The alley twisted and narrowed until it ended abruptly at Elnor's high stone wall. Vel slowed his pace, letting out a breath that mingled with the chill air. For a moment, he thought this might be another dead end—but then something caught his eye.
It wasn't obvious—not to someone merely passing by—but for anyone deliberately looking...
A mark. Carved faintly into a wooden beam supporting one of the houses that lined this part of Elnor's perimeter.
Vel stepped closer, heart pounding as recognition struck him like lightning.
The symbol was identical to what the Seer had drawn—the star encircled within intricate lines and patterns that seemed to twist inward endlessly.
Vel's eyes locked onto the symbol etched into the beam. His breath hitched. Something was off—the design differed slightly from what the Seer had drawn. The eye at its center, instead of staring straight out, gazed in a specific direction, almost as if guiding him. His fingers brushed over the carved lines, tracing their delicate intricacy.
"A marking," he whispered to himself, realization dawning like a faint ember. "It's pointing somewhere."
He stepped back and turned to follow where the eye seemed to direct. The alley stretched ahead, shadows clinging stubbornly to its corners. Vel's steps quickened, his heartbeat matching the rhythm of his boots against stone. As he rounded another corner, his sharp gaze caught sight of a second symbol—faint but unmistakable—etched into a crumbling wall.
The same eye, its unblinking stare fixed in yet another direction.
Vel pressed onward.
One marking after another emerged in his path—on weathered wooden posts, on moss-covered bricks, even carved faintly into cobblestones underfoot. Each one seemed to pull him deeper into Elnor's quieter outskirts, where the bustling market sounds faded into an eerie stillness.
Finally, he came to a stop before a building that loomed against the pale morning sky. The symbols had led him here; there was no mistaking it now. Vel tilted his head back to take it all in—the aged stone façade streaked with ivy and grime, windows boarded up tightly as though guarding secrets within.
His eyes moved to the sign hanging above the entrance—a worn piece of wood with letters barely legible beneath layers of dirt and decay. Vel squinted, sounding out each unfamiliar shape carefully until they formed words that felt heavy on his tongue.
"Elnor's Ossuary," he murmured aloud.
The name settled uncomfortably in his mind like an unwelcome guest. And then came the echo—soft yet undeniable—from deep within his thoughts: "Where dead resign."
Vel stood frozen, the decaying sign creaking softly above him. His breath came in uneven puffs, visible in the morning chill. The stillness pressed in, amplifying every creak and rustle.
He scanned the empty street for any sign of life. Nothing. No vendors, no stray animals. This part of Elnor felt entirely abandoned.
Vel's fingers brushed against Landre's amulet in his pocket, its familiar grooves steadying his racing thoughts. The massive wooden door of the ossuary loomed before him, its weathered surface telling tales of years gone by.
If I go back now... His jaw clenched. The guards would need proof. Mari would try to stop him. Von was already gone, possibly walking into the same trap. Every moment spent explaining could put Landre in more danger.
But the building's shadow stretched over him like a warning. He was alone, armed with nothing. If whoever took Landre waited inside...
Vel's hand trembled as he reached for the door handle. Just a quick look, he told himself. Just enough to confirm Landre's here. Then I'll run back faster than anyone can catch me.
Vel exhaled shakily and took a hesitant step forward toward the door. His fingers brushed against its cold surface as he pushed it open slowly.
Vel stepped inside as the door creaked shut behind him. The cold air, sharper than the dawn outside, carried a faint metallic tang mixed with the earthy musk of decayed wood and damp stone. He shivered, pulling his cloak tighter around his small frame.
Dim light filtered through cracks in the boarded windows, revealing rows of shelves lined with bones. Skulls stared blankly, their hollow sockets fixed on nothing, while femurs and ribs were stacked like grotesque building blocks. The vast ossuary's walls stretched upward into shadowed arches, where flickers of movement blurred the line between imagination and reality.
Vel's stomach churned as he stared at them—not assets rendered in some game engine but real bones, remains of lives long past. His fingers clenched instinctively around the amulet in his pocket as a wave of nausea rose in his chest.
His gaze fell on a sconce near the entrance holding a half-burnt torch. Someone had been here recently enough to keep it lit; its faint embers still glowed weakly against charred wood. Vel reached for it without hesitation, pulling it free from its holder and coaxing life back into the flame by gently blowing on it.
The torch flared brighter after a moment, casting warm light across cold stone and stark shadows that danced unsettlingly along uneven surfaces. He held it aloft as he began moving forward cautiously.
Every step echoed faintly against the stone beneath him—a hollow sound that seemed far too loud in such an oppressive stillness. His eyes traced every surface: cracked walls covered in ancient moss, intricate carvings too worn to decipher, floors uneven with time's weight pressing down.
And then he saw them—footsteps etched faintly into dust layered thick across the ground.
Vel crouched to examine the prints. Multiple tracks overlapped chaotically but all led deeper into the darkness ahead.
Vel followed the footsteps by torchlight, noting how they grew more purposeful in the dust, as if left by someone who knew their destination. The air grew dense and chill, each breath labored.
He paused at the top of an ancient, smooth-worn staircase that vanished into darkness beyond his torch's reach.
"Basements..." Vel muttered, his voice echoing down the stairwell. He descended cautiously, each step groaning beneath him, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
The cold seeped into his bones as he descended. The walls constricted until, at the bottom, his torch revealed a chamber filled with symmetrical rows of stone caskets.
Vel stopped short, his gaze sweeping across the space. Dust motes floated lazily in the flickering light as silence pressed in on all sides. The footsteps led unmistakably to one casket at the far end of the room—its surface unmarred by age compared to those around it.
Reaching the caskets, Vel crouched beside it and set the torch down carefully on the floor nearby. Its flame cast long shadows that stretched across engraved surfaces and jagged cracks in ancient stonework.
The footsteps stopped here—right at this very spot.
Vel stared at the casket's lid for what felt like an eternity before placing both hands against its rough surface. A strange emptiness seemed to engulf him entirely—a hollow void that gnawed away at thoughts and reason alike.
His palms pressed firmly against cold stone as he began to push.
Vel pushed against the casket's lid, bracing for resistance, but it slid open with unsettling ease, the faint whisper of stone moving along hidden grooves. His breath hitched as the lid settled against the wall with a soft thud.
Instead of bones or ancient relics, his torchlight revealed stone steps spiraling into darkness. Cold air drifted up from below, carrying a metallic scent that stung his nose.
Vel gripped the torch tighter and began his descent into darkness. The stairs curved sharply, each step worn smooth by unknown feet. His shadow danced against damp walls as he moved deeper underground, the air growing thick and heavy in his lungs.
Droplets of water broke the silence at irregular intervals, each splash echoing off stone walls. The sound made him pause momentarily before pressing forward, his free hand trailing along the cold wall for balance.
The staircase ended abruptly, opening into a corridor that curved away from him. A faint glow reflected off the wet walls ahead—warm light spilling from what must have been a larger chamber around the bend. His torch sputtered briefly in the underground draft.
Vel drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. His heart hammered against his ribs as he crept forward, keeping close to the wall. The reflected light grew stronger with each step.
As he rounded the curve, the chamber came into view. His blood turned to ice.
Landre lay unconscious against the far wall, her wrists bound above her head. Her dress was torn, exposing pale skin that should have remained covered. Her head lolled forward, golden hair obscuring her face her, braid undone.
The torch trembled in Vel's grip as bile rose in his throat.
A figure stood nearby, cloaked in a deep purple robe that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the torchlight. The hood was drawn low, masking most of his features, save for a jawline shadowed with stubble. He didn't carry himself with the air of a typical priest or acolyte from the Church of Aeonalus. His presence radiated something else—something darker, colder.
Vel's knuckles tightened around the torch as his breathing quickened. He took in every detail—the subtle rise and fall of Landre's chest confirming she was alive, the man's gloved hands resting calmly at his sides, and the faint hum that seemed to emanate from somewhere within the room.
The man's head shifted slightly, the movement deliberate and unhurried. The faint flicker of Vel's torchlight danced across the room, catching on the edge of his hood. His posture remained unnervingly calm, as though he had been expecting this interruption all along.
Vel's grip tightened on the torch until his knuckles ached. The knot in his chest twisted sharply, anger bubbling to the surface.
"What are you doing to her?!" Vel's voice rang out, raw and trembling with barely-contained fury. The words echoed against the cold stone walls, breaking the heavy silence that had filled the chamber.
The man didn't respond immediately. Instead, a faint glow emanated from beneath his hood—soft and unnatural, pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat. It illuminated just enough for Vel to glimpse part of his face: sharp cheekbones, lips set in a thin line, and a shadowed jaw speckled with stubble.
And then recognition struck like an icy blade to Vel's gut.
"Trinon?"
Trinon's lips curled into a smile, sharp and predatory, the glow beneath his hood casting eerie shadows across his face.
"Well, well," he drawled, voice low and dripping with amusement. "Has the boy come to save his dear sister?"
Vel's grip whitened on the torch as heat surged through him. Trinon's taunting words weighed heavy. His eyes flicked between Landre's still form, her chest barely moving, and the man before him.
"Let her go," Vel spat, his voice cracking but determined. He stepped forward, the torch flame flaring with his resolve.
Trinon tilted his head, studying Vel like a curiosity. "And what will you do if I don't?" Each mocking word came slow and deliberate. He raised a gloved hand toward Landre, fingers curling as if pulling strings. The hum intensified, vibrating against Vel's skin like a warning.
Vel's chest tightened; fear twisted alongside fury in his gut. But he refused to step back, refused to let Trinon see hesitation. Instead, he shifted his stance subtly—feet steadying against the uneven ground—and let out a slow breath through gritted teeth.
"I'll stop you."
The words fell like stones between them, heavier than even Vel had anticipated. Trinon's grin widened almost imperceptibly at the challenge.
"Prevent this? How delightfully naive." His chuckle reverberated through the empty space, harsh and metallic like corroded chimes taunting him. "Are you even aware of what forces you're interfering with? Can you comprehend the true nature of what stands before you?"
Vel said nothing, his focus narrowing on Trinon's every movement—the subtle flick of his wrist, the shift of weight in his stance—each detail filed away instinctively by a mind that had been sharpened long before it had inhabited this child's body.
Vel's chest heaved as his gaze flickered between Landre's bound form and Trinon's calm, imposing figure. The hum in the air seemed to grow louder, like a rising tide threatening to drown him.
"What are you doing to her?" Vel demanded again, his voice slicing through the silence as he stepped forward, torch quivering in his grip.
Trinon didn't flinch. Instead, he exhaled slowly, almost as if savoring the tension in the room. His hood shifted slightly as he tilted his head, letting more of that unnatural glow from beneath illuminate his face.
"Preparing her," Trinon replied with maddening casualness, as if discussing the weather. He half-turned to Landre, his gloved hand hovering above her. "She will be part of something... great."
Vel's stomach twisted at the words. Preparing her? His mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. His fingers tightened around the torch until it felt like it might snap in half.
"Great for who?" Vel's voice wavered with anger and disbelief. "What does that even mean?!"
Trinon chuckled softly—a low, humorless sound that echoed faintly against the stone walls. He lowered his hand back to his side and turned his full attention to Vel, his grin growing wider.
"For everyone," Trinon said smoothly, though there was an edge to his words now—a hint of fervor beneath the calm façade. "To show these unworthy gods of yours how powerless they truly are. How incapable they are of protecting their subjects."
Vel blinked, confusion mixing with fear as he processed the statement. He stepped closer again despite every instinct screaming at him to run.
"You're... defying the gods?"
Trinon's smile deepened, twisting into something that barely resembled human emotion. The glow beneath his hood pulsed in rhythm with his words, as if the very air around him bent to his will.
"Defy? No, boy. I do not defy them," Trinon said, his voice cold and deliberate, each syllable dragging through the silence like a blade across stone. "I expose them. When their holy and 'pure' subjects become tainted... when their cherished mortals are marked beyond redemption... what will they do?"
Vel felt his breath catch, the weight of Trinon's words crashing over him like an unseen wave. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him, but he held firm, gripping the torch tighter as though its flame might anchor him in this spiraling moment.
Trinon stepped closer to Landre, his movements unhurried yet heavy with intent. His gloved fingers hovered near her cheek before pulling back, as if savoring the power in withholding touch.
"I want to prove to them," Trinon continued, voice low but laced with an unsettling fervor that sent chills racing down Vel's spine, "that they could do better."
Vel's breath caught as Trinon's words crushed his chest. His mind recoiled from unbearable images, the words pure and tainted spinning into sickening clarity.
His voice erupted before he could stop himself, trembling with anger and desperation.
"Did you... did you violate her body?"
Trinon froze for a moment, then tilted his head back slightly. A low chuckle escaped him—a sound devoid of mirth but brimming with derision.
"Violate?" he repeated, almost savoring the word as though it were some foreign delicacy. "How visceral... how quaint. Is that where your little mind jumps? How predictable."
Vel's stomach twisted violently, but he forced himself to stand firm, glaring at the man even as his hands shook.
"That would change nothing," Trinon continued, his tone suddenly cold and clinical. His glowing eyes narrowed beneath the hood as though inspecting Vel for weakness. "If I wanted my message to reach those so-called gods, I'd need to do something far greater than mere carnal desecration."
He paused deliberately, letting the silence hang heavy between them before continuing.
"You see, boy, your sister possesses an extraordinary vessel, rare among mortals," Trinon's voice carried an almost reverent quality that made Vel's skin crawl. "And her unwavering faith toward her god..."
The torch shook in Vel's grip, rage and horror battling inside him. He pictured Landre with her treasured prayer book, practicing letters each dawn, eyes bright when discussing Shizka's teachings.
"And if I were to turn that vessel into something darker..."
Then he laughed—a sound sharp and unhinged that ricocheted off the stone walls like shards of broken glass slicing through Vel's composure.
"Yes," Trinon mused between breaths of laughter. "Equal in darkness... oh, what a sight it would be!"
Vel felt bile rise in his throat as each word settled like poison in the air around him.
Trinon straightened suddenly, turning fully toward Vel with an air of finality. His grin faded into something colder—calculated—as he raised one gloved hand lazily in Vel's direction.
"But first," Trinon said lightly, almost conversationally now. "I'll need to dispose of you."
Trinon's hand moved with eerie precision, withdrawing a sacrificial dagger from his robe. The blade gleamed in the torchlight, its cruel, jagged edge designed to inflict pain. Vel's heart pounded, his pulse roaring in his ears.
As the blade flashed, Vel reacted instinctively. He jumped back, his feet skidding across the uneven stone floor—a reflex honed during clumsy sparring sessions with Kein and Celia. The leap saved him, but just barely; Trinon's blade sliced through the air where he had been.
"You've got spirit," Trinon remarked, voice calm and mocking as though this were some twisted game.
Vel's breath quickened as he searched for an answer. Without a weapon to defend himself, his hands trembled while his mind raced. Should he grab a rock? Use the torch? His dull dagger was left at the camp. But overthinking swarmed him like locusts, leaving no room for action and tangling him further in hesitation.
Trinon lunged suddenly, dagger aimed straight for Vel's chest.
Vel twisted desperately to one side. The blade grazed his shirt, close enough that he could feel its icy sharpness against his skin. He stumbled in his retreat, catching himself awkwardly before falling completely.
The chamber spun as he fought for balance. Torchlight flickered on stone while shadows mocked his panic. Vel clenched his teeth and steadied himself, legs shaking.
He locked eyes with Trinon across the short distance separating them. The man stood poised and calm—a predator savoring the chase. Behind him loomed the staircase leading back to safety—or what passed for safety outside this place.
"I should've run," Vel whispered under his breath as realization hit like a punch to the gut. He'd hesitated too long when he first saw Landre bound there; now Trinon blocked the only exit like a wolf cornering prey.
Trinon's laughter filled the chamber, a sound that crawled up Vel's spine like ice-tipped claws. It echoed unnaturally, bouncing off the walls and mingling with the low hum of whatever dark energy filled the room.
"Oh, Calyphe," Trinon called with mocking reverence, arms spread wide, dagger gleaming. "Show me your power! What will you do to protect this child?"
Vel's chest heaved as he instinctively stepped back, trembling fingers tightening around the torch, as if its flame could shield him from Trinon's madness.
This time, Trinon moved differently—each step steady and deliberate, like a predator closing in on prey. The mocking smile never left his face, and the flickering light beneath his hood cast strange shadows over his sharp features.
Vel's heart hammered painfully as Trinon lunged forward. The dagger came at him with deadly precision—not wild or erratic, but calculated. Its tip aimed directly for his chest once more.
Vel barely managed to sidestep the strike, twisting his body just enough to avoid the blade. It passed so close that he felt its cold kiss through the thin fabric of his shirt. His breath hitched as he stumbled again, nearly losing his footing on the uneven ground.
But Trinon didn't seem bothered by the miss—in fact, he almost looked pleased. He turned smoothly, unhurriedly adjusting his stance as though expecting Vel's dodge all along. That cruel smirk deepened into something resembling satisfaction.
"Yes," Trinon murmured softly, barely audible over Vel's ragged breathing. "Struggle more."
His movements remained calm yet unrelenting as he advanced once more. This wasn't just an attack—it was a game to him, a perverse dance where every feint and strike served only to toy with Vel further.
Vel clenched his jaw against the rising tide of fear threatening to swallow him whole. He had no time to think; every second was consumed by raw survival instinct as Trinon closed in again with that dagger gleaming hungrily in torchlight.
Then, abruptly, Trinon halted. The stillness was unnerving—too sudden, too deliberate. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering something unseen.
"Time to end this chase," he muttered, almost to himself.
Vel froze, heart pounding as Trinon lifted his free hand and began a guttural chant that made the air vibrate.
A spell.
Terror gripped him. If the dagger had been hard to dodge, magic would be impossible. Spells could bend and pursue, defying physics. The thought chilled him.
He had to move now.
Vel turned on his heel and bolted, boots slamming against the uneven floor as he raced toward the distant staircase. His heart pounded furiously; every fiber of his being screamed for escape. Yet with each step forward, he felt time slipping through his fingers like sand.
The chanting reached a crescendo behind him.
Before Vel could make another move, everything around him dissolved into utter blackness. It wasn't the absence of light—it was something far deeper, heavier—like a void pressing down on all sides. He couldn't see the walls anymore or even the faint flicker of his torchlight. There was only himself and an endless abyss swallowing him whole.
"No... no!" Vel's voice cracked as he stumbled blindly forward, arms outstretched to feel for anything solid in this suffocating nothingness. His breaths came short and shallow; terror twisted knots in his stomach as disorientation consumed him.
And then it hit.
Fire seared through his stomach, the blade's cold bite twisting deep. The air in his lungs turned to lead, every breath shallower than the last. His fingers twitched against his wound, feeling the hot, sticky pulse of his own life slipping through the cracks of his grip.
The darkness began to fade just enough for clarity—a single moment frozen in detail: Trinon stood before him, unhurried and composed, one hand gripping the hilt of the dagger now buried in Vel's stomach.
Vel's knees buckled under him.
"Farewell, boy," Trinon muttered, his voice laced with cold finality as he wrenched the dagger free. The blade slid out of Vel's body with a sickening sound, and Vel gasped as the pain tore through him. "Tell the gods I sent my regards."
Vel staggered backward, his knees giving way as his hands instinctively clutched at the wound in his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers, warm and unrelenting. His breaths came shallow and uneven, each one dragging shards of agony through his chest.
No... not like this. Vel's thoughts fought the darkness creeping into his vision. His eyes found Landre across the room, bound and still, torchlight flickering on her peaceful face.
I need to save her, he thought. His trembling fingers pressed harder against the wound. Someone... please... save her.
He collapsed onto his side, stone cold against his cheek. Each heartbeat brought fresh pain, but worse was knowing he couldn't stop Trinon.
Trinon spun around, disregarding Vel as if he were garbage. He walked toward the ancient slab, picking up a worn tome whose broken hide binding glowed with mysterious markings beneath the dancing flames. The strange, harsh chants pouring from Trinon's mouth warped the air itself, every utterance weighted with unfathomable power.
Blood pooled beneath Vel as his body failed him, his limbs feeling leaden and unresponsive.
I can't... not again. Giri's desperate voice echoed within him. Memories of failure surged—broken promises, lost lives from his belief in solitary strength.
Vel lay helpless on the cold stone, each breath a struggle. The dagger wound throbbed, numbing his senses as blood soaked his small hands.
This is it, he thought, eyes drifting to Landre's bound form. I can't save her... I can't save anyone.
The realization stung more than his wound. He was just a boy, not a hero, crushed by impossible circumstances. Every choice, every plan based on borrowed memories had led him here.
What happened to empowering others? To relying on your team? He shouldn't have gone in alone.
His sight dimmed, darkness creeping in like hungry wolves. His mind fought against surrender, but his traitorous body had given up.
No one's coming, he knew with crushing certainty. No rescue would arrive - no gods, heroes, or fortune would intervene. Landre would face Trinon's twisted plans alone.
His eyes closed against his will. The void swallowed sound and feeling, pain fading into nothingness as though he were being pulled away.
He recognized this sensation - the same quiet pull from the pod when everything changed. His breathing slowed, growing fainter as cold spread through his chest.
Even as consciousness fled, failure's weight crushed him. I'm sorry, he thought weakly to them all - Landre, Mari, Von - everyone who'd trusted him without knowing how little he deserved it.