The further they went, the more chalk-roots replaced the twirling and twisting roots of the Old Growth. The ground turned from a natural brown to dirtied crimson, as if the whole forest floor was dyed in blood.

In a way, it was. Midhir clenched his fist. Perhaps none of this would have happened had he not been so careless.

Wiping the blood off his face, he clicked his tongue. He needed to be more careful this time. The Old One had shown him two visions – without proper context, it was difficult to ascertain their true meaning.

“We’re almost there,” Alistair’s words pulled him out of his thoughts.

Lord Aulorn nodded silently, summoning his sword and loosely grasping its hilt. Cait did the same, her shortsword appeared in her hands, which she comfortably carried with her. Alistair’s spear was already in his hand, and so was Arwen’s staff.

Midhir reached for his earring, summoning the sword-spear from the holding gem. He grasped its haft with both hands before moving forward.

The ground was now fully covered in crimson chalk roots, with not a single tree root visible underneath. It took effort to walk silently as their heels clicked. And the few dead leaves they stepped on crumpled loudly.

Only moments later, they arrived at the edge of the opening.

The monument towered above them, seemingly trying to reach for the skies. Looking up at it, the weird shape once again hurt Midhir’s eyes. His mind refused to comprehend it, as if it didn’t’ belong here.

Around the monument a camp had been set up, taking up most of the opening in the Old Growth. Tents of various sizes had been put up, campfires were lit at various spots, and there was quite the crowd gathered there.

They all wore the same clothes as the cultists, they carried the same insignia – the twelve part serpent.

“Descendants of the alchemists of old, no doubt.” Lord Aulorn’s voice was but a whisper, filled with seething hatred. “Blasphemous people, with despicable greed for eternal life.” He tightened his grasp on the hilt of his sword. “Which one was the figure dyed red?” he asked, glancing at Midhir.

He felt cold sweat run down his back. He couldn’t tell. He had only seen a silhouette – a single red one amongst many forgettable ones. Was it their leader? Or perhaps another sacrifice? Was it a spy hidden amongst the cultists? There were countless possibilities, and the Old One had provided no context. He wasn’t even sure whether following the visions was the right choice.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“I can’t tell,” he finally said. They all looked the same to him – wearing the same clothes, carrying the same insignia, similar weapons… None of the cultists stood out to him. “I don’t have much to go on with,” he admitted.

Lord Aulorn nodded curtly. “In that case, we shall begin. You three wait here – watch for any who try to escape and stop them. Cait and I will take care of this place.” He stepped forward, with Cait in tow, brandishing his weapon as he walked into the sunlight.

“In the name of her Majesty the Empress, I command thee, surrender!” His voice boomed, echoing in the forest.

The startled cultists hurriedly grabbed their weapons, rushing to group up, standing between the enforcers and the monument. Their faces twisted with confusion, fear, and uncertainty, their gazes switched between Lord Aulorn, the monument, and each other.

They were already prepared to run.

That fear turned into horror as the crowd split in two, making way for a tall woman, and a man wearing a metal helmet hiding his face.

Midhir’s chest tightened – he had seen that woman before. She was the one who had her men chase them all the way back to Bareon. The man next to her looked rather comical next to her, carrying no weapons, but wearing that ridiculous helmet with an over-the-top feather attached to it.

“In the name of the Old Gods, I refuse!” The woman’s voice rang in the air. “Go back to your Empress – she has no authority over the woods of our deities!” She waved her hand dismissively. “We are watched by Them. Protected by Them. Try as you may, Enforcer of the Empress, you have no power here!” She raised her chin with pride and confidence.

“Then your lives are forfeit.” Lord Aulorn raised his sword in front of his chest, saluting his opponents. “May your gods watch over your souls.” With a final prayer, he swung his blade in a wide arc.

His sword burst into flames mid swing, sending a wave of fire towards the panicking crowd. He followed the flames with immense speed, striking at the woman.

Her whip cracked, and a powerful wind threw the Lord Enforcer back moments before his sword could touch her. The winds picked up, scattering the flames.

“Your powers mean naught to me!” She shouted at the top of her lungs, her eyes glimmering with a maniacal flame. She cracked her whip once more, sending sparks flying as the ground exploded, forcing Cait to leap back.

The younger enforcer slid back, landing on her feet, and wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead. Her grip on her sword’s hilt tightened as one of the gems embedded into its blade started to glow golden.

“Your Gods will not protect you, give up!” Lord Aulorn shouted, brandishing his sword with flowing water. He pointed towards her feet.

The sound of breaking branches and twisting logs sounded from afar. Not a moment later, a wave crashed out of the forest, rolling towards the crowd of cultists who were still standing there, weapons in hand and faces twisted with fear.

“I am their priestess!” She shouted, hitting the ground with her heel. The earth rumbled, and the crimson chalk-roots came to life, crawling up on the path of the wave, weaving an impassable wall. The wave crashed against it, ending the Lord Enforcer’s resonance.

Midhir drew a sharp breath as he watched wide eyed. She could control the chalk-roots. As the reality of the situation sank in, a lump formed in his chest. They didn’t stand a chance against her. She had the power of the Old Faith under her command.

There was no one to rival her here – not while she commanded the power of the gods.

Clothes rustled behind him as Arwen stepped forth, her staff in hand, and her eyes burning bright with decisiveness and confidence.