The black-robed figure spoke not loudly, but with terrifying clarity.
"I call upon the First Seal of Hollowing..."
A black sigil spun beneath his feet.
"...Open the gates of breathless night."
From the air above him, a shard of obsidian crystal shaped like a fang formed and dropped into his hand, glowing with inner shadows.
The Alpha-Class Artifact activated.
He thrust it forward once.
A wave of black flame erupted, curling through the air like it was alive.
The nearest guard screamed, his armor collapsing inward, his light talisman shattering in his grip.
He died before hitting the ground.
Another guard hurled a javelin of light. The man in black raised his hand again.
"Let veil answer veil."
A wall of smoky mirrors formed in front of him. The javelin passed through and came out behind him, harmless.
He flicked two fingers.
A second guard's chest cracked open, light escaping his lungs like steam from water.
Two down.
Malrek the Inquisitor had his sword already drawn.
His Book of Lumens floated at his side, glowing bright enough to pierce the artificial night.
"Book of Lumens, Verse Three: Let the First Flame shine against the Abyss!"
Light speared outward like a holy lance.
The man in black whispered a counter-incantation. His Alpha Artifact swirled and bent the flame, breaking it apart in midair.
Then he surged forward, his weapon drawn.
His Alpha Artifact extended into a long-edged stave, glowing with swirling runes and smoke trails.
Malarek blocked with his sword. Steel met essence, and the ground cracked beneath them.
"Verse Nine!" Malrek roared. "Let those who hide be seen!"
The Book flipped a page. A giant glowing eye symbol burst above the cloaked man's head.
His movements slowed slightly.
Malrek stepped forward, sword blazing with inner fire. He struck.
The man in black countered with the stave. Their weapons clashed in a blaze of sparks and divine symbols.
Malrek pressed the advantage.
"Verse Fifteen: Let the righteous endure!"
Golden energy surged into his limbs. His wounds sealed. His blade grew hotter.
The man responded with a bitter tone:
"You still believe your verses will save you? Try this..."
He lifted the artifact high and spoke:
"By the Second Tongue of Reversal, and the Chainless Oath, let the bindings break."
Snake-like black tendrils slithered from the ground, wrapping around Cero's cage.
The lock snapped open.
The boy staggered back, wide-eyed.
"Run!" the man shouted without looking.
Malrek turned toward the boy.
A mistake.
The man in black lunged, blade flashing.
Malrek barely turned in time. The stave slashed his thigh. Blood spilled. He dropped to one knee.
The final two guards closed in.
One stabbed, but the man in black knocked him aside with a pulse from his artifact.
The other cast a ward of radiant light and fire.
The man in black twisted and stumbled. Malrek rose again.
"Verse Twenty-One: Let Heaven scream upon the wicked!"
A halo of fire exploded above them, raining golden spears toward the man in black.
Too fast. Too many.
He cried out as one pierced his shoulder, another slicing his arm.
Smoke bled from his wounds.
He dropped to one knee, but his hand was already at the ground.
"By the Unseen Spiral... take him from this place."
A black glyph opened beneath Cero's feet, like a hole in the world.
Wind roared. Leaves spun. Light bent.
Cero's body lifted, tugged toward the forest.
"Doctor...?" he started to say.
But the man didn't look at him.
"Go."
Cero's feet hit the ground outside the camp. He stumbled forward, then ran.
Malrek stared at the cloaked figure, still standing amidst fire, wounded but upright.
"Who are you?"
But the man said nothing.
The man in black vanished, folding into smoke, swallowed by the shadows of the trees.
His escape spell had taken him far. Too far to chase. Too quick to follow.
Malrek stood in the aftermath, blood dripping down his thigh, his grip firm on the hilt of his sword. The two guards lay dead. The third barely breathing. The cage was empty. The boy gone.
He stared into the woods where the shadows had dissolved. Slowly, he scoffed.
Not out of despair.
Out of resolve.
"You think distance will save you?"
He turned to the Book of Lumens, still hovering beside him, its pages fluttering in the aftermath of combat. He tore off his right gauntlet, raised his bare hand, and dragged the edge of his blade across his palm. Blood welled instantly, warm and thick.
He pressed the bleeding hand to the heart of the book.
The parchment sizzled and drank it in.
"Verse Forty-Nine," he whispered. His voice quaked not from fear, but power.
The book groaned open wider, pages glowing with searing gold as light pooled into the air around him. A circle of radiant symbols spiraled into form beneath his feet.
"Let the fleeing wicked carry the mark of judgment," Malrek intoned, his voice rising with every word. "By blood and oath, let Radiance strike through veil and sky. Let what escapes the sword not escape the verdict."
The air cracked.
A glyph of the sun, inscribed with a dozen divine eyes, formed above him.
The Book of Lumens responded, pages flipping wildly until they burned with gold.
"Judgment Spear, heed me!"
From the glyph, a pillar of golden light erupted upward, piercing the sky above the forest. The clouds split open far beyond the battlefield, and for a moment, the earth held its breath.
Then the light fell.
---
*Somewhere far away.*
The man in black sprinted through the forest, breath ragged, vision blurred. Blood oozed from the wound in his side. His Alpha Artifact pulsed weakly in his grip as he whispered a concealment spell.
He almost made it.
The sky cracked open with a soundless blast.
A spear of golden light slammed into his back like a hammer from heaven.
The man screamed as his artifact shrieked in harmony. His body twisted mid-air before crashing through the trees. He tumbled through bark, root, and earth before slamming into the ground, motionless.
His cloak was scorched. His flesh seared.
He lay bleeding into the soil, barely breathing.
"That bastard," he rasped, spitting blood. "He... dared..."
---
*Back at the battlefield.*
Malrek dropped to one knee.
The radiant glyph faded above him, the Book of Lumens now dim and heavy in his hand. He stared into the settling ash, his breathing sharp, uneven.
Then the backlash struck.
A wave of invisible force surged through his body. His veins burned. His lungs folded in pain.
He bent forward, coughing violently. Blood hit the ground.
But even as pain tore through him, he smiled.
"That should slow you down," he murmured.
The battlefield was silent again.
----
Cero ran.
He didn't know how far. He didn't know where. Only that his legs kept moving, and the world behind him had turned to fire and blood.
Branches whipped across his face. Stones stabbed through the soles of his thin shoes. The forest clawed at him like it wanted him back in the cage. But he pushed on, gasping, stumbling, bleeding.
His shoulder burned from when he'd slammed into the cage bars earlier. His ankle throbbed from twisting it when he leapt from the wagon.
And yet he ran.
Because that man, the man in black, the one who had ripped through soldiers like parchment and turned night into a weapon had helped him.
He had saved him.
The image replayed over and over: the cage door bursting open, the shout..."Run!"...the explosion of light behind him as he fled.
*That voice... I know that voice.*
The Doctor.
Cero's chest tightened. His breath hitched.
*He's so strong.*
More than strong. The Doctor had fought Malarek, a Church Inquisitor. And won. Or at least escaped.
He'd killed two guards in an instant. Held his own against divine light. Used an artifact Cero didn't even understand, something ancient and powerful.
And still, the Doctor had bled. He had staggered. He had burned through his strength just to pry open the cage.
For Cero.
Cero, who had done nothing. Cero, who had just run.
His foot caught on a root, and he crashed into the earth, hard. Dirt filled his mouth. He rolled onto his side, groaning.
He didn't get up.
He couldn't.
He lay there, chest heaving, staring up through the canopy where black leaves filtered starlight.
*Why would he come for me?*
*Why risk himself?*
He clenched his fists.
*Is he still alive?*
The question struck like a blade. He hadn't seen what happened after. He hadn't dared to look back.
He hoped no, he prayed the man had escaped.
But even in his fear, another emotion bloomed, sharp and hot:
Shame.
He hadn't fought. He hadn't even tried.
*You ran like a coward.*
Cero curled into himself, pressing his forehead to the cold soil.
*Please be alive.*
*Please... Doctor.*
His breath slowed. The forest quieted.
He didn't know how long he lay there. The world swayed around him like a dream. Pain dulled into numbness.
But one thought, like a coal, stayed hot in his chest:
*He came back for me.*
---
After a long time, darkness folded around Cero like a cocoon.
He wasn't sure when he passed out. Only that the world had shrunk into a tight tunnel of cold air, bruised ribs, and the fading echo of footsteps behind him.
But now
He stirred.
Breath returned, slow and shallow. He felt warmth first. Something soft beneath him, a thin blanket over his chest. His eyes fluttered open.
The ceiling above was wood. Rough. Low. Unpolished.
Lantern-light flickered somewhere to the side, painting shadows on the walls.
Cero blinked.
Pain returned next. His shoulder ached. His ankle throbbed. His entire body felt like it had been trampled by a wagon wheel and dragged half a mile through brambles.
He groaned softly and tried to sit up.
A firm hand caught his shoulder.
"Easy," a voice said. Familiar. Tired. Older.
Cero froze.
He turned his head slowly, his vision still hazy, and saw the figure seated near the corner of the room, bent over a basin.
A man.
Cloaked in dark robes, sleeves rolled, skin pale and trembling.
The Doctor.
But not as he remembered him.
This was not the confident, mysterious man who once walked the village paths with steady hands and a silent smile.
This man looked... broken.
His left arm was wrapped in soaked bandages. His face was streaked with blood. Scorch marks lined the edge of his jaw and neck, half-healed. Deep lines creased his face that hadn't been there before.
His hair, once dark and smooth, had streaks of silver now, like frost had kissed it during the fight.
He looked older. Decades older.
The artifact had drained him.
Cero whispered, hoarsely, "You..."
The Doctor didn't look at him. He was grinding something in a bowl herbs and bone fragments from a leather pouch, mixing them into a thick green paste.
"You should rest," he said, voice flat.
"You... came back," Cero breathed. "You saved me."
The Doctor's hand stilled.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then, in a tone that almost sounded bitter, he replied, "Not well enough."
He scooped the paste onto a cloth and pressed it to his own side with a suppressed grunt.
Cero sat up fully now, ignoring the wave of nausea. "You're hurt."
"That's obvious."
"You're..." He hesitated, eyes scanning the man's face, the tremor in his hands, the tired sag in his shoulders. "Older."
"That's the price," the Doctor said, adjusting the wrap. "The artifact draws from the body. You channel enough of its power without rest, and it starts taking time instead of energy."
He finally turned toward Cero, his gaze hollow, rimmed red with exhaustion. But his voice, though drained, still carried the quiet authority that had always made people lean in.
"Better aged than dead."
Silence hung between them.
Outside, wind rattled weakly against the wooden walls. Somewhere, water dripped slowly either rain or a leaky roof.
Cero swallowed hard. "I thought they killed you."
"They tried," the Doctor replied. "They came close."
He looked down at his hands. There were faint cracks across his knuckles, like the magic had burned the veins underneath.
Cero's throat tightened. "Why did you come for me?"
That finally made the Doctor pause.
He exhaled through his nose and leaned back against the wall, one hand pressing a fresh cloth to the burn along his ribs.
"I owed someone," he said. "And I owed you. That's enough."
"But I'm not..." Cero started, then stopped himself. His chest ached from more than bruises now.
The Doctor didn't need to explain. He wouldn't. But Cero understood enough.
They had history. And maybe, in that moment, it didn't matter what or why.
Just that someone came.
Just that he wasn't in a cage anymore.
Just that he was alive.
The Doctor reached into a satchel and pulled out a wooden spoon, handing it to him.
"Drink," he said. "It'll taste like firewood and worms, but it'll keep you upright."
Cero hesitated. Then obeyed.
The concoction was bitter. Almost made him gag. But warmth spread through his limbs almost immediately, dulling the pain.
The Doctor closed his eyes, exhaustion beginning to pull at the edges of his posture.
"We'll move again in a few hours," he murmured. "Before the Church's dogs catch our scent."
Cero gripped the blanket tighter.
He wasn't ready. His body was broken. His mind worse.
But something in him just a flicker was awake now.
Something had changed.
The hut had gone quiet again. Only the occasional creak of wood, the bubbling of a herbal pot, and the gentle rasp of the Doctor's breathing filled the silence.
Cero sipped the last of the bitter concoction. His body felt warmer, more grounded, though pain still whispered beneath every limb. He stared into the steam curling from the clay bowl, then glanced at the man seated across from him.
He studied him for a long time.
The sharp angles of his face. The way his eyes never quite rested. The scars on his left hand, newly made but layered over old ones. His face wasn't just tired. It was hardened. Hollowed. The kind of look that only came from carrying something alone for too long.
Cero swallowed.
"You were... someone else before, weren't you?" he said quietly. "Back in the village, you pretended to be just a doctor. But you're not. You were never just that."
The Doctor didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
Cero continued, carefully, "Who were you? Really?"
The man turned his head slightly, as if weighing something, then went back to bandaging his ribs.
"I used to work for a Duke," he said at last.
Cero blinked. "A noble?"
"A snake," the Doctor replied.
That was all.
No name. No title. No place.
Just: a snake.
Cero waited. But the silence stretched again.
"You're not going to tell me more?"
"No."
"Why not?"
The Doctor looked up. "Because the more you know, the heavier it becomes. And you don't need to carry what I carry."
"But I already am," Cero said, surprising even himself.
The man's eyes narrowed. Not with anger. Just... calculation.
He didn't answer.
Cero pushed forward.
"That night, you weren't surprised by the Inquisitor's power. Or the artifact. You used something just like it. You knew how to fight. How to command it. You knew magic."
"Not magic," the Doctor said instantly, almost reflexively. "That word is useless."
"Then what is it?"
The Doctor paused again. His fingers stopped wrapping the cloth.
He looked directly at Cero, eyes sharper now.
"Magic," he said slowly, "is what peasants call it when they see something they weren't taught to understand."
Cero sat still.
"So what is it?"
The Doctor looked away.
"It's will. Structure. Language. Law. Blood. Sacrifice. And most of all divinity."
He stood, wincing slightly as he moved toward the lantern. He adjusted the flame, casting longer shadows across the wall.
"Magic is not fire from your fingertips. It's not shouting and watching the wind obey you. That's a show. A consequence. Real power is knowing the cost. And paying it anyway."
Cero watched him, wide-eyed.
"How do you learn it?"
"You don't."
The answer came too quickly.
"Why not?" Cero asked.
The Doctor turned back, gaze harder now. "Because you don't have a shard. You haven't been through the rite. You haven't ascended."
"And if I did?"
The Doctor didn't answer.
Not with words.
Only with silence and a look. One that said more than any reply.
Cero pressed no further. But inside, something was shifting. A tension, a question, an ache he hadn't realized was waiting.