Over the following months, the days blurred together beneath an unforgiving routine. Dawn began with drills, the afternoons disappeared into sparring, and the evenings ended only after meditation or lectures around the barracks fire. Every sunrise demanded something from Ithan, and every sunset found him giving a little more of himself.
Until now, his only formal instruction had been the basic spear lessons Garrick had taught him as a child. Garrick had given him a solid foundation—how to grip a spear, how to maintain balance, how to strike without leaving himself exposed—but those lessons had been rather basic, just an old man giving a child the means to survive. Larson, meanwhile, had never truly trained him to fight. Instead, he had taught Ithan how to survive: how to track prey, read the weather, negotiate contracts, recognize an ambush before it sprang, and live the harsh, uncertain life of a mercenary. Those lessons had kept him alive, long enough that Ithan had picked up his own fighting style.
Helen changed that.
She dismantled every bad habit he possessed and rebuilt him from the ground up. She corrected the angle of every thrust, the placement of every footstep, and the rhythm of every breath. A single misplaced stance earned another round of drills. A moment of hesitation meant being thrown into the dirt by one of the Red Jaguars. There was no room for excuses, only repetition. Again. Again. Again.
The training was merciless.
Morning formations tested endurance until his muscles trembled. Weapon drills continued until his palms split and bled beneath the shaft of his spear. Sparring sessions left him covered in bruises layered over scars that had barely finished healing before new ones appeared. Veterans twice his age and experience humbled him daily, exposing weaknesses he hadn't even known existed.
Yet Ithan embraced every hardship without complaint.
For the first time, he began to understand that mastery of a Mystery was inseparable from mastery of the body that wielded it.
Helen taught him that a spear was more than a weapon—it was an extension of intention. Every movement had purpose. Every strike flowed naturally into the next. Waste no motion. Waste no breath. Waste no thought.
She also taught him something he had never expected: meditation.
At first, Ithan dismissed it as little more than sitting in silence, but Helen insisted it was as important as any combat drill. Through controlled breathing, disciplined focus, and careful circulation of his vitality, he gradually learned to calm the violent reactions of the Mystery of Prometheus. The white flames still scorched his flesh whenever he called upon them, but the agony no longer overwhelmed his senses. Instead of fighting the pain, he learned to endure it, to acknowledge it without allowing it to control him.
His Mystery became steadier. His flames burned with greater precision, no longer erupting with the same wild volatility that had once defined them. His body recovered more quickly after each use, allowing him to push himself harder with every passing week. Most importantly, his will grew stronger.
Helen noticed the change long before he did.
The reckless mercenary boy who relied solely on instinct was slowly disappearing. In his place stood a disciplined warrior who understood patience, timing, and control. He no longer charged blindly into every exchange, trusting only in his speed and determination. He learned to read an opponent's stance, exploit openings, and conserve his strength until the decisive moment.
By the time autumn's chill settled over Achilles, Ithan no longer fought as he once had. Under Helen's relentless guidance, he had forged a fighting style that compensated for many of his former weaknesses. His spear and flames worked in harmony rather than independently, each movement flowing naturally into the next. He was becoming a true Red Jaguar.
Yet no amount of training could quiet his nights.
Sleep remained his greatest enemy.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Larson die again.
He heard the screams, smelled the smoke, and watched helplessly as the man who had raised him fell before his eyes. The nightmare never changed. It simply repeated itself, night after night, until waking became little more than a brief respite before the next inevitable dream.
Rather than breaking him, the nightmares became fuel.
They drove him to train harder than anyone else in the company. If the others retired after drills, Ithan stayed behind. If they rested after a mission, he practiced alone until his muscles gave out. Whether what burned inside him was justice or vengeance, he no longer cared to distinguish between the two. All he knew was that the people responsible were still alive.
And someday, he intended to change that. Still, despite the fire consuming his heart, life refused to stand still. The world continued to move around him.
Achilles itself rarely knew peace despite its towering defenses. As one of the strongest fortress cities in the Iron March, its colossal stone walls, reinforced gates, and watchtowers had repelled countless invasions over the centuries. Ballistae overlooked every approach, while disciplined soldiers patrolled the battlements day and night. It stood as the eastern bulwark of the province, guarding the frontier against both civilization's enemies and the untamed wilderness beyond.
But strong walls did not deter determined foes.
The Dionian tribes launched frequent raids against the city's borders, testing its defenses whenever they sensed weakness. Swift warbands emerged from the forests without warning, striking isolated outposts before vanishing back into the wilderness.
Beyond those walls stretched the Wild Forest, an ancient expanse where humanity's influence faded beneath towering trees older than kingdoms. Monstrous beasts roamed its depths—Direwolves hunting in coordinated packs, towering Razorhorn boars capable of shattering stone barricades, venomous Serpent Vines that strangled the unwary, and creatures even veteran mercenaries refused to name aloud.
For the Red Jaguars, there was never a shortage of work.
Some days, they escorted merchant caravans through monster-infested roads. Other days, they hunted beasts that had wandered too close to nearby villages. At times they reinforced border garrisons against Dionian incursions, while on others they ventured deep into the Wild Forest to eliminate creatures before they grew powerful enough to threaten Achilles itself.
This time, the Red Jaguar had dispatched a squad of mercenaries into the forest to investigate the disappearance of a merchant caravan. The caravan had been transporting supplies from the capital and should have reached Achilles days ago. Instead, it had vanished without a trace. The only report to reach the company spoke of an attack somewhere along the forest road.
Ithan rode with the squad, alongside Kallus.
Although he had spent months with the Red Jaguar, he still hadn't grown close to anyone in the company. The others had forged friendships through years of shared battles, campfires, and bloodshed. Ithan, on the other hand, remained an outsider by choice. He trained with them, fought beside them, and followed orders, but once the day's work was done, he always withdrew into himself.
Even now, he rode near the rear of the column, silent and detached while the others chatted as they traveled.
At the head of the formation rode Kallus, Helen's trusted lieutenant and, for all practical purposes, the company's second-in-command whenever she was absent. His relaxed posture contrasted with the authority he naturally carried. Beside him lumbered Benji, another Mystique of the Red Jaguar. The giant rarely spoke, but his sheer presence was enough to make the horses uneasy.
Ithan's gaze drifted farther ahead to the pair riding together.
Nicodemus and Andrea.
They were close enough that their horses nearly brushed against one another every few moments. They exchanged amused smiles and quiet glances whenever they thought no one was paying attention. Whether they had openly admitted it or not, Ithan was fairly certain they were lovers.
Meanwhile, Kallus entertained the company with stories from the Red Jaguar's past—old campaigns, impossible contracts, and battles that had become legends among mercenaries. Laughter occasionally rippled through the group as someone interrupted with their own version of the tale.
Halfway through one particularly exaggerated story, Kallus glanced over his shoulder.
"Are you even listening, Ashborn?" he called with a grunt.
Ithan didn't answer immediately.
His attention had never been on the conversation.
Instead, his sharp eyes swept across the forest, studying every shadow between the trees, every broken branch, every patch of disturbed earth. They had been riding for hours, yet they hadn't found so much as a broken wagon wheel, a dead horse, or any other sign that a caravan carrying dozens of people had ever passed through this road. The silence of the forest was wrong. Too clean. Too empty.
"Something is wrong," Ithan said.
His eyes darted through the forest, scanning every corner where pale mists curled along the ground, almost imperceptible to normal senses.
But Ithan's senses were anything but normal. He had spent years sharpening them until they could catch details that most people would never notice. It was a skill he had forged through countless hunts, because overlooking the smallest clue often meant becoming a monster's next meal.
Kallus raised a hand, signaling the squad to halt. The Mystiques pulled on their reins, bringing their horses to a stop as wary eyes swept across the forest.
By now, the mist had completely surrounded them. Only the narrow road ahead remained visible, while everything beyond it disappeared behind a veil of white.
"What kind of witchcraft is this?" Benji muttered.
"I've heard a spirit inhabits this forest," Andrea said. The only woman in the squad already had her weapon drawn, her posture tense as she searched the trees.
"Superstitious nonsense," Nicodemus scoffed.
Ithan didn't put much stock in empty superstitions either. But he knew from experience that places like this often became the dwelling grounds of beings known as spirits. He had encountered his fair share of them.
"Not necessarily," Ithan said.
In the current age, science and logic had become civilization's foundation. The strange phenomena of the bygone era no longer fit neatly within that framework, so most people dismissed them as nothing more than folklore and superstition.
Ithan had never shared that view. He liked to think he belonged to both worlds—science and reason, and mysteries.
"There's only one path ahead," Kallus said.
He turned to face the group, and with a single look, they understood his intentions. Everyone nodded. Ithan watched as the squad instinctively shifted into formation, each rider positioning themselves to cover another's blind spot.
Kallus's gaze settled on Ithan, carefully weighing both the situation and the man before him.
"Since Ashborn here has more experience dealing with monsters, we'll let him take point on this."
The others turned to Ithan.
He met Kallus's eyes, noting that there was more to the man than the rough exterior he presented. Beneath the gruff demeanor was someone who knew how to assess people and adapt to the circumstances.
"Fine," Ithan said as he urged his horse to the front of the formation.
"We have no choice but to confront whoever is behind this. If this is the dwelling of some spirit, there's a chance we might be able to appease it."
He paused, his gaze fixed on the mist ahead.
"But if this is the work of some monster... or a vengeful Daimon..."
"Then what?" Nicodemus asked.
Ithan's expression remained unchanged.
"Then we absolutely have to kill it."
They moved forward, their horses carrying them deeper into the cursed forest.
The eeriness of the place was something the Red Jaguar Claws didn't seem used to dealing with. They were Mystiques, part of the supernatural ecosystem of the world themselves, but dealing with otherworldly beings was another matter entirely. Their work usually involved bandits, soldiers, rogue Mystiques, and the occasional monster.
Ithan was different.
He had made it his life's work to hunt such things.
Eventually, the path opened into a grove, and they found themselves staring at the ruins of what looked like a long-forgotten temple.
Ancient stone rose between the trees, half-swallowed by roots and vegetation. The trees surrounding it swayed gently despite the lack of wind, their branches disappearing into the mist.
And now Ithan could see where the mist was coming from.
The temple itself.
"What in Hades' name is this?" Andrea said.
"Let's get down," Ithan said.
They dismounted and tied their horses to the nearby trees, making sure the animals couldn't flee without them. Ithan pulled his spear from his back and took the lead, heading toward the temple entrance.
"Are you sure about this?" Nicodemus asked. "This looks like the temple of a god."
"The gods are long gone," Ithan said. "Besides, places like this have lost all traces of the divine."
With the gods gone, so too were the lands once infused with their presence. What remained were ruins, stories, and the Mysteries they had once embodied. Even then, only a select few Mystiques could lay claim to those ancient truths.
"Buckle up, guys," Kallus said from behind them. "We men of the Red Jaguar don't cower before anything."
Andrea glanced at him.
Kallus cleared his throat.
"Men and women."
Nicodemus snorted.
Ithan didn't bother waiting for the others. Spear in hand, he stepped through the entrance.
He was used to hunting monstrosities alone. Having other people with him could be more of a hindrance than a help. You had to keep track of where they were, what they were doing, and whether they were about to get themselves killed.
The inside of the temple was dark, cold, and musty.
Even with Ithan's sharpened eyesight, he could barely make out what lay ahead. He was about to summon his flames when several balls of light suddenly appeared around him.
Ithan turned.
Andrea stood behind him, her skin glowing faintly. Serpent-like scales had appeared across her flesh, the manifestation of her Mystery accompanying the spheres of light floating around her.
The others had followed him after all.
With the darkness pushed back, they could finally see the temple.
And what they saw was something out of another world.
The interior was far larger than the exterior should have allowed. Vast walls stretched around them, covered in mosaics depicting beings and events from ages long gone.
For a moment, the group simply stood there, taking it all in.
The mosaics were breathtaking. Whoever had created them had been a master craftsman. Tiny pieces of colored stone and glass formed scenes with such detail that some of the figures almost seemed alive.
Even Ithan found himself admiring them.
But only for a moment.
His eyes soon began scanning the temple again, searching for the source of the discomfort crawling beneath his skin.
From the moment he had stepped inside, he hadn't been able to shake one thought.
It felt like he had walked straight into the den of a powerful monster.
"This design..." Benji muttered.
Everyone looked at him.
He stepped closer to one of the walls, studying the mosaic.
"It looks kind of new, doesn't it?"
"What do you mean?" Kallus asked.
Ithan had noticed it too.
Most temples like this dated back thousands—sometimes tens of thousands—of years, to the Age of the Gods. A place this ancient should have been weathered by time. Its walls should have cracked. Its colors should have faded. Entire sections of the artwork should have been lost.
And some of it had.
But not all of it.
Parts of the temple were ancient and worn, while others looked noticeably newer, as though someone had repaired them—or added to them long after the original builders were gone.
Ithan's gaze settled on one particular mosaic.
A musician stood at its center, clutching an instrument in his hands.
Around him were beautiful women.
At first glance, they might have looked like they were dancing.
Then Ithan noticed the blood.
The women were tearing the musician apart.
"That's Orpheus."
The voice came from somewhere behind them.
Everyone turned.
For the first time, Ithan realized they weren't alone.
A woman emerged from the darkness as if she had been standing there the entire time. She wore a loose-fitting wool garment that draped over her curvaceous figure. Long, dark hair fell around her shoulders, framing pale skin and unnaturally red lips.
She was beautiful.
But there was something wrong with that beauty.
Her pale skin seemed to glow with a strange vitality, as though there was too much life beneath it. Every movement was graceful and deliberate. Even the way she looked at them made Ithan's instincts stir.
There was something predatory about her.
Something inhuman.
"My master told me stories about him," she said, looking toward the mosaic. "Orpheus. A hero who angered our lord and master, Dionysus."
Her lips curled into a faint smile.
"His reward was death at the hands of his followers."
Ithan tightened his grip on his spear.
"What are you?"
The woman's eyes shifted toward him.
"How rude," she said. "You come into my home and ask me such a question?"
"This is your home?" Kallus asked, glancing around the temple.
The cold, musty ruin hardly looked hospitable.
The woman's smile widened.
"You Mystiques never change, do you?" she said. "Even after all these centuries."
The others tensed at that.
Ithan didn't.
"What is a creature like you doing here?" he asked.
Something flickered across her face at the word creature, but her smile remained.
"This is the sanctuary of my people," she said. "A temple once dedicated to my god." She slowly looked over the group before her gaze returned to Ithan. "Surely you should know what you're dealing with before entering the territory of your prey."
A follower of Dionysus. Ithan's mind instantly went to the Dionians. The tribe were noted for being descendants of worshippers of the Frenzy god. But she did not appear to look like a Dionian.
Her eyes settled on Ithan. He noticed the way she had sized up all of the members of the Red Jaguar, and how her attention had been on him the most.
Listen up, Ithan. Don't act surprised. This is the Mystery shared by Nicodemus and me. It allows us to commune mentally.
Ithan did his best not to act surprised, which was easy, as his expression rarely ever changed. He noticed that the others also didn't act or show any surprise, mainly because, unlike him, they were knowledgeable about the couple's Mystery.
Ithan had never heard of one sharing a mystery, but there were many things he did not know when it came to mysteries, so he put that aside.
What is it?
It looks like we have fallen for that things trap. See for yourself.
A visual image of the temple appeared within Ithan's mind making him see
"There's been strange occurrences in the forest these past few weeks. Merchant cargos and travelers have been reported missing." Kallus said. "We have been sent by the city to investigate."
"Is that so?" She said.
"Surely