The morning air was unnaturally still.
Lith stood where she had vanished, the sunlight spilling through drifting mist, painting long shadows across the village square. "Nyx?" He called again, scanning the empty street. "Nyx—where are you?" But no answer. Only the faint whistle of the wind through broken shutters. Then realization struck him like a slow, sinking weight. He remembered her words—"Just say the word." And his own careless reply—If only it were that simple."
His chest tightened. "Oh no..." Lith pressed a trembled hand to his forehead. "She took that as permission."
He looked up again—but the space she occupied was nothing but dust and sunlight. A strange unease coiled in his gut, through it was fear. He couldn't even name what it was—worry, disbelief, something deeper. He turned, searching the faces of the villagers still gathered behind him, but found only confusion and whispering. The silence pressed closer, thick and uncertain. Then memories flooded his mind—of earlier that morning, when Nyx had saved him and the mother and child from that monster. How easily she had cut the creature down. How calm she had been. How those violet eyes had looked upon death as if it were a trivial thing—something too familiar to stir even disgust.
He exhaled sharply and straightened, forcing his thoughts to steady. She's bound to me, she'll return. She has to.
He lifted his gaze toward the distant ridge where the mountains loomed. He could feel it—that faint pull between them, the bond. That's where she was headed.
Sunlight spilled across the dirt road, warming the edge of his priest's cloak. He stood there in silence until the sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness. "Young priest," one of the the villagers called out behind him, voice uncertain. "What now? What's your plan?"
Another spoke, tone sharper. "You said you wouldn't let her fight alone, yet she's already gone. Are you just going to stand there?"
Murmurs followed.
"Even if you chase her, what good will it do?"
"We can't help you. We've got no men left who can still fight."
"Unless someone's foolish enough to follow you, you'll be going alone."
Others muttered in agreement. Lith lowered his head, hands curling into fists at his sides. Their words stung, not because they were cruel—but because they were true.
He clenched his fists quietly. Most of their young men were already gone—slain trying to protect their loved ones from the Fiend-Tongues. Fear had long replaced courage in this place. And he...he couldn't blame them. He looked down at his hands. "Then I'll go alone," he said quietly, voice steady. "She's my responsibility."
That earned a stir among the crown. Some whispered, others scoffed, pity and disbelief in their eyes.
A sharp voice cut through the murmurs. "Wait!"
Lith turned. A young man pushed through the crowd—a boy, maybe fourteen, lean but bright-eyed. He stepped forward, gripping the hilt of a crude hunting axe. "Take me with you," the boy said firmly.
Lith blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"I said, take me with you," the boy repeated, louder this time.
Before Lith could answer, a woman rushed forward—older, clearly his sister. "P-Please, young priest," she said breathlessly, grabbing the boy's arm. "My brother's just joking—"
SMACK!
Her hand flew to the side as the boy slapped it away, glaring at her. Gasps rippled through the villagers.
"Stop treating me like a child, Maria!" He shouted. "I've already decided. I'm going with him!"
Lith took a step back, stunned by the sudden tension between them.
Maria's voice shook. "Lee, have you lost your mind?! You'll only get yourself killed! You haven't even awakened your Gift yet!" She reached for him again, but he stepped away, fire burning in his eyes.
"I know!" Lee shouted. "But I can't just sit here while he—someone who's not even from this village—fights for us! You all just watch, complain, and hide!"
The crowd murmured again. Lith caught fragments—disbelief, ridicule, anger.
"That boy is insane."
"Go ahead, die with the priest then!"
"He's just like his father—hot-headed and stupid."
"No wonder their parents left them—"
Lith froze as the crowd's voice rose, overlapping in a storm of fear and anger. The air in the village square felt suffocating, thick with frustration. He stepped forward, hands raised slightly. "Please—everyone, calm down—"
But another voice cut through his words like a blade. "Huh. At least I still have the guts to stand up and do something! What about you all?" Lee shouted, voice cracking with anger. "You just sit around, wagging your tongues and pretending you care!"
Gasps rippled through the villagers. Lith blinked in disbelief.
Lee voice grew sharper, echoing across the square. "Instead of lifting a damn finger, you shove everything onto this outsider priest!" Lee shouted again, his voice cracking between fury and disbelief. "Adults? Protectors? Gift?" He laughed—cold and sharp. "Don't make me laugh. You're just cowards who learned to call fear wisdom so you can sleep at night!"
Wham!
His foot slammed against the dirt, scattering dust. His faces twisted in shock and rage.
"Watch your mouth, boy!"
"Ungrateful brat!"
"Of course he talks like that—no parents to raise him right!"
The shouts crashed together. Lith's stomach twisted. This is bad...
Maria reached out, tears in her eyes. "Lee! Stop this!"
But the boy only turned away, his jaw tight. "No! If you're too afraid to fight, then I'll go myself!" And then—he ran.
"LEE!" Maria cried, but her hand only caught air. Maria tried to reach for him again, but Lith stepped between them, raising a hand gently.
"Let him go," he said softly. "I'll bring him back. I promise."
Maria's knees buckled, tears spilling freely. She sank to the ground, clutching her hands together. "Please...please bring him back alive."
Lith nodded once, then turned and ran after Lee, who was already sprinting down the dirt road toward the mountains. The villagers' shouts faded behind him—anger and despair.
The wind rushed past his ears as he ran. He's fast... But he didn't slow down, because ahead—somewhere in the direction of the mountains—he could feel Nyx. And the faint, burning echo of battle.
——
Meanwhile, the air was unnaturally still. Only the faint hiss of blue fire flickered among bones and ashm the stench of sulfur and rot hung thick in the clearing—the den of the Fiend-Tongues.
And above it all, standing upon the tallest tree, was Nyx. Her black dress fluttered gently against the wind, lace sleeves catching the faint light. Around her feet, shadows coiled—alive, restless, whispering. Her violet eyes glowed faintly beneath her bangs. Not out of anger, but resolve. "My master doesn't need to see this," she murmured flatly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It'll be over before he even realizes I'm gone." The she stepped off the branch.
BOOOM!
The air screamed as she fell, her black blade forming mid-descent—shadows Twisties, solidifying into steel darker than night. The ground shattered upon impact. Dust and debris exploded outward. A Fiend-Tongues, massive and snarling, looked down only to see the blade of twilight buried deep into its chest.
SHAAK!
Nyx stood atop its corpse, unbothered—one boot planted over its ribcage. Her expression was blank, calm...almost serene. She pulled the sword free with a sharp flick— SLLIK!—green blood hissed into vapor, absorbed by the blade's hungry edge. "Filthy blood," she whispered, flicking a drop of green ichor from her cheek. "...How foul."
The Fiend-Tongues howled together, fury breaking their hesitation. But by the time they lunged, Nyx was already gone. She moved too fast for their eyes to follow—each step a whisper, each motion a blue of black steel and crimson spray. Heads fell before their bodies realized they'd been cut.
GRRRRRRRRHHHH—!!!
Others rushed her.
Nyx moved.
SHING!
A head flew again.
SLASH!
Another fell.
She didn't dodge—she slid through their attacks, every motion like liquid darkness. The Blade of Twilight hummed—a low, melodic tone, almost like a hymn. Each strike dimmed the world for heartbeat, swallowing the light around her. Every swing of her blade ended a life—clean, inevitable.
There were no screams this time. Only the wet hiss of steel through flesh, and the dull thud of bodies hitting earth. The Fiend-Tongues dissolved into drifting ash, fading as if the world itself had erased them. Nyx exhaled, lowering her blade. "Too slow," she murmured, her voice quite but heavy—almost tired. Then a vast shadow stretched across the ground behind her, swallowing the light. She turned, crimson dust still swirling at her feet.
WHOOOSH—!
A giant Fiend-Tongues roared and brought down a crude stone Maul. The ground split open—KRAAASH!—but Nyx was already moving. She turned, raising one arm, and caught the blow with her bare hand. The weapon stopped cold—an inch from her head.
Her fingers clenched.
CRACK
Stone shattered like glass. The creature froze, its glowing eyes widening—but too slow to react. Nyx pivoted, her black hair whipping through the air.
SCHRRK!
It's head tumbled away, landing with a dull roll against the dirt. She touched down softly, her boots making a quiet thud.
Then, silence followed. The encampment—once alive with snarling fiends—had turned into a graveyard. The soil drank the spilled blood. Blue fire guttered and died. Only the wind remained.
Nyx exhaled softly, running the flat of her blade across the hem of her skirt. Her expression didn't chage—calm, almost indifferent—but her eyes flicked down to the faint smear of blood on the black lace. "I just wore this," she murmured, voice low and flat. "Master would be... disappointed."
For a moment, she stood still among the fallen fiends, the wind tugging at her dress. Then she clasped her hands together, head tilting ever so slightly. "May your sins be forgiven—if anyone still bothers to listen." Her words carried no warmth, no mockery—only a cold echo of something once sacred.
She turned away. The black blade slid back into the shadow at her feet, melting into the earth like ink.
Then—
Crkk...
The earth shuddered. Nyx went still. A low rumble rose beneath her, followed by the crack-crack-crack of splitting stone.
From the pit at the heart of the camp, something vast began to stir—skeletal wings unfurling through a storm of ash. Her eyes narrowed. "...An Alpha." She took one breath, ready to move—then gasped.
Fssssshh—!
A burning sigil flared at her neck, searing throyskin, bright and crimson—the mark of her bond to Lith.
"—gh!" Her knees buckled. She clutched at her throat as pain rilled through her veins, mana flaring Ang collapsing in wild spams.
"Master...?"