Chapter Twenty

The townsfolk were beginning to stir. The blue light in their eyes had faded, replaced by the groggy confusion of people waking up from a nightmare.

Siurad stepped over a puddle of red slush that used to be the gauntlets amalgamation.

"We need to leave," Siurad stated, kicking a piece of the Orc’s armor aside. "I am not ready to explain why the blacksmith is currently a jigsaw puzzle."

"Agreed," Yona nodded, patting her pockets. They clinked heavily. "You sure did a number on those folks. On the bright side, the world is our oyster, Shepherd. We can head north to Silverspire. Large city. Plenty of fences to hawk these goods."

"Anywhere that gets us away from the questions," Siurad grunted. He looked at the gauntlet, which lay inert on the ground. "And what about this? Can you eat it, Obi? Or is it too spicy?"

'...USELESS,' Obi pulsed, the voice echoing like grinding stones in Siurad's mind. '...IT IS NOT OF THE VOID. IT IS A CHAOTIC FILTH IT CANNOT BE CONSUMED.'

"So that means no?" Siurad sighed, rubbing his temples. "You know, for an all-powerful god, you’re a little too cryptic. Just spell it out like I’m five."

.'...THEN I SHALL USE SMALL WORDS FOR A SMALL MIND.'

"Oooooh," Yona cackled, clutching her stomach. "Burn! The jewelry got jokes!"

"Let's just go," Siurad grumbled. “I have to stop teaching you slang.”

They made it to the edge of the market square when the air pressure suddenly spiked.

VWUM.

A massive pillar of holy light slammed into the cobblestones fifty feet in front of them.  As the light faded, a figure stood in the crater. He was a mountain of a man clad in pristine, white-enameled plate armor, bearing a tower shield emblazoned with a silver eagle.

"Move no further," the man commanded, brandishing a long, slender lance. His face was obscured by a winged golden helm.

"For fuck's sake," Siurad groaned, his shoulders slumping. "Can we just go one day without a boss fight?"

"I am Knight Rio of the White Spire," the figure boomed. "Explain this slaughter."

"You got it all wrong, holy man," Yona said, putting on her best innocent face. "We’re heroes. We saved them."

She stepped forward, spreading her arms in a gesture of goodwill.

RIIIP.

The cheap burlap sack tied to her belt, stuffed to capacity with loot, tore open. A cascade of stolen goods clattered onto the silent street. A gold chalice rolled out and hit the knight's boot with a hollow ring.

Rio looked at the loot. 

He looked at Yona. 

He looked at the blood-soaked Siurad. 

He lowered his lance into a combat stance.

From the darkness behind the Knight, the heavy, rhythmic thud of approaching iron boots echoed.

"Reinforcements," Yona hissed, her hand dropping to her daggers. "We have to clear him quickly, Big Guy. If his squad gets here, we're pinned."

Siurad sighed. He didn't want to kill a knight who was just doing his job. But bouncer logic was clear: If the guy at the door won't let you leave, you move him.

'...REMOVE THE OBSTACLE,' Obi commanded coldly.

Yona moved first. She launched herself forward like a cannonball, her daggers igniting with Hellfire.

Rio didn't flinch. He planted his feet and slammed his shield into the ground.

"Divine Shroud!"

The shield erupted with blinding holy light. It was a perfect counter. Yona cursed, realizing a head-on assault was suicide, and skidded to a halt to avoid impaling herself blindly on his lance.

But the light cast a shadow. And where there is shadow, there is Siurad.

Reinvigorated by the consumption of the mask, Siurad stepped.

The world inverted. POP.

He reappeared directly inside Rio’s guard, bypassing the shield entirely. Rio turned his head, surprised, just in time to see a massive, black-armored fist occupying his entire field of vision.

"Parry this," Siurad growled.

He clotheslined the knight with the force of a hydraulic press.

CRACK.

The impact sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a church bell. Rio’s helmet was dented inward, and the massive knight was lifted off his feet, spinning in the air before crashing face-first into the dirt.

Siurad stood over him, shaking his hand out.

"Knights," Siurad scoffed. "High defense, zero situational awareness."

​Siurad turned to leave, but the window for escape had already closed. The reinforcements had arrived, a phalanx of nineteen knights, paladins, and clerics marching in lockstep toward the town.

​The unit split with practiced efficiency. A support squad peeled off, rushing to triage the wounded townsfolk, while the larger, heavily armed group encircled Siurad and Yona.

​Rio scrambled shakily to his feet as a smaller man stepped out from the formation. He was an anomaly among the armored soldiers; he wore simple leather trousers and a crisp white shirt tucked beneath a jacket of heavy indigo canvas. The crest of the Whitespire was emblazoned boldly across his back. It was a massive eagle swooping down near a large spire.

​He regarded Yona and Siurad with a sneer of absolute superiority.

​“All we want is to leave,” Yona said, her voice tight. “Your man wouldn't allow it. We stopped the slaughter here.”

​The man raised a hand, silencing her. “I am Guil, High Knight of the Whitespire. We will determine what happened here. Until then, you remain where you are.”

​Yona projected her thought to Obi. Let Siurad know they are probably going to try to search us and take our loot.

​'...THE FOX SENSES GREED; THEY SEEK TO PLUNDER WHAT IS YOURS.'

​Siurad glanced at Yona, a subtle nod confirming the message.

​“Look,” Siurad rumbled, stepping forward. “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll be on our way. We don't want trouble.”

​“Are you daft? Or just hard of hearing?” Guil’s expression curdled into disgust. “You will wait there until our investigation concludes. If…and I mean if…you are found innocent of wrongdoing, you will be free to go.”

Siurad knew the type.

He had seen men like this a thousand times before: born into wealth, drunk on a thimble of power, and desperate to brandish it against anyone who wouldn’t fight back.

He sized Guil up.

Siurad had almost a foot of height on the High Knight and outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. Back home, that math would have ended the conversation before it started.

But this wasn’t home.

In this world full of magic, arrogance probably came with backing.

Guil noticed the calculation in Siurad’s eyes and mistook it for hesitation. He smirked and closed the distance, stepping brazenly into Siurad’s personal space.

He didn’t flinch at the giant’s size. Instead, he reached out and tapped one finger against Siurad’s newly acquired black chest plate.

A faint spark of golden light flared at his fingertip.

“You don’t dictate terms to the Spire, mercenary,” Guil said softly, his voice dripping with aristocratic venom. “You sit, you heel, and you pray I don’t decide you’re a heretic before the paperwork is even filed.”

Siurad looked down at the finger resting against his armor.

Back home, there was a universal rule at the club.

Patrons could yell. They could curse. They could threaten. But the exact second a patron put hands on you, the social contract was void.

Combine that with the fact that Siurad had just spent the last few days fighting Grief-Mares, executing bandits, the road wardens, the flock, and wrestling a multi-bodied flesh-golem, and his patience wasn’t just thin.

It was gone.

Obi tasted his rising anger. The crack in the ring was a hairline thing, but it was enough. Obi's presence seeped, threading into the spaces between Siurad's own thoughts, warming the anger that was already there until Siurad couldn't have said where his temper ended, and the Void's began. He only knew the finger on his chest had become the only thing in the world.

​'...SHOW HIM THE WEIGHT OF THE VOID HEIR.'

​A cold darkness began to swell in Siurad’s chest.

​“You know what?" Siurad said quietly. "Fuck it."

​Siurad didn't think; he just moved.

​Guil’s smile widened. He stepped in to meet the charge.

​Guil stopped abruptly, a blinding golden light enveloping his gloves. He dipped low, lunging upward to catch Siurad with a rising uppercut. Siurad saw it coming and didn't respect it. 

He reached out one-handed, almost bored, going to palm the little man's skull and hold him out at the end of one long arm, let the runt flail at empty air like a kid swinging at his big brother, until he wore himself out.

​But Siurad was too slow.

​The fist connected with the sound of a cracking whip. The blow caught Siurad flush on the chin, rattling his skull and lifting him off his feet.

​Before Siurad even crashed to the earth, Yona was already calculating an intercept vector.

​'...DO NOT INTERVENE.' Obi commanded.

​Siurad landed hard, twisting violently to disperse the momentum. The pain was blinding, unlike anything he had felt in this world. He rolled to his side, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the cratered soil.

​Guil was on him instantly, moving like a streak of light. A heavy boot slammed dead center into Siurad’s ribs. Air vacated his lungs with a wet wheeze as the impact rocketed him backward.

​Siurad tumbled, hands digging into the dirt, and sprang to his feet. Guil was already there, fist cocked for the finisher.

​POP.

​The air collapsed as Siurad Void stepped.

​In a microsecond, he materialized beside Guil. Siurad threw a punch with every ounce of frustration he possessed. It connected with a meaty thud, folding Guil in half and launching him backward.

​Siurad Void Stepped again, appearing directly above the reeling knight.

​He grabbed the smaller man by the waist, spun in the air, and drove him downward. They slammed into the earth, Siurad power-bombing the High Knight with enough force to liquefy stone. The ground exploded, creating a crater six feet deep.

Rage, hot and blinding, flared from within. Siurad called to the void, and it answered; shadows appeared around Siurad’s arm, solidifying into a massive, jagged spike.

​“Siurad, enough!” Yona screamed as the other members of the Whitespire converged.

​It was too late. He was too far gone. All he saw was red. All he wanted was blood.

​The spike rocketed from his palm.

​“STOP! IN THE NAME OF THE SPIRE!”

​A skinny figure burst from the tree line, sprinting toward the carnage with a gait that was more desperate scramble than heroic charge. He wasn't a warrior. He was a boy, baby-faced, with a mop of honey-blonde hair and simple white-and-gold robes that were currently splashed with mud.

​He threw himself between the High Knight and Siurad, raising a simple staff like it was a legendary weapon. His hands were trembling violently.

​“Divine Ward!”

​A sphere of translucent, holy light snapped into existence around him, expanding just in time to catch the impact.

​The spike collided with the barrier. The resulting shockwave blew them apart; cracking the very air, sending Siurad skidding back and knocking the smaller man off his feet.

​Dust swirled. Silence fell over the cratered field.

​The skinny man scrambled back up, using his staff to steady his shaking legs. He looked terrified, pale as a sheet, but he didn't back down. He pointed a trembling finger at the High Knight.

​“Shame on you!” Alexander shouted, his voice cracking but carrying a surprising, lecturesque authority. “Shame on you, Guil! Is this the righteousness of the Spire? To brawl in the dirt like a common thug while the wounded cry for help?”

​Guil blinked, the golden light on his fists fading as he recognized the robes. “Alexander.”

​“I am!” Alexander stepped forward, placing himself boldly in front of Siurad, acting as a human shield for the monster. “I have spoken to the townsfolk. I have tended their wounds. These two stopped the slaughter while you were marching in formation! They are innocent!”

​He took a deep, shaky breath, adjusting his glasses, which had gone askew.

​“Stand down, High Knight. Or by the grace of the Saints, I will write such a report to the Bishop that you will be scrubbing latrines until the next Age!”

Guil’s face went through a complex series of contortions, shock, indignation, and finally, a sour, curdled resignation. The golden light around his fists flickered and died.

​He straightened up, brushing dust from his canvas jacket, trying to regain some semblance of cool superiority.

​“The Journeyman,” Guil sneered, though he took a subtle half-step back. “I should have known. Who else would throw themselves in front of a beast but the Spire’s bleeding heart?”

​He gestured vaguely at the crater Siurad had created. “Look at this mess, Alexander. You call this innocence?”

​“Because you kicked him while he was down!” Alexander shot back, his voice rising an octave. He was still shaking, clutching his staff so hard his knuckles were white. “I saw it! That is not the conduct of a High Knight! That is... that is bullying!”

​He adjusted his glasses, which were slipping down his sweat-slicked nose.

​“I am filing a formal grievance, Guil. A Rite of Inquiry. Leave these people be. I will conduct the interview myself.”

​Guil stared at the skinny healer. He looked at the nineteen other knights behind him, who were watching the exchange with awkward silence. Then he looked at Siurad, who was still wreathed in black smoke, a living nightmare waiting for an excuse to snap.

​“Fine,” Guil spat. He turned his back on them. “If the saint wants to play in the mud with the pigs, be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when he bites your hand off.”

​He signaled to his troop. “We’re done here. Secure the perimeter. Let the boy play hero.”

​The knights fanned out, moving away from the crater with disciplined precision, giving Siurad a very wide berth. Guil shot one last, venomous look at Yona before disappearing into the crowd of soldiers.

​As soon as they were out of earshot, Alexander slumped. The authority of the Spire evaporated, leaving just a terrified kid in muddy robes. He let out a long, wheezing breath and nearly collapsed, using his staff to stay upright.

​“Oh gods,” he squeaked. “I thought he was going to punch me. Did you see his gloves? They were glowing. Why were they glowing?”

​He turned, his eyes wide and frantic, to check on Siurad.

​“You...” He swallowed hard. “You aren’t going to kill me, are you?”

​Siurad hadn’t moved. The black spikes of shadow hadn’t receded. The Void was still rolling off him in waves of cold, pressurized rage. He was staring at the retreating back of the High Knight, his pupils tainted violet into abyssal pools.

​‘...THE FLAW WALKS AWAY UNCORRECTED.’ Obi’s voice ground against Siurad’s skull like tectonic plates shifting. ‘...THE WEAK ONE REMAINS.’

​The urge to step across the distance and finish the job was a physical ache in Siurad’s muscles.

​“Siurad,” Yona’s voice cut through the static. She stepped between him and the terrified boy, her hands raised slightly. “Easy. The skinny one helped us.”

​Siurad blinked, the haze slowly receding. He looked down.

​The boy was trembling. He looked like a strong breeze would knock him over. He was covered in mud, his glasses were crooked, and he smelled like fear and cheap incense.

​“Who are you?” Siurad rasped, his voice sounding like gravel in a blender. He spat a glob of blood onto the grass.

​“A-Alexander,” the boy stammered, straightening his robes with shaking hands. “Journeyman of the White Spire. I... I spoke to the villagers. They told me you saved them from the bandits.”

​Alexander took a hesitant step forward, eyeing the black smoke still curling off Siurad’s shoulders.

​“I couldn’t let Guil execute you without a trial. It’s against the Codex. Title 4, Section B.” He said it like he was quoting holy scripture that physically protected him from harm.

​Yona raised an eyebrow. She looked at Siurad.

​“Title 4, Section B,” she repeated, deadpan. “Well, thank the gods for bureaucracy.”

​The adrenaline dump hit Siurad all at once. The shadows dissolved into mist. His knees buckled as the pain rushed in to fill the void. His ribs screamed where Guil had kicked him, and his jaw felt unhinged. He swayed, his vision graying at the edges.

​“You’re hurt,” Alexander said. The fear in his eyes was replaced instantly by a fussing, almost motherly concern. He rushed forward, forgetting that Siurad was a terrifying giant.

​“Don’t touch me,” Siurad grunted, trying to step back, but he stumbled.

​“Hold still! You’re bleeding internally,” Alexander scolded, his hands glowing with a soft, warm white light. “I saw that kick. It probably cracked three ribs and bruised your lung. If I don't set it now, you'll be breathing blood in an hour.”

​Before Siurad could protest, Alexander placed his hands on the giant’s chest.

​The sensation was jarring. It wasn't cold like the Void. It was burning hot, an invasive warmth that knit bone back together with aggressive speed. Siurad hissed through his teeth, his muscles locking up.

​“What is... that?” Siurad groaned.

​“I am healing you,” Alexander muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Now stop moving, you’re making it harder.”

​Yona watched the scene with a calculated look. She saw the White Spire crest on Alexander's robes. She saw the power he wielded. It was not combat or even magical, but political power. Guil had backed down.

​She walked over, picking up a gold button that had flown off Guil’s jacket during the fight. She tossed it in the air and caught it.

​“You got a lot of nerve for a guy who shakes like a leaf, Alexander,” Yona said, a smirk playing on her lips. “Standing up to a High Knight for two strangers? That's either brave or stupid.”

​“It was necessary,” Alexander said, pulling his hands back. He wiped sweat from his forehead, looking exhausted. “The Spire stands for order. Guil was... disorderly.”

​He looked up at Siurad, his eyes lingering on the strange, dark ring on Siurad’s finger. He shivered, sensing something wrong with it, but politely decided not to ask.

​“There,” Alexander said, stepping back. “Your ribs are set. But you should rest. No more fighting today.”

​Siurad straightened up, testing his chest. The sharp stab of pain was gone, replaced by a dull ache. He looked at the skinny boy differently now.

​‘...THE HEALER IS USEFUL.’ Obi observed, the voice echoing in the back of Siurad's mind. ‘...KEEP HIM.’

​“Thanks,” Siurad grunted. It was awkward. He wasn't used to thanking people in this world.

​“Just... try not to provoke Guil again,” Alexander said, adjusting his glasses nervously. “He’s vindictive. And I can’t cast Divine Ward twice in one day. I’ll pass out.”

​“Noted,” Siurad said.

​Yona stepped up beside Siurad, her eyes locked on Alexander.

​“So, Journeyman,” she said, her tone shifting to business. “Since you’re the one asking questions now... does this 'investigation' of yours come with a reward? Because we did just save this town.”

Alexander blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift to commerce. He patted his robes, looking distressed.

​“Reward? I... well, the Spire doesn't exactly carry coin for freelance heroics. I can write a letter of commendation? It could help with travel visas...”

​Yona sighed, rolling her eyes theatrically. “Paperwork. Of course. Why did I expect gold?”

​She walked over to where the twisted, blue-veined Gauntlet lay on the cobblestones. It was inert now, looking more like a piece of abstract art made of dried jerky and sapphire than a weapon of mass destruction.

​She nudged it with her boot.

​“Tell you what, Alex,” she said. “We’ll waive the fee. Consider this a donation to the cause.”

​She bent down, wrapped the Gauntlet in a piece of torn banner from a nearby stall to avoid touching it directly, and held it out to him.

​“The Whitespire safeguards dangerous things, right? Keeps the world safe from the spooky stuff?” Yona smiled, a sharp, fox-like expression. “This is the anchor that was controlling the flesh-construct. It’s nasty, it’s old, and it reeks of dark magic. If we keep it, we’ll just end up selling it to a fence who’ll probably accidentally blow up a city. If you take it, it goes into a vault.”

​Alexander stared at the bundle. His professional curiosity overrode his fear. He reached out with trembling hands and took the artifact.

​“This is... this is…,” he muttered, peering at the blue veins. “The complexity is staggering. Yes. You’re right. This cannot fall into the general market. The Spire must contain it.”

​He looked up at Yona, gratitude warring with confusion behind his glasses. “You’re just... giving this to me? This is worth a fortune on the black market.”

​“We’re not black market dealers,” Yona lied smoothly. “We’re just concerned citizens.”

​Siurad snorted but covered it with a cough when Yona shot him a glare.

​“Besides,” Yona continued, stepping closer to the Journeyman, invading his personal space just enough to make him nervous. “I think you’re going to need a peace offering when you get back to headquarters. Guil isn't going to be happy that you embarrassed him in front of his squad.”

​Alexander flinched, but then he straightened his spine, a flash of aristocratic pride cutting through his anxiety.

​“He can be as unhappy as he likes,” Alexander said, clutching the gauntlet. “But he can’t touch my rank. I am the youngest Journeyman in a century. My grandfather is the High Bishop. If Guil tried to demote me, he’d be scrubbing latrines in the Northern Waste before the ink was dry.”

​Yona paused, re-evaluating. Right. The Prodigy.

​“Okay, so you’re untouchable on paper,” Yona conceded, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But we’re not in the capital, are we? We’re out here in the mud. You're not even in Doria. Far away across country lines….”

​She gestured to the crater Siurad had made.

​“Guil is vindictive. He can’t fire you, sure. But accidents happen in the field, don't they? Maybe he assigns you to the front line of a ambush. Maybe he forgets to send backup when you’re pinned down. Or maybe a stray arrow just finds its way to the Spire’s Bleeding Heart.”

​Alexander went pale. The confidence about his grandfather vanished.

​“He... he wouldn't dare. That’s against the Codex.”

​“Alexander, he just tried to murder my friend because his ego was bruised,” Yona pointed out. “Do you really think a piece of paper stops a guy like that? You made him look weak. If you go back to that camp, you’re just a target.”

​Alexander hugged his staff, looking miserable. “So what do I do? I can’t desert. Even I can’t survive the scandal of desertion.”

​“Don't desert,” Yona said. “Recruit.”

​She spread her hands. “You’re an investigator now, right? You’re conducting a Rite of Inquiry on us. Well, inquiries take time. They require close observation. Constant surveillance.”

​She poked him in the chest.

​“Come with us.”

​Alexander choked on his own spit. “What? Leave with you? You’re... chaotic! He nearly nuked the town square! You look like a bandit!”

​“I look like a survivor,” Yona corrected. “And he looks like a weapon that needs a safety switch. Look, we have muscle.” She pointed at Siurad. “I have... skills.” She pointed at herself. “But we don't have a doctor. And we definitely don't have a moral compass.”

​Siurad watched the pitch, impressed. She was good.

​‘...THE BOY IS NECESSARY.’ Obi’s voice whispered, vibrating in Siurad’s teeth. ‘...THE VESSEL REQUIRES MAINTENANCE.’

​Siurad stepped forward. The movement made Alexander jump, but Siurad held up a hand.

​“She’s right,” Siurad rumbled. The dark timbre of his voice had softened, but it still carried the weight of the Void. “I’m... new to this power. I don't always control it well. You saw that. You stopped me from killing that guy.”

​Siurad looked Alexander in the eye.

​“If I lose it again, who’s going to stop me? Yona can’t cast Divine Ward. She’d just stab me, and that would be annoying for everyone.”

​Alexander looked between the terrifying giant and the rogue. He looked at the gauntlet in his hands as the evidence of the horrors they faced.

​“You’re saying...” Alexander adjusted his glasses, thinking fast. “You’re saying that if I accompany you, I am technically fulfilling my duty by containing a potential threat? i.e., you?”

​“Exactly,” Yona grinned. “You’re our parole officer. You keep the big guy from breaking the world, and in exchange, we keep you from having a tragic accident on Guil’s watch. Plus, you get to study more artifacts like that one.”

​Alexander bit his lip. He looked back at the regiment of knights in the distance. He knew Guil. He knew Yona was right. His grandfather’s influence could protect his career, but it couldn't stop a knife in the dark.

​He looked at Siurad. The man was a walking catastrophe, but he had stopped when asked. He had thanked him.

​“I...” Alexander took a deep breath. “I would need to file a Field Assignment Request. Standard deviation for pursuit of high-priority targets.”

​“Sure,” Yona waved a hand dismissively. “File whatever you want. Just pack your bags.”

​Alexander straightened his spine. A flicker of resolve appeared behind the fear.

​“Very well. Under Title 9, Section C: 'Emergency Conscription of Assets for the Greater Good.' I will... accompany you.”

​He pointed a shaking finger at Yona.

​“But I am in charge of ethical oversight! No killing civilians. No stealing from the poor. And absolutely no Necromancy.”

​Yona slung an arm around his shoulder, steering him away from the incoming knights.

​“Wouldn't dream of it, boss. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Twentyone

​Alexander marched toward the cluster of Whitespire knights. The strut was an absolute tragedy of overcompensation. He walked with his chin angled so high he was practically inspecting the clouds, his back rigid as a plank, and his arms swinging with the exaggerated mechanics of a clockwork soldier. He looked like a toddler pretending to be a General.

​From the edge of the treeline, Siurad and Yona watched the silent pantomime. It was like watching a play with the volume muted. They saw Guil’s armored shoulders tense, his arms flailing in what was clearly an indignant tirade. They saw Alexander shrink for a microsecond, looking like he might bolt, before he suddenly straightened his spine.

​Alexander produced the wrapped bundle. The dynamic shifted instantly.

​Guil’s aggression melted into a distinct, predatory stillness. He snatched the gauntlet. He inspected it. Then, the High Knight’s shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in the relaxed posture of a man who had just secured a promotion.

​Alexander executed an awkward about-face and marched back, maintaining the ridiculous strut until he was just out of earshot of the knights. Then, he instantly deflated, his posture collapsing into that of a teenager who just got away with sneaking out.

​“Okay,” Alexander wheezed, wiping a sheen of cold sweat from his forehead. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It took some... creative interpretation of the Codex, but I am officially designated as your custodial liaison. However, Guil is technically still deciding whether or not to arrest you for existing, so I suggest we make haste.”

​“Sure thing, Saint,” Yona chirped, offering a lazy, mocking wave to the distant platoon before turning north. “Lead the way.”

​Siurad didn't move immediately. He looked back at the market square one last time.

​Guil was watching them go, the gauntlet clutched to his chest like a prize. The High Knight’s expression was a mix of arrogance and suspicion.

​Siurad slowly raised his black-gauntleted hand. He didn't wave. He extended a single, very deliberate middle finger.

​'...A CRUDE GESTURE,' Obi mused in the back of his mind. '...BUT EFFICIENT.'

​Siurad turned, his cape swirling in the dust, and followed Yona toward the forest.

​“Well, we got out of that with our heads attached,” Yona grinned, the heavy clink-clink of gold accompanying her step as she patted one of her many bulging pouches. “And considering the loot drop? I’d say the return on investment was excellent.”

​“Excellent?” Alexander squeaked, his voice cracking as he hurried to keep pace with Siurad’s long strides. He tugged nervously at the collar of his white ceremonial robes, which were now stained with dust and sweat. “We just handed a cursed artifact to the Whitespire battalion. Do you have any idea of the containment protocols required for something that radiates that much malice?”

​“That is why we gave it to them,” Siurad said, his voice a low rumble. He didn’t look back. The itch in his chest where the anger wanted to lash out was fading, replaced by the dull ache of mana exhaustion. “They have the vaults. They have the manpower. And most importantly, they are not us.”

​'...A PROBLEM DELEGATED,' Obi noted, the ring pulsing with a cold, smug satisfaction. '...LET THE FOLLOWERS OF THE SPIRE CHOKE ON IT.'

​“It was the only logical choice,” Alexander muttered, mostly to himself, as he clutched his staff tighter. The absence of armor made him feel terribly exposed as he walked toward the wilderness. “High Knight Guil may be... aggressive, but he is a custodian of the light. The Church is equipped to suppress that gauntlet. We didn't trick him; we burdened him with responsibility. They can't execute you for doing your civic duty.”

​“Keep telling yourself that, Saint,” Yona chimed in, tossing a heavy coin pouch into the air and catching it with a rhythmic chink. “But I saw Guil’s eyes. He thinks he just won a trophy. By the time his artificers realize that thing bites back, we’ll be three towns over.”

​She sidled up to Alexander, slinging an arm around his soft, robed shoulders. He flinched, looking at her like she was a loaded crossbow.

​“Relax,” she teased. “You’re one of the cool kids now. You stood up to the bully. How’s it feel?”

​Alexander looked at her, then at the towering, black-clad figure of Siurad, and finally back toward the town where his normal life as a respectable priest was dissolving.

​“It feels,” Alexander whispered, “like I have made a terrible error in judgment.”

​“That’s just the fresh air,” Siurad said over his shoulder. “You’re used to incense and stone walls. You’ll adjust.”

​They reached the tree line, the forest canopy swallowing the light of the rising sun. For Siurad, the shadows felt like stepping into a cold bath after a long, hot day. For Alexander, the darkness seemed to press against his white robes, threatening to stain them permanently.

​The young Priest stopped, planting his feet. “So,” he said, trying to summon a shred of clerical authority. “As your... liaison... I must ask. What is the actual plan? We cannot simply wander the wilderness. There must be a destination.”

​Siurad stopped. He turned slowly, looking at Alexander with dark eyes that reflected the gloom.

​“We’re looking for information,” Siurad said.

​Alexander blinked, adjusting his glasses. “What kind of information?”

​“Information… about the Obsidian Authority. Architects. Locations. How it fell.”

​He raised his hand, the black ring on his finger catching a stray beam of twilight.

​“My... friend… needs to know.”

​Alexander stared at the ring, sensing its wrongness, a cold pressure. But the request sparked something in his scholar’s mind.

​“The Church purges such knowledge,” Alexander said, shaking his head. “The archives are sanitized, I admit. However...” He paused, looking north, his expression darkening. “There is one place that has been on the church's list. But it is forbidden. And frankly, suicidal.”

​“We’re good at suicidal,” Yona quipped. “Where is it?”

​“Far north,” Alexander said quietly. “Beyond the civilization line, near the lava bays. There is a sect known as Peronin’s Watch.”

​Siurad tilted his head. “A cult?”

​“Worshippers of Peronin, the Deity of the Arcane Dark Arts,” Alexander explained, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They believe that no magic should be forbidden, no matter how corruptive. They dwell inside the caldera of an active volcano to harness the geothermal and magical instability for their rituals. If there is a record of this Obsidian Authority that hasn't been lost to time, it would be in their archives.”

​'...PERONIN.' Obi mused, the voice vibrating in Siurad's skull. '...A PERVERTED SCAVENGER.'

​“An active volcano,” Yona repeated, her smile fading. “So, instead of spending this coin on a nice beach, we’re dealing with lava and cultists who probably want to sacrifice us to their god?”

​“Likely,” Alexander nodded. “The caldera is home to beasts… they kill most travelers before they even reach the gates.”

​“That's just great,” Siurad said, turning back to the north.

​He looked at Alexander.

​“Welcome to the party, Alex. Try not to melt.”

​“It’s Alexander,” the priest corrected weakly, hurrying to catch up as the large man walked into the dark. “And I really do prefer the climate of a cathedral, thank you very much.”

​“We’ll work on it,” Yona laughed, falling into step beside him. “No promises.”

They had been walking north for less than an hour when the argument started. It didn't begin with a shout, but with Siurad stopping dead in the middle of the road, his boots grinding into the gravel.

​He turned, not toward Yona or Alexander, but toward the empty air to his right, his jaw set in a line of stubborn granite.

​“No,” Siurad said, his voice low and dangerous. “We are not going to the volcano. Not yet.”

​Alexander stopped, blinking. He looked at the space Siurad was addressing. “Is he... negotiating with the wind?”

​Before he could finish the thought, Yona rolled her eyes, looking at the same patch of empty air Siurad was glaring at.

​“Oh, don’t start with the inefficiency lecture again,” Yona snapped at the nothingness. “The big guy has feelings, okay? He’s not a calculator.”

​Alexander froze. He looked from Siurad to Yona, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You... you hear it too? I thought the artifact was soul-bound solely to Siurad.”

​Yona sighed. “Yes, I hear it.”

​'...SENTIMENT IS A DEFECT,' Obi’s voice boomed, resonating clearly in Yona’s mind, '...THE FLOCK IS SECURE. THE TRANSACTION IS COMPLETE. SILVERSPIRE IS A WASTE OF RESOURCES.'

​“It’s not a transaction!” Siurad shouted, startling Alexander, who nearly dropped his staff. “They aren't cargo, Obi! Valerius is still there. If we walk away now, they'll hire new slavers.”

​“He’s got a point, Spooky,” Yona said, crossing her arms and tilting her head as if listening to a retort. “Leaving a job half-finished is bad for the reputation. Plus, Valerius is rich. I like rich enemies.”

​'...REPUTATION IS FOR MORTALS,' Obi countered, his tone icy and dismissive in their collective headspace. '...POWER IS ABSOLUTE. I MUST BE FREED. THE VOLCANO IS PRIORITY. VALERIUS IS A SIDE QUEST.'

​“A side quest?” Siurad let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Those are human lives, Obi.”

​“Okay, that was a little cold,” Yona winced, looking at Siurad’s hand. “Even for you, Obi.”

​Alexander took a hesitant step forward, looking between his two companions who were aggressively arguing with a piece of jewelry. He felt like a child watching adults discuss taxes in a foreign language.

​“Um...” Alexander raised a hand. “I... Am I assuming the artifact is speaking? I cannot hear it.”

​“You’re lucky,” Yona muttered, rubbing her temples. “He’s shouting. It gives me a headache.” She looked back at Siurad’s hand. “And stop yelling! We get it!”

​'...THEN  LISTEN TO REASON,' Obi pulsed, the violet light on the ring flaring. '...IF WE GO TO SILVERSPIRE FOR INSIGNIFICANT VERMIN YOU OPEN YOURSELF TO UNNECESSARY RISK. IT IS TACTICAL SUICIDE. DO NOT FALL FOR THE TRAP, VESSEL. YOUR POWER IS…. MEAGER AT BEST.'

​“He says Silverspire is a trap,” Yona translated for Alexander, though she was looking at Siurad. “And... I hate to agree with the angry jewelry, Siurad, but he’s right. We just handed a cursed gauntlet to a High Knight. If anything goes bad, we'll have the Spire on our ass. Walking into a major city like Silverspire right now isn’t brave; it’s stupid.”

​“We handled Guil,” Siurad argued, though his voice lacked its previous heat.

​'...YOU SURPRISED GUIL,' Obi corrected sharply. '...LUCK IS NOT A STRATEGY. GO NORTH, LEARN THE TRUTH. THEN BECOME STRONGER. THEN RETURN AND CRUSH THEM... PROPERLY.'

​“See? That’s a plan,” Yona nodded, gesturing to the Ring. “We go North, we raid the cultist library at Peronin's Watch, we get you some new Void powers or whatever, and then we come back and turn Valerius into a smudge on the floor. It’s delayed gratification.”

​Siurad stood there, the wind rustling his cloak. He looked from Yona, who was nodding in agreement with the voice in her head, to Alexander, who looked completely lost but eager to help.

​“The cult... Peronin’s Watch,” Siurad said to Alexander, ignoring the other two for a moment. “You’re sure they have archives?”

​“I...” Alexander stammered, happy to be addressed directly. “Yes. They hoard forbidden knowledge. If the Obsidian Authority existed, they would have records of it. But Siurad... it is a volcano. It is a haven for atrocity and sacrifice.”

​'...ACCEPTABLE,' Obi cut in.

​“He says acceptable,” Yona deadpanned.

​“I figured,” Siurad muttered.

​He looked left, toward the road that led to Silverspire. He imagined Valerius sitting in his high tower, counting gold. The urge to go there and finish it was a physical ache in his chest. But the logic of Obi and Yona was sound. If they died in Silverspire now, the children would never be truly safe.

​“Fine,” Siurad groaned, the word tasting like ash. “You win. Both of you.”

​He glared at the Ring. “We go north. We get the intel. But the second we’re done? We go to Silverspire.”

​'...AGREED,' Obi pulsed, the ring cooling down to a smug, satisfied hum.

​“North it is!” Yona chirped, pushing off the tree. “Volcanoes, cultists, and likely death. My favorite.”

​She slapped Alexander on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Come on, Saint. Try to keep up. It’s two against one, majority rules.”

​Alexander looked at the dark path leading toward the mountains, then back at the civilized road. He adjusted his glasses, sighing a sound of profound resignation.

​“I was a scholar,” he muttered to himself as he trudged after them. “I organized scrolls. I dusted shelves. Now I am following a possessed lumberjack and a woman who argues with jewelry into a volcano.”

​“I heard that,” Yona called back, a little too sharply.

​ '...MOVE FASTER, PRIEST,' Obi’s voice leaked out just enough for Siurad to relay it.

​“He says move faster,” Siurad grunted.

​Alexander groaned. “I hate this party.”

Siurad’s stomach let out a sound like a shifting tectonic plate.

​“That sounded angry,” Yona remarked, not breaking her stride. She pointed a slender finger toward a patch of tall grass near a bubbling creek. “There’s a rabbit there. Fat one. I could snag it in three seconds.”

​Siurad didn’t even look. “No.”

​“No?” Yona raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we were dining à la carte, Your Highness. It’s food.”

​“It’s a rat with better PR,” Siurad grumbled, adjusting his heavy cloak. “There’s no meat on them. I’m six-foot-four and wearing forty pounds of steel. I need a deer. A boar. Or a cow. I’m not eating a fuzzball.”

​“Suit yourself,” Yona shrugged, the illusion of her human form rippling slightly as she suppressed a very fox-like urge to pounce. “But I don’t see any cows volunteering.”

​“I’ll find something,” Siurad insisted. “I’m a man of the land. I was a lumberjack.”

​“You hit trees with an axe,” Yona corrected. “Trees don’t run away. Or hide. Or have ears.”

​For the next two hours, Siurad attempted to prove her wrong. It was a painful display.

​Siurad possessed the stealth of a collapsing building. Every time he spotted movement in the brush, his heavy boots snapped a twig with the volume of a gunshot. He would freeze, hold his breath, and watch as a majestic buck or what might have been a majestic buck vanished into the deep woods long before he could even draw his sword.

​But the universe, it seemed, had a sense of humor.

​While all the large game vanished instantly, the rabbits were everywhere. They were mocking him. Siurad stepped over a log, and three rabbits scattered. He sat on a rock to rest, and a rabbit hopped out from under it. He glared into a bush, hoping for a pheasant, and found himself staring eye-to-black-beady-eye with a hare that looked remarkably unimpressed by his aura.

​“It’s an infestation,” Siurad muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Why are there so many?”

​“They’re rabbits, Siurad,” Yona said, leaning against a tree and cleaning her fingernails with a dagger. “Reproduction is their only hobby.”

​Meanwhile, Alexander was attempting to contribute in his own way.

​“I believe I have found sustenance!” the Priest announced triumphantly, emerging from a thicket holding a handful of bright purple berries. “These appear similar to the Cloud-Berries we use in liturgical incense.”

​Yona glanced at them. “Those are Wolf-Bane. Eat two, and your throat swells shut. Eat three, and your heart explodes.”

​Alexander dropped the berries as if they were hot coals. “Ah. Right. Good to know.”

​He wiped his hands on his white robes, leaving purple stains. “I... I recall reading about edible roots. Perhaps I can dig?”

​He found a stick and began poking ineffectually at the hard-packed earth. After five minutes, he had managed to unearth a single, shriveled earthworm and a rock that looked vaguely like a potato.

​Siurad watched this pitiful display, his hunger headache now throbbing behind his eyes.

​'...PATHETIC,' Obi’s voice rumbled, loud enough for Yona to wince.

​“He’s trying, Obi,” Yona muttered.

​'...HE IS A LIABILITY,' the Ring pulsed, the violet light flashing with irritation.  '...THE PRIEST HAS NO SURVIVAL PROTOCOLS. HE CANNOT HUNT. HE CANNOT FORAGE. HE CANNOT EVEN IDENTIFY BASIC TOXINS. HE IS A MANA BATTERY WITH LEGS….AND  FAULTY LEGS AT THAT.'

​“What’s he saying?” Alexander asked, looking up from his hole in the ground, sweat dripping down his nose. “Is he offering guidance?”

​Siurad sighed, rubbing his temples. “He says... keep looking.”

​'...I SAID HE IS USELESS!' Obi roared in their minds. '...IN THE AUTHORITY WE WOULD HAVE RECYCLED HIS BIOMASS FOR FUEL OR SERVITUDE.  HE IS A DRAIN ON RESOURCES.'

​“He’s a healer, Obi,” Siurad argued aloud, too tired to keep it internal. “He keeps us alive.”

​ '...HE FIXES DAMAGE HE HELPS CAUSE BY BEING SLOW,' Obi countered. '...LOOK AT HIM, HE IS AFRAID OF THE DIRT.'

​It was true. Alexander was currently trying to brush the soil off his robes with frantic, fastidious movements, looking like a cat that had fallen into a bathtub.

​“I’m sure I can be of assistance,” Alexander said, trying to regain some dignity. “Perhaps I can bless the hunt? A Prayer of Bounty?”

​“Unless your prayer summons a cooked steak, save the mana,” Siurad grumbled.

​Another rabbit hopped onto the path directly in front of Siurad. It stopped. It wiggled its nose. It began to nibble on a dandelion, completely unconcerned by the hulking figure looming over it.

​Siurad stared at the rabbit. The rabbit chewed the flower.

​“Fuck it,” Siurad exhaled, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You win, nature.”

​He looked at Yona. “Kill it. Kill them all.”

​Yona grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. It was a predator's grin, sharp and terrifyingly fast. “Thought you’d never ask.”

​Her hand moved in a blur. A dagger left her fingers, and the rabbit fell over without a sound.

​Thirty minutes later, the smell of roasting meat filled the small clearing just off the road. Alexander sat on a log, looking a bit green as Yona skinned the third rabbit with expert, practiced efficiency.

​“You have... done this before, Miss Yona?” Alexander asked faintly.

​“Once or twice,” Yona said, slicing through a joint. “Out here you can't get picky, Saint. You learn to catch what you can.”

​She handed a skewer of meat to Siurad, who took it gratefully, blowing on the hot surface.

​“It’s gamey,” Siurad complained after the first bite, though he ate it ravenously. “Stringy.”

​'...IT IS NUTRIENTS,' Obi lectured. '...STOP WHINING. THE FOX IS COMPETENT. THE PRIEST IS EATING OUR PROFITS.'

​Alexander took his skewer tentatively. “I must apologize for my lack of contribution. The seminary did not cover wilderness survival. We focused mostly on theological debate and calligraphy.”

​ '...CALLIGRAPHY!' Obi’s voice dripped with disdain. '...WE ARE TRAVELING INTO A VOLCANO WITH A MAN WHO CAN WRITE PRETTY LETTERS. YOUR SURVIVAL ODDS ARE DROPPING.'

​“He says it’s fine, Alexander,” Yona lied smoothly, taking a bite of a rabbit leg. “He says everyone has different talents.”

​Alexander smiled weakly. “That is surprisingly charitable of the artifact. Thank you, Obi.”

​The ring flashed violently.

​ '...DO NOT THANK ME FOR LIES, PARASITE.'

​“Eat your rabbit, Alex,” Siurad mumbled around a mouthful of meat. “Before the jewelry gives itself a stroke.”

Chapter Twentytwo

The sun rose over the treeline, casting a golden light that did absolutely nothing to improve Siurad’s mood.

​He looked like a man who had gone twelve rounds with a nightmare. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles that rivaled the black metal of his armor. He trudged along the path, his boots dragging slightly, a look of murderous exhaustion etched onto his face.

​Beside him, Alexander didn't look much better. The young priest was twitchy, jumping at the sound of falling leaves.

​“Does she...” Alexander whispered, leaning in close to Siurad and glancing fearfully at Yona, who was walking ahead of them, stretching her arms and looking annoyingly refreshed. “Does she make that sound every night?”

​“The rattling?” Siurad rasped, his voice gravelly.

​“The growling,” Alexander corrected, shuddering. “It sounded like a bear was fighting a sawmill inside a cavern. I woke up around 3:00 AM; the vibration was shaking my teeth loose. How is such noise physically possible from a human woman of her stature?”

​“It’s a mystery of the cosmos,” Siurad muttered. In truth, he knew it was because there was something seriously off about Yona. “I need to hit something. Preferably something edible. If I see another rabbit, I’m going to set the forest on fire.”

​Yona slowed down, letting them catch up. She took a swig from her wine skin, wiped her mouth, and grinned at Siurad’s corpse like appearance.

​“Rough night, Shepherd?” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “You look…. deathly ill.”

​“I didn’t sleep,” Siurad grunted. “Because someone was trying to inhale the entire atmosphere.”

​“Yeah, I noticed you tossing and turning,” Yona laughed, unbothered. “C’mon. Quit whining. Let’s go find your boar. I’m sick of rabbit too.”

​They veered off the main road into a ravine that cut through the landscape like a muddy scar. It was unremarkable terrain, save for the sudden, crackling energy that filled the air.

​Siurad stopped dead, his mouth falling open. He pointed a gauntleted finger toward the canopy.

​“Yona. What the hell are those?”

​Alexander looked up and gasped, clutching his staff. “By the Light...”

​A half-dozen squirrels, their fur a bright, coppery-red, were chasing each other through the high branches. But as they leaped, they streamed sparks of raw, blue-white electricity. Every jump left a crackling trail in the air. It looked like a miniature lightning storm was having a panic attack in the trees.

​“Sciurus Fulgur,” Alexander whispered, his scholar mode activating despite his fatigue. “Spark Squirrels. Rare in the south. Their cheek pouches contain a localized galvanic field. Fascinating.”

​Yona just snorted, unimpressed. “They’re rats. Rats with a party trick.”

​“A party trick?” Siurad said, his gamer brain firing on all cylinders. “That’s a lightning-based rodent. That is... that’s awesome. We gotta catch them all.”

​“It’s awesome until one of their nests burns down a whole acre of forest,” Yona shot back, “or until one zaps you because you got too close to its nuts. They’re a menace. Now, come on. You wanted a boar, not a light show.”

​'...DISTRACTED BY VERMIN,' Obi’s voice suddenly pulsed, breaking the morning silence. The voice echoed in both Siurad and Yona’s minds. '...THIS IS THE MORTAL FLAW. FOCUS ON THE TASK.'

​“Negative Nancy… Welcome back to the party, Grumpy-pants,” Siurad muttered.

​“He’s right though,” Yona said, tapping her temple. “Focus. Meat.”

​“Fine, fine. Boar. Let’s...”

​“Shh!” Yona hissed, grabbing Siurad’s arm with surprising strength. She went instantly still. To Alexander, she just looked intense. To Siurad, who knew better, he saw the way her head tilted, listening with ears that weren't visible.

​“Shut up and look,” she whispered. “Down.”

​Siurad and Alexander froze. They followed her gaze down into the ravine where a small stream trickled through the mud.

​“Sweet Mercy,” Alexander breathed, his face losing all color.

​It was a massive carriage sized pig covered in covered in fur. The boar was the size of a small shack, draped in thick, matted black bristles. Four long, wicked-looking tusks jutted from its jaw like ivory daggers. It was rooting in the mud, tearing up tree roots as if they were wet paper.

​“Tusker,” Yona whispered, her eyes glittering with a predatory hunger. “Big one.”

​“Okay,” Siurad whispered back, his analytical side kicking in. “I go high, surprise him with a sneak attack. You hit it with... a frost spell... to slow it?”

​Yona looked at him like he had just suggested they dance with it. “Are you insane? That’s meat! Are you going to hit it with shadow? I hit it with ice? We’ll be eating ‘shadow-frosted-asshole.’ No. This is food. We hunt it like food.”

​“Which is...?”

​“Simple,” she said, a grin spreading across her face that made Alexander take a step back. “I hit it with fire. Just enough to spook it. It’ll run... that way.” She pointed to a narrow, overgrown game trail leading up the ravine wall. “You go down there, act like a big, scary man, and put a Shadow Spike in its brain when it runs past. Got it?”

​“I’m... the ambush?”

​“You’re the ambush,” she confirmed. “Don’t correct the ass-end, or we’ll be eating shit. Now, go.”

​She turned to Alexander. “Saint, you stay here. If it comes up this way, pray.”

​“I am very good at praying,” Alexander nodded vigorously, retreating behind a large rock.

​Siurad grumbled but saw her logic. He took a deep breath, found a patch of shadow near the trail, and Void Stepped. He reappeared in a dense thicket of bushes halfway down the slope. The spot was perfect. He crouched, forming a single, dense Shadow Spike in his hand, and waited.

​He heard Yona let out a high-pitched “Yeeee!” followed by the distinct whoosh of a fireball.

​Then he heard the squeal. It sounded more like a roar of pure, demonic rage belonging to a monster; it vibrated in Siurad’s chest.

​The ground thundered. The Tusker came barreling up the game trail, far faster and bigger than he’d realized from a distance. Its fur was smoking, and its eyes were glowing a furious, hellish red.

​Yona! You left out the demon-pig part! he screamed internally.

​The boar saw the bush. It saw Siurad. It lowered its head, aiming its four tusks right at him. It was not running past. It was running at him.

​“Oh, shit!” Siurad yelled, his plan evaporating. “Shadow Spike! Shadow Spike!”

​He didn’t shoot one precise shot. Panic took the wheel. He went guns akimbo, firing a volley of three random spikes from his flailing hands. They grazed the creature’s massive shoulder and neck, tearing through muscle but missing the vitals.

​It roared in pain. And it didn’t stop.

​'...THE HEAD YOU FOOL!' Obi seethed in his mind, the voice deafening. '...THE VITAL IS THE HEAD!'

​At the very last second, Siurad did the only thing he could. He Void Stepped straight up.

​He reappeared, clinging desperately to a tree branch ten feet above the trail, his legs dangling just as the massive Tusker slammed into the tree trunk. The impact shook the entire oak, nearly jarring Siurad loose. The beast roared and thrashed below, its tusks gouging deep wounds into the wood, looking for the man who had stung it.

​Siurad just hung there, hugging the bark, his heart trying to escape his chest.

​Yona appeared on the ridge above, peering down over the edge.

​“Well,” she called down, her voice dripping with amusement. “You got it. Sort of. Now it’s just... angry. And corrected in all the non-lethal, meat-ruining places.”

​“It’s a demon pig!” Siurad yelled back, swinging slightly on the branch.

​“It is a Sus Diabolus!” Alexander helpfully shouted from behind his rock. “Very aggressive!”

​“Thank you, Alexander!” Siurad shouted sarcastically.

​“Finish it off, Heir!” Yona cackled. “I’m hungry!”

​The boar, bleeding black shadow-ichor, slammed the tree again.

​Siurad let out a long, shaky breath. “This... is the ‘Great Work’? Clinging to a tree like a frightened cat?”

​'...FINISH THE JOB HEIR,' Obi pulsed, his voice one of pure, cold impatience.  '...AND STOP BEING DRAMATIC.'

​Siurad sighed. He looked down at the raging beast. He took a moment, aimed carefully from his perch, and formed one perfect, heavy Shadow Spike.

​“Okay, okay,” he muttered. “To the shadows with you.”

​He shoved his will into it, and the spike lanced down, plunging straight into the creature’s skull, burying itself to the hilt. The Tusker gave one final, massive convulsion and collapsed into the mud, still.

​Siurad dropped from the branch, landing in the muck, covered in leaves and sweat. He stared at the mountain of meat.

​Yona gracefully slid down the ravine wall, her knife already in hand. “Nice,” she said, patting the corpse. “You ruined most of the shoulder, but the rest is good.” She grinned, her chaotic energy back in full. “We’ll be eating like kings tonight, Shepherd. See? The Great Work provides.”

​Siurad, wiping a mix of demon-pig blood and shadow-magic residue off his face, just glared at her.

​I’m eating rabbit next time, he thought.

​'...PATHETIC,' Obi chimed.

​Night fell, and the fire crackled high, casting flickering, warm light against the hollow of rock they had claimed. The air was now thick with the rich, savory smell of roasting Tusker, a scent so good it almost made up for the near-death experience.

​Yona was in her element. She hummed a tuneless, jaunty song as she turned a massive haunch of meat over the flames, the fat sizzling and popping.

​Siurad sat on the other side of the fire, quietly cleaning his longsword. Alexander sat nearby, staring at the roasting meat with something approaching religious adoration.

​“Dinner’s served, boys,” Yona chirped, using her knife to slide a scorched, fist-sized chunk of meat onto a flat stone. She pushed it toward Siurad with her foot, then handed a smaller portion to Alexander. “Try not to eat the parts the big guy corrected.’ You ruined most of the shshoulderSiurad, but this leg piece should be fine.”

​Siurad glared at her, still nursing his wounded pride. He took the memeat, sulking.

​“Oh, stop being dramatic,” Yona laughed, tearing into her own piece with animalistic gusto. “You ended up in a tree, but you got the kill. Call it a win.”

​Siurad took a reluctant bite. The flavor exploded in his mouth; it was rich, smoky, gamey in all the right ways. It was warm. It was filling. Best of all, it wasn't rabbit.

​He hated that she was right.

​“Fine,” he grumbled. “It’s good. But I’m not doing the ambush part again.”

​“Whatever you say, big guy.”

​Alexander took a bite and let out a soft moan of delight. “Oh, bless the Light. Actual sustenance. I believe my soul just returned to my body.”

​'...CALORIES ACQUIRED,' Obi noted, the ring humming softly. '...ENERGY LEVELS RESTORING. PROCEED.'

​They ate in a companionable silence. The food was hot, they were alive, and for the first time since leaving Brookshire, Siurad felt a moment of simple, secure peace. Even if his roommate did snore like a bear.

​The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up toward the stars. Alexander was happily gnawing on a second rib, his face smeared with grease, looking more content than he had been since leaving the monastery. Yona was leaning back against a rock, picking her teeth with a splinter of bone, humming that same jaunty, tuneless song.

​But Siurad wasn’t humming. He was staring into the flames, replaying the hunt in his mind. The image of the massive boar crashing into the tree and his own panic gnawed at him.

​'...YOU ARE BROODING,' Obi’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and intrusive.

​"I'm analyzing," Siurad corrected internally, taking a swig of water. "There's a difference."

​ '...YOU ARE DWELLING ON THE HESITATION,' the Ring countered.  '...WHEN THE SQUIRRELS APPEARED YOU STOPPED. YOU LOST FOCUS.'

​"They were electric squirrels, Obi. It was cool. I took a second."

​ '...A SECOND IS A LIFETIME IN COMBAT,' Obi lectured, the violet light on the ring pulsing with a rhythmic, scolding beat. '...THAT SENTIMENTALITY, THAT DESIRE TO OBSERVE INSTEAD OF ACT  IT IS THE FANIE-FLAW.'

​Siurad froze. He lowered the waterskin slowly.

​'The what?' Siurad thought back, his brow furrowing. “You’ve called me inefficient. You’ve called me weak. You’ve called me pathetic about twelve times today. But you’ve never used that name. Who is Fanie?”

​The ring on his finger, which had been pulsing with a steady, lecturing rhythm, stopped dead.

​The silence that followed was heavy. It felt like the air pressure in the campsite had suddenly dropped to the bottom of the ocean.

​Yona stopped humming. She sat up straighter, her ears twitching as she looked at Siurad’s hand. She had heard the silence too.

​'...IRRELEVANT,' Obi finally replied, but his voice was different. It wasn't the booming baritone of a god; it was flat. Mechanical.  '...FOCUS ON THE MISSION.'

​”No,” Siurad pushed back, his resolve hardening. He sat up, ignoring Alexander’s confused look. “Don't do that. Don't omit variables on me. We’re partners, remember? 50-50. You talk about Xara and Lysander all the time. You critique their geometry; you critique their rage. But you just used this name as an insult. A flaw. Who was Fanie?”

​A long, cold, absolute silence filled his mind. It was the silence of a locked vault.

​Yona winced, pressing the heel of her hand against her temple. "Oof," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "Pressure drop. Big guy, whatever you just asked... he didn't like it."

​Alexander looked up, a rib bone poised halfway to his mouth. "I beg your pardon? Is the artifact... upset?"

​Then, Obi spoke. It wasn't a shout. It was a hiss of pure, unadulterated shame and rage that vibrated in Siurad’s marrow.

​'...FANIE.'

​The name dripped with ice.

​'...SHE WAS XARA'S HEIR. SHE WAS MY TRUST. MY HOPE. SHE IS THE FLAW THAT BROKE THE SYSTEM.'

​Siurad's blood ran colder than the night air. “She's the one? The traitor you mentioned? The one who trapped you?”

​'...SHE TURNED THEM AGAINST ME,' Obi seethed, the Ring vibrating so violently on Siurad’s finger that his gauntlet rattled against his armor. '...SHE TOOK MY MERCY, AND SHE FORGED IT INTO A DAGGER. SHE IS THE REASON WE ARE IN THIS PRISON.'

​Yona actually recoiled, scuttling back a few inches on the log. "Okay! Okay!" she hissed at the empty air, clutching her head. "Loud! We get it! Bad lady! Stop screaming!"

​Alexander dropped his rib. He looked frantically between Siurad, whose face was a mask of shock, and Yona, who was holding her head as if suffering a migraine. The shadows around the fire seemed to stretch toward them, hungry and agitated.

​"Is..." Alexander squeaked, gripping his staff with greasy fingers. "Is something happening? The air feels... heavy."

​The Entity's voice dropped to a level of cold, absolute finality that chilled Siurad to his very soul.

​'...NEVER SPEAK THAT NAME.'

​The connection cut. The ring went dormant, not in sleep, but in a sulk of cosmic proportions. The violet light extinguished, leaving the obsidian band looking like dead, cold stone.

​Siurad sat there, staring into the fire. The boar fat was still sizzling, but his appetite was gone.

​He thought he would face resistance trying to rebuild the Authority from the world; he didn't think he would face it from Obi. And he knew, with chilling certainty, that his all-powerful, god-like partner had been lying to him, or at least, editing the truth. Obi wasn’t just a victim of a war; he was a victim of a betrayal he was too ashamed to admit.

​I know you can hear me, buddy, Siurad thought, his mental voice calm but firm. So we'll talk about it when you're ready. But I definitely have questions.

​"Is it over?" Yona asked, rubbing her ears and grimacing. "I think he just screamed in a frequency that kills bats."

​"It's over," Siurad said quietly, flexing his hand. The ring felt heavier now.

​"Good," Alexander exhaled, picking his rib back up but eyeing Siurad’s hand with deep suspicion. "Because for a moment there, I felt a level of malice usually reserved for arch-demons. Who is... Fanie?"

​"No one," Siurad said, kicking a log further into the fire, sending a plume of sparks into the night. "Just a ghost."

​Yona looked at Siurad. She had heard the name. She had heard the rage. She gave him a look that said, We are definitely talking about this later, but she said nothing in front of the priest.

​"Right," Yona said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her amber eyes. "Ghosts. Hate them. Now, where's my wine skin, Saint? My ears are ringing."

Chapter Twentythree

Three days into the trip, Obi was still giving Siurad the silent treatment.

 There was a noticed absence in the back of Siurad’s skull where a judgmental cosmic tyrant was supposed to be complaining about tree placement.

Alexander was still struggling to survive the wild outdoors.

And Yona had officially had enough of both of them.

“Stop brooding,” she snapped, kicking a loose rock down the dusty hill they were descending.

Siurad frowned. “Why does everyone think I’m brooding?”

“Because you look like your puppy died.”

Alexander tripped over a stray branch, caught himself on his staff, and looked genuinely wounded. “Is the unfortunate passing of a canine companion truly something to be so callous about?”

“Yes,” Yona said. “Nine hells, yes.”

She threw both hands into the air and spun around to face them while walking backward. “I can’t take it anymore. He’s brooding, you’re one small step away from grievous injury, and the haunted jewelry has decided to become emotionally unavailable. We need to lighten the mood before I start robbing trees just to feel something.”

“I am perfectly fine,” Alexander said, immediately stepping into a shallow hole and windmilling one arm for balance. “I am simply wondering why Grumpy has ignored us for three whole days.”

“You should be happy he finally stopped talking,” Yona said. “I had to deal with him for a fraction of the time you did. Siurad, I was going to throw myself into a ravine. I mean it, I was going to end it all.”

Siurad let out a soft chuckle despite himself.

“You know what?” he said, rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking off the weight. “You’re right. All that Fanie shit can wait. We’re on an adventure.”

“That’s the spirit!” Yona skipped ahead with a little extra pep in her step. “Now that we’ve settled that, Saint, why do you act like you’ve never been outside a day in your life?”

Alexander tried to show as much dignity as a man could while feeling as though everything outside was actively trying to kill him.

“I have been outside plenty of times,” he said, lifting his chin. “Who do you think I am?”

“A shut in,” Yona said.

“An introvert,” Siurad added.

“Agoraphonic,” Yona said.

Siurad blinked. “Agora-what?”

Alexander coughed into his fist. “Agoraphobic.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, it was not.”

“Meh, it was close enough.”

Siurad let out a tired laugh, and for one brief moment, the silence in the back of his skull felt less heavy.

Alexander glanced at the obsidian ring on Siurad’s hand. His expression softened in that careful, priestly way that always made Siurad feel like he was about to be gently stabbed with concern.

“Do we know anything about this Fanie?” Alexander asked.

Yona’s face scrunched into a growl. “Drop it, Saint. The big guy literally just said he wasn’t worrying about that right now.”

“He can hear me anyway,” Siurad muttered.

He looked down, his jaw clenched. “She was someone who helped betray him. Maybe converted the others. Maybe lied to everyone. I don’t know.” He exhaled through his nose. “Who really knows?”

For a few steps, none of them spoke.

Then Yona stopped.

The change was instant. The laziness melted away and soon she was crouched low, one hand slipping beneath the edge of her coat as her gaze fixed on the path ahead.

“Listen,” she whispered.

Alexander froze with one foot still raised over a root.

Siurad’s hand drifted toward his sword.

Yona pointed up the road.

“Someone’s coming.”

Siurad squinted into the gloom, following the line of her finger. He saw nothing. Heard nothing.

​“You sure?” he mouthed.

​Yona didn't look back. She just gave a single, sharp nod and pointed at Alexander.

​“Brush. Now,” she whispered, gesturing toward a thick tangle of scrub off the side of the path.

​Alexander didn't argue. He scrambled over, barely avoiding tripping over his own robes as he ducked out of sight.

​“Sounds like a group of four, maybe five,” Yona murmured, melting into the shadows of a nearby boulder. “And they're dragging something heavy.”

​Siurad craned his neck, straining his senses. Just as he was about to accuse her of hearing ghosts, the sound drifted up the path. A steady, ragged drum of boots. Beneath it was a wet, brushing schhhk, the sound of dead weight being hauled through the mud.

​“Hide or fight?” Siurad asked, his hand dropping to the hilt of his blade.

​“Can we try talking first?” Alexander pleaded from behind his chosen bush.

​“Can't talk if you’re dead, Saint,” Yona hissed, her fingers wrapping around the hilt of her dagger. “You'd do well to remember that.”

​The brush parted with a violent, snapping rustle.

​Siurad’s sword cleared its scabbard by two inches, a silent ribbon of dark steel catching the faint ambient light.

​Four figures stumbled onto the dusty path. They wore the hardened leather and decorative plates of professional adventurers, but they were in terrible shape. One was limping heavily, supported by a mage in a singed cowl.

​The moment the leader, a broad-shouldered warrior missing half his breastplate, saw them, he froze. His wide eyes took in the towering, heavily armored frame of Siurad, and Yona’s hand resting casually on her dagger.

​"Gods damn it," the mercenary rasped, his voice cracking with panic. He tried to raise a notched broadsword with a trembling arm. "Form up! Formation! They're flanking us!"

​"Please, no need for hostilities!" Alexander shouted, stepping out from his hiding spot before Siurad could react. He raised both of his hands, his palms immediately radiating the soft, warm, golden light of healing magic. "Peace! We aren't bandits. Put your blade down please."

​The mercenaries blinked against the soothing light. The tension in the leader's shoulders broke, and he dropped to his knees, his sword clattering against the stone. The others quickly followed, collapsing onto the dirt covered path in sheer exhaustion.

​Alexander rushed forward, kneeling beside the man with the ruined leg. He pressed his glowing hands against the wound, knitting the torn muscle and fractured bone.

​Siurad watched them for a moment, his hand slowly falling away from his hilt. He reached into his pack, pulled out a heavy bundle of dried Tusker meat, and tossed it to the leader.

​The man caught it awkwardly, staring at the meat for a second before tearing into it like a starving dog. He passed the rest to the mage.

​"Slow down," Siurad said, his deep voice rumbling. "Or you'll choke. What happened to you?"

​"We had a job," the leader groaned, wincing as Alexander continued to work on his leg. He swallowed heavily. "A quiet one. A few days ago, someone with deep pockets offered us thirty gold to push into the caldera up ahead. They were looking for something specific. But they didn't know what it was. They just said it would be valuable. They said the sum was for discretion."

​Yona stepped out from the shadows. "Anonymous coin. Never a good sign."

​"We know that now," the man spat bitterly. "But we searched the area for days. Thought it was just a scavenger hunt. Yesterday, we finally found something near the edge of the lava bays. Something heavy, Menar our priest said, it was something strange. We bagged it and started the trek out."

​The mage pulled her cowl tighter around her face, shivering despite the heat of the nearby vents. "Then that thing found us."

​"Thing?" Alexander asked gently, moving his healing light to the mage's burned shoulder.

​"It was a demon," the leader whispered, staring blankly at the dark rocks. "It was massive, and made of bone."

​Siurad frowned. “Like undead?”

​"Like nothing i have ever seen before….there were seven of us," he continued, his voice hollow. "It didn't even use magic. It was so fast, too fast for it's size. It broke Limen’s neck before he could draw his shield. It took out Toris and Menar a second later. Barely even looked at us while it did it."

​"How did you get away?" Yona asked, her eyes narrowing as she calculated the threat.

​"We ran," the leader confessed, shame bleeding into his voice. "We dropped the artifact and we ran for our lives. It chased us to the outer ridge and then it just stopped."

​"Stopped?" Siurad asked.

​"Like it hit a wall of glass," the mage chimed in. "A hard boundary line it couldn't cross. It just stood at the edge of the black rock, watching us leave. If we had stayed in that zone a second longer, we'd all be dead."

​Alexander let out a long breath, the golden light fading from his hands as he finished closing the last of their wounds. He stood up, wiping sweat from his brow.

​"You're as good as I can fix you," Alexander said softly, "but you need rest, and you need to get out of here if that things come looking for you…."

​The warrior struggled to his feet, rolling his newly healed shoulder. He looked at Alexander with deep, genuine gratitude. "I'm Brundis. This is my crew. I don't know how to repay you."

​"Just get to safety," Alexander replied, offering a tired smile. 

​Brundis nodded, motioning for his battered squad to stand. They gathered their meager belongings and gave the group a final, respectful bow before limping away down the path, disappearing into the mist and ash.

​Siurad stood in silence, listening to their fading footsteps. The wind howled through the ravine, carrying the faint, distant scent of ozone and sulfur.

​"Well," Yona said, adjusting the strap of her pack. "A skeleton that kills in seconds and is bound to a specific territory. Thoughts, Shepherd?"

​Siurad looked toward the horizon. “Your guess is as good as mine, Yona. Whatever it is, I hope we never meet it.”

​“Does it seem wise to keep going that way?” Alexander asked, his voice tight, he adjusted his grip on his staff, his eyes fixated on the path ahead. “They were a group of seven, and there are only three of us. It seems…” he trailed off, searching for the gentlest words possible. “Irrational.”

​“Welcome to the great unknown, Saint,” Yona said, grinning. “If they were offered thirty gold for whatever that thing is, it means it's probably worth way more than that. If we can get our hands on it,” a shimmering flint appeared in her eyes “I can fence it for some serious coin. Just relax. We'll keep you safe.”

Alexander stared at her. “You heard a dying man describe a skeletal demon that killed half his companions, and your first thought was resale value?”

“My first thought was survival.” Yona held up one finger. “My second thought was resale value. I am growing as a person.”

​“So… not that I doubt your sentiment, but,” he paused, “what makes you qualified to say that?”

​Siurad grinned, his massive shoulders shifting under his armor. “Alex, you starting to get cold feet?”

​“Alexander,” he corrected instinctively. “And I wouldn't be exercising prudence without asking questions.”

​“Fair,” Yona conceded, leaning against a jagged rock. “I am an entrepreneur of sorts. I wear many hats. One of them includes keeping your ass alive. Good enough?”

​“Well…” Alexander started, adjusting his glasses.

​“I am like a bodyguard,” Siurad chimed in.

​“Like a bodyguard?” Alexander mulled the words over, not finding them particularly comforting.

​“Do you question everything, Saint?” Yona asked, raising an eyebrow.

​“If it involves me keeping all of my limbs? Why, yes. I do.”

​“Noted,” Yona said.

​“Ditto,” Siurad agreed.

​“Alright, enough pondrificating,” Yona sighed, pushing off the rock.

​“Pontificating,” Alexander corrected, coughing softly into his hand.

​“No, pondrificating, Saint. It's based off the word ponder. Nine hells, who taught you?”

​“Just let it go,” Siurad whispered to the priest.

“But that is factually incorrect.”

“Alex,” Siurad sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Alexander,” the priest corrected automatically.

“Right. Alexander. Listen, man, you’re still young. I understand that. But there is a survival rule you must learn.”

Alexander looked wary. “What rule?”

Siurad leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with the gravity of a man passing down sacred wisdom.

“It never pays to argue with women. Never.”

Alexander blinked. ​“Even when she is demonstrably, objectively wrong?”

​“Especially then. Never.”

“Even though she used the word in the wrong context? And then tried to explain the etymology of a religious term to an actual priest? The word comes from the priesthood, Siurad.”

Siurad paused, blinked, and then shook his head.

“I… did not know that.”

“Exactly.”

“And still, never.”

Alexander stared at him.

“Wow,” Alexander sighed, his shoulders slipping in defeat.

“I know.”

Ahead of them, Yona glanced back over her shoulder. “When you two are done bitching, may we resume?”

Siurad straightened immediately. “Sure thing, boss lady. Let’s roll, priest.”

Alexander closed his eyes for half a second.

“By the Light,” he muttered, following after them, “what have I gotten myself into?”

Chapter Twentyfour

​The trip took seven more arduous, blister-inducing days. At the end they found themselves standing on the lip of caldera.

​They had crossed out of the Kingdom of Vildris, skirted the edges of the Republic of Doria, and pushed deep into the unclaimed wilds. Now, they overlooked the lava bays."

​The massive caldera stretched for miles, a jagged bowl of green jungle and black rock, steaming with geothermal vents that looked like cigarette smoke against the blue sky.

​Siurad stood at the precipice, furrowing his brow as he looked down into the abyss.

​“How the hell are we supposed to find a secret cult in all of that?” Siurad asked, kicking a pebble over the edge and watching it vanish. “And... is this thing active?.”

​“C’mon, Shepherd,” Yona said, stepping dangerously close to the ledge with a smirk. “Don't tell me you're afraid of a little heat. Time to earn your keep.”

​“This does seem... concerning,” Alexander murmured, peering nervously down at the rocky, vine-choked slopes. He pulled his collar away from his neck, fanning himself. “The humidity is oppressive. It feels... tropical. And sulphurous.”

​“Quit whining,” Yona snapped, stretching her arms. “We slide down, crack a few skulls, find the intel, and we're out of here before a Langcha lays an egg. Besides...” She turned to Siurad, her amber eyes gleaming with the reflection of the sun. “It wouldn't be any fun if it was easy. Fun means loot.”

​A hot gust of wind ripped over the ridge, flapping Alexander’s robes violently. He leaned against a gnarled tree, looking miserable.

​“Heavens, woman,” the priest sighed. “Why can't we just do things the safe and legal way?”

​“Pfft. If you wanted safe, you should have stayed with Guil,” Yona laughed, “And legal? Saint, you crack me up. Laws are just suggestions for poor people.”

​“Okay, focus,” Siurad said, ignoring the banter. He scanned the dense canopy below, trying to assess threats. “We need a plan. We have to get down there, locate these creepy cultists, and avoid that demon thing all the while trying not to die. Which is easier said than done, considering that looks like a two-mile hike straight down.”

​He groaned, rubbing his face. “I hate hiking. I hate the outdoors. Why am I doing this again?”

​Suddenly, the Ring on his finger pulsed with a violent violet light.

​'...YOUR HESITATION PERSISTS.'

​“Welcome back, Obi,” Siurad muttered, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Top-notch timing, as always.”

​'...DESCEND THIS FORSAKEN CREVICE. ROOT OUT THE VERMIN OF PERONIN. WE HAVE MUCH TO DO. YOU ARE THE CHOSEN HEIR MY INSTRUMENT FOR THE GREAT WORK THE.'

​“Ack! Enough already!”

​Yona clapped her hands over her ears, wincing in extreme irritation.

​“Volume control, ring-boy!” she hissed at Siurad’s hand. “You’re giving me a migraine! I can hear you too, remember? Sensitive ears!”

“I am the only functional adult in this party,” Siurad thought, watching Yona balance precariously on the rim of the volcano.

​The Ring pulsed instantly.

​'...THE VESSEL CLAIMS ADULTHOOD, YET THE VESSEL WEEPS AT THE SIGHT OF A SPIDER.'

​“Pussy,” Yona snickered, nudging him hard enough to rattle his plate mail. “Gods, I love that word. Told you I liked it. Now, move your ass, looks like there’s a path over there.”

​The group shimmied toward a series of jagged, rhythmic indentations carved directly into the basalt wall. They weren't natural; someone had hacked a staircase into the cliff face centuries ago.

​“Odd,” Alexander murmured, peering over the edge. “They look almost like stairs. Terrible, dangerous stairs.”

​“What's the deal with this place anyway?” Siurad asked, gingerly testing his weight on the first slick step. “Who builds stairs into a volcano?”

​“Not much is known,” Alexander said, placing a shaky boot onto the path and clinging to the rock wall. “This region is a political void. It borders Vildris and the Republic, but neither nation has ever been able to hold it. Between the active magma vents, history, and... well, the chaotic fauna... it is safe to say no one wants to live here.”

​The pathway was narrow, steep, and covered in loose scree. The trek down was a slow, nerve-wracking process. They had made it halfway down, sweating through their armor, when Siurad froze.

​A rush of wind buffeted them, smelling of sulfur and wet feathers.

​A massive creature took flight from a gnarled tree jutting out of the cliff face. Its wingspan was easily seventeen feet wide, blotting out the sun for a brief second. It had beady, hateful eyes sunk deep into a narrow, naked skull.

​To Siurad, it looked like a gigantic, prehistoric turkey had mated with a pterodactyl and then done a lot of steroids.

​“What the fuck is that?” he whispered a statement of horror. “That thing... physically shouldn't be able to fly. The wings… the body… it's  impossible.”

​“Oh, those?” Alexander said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Those are actually quite common in the warm zones. Greater Vulture-Hens.”

​'...NOW THE VESSEL FEARS POULTRY.'

​“Shut up, Obi,” Siurad hissed.

​The massive creature took off without so much as a backward glance. Its wings beat against the humid air with a sound like cracking sails, generating a pressure wave that rattled the leaves.

​They watched the large frame recede into the distance, the shrinking shadow the only evidence that death had just hovered over them.

​Siurad let out a long, ragged sigh of relief, his hand sliding off the hilt of his sword.

​“Thank you, Mr. Vulture,” he muttered, grateful to have one less boss fight on his schedule. “Fly safe. Don't write.”

​“Pu—” Yona started, a mischievous grin splitting her face.

​“Don’t,” Siurad warned, cutting her off with a sharp wave of his hand.

​“You’re no fun,” she snickered.

​“This is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Alexander exclaimed, anxiously brushing volcanic dust and stray leaf matter from his pristine robes. “A haystack that is on fire. And filled with dinosaurs.”

​“Let's get to the bottom before you start writing a eulogy, Saint,” Yona said. She slid down a steep incline of loose shale to a landing halfway down the caldera wall.

​Siurad and Alexander followed with considerably less grace.

​As they descended, the pathway widened. The jungle canopy grew thicker above them, blocking out the sun and turning the light a sickly, filtered green.

​Siurad slowed as they passed a section of the cliff face that curved inward.

​“Hold up,” he said.

​The rock wall was covered in symbols that were painted in thick, jagged strokes using some kind of black charcoal or ash paste. The lines twisted and turned violently, like some alien form of cursive.

​“Alex, do you have any idea what this stuff means?” Siurad asked, hovering his hand over a particularly sharp, angular spiral. “Is this related to Peronin?”

​Alexander leaned in, his fear momentarily replaced by academic curiosity. He adjusted his glasses, squinting at the dark strokes.

​“No...” Alexander murmured. “I have studied the dialects of Vildris, the Republic, and even the old tongues of the nomads. I have never seen this script before.”

​“Is it runes?” Yona asked, poking a symbol with her dagger.

​“Maybe,” Alexander said, his interest piqued. He reached into a hidden pouch within his robes and pulled out a small leather-bound pad and a charcoal stick. “Or it’s a cipher. Look at the repetition. It’s not random. It’s... mathematical.”

​He began to quickly sketch the symbols, his hand moving with the practiced speed of a scribe.

​“Whatever this language is,” Alexander whispered, “it is a very angry language.”

They continued their descent finally coming to the bottom of the caldera. They were surrounded by dense trees, bushes and foliage. Yona took the lead attempting to clear a navigable path.

​As Alexander focused on studying the strange mathematical symbols, Yona suddenly froze.

​She went rigid. Her amber eyes narrowed, looking through the gaps in the foliage, focusing on something deep in the shadows.

​“Shhh. Quiet,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Something is up ahead. A lot of them. And they don't sound friendly.”

​“Shit,” Siurad muttered.

​Instinct took over. Siurad grabbed Alexander by the collar of his robes and dragged him behind the wide base of a mahogany tree. Yona dissolved into the shadows, taking up a position on an adjacent branch, her daggers already in hand.

​They sat in silence for a few agonizing moments. There was nothing but the sway of the canopy above and the distant, nervous call of a bird.

​Siurad was about to whisper a question when he heard it.

​A low huff came from straight ahead. It was followed by a guttural growl. The sound vibrated in Siurad’s sternum and rattled down to the pit of his stomach. It sounded like the drone of a semi truck's engine brakes.

​He leaned closer to the tree, trying to keep his voice lower than the wind.

​“Yona,” he whispered. “What the fuck is that?”

​“Shut up,” she hissed. She tapped her temple, looking at Siurad’s hand. She whispered something so softly Siurad could not hear.

​A second later, Obi’s voice hammered into Siurad’s skull.

​'...THE FOX THINKS IT IS AN URSAURUS AND SHE  ALSO WANTS TO KNOW WHEN YOU WILL STOP ASKING HER INEFFICIENT ...'

​Yona shook her head, staring daggers at Siurad from her perch as Obi continued.

​'...STUPID QUESTIONS.'

​Siurad blinked, the weight of the words hitting him. He really wanted to throw a pinecone at her, but he decided that provoking the stealth assassin while a monster was nearby was a tactical error.

​Obi, Siurad projected his thoughts, what is an Ursaurus?

​'...A BEAR-A-SAUR.'

​Siurad stared blankly at Yona. She nodded slowly, her face grim, trying to convey the deadly seriousness of the situation.

​Siurad was beside himself. They were currently cowering behind a tree because a T-Rex and Winnie the Pooh had apparently decided to have a bastard love child.

​I hate this world, he thought.

​Before he could process the biological impossibility of a Bear-a-saur, he saw movement in the distance.

The creature stepped out of the shadows, and Siurad’s brain tried to categorize it. Bear, his mind supplied. It’s a massive, mangy bear.

It had the silhouette of a grizzly, the hulking shoulder hump, the broad, blocky skull, the sheer wall of muscle. But as it moved into the shaft of sunlight, the image distorted.

It didn't lumber, so much as it stalked.

Its fur was a coat of coarse, wire-thick quills that rattled softly against each other, interspersed with patches of grey, pebbled scales. The snout was broad and ursine, but there were no lips, just a jagged zipper of interlocking, serrated teeth that grinned permanently in the gloom.

But the horror was in the legs. The rear legs were too long, powerful and digitigrade, ending not in paws, but in talon-tipped feet with a massive, curved sickle-claw raised off the ground. A thick, muscular tail swept behind it, twitching with calculated energy, acting as a counterbalance for a frame that looked like it could outrun a horse.

It turned its head, and the eyes weren't the small, beady eyes of a bear. They were large, gold, and slit-pupiled. They scanned the treeline with a terrifying, intelligence.

It let out a sound, a low, clicking chitter that escalated into a bass-heavy growl.

'...URSAURUS,' Obi supplied, helpful as a tombstone

“This ain't good, Big Guy.”

Yona’s voice was barely a whisper. The chaotic, greedy smirk that usually defined her face was gone, wiped clean by a pale, subtle terror. Her hands were wrapped around the pommels of her daggers with a death grip, her knuckles white. 

“Can't be that bad, can it?” Siurad asked, keeping his tone hushed but trying to inject a little bravado.

The low growl stopped abruptly.

Silence hung in the heavy, humid air for a heartbeat. Then, a series of sharp, wet clicks emitted from the creature’s throat, a sound like stones striking together.

The massive Ursaurus turned and simply melted back into the heavy bush, its camouflage shifting with the shadows until it vanished.

“Well... that was something,” Siurad exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow.

Yona turned her head slowly, staring daggers at him.

“They know we are here,” she hissed, her eyes darting to the left, then the right. “And they hunt in packs. Shut up and let me think. That one didn't leave because it was scared. It left to get into flanking position.”

The gravity of the situation slowly started to dawn on Siurad. The humidity of the caldera suddenly felt suffocating. What he assumed would be a random encounter or a simple skirmish was quickly becoming a life-or-death situation.

“Okay, so we run?” Siurad asked, looking to Yona for the play-call.

“No.”

The correction didn't come from Yona. It came from Alexander. The priest was wiping his glasses frantically, his hands shaking.

“You must be unfamiliar with the physiology of the Ursaurus,” Alexander whispered, his voice trembling but factual. “They possess explosive speed. They are vastly faster than any of us. Running triggers their chase instinct. If we run, we are prey.”

'...COWARDICE WILL BEGET DEATH.'

The Ring pulsed violently on Siurad’s finger, the violet light throbbing with irritation at the party’s hesitation.

“We sit tight then?” Siurad asked, ignoring the burning sensation on his finger. “We turtle up? Watch the perimeter three-hundred and sixty degrees? Maybe they'll get bored and find something easier to murder.”

'...FOOLISH VESSEL, XARA CRUSHED ALL HER  ENEMIES SHE DID NOT HIDE IN THE MUD.'

The psychic voice grew louder, dripping with disdain.

'...YOU COWER AT AN OVERSIZED RAT.'

Yona winced, pressing a hand to her temple, bypassing their usual game of telephone.

“DO NOT listen to the jewelry, Big Guy,” she snapped, her eyes scanning the tree line. “We wait it out. If we move, we die. If we run, we die. We stand our ground.”

​They remained motionless for several agonizing moments, wincing at every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves. The humid air shifted, the earthy scent of rain and soil strangled by a heavy, cloying musk, rotting meat and wet fur. Yona’s knuckles turned white around the hilts of her daggers.

​“Plan B,” she whispered, her voice tight. “I smell them. They’re close. Definitely more than one.”

​Siurad slowly drew his blade, the steel hissing against leather. A rapid succession of low growls and chittering clicks rang out, echoing from the dense brush on all sides. They were being hunted.

​Then, the world went unnaturally quiet.

​Yona had enough of waiting. She sheathed one dagger and thrust her open palm toward a patch of darkness in the foliage.

​“Glacial Barrage.”

​A storm of ice shards erupted from her hand, shredding branches and bushes in a chaotic spray of green and white. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. 

Then the brush exploded.

​A massive monstrosity broke the tree line, a jagged shard of ice protruding from its shoulder. It ignored the wound entirely.

​The beast moved with a terrifying speed that defied its bulk. Yona had no time to cast again; she threw herself into a desperate dive, slashing at the creature’s forearm as she passed. The blade connected, but the hide was like iron; her dagger left only a shallow, weeping gash. The charging Ursaurus twisted mid-stride, its jaws snapping inches from her boots. Its massive tail whipped around with the force of a falling tree, shattering saplings as it hunted for her.

​Siurad braced himself, stepping forward to flank the beast, but a sudden shift in the air stopped him cold.

​To his right, the undergrowth vanished. A second Ursaurus burst forth, a blur of muscle and teeth. Siurad raised his sword to guard, but the creature swatted at him.

​The impact felt like a battering ram. The force traveled through his sword and shattered his stance, instantly numbing his arm and lifting him off his feet. He slammed into the trunk of an oak tree with a sickening crunch, his sword tumbling from his grasp into the mud. Air left his lungs in a wheezing gasp.

​“Focus!” Yona screamed, barely dodging a swipe from the first beast. She thrust her hand forward, unleashing a point-blank burst of hellfire. The smell of singed hair and cooking flesh filled the clearing, and the Ursaurus roared, the sound vibrating in their chests.

​It was a signal.

​A third bear rocketed from the trees directly behind Yona’s exposed back. Its jaws stretched impossibly wide, aiming for her neck. She couldn’t turn in time.

​“Prismatic Aegis!”

​The shout came from Alexander. A shimmering white veil materialized around Yona, snapping into place a millisecond before the jaws clamped down. The barrier flared violently under the bite, spiderwebbing with cracks. The kinetic force sent Yona tumbling across the dirt, but the shield held just long enough before shattering into light.

​Alexander spun from Yona to Siurad. The swordsman was on his knees, struggling to breathe, the second Ursaurus looming over him, raising a claw to finish the job.

​“Shield your eyes and roll!” Alexander bellowed.

​Siurad didn’t question. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw himself to the left.

​“Divine Light!”

​A sphere of blinding, searing radiance erupted from Alexander. It struck the looming bear directly in its sensitive eyes. The beast shrieked, a high-pitched, terrified sound, and reared up. Its tail whipped frantically, and it slashed blindly at the air, its talons carving through the space where Siurad’s head had been a second before.

​Siurad scrambled backward through the mud, gasping as pain flared white-hot in his chest. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, the shoulder likely dislocated or shattered from the initial impact. He tried to stand, but his legs trembled violently.

​The blinded Ursaurus didn't stay confused for long. It slammed its front paws down, shaking the earth, and sniffed the air. It locked onto the scent of Siurad’s blood.

​'...THE PREY IS BROKEN,' Obi’s voice thundered, cold and analytical. '...COMPENSATE. USE THE SHADOWS.'

​Siurad gritted his teeth, tasting copper. He didn't have the leverage to swing his sword effectively with one arm, not against this mountain of muscle.

​He opened the void. Forming shadow spikes. Three jagged lances of solidified darkness erupted from the beast's own shadow. They pierced the creature's thigh and abdomen, driving deep.

​The Ursaurus roared, but it didn't fall. The spikes, which would have skewered a normal man, only sank a few inches into the dense muscle and thick hide. It snapped the shadow constructs like dry twigs as it lunged forward, jaws snapping inches from Siurad’s face.

​Pop.

​Siurad vanished in a haze of black mist.

​He reappeared ten feet in the air, directly above the beast. Gravity took hold immediately. He fell, driving his black steel sword down with all his remaining weight, aiming for the base of the skull.

​CRACK.

​The blade struck bone. It pierced the hide but wedged tight in the thick vertebrae. Siurad wrenched the hilt, screaming in effort, but the sword was stuck. The bear thrashed, throwing Siurad off its back. He hit the ground hard, rolling to avoid being crushed as the beast rampaged, the sword still sticking out of its neck like a splinter.

​"It’s not dying!" Siurad yelled, coughing up blood.

​"Duck!" Yona screamed from somewhere to his left.

​The third bear, the one that had ambushed Yona, had bypassed her, seeing the easier prey. It barreled toward Siurad, a freight train of fur and claws. Siurad was on his knees, weaponless, his body screaming in protest. He couldn't dodge this.

​"Hey! Over here!"

​Alexander stepped into the path, halfway between Siurad and the charging monster. He looked terrified, his knees knocking together, but he raised his staff with both hands.

​"You want a meal? Come get it!"

​The bear obliged. It shifted targets, closing the distance to the priest in a heartbeat. It raised a paw the size of a manhole cover to flatten the fragile human.

​" Prismatic Aegis! "

​Alexander shouted the incantation, squeezing his eyes shut.

​A multi-faceted dome of hard light materialized around him. The bear’s paw slammed into it with the force of a falling boulder. The shield groaned, spiderwebbing with cracks instantly, but it held. The force of the blow, however, wasn't negated. The sphere, with Alexander inside, was batted away like a toy ball. It flew through the air and smashed into a tree trunk, shattering on impact and dumping a dazed Alexander into the roots.

​The bear shook its head and turned back to Siurad, confident the little nuisance was dealt with.

​Siurad forced himself up. His vision blurred at the edges. He needed his sword.

​'...THE WEAPON IS IMMATERIAL,' Obi whispered. '...YOU ARE THE VOID.'

​Pop.

​Siurad flickered out of existence a split second before the bear’s shoulder checked him. He reappeared instantly in the beast's blind spot, directly underneath it.

​He slammed his good hand onto the soft, white fur of the creature's belly.

A massive spike of shadow erupted from his palm, not cutting the skin but manifesting partially within the beast's gut before solidifying. The Ursaurus stiffened, its momentum carrying it forward as it let out a gurgling howl. It crashed into the dirt, sliding past Siurad, clutching its stomach as internal trauma ravaged it.

​Siurad didn't have time to celebrate. He turned to the second bear, the one with his sword in its neck. It had shaken off the disorientation and was lumbering toward him, blood matting its fur but its rage undimmed.

​"I need... my sword," Siurad wheezed.

​He prepared to Step again, but his legs gave out. The mana drain and the blood loss were too much. He hit one knee.

​The bear opened its jaws.

Across the clearing, Yona’s fight ended ugly.

The first Ursaurus lunged it's smoking maw of burned fur, it’s jaws snapping for her waist. Yona dropped flat beneath the bite, rolled under its chest, and drove both daggers up into the soft hollow beneath its front leg.

The beast roared and tried to crush her.

She twisted the blades outward. The artery gave way, sending a heavy, scalding torrent down her arms. It coated her leather bracers and flooded her palms in a thick, warm slick, dangerously loosening her grip on the steel.

The Ursaurus staggered, its massive frame suddenly hollowed out and uncertain. Thrashing blindly, the creature swatted at Yona. The massive claws barely nicked her shoulder, but a hot flash of pain tore through her as a fresh line of red opened across her skin. Ignoring the sting, she kicked hard off its ribs and vanished into the shadows of its flank. She reappeared a heartbeat later, her right dagger roaring to life, coated in crackling hellfire. With one brutal, sweeping motion, she opened a smoldering gash across the side of its throat.

The beast roared in defiance, rearing up on its hind legs to strike. But the sheer loss of vitality was too much to overcome. Its knees buckled, and it collapsed with a heavy, wet crash, shaking the dirt hard enough to strip the dead leaves from the surrounding branches.

Yona came up breathing hard, hair stuck to her face, eyes wild.

Then she saw Siurad on one knee and the second Ursaurus bearing down on him.

She moved.

A blur of red, slammed into the side of the beast’s head. Yona grabbed the hilt of Siurad’s sword, which was still lodged in the bear's spine. With a feral snarl, she used the leverage of her jump to wrench the blade sideways.

​There was a sickening snap.

​The bear dropped like a stone, its spinal cord finally severed.

​Yona landed in a crouch, panting heavily. Her armor was slashed in three places, and blood that wasn't hers soaked her hair.

​"Clear!" she shouted, spinning around.

​Siurad looked at the bear he had gutted with the Shadow Spike. It was still twitching, trying to rise, vomiting dark blood.

​Siurad dragged himself over to it. He placed a boot on its neck to hold it steady, ignoring the agony in his own chest. He willed one last, small spike in his hand and drove it into the creature's eye. 

The twitching stopped.

​Silence fell over the clearing, save for the ragged breathing of the three companions.

​Siurad tried to take a step toward Alexander and collapsed. The world tilted sideways and went gray.

​"Siurad!" Alexander’s voice was weak, coming from the tree line.

​"I'm... awake," Siurad mumbled, though he made no move to get up. He looked down at his left arm. It was bent at a wrong angle, and his side felt like it was on fire. "Think... something's broken."

​Alexander limped into view. His robes were torn, and his glasses were missing, but he was alive. He hurried to Siurad’s side, his hands glowing with a soft, warm light.

​"Don't move," Alexander stammered, his hands hovering over Siurad's chest. "Internal bleeding. Ribs are... oh dear. Just breathe."

The saint’s hand glowed with golden light.

​"Check Yona," Siurad grunted, flinching as the magic knit flesh together with a stinging sensation.

​"I'm fine," Yona said, walking over. She retrieved Siurad's sword from the dead bear and dropped it next to him. She looked at the carnage, three massive apex predators, their bodies turning the forest floor into a slaughterhouse.

​She looked at Siurad, then at the massive internal wound on the second bear.

​"You're getting scary, big guy," she said quietly.

​"We need to move," Siurad whispered, grabbing his sword with his good hand. "All that noise, all this blood... it's a beacon."

​"You can't walk," Alexander argued, sweat dripping from his nose as he focused on the healing spell.

​"I can Void Step," Siurad lied. He tried to focus his mana, but the well was dry. His vision swam. "Okay. Maybe I can't."

​'...RECOVERY REQUIRED,' Obi agreed, his voice fading into the background of Siurad's mind.

Chapter Twentyfive

​Siurad awoke to the sharp pop of a burning log and the heavy scent of woodsmoke mingled with roasting game.

​His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the gloom. The canopy above was a suffocating weave of black leaves, blotting out the stars.

​A face hovered over him. Alexander. The priest was peering down with an intensity usually reserved for ancient texts, but as Siurad focused, the tight knot of anxiety on Alexander’s face unraveled.

​“He's awake,” Alexander announced, the tension leaving his shoulders in a long, shuddering sigh. He turned his head toward the fire. “The patient has returned.”

​Yona sat by the flames, tearing into a roasted rabbit leg. She didn't eat politely; she stripped the meat from the bone with sharp, efficient jerks of her head.

​“Welcome back to the land of the living, Shepherd,” she mumbled around a mouthful, tossing a clean bone into the fire.

​Siurad tried to sit up. His ribs screamed it was a strange sensation, the consuming warmth, and bruising ache of magical reconstruction. It felt as if his insides had been stitched together with a hot wire.

​“How long?” Siurad rasped. His throat felt like he’d swallowed a handful of sand.

​'...ENTIRELY TOO LONG.'

​The Ring pulsed against his finger. The vibration was steady, lacking Obi’s usual stinging disdain. It felt almost... relieved.

​“A few hours. Give or take,” Yona said. She stood up, wiping grease from her mouth with the back of her hand. She grabbed a skewer of dripping meat from the fire and walked over.

​She thrust it toward his face, the tip of the skewer inches from his nose.

​“Eat. Now. You burned through your mana pool and half your blood volume. You need fuel, not questions.”

​Siurad took the skewer with a shaking hand. The smell of the fat made his stomach roar. He took a bite, the hot meat grounding him, before looking around. They were in a small hollow beneath the twisted roots of a massive oak, shielded on three sides by earth and wood.

​“Are we still in the same spot?” Siurad asked, squinting. To his tired eyes, every shadow looked like a monster, every tree identical.

​“No,” Yona said, her voice deadpan. “We had to drag your big ass to safety. You are unsurprisingly heavy for dead weight.”

​“I concur,” Alexander chimed in, massaging his shoulder with a grimace. He adjusted his glasses, which were now held together by a strip of cloth. “It was a most terrible experience. Between the plate armor and the sheer density of your muscle mass, I believe I have developed a hernia. You are not built for portability, Siurad.”

​"Okay, so what's the plan?" Siurad grunted, forcing the words through a dry throat. "Have we heard anything? Any direction we should be moving?"

​Yona looked up from the fire, her left eye twitching with visible irritation. "You nearly died, Shepherd. You are currently held together by prayer and good intentions, and you’re already starting with the great work talk?"

​The ring on Siurad’s finger pulsed, a cold vibration against his knuckle.

'...THEY DO NOT UNDERSTANG HAVING PURPOSE.'

​"Shut it, Obi," Yona snapped, not even looking at the hand.

​Obi ignored her, the pulsing rhythm slowing to a lecture. '...A DAMAGED VESSEL CAN NOT WORK EFFICIENTLY YOU MUST REST.'

​"See?" Yona gestured with a rabbit bone. "Even the jewelry agrees. No more work talk. We take a few days to recalibrate, then we figure out the weirdos."

​"Cultists," Alexander corrected, holding his broken spectacles up to the firelight to inspect the fracture. "They are cultists, Yona. Precision matters."

​"Sitting around here doesn't seem like the best idea," Siurad argued, shifting his weight. A sharp bolt of agony shot up his flank, stealing his breath. "What if more bears show up?"

​"If more Ursaurus show up, we're screwed, Shepherd. Dead and buried," Yona said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "So don't worry about the bears. Just rest."

​Siurad tried to argue, but his body rebelled. The pain was too much he slumped back against the earth, staring up at the suffocating weave of black leaves. His eyelids felt like lead weights. He decided he would close them, just for a heartbeat.

​When he finally opened his eyes he was greeted  by blinding light.

​Morning sun pierced the canopy in jagged spears. The forest was loudly, obnoxiously alive with the chirp of insects and birds, a stark contrast to the thudding ache in Siurad’s ribs.

​He turned his head to find Alexander hovering uncomfortably close. The priest was staring down at him with the intensity of an undertaker waiting for a client.

​"Ah, you’re awake," Alexander said, blinking rapidly. "How do you feel?"

​"I’m fine, Alex," Siurad lied, wincing as he tried to sit up. "Just... stiff."

​"Stiff. Yes. Well, I believe enough time has passed for your spiritual pathway to settle. Another round of healing is in order. I would like your permission to commence the liturgy."

​Siurad rubbed his face, looking around the empty hollow. "Where’s Yona? And what difference would another round make? You already stitched me up."

​A genuine look of bafflement crossed Alexander’s face. He lowered his hands. "Siurad... do you actually not know how divine healing works?"

​“I assume you wave your hands, the light shines, and I stop bleeding,” Siurad grunted, rubbing the grit from his eyes.

​Alexander sighed, taking off his broken glasses to polish them on his robe. “That is the children's book version. The reality is a matter of thermal dynamics and structural integrity.”

​He pointed a thin finger at Siurad’s chest.

​“I have reconstructed your bones using mana as a scaffold, holding the pieces in place like a mold. But your body must provide the raw material to fill that mold. I am forcing your cells to divide and knit together a thousand times faster than nature intended.”

​Alexander leaned in, his voice dropping gravely.

​“That acceleration creates friction, Siurad. Heat. Waste. Right now, your blood is saturated with magical residue. If I were to cast another major reconstruction spell before your system cools down and filters the toxicity, I wouldn't be healing you.”

​Siurad frowned, looking down at his hands. They did feel hot, feverish. “What would happen?”

​“You would cook,” Alexander said simply. “From the inside out. Your marrow would boil, and your heart would seize. So, we wait. We let the scaffold hold while the heat dissipates. You are not just injured, my friend; you are currently a volatile vessel.”

​Siurad let out a long breath, gingerly touching his side. The deep ache made more sense now. The pain wasn't just from a bruise; it was the aftermath of a biological fire.

​“Fine,” Siurad grunted, dropping his hand. “Let the vessel cool. But check the scaffold. If Yona comes back and I’m still flat on my back, she’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

​"I believe you do not have to worry about Miss Moeru," Alexander said, his tone reassuring though he kept glancing at the tree line. "She is currently scouting ahead for any signs of the cultists. If anyone can slip by unseen, it is her."

​Siurad sat up, wincing as his ribs protested. A cold sense of vulnerability washed over him. He felt exposed without the rogue’s eyes watching the perimeter.

​"Without Yona, we would both be bear food right now," Siurad muttered, staring at his calloused palms. He flexed his fingers, looking for a spark that wasn't there. "Obi... I thought the well would be deeper. It didn't seem to help much against the Ursaurus."

​The ring vibrated instantly, a jagged rhythm against his bone.

'...THE PROCESS IS SLOW BECAUSE YOU ARE INEFFICIENT.'

​The pulsing continued, sharp and mocking.

'...WASTEFUL, REMEDIAL AND...'

​"Okay, okay! I get it!" Siurad growled, cutting off the telepathic lecture. "I'm still bad at magic. Fine. But it felt different before. It felt denser when we were fighting Guil."

​'...RESONANCE,' Obi stated simply.

​"Resonance?" Siurad threw his hands up. "Where was this resonance with the murder-bears?!"

​Alexander watched in silence as the large warrior screamed at his own hand. After a long, awkward pause, the priest cleared his throat.

​"If I may interject into this... domestic dispute," Alexander said delicately. "I do not believe you lack capacity, Siurad. When I was stitching you back together, I could feel the depth of your reservoir. It is vast, but you lack the plumbing to channel it."

​Alexander leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing behind his broken frames.

​"However... I do have a few questions regarding the composition of your mana. It did not feel... standard."

​"Plumbing?" Siurad asked, looking at his veins as if expecting to see copper pipes. "I’m not a sink, Alexander."

​"No, you are a pressure vessel," Alexander corrected, shifting into his lecture mode. He picked up a twig and drew a crude circle in the ash, then a thin, jagged line coming out of it.

​"Think of your mana pool…the well as you call it, as a massive lake. It is deep. Terrifyingly deep. But your channels, the metaphysical pathways that carry that power from your core to your fingertips, are currently the size of a straw."

​Alexander stabbed the twig into the thin line he’d drawn.

​"When you fought the Ursaurus, you tried to force an ocean through that straw. High pressure. Low output. The friction creates heat, which is why it hurts. You can widen these channels over time, through meditation, precise usage, and mental conditioning. You must stretch the straw into a pipe. That is the work of years."

​The ring on Siurad's finger vibrated violently, a sharp, buzzing irritation against his knuckle.

​'...YEARS FOR A MORTAL.' Obi’s voice echoed in Siurad’s mind, dripping with disdain. '...INSTANTS FOR US. YOU SHEPHERD, ARE CLUMSY AND THE RODENTS WERE BENEATH ME.'

​Siurad grimaced, rubbing his temple. "He says it takes years for mortals, but he could do it instantly. And he’s calling the bears rodents again."

​Alexander stared blankly at the vibrating ring, then back at Siurad.

​"If the artifact views them as rodents, that explains the discrepancy," Alexander noted, drawing a second, thicker line around the first one. "This is where resonance likely comes in. It would seem it  is a bypass mechanism."

​"Bypass?" Siurad asked.

​"When you fought the Paladin, Guil, you viewed him as a threat. The Ring viewed him as a worthy challenge. Your emotions and the artifact's intent were perfectly aligned."

​Alexander tapped the thick line.

​"When you possess resonance, the Ring takes the burden. It reinforces your channels. It acts as a pump, forcing the ocean through the straw without bursting it. It grants you greater access to the well."

​"But against the bears..." Siurad started, looking at the ring.

​"You were fighting for survival," Alexander reasoned. "But the Ring was bored. It felt no glory in killing beasts. You were pushing, and it was sleeping. You were left relying solely on your own, undeveloped channels."

​Siurad stared at the drawing in the ash. It made annoying sense. He had the potential for power, the resonance, but without it, he was just a man with a very heavy sword and narrow pipes.

​"So I have two choices," Siurad grunted. "Spend years meditating to widen the pipes... or convince the jewelry that my life is actually exciting."

​"Ideally, you do both," Alexander said, tossing the twig into the fire. "But that brings me to my second point. The composition."

​Alexander’s expression grew serious. He leaned in, lowering his voice even though they were alone.

​"Siurad, when I touched your mana to knit your bones... it didn't feel like normal arcane energy. Normal mana is like water or light. Yours felt... heavy. Like liquid iron. And it was cold. It actively fought against my Light."

​He looked at Siurad over the rim of his broken glasses.

​"What exactly is the Obsidian Authority? Because whatever lives in your blood... I am not sure it belongs in a living human."

​“Okay,” Siurad started, leaning forward and poking the fire with a stick. “So, you know how Yona and I can communicate with the Ring? Well, there’s a little more to the story than just magic jewelry.”

​Alexander nodded slowly, his hands resting on his knees. He looked like a student waiting for a lecture.

​“First off,” Siurad said, hesitating. “I’m not from here. I don’t mean I’m not from the Lava Bays or Rekalia. I mean… I’m an import. Different planet. Different reality. Dimension? You get what I’m saying?”

​Alexander stopped breathing for a second. He blinked, but didn't interrupt.

​“Obi,” Siurad gestured to the obsidian band, “is an entity. A demon, a god, a cosmic construct… I’m not really sure, honestly.”

​'…YOUR MORTAL LABELS ARE REDUCTIVE,' Obi pulsed. The vibration hummed in the air, deep enough that Alexander flinched. 

'…I AM THAT WHICH REMAINS, THE FINAL STILLNESS…. RESONANCE HAS A COST HEIR, IT WOULD NOT BE WISE TO USE IT INDISCRIMINATELY.' 

​“He says mortal titles are beneath him, and something about resonance having a cost,” Siurad translated with a shrug. “Anyway, he brought me here. He was bound to this ring a long time ago. Something about a betrayal. He wants me to rebuild the Authority and free him from the cage.”

​Alexander took off his glasses. He began cleaning them on his robe, his movements frantic and jerky.

​“And,” Siurad added, “as you’ve probably guessed, he is connected to the Void. Or maybe he is the Void. He’s explained it in math terms, but hell if it makes sense to me. I just hold the sword.”

​Siurad stopped. He waited.

​Alexander put his glasses back on. He looked at Siurad, then at the Ring, then at the dark, volcanic sky above them.

​“You are…” Alexander whispered, his voice trembling. “You are an extra-planar traveler carrying a sealed deity on your finger, tasked with resurrecting a fallen empire.”

​“Basically,” Siurad nodded.

​Alexander let out a long, high-pitched noise that might have been a laugh or a sob.

​“I was worried you were a heretic,” Alexander said, burying his face in his hands. “But no. You are a cosmic anomaly. That is…something much… worse.”

​“Bingo,” Siurad said, shooting finger guns at the confused priest.

​Alexander blinked, staring at the strange hand gesture.

​“Also,” Siurad continued, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “Yona is a Kitsune. Just thought I’d lay it all out on the line.”

​Alexander’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He just nodded weakly.

​“And... since you’re a priest,” Siurad said, his voice dropping, losing its playful edge. “I don’t know how it works here compared to where I’m from, but I’ve gotta tell you, man... I have been sinning.”

​Siurad looked down at his hands, the hands that could summon spikes of solid shadow.

​“I’ve killed men. A lot of men. And the weird part? It’s strangely not bothering me. It feels... efficient. Except for two.” Siurad rubbed his temples. “Sometimes I dream about them… really one of them. We saved some kids from slavery, but things got... complicated.”

​'…SAVE YOUR DRAMATIC SPEECHES,' Obi pulsed, the vibration sharp and dismissive. '…REMORSE  IS A WASTE OF PROCESSING POWER.'

​Alexander didn’t speak immediately. He sat on a rock, rocking slowly back and forth, clutching his holy symbol. He looked at Siurad, really looked at him. He saw a man who admitted to slaughter, but he also remembered the man who had saved a village of strangers.

​“Look, Siurad,” Alexander said finally, his voice trembling but firm. “When we first met, you asked me to be your anchor.”

​He stood up, brushing the ash from his white robes.

​“If what you say is true, then you are walking a knife’s edge. It is my duty, by the teachings of the Whitespire, to make sure you do not fall.” He adjusted his glasses. “I will not let you stray too far from the light. Even if I have to drag you.”

​'…MORE MORAL GRANDSTANDING,' Obi droned. '…INEFFICIENT.'

​“Shut up, Obi,” Siurad muttered.

​A shadow detached itself from the darkness nearby. Yona appeared, seemingly out of thin air, looking between the traumatized priest and the melancholy warlord.

​“What did I miss?” she asked, popping a piece of dried fruit into her mouth.

​“I told him,” Siurad sighed. “About me. About Obi. And that you’re a Kitsune.”

​Yona froze mid-chew. She looked at Alexander, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

​“Oh,” she said flatly. “Great. Now we have to kill him.”

​Siurad froze. “What?”

​Alexander let out a squeak of pure terror, pressing his back against the rock wall.

​Yona held the stare for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, she smirked, dropping the illusion entirely her tails flicking behind her.

​“Relax. I’m joking, Saint. We would have had to tell you sooner or later anyway. Carrying your dead body out of here would be a hassle.”

​Siurad and Alexander both let out a long, collective sigh of relief.

​'…THE OPTION SHOULD REMAIN UNDER CONSIDERATION,' Obi noted coldly.

​“Shut up, Obi!” Siurad and Yona snapped in unison.

​Alexander wiped sweat from his forehead. “What... what did the ring say?”

​Siurad looked at the terrified priest, then down at the ring. He forced a small, tired grin.

​“He says he’s glad we got it all out in the open.”

​“Well I found them,” Yona announced.

​Siurad looked up from where he was testing the range of motion in his shoulder. “How many?”

​“Twelve. Maybe fifteen,” Yona said, grabbing a water skin and taking a long pull. “They’re dug into a cave system about two miles east. They’ve got patrols, wards, and... things that aren't quite alive standing guard. A direct assault is doable, but messy. We’d burn resources we don't have.”

​“So, we need to sneak in?,” Siurad asked.

​“We need a distraction,” Yona corrected, a wicked grin spreading across her face. She pointed a clawed finger at Alexander.

​Alexander froze, a piece of hardtack halfway to his mouth. “Why are you pointing at me?”

​“You,” Yona declared, “are the offering.”

​“I beg your pardon?”

​“Plan P for priest,” Yona explained, pacing back and forth like she was outlining a heist. “We walk right up to the front door. We tell them we’re prospective candidates, mercenaries looking to expand our dark horizons. And to prove we’re serious, we brought a gift.”

​She gestured to Alexander’s pristine white robes.

​“A juicy, holy, Whitespire priest. Wrapped up with a bow.”

​Alexander choked on his hardtack. “That is... that is the single worst idea I have ever heard! You cannot be serious. They are cultists, Yona! Do you know what they do to priests? They don't just kill us; they recycle us!”

​'…EXCELLENT,' Obi pulsed, the ring flashing with a dark, approving light. '…DECEPTION IS THIS CASE IS ACCEPTABLE. EFFICIENT. THE PRIEST HAS HIGH VALUE AS BAIT.'

​“See? Obi loves it,” Yona said.

​“That is not an endorsement!” Alexander squeaked.

​Siurad rubbed his chin, looking at the terrified healer. “It’s risky. If they decide to accept the offering immediately... Alex is toast.”

​“They won’t,” Yona dismissed. “They’re archivists, right? Bureaucrats of the dead? They’ll want to process him first. Interrogate him. That buys us time to get inside, find the archives, and then break him out before they start peeling.”

“Peeling!?” Alexander shrieked.

​She looked at Siurad. “But for this to work, you can’t be Siurad the Shepherd. You need to be... well, you.”

​“Me?”

​“You need to be Tiny,” she said. “Big. Dumb. Scary. You don’t talk. You don’t strategize. You just loom. If they ask you a question, you grunt. I’ll do the talking. I’m the face; you’re the muscle. Can you handle being a mute brute for an hour?”

​Siurad stood up, drawing his black steel sword. He rolled his shoulders, let his jaw go slack, and stared blankly at a rock. He summoned that specific, empty-headed heaviness he used back in the village.

​“Hnn,” Siurad grunted, scratching his stomach with the flat of the blade.

​“Perfect,” Yona nodded. “That is the face of a man with zero thoughts and a lot of violence.”

​She turned to Alexander, who was currently hyperventilating.

​“Relax, Saint. We won’t let them actually eat you. Probably.” She tossed him a length of rope. “Now, be a dear and tie your hands behind your back. We have an interview to catch.”

​Alexander looked at the rope, then at Siurad, who was currently inspecting a bug on his armor, and finally at the sky.

​“I am going to die,” Alexander whispered. “I am going to die in a volcano, betrayed by a fox and a silent giant.”

​'…DEATH IS UNLIKELY,' Obi reassured him. '…SUFFERING IS GUARANTEED.'

​“That helps, Obi,” Siurad muttered under his breath, breaking character for a split second. “That really helps.”

Chapter Twentysix

​They approached the outpost of Peronin’s Watch with determined purpose.

​Siurad strode forward, deliberately emptying his mind until he possessed the intellectual depth of a wet tavern mop. His jaw hung loose, his eyes glazed over, and he dragged his feet just enough to sound heavy and dull.

​Yona prowled beside him, every step was calculated, radiating the arrogant confidence of a predator.

​Alexander, meanwhile, was vibrating.

​“They are going to skewer me,” Alexander murmured, his bound wrists trembling against the small of his back. “I am going to end up as a garnish.”

​“Quiet, Saint. Maintain character,” Yona hissed through a fixed, predatory smile.

​'…COWARDLY AS USUAL,' Obi noted, the vibration on Siurad’s finger dripping with disdain.

​“We won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise,” Siurad whispered out of the side of his mouth, trying to be reassuring.

​Thwack.

​Yona kicked Siurad in the shin. Hard.

​“No talking!” she snapped, not even looking at him. “Nothing but grunts from here on out, Tiny.”

A makeshift network of rusted iron plates and charred wooden bridges spiraled down into the depression of the caldera. Below, thick veins of lava flowed like a sluggish, glowing river, weaving around jagged islands of black rock.

​On the largest island sat a squat, bunker-like structure. It was constructed from carved igneous rock fused with grey clay, giving it the appearance of a hardened growth pushing out of the stone itself.

​As they rattled across the final metal bridge, two figures emerged from the structure to meet them. They were clad in dusty grey robes, their faces obscured by dirty white shaylas wrapped tight against the ash and heat.

​“Announce yourselves!” one of them yelled. The voice was female, sharp and commanding, cutting through the hiss of the steam vents.

​Yona shoved Alexander forward, making him stumble, while Siurad loomed silently behind her, slouching into his Tiny persona.

​“We wish to join the most exalted Peronin!” Yona shouted back, her voice echoing off the canyon walls. She grabbed Alexander by the back of his collar and shook him like a ragdoll. “And to prove our worth, we have brought a High Priest of the Whitespire as an offering!”

​Alexander let out a whimper that was very real.

​'…SUBTLETY IS DEAD,' Obi observed dryly. '…BUT THE THEATRICS ARE ADEQUATE.'

“A Priest of the Whitespire?” the woman repeated, her mouth twisting into a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “I am Gresha. This is Almere.”

​She turned to her companion, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Return to the outpost. Bring the Inspection Team. We have... unique cargo.”

​Almere nodded and vanished into the dark tunnel, leaving Gresha alone with the trio.

​“We will wait here and have a chat, shall we?” Gresha purred, her hand resting on the hilt of a jagged dagger.

​“I am Tricia,” Yona lied smoothly, offering a mock bow. “A long-time admirer of the Most Exalted. And this wall of meat is my manservant, Tiny. Say hello, Tiny.”

​Siurad slumped his shoulders, letting his jaw hang loose. He let out a wet, gravelly sound from deep in his chest.

​“Hrrrn.”

​“He’s not one for words,” Yona explained with a dismissive wave. “A accident involving a stubborn mule and a lightning spell. Tragic stuff, really.”

​Gresha didn’t so much as chuckle, she turned her gaze to Alexander.

​“Priest,” she said, circling him like a shark. “A most interesting predicament you find yourself in.”

​Alexander did not meet her eyes. His trembling was uncontrollable, the rope rattling against his wrists. He stared fixedly at the volcanic ash covering his boots.

​“How did you acquire him?” Gresha asked, looking back at Yona.

​“The fool was trying to save a gaggle of sickly orphans,” Yona sneered. “Orphans I had already marked as tribute for Peronin. You know how it is overhead costs. We tracked his trail, ambushed him in the woods, and I let Tiny do the heavy lifting.”

​“Grrrgh,” Siurad agreed, stomping a massive boot. The impact shook dust from the stone archway.

​Gresha flinched, taking a sharp step back. She looked up at the towering figure in black plate, at the wild mane of black locs framing a face that looked completely devoid of thought, yet brimming with violence.

​“I... see,” she said, her voice tighter than before. She glanced over her shoulder, clearly wishing the inspection team would hurry up. “Well. The team will be here shortly. Then we can further discuss your... aims.”

It wasn't long before a procession of six figures marched from the dark tunnel, moving with the synchronized steps of a drill team. They were dressed identically in dirty grey robes and ash-stained white shaylas.

​A short, portly man stepped out from the center of the formation. He bustled forward, his voice high and nasally, echoing off the cavern walls.

​“Gresha, this better not be a ruse! Do you know how backlogged we are? A Whitespire Priest, here? Now?”

​The man walked swiftly, his robes swishing, before abruptly stopping in his tracks.

​His gaze fell upon Alexander. A smile plastered itself across his face, wide and manic, making his curled mustache bounce with delight.

​“This specimen!” he gasped, pulling a shimmering, gold-rimmed monocle from his robe pocket. He jammed it over his right eye and leaned in uncomfortably close to the trembling priest.

​“Oh... my. Purity of the likes I’ve never seen. Look at that aura! I bet he’s never even stolen a piece of candy. Perfect. Absolutely pristine.”

​He swung the monocle toward Yona, his nose wrinkling slightly.

​“Miss Tricia, I have no idea how to thank you for this most delightful morsel,” he said fast, dismissing her with a wave. “She seems adequate. Nothing special. A bit... feral.”

​He redirected his vision back to Alexander, the smile returning, impossibly wider than before.

​“Amadeo, sir,” Gresha interrupted cautiously. “There is also... um... Tiny.”

​“Oh, yes, the help,” Amadeo mumbled, his eyes still lingering on Alexander’s terrified face.

​Finally, he tore his gaze away and diverted his attention toward Siurad. He adjusted the monocle and began his scan waist-high, moving up toward the chest.

​The moment the lens focused on the black steel breastplate, the glass detonated.

​CRACK-BOOM.

​The monocle exploded in a violent burst of magical sparks and glass dust.

​Amadeo let out an ear-shattering shriek, stumbling backward and clutching his face.

​Yona’s hand instantly flew to the dagger at her belt, her body tensing for a fight. Siurad stood frozen, wondering if he should draw his sword or keep playing dumb.

​Amadeo lowered his hands. He blinked. His face was covered in soot, but miraculously, he was unharmed.

​“Uh, excuse me,” Amadeo said bashfully, brushing glass dust from his mustache. “The safety mechanism prevents the shards from shattering inward... but it is still quite… bothersome.”

​He looked up at the group, his eyes wide with awe.

​“The priest!” Amadeo shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Alexander. “The ambient radiance of this specimen... he burst a B-Grade Aetherometer! His essence overloaded the lens while I was looking at the brute!”

​Yona slowly moved her hand away from her dagger. She looked at Siurad, then at Alexander.

​“Yeah,” Yona improvised, keeping a straight face. “He... does that. He’s very holy. High voltage.”

​“Miss Tricia, you have brought us a breakthrough,” Amadeo breathed, wiping his soot-stained hands on his robes. “Peronin will be sure to finally grace us with his presence with a specimen such as this at our disposal.”

​He spread his arms wide, looking between Yona and the silent giant.

​“Tell me. What is it you desire? Name your price.”

“I would like to be ingratiated within the greatness that is Peronin,” Yona said, placing a hand over her heart. “To learn the ways of the Watch. That is all I desire.”

​'…SHE IS A TERRIBLE ACTOR,' Obi’s voice echoed clearly in both their minds, cold and sharp. '...AND THIS VERMIN  IS A SPIRITUAL BARNACLE.'

​Yona remained calm, choosing not to display her distaste with Obi’s comments. She kept a smile plastered on her face, but her mental voice shot back instantly.

​Calm down, you self-important piece of regalia. I’m landing the con. You just sit there and sparkle.

​'…DO NOT COMMAND  ME … FOX,' Obi retorted. '…I AM THE AUTHORITY. YOU  ARE  THE HELP.'

​And without the help, you’re just jewelry on a corpse. Shut up and  let me work.

​Siurad fought the urge to smile as he listened to the telepathic bickering echoing in his skull. He let out a wet, rattling cough to cover the amusement.

​Amadeo didn't even notice. He had approached Alexander with zero understanding of personal space etiquette, his nose inches from the priest's trembling neck.

​“So pristine... so pristine,” Amadeo whispered, practically salivating.

​Yona stepped forward, talking over the arguing god in her head. “I always heard that Peronin’s followers kept the most arcane knowledge. Is this true?”

​“Oh, yes, my child,” Amadeo said dismissively, not looking away from the priest. “All knowledge is sacred to the Most Exalted.”

​He finally turned, his eyes wide and manic behind the broken monocle frame.

​“The Whitespire, the Silent Order, Charlemagne's Clergy, and the countless splinter groups like them across the world... they all seek to destroy such knowledge. They fear it. But we?”

​He spread his arms wide, his robes fluttering in the volcanic draft.

​“We believe all knowledge is power. The power to tame death itself.”

​He twirled around. “Gresha! Prepare a room in the Captive’s Quarters for our priest. Make it comfortable. Soft linens. No chains…they chafe the aura.”

​He snapped his fingers at the other guard. “Almere, prepare a bunk for our newest members. One room should be adequate for you and... uh... Tiny, was it? Yes, Tiny. Would you and Tiny sharing a room be amenable?”

​“One room is just fine, Master Amadeo,” Yona said, pouring the gratitude on thick. “Tiny gets separation anxiety.”

​'…SICKENING,' Obi pulsed violently. '…UNBECOMING. XARA WOULD NEVER GROVEL AT THIS MONKEY  RODENT’S  BEHEST.'

​Yona’s smile tightened just a fraction. She pushed the irritation down.

​Xara was a General. I’m a thief,’ Yona thought back, her internal voice firm but careful not to mock him. Generals kick down doors. Thieves unlock them. Unless you want to manifest and kill everyone in this room right now, you let me handle the talking.

​'…HMPH.'

​That’s what I thought. Sit tight, sticker.

​“Actually,” Yona said, stepping closer to Alexander. “I have grown quite attached to the priest. Would you mind if I accompanied him to the prisoner's quarters? Just to say goodbye?”

​“Captive’s quarters,” Gresha corrected sharply.

​“Very well,” Amadeo waved his hand. “Take her with you, Gresha. However...”

​He paused, his voice dropping the high-pitched nasal tone for something deeper, slimier. He looked Yona up and down, then glanced at Alexander with a possessive glint.

​“No funny business, Miss Tricia. I intend to keep the priest as... pristine as possible. We need his energies pure. Do not soil the merchandise with any... base appetites.”

​Yona blinked, processing the implication. Her nose wrinkled in genuine, unmasked disgust.

​“Ew,” she blurted out, breaking character for a split second. “He’s a priest, not a... never mind. Gross. Point taken.”

​“Show Tiny to their room,” Amadeo commanded, ignoring her reaction as his cheery demeanor snapped back into place. “After the tour, we have much to discuss. Peronin’s will shines on us today!”

​With that, he spun toward the tunnel entrance and disappeared into the darkness.

​'…THE RODENT IS VULGAR,' Obi noted into the silence.

​For once, Yona didn't argue. Agreed.

“Well, let's head in shall we?”

The heavy oak door to the Captive’s Quarters swung open without a creak, revealing a room that Alexander found infinitely more terrifying than a dungeon cell.

It was luxurious.

Thick, crimson carpets covered the stone floor, muffling their footsteps. The walls were draped in velvet tapestries depicting scenes of peaceful anatomical study. In the center sat a four-poster bed piled high with silk pillows, and on a mahogany side table rested a silver platter overflowing with grapes, cheese, and a carafe of wine.

“The Sapphire Suite,” Gresha announced, gesturing grandly. “Reserved for our most... delicate acquisitions.”

Alexander stood in the doorway, trembling. “There are no bars.”

“Why would there be?” Gresha smiled, a thin, paper-cut of an expression. “You are a guest of Master Amadeo. To cage you would be to stress the product. Stress sours the spiritual vintage.”

She turned to Yona. “You have five minutes. Do not excite him.”

Gresha stepped back into the hallway, crossing her arms, watching them like a hawk.

Yona grabbed Alexander by the shoulders and marched him into the room, kicking the door shut just enough to block Gresha’s direct line of sight.

“Listen to me,” Yona hissed, her voice barely a breath. “This is the waiting room. They’re fattening you up.”

“They gave me throw pillows, Yona!” Alexander whispered frantically, holding up a tassel. “Evil cults do not provide lumbar support! This is psychological warfare!”

“It’s a spa day before the sacrifice,” Yona corrected. “Enjoy the grapes. Don't drink the wine, it probably has a sedative to keep your mana calm. Just sit tight, look holy, and wait for my signal.”

“What is the signal?”

“Explosions,” Yona said simply. “Or screaming. Usually both.”

'…TELL THE PRIEST TO STOP HYPERVENTILATING,' Obi’s voice cut into the conversation, echoing in both their minds. '…HIS ANXIETY IS LOWERING THE ROOM’S AMBIENT … TEMPERATURE. IT IS ANNOYING.'

He’s terrified, you unfeeling paperweight, Yona shot back mentally.

“Obi says to breathe,” Yona translated aloud. She patted Alexander on the cheek a little too hard. “You’re doing great, Saint. Just remember: You’re high value merchandise. If they try anything weird, threaten to bruise yourself. They seem terrified of damaging the packaging.”

Alexander nodded, swallowing hard. “I... I can do that. I can be fragile.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Yona turned and slipped back into the hallway, flashing a charming smile at Gresha.

“He’s all settled in,” Yona chirped. “He’s praying. Best not to disturb him.”

Gresha nodded, locking the heavy door with a complex, multi-tumbler key.

“You have a good eye for quality, Tricia,” Gresha said, her tone slightly warmer now that business was concluded. “A Whitespire Priest is a rare catch. Most mercenaries just bring us goblins or lost hikers.”

“I aim to please,” Yona said smoothly.

Gresha paused, looking Yona up and down with a new appreciation.

“You know,” Gresha murmured, gesturing down the hall. “Since Master Amadeo is so taken with your offering, perhaps I should show you why we value quality so highly. We have some... unique assets currently in processing.”

Yona raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I do enjoy seeing the competition.”

“Follow me.”

They walked past the luxury suites and descended a spiral staircase carved directly into the volcanic rock. The air here was different. colder, despite the lava nearby. It smelled of sulfur, wet fur, and old blood.

“We specialize in anomalies,” Gresha explained, her heels clicking on the metal grating of the walkway.

She stopped in front of a cell barred with thick, translucent crystal. Inside sat a creature that looked like a woman, but her skin was shifting, colorful glass. She was singing a song that had no sound, yet Yona felt her teeth vibrate.

“A Crystalline Siren from the Xericosta coast,” Gresha noted. “Her voice can liquefy a human brain in under ten seconds. We had to surgically seal her vocal cords. Now she just hums. We harvest her tears for alchemy.”

Yona nodded, feigning polite interest while suppressing a shudder. “Lovely.”

“And here,” Gresha continued, walking to the next containment unit. This one was a heavy iron box with a single viewing slit. “We have a albino river wraith. Nasty business. It tries to teleport through the walls every hour on the hour. We have to keep the runes in the room constantly anchored.”

“Impressive,” Yona admitted.

"We have other options, but you seem like someone who doesn't enjoy the mundane."

“But the pride of the collection is down here,” Gresha said, a sinister excitement creeping into her voice. “We found him wandering the wastes near the old ruins. He ate three retrieval teams before we managed to subdue him with a sleeping curse. The High Priest is infatuated with him.”

Gresha stopped at the end of the corridor. There was no cell here. There was a pit.

It was a circular depression in the floor, thirty feet deep, covered by a heavy grate of enchanted black iron. The runes etched into the metal were glowing a furious, angry red.

Yona stepped onto the grate and looked down. Gazing over the side she couldn't help but think of Brundis and the undead creature he and his group encountered. 

As she peered over she was taken aback. At the bottom of the pit, curled up on a pile of gnawed bones, was a wolf. She expected to see a colossal bone demon.

It looked surprisingly normal, it was about the size of a very large dog, perhaps a bit bigger than a German Shepherd. Its fur was jet black, blending perfectly with the shadows of the pit. It was asleep, its chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

“That’s it?” Yona asked, underwhelmed. “It looks like a stray.”

“Do not be deceived,” Gresha warned. “Asset 9 is a Shadow Wolf. He is more dangerous than he looks. We tried to put a collar on him last week. He almost ate the handler and went back to sleep.”

Yona stared down at the beast. She felt a strange tug in her chest… or rather, a tug from the ring on Siurad’s hand, echoing through their connection even at this distance.

'…INTERESTING,' Obi’s voice resonated in her skull. '… IT HUMS WITH THE SAME ATTUNEMENT OF THE VOID.'

What is it? Yona thought.

'…A NATURAL CONDUIT,' Obi replied, sounding intrigued.

As if hearing the voice, the black wolf’s ear twitched.

Slowly, the wolf lifted its head. It didn't look at Gresha. It looked directly at Yona.

The wolf’s eyes opened. They weren't yellow or red like a normal beast. They were a deep, vibrant Violet.

The wolf stood up, shook its fur, and wagged its tail once. A single, heavy thump against the stone floor.

Gresha gasped, leaning over the railing. “His eyes... they’ve never done that before. They’re usually grey.”

She looked at Yona, confused. “Why is he looking at you like that?”

Yona stared into those violet eyes. She felt a strange kinship. It was the look of a predator recognizing another predator.

Obi, she projected. Does Siurad like dogs?

'…THE SHEPHERD HAS AN AFFINITY FOR STRAYS,' Obi noted. '…AND THIS ONE SMELLS LIKE US.'

“I have a way with animals,” Yona said to Gresha, shrugging nonchalantly. “Maybe he thinks I have snacks.”

“Highly unlikely,” Gresha muttered, staring at the violet glow. “But... fascinating.”

She turned away from the pit. “Come. The tour can wait. We have work to do if we want to be ready for the sacrifice.”

Yona followed her, but she cast one last look over her shoulder.

The wolf was still watching her. It sat down, tilted its head, and let out a soft woof that echoed with the sound of distant thunder.

Yona followed Gresha back up the spiral staircase and through the winding hallways, leaving the cold dread of the monster pits behind. They came to a four-way intersection lit by flickering soul-lanterns.

“Your room is down that corridor, third door on the left,” Gresha said, pointing a pale finger into the gloom. “Relax. Get settled. Enjoy some downtime with your... large friend until Master Amadeo is ready for you. Almere or I will return to escort you to the Hall of Communion.”

She paused, looking Yona over with approval.

“You have strong instincts, Tricia. You will fit in well here. Most recruits flinch at the sight of the wolf. You smiled.”

“What can I say?” Yona leaned against the wall, flashing a conspiratorial grin. “I appreciate dangerous things. Speaking of which... I’m dying to get a look at those archives you mentioned. A girl like me is always looking to expand her repertoire.”

Gresha chuckled dryly. “Ambition. I like that. Patience, sister. After our meeting, I will be sure to walk you through the stacks.”

Gresha straightened her robes and made a sign of respect. It was a circle drawn over her heart.

“By Peronin’s Will.”

“By Peronin’s Will,” Yona echoed, mimicking the gesture perfectly.

As Gresha turned and marched away, Obi’s voice droned in Yona’s mind.

'…THEIR  HAND SIGNALS ARE SLOPPY. LYSANDER’S WERE MATHEMATICALLY PRECISE.'

Everyone’s a critic, Yona thought, pushing off the wall.

She adjusted her daggers and headed down the corridor Gresha had indicated.

Alright, Jewelry. Guide me in. I hope Tiny hasn't broken anything yet.

'…THE SHEPHERD IS CURRENTLY STARING AT A WALL,' Obi reported dryly. '…HIS ACTING IS IMPROVING. HE  LOOKS REMARKABLY VACANT  BUT HE REQUIRES YOUR ASSISTANCE.'

Yona frowned, quickening her pace. Great.

Silent Order Interlude

The chamber possessed the cavernous grandeur of a ballroom rather than the tactical austerity of a war room. A massive table of veined marble dominated the floor, bathed in light from elegant windows draped in shrouds of white and gold.

​Fifty guards stood rigid along the walls, their faces hidden behind featureless porcelain masks. In the silence between shifts of armor, servants drifted like ghosts, pouring wine and attending to the fourteen members of the Silent Order’s Grand Council.

​At the head of the table sat High Magistrate Saevel Dorberos. He was an ancient thing, his eyes holding the weight of epochs, the longest-tenured member of the Order.

​“Order,” Saevel said. His voice was not loud, yet it suffocated the murmurs in the room instantly. “I detest abandoning pleasantries, but the era of comfort has ended. Nethyua the Unmaker has escaped. We are stretched thin. Therefore, I am authorizing a complete legacy conscription. Effective immediately.”

​“High Magistrate, a legacy conscription is impossible.” Viamur Blackmarsh, a hardened human from Alamadius, leaned forward. “With scouts hunting the dormant artifacts and our knights chasing the active ones, our infrastructure will fracture. We cannot train a levy of that size.”

​Saevel turned his gaze slowly toward Viamur. The air in the room seemed to drop in temperature.

​“Do you require a history lesson, Viamur? Must I remind you of the cost of hesitation?” Saevel’s voice was smooth, like cold glass. “The last time the Unmaker challenged the status quo, a quarter of my kin were butchered on the whim of his consort. A Dwarven kingdom was wiped from the maps. The Beast-kin were twisted into radicals. That demon broke the world.”

​Saevel leaned back, his fingers drumming on the marble. “We do not even know what horrors he released from the vaults. Scribes are currently bleeding their eyes over texts older than my own bloodline to find an answer.”

​“Magistrate,” interjected Sayoko Satsuki. The Panterra beast-kin’s ears were flattened against her skull. “Such a move will shatter our network. Our operations in Doria and Vildris are already being strangled by the Spire.”

​“You speak to me of the Spire?” A vein of true irritation cracked Saevel's composure.

​“Pompous, arrogant children. They would sooner debate philosophy while the world burns than raise a sword to save it. Remember this, Sayoko: The Spire deals in idealism. We deal in survival.”

​Saevel stood, signaling the end of the debate. “Let the regional councils manage the fallout. The thirteen continents will yield to us eventually, or they will perish. Focus on the conscription. Nethyua awaits.”

Chapter Twentyseven

Siurad sat on the stone slab, staring at a blank wall.

He was bored.

Everything had started smoothly enough. Almere had marched him into the room, pointed at the bed, and stood by the door. Siurad had taken a seat, slumped his shoulders, and engaged his Screensaver Mode.

For the first ten minutes, he just made random grunts and groans to keep up appearances.

“Hnnng.”

“Guh.”

But as the silence stretched on, his mind began to wander. He started daydreaming about his old life. He wondered if he would ever witness the majestic cultural phenomenon of twerking again. Would he ever taste a Popeyes biscuit without needing a gallon of water? Would he ever smell the sweet, chemical aroma of a Black & Mild burning on a porch in November?

Life’s most important questions invaded his mind.

He shifted his weight and realized Almere hadn't left. The guard was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Siurad with the intensity of a zoo keeper watching a animal that had figured out how to pick locks.

Siurad decided to test the waters. He turned his head slowly and let out an inquisitive grunt.

“Argh?”

Almere didn't blink. He just stared.

Siurad tried a different tactic. He stood up to his full height, rolled his shoulders to emphasize the black steel plate, and let out a guttural roar of intimidation.

“ GARRRH! ”

No luck. Almere didn't flinch. He just looked tired.

“Look,” Almere said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Sir Tiny... I am tasked with watching you until Tricia returns. Technically, she is the applicant. You are... equipment. Protocol states I cannot leave unsecured heavy assets unattended.”

“GARGHHM,” Siurad grumbled, which roughly translated to "This sucks.”

He sat back down and turned to face the wall again.

Obi, Siurad projected. What's Yonas status report? I’m dying of boredom here. The guard thinks I’m furniture.

'…THE  FOX  IS  RETURNING,' Obi replied, his voice calm in Siurad’s skull. '…SHE HAS SUCCESSFULLY NAVIGATED THE SOCIAL LABYRINTH. SHE IS CURRENTLY WALKING DOWN THE HALL.'

Good, Siurad thought. I can drop the act soon.

Siurad leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

And then he froze.

There it was. The Bane. The Nemesis. The enemy that spanned multiple dimensions.

Hanging from a single, invisible thread, directly above his face, was a spider. It wasn't some whimsical magic infused monster. It was worse. It was a fuzzy, brown jumping spider with white marks on its abdomen, roughly the size of a gold coin.

It was descending. Rapidly.

Siurad’s breath hitched. His heart rate spiked from a resting 60 to 140 in a single second.

Obi, Siurad thought, his mental voice cracking with panic. It’s coming towards me.

'… IT IS  NOT A THREAT, Obi droned. '…IT IS AN ARACHNID. MASS: 2 GRAMS. TOXICITY: NON-LETHAL.'

I don’t care about the math! Siurad screamed internally as the spider dropped another inch, its legs wiggling in the air. It’s descending! I can’t move! If I move, I break character! If I stay, it lands on my face!

'…YOU DEFEATED AN URSAURUS,' Obi pointed out ruthlessly. '…YET YOU FEAR THE  BUG.'

IT’S NOT A BUG, IT’S A MONSTER! BURN IT! USE THE VOID! NUKE THE ROOM!

'…INEFFICIENT.'

The spider swung like a pendulum, inching closer to Siurad’s nose. Siurad began to sweat, a cold, clammy terror that no amount of necromancy could suppress.

“Hrrrn...” Siurad whimpered aloud, the sound high-pitched and distinctly un-Tiny-like.

The spider dropped.

​ It rappelled down with the mission precision of a spec-ops soldier and landed softly, fuzzily, right on the bridge of Siurad’s nose.

​Siurad went cross-eyed. He could feel the tiny legs. He could see the multiple eyes staring into his soul.

​GET IT OFF! Siurad screamed internally. OBI, DO SOMETHING! KILL US BOTH! I DON’T CARE!

​'…OVERREACTION,' Obi sighed.

​The spider moved. It tickled.

​Siurad’s Tiny persona cracked. Pure, primal repulsion took over. But his survival instinct ,the part that knew Almere was watching, hijacked the reaction at the last second.

​Siurad roared.

​“GRAAAH!”

​He clenched both fists and slammed them down onto the stone slab he was sitting on. The impact was terrifying. The solid rock bench didn't just crack; it shattered, exploding into dust and gravel beneath his black steel gauntlets.

​At the same time, he whipped his head forward, headbutting the air, dislodging the spider, with enough force to snap a normal man's neck.

​Debris flew everywhere. Dust filled the room.

​Almere jumped three feet in the air, his hand flying to his sword.

​“What the hells?!” Almere shouted, coughing in the dust cloud.

​Siurad sat amidst the rubble of the bench, breathing heavily. The spider was gone, most likely vaporized by the shockwave or flung into the debris.

​Siurad slowly looked up at the terrified guard. He needed an excuse. He needed a reason for the outburst.

​He pointed a shaking, armored finger at the floor.

​“Bug,” Siurad grunted.

​Almere stared at the destroyed stone slab. Then at Siurad. Then at the spot on the floor.

​“You...” Almere blinked. “You destroyed a reinforced sleeping slab... because of a bug?”

​Siurad nodded solemnly. “Big bug.”

​Almere slowly took his hand off his sword. He didn't look suspicious anymore. He looked terrified and slightly pitiable.

​“Right,” Almere whispered. “Okay. Good job, Tiny. You... you got him.”

​'…PATHETIC,' Obi noted. '…BUT EFFECTIVE.'

​At that exact moment, the heavy iron door creaked open.

​Yona stepped in, freezing as she took in the scene: The dust cloud, the terrified guard, and Siurad sitting in a pile of gravel.

​She looked at Siurad. She saw the sheer panic still lingering in his eyes. She looked at the floor and saw a single, twitching spider leg.

​She smirked.

​“I leave you alone for ten minutes,” Yona sighed, shaking her head. “Almere, you can go. I’ll handle him. He gets cranky when he sees spiders.”

​Almere edged toward the door, keeping his back to the wall. “He... he’s all yours, Tricia. I’ll be... anywhere else.”

​The guard fled.

​As soon as the door clicked shut, Siurad slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.

​“It touched me, Yona,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It had fur.”

“Toughen up, buttercup,” Yona said, dismissing his trauma with a wave of her hand. “I come bearing intel. First off, Alexander is currently resting in a beautiful suite with a nice cozy bed. It's weird. I think they want him to relax for the ritual. Marinating the meat, so to speak.”

“Okay…” Siurad murmured, his eyes darting to the corners of the ceiling, searching for other eight-legged abominations. “Go on.”

“Secondly, there’s a meeting soon. After that, I get access to the Archives,” Yona continued, counting on her fingers. “Thirdly, I figured out our exit strategy. They have a collection of monsters downstairs, including a very big, very bored Shadow Wolf that I’m pretty sure wants to be your best friend.”

Siurad paused his spider-scan. “The wolf?”

“The wolf. I think he’ll make the perfect distraction. We hit the archives, I pop the locks on the cages, we grab the Saint while everyone is screaming, and we boogie.”

“So, if I follow,” Siurad said, rubbing his temple. “You want to heist the library, start a monster riot, kidnap the priest, and then dip?”

“Exactly,” she said with a toothy grin. “Simple.”

“What if they try to sacrifice Alexander before that?”

“Pfft. You see Amadeo?” Yona scoffed. “He definitely has a sacrificial boner for Alexander. He wants everything perfect. He’s probably giving the Saint a back rub as we speak. He won't make a move until the ceremony.”

'…THE MONKEY RODENT  IS  A CREEP,' Obi pulsed.

Siurad frowned, looking at his hand. “What is with all this monkey talk lately? You usually just call them mortals.”

'…DID  I OFFEND YOUR PRIMITIVE GENETIC BLOODLINE?' Obi retorted, the vibration sharp and defensive.

Siurad squinted at the ring, then looked at Yona. “Yona... did you piss him off?”

Yona inspected her fingernails, feigning innocence. “We had a creative difference.”

'…SHE CALLED ME A STICKER,' Obi broadcasted, his tone dripping with divine outrage.

Siurad let out a short bark of laughter. “You called an ancient cosmic entity... a sticker?”

“He was being annoying!” Yona defended herself. “Besides, he started it.”

'…INSOLENCE,' Obi muttered, fading into a sullen hum.

“Alright,” Siurad said, standing up and dusting the rock fragments from his armor. He did one last check for spiders, then nodded. “Let’s get ready for the meeting.”

Within the hour, Almere returned. But this time, he didn't come alone. He brought three other grey-robed cultists with him, all keeping their hands near their weapons. The sight of the pulverized stone slab clearly inspired some caution.

“Sister Tricia,” Almere announced from the safety of the doorway. “If you are ready, the meeting is about to convene.”

“Thank you so much, Brother Almere,” Yona said, adjusting her gear. “Tiny, let's go.”

“Arghh,” Siurad grunted, standing up and shuffling toward the door with his best lobotomized henchman walk.

“Just... follow us,” Almere said, keeping a very healthy distance from the duo.

As they walked down the corridor, the silence was oppressive.

I’m bored, Siurad projected to the Ring. I’m going to have some fun.

'…THE VESSEL INTENDS TO ENTERTAIN HIMSELF,' Obi relayed the message to Yona immediately.

Yona glanced up at Siurad, her eyes widening. She plastered a look of absolute NO across her face, shaking her head slightly.

‘Tell him NO, Obi!’ she projected frantically. ‘We’re undercover! They might overreact!’

'…THE FOX THINKS IT IS UNWISE,' the Ring pulsed.

There was a sudden, distinct moment of contemplation. A pause where Siurad could practically feel Obi weighing the pros and cons, or perhaps just remembering being called a "sticker."

'…DO  IT,' Obi commanded.

Siurad grinned internally. He took a deep breath and broke out into a sudden, distraught wail that echoed off the cavern walls.

“ARGHHHH! MULEYYYY!”

He stomped his feet, shaking the floorboards. He raised his armored fists in the air like he was cursing the gods themselves.

“MULEYYYY! WHY?!”

Almere spun around, his eyes popping out of his head. The three cultists behind him drew their daggers in a panic, backing away from the wailing giant.

“Sister Tricia!” one of them shouted, his voice cracking. “We ask that you calm your servant immediately! He is unstable!”

“MULEEEYYY!” Siurad cried, adding a fake sob that sounded like a dying walrus.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Yona shouted, waving her hands. “He just gets emotional sometimes! His mule was murdered when he was a child! It was... mule-on-mule violence! Very traumatic!”

“MULEYYYYY!”

Thwack.

Yona kicked him hard in the shin. Again.

“Quiet, Tiny!” she barked. She looked at the terrified cultists with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. Sometimes violence is the only thing that keeps the big brute in line. He’s very sensitive about equine crime.”

'…EXCELLENT PERFORMANCE,' Obi noted dryly.

Siurad sniffled loudly, wiped his nose on his gauntlet, and slumped back into silence.

“Hrn,” he grunted.

Almere stared at them for a long, horrified second. Then, he slowly sheathed his weapon.

“Right,” Almere whispered. “Let’s... let’s just get to the hall.”

The rest of the walk went off without a hitch. Obi pulsed with the smug satisfaction of getting one up on Yona. Siurad was just happy to get his revenge for her dismissal of the eight-legged monstrosity earlier in the tunnels. Yona, seething internally, walked in silence, already calculating the perfect moment to enact her revenge.

They arrived at the Hall of Communion. It was a cavernous chamber, dominated by a large stone table and high-backed chairs. In the shadowy corners stood undead abominations, clumsy things, cobbled together from mismatched bones of different species.

At the table sat Amadeo, Gresha, a terrified Alexander, and at the head sat a man they had not seen before. He was frail, with dark, sunken eyes and gaunt facial features that made him appear to be a walking corpse himself.

“Please sit,” he said, his voice carrying a sophisticated, practiced inflection. “I am George Phaust. In your short stay, I have heard much about you. Tricia... you brought me a priest. But you also brought us help. We lack muscle, which you have provided, we have many issues that need to be solved.”

Phaust gestured vaguely at the ceiling. “Our leader is currently out shoring up the perimeter with his guardians. He has been… paranoid as of late. Your servant could help keep the watch while you ingratiate yourself in the ways of Peronin.”

“Brother George, nothing would make me happier than being able to contribute to this great cause,” Yona said, bowing her head slightly.

'…DESPICABLE,' Obi pulsed with irritation.

“ARGHH,” Siurad muttered, offering his best interpretation of Tiny’s approval.

“The priest,” Amadeo cut in, his eyes darting hungrily toward the captive Alexander. “A most glorious sacrifice. He will please Vex.”

“Vex?” Yona asked.

Gresha nodded. “He is the High Priest of Peronin. He is the leader of our establishment.”

The Ring on Siurad’s finger grew cold.

'…VEX?' Obi hissed in Siurad’s mind. '…THE AUTHORITY HAD A VEX. HE WOULD NEVER DEAL WITH SUCH RODENTS. IMPOSTER.'

Your Vex is long gone, Obi. Let me work, Yona shot back mentally.

A heavy, rhythmic thud marked the sound of something approaching from the hallway. The floor vibrated. Dust fell from the ceiling.

“Speak of the devil,” Gresha whispered, looking toward the entrance with genuine fear.

The heavy iron doors didn't creak open. They were shoved.

With a groan of twisting metal, the doors swung inward, revealing three figures standing in the gloom.

The first two were monstrosities. They were towering constructs of fused bone, tall and wide at the shoulder. They looked like walking fortress walls, their ribs reinforced with layers of extraneous femurs and skulls, polished to a dull, ivory gleam.

The one on the left wore a hat. A tattered, ancient red velvet cape that barely covered its massive shoulder blades. A single monocle was fused into its eye socket.

The one on the right was equally massive, a hulking tank of calcium, but it wore a faded, oversized floral sundress that strained against its enormous ribcage. A delicate straw sun hat was perched atop its terrifying skull.

Between them walked a man who looked tired and weathered.

He was tall and gaunt, his skin the color of old parchment. He wore robes of deep midnight blue that seemed to absorb the light, and his eyes burned with a sickly, flickering green fire.

“High Priest Vex!” Amadeo gasped, dropping to his knees. “We... we were not ready! The preparations—”

Vex didn't even look at him. He didn't look at Phaust. He didn't look at the captive. His gaze fell squarely on Siurad.

He walked straight toward the giant.

The two bone golems flanked him, their heavy footsteps shaking the floorplates. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Vex stopped three feet from Siurad. He looked up, his green eyes scanning the warrior's face, before dropping to the hand resting on the sword hilt. To the Ring.

Vex froze. His breath hitched in a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob.

Siurad stiffened, his thumb clicking the sword loose.

'…WAIT,' Obi’s voice commanded. The voice in Siurad’s head was usually arrogant or bored. Now, it sounded... stunned.

'…LOOK AT THE HAT.'

Siurad blinked. “The... hat?”

'…THE STRAW HAT AND THE CAPE.'

Obi’s presence in the Ring swelled, vibrating with a confused delight.

'…TORIAN MADE THOSE. HE MADE THOSE FOR STEVE AND JULIA.'

Vex took a trembling step forward. He looked like a man seeing a ghost. His terrifying aura flickered, revealing the desperate, ancient man beneath.

“The Void,” Vex whispered. His voice was cracked, unused. “It’s... It’s...”

He reached out a shaking hand toward Siurad.

“Tiny!” Yona barked, trying to intervene. “Don’t let him touch you! He’s—”

“Silence,” Vex whispered. The air in the room grew instantly cold, and Yona’s voice died in her throat, choked off by fear.

Vex looked at the Ring. Tears of black, viscous ichor, began to well in his glowing green eyes.

'…ASK HIM,' Obi whispered. '…THE CODE. ASK HIM IF THE TAFFETA CHAFES.'

Siurad looked at the weeping necromancer, then at the two eight-foot skeletons looming over him. He felt ridiculous. He cleared his throat.

“Hey,” Siurad grunted, his deep voice echoing in the silent room. “My friend... he wants to know something.”

Vex looked up, his face wet with black tears. “What?” he choked out.

“He wants to know if the taffeta still chafes.”

The silence that followed was absolute. George Phaust looked confused. Amadeo looked terrified.

Vex closed his eyes. His shoulders shook. For a second, Siurad thought the man was laughing, but then he realized he was weeping.

“The taffeta turned to dust three millennia ago,” Vex sobbed, his voice breaking. “We wear silk now. It breathes better in the crypts.”

'…IT IS HIM.'

Obi’s voice wasn't loud. It was soft.

'...LYSANDER HAS LOST THIS WAGER.'

Siurad could feel the somber emotions resonating within the Ring.

Vex fell.

He collapsed, hitting his knees with a thud, burying his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably at Siurad’s feet.

“I lost them, Master!” Vex wailed, the sound tearing out of his throat. “When the Protocol hit... when Lysander scattered us... I tried to hold on! I tried to go back! I wanted to save them!”

He looked up, his face a mask of ancient grief.

“Only two skeletons came with me! I only saved Steve and Julia! The rest of the division... is locked inside the Citadel. It has been just us, Master. For three thousand, five hundred years... just us.”

A sob escaped his lips.

The two massive bone golems stepped forward.

The one with the cape, Steve, slowly knelt on one knee, the floor cracking under his weight. He lowered his massive, anvil-sized head. The one in the sundress, Julia did the same, bowing with a terrifying, heavy grace.

“Vex?” Phaust stepped forward, his sophisticated veneer cracking. “What is this? Who is this man? You are the Voice of Peronin! You—”

Vex spun around on his knees. The grief vanished, replaced by a snarl of pure, incandescent rage.

“I AM THE KEEPER OF THE BONE WARD!” Vex roared, the green fire flaring up and scorching the ceiling. “HIGH NECROMANCER OF THE OBSIDIAN AUTHORITY!”

He turned back to Siurad, grabbing the giant’s greaves like a lifeline.

“I built them into something Xara would be proud of, Master,” Vex blubbered, gesturing to the hulking constructs. “I knew you would need muscle when you returned. I reinforced the ribcages. I fused the femurs. I kept the hat, Master! I kept the hat safe!”

'…YOU DID WELL VEX,' Obi said. The Ring pulsed, the usual cold fading into something steady. '…YOU DID VERY WELL. STEVE LOOKS ROBUST.'

“He says... Steve looks robust,” Siurad translated awkwardly.

Vex let out a wet, hysterical laugh. “He is! He can punch through a castle gate! And Julia... Julia can crush a carriage with one hand!”

Vex scrambled to his feet, wiping the black tears from his face. He looked manic, energized by a purpose he hadn't felt in eras.

“Wait,” Siurad said. “You’re the leader of this cult? The ones trying to summon Peronin?”

“Peronin was a cover!” Vex shouted, waving his staff. “i created thin coven to get idiots to gather mana for me! I have been trying to summon Kivuli all this time.”

“Kivuli?” Yona asked.

'…RAIMI GAVE ME THAT NAME.' 

“Leave us,” Vex said, staring at the obsidian ring. “We have much to discuss.”

​The silence in the room was like a breathless vacuum following a detonation.

​Yona stared at Siurad, her eyes wide. They had heard the ring, Obi, ramble about the Authority for weeks, dismissing it as the probability of a glitched artifact. But here, in the rotting flesh, was a terrifyingly powerful necromancer bending the knee.

​It was real. The madness was actually real.

​Gresha and George sat frozen, mouths slightly agape, staring at Vex as if he had just sprouted a second, uglier head.

​“Must I repeat myself?” Vex asked softly. A flare of necrotic green fire pulsed in his sockets.

​Steve, the massive skeleton construct, slowly swiveled his ribcage toward the stubborn cultists. His heavy bones groaned like the hull of a sinking ship. Beside him, Julia ran a colossal, skeletal finger lovingly across her own vertebrae.

​The message was received.

​The cultists scrambled. It was a chaotic, desperate procession toward the door. Amadeo was halfway out, dragging Alexander by the collar, before Yona stepped forward.

​“The priest stays,” she said. Her voice was firm, though her face lacked its usual color. “He’s with us,” she added, shooting a sharp glance toward Vex.

​“Release the vessel,” Vex commanded, not even deigning to look at the cult leader.

​Amadeo hesitated. For a split second, greed warred with survival. The priest was a rare find, a pure battery of light. But then Steve cracked his knuckles, a sound like gunshots in a library.

​Amadeo released his grip, offered a spasmodic bow, and fled into the corridor.

​“Oh, thank the Heavens,” Alexander exhaled, sliding down the wall until he hit the floor. He adjusted his crooked glasses, looking like a man who had survived a dragon attack by hiding in a bush. “I thought I was going to be an ingredient.”

​Vex ignored him. He took a seat at the head of the heavy oak table. In an instant, the fiery, terrifying aura of the necromancer vanished, replaced by a smile that was somehow more unsettling. It was the wide, beaming grin of a true believer.

​He looked at the ring on Siurad’s finger with pure, unadulterated adoration.

​“Tell me… who has the honor of carrying Him?” Vex asked.

​Yona stepped in, sensing Siurad was still rebooting his brain. “I am Yona. The puddle of robes in the corner is Alexander, Whitespire's luckiest priest. And the brooding man wearing the jewelry is Siurad.”

​“Siurad,” Vex tasted the name. “Tell me. How did you come to possess Kivuli?”

​'...I SUMMONED HIM.'

​Obi’s voice boomed in Siurad’s mind, loud enough to make him wince physically.

​“He can't hear you, Obi,” Siurad muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose to stave off the migraine. He looked at Vex. “He says he summoned me.”

​“And you are Hodarian?” Vex asked, tilting his head.

​“Chicagoan, actually. I'm not from this world,” Siurad admitted, feeling the heavy coldness of the ring. “I was… imported.”

​Vex paused. He looked Siurad up and down, analyzing his soul signature with a hum of necrosis. Then, he nodded slowly, a look of profound admiration dawning on his face.

​“As expected of Kivuli. To pull a soul across the realms? Nothing is beyond his grasp.” Vex leaned forward, eager. “But that is the question. I tried to summon him. For a millennia, I tried everything. Blood, souls, void-anchors. Why did nothing work?”

​'...I AM NOT SOME COMMON VAGRANT.'

​Siurad cleared his throat, deciding to filter the insult for the sake of diplomacy. “He says, uh… the frequency was wrong. Also, Obi says the landscape has changed. He wants to return to his home, but he's not sure how. He keeps talking about the Fulani Mountains.”

​“They have stripped the names from our homeland. They have tried to erase our history. We come from… It used to be Zuria, a continent to the West,” Vex explained, waving a hand dismissively. “Considered a dead zone these days. Now they call it the dead land,  I wouldn't advise going there. Not yet. You’re no Xara. If I couldn't breach the outer walls, you certainly can't. But… with Kivuli back? Perhaps.”

​'...ASK HIM  WHY THEY BETRAYED ME .'

​The ring chilled him to the bone. Siurad could feel Obi’s agitation spiking, a needle of ice in his brain.

​“He wants to know why Xara betrayed him,” Siurad relayed.

​Vex blinked. The fanboy smile dropped. “Betrayed? Xara? Impossible. Her loyalty to the System was absolute.”

​'...LIES.'

​Obi pulsed violently. The temperature in the room plummeted. Vex sensed the shift in pressure, the crushing weight of the Void, and winced, rubbing his own chest as if his dead heart had skipped a beat.

​“I was not there to witness what happened… However, the… the teleportation,” Vex stammered, changing the subject. “It scattered us. Most are gone. I heard rumors that Archibald was in Bunzirheora three centuries ago. And Aman… well, Aman has been dealing with things in his own way. Barbaric ways. We thought it safer to stay separated. But now…”

​Vex’s confidence returned, his eyes glowing. “Now that the Authority is back, we must rebuild.”

​'...THE MOLLUSK SURVIVED?'

​Obi sounded dumbfounded.

​'...THE  BUTCHER LIVES?'

​Siurad froze. “Wait… hold up. The mollusk was real?” He looked at the ring, then at Vex. “You mean the snail? The ‘Archibald’ he compares me to every time I do something stupid?”

​“Archibald is the greatest mind second to only Lysander,” Vex said reverently. “Though… yes. He is a giant snail. He has gotten eccentric in his old age. From what I hear, he has been constructing something massive deep in the river systems of Bunzirheora.”

​Siurad stared at the wall. I am literally being shamed because I’m not as smart as a snail.

​Vex’s face darkened, the shadows in the room lengthening. “The last three hundred years have been a nightmare. That idiot Nethyua started a war. He was defeated, but since then, the Silent Order has been combing every dungeon and lair in existence. We have been hunted like rats.”

​'...SILENT ORDER?'

​“He wants to know who the Silent Order is,” Siurad said.

​“Wait, they are real?” Yona asked, her mercenary instincts kicking in. “I thought they were something conspiracy nuts made up to scare children.”

​“Even the Church does not explicitly acknowledge them,” Alexander added nervously.

​Vex stood up. The chair scraped violently against the stone. The green fire in his eyes flared into an inferno.

​“THEY ARE THE CHILDREN OF THE UNITED FRONT!” Vex roared. His voice wasn't human anymore; it was the sound of a crypt grinding open. “COWARDLY RODENTS! THEY WOULD NOT DIE WITH HONOR, SO THEY HID IN THE SHADOWS AND REWROTE HISTORY! THEY COMPLETELY ERASED—”

​Vex slammed his fist onto the table. The thick wood cracked down the center.

​“THEY WILL BE PURGED! AND ALL WHO COLLABORATE WITH THEM WILL BURN TO ASH!”

​Steve and Julia nodded in perfect, terrifying unison.

​The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees instantly. Moisture from their breath crystallized in the air. Dark tendrils erupted from the ring, a light show of shadow and violet intertwining with Vex’s green necrosis.

​'...THEY WILL KNOW CORRECTION.'

​It was a bubbling rage Siurad could feel in his very marrow.

​“They will know the Authority,” Vex agreed solemnly.

​The tension was thick enough to choke on. Yona cleared her throat, stepping forward to break the mood before Vex decided to burn the whole building down out of spite.

​“So. World domination. Very exciting,” she said dryly. “But what's with the zoo? Specifically the dog-wolf thing in the rune containment?”

​Vex blinked, the rage slowly receding as he looked at her. “The experiments? Everything in there was a catalyst to try and summon Kivuli. The wolf was a special case—attuned to the Void. Failed attempt. I have no need for them anymore. I will have them incinerated in the morning.”

​“Siurad wants the dog,” Yona lied smoothly, thumbing toward her companion.

​“I do?” Siurad asked.

​Yona kicked his shin. Hard.

​“I do,” Siurad corrected, wincing and grabbing his leg. “Big fan of dogs. Huge.”

​Vex looked between them, then shrugged. “Very well. A gift for the Heir. I shall have him freed. Now… I must attend to these idiots outside before they ruin my operations.”

​He turned to the skeletons. “Steve, Julia. Tend to them while I settle the skin-bags.”

​Vex smiled one last time. It was a grotesque expression, skin stretching too tight over bone, but it was genuine. “I will prepare a feast. Just like the old days.”

​With a swirl of robes, Vex exited the room, the heavy door thudding shut behind him. The silence returned, but this time it was simply awkward.

​Siurad and Yona looked at Alexander.

​“You okay, Saint? Told ya you'd be just fine,” Yona said with a grin, the tension draining from her shoulders.

​Alexander straightened his robes, trying to regain a shred of dignity. “It was actually quite nice, I must admit,” he lied, his voice trembling slightly. “You know, besides all the sacrificial implications.”

​“Right. Let's go get this doggo before Skeletor changes his mind,” Yona said, turning toward Julia.

​Julia looked at Steve. The two massive constructs shared a silent, clacking nod, then gestured with long, bony fingers for the group to follow.

​'...THEY HAVE COME SO FAR.'

​Siurad followed the skeletons, rubbing the ring absently.

​'...BEAUTIFUL.'

​“Sure thing, Obi,” Siurad whispered. “Sure thing.”