Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Le'garde

The day dragged slowly in the forge, the sound of hammering metal being the only noise cutting through the heavy silence. Le’garde’s father was quieter than usual, his eyes sunken and tired. There were no shouts or curses, which was strange—something Le’garde couldn’t comprehend. He always expected anger, insults, the constant reminder that he was worthless and should have died instead of his mother. But that day, none of that happened.

The man approached, still sweaty from work, and looked at his son with an expression Le’garde couldn’t decipher. There was no disdain in his father’s eyes, only a kind of exhaustion. After a long sigh, he finally spoke:

“Le’garde,” his father said, his voice strange and calm. “Tonight, a client will come. You’re going to go with him. Do everything he says until he pays you, understand? Don’t do anything stupid. Just do what you’re told, and you’ll get the money. We need this, son.”

Le’garde remained silent, his body stiffening as his father’s words sank into his mind. He didn’t know what to think. His father had always been cruel, always treated him like a curse. But now, he seemed… calm. Le’garde couldn’t understand what was happening, but he knew what it meant. His father would never abandon him, not after his mother’s death. The man still had him, even if it was through these twisted and impersonal gestures. And in that moment, perhaps, it was his father asking for help.

When night fell and the merchant arrived, Le’garde followed him to an inn. The man seemed to be just another traveling merchant, bringing supplies to the region. The client wasn’t rich, but he had enough to pay for what he wanted. The merchant took Le’garde to the room, where he was given food and a quick bath, though he felt the humiliation hanging over him like a shadow.

However, when the merchant tried to touch him, Le’garde instinctively pulled away, his body tense and resistant. He didn’t know what to expect, but he didn’t want this. He tried to react, tried to fight back, but the merchant didn’t hesitate. With a sudden, rough movement, he threw Le’garde to the ground and slapped him hard across the face.

“You insolent brat!” the merchant shouted, his voice cruel. “Did your father not teach you any discipline?”

Le’garde, the sting of the slap burning on his cheek, struggled to get up. The merchant looked at him with disdain. “You’re here to serve me, understand? Serve me and only me tonight. Forget everything else. You’d better cooperate if you want to leave here with your money.”

The man’s words cut like blades, but Le’garde knew he had no choice. His mind raced, his body exhausted, but he knew he had to obey. He hated it, hated the idea of being there, of being treated as if he were nothing, but there was no other way. He needed the money to return home. And more importantly, he needed it to survive. How he felt didn’t matter—this was reality. The anger was there, but his resistance dissipated as he understood what he had to do. Slowly, he approached the man, closing his eyes and allowing him to touch his face, the merchant’s thumb grazing his lips.

“Such a good boy,” the merchant said.

When the night ended and the merchant left, Le’garde received the payment. He felt no relief, only a growing emptiness, a weight heavier than the sack of coins he held in his hands. The merchant departed without another word, and Le’garde, his face still sore, walked away to return home.

He trudged through the snow, his steps heavy, his mind filled with thoughts. When he arrived home, his father was waiting. Le’garde entered without saying a word, placing the sack of coins on the table. His father took the money but asked no questions. He didn’t need to. Both knew what had happened, and the silence between them was thicker than anything that could have been said. Without a word, his father took the money, and nothing more was spoken.

Chapter Text

Life

The sun barely managed to pierce the cloudy sky, but the few rays that escaped illuminated the small bakery in the village center. Le’garde was leaning against the wall of a nearby house, discreetly observing the activity around him. His eyes fixed on the graceful figure of the baker’s daughter, who was arranging shelves with fresh bread. She was younger than him, with long brown hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, held back by a faded ribbon. Her face was delicate, with cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, and a pair of brown eyes that sparkled with an energy Le’garde couldn’t tear his gaze away from.

He didn’t know her name, but he knew he liked watching her. It had become a daily routine: he waited for the moment she stepped out of the bakery, moving with a lightness that made his heart race. And today was no different. As soon as her eyes met his, Le’garde instinctively hid behind the wall, his heart pounding like drums in his ears. He cursed himself for being so obvious.

Time passed slowly, and he was about to leave his hiding spot when he heard light footsteps in the compacted snow. Before he could react, she was by his side, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle with leftover sweets from the day.

“Hi,” she said, a shy smile on her face as she extended the bundle to him. “These are the sweet breads that are left. Do you want some?”

Le’garde was surprised but took the bundle with slightly trembling hands. “Thank you… yes, I do,” he replied, his voice softer than he intended.

They sat on a makeshift wooden bench nearby, sharing the sweets in silence for a few minutes. He watched her as she ate, noticing the small gestures that made her unique: the way her fingers delicately held the bread, the soft smile that appeared on her lips every time she took a bite, and the light laugh that escaped whenever their eyes met.

“Do you come here every day?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Le’garde hesitated but decided to be honest. “Yes… I like watching the village from here.”

She laughed, her sound sweet like a melody. “It’s a good place to see everything.”

Before he could respond, a deep voice called from inside the bakery. “Come inside, it’s getting cold!” It was her father.

She quickly stood up, smoothing her skirt. “I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Le’garde.”

He was surprised she knew his name but just nodded. “It was… it was nice. Thanks for the bread.”

She smiled one last time before running back to the bakery, disappearing behind the door.

Le’garde stood there for a moment, the sweet taste still in his mouth and the warmth of the conversation warming his chest. He stood up slowly, heading home with a subtle smile on his lips, lost in thoughts about the time they had spent together.

The night was dark, with only the faint, trembling light of the moon illuminating the forest around Le'garde. He walked alone, his careful steps sinking slightly into the damp earth. The biting cold was his constant companion, and he was already accustomed to the solitude of the road. But suddenly, a sound made him stop.  

Quick footsteps, the crack of branches under heavy boots. Before he could react, Le'garde found himself surrounded by a group of men, their shadowy faces and predatory grins lit by the faint moonlight.  

"Look what we have here," said one of the thieves, the apparent leader, stepping closer to Le'garde with a lascivious gaze. "A little lost, helpless mouse..."  

Le'garde kept his face impassive, his eyes scanning the group for an escape route. He knew what these men wanted. It wasn’t something that scared him; he had faced this kind of situation before, selling his body to survive. But this was different—here, there was no control, no easy way out. Even so, he didn’t feel immediate fear, only disgust.  

"What do you say, huh, boy? How about keeping us company tonight?" taunted another thief, approaching with a dagger in hand. Before Le'garde could react, he was shoved to the ground, his body hitting the cold earth hard.  

The man crouched beside him, a repulsive grin on his face. "Relax, it’ll be easier if you cooperate." He grabbed the boy’s face in his hand and ran his tongue to the edge of his lips.  

The dagger gleamed as it was carelessly dropped—a fatal mistake that Le'garde didn’t let slip by. In an instant, he grabbed the blade and pressed it against the assailant’s throat, his grip firm, his expression steely.  

The thief choked, startled by the turn of events, as Le'garde fiercely glared at the others. "Come closer, and he dies."  

The other men hesitated for a moment, but soon the leader stepped forward, shaking his head in disdain. "One of us overpowered by a boy? Pathetic."  

Without hesitation, one of the thieves drew his weapon and, with a swift and brutal stroke, decapitated the man Le'garde was holding.  

The lifeless body fell to the ground, and in that moment, a chill ran through Le'garde. Not because of the blood spilled, but because of the sudden realization that his life could end at any moment. For the first time that night, fear gripped him.  

But surprisingly, the leader smiled. "You’ve got talent, boy," he said, his voice oddly calm. "If you want, you can join us. There’s always room for someone with your courage."  

Le'garde said nothing, still processing the horror of what had just happened. He knew he couldn’t trust them, but he also knew this might be a good chance—a way to survive.  

Aimless

The forest was alive with music, a guitar in the hands of one of the young men creating a soft melody that danced among the trees. The central bonfire cast high flames, lighting up the smiling faces of the youths who gave themselves to the dance, the stories, and the freedom that only the forest’s darkness could offer. The smell of cheap whiskey and opium hung in the air, blending with the laughter and whispers.

Le’garde was there, but he kept a certain distance, observing everything with keen eyes and a calculated smile. He danced with the others, but his mind was elsewhere, thinking about what he could extract from the night. When the stories began to be told, he discreetly stepped away, taking three women with him, each with smiles as enigmatic as his own.

They moved away from the bonfire, venturing deeper into the woods, where the sounds of the party became distant murmurs. In the silence of that secluded clearing, bodies united, whispers became moans, and the night blurred into pleasure and forgetfulness.

When dawn arrived, Le’garde dressed slowly, the smell of whiskey and opium impregnating his clothes and skin. He left the women asleep and walked alone down the path, his steps heavy marking the way back home.

Upon arrival, the door creaked as he pushed it open, finding his father waiting, sitting at the table with a stern expression. The smell of alcohol in the air was almost as strong as the one emanating from Le’garde. His father stood, eyes full of disappointment and anger.

“You went to one of those profane satanic festivals again, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice laden with accusation.

Le’garde gave a cynical smile, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and disdain. “Since when do you believe in God?” he replied, the cold laugh escaping his lips like a sharp cut.

His father clenched his fists, trying to keep his calm. “Everyone needs a purpose, Le’garde. You can’t live your whole life aimlessly.”

Le’garde crossed his arms, his voice biting through the air. “Really? I thought my purpose was to support the house. Serve our clients, you know? Like you told me to.”

His father looked away, pain and regret clear on his face. “I didn’t want things to be like this, my son. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Le’garde stared at him, eyes full of exhaustion and disdain. “And you making yourself the center of attention again. Please, old man, this is as common as breathing. Look around, do you think you’re special? Do you think I’m special? I’m just a damn piece of meat, yeah. They want me, they want my body, and that’s how I live. And that’s how we live.” He sighed, exasperated. “But what the hell… why do you act like I’m punishing you? This is just my job. If it bothers you so much, send me to the palace, make me a cook, a butler, whatever, but don’t come telling me to be something I’m not. When the Grand Priest forgives me, I’ll step into the church.”

Without waiting for a response, Le’garde grabbed a bottle of cheap wine from the shelf, walked to his room, and slammed the door shut, ending the discussion and leaving his father alone with his thoughts and regrets.

Us

Le’garde was caught up in another crazy night, involved in yet another robbery to make sure he would have something to eat the next day. Addiction and the need for sustenance pushed him into making wrong decisions, but he didn’t think. The plan was simple: rob a baron. Nothing too complicated, just a quick way to make money, fast. But as he entered the dungeon, something changed, something he wasn’t expecting.

He found something that made him stop for a moment: a familiar figure, bound and thrown on the filthy floor, a battered body that barely seemed human. The face was swollen, marked by pain and torture, but even so, he recognized her. It was her. The girl he had met in childhood, the one he had fallen in love with, and who had disappeared years ago without explanation.

Her eyes, fixed on something beyond him, were empty, but there was a spark of life, a reflection of something that had once been human. He approached, breathless and with his heart pounding in his chest. He crouched and touched her cold skin, feeling the revulsion and disgust that she was so broken, that she had been consumed so cruelly.

Her lips moved with difficulty, almost a whisper:

“Please, kill me.”

Her voice was hoarse, broken. Le’garde felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He knelt beside her, unsure of what to do.

“I… I can’t do that.” His breathing was heavy, almost as if he were trying to convince himself that he couldn’t. He took her cold, trembling hand, trying to offer some comfort. “I promise I’ll take care of you, I’ll get you out of here. Everything will be okay, I’ll make everything okay…”

He gently lifted her, holding her in his arms, and began to run, crossing the damp corridors of the dungeon and finally emerging into the forest. She could barely keep her eyes open, but the sound of Le’garde’s heartbeat seemed to be the only comfort she could feel.

When they reached home, Le’garde’s father looked on in shock, mouth agape, eyes filled with horror. “What… what is this?” he stammered, watching the girl’s frail, pale body, so fragile she seemed like she could break at any moment.

Le’garde paid no attention to his father’s reaction. “I need to take care of her. I… I can’t leave her like this.”

He placed her on the bed and began tending to her, feeding her, trying to give her some strength to survive. He undressed her with extreme caution, his hands trembling in fear of doing more harm than good. But still, the pain seemed unbearable for her, and she groaned with every movement.

“You need to eat, please… please, hang on.” Le’garde whispered, trying to force a little food into her. But she just shook her head, crying silently.

“Let me die,” she murmured. “Don’t… don’t be like them. Don’t make me go through this.”

Le’garde felt the weight of those words on his chest. He tried to calm her, but didn’t know how. The following days were a nightmare, feeding her, cleaning her, dressing her, trying to offer her some relief. But she seemed more distant each day, more resigned to the idea of her own death.

One night, as he covered her with a blanket, she looked at him with weak eyes and, with an effort, raised her hand, touching his face. Le’garde froze, his eyes wide.

“I… I always thought you were perfect,” she said in a tired voice, her gaze full of longing. “I… always… wanted you.”

Le’garde didn’t know what to say. He felt a mix of emotions: guilt, sadness, and anger. He felt like she saw him as something unattainable, someone out of her reach. And that made him pull away even more, retreating. He pushed her hand away, avoiding any kind of physical contact.

“You… you’re too fragile,” he said, his voice faltering. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

But the girl didn’t give up. She pulled him with the strength she had left, her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t reject me. Don’t make me feel more alone. I’ve always wanted you, always desired you, even so.”

Le’garde felt the weight of those words, and remorse grew inside him. He approached her, his hands gently touching her skin, now warm with fever. Her body was frail, but she still sought some comfort. He didn’t know what he was doing, but the need to ease her pain became stronger. He caressed her hair, her sweaty forehead, feeling his own body tense and confused.

“I don’t know what to feel anymore, I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered, the pain in his chest making breathing difficult.

But, looking into her eyes, he forced himself. He kissed her softly, a hesitant, tender kiss, trying to calm the pain she carried. She responded to the kiss, her lips weak, but full of repressed desire. He touched her carefully, and when they finally gave in to the moment, he felt a mix of compassion and guilt.

The next day, she was weaker. Le’garde, looking at her, felt deep sadness. She didn’t resist anymore. The pain she had carried for so long finally consumed her. He stayed by her side until her last breath, feeling an immense emptiness take over him.

Her death was the last straw. Le’garde turned away, his heart filling with rage. He had failed. There was nothing more to be done. The hatred for the nobles, for those who had destroyed her life, consumed any remaining compassion inside him.

He turned to the window, his gaze fixed on the darkness. Her death wouldn’t be in vain. He would destroy everyone involved in her suffering, in the suffering of so many others. He would become what he hated so no one would ever suffer like that again.

“I will make them all pay,” he murmured, his eyes burning with the purest hatred.

The world would never be the same for him.

Chapter Text

Le’garde, now more entrenched in the noble environment, was growing accustomed to the luxury but also to the cruelty and hypocrisy that permeated the upper echelons. He spent his nights in grand mansions, sharing beds with various nobles, but his body was never truly present. He used them, while simultaneously observing them, listening to their darkest secrets, their weaknesses. The pleasure was merely a façade; the true goal was deeper, more calculated.

He spent entire nights lying beside a specific nobleman, an impulsive and vain young man who held a position of power. His name was Lord Arcturus, and despite his façade of nobility and grandeur, Le’garde knew he was just another pawn in the game of a corrupt and selfish system. The pleasure in bed, the intimate conversations, and the promises of favors were nothing but a ploy. Le’garde was there for a much more sinister reason: he needed to uncover everything he could about the system, the nobles, their secrets. And Arcturus was the key.

One night, after another bout of intimacy, while Arcturus slept soundly, Le’garde stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to the future. They are all the same. Manipulative, selfish… Le’garde thought, his eyes fixed on the void. Each of them has something to hide, something I can use. And the suffering of my people… it will end. I will make them all pay. This rot will be wiped off the map.

Arcturus, still half-drunk, stirred in the bed beside him, interrupting Le’garde’s thoughts. He looked at him with a satisfied smile, his eyes drowsy.

“You’re thinking too much, Le’garde,” Arcturus said, his voice hoarse from the drink. “Why don’t you come here and stop torturing yourself? I bet you could have more fun. You don’t need to think about anything when you’re with me.”

Le’garde didn’t respond immediately, but in his mind, he was making calculations. Think, yes. And act, act at the right moment. He turned to Arcturus, wearing an enigmatic smile.
“I like to think, Arcturus. But you’re right… perhaps a little more pleasure wouldn’t hurt.”

Arcturus smiled, satisfied, pulling him closer. But Le’garde only felt the weight of the opportunity, the warmth of Arcturus’s body not as a comfort but as a means to an end. During the act, he listened intently, knowing that any word could be a valuable clue.

“I… don’t like discussing business in bed,” Arcturus said with a lazy smile as he adjusted the sheets. “But there’s something you need to know. The princess… she’s involved in more than you can imagine. She has… dark interests. And our dear queen… she has more secrets than anyone suspects.”

Le’garde just smiled at him, saying nothing. Secrets… all I need are secrets. These are the games we play. But I will outsmart them all. He knew that when the time came, the information Arcturus had just let slip could be useful to further undermine the kingdom’s foundations.

The noble closed his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly. Le’garde, on the other hand, remained there for a while longer, lost in thought. The revenge I plan… is more than mere retaliation. It will be their downfall. They will pay for the misery of my people, for every tear, for every life destroyed. They’ve never known what it’s like to live on the streets, without hope, without a future. They will learn what it means to be truly weak.

In the days that followed, Le’garde continued his game, uncovering more about the nobles and their weaknesses, manipulating them with smiles and sweet words. He used their loyalty against them, and as Arcturus became more obsessed with him, Le’garde saw the opportunity drawing closer.

One night, after a banquet, Arcturus, already drunk, proposed something that seemed simple but was exactly what Le’garde needed.
“Le’garde,” he said with a provocative smile, “I think you should prove to everyone what you’re capable of. Let’s have a sword fight. You and me, for fun. I want to see how far your skills go. Maybe you’re more interesting than I thought.”

Le’garde smiled, his eyes gleaming with cold confidence. “You want a fight, Arcturus? Very well. I accept.”

The two went to the training grounds, where knights gathered, curious. Arcturus, with his knightly sword and lofty posture, seemed far too confident for what was about to happen. Le’garde, on the other hand, glanced at those around him, observing the knights and absorbing every detail, as he always did. He knew he wasn’t there just to impress Arcturus but to send a message.

The fight began with Arcturus attacking recklessly, impetuous, with the confidence of someone who didn’t truly know what it meant to fight for survival. Le’garde, however, moved with precision, disarming the noble in a few swift movements. The clanging of the sword hitting the ground echoed, and Le’garde looked at Arcturus, who lay on the ground, stunned.

“You… you’re really good,” Arcturus said, panting, his face full of surprise. “I didn’t expect this from you. You’re… more than just a lover. You… could be a great warrior.”

Le’garde, with a subtle smile, replied, “I’ve learned how to fight, Arcturus. What I lack in technique, I make up for in experience.”

Arcturus grew even more infatuated, a spark of desire and admiration igniting. He knew that if Le’garde received the proper training, he could become something far greater than he’d imagined.

And that was exactly what Le’garde wanted to hear. He knew this was the perfect moment to be introduced to the nobles and the royal guard. The perfect moment to infiltrate deeper into the heart of power.

“I want you to enlist in the royal guard,” Arcturus said after a long silence. “I’ll present you as a distant cousin. They’ll accept you. You have what it takes.”

Le’garde looked at him with a cold smile. “I accept. Let’s see how far this takes me.”

And so, with a simple clash of swords, Le’garde became a key piece in the game. He knew the real battle was only beginning. He was ready to destroy everything and everyone responsible for his people’s suffering.

And when the end comes, none of them will survive.

Le’garde quickly adapted to his new role among the nobles, though his intentions were as dark as they had always been. He did not seek attention or applause — on the contrary, he refused to celebrate victories. During battles, he showed impressive competence, but his post-conflict attitude was indifferent. While the other knights celebrated their victories, toasting and laughing in the taverns, Le’garde remained aloof from these festivities. He would step away from the noise, observing others with a quiet smile, but always in silence.

It was during these moments that he planted the seeds. Sitting at the table with knights and nobles, his eyes always seemed more focused on the unspoken parts of conversations. Suddenly, in an almost carefree tone, he would drop a few words as if merely sharing a casual thought.

“It’s curious how everyone celebrates so much, isn’t it?” he would say, a glass of wine in hand, his gaze distant. “But do you really do it because you want to? Or is it your family name that’s pulling you into this war? The weight of the surname is strong, isn’t it?”

The question would hang in the air, unsettling but never demanding an immediate response. The silence that followed usually spoke louder than words could. The younger knights would glance at each other, beginning to question themselves. It was a simple, yet powerful doubt: “Am I doing this for myself, or is it an obligation I didn’t choose?”

One night, after a particularly violent battle where the royal guard had crushed a rebellious resistance, the nobles were more agitated than usual. Everyone was euphoric, eager to tell their tales of bravery. Le’garde, as always, stayed quiet, watching others with a smile no one could decipher. He approached one of the knights, a young man of good lineage, who still held his sword, and whispered in his ear, in a tone almost friendly:

“But don’t you think that if you made a mistake and a Cataliss made the same mistake, you would both be punished equally? Or is it their surname that protects them from something yours cannot?”

The knight, initially surprised, looked at Le’garde with an uncomfortable expression, trying to ignore the question. But the words had been planted, and he could no longer stop thinking about them.

In the days that followed, Le’garde repeated these little whispers in moments of privacy, between the fights and victories, always strategically. He was never aggressive or direct, just making his interlocutors begin to question their own loyalty, their choices. He knew that, little by little, doubt would settle in, and when the right moment came, the young nobles would already be ready to question the entire system in which they lived.

Meanwhile, he continued to build his image. It was impossible not to notice his skill in battles, his unshakable calm, and the confidence with which he moved in the training field. But it wasn’t the sword that made him an imposing figure. It was his ability to read people, to observe the details, to manipulate words. Le’garde knew that his greatest victory would not be being remembered for his sword skills, but for how he would silently and devastatingly incite change.

The night was colder than usual when Le’garde, visibly drunk, sneaked through the halls of the Cataliss mansion. He had left a banquet full of laughter and the celebrity of the nobility, but his mind was elsewhere. He felt irritated, the alcohol making it harder to keep his thoughts in check, and the main target of his frustration was Lord Cataliss. The old noble, with his obsession with Le’garde, had made it clear that he was not pleased with the idea of the young knight being a free thinker, someone outside of his control. D’Arce’s father treated him like a luxury object, a move to ensure his influence over the court. But Le’garde knew he no longer needed to submit to the role of the old man’s lover. He had something bigger in mind.

He stopped in front of D’Arce’s bedroom door, where a faint light still shone. The taste of alcohol burned in his throat as he knocked lightly, not waiting for a response.

When the door opened, D’Arce’s expression was a mix of surprise and alarm. She was alone, wearing a simple nightshirt, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Le’garde watched her for a moment, and his eyes, more clouded by the drink, seemed more intense than ever.

“What are you doing here?!” she asked, trying to close the door, but Le’garde had already pushed it slightly open, entering with a crooked smile. His presence filled the space, somewhat awkward due to his drunkenness, but still carrying an intensity that made her hesitate.

“I… was thinking about how this world could be more… interesting,” he said, his tone rough and provocative. He moved closer, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Maybe you can help me figure that out.”

D’Arce instinctively stepped back, tension visible in her body. She looked at him, her eyes suspicious, but he took a step forward, his alcohol-laden breath mixing with the cold night air. He leaned in, his fingers gently touching her chin, lifting her face to look at him. She stiffened at his touch, surprised by his boldness.

“You care so much about what people think of you, D’Arce… And why not? Your name, your lineage… everything you do is for that. But what if, just for a moment, you… freed yourself from it?” he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers. His hand stayed on her chin, gentle but firm. “I know you are more than just Cataliss’ daughter. More than a symbol. You don’t have to follow these rules, you don’t have to submit.”

D’Arce, still uneasy, tried to take a step back, but Le’garde was faster, moving behind her and placing his hand on the door, closing it with a light movement. She looked at him with a fierce gaze, but Le’garde’s words were beginning to penetrate. He realized that, in part, she was truly shaken, even if reluctantly.

“You… what do you want from me?” she asked, her voice low, but full of a challenge that Le’garde knew he could manipulate.

He moved closer once more, more slowly now, watching the signs of tension in her body. He could feel that she was on the verge of giving in, but that was not what he wanted. Le’garde knew that, contrary to his initial plan — to use her body to satisfy his own desires and dominate the nobility through that — he needed something more valuable: the alliance of a mind like hers. Someone who, without a doubt, was already beginning to question the rules.

“I don’t need anything more, D’Arce… unless you want to help me create a new world. A world where your parents don’t dictate what you can or can’t do,” he whispered. “I’m not like the old man, D’Arce. I don’t care what you are, not your name. What matters is what you truly want to be. And if you help me, you’ll have a place in all of this. No shackles, no chains from the past.”

He looked at her with an intensity that spoke more than words. He didn’t need to seduce her anymore to get what he wanted. She had what he needed — a soul lost in a system of privileges, someone with the potential to be so much more than the daughter of Lord Cataliss.

“I can offer you a new beginning. No meaningless pain. No useless violence. And if there is a fight, it will be for something real. Something you can truly believe in. How about fighting for peace?” he finished, still touching her chin, but now more gently, as if the very softness of his touch could make her accept the idea of a new future.

D’Arce stood there, motionless, for a long moment. Her emotions were in conflict, but Le’garde’s words had left a deep mark. He slowly stepped back, allowing her to reflect on what she had just heard.

When he left the room, Le’garde did not look back. He knew the hardest part was already done. Now, the seed had been planted. He no longer needed to seduce her physically — he had seduced her with an idea, a promise of freedom. And that was more powerful than any bed trick.

Chapter Text

Prophecy

While the sun still seemed to hesitate between the horizon and the sky, a new dawn was born for those who opposed the monarchy. Le’garde, with his unshakable posture and vision for the future, gathered a diverse and vibrant group — deserters, nobles weary of their chains of privilege, thieves with their untamable spirit, all united by a single desire: to destroy the royal guard’s regime. The resistance that was beginning to form in the shadows would soon gain a name and strength: The Knights of the Midnight Sun.

Accompanied by his loyal companion D’arce, Le’garde watched the emergence of a new ideal. She, who had been torn between loyalty to her family’s legacy and growing faith in Le’garde, would decide to follow the leader of the resistance. Her heart, once bound to old values, now beat in sync with the future he represented. She abandoned her lineage, her ties to her family, to stand by someone she believed to be the true path to freedom.

And alongside them, the thieves from the old streets of muddy puddles and dark alleys found a new purpose. Their skills, forged in the fight for survival, would now serve the cause taking shape — a fight against oppression, against the royal guard. But the battle, at many times, was not only against the monarchy’s soldiers. It was against the oppressed families, the injustices committed within the walls of the cities that needed their protection.

The lives of the Knights of the Midnight Sun were a blend of light and shadow. Living almost constantly under the glow of a day that never faded, their patrols took place at night, when the sky remained bright but the darkness of injustices still ruled the streets. They punished wrongdoers, both from the guard and civilians, and protected the innocent from the regime’s atrocities. Often, they relied on donations from grateful families or payments for missions requested by nobles and merchants — missions of revenge or justice that ensured their survival.

Meanwhile, Le’garde’s followers, with fervor, began to believe that he would be the true king. A king not of the monarchy, but of the people, of the future, and, over time, they started comparing him to the warrior of the ancient prophecies. Le’garde, in turn, always remained skeptical, dismissing these stories that seemed to him like mere childish myths. Until one night, he had a dream that would change everything.

In his sleep, a woman with exposed breasts and immense blonde hair appeared before him. A crown of flowers adorned her head, and, with an enigmatic smile, she invited him to follow her. He saw around her a mystical place, a lost city bathed in intense green light. The scenery appeared to be made of stones and obelisks, and, surprisingly, he was there too, wearing a bright yellow cloak.

Le’garde awoke in panic, sweating, his heart pounding, but his mind was foggy, unable to understand what the dream meant. But there was something in his mind, something he couldn’t shake off: the woman, the invitation, the strange place, and, more than anything, the growing desire to understand what it represented. He became obsessed with the image of the woman, but there was a problem — Le’garde couldn’t read.

It was then that he sought out D’arce. “I don’t understand what this is, D’arce,” he said, his voice filled with unease. “The woman, the place, what is this? Do you know anything about it?”

D’arce, ever prudent and observant, seemed to reflect for a moment before responding. “I… I think I’ve heard something like this before, a story, perhaps.”

Without wasting time, D’arce went to the library, searching the heavy shelves of ancient books. There, she found something — a name. Nilvan. And alongside it, the name of another god, a deformed being named Ron Chambara. D’arce pulled the books down and, with the same quietness that characterized her, returned to the camp where Le’garde was waiting.

“Have you read these books?” she asked, handing him the yellowed pages.

“Me? Never in my life,” Le’garde replied, feeling even more confused.

D’arce looked at him, perplexed. She had expected him to have some knowledge about it, but he didn’t seem to recognize the names, the images, the symbols. Then, laughing softly, she said, “I was joking, but… it seems the man of the prophecy is you after all.”

That revelation was a direct blow to Le’garde. D’arce’s words echoed in his mind, but he couldn’t believe it. His life, his mission, now intertwined with the shadows of something greater. He insisted that D’arce read more about the prophecy, about Nilvan, about Ron Chambara, about the lost city.

The following nights were torturous. Le’garde couldn’t stop thinking about those dreams, the blonde woman with the crown of flowers, the mystical creatures that filled his thoughts, the green light, and the city of stones. The dream, now, was no longer just a distant echo. He needed to understand all of it. He wanted to understand everything — the prophecy, the cube, the throne.

He was ready to dive deep into the history that surrounded him, determined to find the truth, even if it meant losing himself completely. The search for answers now dominated his mind, and nothing would stop him from reaching what his destiny seemed to have reserved for him — the future of a king or the fall of an empire.

The wind cut through the cold air as Le’garde and his Knights of the Midnight Sun crossed the vastness of Oldegård, a land forgotten by time and taken over by wild tribes. Each step brought them closer to an uncertain fate, but Le’garde’s eyes burned with determination. The merchant who brought the news of the cube claimed it had been taken by the northern barbarians, known only for one purpose: war. Le’garde knew he would face more than just men — he would face a legacy of violence and blood that the tribes had cultivated for generations.

Before departing, there was a moment that echoed in his mind. He and his father, together in the small cabin where he had grown up. The old man was sitting at the table, the smell of alcohol filling the air. His face marked by years of hard work and frustration.

“You… you’re going to fight again, aren’t you?” the old man asked, his voice trembling, his eyes teary. “In those illegal bands. You’ll go out challenging the government for nothing again. For a new world… What world is that? What world is that, that no one can see except you, you fool!”

The words, full of pain and drunkenness, echoed through the small room. Le’garde’s father, a man who had spent his whole life sacrificing to support his son, now saw his effort thrown away on a suicidal mission. “You idiot, I worked my whole life… my whole life to support you, and now you do this with your life! Now you’re going to leave me like this…”

Le’garde, who had remained silent until then, approached slowly. “I won’t. I would never leave you, you old sack. I know you’re nothing without me.” He embraced his father tightly, ignoring the drunken sobs. “I’ll come back… I promise.”

Those words, though simple, carried the weight of his entire determination. No matter how far he had to go, he would always return.

When the Knights arrived at the outskirts of the barbarian tribe, Le’garde knew he would need more than courage. He was a born strategist, and it wouldn’t be brute strength that would give them victory, but the element of surprise. They camped at a distance, watching the barbarians for days, studying their patterns, routines, and weaknesses. During the early morning, when the strongest warriors rested and the defenses were at their most vulnerable, he decided to act.

Under the faint light of a sky that never fully darkened, the Knights advanced like shadows. They silently cut down the sentries, moving like predators on unsuspecting prey. When the attack began, it was like a storm of steel and blood. Chaos engulfed the barbarian camp, screams echoed through the clear night, but the Knights did not hesitate.

Le’garde led from the front, his blade cutting through enemies with lethal precision. He was not just a leader; he was the embodiment of the Knights’ purpose. Under his command, the tribe was destroyed. A complete massacre. What was once a barbarian camp became a cemetery of bodies and ashes.

In the center of the barbarian camp, they found what they sought. The cube. The vision Le’garde had seen was now before his eyes. The artifact was larger than he had imagined, covered in strange symbols and glowing with a dull green light. It was as if the object carried within it the weight of something ancient, something beyond mortal comprehension.

Le’garde fell to his knees before the cube, his hands touching its cold surface. He felt a wave of mixed emotions — triumph, terror, and a deep sense of destiny. This was not just an artifact; it was a fragment of something greater, something he still couldn’t fully comprehend.

But as he contemplated the cube, a doubt began to grow in his mind. The price of his victory had been high. He had exterminated an entire tribe, men, women, and even children. The genocide he had just committed would echo through history, but for Le’garde, it all seemed worth it. The cube was the next step in his journey, and he was willing to pay any price to follow the path that destiny had set for him.

Le’garde raised the cube above his head, the Knights around him watching in silence. In that moment, under the clear sky of Öldegaard, he felt that his journey was only just beginning.

The high moon shone, illuminating the remnants of the battle. The smell of ash and blood still lingered in the air, but the Knights of the Midnight Sun were alive, celebrating their victory. Some gathered the bodies, others shared stories around makeshift bonfires. However, D’arce’s attention was solely on Le’garde, who remained apart, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

She approached, removing her helmet and allowing the night breeze to caress her sweaty, tired face. “Captain,” she began, forcing a smile, “we did it. We are the greatest army that ever existed!” Her voice was heavy with exhaustion but also pride.

Le’garde didn’t take his eyes off the horizon. “No… not yet, D’arce. This is far from the end.”

She frowned, tilting her head slightly. “What are you talking about? We defeated the barbarians! This land is already yours. You’re just one step away from creating your own kingdom.”

He finally looked at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t decipher. “You’re a warrior. You should know that times of peace don’t last. They never last.”

D’Arce sighed, crossing her arms. “I know… but that doesn’t mean we can’t rest. You’re still human, Le’Garde.” Her voice softened, and she gently touched his shoulder, offering him a drink from one of the looted barrels.

He hesitated but shook his head. “I… don’t have time for any of this.”

“Don’t you?” She raised an eyebrow. “I thought your dream was to unify the world.”

“It is!” he replied firmly, but then his voice faltered, weighed down by something that seemed to crush him. “But…”

“Then let’s celebrate this step. This one step towards that world,” she said, insisting with an encouraging smile.

Finally, Le’Garde relented. He took the drink from her hands and sat on a nearby stone, gazing at the horizon, marked by the green of the fields and the orange light from the campfire. D’Arce sat beside him, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees.

But the silence didn’t last. She looked at him, curiosity shining in her eyes. “But… why did we come to Oldegård, after all? I don’t understand the importance of expanding the kingdom this far… I mean, of all places, why such an archaic one?”

Le’Garde didn’t answer immediately. He spun the goblet in his hand, watching the liquid reflect the moonlight. Then, finally, he said, “To reach greater heights, to unify the land, to bring the new age… I need that power. The strength of kings and queens isn’t enough. I need more. Something that lasts beyond me.”

D’Arce stayed silent, trying to absorb what he was saying. But there was something in his tone that troubled her. “It still hurts…” she murmured, almost a whisper. “Thinking of those helpless people.”

Le’Garde looked up at her, serious. “Do you think any of the great kingdoms that the history books talk about were founded on pure foundations? They were all built with bloodshed and violence. But what if there was a way that didn’t require thousands of soldiers on opposite sides destroying their lives? What if such a great kingdom only required one soul to succumb to darkness? Just one soul to be corrupted.”

“What?” D’Arce’s eyes widened, her voice now filled with unease. “What are you planning?!”

Le’Garde stared at her. For a moment, he considered telling her everything—the cube, the dreams, the prophecy. But the weight of the secret pulled him back. It wasn’t the time. Not yet. He looked away, relaxing his shoulders. “Forget it,” he said, his voice quieter. He took another sip and gestured towards the camp. “It’s our night, right? You deserve this rest.”

But as she continued to stare at him, he felt the discomfort grow between them. He knew she wouldn’t forget. She was like him—stubborn, relentless. And that was a problem he would have to deal with eventually. But for now, he let the silence settle as his eyes returned to the horizon.

The night wrapped the trail in a heavy cloak, and the group moved slowly, weighed down by fatigue and the burden of recent victories. Oldegård was far behind now, but the scent of blood and the distant sound of battle still lingered in their memories. The full moon, which had once illuminated the fields, was now obscured by thick clouds, plunging the forest into almost total darkness.

Le’Garde led the march, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. Even under the armor, he felt his body heavy, muscles protesting after so many days without proper rest. When they reached a relatively sheltered clearing, he raised a hand, signaling for them to stop.

“Let’s camp here,” he ordered.

The group began to organize. Fires were lit, and some knights took turns standing guard. Le’Garde moved a little away to think, as he always did when he needed silence. He was restless, but didn’t know why. Something about the stillness of the forest bothered him, an invisible weight in the air that seemed to warn him of something.

D’Arce noticed his tension and approached. “You seem nervous,” she commented, pulling the cloak over her shoulders.

“Something’s not right,” he replied, scanning the shadows around them.

Before she could respond, he raised his hand again. There was a noise. A low, almost imperceptible sound coming from somewhere in the woods. Le’Garde immediately stood, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. He looked around, trying to locate the source, but it was impossible to tell where it came from.

“Stay here,” he murmured to D’Arce before moving toward the sound.

“Le’Garde, wait!” she tried to stop him, but he had already disappeared into the trees.

The forest was cold and damp. He moved slowly, his steps silent, senses heightened. The noise returned—something like branches breaking, but now it seemed closer, more insistent. He gripped the sword hilt tighter, his eyes sweeping the darkness. When he finally approached the source of the noise, everything fell silent. Only the wind swayed the trees. There was nothing there.

A trap.

The thought hit Le’Garde the instant he heard screams behind him. He spun on his heels and started running back to the camp, but it was already too late. The clearing was in chaos.

The fire that had lit the center had been knocked over, scattering embers everywhere. Shouts and the sounds of clashing weapons echoed as his knights were caught off guard by an ambush. Mercenaries—at least a dozen—emerged from the shadows, attacking with brutality. They were quick, armed with light blades and bows, using the darkness to their advantage.

Le’Garde drew his sword as he entered the battlefield. One mercenary turned toward him, a predatory grin on his face, but it was quickly cut short as Le’Garde struck him in a swift, decisive move.

Chapter Text

The Awakening of Rebellion

Le’garde, leader of the Knights of the Midnight Sun, was not just a skilled mercenary. He was a symbol of rebellion. With his humble origins and unparalleled skills, Le’garde had managed to convince several young nobles, tired of their restricted lives in courts and on battlefields, to abandon the royal guard and join his band. He offered them the promise of a new order, one where the upper classes would no longer hold absolute power over the less fortunate.

But this idea of freedom and revolution was not well received by the nobles. Le’garde was a threat in more ways than one. In addition to attracting young nobles to his cause, he was also seen as a danger to the lower classes, who began to follow his ideology of equality. To the nobles, he represented not only a betrayal but also the fear that an uprising from the lower classes could shake their foundations.

“He is convincing the youth to rebel against us,” said one of the older nobles, his deep voice resonating through the dark room. “The knights he trains not only abandon their posts but challenge them, as if it were all part of a great game.”

The leader of the nobility, sitting at the head of the table, looked at the others with a look of distrust. “We cannot allow this. We need him off the scene. If he continues, there will be no difference between us and the lower classes.”

Thus, a contract was made with the Al Maitan, a mercenary group from the Eastern Sanctuaries. What the nobles did not know, however, was that Cahara, the most agile and perceptive of the Al Maitan, did not care about Le’garde’s political issues. To him, it all boiled down to one thing: money.

The Hunt for the Knights

Cahara and his band had been hired to capture Le’garde, but he knew the mission wouldn’t be simple. The Al Maitan, known for their skills and their reputation as a band of wanted criminals, were more than prepared for whatever lay ahead. They were already hunted by various authorities, especially from the Eastern Sanctuaries, where they had accumulated wealth over the years.

The group was on the move, and Cahara wasted no time. He knew well what was at stake. To him, it wasn’t about politics or ideals. It was about the payment promised by the nobles. However, Le’garde’s band was a real threat. He knew that, although it was a mission to capture the leader, Le’garde’s skills and power could turn everything into a bloody confrontation.

Cahara watched the field as his companions prepared for the attack. Le’garde’s band was ahead, but Cahara knew that an ambush alone wouldn’t be enough. Le’garde was not just a knight; he was a strategist, a leader, and those who followed him were loyal, not just because of his strength, but because of the cause he represented.

The Encounter

The encounter took place on a dark, silent night, without the usual noise of battlefields. Le’garde, with his imposing posture and piercing gaze, already knew something was wrong. He felt the weight of the mercenaries’ presence around him but couldn’t be caught off guard.

“You cannot stop me,” Le’garde shouted, his voice firm and full of conviction. “What you and your men don’t understand is that this is the future. I’m building a new order, one where no one will be oppressed. We will all be equal, with no distinction of class or wealth!”

Cahara, who was in a prominent position, slowly turned to him. He looked at Le’garde with an amused, almost disdainful expression, and then chuckled slightly. His laugh wasn’t mocking but had a sarcastic, almost indifferent tone.

“Ah, blondie, that’s not how the world works,” Cahara said, looking directly at Le’garde. “Nothing personal, but we’re not even from here. The freedom you’re proposing, well, it might be yours, but only after I get my money. You can have your revolution, but we have our own interests.”

Le’garde stared into Cahara’s eyes, surprised by the coldness and clarity of his words. He, who had always believed in his cause and his ability to unite people, never imagined his revolution would be seen merely as a way to make a profit for others. But he didn’t let it shake him.

“I may not have your support, Cahara,” Le’garde said with a sad smile. “But I can assure you that the fight we’re waging is not just mine. Every young person who joins me, every peasant who rises up against the oppressors, will not do it for money. They will do it for freedom. And that is the greatest power I have.”

Cahara just shrugged, impassive, and signaled for his men to act. “Freedom is an empty word when you’re after the next payment.”

The Capture and the Retreat

The fight was fierce, but Le’garde knew that, no matter how skilled he was, he couldn’t defeat all the mercenaries. The Al Maitan, with their experience and resources, quickly surrounded him, and before he could react, Cahara immobilized him, pulling him down with force.

“You’re not going to die today, Knight,” Cahara said with a sarcastic smile. “But you’re going to spend some time in a much less comfortable place.”

Le’garde was captured and taken away, but his expression remained calm. Even in captivity, he knew his message was far from erased. There were many young people outside who believed in his cause. And as Cahara walked away, with the money promised by the noble authorities already in his mind, he didn’t know that Le’garde’s true fight, the fight for freedom and justice, had just begun.

Between Seduction and Fate

The warm afternoon air dragged over Cahara as he walked through the streets, Le’garde’s body thrown over his shoulders with the casualness of someone carrying a weight that no longer made any difference. Every step seemed to echo in the emptiness of his mind, which now floated between frustration and a slight irritation. It was just another mission completed, but what had he gained from it? Nothing worth mentioning.

He approached the Dungeon, the heavy door creaking open. Inside, Trotur was sitting in a high chair, watching him with his usual impassivity. Cahara, with his mischievous smile and relaxed posture, let Le’garde’s body fall to the ground with a dull thud. He took a step forward, leaning casually and almost playfully.

“Here’s your prize, Trotur,” Cahara said with a cheeky grin. “Now, where’s mine?”

Trotur looked at him with no emotion, but a slight movement of his eyes indicated that he already knew what was coming. Without haste, the man handed him a sack of coins, much smaller than Cahara had expected. He opened the sack with a displeased expression.

“This? Is this all?” Cahara asked, his voice laden with sarcasm. “You know I risked my life and others’ for much more, right?”

Trotur, with his usual calmness, made a gesture with his hand, explaining slowly, “This was the part your band’s leader, Al Maitan, agreed to give each of you. The rest... well, you’ll have to talk to him.”

Cahara laughed, the irony in his laughter escaping uncontrollably. “But they’re all dead, Trotur. It’s just me now! What am I supposed to do with this, huh?”

The Dungeon leader remained unfazed. His expression was cold, distant, as if nothing in the world could disturb him. “Your band is dead, yes. But the Al Maitan gang and the leader are still alive. If you want more, you’ll have to speak to him. I’ll pass the rest on to your leader.”

The response cut through the air, and Cahara felt a wave of frustration take over him. He grabbed the coins, already weighing the bitter taste of defeat, and took one last look at Trotur before turning around, his expression closed. There was nothing more to do here.

The journey back was short, but the weight of the coins and the frustration seemed to grow heavier with each step. Cahara didn’t stop until he reached the bar. With a sigh, he bought a bottle of strong drink, trying to drown the bitter taste of defeat. But even alcohol didn’t seem enough to shake the feeling of emptiness consuming him. He walked to the brothel, his thoughts cloudy and his head pounding.

When he entered, Celeste’s eyes lit up upon seeing him. She knew, with a single glance, that he carried something heavier than usual. She gently pulled him toward her, her fingers sliding down his back as he wrapped his arms around her, their bodies meeting with the familiarity of those who know each other intimately. “Ah, Cahara... you look tired,” she murmured with a soft, seductive voice, her sweet scent enveloping him, easing the tension from his shoulders.

“Mission completed... sort of,” he replied with a bitter smile. “I guess the reward wasn’t quite what I expected.” He kissed her, feeling the need to forget everything that had happened.

But Celeste knew exactly what to do. She pulled him to the room, her hands exploring his body with palpable desire, a touch that spoke louder than words. They surrendered to that intense and familiar passion, but for Cahara, it always felt like the first time, with that same electricity. Each movement, each touch, seemed to drag them to a place where the world outside no longer existed. Just them.

After the pleasure, their bodies intertwined on the bed, Celeste lay on Cahara’s chest, caressing him gently. The atmosphere was filled with a tranquility that seemed to lie to the reality. But finally, she broke the silence, her voice soft and filled with something deep.

“Cahara... I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice carrying an unsettling softness. He looked at her, his heart pounding faster as he felt the seriousness in her words.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his.

Cahara’s world seemed to slow down for a moment. The word “pregnant” reverberated in his ears, and he stared at her, trying to process what she had just said. He squinted his eyes as if searching for the truth behind those words, but he didn’t find it immediately.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, surprise and confusion clear in his voice. “You... you’re serious?”

Celeste nodded, her gaze softer but filled with a strength he couldn’t ignore. “Yes... you’ll be with us. Cahara, I... need you to stay with me. I know this life is hard, but it’s nothing compared to what you do.”

That took him by surprise. Cahara was not a puritanical man. He had tried everything—men, women, pleasure without commitment. He knew what the work she suggested meant. He never imagined the life he knew would lead him here. The idea of becoming like her, offering himself to others to make money, wasn’t something he rejected immediately. But the fear of losing his freedom and, most importantly, not being able to offer a better life for Celeste and the child she was expecting, made him hesitate.

“I... I don’t know, Celeste,” he finally said, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t know if I can do this. I... I’m already a man of the world, but this... I don’t know.”

Celeste smiled with a mischievous expression, sliding her hand down his chest, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Think about it... you’re strong, young, handsome. You could work here, with us. It’s not an easy life, but it’s safer. And if you really want to get us out of here... this might be the only way. I... don’t want our child to grow up without a father, Cahara. I need you by my side.”

Celeste leaned in and kissed his forehead gently. “I know it’s hard, but if you stay here with me, we can find a way to live. We don’t need to risk losing you... to a life of misery and violence.”

Cahara looked at her, the pain and hope reflected in his eyes. “I’ll work harder, Celeste. I’ll do whatever it takes to give you and our child a better life. I’ll get out of this life... one day.”

She smiled with an expression of hope, but deep down, he knew she wanted something more. Something safer. Something simpler. Something he didn’t know how to offer.

Once again, he surrendered to the warmth of her arms. This time, they were both tired. Celeste dozed off, and Cahara went outside to smoke.  
Meanwhile, a hooded figure was approaching him.

The strange man watched for a moment and, with a cold smile, approached Cahara, offering him a sack of coins with a golden shine.

“You have a mission, Cahara,” said the man, his voice deep and mysterious. “Free Le’garde from the Dungeon. The payment will be... generous.”

Since the day he was born, Cahara had never known another life. Son of a dead prostitute, taken in by a group of criminals. He was always wandering, from continent to continent, stealing and fighting to survive. Sometimes, his own comrades would loot his belongings, so he had to sleep with one eye open.

Every now and then, they had to return to the Jettaiah to meet with their superiors, which put his life at risk, as the sacred guard of the Eastern Sanctuaries had orders to kill any terrorist group on their territory.

He was tired, tired of it all. He wanted another life, for himself, for Celeste, and, most importantly, for the child that was coming.

The amount offered was immense, more than Cahara had ever seen in his life. The money seemed tempting, but he knew that this meant another mission, another risk, another journey down a path with no return. He looked at the offer, then at Celeste, and deep down, he knew he was about to make a choice that could change everything.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when Ragnvaldr led his little boy into the heart of the forest, the cool morning air tinged with the scent of damp earth and pine. His son, no older than eight, was already full of energy, his small legs darting through the underbrush with surprising agility.

“Try to keep up, boy,” Ragnvaldr chuckled, glancing over his shoulder as his son scrambled after him, laughing. The boy’s enthusiasm was contagious, and for a moment, Ragnvaldr forgot the heavy burden of what lay ahead.

The forest was alive with the sounds of birds calling to one another, and the distant rustle of wildlife as it moved unseen through the trees. Ragnvaldr crouched beside a low-hanging branch, motioning for his son to do the same. “Watch closely,” he said in a quiet voice, pulling an arrow from his quiver and nocking it on his bow. He drew the string back, the tension vibrating through the wood of the weapon, before releasing the arrow with a soft whoosh. It struck the target, a tree just a few yards away, the sharp thud of impact echoing through the forest.

The boy’s eyes widened with awe. “Did you see that, Father?”

“Aye,” Ragnvaldr said, grinning. “But now it’s your turn.” He stood, patting the boy’s shoulder and drawing a deep breath. “Soon, you’ll be the one hunting. And when I’m far away, it’ll be your responsibility to care for your mother. You’re the man of the house now.”

The boy’s face lit up with a mixture of pride and uncertainty. He nodded, though the weight of his father’s words was still too heavy for him to fully understand.

Ragnvaldr knelt down and untied his bow from where it had rested across his back. He looked at the familiar weapon, his fingers brushing over its polished surface. It had been his companion for many years, each notch and crack a testament to countless hunts and battles fought. He handed it to his son, the bow now far too large for his small hands.

“Take it,” Ragnvaldr said softly, a hint of emotion in his voice. “It’s yours now. You’ll use it to protect what matters.”

The boy took the bow with trembling hands, gazing up at his father. “I’ll make you proud, Father.”

Ragnvaldr smiled, placing a hand on his son’s head. “I know you will.”

The moment was brief, but it felt like the weight of generations passed through him. There was no time left to linger. With a final pat on the boy’s back, he rose and turned toward home, the small figure of his son following closely behind.

When they reached the clearing, his wife was waiting. She stood by the cabin, her expression somber but proud. Ragnvaldr crossed the short distance to her, his boots crunching softly on the earth. He took her hands in his, his grip firm but tender.

“I’ll return, love,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “I’ll come back to you both. I swear it.”

She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, though she said nothing. She didn’t need to. The promise was enough. Her fingers tightened around his, and for a moment, they stood there, holding onto each other, the weight of what was to come settling between them.

Ragnvaldr bent his head and kissed her forehead, a kiss full of love, but also a promise—one that could never be fully kept, no matter how hard he tried.

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling away reluctantly.

And with that, he turned and walked away, his eyes briefly meeting his son’s one last time before he disappeared beyond the trees, his heart heavy with the weight of the journey ahead, and the family he had left behind.

Ragnvaldr boarded the ship with his crew, the men ready for the journey that would take them to Vinland. The ship was an impressive sight, with long, curved lines and a sturdy keel designed to slice through the waters with the agility of a predator. At the ends of the hull, carved figures of mermaids seemed to challenge the waves, their intertwined tails intricately detailed, conveying a sense of strength and mystery.

The crew gathered along the deck, energized by the anticipation of the long voyage. The sound of ancient songs filled the air, the men’s voices echoing in harmony with the wind that pushed the ship forward. Some sang with more fervor, others swayed to the rhythm, but all shared the same joy that only adventurers could understand—the thrill of heading toward something unknown, something grand.

Ragnvaldr was at the helm, his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The sound of the waves crashing against the hull and the distant calls of seabirds were the only sounds beyond his companions’ voices. The sea was calm, but a sense that something was about to happen lingered in the air, as if the ocean itself knew the greatness of the journey ahead.

“Vinland will surely be our new home,” said one of the men, raising his cup in a toast, the metal chalice reflecting the sunlight.

“Let it be so!” Ragnvaldr replied, his leader’s smile confident and firm.

They drank and sang, and as the ship sailed further from the familiar shores, the white sails filled with wind, guiding them toward the unknown. There was something mystical in the air, as if destiny itself was calling them to that new world.

The ship seemed to come alive, the wood creaking in tune with the shouts of the crew. Ragnvaldr felt his men’s excitement and the adrenaline running through his veins. Each stroke of the oars, each movement of the helm, took them farther from home, but also closer to something new and unknown. Vinland was a mystery, a promise, and he was determined to face it with courage and honor.

As the ship advanced, Ragnvaldr thought of his family, but his resolve to fulfill his mission was stronger. The land awaiting them would be difficult to conquer, but he knew that with his men by his side, nothing was impossible. Their future was in the hands of the wind and the sea, and as the sun began to set behind them, he felt a fire ignite within him, a fire that would never be extinguished.

“Get ready!” he shouted to his crew, and the men responded with shouts of joy and fervor. The ship sliced through the waters with speed, Vinland’s destination now closer than ever.

Now, the true journey had begun.

Chapter Text

Ragnvaldr and his crew stepped onto the cold, unfamiliar shores of Vinland, their boots sinking slightly into the snow that covered the land. The endless stretch of pine trees seemed to whisper with the wind, but there was no warmth to be found. The landscape was hauntingly still, as if the very air had been frozen in time. The pale moon hung low in the sky, its sickly glow casting long shadows, but no sun to temper its eerie light.

Soon, the crew scattered to explore, but the deeper they ventured, the more oppressive the silence became. They hadn’t seen another soul since they landed, and the only signs of life were the strange creatures moving at a distance. The cold began to gnaw at their spirits, and hunger, once bearable, now became unbearable. They wandered through a hollow world, and little by little, hunger took over. When food began to run scarce, the need to survive grew stronger. Some of the men began to look at each other, their eyes turning predatory, until, one by one, they began to give in to desperation.

The smell of human flesh was something Ragnvaldr never thought he would encounter. But when he saw some of his men eating the flesh of others to survive, he understood that something deeply wrong was happening to them. The hunger had turned them into animals, and the line between instinct and madness had disappeared. Even so, he didn’t allow them to completely give in. He ordered the rest of the crew to stay away and keep away from the flesh.

Ragnvaldr was the first to notice—his men were becoming wilder, as if the moon itself were calling them, drawing them into a darkness they couldn’t understand. Their laughter became delirious, their words incoherent, their eyes lost. They were always facing the moon, and Ragnvaldr began to realize that the more they looked at it, the more they lost themselves, the further they strayed from sanity.

One night, under the unwavering gaze of the moon, Halvar, one of the strongest and most imposing men, stood up in the middle of the camp. His eyes were unnaturally wide, and his voice sounded hoarse and muffled. “We must become one with the moon,” he said, his words dragging like a prayer. “Only then will it guide us, show us the way. The festival has begun. For Rheer’s sake, we must sacrifice… each other.”

The madness spread quickly, like a fever. Halvar picked up a mace, and with a wild roar, he began to strike his companions. Chaos erupted in the camp, but Ragnvaldr wasted no time and quickly took the man down, restraining him and binding him tightly. “We will not sacrifice anyone,” he said angrily, gritting his teeth, as he dragged Halvar away from the others.

Halvar’s delirium only grew stronger. “The moon will save us! It will bring us together!” he shouted until he was contained. “It’s already begun! It’s already begun!”

Days passed, and Ragnvaldr grew increasingly hungry, until one day, he knelt at the feet of a fallen comrade and gave in.

The crew began to fragment, and the tension became unbearable. One morning, Ragnvaldr awoke to find that Halvar had disappeared. He had somehow escaped his bonds, and there was no sign of who had helped him. He interrogated the crew, but no one admitted to helping him, and the silence between them only increased the discomfort.

As time passed, whispers began to spread. They said that Halvar had been chosen by the moon god. He had become one with the moon and now followed its will. They spoke of “The Festival,” an event that had begun, and said that the moon demanded more sacrifices. Those who still had some sense left divided, with some choosing to follow Halvar and the moon gods, vanishing into the night to never be seen again.

Ragnvaldr continued searching for answers, but now doubt and fear haunted him. It was then that he found them—the creatures. At first, they were just shadows in the trees, but soon he saw them in full. They were beings with wolf bodies and grotesque crocodile heads, their eyes multiplying in a disturbing way. They held spears, their movements quick and predatory.

Ragnvaldr infiltrated their village, but all he found was a strange altar with a mysterious cube. His curiosity overtook him, and he took the cube, but as soon as his hands touched it, the creatures went mad with rage. They lunged at him with fury, their spears sharp as death. Ragnvaldr tried to resist, but quickly realized it was useless. The creatures were too fast and powerful. He fought desperately, but it was a massacre. He watched his companions fall one by one, their bodies pierced by the spears, their hearts stabbed through, their screams echoing as death took over the field.

When the creatures finally retreated, Ragnvaldr stood amidst the carnage, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. He had failed them all. Desperate, he ran toward the ship, his only remaining hope. He found the boat, cut the ropes, and set sail, leaving the horrors of Vinland and his fallen men behind.

As the ship sailed away, the pale moonlight followed, unblinking and eternal. Ragnvaldr looked out at the vast ocean, feeling the weight of everything he had lost.

Chapter Text

Ragnvaldr felt his heart tighten as he walked along the trail leading to his village. His steps were heavy, weighed down by the memories of his journey and the grief he carried. Each step seemed to echo louder as he neared the home he had promised to protect. The sound of the wind rustling through the trees was a fragile comfort, a reminder that something still awaited him—his home, his family, the reason he had endured everything. But the images of that distant land, the screams, the fallen bodies, and the ever-watchful moon lingered, pressing on his chest like a stone.

When he finally entered the village, he saw his wife in the distance. She spotted him almost at the same moment, and her face flooded with emotion. Her hands trembled as she ran toward him, tears glistening in her eyes. When she reached him, she threw her arms around him with a force born of longing and pain. Ragnvaldr held her close, feeling the warmth of what he had lost and still had.

As his wife kissed him repeatedly, their son approached with the same hope shining in his eyes. The boy didn’t fully understand what had happened but knew enough to recognize that his father was back. He walked toward Ragnvaldr with a look of admiration and trust. Ragnvaldr scooped him up, holding him tightly as if afraid he might vanish, too.

The peace he found in his family’s embrace was short-lived. Voices began to rise around him as villagers gathered, their expressions curious but tinged with expectation. The entire village had been waiting for answers.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” one voice cut through the air. “What did you bring back from Vinland?”

Ragnvaldr swallowed hard, the weight of the question pressing down on him. His hand instinctively gripped the strange cube he had recovered—the only thing he had brought back from that cursed land. His hand trembled as he held it, the burden of failure more real than ever.

“I brought… this,” he said, his voice low, unable to meet their expectant eyes.

The village fell silent. The air grew heavy, the tension palpable. Ulve, the village leader, stepped forward, his steps deliberate. His sharp eyes locked onto the cube in Ragnvaldr’s hand. The silence stretched, oppressive and unbearable.

“You’d better sell that thing,” Ulve said, his voice deep and filled with reproach. “And you’d better organize the funerals for those you killed.” His words hit like a hammer. “Do you understand now? Do you understand what it means to carry the lives of others on your shoulders?”

Ragnvaldr didn’t respond immediately. His head hung low, shame radiating from him. Each of Ulve’s words pierced deeper, cutting through the numbness that had taken hold of him.

“You didn’t have to bring anything back,” Ulve continued, his tone bitter but laced with truth. “That’s not what mattered. You fight for them—for these children without fathers. Do you see that? I can get valuable objects anywhere, but how am I supposed to find another family for these little ones?”

Ragnvaldr’s shoulders sagged as he lowered his head further, the weight of Ulve’s words crushing him. He couldn’t argue. He had failed—not just his crew, but his entire village.

Ulve sighed, his frustration tempered by resignation. “Sell it, Ragnvaldr. Turn it into gold. We can’t keep something like that here. But their lives”—he gestured to the orphans scattered among the villagers—“those are what matter.”

Ragnvaldr shook his head, his voice rough with suppressed fear. “I can’t take the cube away. If one of those creatures finds me, they’ll hunt me to the ends of the earth.”

Ulve paused, his jaw tightening as he considered the words. Finally, he nodded. “Then bury it. Bury it in Halvar’s grave.”

Ragnvaldr stared at the cube for a moment longer before reluctantly handing it over to the men who began digging Halvar’s grave. As they worked, his wife pulled him close, kissing him deeply.

“I love you,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m so glad you’re back. But please, never leave me again.”

Ragnvaldr embraced her tightly, silently vowing to stay, to never abandon her or their son again. It was a promise he didn’t know if he could keep, but he had to try.

In the days that followed, Ragnvaldr spent time teaching his son how to fight—not just with a sword, but with vigilance and cunning. He saw himself in his boy, the same hunger to grow stronger. But before their training could be completed, Ragnvaldr felt something stir deep in the forest. A presence, faint but unmistakable, beckoned him. He couldn’t ignore it. He believed it to be one of the creatures that had killed his men.

Arming himself, he ventured into the forest, determined to confront whatever it was. Whether it was real or merely a figment of his overburdened mind, he didn’t care. He couldn’t accept what had been done to his companions.

He got lost in the shadows of the woods, his senses dulled by exhaustion and the haunting whispers of the past. When he finally found his way back to the village the next day, something was wrong.

The village was eerily silent, bodies scattered across the ground. His breath hitched as he stumbled forward, finding Ulve among the dead. The leader lay slumped, a spear embedded in his chest. But it wasn’t any spear Ragnvaldr had ever seen. Its design was unfamiliar, unlike any weapon from Vinland or his homeland.

Dropping to his knees beside Ulve, his fingers trembling, Ragnvaldr grasped his shoulder. “W-what is this!?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Ulve’s eyelids fluttered, his breathing shallow. “Ragnvaldr… you came,” he rasped.

“Ulve… are you still alive?” Ragnvaldr’s voice was laced with desperation.

“They came… while you were gone…” Ulve struggled, his voice fading.

“Who were they!?” Ragnvaldr demanded.

“…The Knights of the Midnight Sun…” Ulve muttered, coughing weakly. “The pretty man… with the locks of a fair maiden…”

Ragnvaldr’s stomach churned as Ulve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “The captain… he wanted the… what we brought from… from Vinland.”

Ulve’s body sagged as his strength gave out. “I’m going to sleep now…” he murmured.

Ragnvaldr swallowed hard, his throat tight with grief. “Rest in peace, Ulve,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he closed the man’s eyes.

Ragnvaldr froze for a moment after closing Ulve's eyes, but then reality struck him like a sharp blade. His heart began pounding violently, and a single thought consumed his mind: his family.

He stood abruptly, gasping for breath, his eyes fixed in the direction of his home. There was no time to think, no time to fear.

He ran, his heavy steps pounding against the frozen ground, moving so fast that the world around him blurred.

As he ran, images of his wife and son flooded his mind. He could see her smile, hear the boy's laughter as he taught him how to hold a sword.

They were his reason to keep going. They were everything. He would not-could not-let anything take them away from him. Not now. Not after everything.

But as he neared his home, the ground beneath his feet seemed to crumble. A pool of blood awaited him at the entrance, spilling across the uneven ground and forming a trail that led to his half-open door. His stomach turned, and his body froze for an instant, hesitating to face the inevitable.

"No... no, no, no..." he whispered, shaking his head. His feet moved forward, even as his soul screamed at him to stop. He followed the trail of blood, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the world around him.

Ragnaldr pushed the door open, and everything stopped. The air.

Time. Hope.

Inside the house, he found the bodies. First, his wife, lying on her side, her hair soaked with blood.

Her skin, once so warm and full of life, was pale and cold. He collapsed to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch her face, trying to wake her, but reality was too cruel to deny.

"No... no, please..." he murmured, his voice breaking into desperation. His eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for his son. He found him near the corner, curled up and motionless. The boy still clutched the small bow Ragnvaldr had given him, as if he had tried to fight, as if he had tried to be the man his father had taught him to be.

"My son..." Ragnvaldr crawled to him, tears now streaming freely down his face. He picked up the small, lifeless body and held it against his chest, as though he could bring him back, as though his own warmth could restore life.

Ragnvaldr's world crumbled in that moment. That moment destroyed everything he was, everything he had fought for. His family was gone. His promise to never leave them again had been broken in a way he could never repair.

He screamed-a raw, agonized sound that echoed through the house and the forest beyond. It was a cry of pain, of rage, and of guilt. He had failed again. This time, it wasn't just his crew or his village. It was his family, the only thing that truly mattered.

Still clutching his son's body, Ragnvald made a silent vow.

He would find those responsible. He would bring them justice, no matter the cost. Even if it meant sacrificing the little that remained of himself.

Chapter Text

D’arce Cataliss

When I was four years old, my mother died. From something I didn’t understand until recently, I only knew that she chose it.
“She’s strange,” was all I thought.

I looked at my father, but I couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad—I never can. He has this ability to get upset even with the wind. He calls it being alert, but I call it fighting ghosts. My brother, Richie, called it that too.

“My dear, my little girl, listen carefully,” Father said, kneeling to my height. “There are many inexplicable things in this world, many things that, if you try to understand them, might end up consuming you. So stay strong, all right? Be calm, be obedient, be patient, and everything will be fine.” I nodded.

I went looking for Richie. He spent the entire night crying. I was frustrated because I wanted to play horsey again, but he told me, “Not now, little sis.”
Not now… It was annoying, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Eventually, he picked me up and took me to the garden to pick flowers. He made beautiful arrangements—he said Mom had taught him. I loved them. Maybe that’s why he loved Mom so much. I guess he cried because he couldn’t make arrangements with her anymore. Maybe she knew more than just arrangements, but I’ll never understand anyway.

I didn’t know the mother Richard knew. I didn’t know the woman my father knew. It seems I arrived too late—she was already taken by melancholy, afflicted with a case of… black blood? I think that’s what they call it. Sadly, there was no cure.

Of course, I never needed her because I had Richie. Richard knew so many things that I can barely recount. How to identify precious stones, how to ride a horse, how to write invisible messages, how to climb high places… everything! He was a rare soul, one you encounter only once in a lifetime. Even rarer, considering he looked at you instead of just your coat of arms. He also taught me to read and write before Father even got me tutors. I think he felt lonely reading those books no one else would read. I was very happy to share those readings with him.

One time, he went to one of those strange parties in the forest that Father abhorred. He said they were heretical—something All-mer would despise. I tried to warn him, but he said, “D’arce, don’t you see that Father is already old? If you keep listening to him, you’ll go blind too.” To this day, I don’t know what he meant by that.

I would ask, but he never came back—at least not after the war. I know that we, the Cataliss family, have a duty to protect the country and dedicate our lives to the crown, but I wished Father had opposed it. Before, I thought I should obey my father, but no, it was never him—it was always the crown.

I’m not complaining. I know many would give their lives to be in my place, but I still don’t understand why I was born like this—why I was born to fight for a faceless symbol, for someone I might never even see. I studied different theorists with my tutors. So many talk about freedom, but I wonder if they’ve ever seen it. If freedom is choosing to follow or not follow All-mer, aren’t the paths pre-designed either way?

I think… that’s the price to pay for having a name. Knights have honor, not freedom; they have property, but no peace; they have food, but no rest. Perhaps I’ll only find rest when I join my brother.

I still remember when we received the letter. The dreaded letter with the red seal. It read: “Dear Cataliss family, it is with great sorrow that we inform you that your eldest son, Richard Cataliss, has fallen in battle. To the family, we offer our deepest condolences. His loyalty and service to the crown will never be forgotten.”

“Is that it?! Is that all they have to say after my son gave his life for this damn country?!” my father raged, furious, throwing the letter into the fireplace.

I kept thinking, “Should I do something now?” It wasn’t like this was the first time, but before, we had Richie, and now…
“D’arce, my dear, come here.” I went, and my father hugged me—for the first time in my life. “I can’t do this the way he did, but don’t forget this, okay?” “This what?” I questioned silently, but I nodded anyway.

Over time, something strange started growing—a hole, a gap that never closed. At first, it was just memories, just the same dream. Richard saying goodbye, hugging me and Father, kissing me on the head, and saying, “Behave,” while whispering, “but not too much.” Now the world feels incomplete, the halls empty, the days long.

I couldn’t take the same breaks my father took—I’m the family’s young knight now. He always asks if I’m okay, if I’m not pushing myself too hard or carrying too much weight. I’d say absence is the heaviest burden, but I’m doing my job. I graduated from the academy and had my first real mission—to collect a debtor.

Of course, I had defended the palace and royal properties from invaders before, but this was different. They had no weapons. They didn’t fight. They just pleaded for more time. I had never been there before. I don’t think my family ever had to pay for anything, but still. I couldn’t look at that father and see a criminal. I couldn’t see a threat in the blood I spilled. Does the crown follow laws? Which ones? How could a governor appointed by All-mer go against His teachings? How could he sacrifice an innocent?

Now it’s not just questions. There are images—screams my mind cannot quiet. Why do they make me sin? Is it me who washes away their sins? Is it me who carries and perpetuates all the evil?

“D’arce!” my father called, and I quickly went to see what he needed.
“I’ve been thinking… You’re a grown woman now. You’re 18 and have served the guard for quite some time. Don’t you think it’s time to leave this life behind and have a family of your own?”

His question left me a mix of astonishment and confusion.
“But I have you, Father.”
“Besides me, my daughter.”

I had never thought about something like that before—maybe because I didn’t understand the logic behind wanting a family, given how little time I have. Moreover, I’m the last of my lineage. I need to carry on the family name and adopt someone who will honor it.

“But Father, having children out of wedlock is condemnable by All-mer. And I can’t marry because I’m the heir of the Cataliss family now. I need to adopt an apprentice to carry on our name.”

“And your story, daughter—when will you carry it forward?” my father asked in a soft tone, which felt really strange since he almost never spoke that way. “When will you think about yourself? About your happiness?”

My father was called away to attend to some guests, leaving me there, thinking. Of course, what he said seemed far from happiness, but it made me wonder what it even was.

It didn’t take long for someone to rival me in battles. There was a new noble from a distant kingdom, Arcturus' cousin, who rivaled even the most experienced. D’Arce wondered where he had trained. He seemed to have no technique, but what he lacked in technique, he made up for in reflexes.

“Le’garde, right?” I approached to greet him. “You have great skills. Are you from Rondom Academy?” I extended my hand to shake his, and he stepped back but eventually shook it.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought,” he replied.

He also seemed strange, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of my family name, the feud between Arcturus and my father, or some personal issue with me. But his mannerisms betrayed discomfort, as if he didn’t want or shouldn’t be there.

It was only a few days later that I understood his reaction. When I saw my father pull him into a hallway and kiss him. Le’garde protested, furious, saying my father could have ruined his life, to which my father replied, “Is it Arcturus? What does that bastard give you? I can give you double, triple! Forget him.”

“When I say ‘Not here,’ it means ‘not here!’” he raged, pulling away from my father.

“Watch out, boy. You walk through these halls with your head held high, as if you belong here, but these are still my lands. If you want to train, or better yet, live here, I suggest you behave,” my father said to Le’garde in a threatening tone before leaving the area.

Soon after that, Arcturus moved to another province. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence, just as I knew my father hadn’t been alone for so long since my mother passed, but coercion? That was something I didn’t expect from him.

I stood on the balcony of my room, reflecting on what I had just discovered. All-mer certainly wouldn’t allow the union of two beings incapable of forming a family, so my father wouldn’t marry Le’garde, but why was he keeping him this way? That’s when I heard loud, incessant knocks on my door. I wasn’t expecting visitors, so I grabbed a dagger before approaching. Before I could even say anything, the door was opened.

The sight of Le’garde standing there surprised me. His face was slightly flushed, his eyes a little cloudy, and the smell of alcohol reached me, filling the space. He smiled, but it was a crooked smile, something between charm and carelessness.

“What are you doing here?!” My voice came out firm, though my mind was a mess. Before I could close the door, he gently pushed it open and entered, as if the space already belonged to him.

“I… was thinking about how this world could be more… interesting,” he said in a hoarse, almost teasing tone. That mischievous smile stayed on his lips as he approached. “Maybe you can help me figure that out.”

My body reacted before my mind could organize my thoughts. I took a step back, keeping the distance between us. There was something unsettling in the way he spoke, how he looked directly at me, as if he was trying to see something beyond what I wanted to show. A warmth rose to my face.

He moved a little closer, and I felt his hand on my chin, gently lifting my face so our eyes would meet. I froze, surprised by the audacity of the gesture, but for some reason, I was anxious. I stared at him, trying to hide the feeling his words stirred within me.

“You care so much about what others think of you, D’Arce… And why not? Your name, your lineage… everything you do is in their name. But what if, just for a moment, you… freed yourself from that?” he said, his voice low and intense. His words carried a strange weight, a truth I had long sensed, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face.

I tried to step back, but he moved faster, closing the door behind me. The soft sound of the wood meeting the frame echoed in the room, and I stared at him, my expression fierce, but my heart restless.

“You… what do you want from me?” My voice came out low, almost a whisper, though firm. I knew I should assert myself, but I couldn’t – or didn’t want to deny it.

He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes seemed to read every movement of mine, every nuance of my posture. When he spoke again, it was slower, more calculated.

“I don’t need anything else, D’Arce… unless you want to help me create a new world. A world where your parents don’t dictate what you can or cannot do.”

My mind spun as I tried to understand what he really wanted. His words seemed to seep into my defenses, touching a part of me I avoided examining.

“I’m not like the old man, D’Arce. I don’t care what you are, or your name. What matters is what you really want to be. And if you help me, you’ll have a place in all of this. Without the shackles, without the chains of the past.”

As he spoke, I felt that his words carried more than just an appeal. It was a promise of something different, something I had never had — a choice.

He then pulled back, releasing my chin, and the silence that followed seemed as heavy as the words he had just spoken.

“I can offer you a new beginning. No senseless pain. No useless violence. And if there’s a fight, it will be for something real. Something you can truly believe in. What do you think about fighting for peace?”

I didn’t know what to say. Was that possible? Was it really possible? A new beginning... a world where that father, where Richard wouldn’t have to die?

When he opened the door and left, without looking back, I realized something had changed. Not just in the atmosphere of the room, but within me. He had planted an idea — a seed I wanted to nurture, care for as my treasure.

And then, the room fell silent again. Suddenly, waking didn’t hurt anymore.

I knew none of this would come easy. I knew that when I cut my hair, I knew that when I grabbed my armor, my sword, and joined the Knights of the Midnight Sun. The road was hard, no one understood us, but I knew, by the feeling in my chest and the glory of All-mer, that we were on the right path.

We fought hard, spilled a lot of blood, committed violence, yes, I wouldn’t lie. I won’t call myself a pacifist, not in this age, but if my fight brings it, then I’ll dirty my hands, feet, arms, legs, my whole body. It’s all for us, for our good, for the good of those civilians, my father, Richie... For my good. Yes, daddy, I’m fine. I found the happiness you always spoke of, now I just need to build it.

I think I finally understood what Richie meant when he said “Be obedient, but not too much.” I ended up laughing as I thought about it.

After a tough battle against the barbarians, I grabbed some drink from their barrels and went to see Le’garde, who looked serious and centered, as always. How I wished he would break this facade, for All-mer, this man never rested, especially after he became obsessed with that prophecy. I never truly believed in it, I’d joke about it, but if all of this gave him the courage he needed, then I’d follow as many prophecies as it took.

I learned much more about him after I rebelled and joined the band. I knew what each of his expressions meant, knew when he was hungry, tired, sad, thoughtful. I always read him like a book, always eager to read him. I thought it was because he opened my eyes, but today I know it’s not that, though I’d never dare mention why.

I approached, taking off my helmet with a simple gesture, feeling the night wind caress my sweaty and tired face. My body craved rest, but my heart, driven by the weight of victory, found energy somewhere hidden.

“Captain,” I started, forcing a smile while trying to keep a firm posture. “We did it. We are the greatest army that ever existed!” I wanted my voice to sound strong and full of conviction, but it came out as exhausted as I felt, heavy with pride and fatigue.

He didn’t look away from the horizon, his posture as still as a statue. It was as if the darkness of the night was weighing on his shoulders, and for a moment, I wondered what he saw out there beyond the fields.

“No… not yet, D’Arce. This is far from the end.”

I frowned, intrigued by his response. How could he say that? Victory was before us, as tangible as the blood staining our blades. I tilted my head, trying to understand.

“What are you talking about? We defeated the barbarians! This land is already yours. You’re just one step away from creating your own kingdom.”

He finally looked at me, and there was something in his eyes that made me hesitate. That look… it was so dense, so full of meanings I couldn’t decipher. It was as if he was looking at something beyond me, or beyond us.

“You’re a warrior. You should know that times of peace don’t last. They never last.”

His words were true. I knew that, of course. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t wish, at least for a moment, to believe the opposite. I sighed, crossing my arms and forcing my voice to soften.

“I know… but that doesn’t mean we can’t rest. You’re still human, Le’garde.”

I lightly touched his shoulder, trying to convey comfort with a simple gesture. I grabbed a drink from one of the looted barrels and offered it to him, thinking that maybe a sip would help him ease the invisible weight he carried.

He hesitated, but then shook his head. “I… don’t have time for any of this.”

“Don’t you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to challenge him without seeming arrogant. “I thought your dream was to unify the world.”

“It is!” he replied firmly, but then his voice faltered. There was something in his tone that seemed torn from within him, something too heavy to be said. “But…”

“Then let’s celebrate this step. This one step towards that world,” I insisted, keeping a reassuring smile.

Finally, he relented. He took the drink from my hands and sat on a nearby rock, still with that distant look, lost between the orange of the fire and the green of the fields in the distance.

I sat beside him, crossing my legs and resting my hands on my knees. The silence between us was heavy, but I was used to it. I learned that sometimes, silence reveals more than words ever could.

But then, unable to avoid it, I let my curiosity slip. “But… why did we come to Oldegård after all? I don’t understand the importance of expanding the kingdom this far... I mean, of all places, why such an archaic one?”

He didn’t answer immediately. I noticed how he swirled the goblet in his hands, his eyes fixed on the reflection of the moon in the dark liquid.

“To reach greater heights, unite the land, bring about the new era... I need this power. The strength of kings and queens isn’t enough. I need more. Something that will last beyond me.”

His words took me by surprise. I had heard dreams of glory before, but there was something different in his tone. It was as if every syllable was steeped in something... dark.

“I still feel pain...” I murmured, almost unaware I was speaking. “Thinking of those helpless.”

He looked at me, his eyes sharp as blades. “Do you think any of the great kingdoms the history books talk about were built on pure foundations? They were all built with bloodshed and violence. But what if there was a path that didn’t require thousands of soldiers on opposite sides destroying their lives? What if such a great kingdom only required one soul to succumb to darkness? Just one soul to be tainted.”

My heart froze. He was talking about something I didn’t fully understand, but the meaning behind his words left me uneasy. I widened my eyes, trying to control my voice.

“What? What are you planning?!”

For a moment, he looked at me as if he was about to open his heart. But then, something inside him changed. He looked away, his shoulders relaxing as if carrying a burden he decided not to share with me.

“Forget it,” he said, his voice lower, almost a whisper. He took another sip, vaguely gesturing toward the camp. “It’s our night, right? You deserve this rest.”

I watched him in silence. The words he hadn’t said felt just as heavy as the ones he had. But for now, I decided to let the mystery remain. After all, this was my night too. And I needed it just as much as he did.

When we returned, we camped a few more times, and along the trail, certain bands of thieves appeared from time to time, but none that posed a real threat, at least not until that moment.

“Le’garde, WAIT!!” I shouted.
It all happened so fast, I knew they weren’t ordinary as soon as I laid eyes on their garments. Eastern Sanctuaries, a gang from the Eastern Sanctuaries on the Oldegård route, it could only be Al Maitan. No one else would go so far from home, no one else would have taken Le’garde that way.
The rest of the gang was wiped out, but I knew there were hundreds, thousands of them scattered around the world. If what they want is a ransom, I will provide a ransom, whatever it is, but I can’t abandon my future like this.

Chapter Text

Enki

Enki had always known he was different. From the moment he and Carmilla, his twin sister, were found at the monastery gates and taken in by Father Ankarian, the feeling of displacement had been constant. To Father Ankarian, the sudden appearance of the two children was no coincidence, but a divine sign, something he proclaimed fervently in his sermons. However, to Enki, there was little to no mysticism in that encounter.

Even though they lived and studied at the monastery, neither he nor Carmilla believed in All-mer or any other deity. To Enki, gods were convenient constructs, control mechanisms disguised by rituals and promises of salvation. It was a simple, practical logic. “Virtue” was nothing more than what Father Ankarian declared it to be, and Enki accepted this definition to avoid trouble. “If I don’t cause disruptions,” he thought, “I won’t have to get involved in anyone’s mess.”

This might have worked, if Carmilla weren’t Carmilla.

Carmilla was the opposite of Enki in every conceivable way. Where he was reserved, she was fearless. Where he avoided risks, she sought them out. There was an audacious recklessness in everything Carmilla did, and more often than not, Enki found himself dragged into her chaos—sometimes trying to stop her, other times simply watching as the havoc unfolded. On more than one occasion, he ended up being punished for merely trying to keep her out of trouble.

And yet, he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Carmilla was like a pebble in his shoe—irritating, but impossible to ignore. There were days when she managed to coax a rare laugh from him, especially when she made witty remarks about the monastery’s inhabitants or shared some mischievous secret about the people around them, her eyes gleaming with delight.

Carmilla had something that drew everyone’s attention. Her presence was magnetic, and it seemed impossible to ignore her when she entered a room. She learned magic and potions with a fluency that even the strictest teachers couldn’t help but admire. Father Ankarian, in particular, appeared fascinated by her aptitude. He showered her with gifts and praise, giving her a level of attention Enki could only dream of.

Not that Enki cared. He was far too occupied. While Carmilla charmed everyone with her personality, Enki was buried in books. He devoured knowledge about the world—foreign languages, Eastern medicine, crimes committed by clerics. Nothing escaped his insatiable curiosity. He always had a book in hand, his face hidden behind its pages.

It was during one quiet afternoon at the monastery, while Enki sat reading in a secluded corner, that Ervee, Donavan, and Donatello decided to bother him.

“Well, look who it is—the genius, lost in his books again,” Ervee teased, approaching with a smug grin. “Tell me, Enki, do you think you’ll find the universal truth in there? Or are you just running away from the real world?”

Enki didn’t look up from the page, ignoring the group. But Donavan, with his sharp and cutting tone, interjected:

“Of course he’s running away. Isn’t that what he does best? Always so busy with things no one cares about. Must be because no one gives a damn about him.”

Donatello, ever the peacemaker, placed a hand on Donavan’s shoulder. “We don’t need to provoke him. Maybe he just prefers studying. It’s not like he’s hurting anyone.”

“Oh, Donatello,” Ervee sighed, feigning exasperation. “You’re always so naïve. Can’t you see he thinks he’s better than us? Look at him, sitting there, pretending we don’t exist. Like we’re beneath him.”

Finally, Enki closed the book carefully and raised his gaze, his expression utterly impassive. He studied the group for a moment, his eyes settling on Donavan.

“If I’m pretending you don’t exist, why are you so desperate for attention?”

Enki’s cold, direct tone made Ervee falter for a moment, but Donavan wasn’t deterred. He stepped closer, locking eyes with Enki as if issuing a challenge.

“You might be good with words, but in the end, you’re nothing more than a bookworm. No matter how much you read, you’ll never be better than anyone here.”

Before Enki could respond, Ervee let out a forced laugh. “Hey, Donavan, you’re right. Maybe we should give him something more interesting to study.” He pulled out a small pouch of charcoal dust from his tunic, clearly intending to scatter it over Enki.

Donatello immediately tried to intervene. “Let’s not do this! It’s childish. Leave him alone.”

“Childish?” Donavan turned to Donatello with a sarcastic smile. “Maybe, but at least it’ll be fun.”

Enki sighed, clearly tired of the interruption. He murmured a few words in an ancient language, gesturing slightly with his hand. A Black Orb materialized out of nowhere, floating menacingly between him and the other boys. The orb, made of pure dark energy, radiated an aura of cold and dread.

The three boys immediately stepped back. Ervee stumbled, almost falling, while Donavan stared wide-eyed at the sphere. Only Donatello, though clearly terrified, attempted to approach. “Enki, calm down. This isn’t necessary…”

Enki remained expressionless as the orb hovered between them, spinning slowly. He held Donavan’s gaze without saying a word before snapping his fingers. The orb vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Now, may I return to my reading?” he asked, his tone emotionless, as he reopened his book.

The three boys stood frozen for a moment, still processing what had happened. Eventually, Donavan muttered something unintelligible and walked away, followed by a pale-faced Ervee. Donatello lingered briefly, looking at Enki with a mix of curiosity and concern, before shaking his head and trailing after his friends.

Later, Enki was summoned by the monastery’s counselors. He expected to be punished, but to his surprise, they seemed more intrigued than angry. One of them asked how he had learned such an advanced spell. Enki, with his almost cruel honesty, simply said he had found it in a book in the library.

The counselors exchanged glances, visibly impressed. Instead of punishment, Enki was placed in a special training program alongside a select few apprentices who showed aptitude for magic.

When Carmilla heard about the incident, she wasted no time teasing him. “So, you’re the monastery’s golden boy now?”

Enki ignored her but couldn’t hide the faint blush that crept up his cheeks. “It’s irrelevant,” he replied, trying to sound indifferent.

Deep down, he knew Carmilla was right. He was different. And for the first time, he began to wonder if that was a blessing or a curse.

Carmilla

Carmilla remembered clearly the day she and Enki arrived at the monastery. As children, the two spent their time exploring the world together, as if they were a small, inseparable force against the unknown. He was reserved, while she was impulsive, but together they balanced what each of them lacked.

One of her favorite memories was when they played in the courtyard on a sunny day, laughing and running as they so rarely did. Enki was busy trying to decipher something about a broken branch, while Carmilla challenged him to guess which hand held a small pebble. The game was interrupted when a new girl arrived, brought by the monastery priests.

The girl seemed like she had come from a bad dream. She was curled up in the corner, her eyes swollen from crying so much. It was obvious she was afraid – of the place, the people, everything. Carmilla, who rarely missed a chance to be friendly, approached her.

“Hey, want to play?” Carmilla asked, her mischievous smile rarely failing to convince.

The girl just shook her head, sobbing, and returned her gaze to the ground.

Carmilla huffed, crossing her arms. “What a bore…”

Enki watched the scene with his characteristic calm. He said nothing to his sister but approached the girl and sat beside her in silence. At first, she tried to ignore him, but Enki didn’t move. He just stayed there, as if his presence was something inevitable.

After a while, the girl, still sobbing, leaned slightly to the side until her head rested on Enki’s shoulder. Without a word, he began to gently stroke her hair. Gradually, the sobs lessened, and the crying stopped.

Carmilla, observing from a distance, was astonished. “How does he do that?” she thought. It was like magic.

That moment stayed in her mind. Enki had something she could never fully understand – a way of connecting with people, even without apparent effort.

That memory blended with another pivotal event. Carmilla remembered the first time she truly felt powerful. Serina, a small and timid girl, was being bullied by a group of older girls. When Carmilla saw them, something inside her simply exploded.

She placed herself between Serina and the others, her eyes shining with determination. “If you touch her again, you’ll deal with me.”

The girls laughed, but Carmilla challenged each of them to a magic duel. One by one, they fell to her natural aptitude and surprising strength. When it was over, the bullies were humiliated, and Serina, crying with relief, ran to hug her.

From that day on, Serina never left Carmilla’s side. She would hide behind her whenever she felt threatened and trusted her like no one else. Yet, what Carmilla found strangest was that Serina also had the courage to speak with Enki. He always used that monotonous, neutral tone, but Serina smiled while talking to him, as if his words carried a unique comfort.

It was a scene Carmilla saw repeatedly: no matter who it was – even Cassandra, who bullied Serina and remained the most insufferable girl Carmilla had ever known – they adopted a mask of gentleness around Enki.

“How does he do that?” Carmilla wondered, gritting her teeth. She saw it happening but couldn’t understand.

The answer only came the day Father Ankarian called the two of them for a special test. He explained that they were both being trained for a greater purpose and that one of them could eventually replace him as leader.

“Now, we will test your endurance,” he said calmly, leading them to a dark basement.

There, they were chained by the feet. The floor was damp and cold, and the place was filled with insects, snakes, and other venomous creatures.

“The goal,” said the Father, his voice grave, “is to survive until sunrise. Good luck.”

With that, he left them there.

Carmilla tried to stay calm, but panic quickly consumed her. The movement of the snakes and the incessant buzzing of the insects were unbearable. Every bite and scratch seemed to amplify her fear until she started screaming and crying.

“I want to get out of here!” she sobbed, tugging at the chains to no avail.

Enki was just as terrified, but he remained silent, his face pale and tense. Finally, he turned to Carmilla, his eyes fixed on her.

“That won’t help,” he said, his voice firm but low. “Be quiet. If they hear you, they might punish you even more.”

But she couldn’t stop. The screams continued, and her despair overflowed in tears.

Until he extended his hand.

“Carmilla,” he said, his tone softening, “hold my hand.”

She looked at him, still trembling, and finally intertwined her fingers with his. The contact, simple and solid, made her heart slow down.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night, hand in hand in the dark, until the sun finally began to shine through the cracks in the basement.

When they were released, Carmilla was exhausted but alive. She looked at Enki, who seemed equally drained but carried in his eyes a determination she had always admired.

In that moment, she understood. It wasn’t magic or a trick. It was just who he was.

“I hate you sometimes,” she said with a weak smile.

“Good,” he replied, his voice as monotone as ever. “So do I.”

And, strangely, that made sense. They were two. They always would be.

Chapter Text

• Bonds

Enki was engrossed in his book, as usual, his eyes scanning pages filled with ancient words and intricate diagrams. The silence in the room was almost comforting, until the door burst open with a bang, and Carmilla stormed in, her hair disheveled and an expression of despair painted on her face.

“Enki!” she began, breathless. “Where’s the baby-killing potion?”

Enki froze. He blinked slowly, carefully closed his book, and turned his face toward her, his eyes slightly widened. “Color me surprised,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Without giving her question further attention, he reopened the book, calmly flipping through a few pages. “You’re supposed to use it before having intercourse, Carmilla.”

She stopped for a moment, furrowing her brow as though she were genuinely trying to process what he had just said. Then she crossed her arms, leaning toward him with an accusatory tone: “So… what do you use after?”

When Enki didn’t answer immediately, she grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him with force. “Enki, for God’s sake! I can’t get expelled! I have nowhere to go! I don’t even know whose child this is!”

He sighed deeply, removing her hands from his shoulders with a calm motion, as if it were just another annoyance in his long daily list. “First of all, there isn’t a ‘child’ yet,” he said, his voice firm and pragmatic. “Second, there is a way, yes, but… it won’t be pleasant.”

The glimmer of hope in Carmilla’s eyes was immediate, though her words suggested otherwise. “Ah, great,” she murmured, her face paling slightly. “Nothing with you is ever pleasant.”

And so, the two embarked on a journey that, to Enki, was nothing more than another tedious task. He led Carmilla through the darkest corners of the monastery and beyond, searching for rare and forbidden ingredients to prepare a potion that could stop the process before it was too late.

The preparation was delicate, involving formulas that demanded precision and focus. Enki worked with methodical movements, while Carmilla, restless, chewed on a fingernail and paced back and forth.

“Can you stop doing that?” he said without looking at her, mixing a thick liquid that emitted a strange smell.

“Stop what?”

“That… anxious pacing. It’s distracting me.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “If you were in my place, you’d be more than anxious. Do you know what happens if they find out?”

“Yes,” he replied, calmly adding another drop to the mixture. “And that’s why I’m solving the problem. Unless you’d prefer to handle it yourself…”

Carmilla fell silent, staring at him for a moment before muttering, “You’re such a pain, you know that?”

Enki raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. He was more focused on nailing the final dose of the potion. When the work was finished, he handed her the small vial.

“Use this immediately,” he said flatly. “And try not to cause more problems.”

She dashed out without saying a word, probably heading to the bath. When she returned to their shared room later that night, Enki was once again immersed in one of his books.

Without ceremony, Carmilla walked up behind him and hugged him, resting her chin on his shoulder. Enki froze for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the proximity.

“You know, I love you, right?” she said softly, her voice filled with affection.

He rolled his eyes, closing the book. “That’s disgusting, you know?”

She laughed, letting go and stepping back. “You’re disgusting,” she retorted, throwing herself onto her bed with an exaggerated sigh. “Not in that way, idiot.”

Enki simply shook his head, returning to his book without giving her another glance. Still, there was a slight curve to his lips – something he wouldn’t admit anytime soon.

On the other side of the room, Carmilla lay on her side, watching her brother read. “You know,” she began, her voice lower now, almost a whisper, “you can pretend to be made of stone, but I know you care about me.”

He didn’t respond but flipped another page, his eyes still fixed on the text.

“Thank you,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

Silence fell over the room once more, broken only by the soft sound of pages turning. Enki continued to read, but for a moment, he glanced at Carmilla, confirming that she was okay.

After all, it was always the same. She caused chaos, and he resolved it. But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t want it any other way.

• Witch

The sun’s warmth barely penetrated the thick clouds of smoke enveloping the eastern monastery, a place that seemed to balance the serenity of its architecture with the chaos of the battles ravaging the region. Enki and Carmilla had been sent there with Father Ankarian under the pretext of learning physical and spiritual techniques from the local monks. The promise was that the training would strengthen both body and mind, but Carmilla was more excited about the prospect of a new adventure than the lessons themselves.

In the monastery’s stone courtyard, Carmilla and Enki lined up with other apprentices as the monks demonstrated graceful, almost dance-like movements that combined combat and meditation. Carmilla, with her restless spirit and naturally agile body, quickly absorbed the movements. Her fists cut through the air with precision, and her kicks seemed like part of a choreographed routine.

The monks watched her with approval, but the same couldn’t be said for Enki. He tried to mimic the movements, but his body seemed to resist every command. The pain was immediate – a burning sensation in his muscles that forced him to stop mid-move and fall to his knees, gasping for air.

“Get up, Enki,” Carmilla said, seeing him collapse. There was a note of concern in her voice, but also a hint of impatience. “It’s not that hard.”

Enki looked up at her, his face pale and his lips pressed into a thin line. “My body… won’t obey,” he whispered, almost inaudibly.

The monks approached, examining him with eyes that seemed to see beyond flesh. One of them, the eldest, placed a hand on Enki’s shoulder and shook his head, murmuring something in a language the siblings didn’t understand.

That night, while Carmilla and Enki rested, the monks summoned Father Ankarian for a private conversation. Carmilla, who had little respect for boundaries, dragged Enki to the door of the room where the discussion was taking place. Together, they listened in silence.

“The darkness has taken over his body,” one of the monks said gravely. “He may appear normal, but every time he uses dark arts, he destroys himself from within. If he continues, he won’t live long.”

“Then he must stop,” Father Ankarian replied firmly.

“Stopping won’t reverse the damage,” another monk explained. “But it could prolong his life.”

Carmilla stared at Enki, horrified, but he remained expressionless, as though the words they overheard had no impact on him. He shrugged and began to walk away.

“Enki,” she whispered, grabbing his arm, “this is serious! You have to stop using magic.”

“I won’t,” he replied emotionlessly, continuing to walk.

“You’ll die!” she insisted, her voice rising almost to a shout.

“We all will,” he replied, entering their room and throwing himself onto his bed with a book.

Enki’s obsession with knowledge was something Carmilla had never fully understood, but after that conversation, she began doing everything she could to convince him to stop. She offered alternatives, distractions, and even physical challenges – anything to pull him away from the books and the dark practices. But he ignored all her efforts. To him, the only way to validate theories was to put them into practice, no matter the cost.

Weeks after returning to their original monastery, tension rose when the Holy Order arrived unexpectedly. Towering men dressed in gleaming white armor bearing All-mer’s symbol entered the grand hall with firm steps and scrutinizing gazes.

“We received an anonymous report of witchcraft,” the leader announced, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “We’ve been informed that a woman has been practicing magic in this monastery. Given the difficulty of identifying the culprit, we have orders to execute any woman found practicing magic.”

The silence was deafening. Carmilla’s heart pounded as she swallowed hard. Her breathing echoed in the void, but no one said anything.

“No one here practices magic,” Father Ankarian said firmly.

The members of the Order studied every face carefully before finally withdrawing. When the doors closed behind them, Carmilla collapsed onto a bench, gasping for air.

Later, Father Ankarian called Carmilla for a private conversation. He looked visibly worried. “You must be careful, Carmilla. You can no longer practice magic here. If you must use it, do so in very isolated places, far from their eyes.”

She nodded, but the warning left a permanent mark in her mind.

However, it didn’t take long for Cassandra and her friends to start provoking Carmilla, as if they somehow knew the secret she carried.

“What are you going to do? Cast magic on me? You witch!” Cassandra mocked, her voice dripping with mockery as the others laughed.

Carmilla clenched her fists, feeling her blood boil. But then she realized something that made her freeze. Cassandra knew. It was obvious the anonymous report had come from her.

Carmilla swallowed hard and turned her back, leaving before her anger could take over. “I can’t afford to lose control,” she thought. But deep down, she knew that a confrontation with Cassandra was inevitable.

• Date

The afternoon sun fell gently on the monastery, painting the stone walls with golden hues. Cassandra, wearing a confident smile and clutching a letter in her hand, hurried through the gardens. The message she had received the night before was signed by Enki, inviting her to a secret meeting in the old courtyard, an isolated and rarely frequented spot. Her heart raced at the thought of seeing Enki, a feeling she rarely displayed but had nurtured for a long time.

When she arrived at the courtyard, Cassandra looked around, seeing no sign of Enki. The silence was broken only by the rustling of leaves. “Maybe he’s late,” she thought, deciding to wait. But then, suddenly, a sound above her caught her attention. She looked up just in time to see a bucket tilting over her head. In a fraction of a second, a torrent of mud cascaded down, soaking her from head to toe. Cassandra froze, paralyzed for a moment, the shock written all over her face.

With her pride wounded and her clothes ruined, Cassandra stumbled back to the monastery, her heavy steps echoing on the stone floor. As she entered the grand hall, all eyes turned to her, whispers of surprise spreading like wildfire.

Carmilla was nearby, chatting with some peers. When she saw Cassandra, the sight was enough to elicit an unexpected laugh. The mud dripped down Cassandra’s face, and her normally haughty posture seemed hilariously out of place.

“Do you think this is funny, Carmilla?” Cassandra stormed toward her, her eyes blazing with fury. “You set this trap, didn’t you? To humiliate me!”

Carmilla, still laughing, shook her head, trying to compose herself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cassandra. That’s ridiculous.”

It was then that Enki appeared, his typical neutral expression betraying nothing, though his eyes held a faint trace of feigned curiosity. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice calm but with a subtle hint of interest.

Cassandra turned to him, pointing an accusing finger. “It was your sister! She did this to ridicule me!”

Enki raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Carmilla? Setting a trap? That doesn’t seem like her style.”

Carmilla nodded, still chuckling softly. “It’s definitely not my style, Cassandra. But clearly, someone really doesn’t like you.”

Cassandra bit her lip, her anger now mingled with confusion. She knew Carmilla wasn’t the type to pull such a messy stunt, but her laughter and Enki’s indifference only deepened her suspicion. Enki, however, showed nothing but detachment, observing her with a slight tilt of his head.

“This isn’t over,” Cassandra said, clenching her fists. “I’ll find out who did this.”

Enki gave a slight shrug. “Good luck with that.” He turned away, signaling that the conversation was over for him.

Carmilla, still amused by the situation, waved at Cassandra as she walked away. “I hope you find the culprit, Cassandra. Maybe next time you can avoid the mud.”

As Cassandra retreated, humiliated and frustrated, Enki cast a sidelong glance at Carmilla, who was struggling to suppress another laugh. He said nothing, but the faint curve of his lips suggested he knew far more than he let on.

The sooner the letter

Carmilla climbed the monastery stairs, still laughing softly at the chaos Cassandra had caused. She held a letter in her hand – the same one Cassandra had dropped in her rush to escape the stares and laughter. Carmilla’s curiosity had gotten the better of her, and after reading its contents, everything became clear. Enki, in his reserved and meticulous style, had orchestrated the trap.

When she entered the room she shared with her brother, Carmilla found Enki seated at his study desk, engrossed in an ancient tome. He didn’t even lift his eyes as she entered, though the slight tension in his shoulders told her he was aware of her presence.

“Enki,” she called, her voice brimming with amusement. “Creative. I wish I’d thought of that.” She held up the letter, waving it in the air as she laughed.

Enki finally glanced up from the book, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Ah, you found the letter.” He didn’t seem surprised, but there was a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his gaze.

Carmilla flopped onto the bed, still laughing, and looked at him with a mischievous grin. “You really fooled Cassandra. She was furious. And to think it was you… I never imagined you’d care enough to do something like this.”

Enki carefully closed the book, crossing his hands over it. “She crossed the line. I thought she deserved a lesson. Besides, it was a minimal waste of time.”

“Minimal waste?” Carmilla laughed, sitting up. “It was brilliant, Enki. And so unexpected coming from you.”

He shrugged slightly. “Just an exception. I don’t plan to repeat it.”

Carmilla moved closer, sitting beside him. “You’re an enigma, you know that? Most people think you’re cold and distant, but I know there’s more to you.”

Enki looked at her, his serious expression softening for a brief moment. “You’re my sister. I won’t let anyone disrespect you.”

Carmilla smiled, lightly patting his shoulder. “Well, I appreciate it. But next time, let me know so I can watch from the sidelines.”

Enki shook his head, though there was a faint smile on his lips. “Don’t expect me to make this a habit.”

Carmilla laughed again, leaning back onto the bed. “With you, Enki, there are always surprises.”

They sat in silence for a moment, their camaraderie evident, even in the words left unsaid. Enki returned to his book, but Carmilla still held the letter, a reminder that behind all his seriousness, her brother had a side few knew, but that she deeply valued.

As Carmilla continued to watch Enki, the letter still in her fingers, she settled more comfortably, as if waiting for the conversation to take an unexpected turn.

Without looking at her, Enki started speaking again, his voice calm and measured, but with a tone Carmilla recognized as irritation.

“Besides, she’s been quite annoying lately. She talks at the most inconvenient times,” Enki said with a coldness Carmilla knew well masked his impatience.

Carmilla, teasing, asked, “And when aren’t you busy?”

Enki ignored the joke, his focus entirely on Cassandra. “And she also acts in that strange, smiling way, as if mocking me. At first, I thought it was just kindness, but then you told me she treated you and Serina the same way, so I thought she was planning something behind my back too.”

Carmilla tilted her head, curious about the note of resentment in Enki’s voice. “So does she laugh at you or with you? I’m not following.”

Enki frowned, his irritation now evident in his posture. “Oh, she laughs at certain things I say, but I’ve never told a joke in my life. She’s inconvenient.”

The realization dawned on Carmilla. Her eyes lit up with understanding, and she leaned back further on the bed, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. She had figured it out. “Ah… so you don’t realize she’s trying to… provoke you. You know, as a way to… catch your attention?”

Enki looked at Carmilla, slightly unsettled by the sudden clarity in her expression. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not mocking you, Enki,” Carmilla said, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “She’s trying… to get your attention. I think Cassandra has feelings for you. And when you ignore her, it’s like she becomes even more determined to provoke you.”

Enki remained silent for a moment, processing Carmilla’s words. The look he gave her was a mix of confusion and mild displeasure. “I never… I don’t even…”

Carmilla laughed again, standing up and walking over to him. “I know. You’re so dense sometimes.” She placed the letter on the desk where he was working, her smile amused. “She’s trying to catch your attention, Enki. And honestly, it seems like she’s succeeding.”

Still slightly lost in the revelation, Enki sighed heavily. “That does make more sense, actually. But… what a strange thing. I’ve never seen her that way.”

“Exactly,” Carmilla said with a soft but playful tone. “Now you understand why she’s been ‘kind.’ Don’t worry, Enki. Maybe it’s time for you to deal with it. Just don’t expect me to be your intermediary.”

Enki shook his head, clearly bothered by the idea of dealing with these feelings and gestures he had never known how to identify as anything more. “This is… unsettling.”

“Welcome to the world of human interactions,” Carmilla replied with a sly wink. “But for now, I think we have more things to do. And Cassandra… well, she’ll keep making her moves. Just don’t keep her waiting too long.”

Enki made a sound of disdain, but his face was still a little flushed, which Carmilla found particularly amusing. She stepped away, still smiling, leaving her brother to process everything he had just discovered.

“You should take advantage of her, Enki. Sleep with her, take her body… you know, have some fun.”

He slowly lifted his gaze, his expression remaining impassive, but internally, he felt a slight irritation. Trying to end the conversation, he replied in a dry tone, “We’re under a vow of chastity, Carmilla. I don’t know why you insist on these provocations.”

Carmilla let out a challenging laugh, which only increased Enki’s discomfort. “Good grief, Enki! You exude virginity. We’re not even priests yet… who cares about that?”

Avoiding her gaze, he tried to maintain his composure. “It’s just… a distraction from what really matters. If I could, I would pray to twenty different gods for more power and knowledge. These things don’t bring me closer to the truth I’m seeking.”

She stepped closer with a mischievous smile, always able to challenge him effortlessly. “But isn’t there knowledge in experience? If reading is enough, then why do people seek out experiences?”

Enki raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but still trying to keep his stance. “Experience may have value, but not all of it. Some are just… distractions. I prefer to spend my time on things that bring me closer to complete knowledge.”

Carmilla tilted her head and chuckled softly. “You speak as if the world is just about books. Maybe some truths only reveal themselves when you step out of the pages and live a little, Enki.”

He paused, and in that moment, against his will, an image passed through his mind. Cassandra’s body, the reactions Carmilla had suggested… He blushed slightly, surprised with himself for allowing such a thought. He quickly looked away, trying to push it out of his mind. “I… doubt that kind of experience would provide anything useful for my studies.”

Noticing the color in his cheeks, Carmilla laughed softly. “Oh, Enki, that was adorable. You really considered it, even if just for a second, didn’t you? You’re so focused, but even you have your human moments.”

Still flushed, Enki tried to regain his composure. “I’m not here to be human, Carmilla. I’m here to transcend that.”

Even with his firm response, he knew the slight blush on his face gave away more than he would have liked.

Chapter Text

Enigma

Enki had never been one to seek companionship. His fascination with the world lay in its complexities, observed from a distance. In the monastery, every corner offered something to dissect—from the flicker of candlelight to the hushed whispers in the forbidden library. It was here, surrounded by ancient texts, that he felt most alive.

Today, however, something was different. Sitting in the courtyard, the usual peace eluded him. There was an odd tension in the air, a feeling that someone was watching him. He looked up from his book and caught the unblinking gaze of Sister Eerie, standing at the edge of the courtyard, her eyes locked on him with a focus that felt more than mere curiosity.

He knew she was different. Her presence was commanding, beyond the usual devout nature of the monks. But why was she so drawn to him? There was something unsettling in the intensity of her gaze, as though she saw something others could not.

Enki considered approaching her, but a nagging feeling told him it wasn’t the right moment. Instead, he stood and walked toward the garden, his path crossing hers once more. She watched him silently, her eyes holding a question he couldn’t quite place before disappearing into the shadows.

Search is the Reason

The night settled over the monastery as Enki made his way through the quiet halls. Dinner had been a simple affair, but his thoughts were consumed with the forbidden library. It was there, among the hidden texts, that he sought knowledge beyond the teachings of the monastery.

When he reached the library, the heavy door creaked open, and the scent of old parchment filled the air. Shelves of dusty tomes loomed before him, each one holding secrets he was eager to uncover. His fingers grazed the spines of the books, and his gaze landed on a particularly worn volume. He knew this was one of the forbidden texts. The book felt heavy with an ancient power as he opened it, its contents pulsing with a strange energy.

Suddenly, a sound from the hallway startled him. He quickly closed the book, but the figure standing in the doorway froze him in place.

It was Sister Eerie.

Her piercing blue eyes met his, and for a moment, they stood in silence. “What are you doing here, Enki?” she asked, her voice soft but carrying an edge.

Enki masked his surprise. “Just… reading,” he said, though his heart raced. She took a step closer, her eyes never leaving his.

“Reading what?” she pressed, and his instinct told him she knew more than she let on.

He held up the book. “Just some old stories. Nothing important.”

Her smile was knowing, a faint glimmer of something darker in her expression. “Old stories, you say? I’ve been doing the same thing,” she mused.

Enki’s curiosity piqued. “You? Here? In the forbidden library?”

She stepped closer, her presence imposing. “I suppose you could say that,” she replied, her voice filled with a dangerous allure. “You know, Enki, the search for knowledge can be an intoxicating thing. I’m not the only one tempted by the forbidden texts, am I?”

Enki’s gaze hardened, realizing she wasn’t just referring to the books. She had been watching him for far longer than he realized.

“So it seems,” he said cautiously. “And what exactly are you looking for?”

Sister Eerie’s eyes sparkled with an eerie amusement. “The same thing as you, I suspect. Something hidden. Something just beyond our reach.”

Enki felt a strange pull, both captivated by her and repelled by the darkness in her words. “Do you know what you’re searching for?”

She paused, her gaze softening. “Not yet. But I will. And I have a feeling that you will, too. One day.”

Her words lingered in the air, and Enki felt something stir deep within him—something he couldn’t yet understand.

The Unknown

As Enki read deeper into the forbidden book, he felt himself slipping further from the world he knew. The knowledge was not merely academic; it was transformative. Each passage made him feel stronger, more attuned to a power he hadn’t realized lay dormant within him. It was no longer just about knowledge—it was about power. And now, Sister Eerie’s presence felt almost like a guide, leading him into the very heart of the unknown.

She had shown him a secret chamber in the basement, filled with ancient texts—books that spoke of gods, destruction, and dark rituals. “Grogoroth,” she whispered, the name stirring something in Enki’s soul.

“Grogoroth, the old god of destruction,” she said with reverence. “Most call him a myth. But to some of us, he is a savior.”

Enki was horrified, but also intrigued. “A savior?” he asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

“Yes,” she affirmed. “He is the force that will cleanse the world. The chaos that will break free of these chains. Some of us worship him. We wait for the day he will return.”

Her words rattled Enki, but there was something undeniable in her belief. He was no longer just a scholar of forgotten texts—he was standing on the precipice of something far darker, something that could change the very fabric of the world.

“You want to know about Grogoroth,” she said, her voice low and coaxing. “But you don’t yet know the price of that knowledge.”

Enki’s stomach twisted. There was no turning back now. The path she was offering him was one he couldn’t unsee, a road that led toward something beyond his understanding, something that was both terrifying and mesmerizing.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice now commanding. “I will show you the rituals. I will show you the path. Together, we will bring Grogoroth back.”

And Enki, despite all his reservations, took a step forward. The weight of his choice settled around him, and he knew, in that moment, that there was no returning to the world he once knew.

Answers

Enki sat by the flickering light of a single candle, his gaunt face casting long, angular shadows on the walls. His once youthful features had withered into something almost unrecognizable. At just 20 years old, he looked decades older—his hair streaked with gray, his bony fingers trembling as they hovered over the scorched remains of Eerie’s texts. His body, once lean but strong, was now frail, his ribs visible beneath the fabric of his tunic.

Across from him, Carmilla sat, her posture tense, her expression carefully guarded. In stark contrast to Enki, her appearance remained untouched by the passage of time or the burden of their shared predicament. Her dark blond hair still gleamed in the dim light, her features unweathered. But her eyes betrayed her—there was something darker brewing behind them. Worry. Resentment. And perhaps, guilt.

“Enki, look at yourself,” Carmilla said sharply, breaking the silence. “You’re wasting away. Whatever Eerie gave you, whatever she taught you—it’s killing you. Do you even see that?”

Enki’s sunken eyes flickered up to meet hers. “She gave me answers, Carmilla,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost brittle. “She showed me what no one else dared to. She taught me the truth about what lies beyond this world. I can’t just let that go.”

Carmilla leaned forward, her hands clenched into fists. “And what did it cost you? Your youth? Your health? Your soul? She wasn’t some benevolent teacher, Enki. She was dangerous. Feeding you forbidden knowledge, teaching you blood magic—it was never going to end well.”

He flinched at her words but didn’t respond. How could he? Eerie’s teachings had been a double-edged sword. They had opened his mind to possibilities he couldn’t have dreamed of but had also drained him, leaving him teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name.

Carmilla sighed, brushing her hair back in frustration. “I should have stopped you the moment I realized what she was doing. But I didn’t. And now she’s gone, and you’re—” Her voice caught for a moment. “You’re falling apart.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I was ready for the next lesson,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “I was ready to take the next step. And then she vanished. No warning. No explanation. Just gone.”

“She burned everything,” Carmilla added bitterly. “All those cursed texts, the spells, the rituals—she destroyed it all. Maybe she knew this would happen. Maybe she was trying to cover her tracks.”

Enki shook his head, his frail frame trembling with the effort. “You don’t understand. She wouldn’t just leave. Not like that. She had a plan. I don’t know if she was discovered, if someone accused her and she was burned as a witch, or if she left on her own, erasing every trace of herself. But I know she didn’t abandon me.”

Carmilla stared at him, her expression unreadable. “What if she did? What if she saw what she was doing to you and couldn’t face it anymore? Or worse—what if someone found out about her and you, and she sacrificed herself to protect you?”

Enki’s hands clenched into fists, the motion making his knuckles protrude sharply. “I don’t care why she left,” he said, his voice rising with a rare spark of defiance. “I just know I have to finish what we started. I have to find the truth.”

Carmilla’s eyes narrowed. “The truth? About what? About magic? About the gods? About death?” She leaned closer, her voice low and harsh. “Do you even know what you’re chasing, Enki? Or are you just so lost in all this that you can’t see it’s destroying you?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because deep down, he didn’t know. All he had was the gnawing hunger for answers, the desperate need to understand what Eerie had shown him—what she had promised him.

Carmilla sighed, leaning back in her chair. “If you want to kill yourself chasing ghosts, I can’t stop you. But don’t expect me to sit by and watch. You’re my brother, Enki. I’m not just going to let you throw yourself into the fire.”

Enki looked up at her, his gaze steady despite the exhaustion etched into his face. “I don’t expect you to understand,” he said softly. “But this is something I have to do. I need to find it, Carmilla.”

Carmilla stared at him for a long moment before finally nodding, her expression grim. “Fine,” she said. “But if you’re going to do this, you’d better be prepared for whatever you find. Because the truth—whatever it is—might not be what you’re hoping for.”

With that, she rose to her feet, her dark blond hair catching the light as she turned away. Enki watched her go, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t know what the truth would bring, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t stop now. Not when he was so close. Not when the answers were just out of reach.

Chapter Text

Last Night

The room was dark, lit only by the pale light of the moon filtering through the cracked glass window. Enki, frail and cadaverous, could barely move without each gesture seeming like a monumental effort. His body, consumed by darkness, was living proof of the sacrifices they had made to get here. The most ironic thing of all was that just a few days ago, he had attempted to offer his soul to All-Mer as a mean to transcend the limitations of his body, but the vision of a dungeon, a man, and a world beyond his understanding had stopped him. But for what? Here he was again.
Lying beside him, Carmilla kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind racing.

They had not shared the same bed since they were children, but this night was different. It wasn’t just any night; it was the last one. The ritual would take place at dawn, and they both knew what it meant: only one of them would walk away alive. A fate imposed on them since birth, but one that now felt unbearable.

“You’ll make a great High Priest,” Carmilla said, breaking the silence. Her voice was steady, but a slight tremor betrayed the effort behind her words. She wanted to believe what she was saying, but the reality of Enki contradicted her. He was so thin, so weak… how could he survive?

Enki chuckled, a bitter and weary laugh. “Me? Never. Look at me, Carmilla. There’s no chance. Everyone knows that.” He turned his face to hers, his sunken eyes carrying a tender melancholy. “But you know… I’m happy. Happy I got to take care of you until now.”

Carmilla turned away, a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t want to cry, not tonight. But his words were like daggers. “Will you be able to live without me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” she answered without hesitation. The word came out raw and sincere, and she almost regretted it. Tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks.

“Well, you’ll have to learn,” he said with a faint smile, though his eyes gleamed with sadness. “And stop that—where’s all the pomp of the academy’s best and most influential student? Where’s my confident sister?”

It was enough to break her. Carmilla turned on her side and hugged him tightly, as if she could shield him from what was coming. Tears flowed freely now, soaking the fabric of his tunic. “You’re an idiot, Enki,” she muttered against his chest. “Why do you always have to be like this? So… so…”

“Realistic?” he finished, his voice laced with a soft humor that only made her cry harder. He wrapped his thin, trembling arms around her, offering what little warmth he had left.

They stayed in silence for a while, listening to the distant sound of the wind against the window. Until, suddenly, Enki broke the moment. “Carmilla… do you want to leave?”

She pulled back slightly, confused. “What?”

He looked at her, his dark eyes filled with something new—hope. “Do you want to leave, Carmilla? Do you want to run away from here?”

The words hung in the air, almost unreal. She blinked, trying to process them. “But… where would we go?”

“I know an abandoned castle,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

She shook her head, incredulous. “But how will we eat? And what if they catch us?”

“We’ll grow our food,” he replied, determination growing in his voice. “The castle has been abandoned for ages. The only thing you’ll find there are addicts and rats.”

“Enki…” she started, hesitant, her lips trembling. “I never thought I’d say this, but there’s no way out this time.”

They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t need to. Enki closed his eyes, exhausted, while Carmilla held him as if she could keep him from fading away. And on that final night, with the ritual looming over them, the two of them slept in each other’s arms for the first time in years, seeking comfort in one another before the inevitable.

Ritual

The arena was shrouded in tension, the air heavy with the sound of the crowd’s voices surrounding the ritual circle. All eyes were fixed on the two siblings who had been shaped for this moment. Enki and Carmilla stood face to face, the marks of their lives’ training etched onto their bodies and reflected in their gazes.

Carmilla was determined, but not unshaken. Her earlier conversation with Serina still weighed on her mind. “I won’t accept anyone but you, Carmilla,” Serina had said, her eyes fervent with faith and hope placed in a single person. And then there were Donavan, Eerve, and Donatello, the former bullies who had approached her with words that only fueled her anger. “We’d rather have a human leader than whatever Enki is,” they sneered, and Carmilla, disgusted, ordered them to get out of her sight. She couldn’t afford distractions now.

Meanwhile, Enki was alone, as he always had been—until Cassandra approached. Her eyes were brimming with tears about to spill, and her voice trembled as she pleaded, “Please, don’t die.” It was the only touch of humanity he felt that night, but he didn’t respond. He knew words wouldn’t change what was about to happen.

The signal was given.

Carmilla moved like lightning. Enki barely had time to react before his arm was twisted and broken effortlessly by her strength. The pain was excruciating, but he didn’t falter. With his remaining arm, he cast a Black Orb directly at her leg. The spell hit its mark, the sound of bone snapping echoing through the arena as Carmilla collapsed.

The fight was brutal. Carmilla, even injured, crawled toward him, her dagger gleaming under the ritual light. She began stabbing at his legs, each strike a blow to his endurance. He fell to his knees, his fragile body finally giving way. But she didn’t stop. Carmilla leapt onto him, using her weight to pin him down completely.

Enki felt her crushing weight against his chest. His body, consumed by darkness, couldn’t compete with her strength. He knew his defeat was imminent. Carmilla raised the dagger, but she hesitated. Her eyes met his, and in that moment, all her hardness dissolved.

“It’s over!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the arena. “I’ve won. I don’t need to go any further.”

The crowd fell silent. The moment seemed frozen in time. Enki watched his sister, disbelieving. He knew that even if he pretended to be dead, he wouldn’t be able to fake the necromancy. The ritual demanded more than a pretense. Then, in an unexpected gesture, he grabbed the fallen dagger… and flung it far outside the circle.

Father Ankarian’s roar of rage was deafening. “You have disobeyed not only me but the will of All-Mer!” His voice carried divine fury as the elders surged forward.

Enki tried to back away, but when he saw Carmilla being dragged by the guards, he reacted. With what little strength he had left, he grabbed her hand. They looked at each other one last time, their fingers slipping apart against their will as they were pulled in opposite directions.

Both were thrown into separate cells, isolated from the world. Enki was hurled into a dark, damp pit, the air thick with the stench of animal carcasses and human bones. The moonlight above was a faint reminder of the world outside. He looked up, trying to find something—anything—and wondered if Carmilla was staring at the same sky.

The silence of the pit was suffocating, and doubts gnawed at him. Was this the end? Only Alll-Mer knows.

Chapter Text

Le’garde was taken into the dungeon, shackled. He was moved from machine to machine, his fingernails and toenails ripped off, his eyes pried open by small iron hooks, and sharp objects inserted into every cavity of his body. The pain seemed endless, but Le’garde refused to yield. The chains weighed heavily on his wrists, his movements restricted, but his mind remained sharp. The sound of heavy boots echoed down the dungeon corridor, and within moments, Trotur appeared, his cruel expression illuminated by the torches burning on the walls.

“What did you do? You really made him very angry…” Trotur’s voice was laden with scorn, as if savoring every word. “You led a band of mercenaries, didn’t you? But he usually ignores those. You must be really special then.”

Le’garde breathed heavily, his eyes filled with tears, but his gaze held a determination that seemed almost sickening. He could feel the weight of the pain on his body, but none of it scared him. Deep within, he knew his story wouldn’t end there.

“Oh, you’re the one who wanted to dethrone the king, right?” Trotur laughed, his voice dripping with pleasure. “Good luck on your journey… Hahaha, it’s going to be a bit difficult now.”

Le’garde didn’t answer, but his gaze still burned with unimaginable intensity. Trotur’s provocation was just a distant echo, something he’d faced in other forms before. When he was finally transferred to the deepest cell of the dungeon, Trotur’s smile only grew wider.

“So, you’re the King of the Midnight Sun? The man of the prophecy? Where’s your crown? Hahahahahaha.” Trotur approached, making a mocking grimace.

Le’garde, with effort, resisted the urge to scream. He could feel his body bending under the pain, but his soul remained intact. When Trotur approached even closer, his patience reached its limit. Without another word, Le’garde spat directly in the torturer’s face.

Trotur visibly fumed, wiping his face with rage. He grabbed Le’garde’s chains with contained violence, hatred blazing in his eyes.

“You don’t know what I can do to you, you little shit.” The threat was hissed through clenched teeth.

But Le’garde, with a malicious grin, stared at him, challenging him without hesitation. He could feel the weight of the torture, but something inside him kept him strong. The prophecy, perhaps? Looking at this place, it didn’t seem unfamiliar. Le’garde felt a strange familiarity.

“You look lonely…” Le’garde said in a seductive tone, his voice low and full of provocative confidence. He continued, with a crooked smile. “Want to play a little? We hardly played. What? Am I not handsome enough?”

Trotur’s smile faltered momentarily, and he moved closer, but Le’garde had already left his mark. He knew he couldn’t be broken, no matter what happened. Trotur stared at him with a face Le’garde knew all too well. He ran his fingers across his face and stopped at his chin.

“Don’t think this will make me release you.”

As promised, the torturer kept his word. Le’garde remained shackled, but that night, his eyes were freed from the hook. For the first time in days? Months? Years? He didn’t know, but for the first time, he was able to sleep.

Le’garde dreamed of a vast field, similar to the one he’d encountered in Oldegård, except this one was empty. Le’garde wandered the forest for some time until he heard wolves coming toward him, enormous wolves. He spotted a cabin and quickly hid.

“Welcome, chosen one.”

Le’garde heard a sound behind him and quickly grabbed his sword, taking a defensive stance.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Said the strange woman, calmly approaching the knight and touching the tip of his sword, lowering it with her own hands.

Le’garde was stunned by the way the woman merely touched the blade and lowered it without hesitation. She wouldn’t do that if she were defenseless, would she?

“W-Who are you?” he stammered.

“I am… your guide, I guess we can call it that. By the way, my name is Nilvan.”

Le’garde vaguely remember of hearing that name. He took a momento to look at his “guide” for the first time. She was a woman of medium height, with well-defined curves and robust breasts. He had seen women like that before, but what caught his attention were her pants and her curious crown of flowers. He had never seen any clothing like that.

“Le’garde. You told me I’m the chosen one? When you say that, are you referring to—”

“The prophecy, that’s right,” she said with a gentle smile, perhaps a little too gentle.

“So it was real? Or… am I going crazy?” Le’garde had smiled, which quickly turned into melancholy.

“Why can’t it be both?” she said. “You… seem scared. Maybe Oldegård wasn’t the best choice. Let me see…” The woman put her finger to her chin, as if it were nothing, as if everything were just another ordinary day for her. “Let’s go to Mahavre. That should calm your nerves.”

Le’garde was dragged by the woman out of the cabin, which suddenly became a tower. They descended a huge spiral staircase and spent a long time walking under the sun of what seemed like an ancient civilization, yet alive. Le’garde never imagined something like this, not even in his wildest dreams.

“So… Nilvan. You said you were here to guide me, right?”

She gave a soft laugh and replied, “Something like that.”

“What do I do now?”

“Lie down with me,” the woman responded, with the utmost naturalness.

“What??!!” Le’garde was stunned, confused by the sudden proposition. “Look, not that you’re not attractive, but I have things to do…”

“I know, that’s why I say it. Lie down with me.”

Somehow, he was even more confused than when he arrived.

“Look, I really need to know how I…”

“The only way to change the world is by taking your anger to the Gods. If you can break the barrier that separates them from us, we can all be free.”

She wasn’t lying, there was a huge sincerity in her gaze, and more than that, there was an intense, bright fire that could never be extinguished. Something similar to what Le’garde himself felt.

“If I changed your world, would you help me change mine?” he finally asked.

“Your world will change. I guarantee that.”

Le’garde didn’t know her, he didn’t know where she came from, he didn’t even know if she was real, but at that moment, Nilvan was all he had.

Chapter Text

Ragnvaldr’s grip tightened around the bow, now a solemn relic stained with grief. It had once been a gift to his son—a symbol of protection and promise. Now, it was a reminder of his broken vows and a tool for vengeance. The cold wind bit at his face as he wandered through desolate forests and treacherous paths, each step driven by a singular purpose: to find the remnants of the Knights of the Midnight Sun and their fallen leader, Le’garde.

Rumors clung to the wind like whispers of ghosts. Le’garde—the man who had once commanded rebellion and struck terror into the nobility—was said to be rotting in a dungeon, tricked by mercenaries and forgotten by those who once followed him. The midnight sun had set, its light extinguished by treachery. Yet Ragnvaldr knew better than to believe in finality. If Le’garde still drew breath, he would find him.

The road to the dungeon was cruel. The bare trees stretched like skeletal fingers toward a gray sky. The bitter cold gnawed at Ragnvaldr’s bones, but hunger and exhaustion were distant echoes beneath the pounding rhythm of his hatred. He had scavenged enough food to last the journey—roots, berries, and dried strips of meat from a fortunate hunt. Barely sustenance, but enough for survival.

As he neared the twisted silhouette of the dungeon in the distance, its stone towers piercing the horizon like jagged teeth, Ragnvaldr’s resolve hardened. He would break through iron and stone if need be. There would be no hesitation, no mercy for those who stood between him and Le’garde.

The weight of vengeance was heavier than any bowstring he had ever drawn. But Ragnvaldr knew one thing: he was ready to stain his hands red if it meant justice for his family.

Leaning into the bitter wind, he marched forward, his breath forming mist in the cold air. His journey was far from over—but it had a destination now, etched into stone and blood. The dungeon awaited.

Upon arriving at the dungeon, Ragnvaldr was immediately confronted by enormous and strange wolves, much larger than any wolves he had ever seen in his life. Their eyes glowed with a fierce hunger as they watched the warrior, but he knew he had a goal. Without hesitation, he entered the dungeon, ignoring the scattered chests around him. This was not the time to stop and search; the urgency of his mission pushed him forward.

Inside the dungeon, the air was thick and impregnated with the smell of mold and decay. Ragnvaldr searched through some crates looking for something useful. He found a rusty pipe, some rotting vegetables, and finally, a torch, which he immediately lit. He needed more torches, knowing that the darkness surrounding him was just the first of many obstacles. The sound of something heavy moving around the area made his blood boil. It wasn’t human footsteps.

“What kind of place is this?” he thought, the fear threatening to creep into his mind, but he refused to let it take hold. A faint light guided his path, but the environment only grew stranger.

He found a peculiar book, an object that seemed fake but somehow caught his attention. It wouldn’t open or close, as if trapped in an endless cycle. He picked it up, keeping it for precaution. Who knew what it could mean or if it would have any use? The idea that everything here could be a trap lingered in his mind, but his survival instinct drove him to continue.

He moved on, taking more torches as he advanced through the dungeon. His mind was alert, the sounds from deeper within causing discomfort to rise in his throat. Then, as he approached an entrance, he spotted a grotesque creature seemingly emerging from the shadows. It was monstrous, its enormous muscles moving in an almost incomprehensible way, as though its body was more of an abomination than any natural being. The cleaver in its hands gleamed under the flickering torchlight, but it was what he saw between its legs that almost made Ragnvaldr stop breathing. The thing seemed formless, something his mind could barely comprehend. It was agonizing, and he knew he couldn’t let that monster live another second.

“I don’t know what they did to you, but I’ll free you from this now,” he thought, as he prepared to attack.

The arrow flew, precise. The sound of the steel tip cutting through the air was followed by the dull impact of the arrow striking the creature’s head. It fell to the ground with a heavy thud, its suffering now ending. Ragnvaldr approached the body, skillfully took the cleaver, and stored it. This weapon would be useful to him. His gaze turned to what appeared to be a library. The surroundings were eerily quiet, as if everything there was waiting for something.

The warrior examined the library, but his eyes narrowed with frustration. He couldn’t read the language. He had spent too much time trying to communicate with the locals, but never learning to write. That library would have been a useless mystery if not for the strange opening in the central bookshelf. Something there seemed to invite him to investigate further.

Cautiously, he placed the book in the opening. The mechanism activated with a soft sound, and the bookshelf moved, revealing a hidden passage. Ragnvaldr did not hesitate, passing through the gate and entering.

He found himself in a huge garden, its vivid colors contrasting with the darkness he had left behind. A colossal statue of a deity stood in the center, its features elevated as if overseeing the place. Ragnvaldr wasted no time, gathering some plants that appeared to have medicinal properties and began to observe his surroundings. However, what he saw next made his stomach turn.

A group of people, wearing rabbit masks, were engaged in an orgy in the center of the garden. It was a disturbing sight. Some were involved in the activity with apparent pleasure, but others seemed apathetic, tired, as if they were being forced to participate. A woman approached Ragnvaldr, inviting him to join, but he did not hesitate.

“No… I cannot fall into any trap,” he thought, firmly rejecting the offer. “Not until I complete my mission.”

He realized there were no more doors in the area, and when he tried to return through the entrance, he discovered it was locked. The way back was sealed, and now he was trapped there, surrounded by the wickedness of this place.

Chapter Text

The flames were dying slowly in the camps of the Knights of the Midnight Sun, leaving behind only pale embers and faces shadowed by despair. D’arce watched her companions in silence, the flickering light reflecting off her worn armor, the order’s banner drooping under the weight of defeat. Le’Garde’s name echoed in their discussions, not as a call to action, but as a lament.

“Without Le’Garde, we have no direction,” a knight said, the words heavy as stone.
“If we enter that Dungeon without a plan, we’ll die.”

D’arce took a deep breath, suppressing the tremor in her voice before standing tall, her posture rigid as steel.

“Then I’ll go alone.” Her voice cut through the murmurs of the group. “I’ll map that damned Dungeon, and if I don’t return, you’ll have to move on without me.”

For a brief moment, silence was absolute. Then something flickered in the eyes of those men and women—not blind faith, but a raw, stubborn spark of hope. Her courage rekindled what was left of their pride. She wasn’t Le’Garde, but she was enough.

Before leaving, D’arce sought out her father, Lord Cataliss, hoping to find a trace of the man she once admired. His hall was cold, echoing with the emptiness of a tarnished name.

“You’re a disgrace to our house,” his words were sharp blades. “You’ve destroyed what was left of our clan. The crown no longer trusts us.”

She held his gaze, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she replied, her tone calm but vibrating with something deeper. “But one day, you’ll understand.”

D’arce left with nothing but a worn map, obtained from a noble who had once sent prisoners to that cursed Dungeon. He laughed as he handed it over.

“That place has a… heavy atmosphere. I’d never dare to enter.”

She didn’t reply.

The fog was thick, shrouding the forest like a burial cloth. D’arce marched through it with firm steps, ignoring the cold that clung to her skin. Two wolves emerged from the shadows, baring their teeth. She didn’t hesitate. A precise spin of her longsword, a clean strike—heads fell, dark blood staining the ground.

Inside the Dungeon, the air was dense, soaked with mold and rust. She looted chests efficiently: medicines, food, a pipe, a quill, and ink. She was prepared, but every step seemed to drag echoes of something… wrong.

In a narrow corridor, she found a man cowering, his voice trembling as he introduced himself:

“I’m Buckman.”

She raised an eyebrow. Buckman? A royal family name. Liar. But he wasn’t a threat, so she left him there.

“There’s a torturer ahead,” he whispered. “He’s… mad.”

She kept going anyway.

The torturer greeted her with an empty stare, his mask stained with dried blood. There was no battle—only a dark negotiation. The more heads she brought him, the greater the rewards.
She didn’t hesitate to betray the false noble.

“That’s what you get for pretending to be a prince, prisoner,” she thought as she watched Buckman dragged away. Two strong healing potions and a key in exchange for morality. Easy.
If he’d been a real royal, she would’ve killed him with more pleasure. Thinking of Richie made the hatred boil, but she shoved those memories aside.

She hunted like a shadow. Horrid creatures crumbled under her blade: a cut to the tendons, a precise thrust to the skull. Supplies piled up, but so did the weight on her chest.
Then, a different corridor. A pool of blood. Piles of corpses. The stench almost made her gag, but she pressed on, repeating to herself:

“They want him alive. If they wanted Le’Garde dead, they would’ve just killed him.”

It was a mantra against despair.

Descending into the caverns, the air grew thicker, almost liquid in its oppression. A wolf on the bridge? Ignored. There were worse things in that abyss.

In a dark chamber, D’arce accidentally stepped on an egg. The cracking sound echoed—and then she heard the screech.

A grotesque, furious flying creature lunged at her. Blood ran down her face as the impact slammed her against the stone. She fought, blinded by pain, and when she finally cut the creature’s wings, all that remained was a trembling carcass on the ground—and a knight bleeding, limping, gasping for breath.
She picked up a stone, feeling the creature’s strange aura lingering within. She kept it without thinking much.

The mines were a formless nightmare. Specters drifted between stone pillars, touching the real world in ways they shouldn’t. The sound of invisible caws haunted D’arce, clawing at her sanity.
She ran from shadows that might not have been real, clutching torches as if the light were her last anchor.

But they weren’t illusions. Not all of them.

In the darkness, a grotesque, fierce blue creature found her. This time, she didn’t have time to prepare.

Chapter Text

Cahara couldn't bring himself to look at Celeste. He couldn't return to the brothel and see her face, her eyes filled with fear and expectation; he couldn’t lie to her. She didn’t speak much, but he knew what she thought—that he could be more than just a mercenary, that he could leave behind the gangs and the dirty bounties.

"Just one more," he repeated. This would be the last time. If he completed this mission, everything would change. If he got the money, they would have a new life.

"I can’t let you know, Celeste," he murmured to himself, as if it were an excuse. She would never understand. He knew that if he told her, she would do everything in her power to stop him. She wanted a different life, far from blood and war. And the only way to achieve that, Cahara believed, was to do what he did best—hunt, capture, and disappear again, alone.

No gang this time. They always took his money, always undermining his achievements, always telling him he was nothing, that he would never be anyone without them. He would never have to hear that again.

His backpack was heavy, but more so on the inside than the outside. He filled the bag with bottles, high-proof liquor. It was the only comfort he could have during the journey—something to numb his thoughts, to ease the weight of the mission and the growing distance between him and Celeste. The world out there was unforgiving, and he had no illusions that he would be able to return, even if he wanted to.

"I’ll come back. No matter what," he said under his breath, as if a promise was enough to keep the truth away. He knew that if he did the job right, if he hunted down Le’Garde and delivered him to his fate, he could finally give Celeste and the child she carried something: safety.

He took one last look at the city, the sound of life inside it spreading like echoes of a reality he could no longer live in. With a heavy sigh, Cahara turned and set out on the road. The journey was long, but he did not fear the time or the effort. He feared what he was leaving behind more than what lay ahead.

Cahara followed treacherous paths. His contractor had given him no direction, only a brief description of the dungeons. He had to trail a noble transporting prisoners to find his way there. As soon as he arrived, he spotted the main gate, which he was warned not to enter, so he made his way to the side entrance. One of the last things he wanted was to be noticed and thrown into prison like some stupid criminal who had willingly turned himself in.

The mercenary pressed forward, using his small dagger to cut through disgusting creatures he called "tentacle dicks." They were annoying, but no real threat. Worse were the whispers he heard as he approached a locked door. Something was calling him, a strange, haunting voice. Cahara shook his head and ignored it.

He found a pile of dead, rotting bodies. One of them, in the main corridor, was surrounded by a symbol—it looked like a sacrifice. But the real question was, Why would someone do this here?

Despite the stench, Cahara kept moving, picking up a cuirass, a shield, and a longsword. He also managed to find some food. "Does this mean I actually have luck now?" he thought. It was almost funny—calm before the storm. Looking at his life, this was the most peaceful mission he had ever had.

He remembered a time when he was unable to lift a longsword. Even so, Cahara was skilled with daggers and short weapons, but he could only use them with his dominant hand. His master quickly noticed the problem and ordered his dominant hand to be broken—forcing him to train properly.

It was a bittersweet feeling. Cahara didn’t hate Kaj, but he didn’t agree with his methods either. If he had the chance, he would have taken the gang for himself, would have imposed his own justice. But he wasn’t ruthless, not like Kaj.

He shook the thoughts from his mind, took a swig of his drink, and then spotted his first guard. Without hesitation, he bolted like lightning.

The mercenary had seen a mace—he knew his armor wasn’t enough to withstand the impact. It was a strategic retreat. He couldn’t risk his mission. I won’t stoop to that. I’m a professional, he told himself.

He had one mission: to rescue the man he had captured, whether he liked it or not.

When Cahara descended, he found himself in the prison. What luck. Too much luck, he thought. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite place what.

The mercenary kept searching cell by cell, unlocking the locked ones with his tools—years of crime had given him some skills. Cahara heard wings flapping in the distance, the caws of animals he had never heard before, but he chose to ignore them. He was busy opening chests, finding empty scrolls, stones, potions—a whole assortment of items—until he stumbled upon a doll that perfectly matched the description of the man he was looking for.

"WHAT THE F—"

Before he could finish, a massive creature stormed into the cell and struck him on the head.

Cahara collapsed, spitting blood, his hand clutching his skull as he tried to make sense of what had attacked him. He couldn't move—whatever it was, it was too heavy.

He coughed and rested his head against the cold floor, cursing himself for how stupid he had been to believe he could walk in alone and get out alive.

"Maybe death would be better," he thought.

His pants were thrown across the other side of the cell. Cahara was trapped and bleeding—he had tried to stop the bleeding multiple times using pieces of the bedsheet he had torn apart, but nothing worked.

"Ugh, damn it... could've been gentler. Didn't think my last time would be this."

That massive creature had something between its legs that resembled a club—huge, sharp like a blade.

"How the hell does that thing even walk like that?"

He was hurt, exhausted, and starving. He wondered if this was how Celeste felt after work.

Chapter Text

A hooded figure suddenly arrives at the dungeons. They carry some potions and a protective amulet tied to their waist. Their cloak is adorned with golden details, but their face remains shrouded in darkness. The figure notices the dead dogs and the horse’s corpse, then searches both. They observe that the dogs’ flesh is still fresh and, using their spiral dagger, cut off a piece.

The figure enters the dungeon through the side door, descends the stairs, and the first thing they notice is a symbol on the ground. “A result of a ritual,” they think. Although they do not know which entity those lost souls worshiped, they are certain it did not save them, given all the filth and decay they found. They use the few spells they know to recover their vitality after battling some gelatinous creatures. Fortunately, they are fast enough to strike twice before the creature can react.

Taking the key from a chest, they descend a path infested with long-rotted corpses and come across a skeleton. They can do nothing and curse themselves for not having learned the necessary spell to take it with them. The figure leaves it behind and continues their journey, falling into a pit, encountering a witch, and escaping quickly. They proceed to a cemetery full of graves, one of which is freshly dug but shallow. Ignoring everything, they climb up, lucky enough to avoid the knight with the mace, only to find something worse—a smoldering golden giant.

They run and run, with no real sense of direction, until they crash into something—or rather, someone.

“Ouch… What the—? Uh, it’s you again,” the man says, sounding frustrated. “You can’t use me for the ritual, I’m no heretic.”

The figure looks at him and softly replies, “I won’t.”

They help him to his feet and notices that his leg is fractured.

“What happened here?”

The man looks at them, then at his leg, and responds.

“Oh, this? Pretty common around here. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough. You know… you don’t seem like the other dark priests.”

There is confusion in his voice, but also a hint of relief.

“My name is Ser Seymor, a knight of the Kingdom of Rondon. We came here originally to rescue the prince, but… as you can see, there have been many complications.”

“I see…” they think about what to do. Helping this man would take time—time she might not have. But perhaps rescuing the prince would earn her a good reward.

“Are there others with you? At the very least, I can tell you where he is if that would be of any help.”

“You can?? Really?! Yes, that would be extremely helpful, please!” The man practically begs. “Your efforts will be rewarded, I promise.”

The hooded figure solemnly nods. She searches the room, takes a chainmail and some leg guards, and departs for the lower floor, where she finds a prison. Their torch is dying, but luckily, she manages to scavenge some supplies from the crates. If necessary, she will improvise.

They begin opening as many cells as possible, searching through their contents. At one point, she finds an undead begging to be freed and puts it out of its misery. They leave with three soul stones—that’s what they call them. They don't know what kind of souls the stone can hold, but they will put up to test. If there are soul stones, then there must also be a hexen, they think; they just has to find it.

They comes across a massive creature with a limb larger than any weapon she has ever seen. The sight makes her momentarily lose focus. They nearly loses an arm before casting Hurting on the creature, severing its limbs, then attacking its legs to throw it off balance, and finally driving their dagger into its head.

At last, they retrieved a key and unlocked a cell, finding an odd-looking man inside.

“Ah! Finally! I couldn’t stand being here any longer. What a pain!”

The figure stands still, staring at the man before them.

“Oh, hey there, sweetheart! I’m Cahara, from the South! The best mercenary at your service.”

“Nice try, but if you want to win me over, you’ll have to learn my name first!” The figure replies with a confident, even slightly arrogant tone.

“Oh, really? And what might your name be, noble servant of God?”

“I see you’re determined. I am Carmilla. But you’ll need more than that. If you’re not a knight, I can’t send you up… damn, what am I supposed to do with you?”

“Well, you saved my life, so it’s only fair that I return the favor. How about we work together? You handle your business, I handle mine, and we support each other along the way. Always better to fight in a group.”

There’s a trace of bitterness in Cahara’s voice, and Carmilla notices it.

“You don’t seem very sociable yourself, but don’t worry, I’m not here to make friends either. Let’s go—I have something to find!”

And so, Cahara joins her. They fight through the guards—Carmilla’s two attacks making a significant difference for Cahara, who takes care of decapitating their enemies. After pulling a lever together, an elevator descends.

“I knew they wouldn’t keep political prisoners here… it was too obvious,” Cahara mutters.

“Prisoners? What exactly are you doing here?”

“You’ll find out when the time is right, sweetheart. For now, just lead the way, alright?”

Carmilla clenches her fists in frustration and disgust.

“I said—oh, you know what?! Let’s just go, clown. I don’t have time for games; I have bigger problems.”

“Calm down, my lady! No need to panic, alright? I’m a warrior, but I also know how to hold a conversation. Let’s keep the peace, okay?”

They ascend a staircase—until Carmilla realizes that Cahara has disappeared and that his blue vial is nowhere in sight.

“Thief, scoundrel, bastard, wretch…” Carmilla mutters, cursing him as she searches the floor. She reads some books and finds a tale about Mahavre, so vivid that she feels as if she is in the city herself.

“This…” she thinks, “is exactly like that dream.”

She had been having this dream for months, maybe years. She saw an ancient city, ruins, a flash of light, stone creatures, and a golden throne. Then, she saw herself sitting on it. She didn’t know what it meant—had no idea. She had searched for the city in every book she could find, but nothing matched. All she knew was that Le’garde, the man of prophecy, was somewhere in these dungeons. “Why not?” she thought.

Perhaps he knew something—after all, he was involved with the divine. Either way, she would have been executed if she had stayed. They wanted to burn her. She remembered being dragged, tied to a stake atop a pile of wood. She had never even used magic, but of course, the Sacred Order needed an example.

If not for the fire that broke out in the monastery soon after, it would have been her end. She had frantically searched for Enki, but he was nowhere to be found—not even a body. She reassured herself, “He’s a man, he’ll be fine.” Men weren’t burned for witchcraft. Enki would be safe… right?

Near a small bookshelf, she finds a false book.

“Wait, Carmilla is here??” a voice says. She turns to see Donavan.

She immediately casts Hurting on his arm—the one holding his lamp.

“Carmilla, wait… I won’t betray you! Let me go! I rooted for you all along—I know you’re the best. Please!”

That doesn’t stop her from finishing him off, along with the other black priests present. “Root for me from hell now,” she says, taking their belongings.

Finally, she stumbles upon a towering, red-haired figure who suddenly drops to his knees before her.

“Milady, please, no!!! No, my queen, forgive me, but I can’t go, I can’t leave now! Forgive me, but I need more time!!” the man said in desperation.

“Just a little longer, just this one last battle, and I promise I’ll go.”

Carmilla was completely confused by the man’s reaction. She slowly approached and tried to place her hand on the stranger’s head.

“Maybe… I can grant your request, but you have to promise you won’t kill me,” she said playfully, though there was a hint of truth in her voice.

“Kill you? But how could I… wait, you’re Manerva, aren’t you?”

“If you want to call me that, I won’t object,” Carmilla said with a small, nervous laugh.

Ragnvaldr quickly realized his mistake, and a flush of embarrassment spread across his face. He hurriedly apologized for the misunderstanding.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… it felt so real, especially because of the ravens.”

“Ravens?” Carmilla asked before noticing the creatures perched on her shoulders. “Hey!! Shoo!! I don’t have rotten food, go away!! Ow!! Damn birds.”

“So… do I look like your lady?”

“Yeah, something like that,” the stranger said, not wanting to dwell on the topic.

“Well, I can’t promise to do what she does, but if you want a helping hand, maybe we could explore together.”

Ragnvaldr hesitated for a moment, as if truly considering the offer, but then he refused.

“I’m sorry, but I need to find out what’s behind those ruins. I heard some noises—I have a feeling there’s something there they don’t want us to access. If you can find a way to open the path, I can follow you as a reward.”

Carmilla sighed, frustrated, but it was the best chance she had. “Alright! I never had trouble with alchemy. I’ll see what I can find, but stay here if possible.”

The outlander agreed, and the girl set out in search of something capable of breaking through the rubble.

Chapter Text

Celeste’s home was now a distant memory. She remembered playing in the garden with her brothers, remembered turning fifteen and how her father, a proud nobleman, had given her a beautiful blue dress adorned with jewels and thrown a grand ball in her honor. She danced with several different men until she found the one she was supposed to choose. Did she choose him? No, of course not—who would think a girl could choose her own husband? He was a very wealthy baron, owner of vast lands in different regions. He wanted her for her beauty, and her father wanted him for his money. But Celeste wanted none of it.

That was why she tied together those bedsheets, climbed down from her room, and left, never to return.

She had lived off whatever she could find since then. Some days, she was a healer; other days, a prostitute. Did she find the freedom she had sought? Not really. Now, she had to survive. However, she had become such a shameful stain on her family that her name was never mentioned again. None of them ever spoke to her—not her father, not her brothers, not even her mother. She was tainted, belonged to the world now, and there was no way out.

Ah, but not everything was terrible! Not at all. Celeste belonged to that place in a way she had never imagined. She had learned to sew from an early age and worked miracles with the rags the other girls had. She was always listening to the secrets of her clients and selling information. By selling those secrets, she came across a peculiar mercenary who bought them. At first, she thought he was a dangerous man, someone she had to be cautious around, but as she lay with him, she gained access to his heart—she realized he was just lost.

“You know, Celeste… sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if my mother had been around. I mean, I know it wouldn’t have been easy either way, but you know… that thing they call love. Sometimes, I wish I had that.”

That made her think. What was love? Every time Celeste had heard “I love you” from a man right after serving him, it was merely an expression of the ecstasy they were in. She knew what they actually meant was “I loved this. This was so good.”

Was love what her parents had for her before she ran away? Is that what he meant? Celeste was confused, but she touched his shoulder gently and simply replied, “I’m sure you’ll be loved.”

She wasn’t lying, but to her surprise, it was she who loved him. She longed for his silly jokes, the way he mockingly complained about the other mercenaries, and how he made light of unusual situations as if nothing could ever shake him. Deep down, Celeste had always felt guilty for being a disappointment, even while trying to find herself. With Cahara, she felt like just herself—just a woman, nothing more, nothing less. He had a strange way of making anything feel normal.

On a cold and dark yet cozy night, she was holding Cahara when the unthinkable happened. A simple yet profound sentence escaped her lips:

“I love you,” she whispered.

The mercenary froze at first, slowly stroking her hair as he seemed lost in thought. Celeste could feel his heartbeat quicken. Finally, he said, “I do too, darling.”

It wasn’t the most passionate declaration, but it was the most sincere one she had ever heard. Cahara never promised her grand things like taking her away from the brothel, giving her expensive jewels, or relics, but he always said he would return—and he always did.

He even brought her a forehead ornament, just like that, out of nowhere, with no warning.

“Look at this! I found it during one of our hunts. I thought it would suit you perfectly,” he explained.

Maybe it was the break from expectation, the absence of promises, the fact that he never vowed anything yet gave her the world. He was the world, her world. Celeste never forgot to take the potion to avoid pregnancy—she chose to have Cahara’s child. A selfish decision, of course, but she wanted to give him the love he had longed to have. The same love she wished she could share with him.

That’s why when she discovered that he had ignored her pleas and gone on another mission—and worse, alone—she had to act. She had told him they would have a different life together, and they would, even if it wasn’t ideal. But she refused to have that life without him.

Celeste retraced every step Cahara had taken, gathered information from everywhere, and finally reached the cursed dungeons of Fear and Hunger. She managed to collect some food, pieces of cloth, and matches, as well as a small dagger she always carried to defend herself from crazed clients. She sneaked in through a side door and carefully made her way through, taking some wine from the jars for moments of weakness and ignoring the rotting stench of the place. She had to cover her nose because if she inhaled too deeply, she would vomit. It was truly disgusting.

“Is this what he always sees?!”

She wondered as she descended. She saw two knights, avoided them, and searched through crates, finding armor for her chest and legs, along with a longsword she had no idea how to use. The wounded knight beside her looked at her with pity and a certain desperation.

“Miss, please! For the sake of your child, leave while you still can. They are mad—they won’t spare the baby.”

“Then I must be madder. I’m not leaving without my man,” she said.

Ser Seymor sighed and said, “Since it’s useless to try to convince you to leave, at least let me teach you how to use that.”

Celeste agreed. She didn’t have many options anyway. So she learned how to hold a sword, how to strike at the legs first or at the arm wielding a weapon, depending on what the enemy carried, and then at the head.

“You must never aim for the head first!” he said.

Celeste nodded. She had learned the lesson. Now, she was ready.

“Can you hold this?” Ser Seymor asked, handing her a large and heavy sword.

She struggled at first, dragging the sword along the ground, but slowly managed to lift it and strike at a set of armor, sending the pieces clattering to the floor.

“Better not use it too much. Strap it to your back and only take it as a last resort.”

“Wait, you’re giving me this?? But how will you defend yourself?” she asked, astonished.

“With this,” he said, picking up a mace from the ground. “And besides, you have better chances. I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to the child.”

Celeste silently thanked him. She left part of her food for the man and continued her path, wishing she could find a way to get him out of there. She would certainly seek help once she got out, but for now, she needed to find Cahara.

Chapter Text

Enki spends what feels like months inside that pit. He isn’t even counting anymore, but it doesn’t matter. He tried climbing at first, until his nails broke, until his fingers were torn apart, but it was useless—he was trapped there. All he had was the moon and the insects.

Enki was starving. He ate some insects while sparing others. The insects did not condemn him. They said, “Master, do you need to eat? Take my body.” “Master, do you want me to bring you something? There are larvae here—take them, eat!” They didn’t seem to understand very well what humans ate. Did it matter? He was already insane, talking to insects. At this point, nothing else mattered.

That was what he thought—until the insects managed to bring him something, with their thousands of tiny legs, something that finally allowed him to escape that damned pit.

When Enki saw the light of day, only one thought crossed his mind: Carmilla.

He went to the monastery, trying to stay hidden as he searched every possible place, but there was no sign of her. Then, he overheard a conversation:

“So they really caught her? These knights are relentless.”

“Yeah, every criminal is a witch nowadays. That’s how they get subsidies—they have to pretend they’re delivering justice.”

“Sometimes I feel bad for her, you know…”

Upon hearing this, Enki ran to the city of Rondom. He knew that was where executions usually took place. But when he arrived, all he found was a massive wooden stake and a pile of coal beneath it. He observed small stains on the wood—the coals neither hot nor cold.

He didn’t know. He had no idea whether Carmilla was alive or dead, but he knew one thing for sure. Those bastards had given her up. They sacrificed her to save their own skins, to continue committing atrocities in the name of Alll-mer or whatever god they served. But they would not go unpunished.

That night, Enki returned to the monastery with a barrel of alcohol. He made a small hole and rolled it around the building. Once he was sure the entire place was drenched, he used pyromancy—one of the first spells he had learned—and set everything on fire. He left to the sound of screams, cries, despair, but with a smile on his face.

“Still feeling sorry for her now?” he thought.

Enki never found Carmilla, but his now loyal servants worked tirelessly to send him information about the man he had seen that day—the fateful day when he thought he was doomed to eternal ignorance, when he believed he had already uncovered all the world’s secrets. What a day. What a terrible day.

Enki hated that man because nothing about him could be understood.

Le’garde. The man who defied the social order.

Le’garde. The leader of the revolutionaries.

Le’garde. The savior of the prophecy.

At first, Enki didn’t believe in such mysticism, but Eerie had changed something in him. Enki began to wonder if there was something beyond the human world—beyond what he already understood. He needed more.

Le’garde was in the Dungeons of Fear and Hunger, the little ones told him.

“Master, he is dying. You must be quick.”

“Master, you will need light. A lot of light.”

Enki gathered as many torches as he could, a dagger, and two healing potions before heading to the dungeons.

Through the fog, he encountered a long-dead horse. He also saw dogs, cut open, covered in flies. The flies whispered:

“A woman passed through here. She killed the dogs. She killed many creatures, master. You should follow her path—it will be safer that way.”

They pointed toward the main entrance, to which Enki replied,

“Are you insane?!! They’ll catch me immediately!”

The tiny creatures chittered, “There are others like you… well, at least there were. Just say you’re with them.”

“With who??”

“The Priests of Destruction, my lord! You were one of them. A Black Priest.”

Enki’s stomach turned at the mere thought of facing someone from that place again. Of course, he hadn’t killed all of them—that would be impossible. There were thousands of churches outside the Vatican. But he had hoped to escape the church entirely.

“Fine. We’ll see if this works.”

And so, he entered through the main gate, taking every text he could get his hands on. His little servants were right—most of the enemies had been slain. Enki knew he was dealing with either a formidable enemy or a powerful ally, but he preferred never to cross paths with them.

He found a ritual circle and opened a portal, just in case he needed an emergency escape. He also prayed to Alll-mer out of mere reflex—after all, he had been raised in the Vatican.

Enki searched the libraries, discovering books on Sylvian and Grogoroth, alongside notes from an extraordinarily wise man discussing the two forces of creation and destruction. Enki wondered who had written them—it was a shame that ancient books almost always lacked an author. He found the story of a desperate man, prison guards’ accounts of a virtuous knight who had gone mad after being captured, and a book titled Lost Memories.

Upon reading it, Enki saw the entire history of his people unfold before his eyes, gaining knowledge of an ancient art—necromancy, the magic he should have used in that damned ritual. Why did it haunt him?

Perhaps the strangest thing of all was that everyone was dead. All the Black Priests—gone. Enki wondered if that brutal woman despised them so much. That thought terrified him because, despite being removed from the church, he had no other attire to wear.

“Better avoid her,” he thought.

When Enki entered a room, he saw a man trapped in a torture device, crying, screaming, begging for help.

“Hey, you!! Yes, you! Help me, get me out of here!! Please.”

Enki lowered his book and looked at him with indifference, asking: “What would I gain from that? Other than being hunted down by your executioner, of course.”

The man was small, with a modest beard and a thick mustache, and was going bald. He still had all his limbs, but there was no way for him to escape the machine without help.

“Everything!! Everything money can buy. I’m rich, very rich!! I assure you, you’ll never need anything in your life again! Nothing!”

Enki paused and pondered for a moment. Would someone truly rich be imprisoned in a place like this? And if so, for what reason? Nobles rarely received such severe punishments.

He was still thinking when he heard the sound of something approaching. Enki quickly hid behind a crate.

“Did I hear you talking to someone?? Does that mean you have friends? Come on! Introduce me to them,” said the man, hunchbacked and completely deformed.

Enki just watched, horrified, certain that he was about to take the place of the tortured man. But instead, he only heard:

“I was just lonely, that’s all. Now let me go, or I’ll talk nonstop!”

“Ha! Nice try, fraud. You should’ve thought twice before using the prince’s name.”

That man… was protecting him?? Protecting Enki?? Someone he had just met??

Enki was at a loss for words. He simply didn’t know what to think. The torturer grabbed a scythe and walked toward the prisoner, but Enki’s body reacted faster. He grabbed the torturer’s head and used Hurting on him, causing the beheaded body to collapse onto the floor.

The imprisoned man watched with tears in his eyes, though Enki couldn’t tell if it was from fear or relief.

“I’ll pay you double!! The rail!! Everything I have! Sir, I owe you my life!” the man said.

Enki sighed and released him using the keys from the corpse’s pocket. He also looted the body, taking the coat, as the fabric could be useful.

“Don’t think I did this out of kindness. I just don’t like being in debt.”

Even so, the man gave him a lot of money. Much more than Enki had earned in his entire life. In fact, Enki had never had any money at all—his life had been funded by Father Ankarian until now. He wasn’t sure if it would be useful in the dungeon, but he accepted it anyway and continued on his way.

Enki descended into the prisons. Same thing—just a pile of dead creatures and almost nothing to take. A few more journal excerpts, an explosive, that was all he managed to find.

The priest continued his journey until he found a place that looked more like a slaughterhouse than anything else. Almost like a human butcher shop. He didn’t even dare stay long, immediately using the device to descend to the lower level.

There, he encountered a man with a cat mask who said he wanted children and would offer rewards in exchange. Enki’s stomach churned. He remembered certain priests who had tried to lay hands on him and his sister, only to be quickly driven away by Father Ankarian’s authority. But he didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t been adopted by him. Without a second thought, he headed for the mines.

As he arrived, a mysterious creature approached. But Enki was curious. He remained still, as the presence was so faint that it had barely registered in his senses. The figure seemed not to notice him, so Enki stepped forward.

The figure quickly turned to him. It was something almost ethereal, caught between human and supernatural. It had long, faded blonde hair—almost white—and yellowish eyes. Its skin was as pale as a ghost’s.

“Oh! New visitors? My name is Nosramus. I’m an alchemist who lives down here. It's a pleasure to meet you!”

Enki couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but it didn’t matter.

“Pleasure to meet you too,” the priest replied.

The alchemist smiled, almost too genuinely, and soon spoke again.

“Oh! My goodness!! I forgot my kettle! I’m sorry, I’m a bit busy. We’ll meet again some other time!” And then Nosramus left.

That encounter was strange, but Enki had a feeling that person would be important. Do they live here? That means they know where Le’garde is? What are they hiding?

Nosramus had left more questions than answers.

As Enki advanced, he encountered lizard-like creatures and ended up poisoned by their venom. Though it came at a cost, he managed to defeat them and steal their shield. He found a white potion in a crate and immediately recognized it as an antidote, so he drank it. He continued his journey, escaping from a specter, only to come across a grave.

That damned decision to loot had led the specter straight to him. It was then that Enki decided to completely destroy the grave, throwing the explosive at it and running away. He found shelter in what seemed to be a hideout.

“Oh, I see you met my old friend,” the alchemist chuckled.

Enki wanted to kill him on the spot but knew he wasn’t strong enough for that.

“I’m glad you’re well. Sorry about the… turbulent welcome. It’s just that I have years of research here, I can’t let just anyone invade my laboratory.”

Enki, as always, only listened to what interested him.

“Research?? What have you been studying?”

Nosramus gave a small smile, as if pleased to be asked.

“My research? I study all fields of knowledge, as all scientists should.” He paused, then continued. “My studies have taught me much about blood magic, deities, gods, and other obvious subjects. Right now, I’m most interested in nature and the earth’s pulse. People in this era don’t realize that nature is fading and that they are walking toward extinction. That’s one of the reasons I descended into this darkness. There is still a primal nature very much alive here.”

Enki was almost fascinated. He wanted to ask what the earth’s pulse was, but feared sounding too ignorant.

Nosramus noticed his hesitation and teased, “Look, asking questions is never a bad thing, especially to an old hermit like me. That would be the best thing you could do. I won’t penalize you for it.”

So Enki asked. He asked a lot, about everything on his mind, until Nosramus said, “Hey, hey!! Let’s slow down. If you know Grogoroth, you’re already more knowledgeable than most who pass through here. I see more priests of Alll-mer and hexed fools than anything else. By the way, be careful when participating in cult rituals. The Old Gods can be cruel when you rely on them too much.”

Enki swallowed dryly and nodded. Maybe Eerie’s disappearance wasn’t so bad after all.

“By the way, I would punish you for taking my guardian, but I see you’ve been doing that yourself.”

“What?” Enki asked, not listening again.

“Nothing. The man you’re looking for is a few levels below. He seems to be an incredible man, truly formidable, but I fear he doesn’t have much time left. I’d hurry if I were you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll continue my work. I’ve told you everything I could.”

Not wanting to risk angering the man, Enki didn’t insist. He simply took a few more books and left.

Enki encountered some mages and used Hurting on them before they could attack him. As he reached the next section of the cave, he heard a terrible caw—something that sounded like a mix between a raven and a demon. It made his bones tremble, and he quickened his pace.

Enki climbed the stairs and came face to face with a woman—a knight—being attacked by a naked, blue creature wielding a stone.

“What’s going on here?” he thought.

“It’s her!! It’s her, master!! She’s the one who killed the dogs!!”

“She’s taken down a bunch of things.”

“She killed the god of these creatures, I think that’s why they’re so mad.”

The insects in his robe wouldn’t stop talking, making his head spin.

“Enough!!” Enki shouted, drawing the creature’s attention and making it stop attacking the woman.

“I hate you all,” he thought as he engaged the blue being.

Hurting on the arm, daggers to the legs and head. Enki’s vision was blurring from the overuse of magic. His head throbbed—more than ever, he needed to rest.

The woman stood up and thanked him.

“I am D’arce, vice-leader of the Midnight Sun Knights. I… I don’t even know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. Thank you so much!”

“Uhm… whatever, you’re welcome,” the priest muttered, sitting on the ground with a hand over his head.

“Tough times, huh? Here, this might help.”

The knight handed him a bottle of whiskey. Enki wasn’t fond of alcohol, but he took it anyway and drank. Strangely, it eased the agony he was feeling, allowing him to get back on his feet.

Enki recalled Nosramus’ words about cultists and all the corpses he had found on the upper floor. He immediately asked:

“What god do you serve?”

“The one and only true lord, Alll-mer! Of course,” she said, placing a hand over her chest, which only confused him further.

They exchanged a few words about the dead priests of Alll-mer in the dungeon, and D’arce assured him she had done nothing to them. That’s when Enki realized there were even more people in the dungeon than he had initially thought.

“Looks like this place is getting pretty crowded.”

“It certainly seems that way,” D’arce replied, urgency in her voice.

That’s when an idea struck Enki.

“Would you mind joining forces? You said you were looking for your leader, right? I’m also searching for Le’garde, though for a different reason. I assure you, I won’t harm him.”

“You’re… looking for him?” D’arce looked puzzled.

“I’m a renegade. Don’t worry—if I were going to turn him in, I’d be dead already.”

“Alright… You saved me, I owe you my life anyway. Let’s go together, then.”

And so, D’arce joined Enki in his search for the mysterious man.

Chapter Text

Carmilla ignored the grotesque scene around her—people wearing rabbit masks, indulging in a meaningless orgy. She had no time for that. Retracing her steps, she headed back to the library, searching for any useful information about explosives.

It only took a few pages before she found an alchemical manual detailing how to create explosives within the dungeon. Confirmed. It was possible. She closed the book without hesitation and set out to gather the necessary ingredients.

Her search yielded a pipe, some opium, a key, and a handful of low-quality food. But the real surprise came when she opened one of the chests and found a fully intact, ready-to-use explosive. Carmilla raised an eyebrow. How convenient. She didn’t question her luck—she simply grabbed the vial and tucked it into her pocket before making her way back to Ragnvaldr.

She was focused, determined, but then…

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

A strange noise echoed through the corridors—something striking against metal. Carmilla froze, her senses sharpening. A threat?

If it was, she could simply ignore it and continue with her mission. But curiosity and a restless instinct pushed her forward.

She tightened her grip around the explosive and cautiously advanced toward the source of the sound. When she reached the cell where the noises originated, she expected to find a ravenous monster.

What she saw was a red-haired little girl, no older than ten, her wide eyes fixed on Carmilla.

Carmilla stared at the girl. The girl stared at Carmilla.

“…Shit.”

A discomfort crawled through Carmilla’s mind. Why did I have to come here?

Everything would have been simpler if she had just never seen that child. Perhaps it was better to leave her locked away—safe from the horrors outside. But… what if she wasn’t safe?

The child’s desperate, frightened gaze clung to Carmilla like invisible claws.

With a sigh, Carmilla stepped closer and pulled out the key she had found earlier. Hopefully, it won’t work.

CLANK.

The cell door swung open.

Carmilla clicked her tongue, irritated. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. You mean to tell me I was the only one who could open this damn cage?! What kind of lunatic locks up a child in a place like this?”

The girl remained silent. She simply clung to Carmilla’s cloak, her small fingers trembling as if it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Carmilla looked at her, uneasy. What do you want from me, anyway?

“Listen, kid.” Her tone came out harsher than she intended. “If you want to follow me, fine. But you’ll have to fend for yourself. I’ve got more important things to do.”

The girl simply nodded.

Carmilla made her way back to the library, now followed by a child whose presence felt like a curse she had placed upon herself.

Passing by the corridor of the orgy once again, she silently cursed herself. She picked the girl up, covering her eyes and ears.

“Damn it… why did I do this to myself?” she muttered. “Why am I like this?”

When she finally reached Ragnvaldr, he was already waiting.

Upon seeing her, he opened his mouth to speak, but then froze. His eyes landed on the child.

“You got the—” He cut himself off mid-sentence, blinking as if he had just been punched.

Carmilla took a deep breath. “I don’t have an explanation for this. There was a child locked in a cage. That’s all I know.”

Ragnvaldr furrowed his brow. “…And you freed her?”

Carmilla nodded, feeling self-conscious about her own impulsiveness.

The warrior fell silent for a moment. Then, to her surprise, he simply extended his arms.

“Give me the girl. You have the explosive, don’t you? It’s dangerous to hold both at the same time.”

She hesitated, shocked by his lack of resistance, but handed the child over.

Ragnvaldr held her firmly yet gently, as if it was an instinct deeply ingrained in him. No questions. No judgment.

Carmilla couldn’t tell whether she felt relieved or even more confused.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

She pulled the explosive from her pocket and, without hesitation, hurled it against the hollow wall.

Ragnvaldr turned the girl in his arms, shielding her ears and pulling her close to muffle the sound.

BOOM!

The impact shook the walls. Dust and debris scattered, revealing a new path ahead.

The plan had worked.

But Carmilla knew—what awaited beyond that wall wasn’t the only obstacle they would have to face.

She took a step forward but quickly noticed that she was alone. Turning back, she saw Ragnvaldr kneeling at the child’s level, placing a small dagger in her hands.

“You’ll need this to defend yourself, understood?” His voice was steady. “Never let go of this dagger. It’s yours now.”

The little girl held the weapon, practicing a few swings in the air, excited. Then she looked up at him, her eyes shining with gratitude.

“Not bad,” Carmilla muttered to the warrior.

“After training a few little ones, you get used to it,” Ragnvaldr replied. “Now let’s go. Standing around won’t get us anywhere.”

Carmilla nodded but couldn’t shake the thought from her mind.

She found herself wondering about this mysterious man’s past.

Who was he?
How did he know how to take care of children?
What had he done before all of this?

So many questions.

Questions she might never be able to answer.

Chapter Text

The mercenary had finally gotten his hands on a healing potion, after so long and an anal wound that felt like an eternity. Cahara scooped a small amount of the potion with his fingers and inserted it where the wound was. Somehow, the bleeding stopped. He sighed in relief.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I needed this more than you,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t used to feeling guilty, but stealing a healing item in a place like that… that was serious.

“But she knows how to take care of herself. She’ll be fine,” he thought, trying to convince himself.

Cahara walked through a massive pool of blood, in a hallway that looked more like a slaughterhouse—walls and floors lined with guts and piles of corpses, which he ignored. His only priority was reaching the cabin with the mechanism that would take him to the next level. Of course, he had no idea what the mechanism would actually do, but he sat on it and went down.

“Woah!! What the hell is this?!” the mercenary exclaimed upon arriving at the caves. He was both dazzled and confused. There were those flying stone creatures he had already encountered in the prison, which he definitely didn’t want to deal with again. However, a man ahead caught his attention, and Cahara approached him.

“Do you have any human children? No? Ooh, such a shame. If you find any, bring them to me, alright? Their ankles are excellent,” the man said, his expression a mix of fascination and insanity. Strangely, this wasn’t the worst conversation Cahara had ever heard.

He knew these types. He had seen one of them try to buy his skin. Cahara’s luck was that the guy didn’t have enough money. He had no doubt that if he did, the gang leader would’ve sold him without a second thought. He had seen many others get sold, had seen the light leave those kids’ eyes.

Cahara simply replied, “Whatever,” and moved on.

When he reached the bridge and dared to cross it, still lost in thoughts about the world’s cruelty, the mercenary encountered a creature. It was some kind of wolf with multiple eyes and an elongated face. He immediately went on high alert. But to his surprise, the wolf didn’t seem like it wanted to attack. Instead, it was biting at his legs and… cleaning the area? It was clearly more interested in the rotten meat he had taken from the blood pit. Cahara laughed as he realized it.

“You just want food, huh, girl?” he said, pulling out another piece and tossing it to her. The meat was already spoiled, but the wolf didn’t seem to care.

The she-wolf moved between his legs and licked them, wagging her tail. The mercenary ran his hand through her fur, and the two continued their path together.

Suddenly, a loud screech echoed in the distance, making Cahara cover his ears. He thought it was one of those flying creatures. However, as he uncovered his ears and moved forward, he came face-to-face with strange monsters: creatures with sharp claws and limbs, their bodies slender and twisted, yet without eyes. The mercenary quickly dubbed them “abominations.”

Cahara took down two of them—one with his longsword, another with the help of the she-wolf accompanying him. He looked at the beast and smiled.

“You saved my life, you know? From now on, I’m not eating meat anymore. It’s all yours,” he told the wolf, who wagged her tail in response.

He passed by several dead yellow mages, and upon seeing the blue creatures ahead, decided to turn back. However, a new and even more terrifying creature emerged. It had the head of a crow and a nail-covered club for an arm, and it seemed determined to chase him.

Cahara ran like hell until he bumped into two people. When he looked up, he recognized one of them immediately.

“Carmilla, my muse, I know we have our differences, but can we put that aside for now? I think we have bigger problems,” he backed away hastily, raising his sword toward the approaching threat.

But something was off. The woman before him didn’t look like Carmilla.

The stranger’s jaw clenched, and his eyes sparked with irritation. “Carmilla? What do you mean, Carmilla?! Where is she? Where did you see her?! Speak now!!” His voice carried an urgency that was almost threatening.

Cahara blinked a few times, confused. It wasn’t Carmilla. Now that he was paying closer attention, he saw that he was facing a man and a knight.

Before he could answer, the knight grabbed the stranger by the shoulder and pointed forward. “Enki, wait! There’s something here… a creature is chasing us. I think I’ve seen that thing before. It has a crow’s head. Look!”

The mage—because now Cahara realized he was a mage—shifted his eyes away and widened them.

“Finally! Someone gets why I was running!” Cahara huffed. “I don’t like bumping into people, but I need help. And right now, you’re that help.”

“Can’t we just run?” Enki asked the knight.

She shook her head. “We’re surrounded.” In response, she unsheathed her sword.

The mage raised his arm and cast a spell. The energy struck the creature’s arm three times, but it had no effect.

“This has to be a joke,” Enki muttered, shaken.

The knight took a step forward and breathed deeply. “Calm down! Follow my lead. I have a plan.”

With no better options, Cahara and Enki followed her instructions. The mercenary aimed for the legs, while the knight focused on the arm. Enki, meanwhile, targeted the head. Within minutes, the creature fell.

D’arce knelt and picked something up. “A key… interesting.”

“D’arce, how can you get close to that thing after it nearly blinded you?” Enki asked in disbelief.

She shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

Cahara furrowed his brows at her name. “Wait… D’arce? You mean you’re that lunatic from the Midnight Sun battalion?”

The knight turned to him, fury in her eyes, gripping her sword again. “You!!”

“Hey, hey, calm down! We’re not enemies here! I swear! I was hired to save your savior. Look how nice I am,” Cahara raised his hands, expecting to feel the weight of the blade, but instead, he just got shoved.

D’arce huffed. “Hmph! Whatever. Do what you want. Just don’t get in my way.”

She started walking off, but Enki called out. “Wait, D’arce! He saw… someone important.”

The knight stopped, waiting for him to explain.

Enki turned to Cahara. “You know where Carmilla is, don’t you? Where did you see her last?”

The mercenary narrowed his eyes, now studying the mage more carefully. It was easy to see he wasn’t Carmilla. His hair wasn’t blonde, his skin was paler, his face more angular. Still, there was something… a subtle trait in the dimple of his chin. Siblings?

“I saw her in the prison,” Cahara admitted. “She freed me. After that, I borrowed a healing potion and never saw her again. I think she went upstairs to a higher level.”

“Higher level… got it,” Enki murmured.

D’arce crossed her arms. “Are you coming with us, Enki? If you stay to find that woman, I hate to say it, but this is where we part ways.”

The mage frowned, breathing heavily. He was about to respond, but Cahara interrupted.

“Sorry, D’arce, but you’ll have to go alone.”

She turned to him, surprised. “I thought you planned to rescue Le’garde.”

That name was a knife to the gut. Cahara hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “You’re right. I did. But now I have a dark priestess to rescue.”

He wasn’t going to leave her behind. Not after looking into her eyes.

D’arce gritted her teeth, slamming her sword against the ground. “You people… you’re impossible.” Then, she sighed and turned on her heels. “Fine. Go wherever you want. I’ll find Le’garde.”

Without another word, she grabbed her sword and descended deeper into the dungeon.

The she-wolf barked and licked Cahara’s hand, and he sighed.

“Some people never learn. Let’s go up, Enki. I’ll show you where I found her.”

And so, Enki and Cahara climbed up, forming the most unlikely alliance of all. The mercenary, driven by guilt, decided to help him. Now, all that was left was to pray that Enki would return the favor.

Chapter Text

Celeste had only one dream: to save Cahara from that cruel world. At first, she thought her pregnancy would be enough to bring him back, to give him a purpose beyond violence. But now… Now she was literally fighting for him.

Moving cautiously through the lower levels of the dungeon, the Red Lady first arrived at the prison. Her heart pounded as she found a trail of blood on the floor. Cahara…? The possibility made her ignore the danger, running after answers—only to come face-to-face with one of those creatures with grotesquely long limbs. The monster lunged without hesitation, and Celeste fought with everything she had. Her luck was that the Claymore was heavy not only for her but for the creatures as well, making their attacks sluggish and allowing her to strike them down.

After looting the corpse and gathering some supplies, Celeste pressed forward. Without a proper shield, she used her own armor for protection. Her path led her to the blood pit. The metallic stench of iron and rot churned her stomach, but she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, swallowing her nausea, she descended.

Upon reaching the caverns, she encountered a man in a cat mask. Something about his presence unsettled her, and when he mentioned children, an icy shiver ran down her spine. What did he mean by that? Her instincts screamed at her. She placed a hand over her stomach, as if the mere gesture could shield her unborn child.

If this world is like this, then I’ll have to protect him from it forever…

The pain of that thought hurt worse than any wound she could suffer.

Even so, she pressed on. Her destination was the mines. The place was massive—finding Cahara alone would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Then, she spotted a figure holding a basket. She decided to introduce herself.

“Uhm… hello? Is someone there? My name is Celeste. Are you sane?”

A tall, androgynous figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in grayish-brown robes, long white hair cascading down their shoulders.

“Oh! New visitors? My, my! This place has been quite busy lately. Well, Celeste, is it? I think ‘sane’ is a strong word, but I’m well enough.”

Celeste found the response odd, but didn’t question it. She needed all the help she could get.

“Do you… like tea? Come with me, I have plenty to spare,” the figure said in a gentle tone. Almost too gentle. “Oh! My goodness, where are my manners? I am Nosramus, the alchemist of these mines.”

“You… live here?” Celeste furrowed her brows, surprised. But she quickly remembered her purpose. “Well, I appreciate the offer, but… I’m looking for someone. A man with dark hair, strong, a little shorter than you…”

She described Cahara, her voice tinged with hope.

Nosramus touched his chin, pondering. Then, he snapped his fingers.

“Ah, yes, I do remember a man like that! He came and went through the mines. I don’t know exactly why, but he had a wolf with him when he entered. Left with the same wolf… and a Dark Priest. They seemed to be in a hurry.”

Celeste’s heart skipped a beat.

“Left?! Left through where? To where?”

Nosramus shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know, my dear. I merely live in the mines. But they returned through the entrance, that’s all I can tell you.”

Celeste felt exhaustion crash down on her shoulders. Her legs wobbled, and she braced herself on her knees, gasping for breath.

“If I may offer some advice…” Nosramus watched her calmly. “You’d best come with me and rest. If he’s looking for Le’garde, he won’t stray far from this path.”

Celeste hesitated. She wasn’t one to trust strangers. The knight she had met earlier had also offered his help, but… why? What was the reason this time?

She clenched her fists and looked up at Nosramus, suspicion in her eyes.

“What do you want from me? Why are you helping me just like that?”

Nosramus studied her from head to toe before answering:

“Because it’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone normal around here. I think you’re going to die, but if I can prolong your life, I’d be happy to assist.”

The words hit like a punch. Celeste felt the cruel truth coil around her bones. If it were her heart, she would’ve said it shattered, but she was saving that for just one person.

Anger bubbled inside her.

“So that’s it? I’m going to die, and you just want to study me, you freakish alchemist?”

Nosramus smiled, unfazed.

“In short, yes.”

Celeste gritted her teeth. Her fear melted away, replaced by sheer determination.

“Where is Le’garde? If he came looking for that man, then I’ll go after him. Now he’ll have no choice but to follow me.”

Nosramus raised an eyebrow, mildly amused by the shift in her demeanor. Then, he simply shrugged.

“Le’garde is on the seventh level of the dungeon. Good luck finding him. It’s this way.”

He pointed her toward a path, and Celeste marched forward without hesitation. A raging fire burned within her. Who does that alchemist think he is? How dare he curse me like that?

She would prove him wrong. She would prove that she was just as worthy as anyone who had set foot in this dungeon. She would prove that she could both save Cahara and fulfill her mission.

And then, that alchemist would eat his words.

Chapter Text

The undergrowth was dense, suffocating. Mist crawled between the exposed roots of colossal trees, and their gnarled branches cast shifting shadows with the slightest breath of wind. Ragnvaldr, Carmilla, and the girl advanced cautiously, but it didn’t take long before they were attacked by wolves.

Ragnvaldr reacted first, loosing an arrow that struck one of the beasts dead. The other lunged—too fast for him to prepare another shot.

Carmilla moved with precision, conjuring flames against the creature while Ragnvaldr and the girl fought with their weapons. Fortunately, it was just one wolf, and they managed to take it down without serious injuries.

Carmilla wiped the back of her hand across her forehead and smiled.

“You’re good… I’ll ask for some tips later.” Her tone was light, but there was a hint of genuine interest.

Ragnvaldr, on the other hand, was distracted. His gaze lingered on the girl who had joined them. He was still trying to make sense of how the two of them had ended up in this situation. When he first saw Carmilla, he thought he was doomed—she looked like a witch, maybe even the Death Goddess herself. Now, he still felt doomed, but in a far less extraordinary way.

Carmilla’s irritated voice snapped him back to reality.

“Hey, you! Why did you jump in front of me? Girl, did you want to die?! You can’t do that!”

Ragnvaldr sighed. Now he had to take care of two women, and one of them barely knew how to wield a weapon. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into? Still, it wasn’t all bad.

They moved forward until they came across a colossal tree. Among its vines, human bodies were trapped, as if the forest itself had devoured them. Ragnvaldr didn’t dare touch them. He simply called the two and stepped into the massive opening at the base of the tree.

The interior was vast. Vines twisted like serpents, forming dark corridors where only thin beams of light filtered through. Misshapen, violet-hued creatures roamed the area, reeking of decay and carrying gleaming diamonds.

Despite their efforts to avoid them, the girl bumped into one of the creatures, forcing Ragnvaldr into battle. That was how he learned the basic rules of this place: the creatures’ slime was dangerous; any of them carrying a bell had to be dealt with immediately; and, above all, you had to watch your step.

Exhausted, he barely noticed when Carmilla called out to him.

“Look, Ragnvaldr! A sword! Right here, who would’ve thought? And it looks good.”

A chill ran down his spine.

“Don’t pull it… out of the ground.”

At least he tried. Carmilla was already holding the sword, looking at him with confusion.

“Why? Is it a bad sword?”

“No… but you can’t just go around grabbing everything you see. It could’ve been a trap.”

Carmilla grinned, smug.

“Oh, but I can sense these things. I wouldn’t fall for something like that. You worry too much, you know?”

“And you don’t worry enough.” Ragnvaldr sat down and let out a breath.

“Funny… I’m reckless, but you’re the one resting in the middle of the thicket.”

“I checked the perimeter first. It’s safe now.”

Carmilla sat beside him and gestured for the girl to join them. Her stomach rumbled with hunger.

“Come here, I have some vegetables. It’s not much, but it’ll do.”

Ragnvaldr shared some of his food, and the girl ate gratefully. He took the chance to eat as well.

Carmilla studied him for a moment before speaking.

“You take such good care of her…”

Ragnvaldr raised a brow.

“And you’re good at throwing out vague comments… What are you trying to say? Just spit it out already.”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip.

“I… don’t know if I should. I mean, you wouldn’t have children or anything, would you? If you did, you wouldn’t have come here…”

He was caught off guard by her perception. He hadn’t thought he was being analyzed, but Carmilla had a talent for understanding people without them realizing.

“You’re right… about both things.” Ragnvaldr sighed. “I had, but I don’t anymore. That’s why I’m here.”

Carmilla looked at him, a mix of sadness and guilt in her expression.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up…”

“Don’t apologize. You weren’t the one who caused it.” He stood. “Let’s go. We’ve eaten, haven’t we?”

Carmilla finished her meal and lit an opium pipe.

“Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

He nodded and moved on. The girl clung to his arm, stumbling a few times. Each time, he steadied her.

They continued through the vine-covered corridors until they reached a clearing filled with strange flowers and crawling insects. Carmilla threatened to burn them, and they scurried away as if they understood her.

Soon, they encountered deformed creatures with those same flowers growing from their heads. Carmilla identified them as fungal growths, and Ragnvaldr trusted her judgment. When the girl tried to pick one of the flowers, he swiftly took it from her hands and discarded it.

Then, he saw Le’garde.

His blood boiled. He charged forward, ignoring everything else.

“RAGNVALDR, WAIT!!”

Carmilla’s warning came too late. A blade slashed his arm, and pain erupted through him.

He staggered back, eyes locking onto the armored figure before him—a warrior wielding both a mace and a sword.

Carmilla rushed to his side, pressing a cloth to his wound to stop the bleeding. But Ragnvaldr had no time to waste.

“Le’garde!”

Another voice called out, and more fighters entered the fray. Beside him, a knight and another woman—an albino with provocative clothing—joined the battle.

The plan came together quickly: Ragnvaldr would focus on making the enemy fall; the knight and the other woman would go for the arms; Carmilla would target the head with spells.

The fight was grueling. Carmilla cast Hurting repeatedly, drinking to stave off the headaches. At last, they brought the enemy down—but at a cost. The knight lost an arm.

The girl remained behind, frightened.

Ragnvaldr tore a strip of cloth and handed it to the knight.

“Here, you’ll need it.”

She nodded.

“Thank you. I don’t know who you are, but you’ve been a tremendous help.”

The albino woman crossed her arms, eyeing Le’garde with interest.

“So this is the man everyone’s after? My, my, this dungeon is lively these days.”

Ragnvaldr ignored her. He stepped toward the cell and found Le’garde, barely clinging to life.

He stared at the man for a long moment.

He thought of his family. The massacre of Öldegaard. The blood. The bow and arrow he had given his son.

And then, he closed his fingers around Le’garde’s throat and strangled him.

Chapter Text

Enki came with that mercenary, careful as if his life was in his hands. He was thinking about Carmilla, about what she had seen, how she got hurt, how he couldn’t do anything to stop it. The two took the elevator up, passed by the flesh pits again, and walked through the prison. Cahara reached the part where Enki had entered the dungeons and said:

“This is where I found your lady. She wasn’t exactly welcoming, if you want to know, but she helped me a lot.”

Enki was with his small opium pipe, just listening with a slight, mocking smile.

“That ‘lady’ is my sister. If there’s one thing we agree on, it’s that she can be many things, but polite is not one of them.”

“Sister? Wait, you’re the one who brought her here?! You’re insane.”

“As if I would do something like that! That crazy woman—” Enki realized he was about to lose his composure, took a deep breath, and continued, “Carmilla came here on her own.”

“Not born attached to her, huh? Got it, got it, calm down.”

Cahara seemed to enjoy Enki’s exaggerated reactions as he spoke.

They began searching for her on the floor, together. Under tables, behind boxes, in the cells—everywhere they could.

The wolf was barking quite a lot, so Enki just threw whatever meat he had to it before Cahara starved it to death.

“So, why did your sister come here anyway? And why are you both in the same dungeon?”

“How would I know? I don’t live inside Carmilla’s mind. If she did something foolish, it’s none of my business.” Enki entered the library, searching through the shelves.

“You say that, but you seemed pretty interested when you made this whole expedition backtracking the way here.”

“I’m interested in knowing if she’s still… And you, what are you doing on an expedition like this?” he asked while throwing books to the ground.

Cahara scratched his head and said awkwardly, “You really don’t let up, huh? I told you, your sister helped me. I hate being in debt.”

Enki didn’t want to admit it, but he had a certain respect for the man after hearing that. The Dark Priest was already thinking about giving up when he saw an open wall in the library that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Was that passage always there?” he asked, turning to Cahara, who just raised his arms as if he had no idea.

Then, they headed toward the mysterious passage and found a kind of clearing. Enki took the chance to rest until Cahara suddenly pointed and said, “Holy crap, look at that!” Enki turned and saw an entire orgy of people wearing rabbit masks. Enki was horrified while Cahara teased, “They sure know how to have fun here.”

“Wait, rabbits are a symbol of fertility… Cahara, don’t you dare approach them!”

Then he finally understood. It was a trap, like everything here. A cultic circle that could drive anyone mad.

“But why not? That woman is calling me.”

“She’s recruiting you, you fool!”

Enki stopped Cahara from going and dragged him to the Alll-mer statue, where they could no longer see the cult.

“You’re boring, you know that?” Cahara complained.

“Better boring than dead while my companion joins a cult.”

“And how do you even know they’re a—”

“Sylvian’s book.”

“Why do I even ask? Okay, but if we’re not checking out the cult, what do you suggest we do? She could be there, just saying…”

Enki prayed to Alll-mer out of habit and felt a strange energy. Then finished his praying and felt invigorated. Not that he was devout—that was the strangest part. He just felt like he should. Not wanting to think too much about it, he moved away from the cult and the statue and found an opening in the wall. “This way! Come on, stop fooling around, hurry up.”

Cahara approached and saw the opening in the wall, finally sighing. “Okay, you win, wall guy. But if your sister is with that cult, we’re going back.”

“She won’t be,” Enki said, though more as a prayer than a certainty, and entered the opening, discovering a huge tree and an entire path ahead.

Cahara and Enki couldn’t avoid the twisted purple creatures carrying lanterns that splashed some dreadful liquid. Cahara was responsible for cutting the lantern arm while Enki smoked heavily, trying to recover from the darkness consuming his body with each spell he cast. Cahara passed by a stone and said, “Enki, I feel like someone passed through here.” To which Enki, confused, replied, “Who?”

“I don’t know, but someone did,” Cahara insisted.

Enki’s eyes filled with determination, and he rose from his rest, ready to search for his sister.

They fought maybe seven, perhaps ten of those creatures—Enki didn’t even know anymore. He only felt that if he was still alive, it was a miracle. He could barely imagine what Carmilla had been through. He and Cahara saw light at the end of a small tunnel, and Cahara crouched to follow the light while Enki protested, “Are you crazy?!!”

But soon Enki joined him, knowing the risk of continuing alone. The two heard a rumble and a landslide.

“Get down!” Cahara shouted, and Enki did.

When the landslide ended, they saw a skeleton beside them. Enki’s eyes widened, and he could barely breathe.

“Oh, we’ve got ourselves some armor!” Of course, Cahara was looting the skeleton, Enki thought.

As Enki approached, Cahara put the dead man’s armor directly on him.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Oh, come on, Enki. Think of how many near-death situations you could’ve avoided with this. It’s light, see?”

“And ancient too,” Enki grumbled, but didn’t object—something was still better than nothing.

“You look adorable dressed as an Eastern Soldier, you know that?”

Cahara teased, petting the little wolf and feeding it again.

“I swear if you say another word I will disincarnate and take you with me”

The three walked through the dungeon, hiding, running from ghosts—things they would never dare repeat—until they reached a structured, dark corridor filled with stones. Cahara lit the lanterns while Enki scolded him for wasting matches. Enki entered a room, saw a book on a stand, and took it, then prayed once more to Alll-mer, realizing this time he wanted to pray because he needed all the help he could get to find his sister. Ironically, he was praying to Alll-mer, the god who had made his life a living hell, all for a small chance.

Enki moved ahead and saw something huge moving, pounding, but he ignored it. Further ahead, there was some kind of fight—a man in armor with a barbarian—but when he looked to see who was holding the barbarian down, there she was.

Enki cried; he couldn’t hold back anymore. He had found Carmilla, alive—more than he had ever dared to hope.

“CELESTE?!”

“CAHARA!!”

It seemed Cahara had his own surprise. He was embracing a young, albino girl with almost crystal-blue eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I won’t abandon you.”

Enki gave them some privacy and approached Carmilla. Surprisingly, the first thing out of his mouth was, “What’s all this commotion?”

“Enki!! That crazy man tried to kill Le’garde! If we hadn’t arrived in time—if he hadn’t lost his arm—I don’t know what would have happened to us.” said D'arce while helping Le'garde.

The famous Le’garde was on the ground, clutching his neck and catching his breath—far more human than Enki had imagined.

“LET ME GO, CARMILLA!! LET ME GO. I CAN’T HURT YOU.”

“YOU’RE SCARING THE GIRL!! RAGNVALDR, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

Now that Carmilla had mentioned it, Enki noticed a small girl hiding behind Carmilla, clutching her cloak.

Chapter Text

“Enki… Enki, is that you?!” The girl standing in front of Le'garde spoke in an almost haunted tone, letting go of the brute who had just tried to kill him and instead embracing the dark priest, whose clothes were strikingly similar to hers. The man stood frozen for a second — just long enough for Le'garde to grab a sword that D'arce had handed him and point it at the barbarian.

There were too many people; the whole situation was a mess. Le'garde had no idea how long he had been down there, but he was fairly certain this number of people was far from normal. He held his head as he steadied himself, finally having recovered his breath. Waking up being strangled hadn’t exactly been part of the plan — though being released was better than nothing.

“YOU BASTARD!”

“If you wish to fight, I am ready,” Le'garde said, keeping his voice steady, “but I’d recommend you rest first. It looks like you lost your arm not too long ago.”

“As if you care for anyone…” the barbarian spat, his eyes full of hatred and contempt.

Le'garde studied that look, then his eyes fell on the bow the man carried — and he remembered seeing a child with a similar one. The realization hit him hard, and he knew this situation would not resolve itself easily.

“I… I don’t understand. Who are you people? What’s happening?” he said, his voice carefully laced with confusion.

Faking amnesia was a cheap move, but Le'garde had no other way out. He needed to leave — needed to reach the golden throne from his vision, the one he had seen when he met Nilvan. He needed to understand his role, the power surrounding that altar — something that felt destined to change the world. Le'garde was ready to do anything to claim it. So, he put on his best performance, his face a perfect mask of fear, surprise, and bewilderment.

“B-but Le'garde! It’s me! D’arce — your comrade in arms! We’ve fought side by side in the Midnight Sun battalion!”

Le'garde wanted to whisper to her — wanted to say, “I know. Trust me, I must do this.” But D’arce wasn’t one to play the kind of games he did. He couldn’t risk dragging her into his ambitions.

“I’m sorry, miss… but I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Ragnvaldr’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You seem sure of that,” the barbarian said slowly. “If you know you don’t know her… it means you remember something.”

This one was sharp — he’d have to tread carefully.

“I remember my father… my home,” Le'garde said slowly, bringing a hand to his head and squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain. “I remember… a merchant. Three silver coins. I don’t know — I really don’t know…”

The memories came unbidden, sharp and bitter. The stench of old whiskey, the harshness of blows, the unwanted touch. The one memory he wanted most to forget was always the first to surface.

D’arce’s face shifted from determination to pain. But why pain? Le'garde had never told her any of this.

“They seem old,” D’arce said softly. “I’ve seen soldiers with trauma develop memory loss like this.”

Ragnvaldr was silent for several long seconds, clearly weighing his options. Then his sharp gaze landed back on Le'garde.

“I’m staying with you,” he finally said. “The only reason I’m not killing you right now is because you need to understand exactly what you’ve done.”

Le'garde nodded, outwardly composed but inwardly flooded with relief that his bluff had somehow worked.

“Very well. When I understand what you mean, we’ll have our battle.”

I’d kiss you right now if it wouldn’t ruin my cover, Le'garde thought.

A figure with long, flowing white hair and eerie golden eyes approached, their hair trailing along the ground as they moved.

“It seems you’ve reached your destination,” the figure said to the dark priest, smiling almost too widely. “But you’ve also found something more, haven’t you?”

“YOU!” The pale woman pointed an accusatory finger at the being. “SEE, CAHARA?! IT WAS HIM! HE CURSED ME — SAID I’M GOING TO DIE!”

“Technically, we’re all going to die,” the dark priest said, with the kind of calm that only made things worse.

“Some sooner than others,” the long-haired figure added, their grin stretching even further.

“SEE?! HE’S STILL MOCKING ME!”

“Calm down, Celeste. I think you’re misunderstanding something,” the mercenary said, clearly trying to soothe her.

Now that Le'garde could get a better look at him, he realized the mercenary was the very same one who had captured him and led him into this dungeon.

While the woman raged, the man from Oldegaard quietly approached a small child, offering her a handful of vegetables. Le'garde had never seen the girl before — not once — and yet there was a strange familiarity about her.

A doll slipped from the mercenary’s pocket, and Le'garde picked it up. The child came closer, reaching out her hand for it, and he returned it without thinking.

But the moment their hands brushed, his breath caught. The doll… the doll looked exactly like him.

Le'garde felt himself start to tremble. He tried not to think too much about it.

“Don’t take it the wrong way — statistically speaking, the chances of a pregnant woman surviving this place are significantly lower. I was merely providing an overview, but you’ve done better than I expected by making it this far.”

“Who’s dead now, you bastard?!”

“Certainly not me,” said the figure that Le'garde could only describe as ethereal, their gender impossible to determine.

“It’s getting a bit crowded here… Knight, I think we should move on,” said Le’garde, gesturing toward the gate.

“Wait, there’s a gate there? But… does it even open?”

Le’garde approached the gate and pushed it — the doors creaked open.

“Apparently, it does.”

“But what exactly do you want to do in there?” D’arce asked, clearly confused.

“Follow my destiny,” Le’garde thought — but what he said was, “Explore. Since we’re already here, we might find something useful to take with us.”

D’arce just nodded and followed her captain.

“Hold it, hold it, little rebel — you’re coming with me!” Cahara said, grabbing Le’garde by the shoulder. But the man swiftly pulled away. He wanted to snap, “Was once not enough?!” — but his disguise depended on his ability to hold back such impulses.

“Why would I?”

“Because I came all this way to rescue you — and someone’s paying a hefty sum for your head.”

The barbarian walking behind them was chuckling under his breath.

“And if I refuse?”

“Well, my friend, then we’ll have to bargain another way.”

Cahara drew his weapon, and the albino woman beside him did the same — her sword was twice her size. The wolf at her feet growled, eyes fixed on Le’garde.

“Look, we can settle this like civilized people, can’t we? How about this — I’ll go with you after we explore the entrance. Since you’re here anyway, you might as well look around and see if there’s anything valuable.” Le’garde tried to sound confident, but the truth was, he feared being captured by the same man twice.

Cahara seemed to consider it for a few seconds before finally replying:

“As long as you come with me afterward… fine. I’m already here — let’s see what this room has to offer.”

Everything was going according to plan — Le’garde could hardly believe he’d managed to fool both the Oldegaardian and the mercenary. Now, he just needed to find the throne.

“I remember this door… it’s the same from the dream. The throne is here somewhere,” he thought.

Le’garde ventured deeper into the dungeon, convinced that the prophecy was finally coming true — and that this would change everything.

Chapter Text

Le’garde stood before me when he opened those underground doors — doors I never imagined could be opened. He said he wanted to find something useful. I was tempted to stop him, but there was something in his eyes that disarmed me.

I was missing one arm. I could still wield my sword, but my shield lay fallen on the ground. My situation reminded me of the outlander’s: wounded, but still moving.

I should have been afraid. I should have feared for my life. But all that occupied my mind was Le’garde… and the new world. I had found a happiness I had never known — not just because of the promise he made me, but for being by his side. The small celebrations of victory reignited something in me.

“Celeste, I really think you should go,” I heard a voice behind me. And, in the distance, barking.

“And leave you here? Over my dead body!”

“I’m serious. You heard what that stranger said. It’s what everyone thinks. You need to rest!”

“I’m not leaving without you!”

“And you won’t be staying with me. So I’m not stepping away from this gate.”

I sighed and turned to the couple arguing behind me.

“They talk too much,” I muttered. Then, louder: “Your husband’s right. You shouldn’t be here like this.”

“Right? He planned to leave me behind with a child! How can you say that?”

“I was going to come back!” the mercenary shouted.

The barbarian stepped forward, breathing deeply.

“You two… There’s no union without trust.” He looked at her. “If you want to be by his side, you have to believe he’ll return.” Then at the mercenary. “And you have to give her that certainty.”

Cahara sighed, worn out.

“I said I would come back… Do you think she trusts me?”

“Is loving you not enough? Fearing for you? I just… don’t want our child to grow up without a father.”

I thought for a moment about how to resolve that. Then an alternative came to mind.

“We’re a big group,” I pointed out. “If someone volunteers to stay with Celeste, we can keep going. She’ll be safe, in good hands.”

“They can leave her on one of the upper levels. It’s easier to find food there,” said Ragnvaldr.

Cahara hesitated. He looked around — only then did I realize the twins had vanished.

“Fine… let’s go back, love.”

Celeste widened her eyes in surprise, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

“Cahara… you’re really going back home?”

“You’re not going back alone. And no one here’s going to help you. I can’t lose you like this.”

“You made the right choice,” said the warrior. “You don’t lose family out of pride. Trust me.”

Cahara took Celeste’s hand. She still protested a few times, saying she could manage on her own. But in the end, she left. I just waved as I watched them go, wondering if all couples were like that — willing to give up everything for love. I was ready to risk my life, sure… but give up everything for Le’garde? I don’t know. Our mission was bigger than the two of us. That’s what drove me forward.

The outlander brushed past me, bumping my shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I followed him, and the little girl who had been with him for a while.

“Is she yours?” I asked.

“No,” he replied flatly. “She’s from the Dungeon.”

“Does she have parents?”

“No idea,” Ragnvaldr said.

I knelt down to her level, taking her small hand.

“Are you sure you want to come with us? There may not be much food down below. Wouldn’t you rather go with Cahara and Celeste?”

She shook her head.

“Let her be,” said Ragnvaldr. “I’ve tried to convince her since Carmilla left. She’s not going anywhere.”

“Maybe… she’s found a father,” I murmured, glancing at him with a smile.

He gave me a surprised look. Then looked at the girl, thoughtful.

“You think she’s following me?”

“Just a guess. Don’t take it too seriously,” I smiled, stepping into the ruins.

The ruins were vast, our footsteps echoing in the heavy silence. Statues with profane symbols lined the walls, and one — fallen — blocked the path.

“This way! I found a shortcut!” called Le’garde, appearing through a side passage.

We ran to him.

When a reanimated corpse ambushed us, I proposed a plan: we’d split up and strike different parts of its body. With precision and speed, I severed the head before it could bite the girl.

Outside the cavern, we saw no sunlight — only a dark sky and new ruins. Small houses emerged from the shadows. I entered one, filled with old books. I tried to read one… but it crumbled in my hands.

“D’arce, do you know where we are?” Le’garde asked.

I shook my head.

“Maybe we should leave,” said the outlander. “This place doesn’t seem safe.”

I waited for Le’garde to agree.

“Better to explore a bit more,” he said.

The four of us moved on through the dark. The girl held Ragnvaldr’s hand, and I walked ahead of Le’garde, ready to protect him. When we heard footsteps, I pulled Le’garde aside. Ragnvaldr and the girl hid behind some barrels.

The stench of death filled my nose — stronger than any walking corpse. I almost vomited but swallowed hard so as not to give us away.

I peeked through a crack: a huge, hunched creature, hairy, with a human face and beast-like claws. It dragged the body of a woman — perhaps a royal guard. I covered my mouth, terrified. I felt I could be next.

When the creature moved away, Le’garde stood.

“Let’s go,” he said.

But I grabbed his hand.

“Le’garde… that thing caught a royal guard.”

“I saw, D’arce. But if we stay quiet, it won’t hear us. Let’s go.”

“Is this… really worth it?”

“More than you imagine,” he replied, releasing my hand and vanishing into the darkness.

I hesitated. For a moment, I wished he was wrong. But seeing him disappear, I ran after him.

Why did I do this? Because my fate was in his hands. I knew it when I left my family behind. When I betrayed the kingdom to follow him. Even if I wanted to go back… I couldn’t anymore. That’s what I kept repeating to myself, surrendering my life to him once again.

Before a strange obelisk, he inserted a cube into a triangular opening. Flashes of light burst before my eyes. I was dazed until I saw the city rise before us — no longer in ruins.

The buildings stood intact, of pale and clean stone. People walked under black skies. Statues moved. Ragnvaldr spoke to one and returned with a book. I touched it — it was real.

“This is… incredible,” I murmured. “How did you do this?”

“I don’t know… I just did,” Le’garde replied.

“Charming conversation,” said Ragnvaldr. “But can we move on? Food’s running out.” And he started to eat.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a bit with me,” I said.

“Now that daylight’s back, we can hunt for treasure, right? I am a thief, after all.”

I furrowed my brow.

“As long as it doesn’t get us killed,” said the outlander.

We pressed forward. We found iron creatures with exposed fetuses that grew before our eyes. Le’garde struck their legs, immobilizing them. We escaped.

At the city’s edge, he saw a tower. He climbed it straight away.

There was something in his gaze — a strange light, like he knew what he was doing. Could his intuition go beyond his lost memories? I wondered, following him to the top.

“A bed…” said Ragnvaldr. “Let’s rest.”

I waited for Le’garde to protest. But he nodded.

“What if there are traps? I saw some in the ruins,” I pointed out.

Ragnvaldr threw his weapon on the bed and picked it up again.

“None here.”

Le’garde turned to me.

“D’arce, there’s no hunt without rest. If we’re caught, we’ll escape. We’re safe for now. Will you trust this lost man, this time?”

“Le’garde, I’ve already trusted you…” I thought. But he didn’t remember. Not me. Not who he used to be.

The girl lay down. We sat and talked. I had wanted to know more about him for a long time: what he did, what he ate, if Le’garde was even his real name — but he never said. He always repeated: “The past doesn’t matter. We’re moving toward the future.” But the nightmares betrayed him. In them, he screamed names I didn’t recognize.

“Who’s Molly?” I ended up blurting out without meaning to. That was one of the names he always repeated. I even covered my mouth, but he heard me and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Le’garde arched his brows.

“Molly, do you remember her?” I asked again.

Le’garde gave a doubtful look before replying. “No, I don’t recall. Why do you ask?” he questioned.

“No reason in particular, just an old friend of ours,” I said, trying to shift the subject.

I lied. If I told Le’garde I’d been listening to him sleep, it would’ve been worse. What would he think of me, watching him like that?

It was a matter of safety — we couldn’t leave the captain of the battalion unprotected. Since I was the closest to Le’garde, I was chosen to guard his tent. The captain always murmured in his sleep, and one day, driven by curiosity, I leaned in to hear what he said. He always whispered names — mine was one of them, so was my father’s — but the most frequent was hers. I wanted to find out who she was, or why she was so important to him. I wanted to know more about the captain. If only I had asked before the torture.

“Le’garde, aren’t you tired?” I asked the captain, who was slumping to one side as if he could fall at any moment.

“Of course,” he nodded. “I would’ve laid in bed if there wasn’t a child here.”

“You can go after her,” said Ragnvaldr. “I’m in no rush.”

“Me neither,” I said, sitting on the floor, trying to relax. “The worst is over… and you survived it. You really don’t remember anything?”

“No, ma’am. I mean… I remember I was with my band when we raided a nobleman’s castle. But that’s it.”

“A nobleman? Who would that be?”

“I don’t know. I just remember looting his belongings.”

I stayed silent. Wondering if I should… or shouldn’t ask.

Maybe there was a reason Le’garde never spoke of his past life. Not just the fact that he’d been a thief — that much he had let slip. But… maybe there was more.

“Have you ever worked for Lord Cataliss?” I asked suddenly, unable to wait any longer. This wasn’t just about Le’garde. It was about me. About my father.

I knew he had Le’garde services before, but I didn’t know since when. My mother died when I was six — he’d been alone since then. Alone… or not. How long had that been happening behind my back?

Le’garde frowned and opened his mouth, like the words hit him like a punch. Ragnvaldr noticed the tension and instinctively raised his weapon — but I held his hand.

“I did,” he admitted at last. “Is that all you want to know?”

His voice came out uneasy, low. I would have stopped there, let the answer fade into silence. But Ragnvaldr didn’t.

“What’s going on? You were a thief and worked for a noble?”

I tried to think of an excuse. A convincing lie. But I felt the cold sweat trickling down my neck. This was my fault. All mine. Now Le’garde was at risk again, because of my ghosts. I had to fix it.

“I do all sorts of things,” he sighed. “I sell my body too, if that’s what you want to know. Anything more that you would like to ask?”

Ragnvaldr stared at him. Le’garde held his gaze with the same steadiness I had seen in battle. A whole man there, eyes locked on the other.

“… For now, no” Ragnvaldr looked away and sat beside me, silent.

The girl slept peacefully in the bed. And I, exhausted, ended up falling asleep right there on the floor.

I had a strange dream. I was back in Rondon, but it was… different. A monastery had appeared where there had never been one before. I saw Enki pushing a barrel, circling the place in a hurry. Then, he cast a spell. Everything caught fire. I had to run. Hooded figures were screaming for help, crying out to Alll-mer. I didn’t look back.

I ran until I hit a door. I opened it — and found myself in a brothel. I grabbed something to eat, a bit of drink. A figure on the bed seemed familiar: the mercenary. He was speaking with a woman — Celeste. She was pregnant, like the Celeste I had known.

I left and headed north. I arrived in Oldegaard. The fields were wide, green. Ragnvaldr found one of the men I had slain. He called out to him, they spoke… before he died.

I followed a trail of blood. And I found one of the worst scenes of my life.

More innocents. More blood. A child. Ragnvaldr’s scream echoed inside me. It was unbearable.

And as if the punishment weren’t enough, I fought a horrid creature — a lady who turned into something unimaginable. I thought I was going to die. With every second of pain, I wished it would just happen already. That it would end.

But in the end… I came back. With a soul in my hands. A soul that, she said, had been given to me by the mother of Le’garde’s child.

But the worst part… the worst part was waking up.

Seeing the soul still there, in my hands.

And realizing it had all been real.

Chapter Text

Carmilla reached out, her fingers brushing Enki’s arm as if afraid he might vanish. “Enki… is that really you?”

The man turned his head slowly, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. His voice came as a whisper, soft and teasing:
“Only if you’re really you.”

She didn’t wait another second. With a sob that broke through her chest, Carmilla threw her arms around him, holding tight as her tears finally fell.
“Don’t you ever leave me again.”
“I won’t,” he murmured, his voice steady yet weary. Then, almost gently, “How did you get here?”

Carmilla loosened her embrace, catching her breath before answering.
“See that thicket up there? Yeah. That’s how.”

Enki frowned, the lines of tension deepening across his face.
“This place is dangerous.”

By the flicker of torchlight, she caught the unease in his expression. Rather than let it sink in, she forced a wry smile.
“I figured that out.”
Enki let out a long breath.
“You never know when to take things seriously, do you?”
“Or maybe you take everything too seriously,” she shot back, her tone sharp but playful.

Before he could respond, a smooth, mocking voice cut through the air.
“Family reunion, is it? Oh, I know what that’s like. Believe me, I REALLY know, isn’t that right, Celeste?”

Cahara strolled into the torchlight with a swagger that could only belong to a man who thrived on trouble. Behind him, the woman—Celeste—offered a dry glance as she replied,
“Happens in the best families. Especially when the father runs off on a suicide mission.”

Cahara smirked.
“Sorry about the whole theft thing, sweetheart. Nothing personal. Times were rough when you showed up. But hey, glad to see you’re alive.”

Carmilla crossed her arms, one brow arched high.
“Right. Aside from the part where I saved your sorry hide and you robbed me in return, I guess I could say the same.”

“Oops. Looks like Celeste is calling me. COMING, DARLING!” Cahara waved, already retreating with a careless grin.
“You still owe me a potion, you bastard!” Carmilla shouted after him.

By then, Ragnvaldr had cooled down, though the tension still clung to the cavern walls. Carmilla was about to console the small girl lingering near him when Enki’s hands gripped her shoulders with sudden force. His face had hardened like stone.
“Carmilla. Listen to me. That Le’garde… he’s not to be trusted. Don’t believe a word he says.”

She blinked, thrown off by the intensity in his tone.
“What do you mean? He just woke up.”
“He claimed he didn’t know the knight—but he almost slipped, almost said something to her.”
“So he lied? That’s why he’s not trustworthy?”
“You know what I mean. If he lied once, he’ll do it again.”
“I get it. I’m not that naïve, Enki… but thanks for worrying.”

It was strange—seeing him here, alive, wary as ever. For a moment, she nearly forgot why she’d come. Then it hit her like a blade: the throne. The prophecy. The man who might hold the answers.
“If I’m lucky, he knows about the throne.”

She spotted Le’garde by the gate, his golden hair catching the torchlight like strands of fire. She approached.
“Excuse me… Le’garde, right?”
The man gave her a polite nod. “Yes. What do you need?”
“I wanted to ask if you know anything about a golden throne—a throne said to be part of the prophecy. If you could tell me anything…”
For a heartbeat, his eyes widened. His lips parted slightly, then closed again as if swallowing words. Finally, he said,
“I’m sorry. Something like that sounds extraordinary—but I can’t recall anything like it.”

A sharp tug wrenched her backward. Enki’s voice snapped like a whip.
“She’s leaving now.”
“Enki, wait!! Ragnvaldr!! Watch the girl, do you hear me?!”

Before she could fight back, Enki dragged her into the shadows of a nearby cavern. When they stopped, Carmilla tore herself free, fury blazing.
“What the hell is your problem? I’m twenty-nine, remember?!”
“Twenty-nine and acting like thirteen! How am I supposed to trust you when the second I say don’t trust a man, you go running to him?!”

Carmilla pressed a hand to her forehead, forcing her voice steady.
“Enki, I had a purpose here before I found you. I don’t know what brought you—but I know why I came. For the golden throne.”

Enki stared at her as if she’d just confessed to lunacy.
“You’ve lost your mind. I thought you were reckless before, but this… this is madness. Tell me, Carmilla—where exactly did you see a ‘golden throne’ in this hellhole?”
“I don’t know…” Her voice faltered before she lifted her chin again. “But he knows! He’s the man from the prophecy.”
“Wait… you’ve been dreaming about it too?”
“You’ve dreamed of the prophecy?”
“I’ve had visions,” Enki muttered darkly. “Carmilla, something’s wrong. Stay here with me. Please.”

She sighed, her heart caught between fear and stubborn resolve.
“This isn’t the end of the ruins, Enki. You saw the gate, didn’t you?”

He gripped her shoulders, his bony fingers digging in as if to anchor her. She studied his face—drawn, exhausted. In truth, it was a miracle he’d made it this far. But persistence was etched into his very soul. He carried secrets—ones that burned behind his eyes.
“Carmilla,” he whispered, his voice raw, “can you trust me this time?”
“Always,” she breathed.

They walked on together, winding through the stone labyrinth until the scent of alchemy met their senses. The alchemist stood hunched over his work, brewing poisons or miracles—Carmilla could never tell which. A pregnant woman lingered in the corner, arms crossed, her presence as sharp as a blade.

“This place is getting crowded,” Enki muttered.
“Not exactly a complaint,” the alchemist replied, eyes fixed on the bubbling mixture before him. “Life here is… lonely, most of the time.”

Carmilla’s gaze darted to the woman. “Where’s your husband?”
“Clearing the upper floor,” she said curtly. “Even after I told him it’s empty. But we can’t risk the baby.” Her jaw tightened. “Pregnant or not, I can handle those freaks just fine—but he doesn’t listen.”

Carmilla gave a tense smile. “Well… at least we’re in greater numbers.”
“Fair enough.”

“Nosramus,” Enki said suddenly, his voice low, “you know this place better than anyone. What’s beyond that gate?”
The alchemist hesitated, lowering his head.
Carmilla stared. Enki trusted him—far too much for a man so shrouded in secrets. And what even was Nosramus? Hair trailing across the floor like a funeral shroud, eyes that cut to the bone, a smile too kind to be anything but false.
“Are you sure you want to go that far?” Nosramus murmured. “You’ve survived this long. That’s… impressive. But beyond that gate lies Ma’habre. And none of you will leave it.”

The name slithered down Carmilla’s spine like a curse.
“Ma’habre…” Enki echoed softly.
“Ruins of a city, then. How bad can it be?” Carmilla forced out, her voice hollow.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” Nosramus sighed, weary as death. “Since nothing I say will ever fill your void.”

Carmilla frowned and took a few steps back, trembling. All her life, she had felt that something was missing. Without meaning or aspiration, her adventures served to distract her from her thoughts, to stop her imagining what her life would be like if she survived the ritual, if she didn't find her calling or her gift, or if she didn't want to be just a member of the church. What should she do with her own life?
“What… what are you?” she whispered.
Nosramus turned to her, his expression serene, and spoke as if reciting a truth older than the world.
“Just a forgotten soul.”

Enki caught the flicker of fear in Carmilla’s eyes and stepped closer, his voice low.
“Now you see why I trust his word? We’d better move.”

That was when the argument flared again.
“Enki,” she began, sharp and insistent, “you had a purpose coming here too, didn’t you? You’re really going to give up that easily?”

Something shifted in him. His jaw tightened; his shoulders trembled as if the weight of his thoughts was too much to bear. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw.
“I can’t lose you again.”

The words chilled her to the bone. He wasn’t lying. Enki never said things like that—never with this kind of naked honesty. For a heartbeat, Carmilla almost faltered. She drew a slow breath, softening her tone.
“Then let’s go as far as we can—together. If it gets beyond us, we turn back. Deal?”

Enki stood silent for a long moment, his eyes searching hers, before nodding once.
“If I said no, you’d just run off anyway, wouldn’t you?”
A sly smile tugged at her lips, but she didn’t answer.

They pressed on. Of course, Enki insisted on stopping twice along the way, muttering incantations that split the darkness like lightning. A blinding flash, a whisper of old power—and then bones stirred, clattering as they rose into mockery of life.

“Can I ask,” Carmilla said dryly, watching the skeletons shamble into step behind them, “who did you kill for that spell?”
“No one,” Enki replied, almost smug. “I read a book.”

She arched a brow but let it go. There were bigger concerns than his moral compass. They scavenged as they went—broken relics, shards of bone, a pair of cracked spectacles Carmilla perched on one of the undead for accuracy’s sake. She even pressed a bone shears into another’s bony hands, because why not?

When the first crawling horror lunged from the shadows—its limbs twisted, flesh rotting—Carmilla’s voice snapped like a whip.
“It’s infected! Aim for the arms!”

Steel clashed, bone cracked, and the creature dropped twitching at their feet.
“Keep moving,” she hissed.

The ruins sprawled before them like the skeleton of a dead city. Shapes slithered through the gloom, shadows that shouldn’t move at all. Monoliths jutted from the earth, and at the heart of a cracked square stood a cube atop an altar.

“Enki!” she gasped. “They’re alive!”

The figures of stone spoke—if you could call it that. One croaked out trades in tongues older than time, the other called itself a guardian and whispered of a lord soon to return. Every word thickened the fog of confusion, but the siblings climbed higher, deeper, until the tower swallowed them whole and they stood in a chamber that reeked of chemicals and secrets.

“What is that black liquid?” Carmilla asked, stepping closer to a vat that glistened like oil in the torchlight.
“Don’t touch it!” Enki’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. Then, carefully, he filled a vial with the viscous dark.
“We don’t know how it reacts on flesh. If we meet something… living, we use this.”

Carmilla nodded, unease curling in her gut as they ascended further—only to stumble into a vast library, a cathedral of forgotten knowledge.

“Wow…” Carmilla breathed. “Enki—you’re going to love this! Come look!”

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes burned bright.
“This… THIS PLACE—” His voice broke into wild laughter. “It’s the Lost Library! I thought it was a myth.”

Carmilla chuckled softly. It wasn’t the throne she sought, but seeing him like this—alive, radiant in wonder—felt like treasure enough.
“Would it be a problem if I…?” Enki asked, already reaching for a tome.
“Go ahead. I’ll look around.”

She wandered through the marble silence, scanning the endless spines. That was when her gaze fell on a cube—eerily like the one from the square outside. It sat heavy and humming on a pedestal. Something in her chest whispered to take it.

The instant she touched it, the world shattered. Light died. The chamber drowned in black—and they were no longer alone.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Carmilla ducked behind a statue as a grotesque silhouette slid from the dark. She slammed her palm against a hidden mechanism; the statue lurched forward, stone grinding like thunder.

The creature struck. She bolted, leaping from cover to cover, weaving through shadows, flinging spells that tore white streaks across the dark. Every step brought her closer to the door—until it yawned open like a throat ahead.

She sprinted—and nearly pitched into the abyss beyond.
“Oh, gods… I need to get out. Now.”

Heart pounding, she scrambled back and slammed the cube into its cradle. A surge of color ripped through the black like stained glass exploding in sunlight. The horrors dissolved, gone like smoke in wind.

“You heard that?” Enki’s voice came from nowhere, breathless and bright. “Sounds like a passage opened!”
Before she could stop him, he was gone, sprinting toward the abyss.
“Enki! Wait!” She tore after him.

At the edge, she froze—just in time to see a man vanish into the chasm below, swallowed by an aura that pulsed with a sickly light.
“Enki, don’t—!”
“There are stairs,” he called back, already descending.

He was mad. Something had him in its grip, something that whispered deeper, deeper. Carmilla cursed and followed, her boots skidding on damp stone.

The stair spiraled into hell, and at its bottom…

It emerged.

A head—vast, obscene—swelling from the dark, its skull split open to cradle a throbbing brain that gleamed wet and raw.

“WHAT IN—” The words tore from her throat.

Then it spoke. A voice like oil on water, curling into questions she didn’t understand. Carmilla stood paralyzed as Enki stepped forward, answering in a tone too calm for sanity. The thing demanded riddles, names, truths. Enki gave them. She remembered one fragment from a book and spat it like a prayer; Enki carried the rest.

And as they spoke, the head changed. Flesh rippled. Something bloomed between its eyes—an orb, a third sight pulsing with malignant light.

Carmilla’s blade flashed. Her spells ripped fire into the dark. Enki didn’t flinch, his voice steady as he finished the last answer. And then—

It happened.

Light—pure and searing—burst into Enki’s hands, solidifying into something small yet unbearably heavy, humming with the same aura that had haunted the ruins since their first step inside.

“This… this matters,” Enki whispered.

“Good. Then we’re leaving,” Carmilla snarled, seizing his arm and dragging him away from the still-twitching nightmare.