Chapter 40:
Let the Song of Peace Give Way
> Now echoes clash in crimson skies,
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> As ancient hymns to war arise.
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> Peace sleeps beneath the war drum's cry,
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> While songs of steel ascend on high.
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> — Ancient Thaliric Poem
Godfrey tugged at the worn leather strap, tightening it around the broad chest of the brown and black pony Rinthess had requisitioned for him. The animal huffed, shifting its weight, as if sharing Godfrey’s uncertainty. The saddle fit awkwardly beneath his fingers, though Micah, the rotund stablehand, had patiently shown him how to tack up the beast. Godfrey wasn’t convinced he’d be able to replicate the process without a second set of eyes.
Around him, Adrian, Thyra, and Riella moved with the ease of seasoned farriers, cinching straps and checking hooves with a confidence that left Godfrey feeling unsteady. They had transformed from apprentices into horsemasters in mere moments, their hands sure and swift. Meanwhile, Godfrey fumbled with his mount, frustration biting at him like a stubborn thorn.
Finally, he finished the task, though not without a flicker of doubt. As he swung onto the saddle, the pony snorted, seeming to mock his unease. The others were already mounted, their horses eager and ready. He was the last to leave the stables. Rinthess glared at him, her look piercing, and he met her gaze, defiant but silent.
They moved at a brisk trot down Garrison Road, the rhythm of hooves echoing off the stone walls. When the sally port groaned open, they passed through in a tight formation, the chill air greeting them like a slap.
The land beyond Centria sprawled out in desolation, as it always did—a stretch of undeveloped wilderness, broken only by the orderly scars left by the tree crews. Scrub and wild undergrowth were pushed back from the walls for thousands of feet, creating a stark and barren no-man’s-land, a bleak expanse that felt oddly exposed.
Rinthess pushed them hard, though toward what they did not know. When night fell, and all that had transpired that day was the crossing of fields and plantation grounds in a preternatural silence brought on by the tense set of Rinthess’s shoulders. By night, when Godfrey taught the others the proper method of preparing a fire and cooking rations, Rinthess consulted maps and tomes alone in her tent.
It was confusing to Godfrey why she insisted on going about this expedition without the support staff the other trainers and instructors had brought along. The excitement of their exodus from Centria had quelled the confusion until now.
Godfrey surmised that whatever Rinthess was up to, she didn’t want anyone to know.
XXX
Godfrey and Riella moved through the twilit woods, the mist weaving around the trees like ghostly ribbons illuminated by the last rays of sunlight. Godfrey stepped silently, every movement calculated. Riella, however, seemed to find every dry twig and patch of brittle leaves underfoot. Each snap and crunch made Godfrey wince.
"Sorry," Riella whispered after her boot crushed another twig. She stuck her tongue out slightly as she carefully chose her next step, a habit that made Godfrey's focus waver. These Sculpted women were going to be a serious problem.
He was about to reassure her when his ears caught faint shouting ahead. He halted, holding up a hand. "Did you hear that?" he murmured.
Riella nodded, her eyes narrowing as she listened. "Sounds like voices. Shouting."
"Could be trouble," Godfrey said.
"Should we head back and report?" she asked.
He considered it for a moment. "No, we need to find out what's going on first. Come on."
They moved forward, keeping low behind a ridge that overlooked a clearing. As they approached, a woman's scream sliced through the air, followed by the wail of a child. Godfrey's jaw tightened.
Peering over the ridge, they saw an overturned wagon braced against a broken tree. Two large horses lay nearby, struggling weakly in their final moments. Scattered around were several bodies, motionless and bloodied. A group of rough-looking men, clad in ragged but functional gear, surrounded the wreckage with a militant air.
A woman was being restrained by one of the men, her face streaked with tears and bruises. A man was held down by two others, struggling futilely against their grip. A young boy stood nearby, crying loudly.
The leader of the group, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, smirked at the captives. "I think I'll enjoy your company," he said to the woman, his voice dripping with malice. "And maybe I'll let the boys have a turn when I'm done."
The restrained man thrashed violently. "Leave her alone!" he shouted, only to be silenced by a harsh blow from a club.
The child cried out for his father. One of the men struck him across the face. "Shut up, you little runt!"
Riella's eyes blazed with anger. "Fuck this Godfrey," she whispered fiercely.
But Godfrey was already moving, his expression steeled with determination.
He descended the slope swiftly, drawing his sword with a silent hiss. Riella followed, her own weapon at the ready.
But Godfrey was already moving. Without a word, he broke into a sprint down the slope, drawing his longsword and parrying dagger. The element of surprise was on his side.
He reached the first bandit before they even realized he was upon them. His sword flashed, and the man fell. Pivoting smoothly, he dispatched a second with his dagger. The camp erupted into chaos.
Godfrey charged forward, cutting a path through the startled bandits. Two more fell as he pressed toward the center of the clearing. An arrow whistled past his ear; he dropped into a roll, narrowly avoiding it. As he rose, he caught sight of Riella moving stealthily along the ridge, closing in on the archer.
Six men regrouped and advanced toward him, weapons drawn. Godfrey steeled himself, his mind focusing intensely. The world seemed to slow as his training and inner Control took over. Each movement was deliberate, efficient.
The first attacker swung wildly; Godfrey sidestepped and countered with a swift slash. Left. A thrust from another; he parried and riposted. Right. The bandits fell one after another, unable to match his skill and speed. To him, it was like pulling weeds—necessary, but offering no satisfaction.
Amidst the fray, he lost track of Riella and the archer. His attention was drawn to the bandit leader, who stood back, watching his men fall. Only two henchmen remained at his side.
The leader scowled. "Who do you think you are?" he snarled. "You have no idea who you're dealing with!"
Godfrey faced him silently, his expression unreadable.
"You'll pay for this!" the leader continued, raising his weapon. But before he could advance, an arrow soared through the air, striking him squarely in the throat. His eyes widened in shock as he grasped at the shaft, stumbling before collapsing to the ground.
The remaining henchmen exchanged a panicked glance. One charged at Godfrey, desperation in his eyes. Godfrey met him head-on, deflecting the attack and delivering a decisive blow.
The last man turned to flee, but Riella emerged from behind, her blade at the ready. "Going somewhere?" she asked sharply.
He hesitated, looking between Godfrey and Riella, then dropped his weapon and bolted into the woods.
An uneasy silence settled over the clearing. The only sounds were the labored breaths of the injured and the distant rustling of the fleeing bandit.
Godfrey sheathed his weapons and approached the captive family. The man was struggling to his feet, a mix of relief and disbelief on his face. "Thank you," he managed to say. "You saved us."
Riella joined them, the archer's bow slung over her shoulder. "Is anyone badly hurt?"
The woman nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "Our son..."
The boy was clutching his cheek where he'd been struck, but he was conscious. Riella knelt beside him. "Let me see," she said gently. She examined the bruise. "You'll be okay. You're very brave."
Godfrey surveyed the area. "We need to move. There may be more of them nearby."
The man nodded. "Our village isn't far. But our wagon..."
Riella looked at the overturned vehicle. "We can help you gather what you can carry."
They worked quickly, salvaging supplies and ensuring the horses were beyond suffering. As they prepared to leave, the man turned to Godfrey. "I don't know how to repay you."
"There's no need," Godfrey replied. "Just get your family to safety."
Godfrey and Riella stood amidst the aftermath of the skirmish some time later, the moon casting a silvery light over the clearing. The bodies of the bandits lay scattered, and the family they had rescued were huddled together, whispering words of comfort to one another.
As they began the journey back to their camp, what had transpired hung heavy in the air. Godfrey broke the silence first. "I had no idea there were armed bands of men roaming the countryside like this," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Riella glanced at him, her expression somber. "It's not something openly discussed," she replied. "But there's been a lot of desertion lately. Soldiers promised land and back pay that never came. Lack of funds for allotted farmland or wages—they're left with nothing. Banditry often ensues."
He grunted thoughtfully. "Desperate men driven to desperate acts," he mused.
They walked a few more paces before Godfrey looked over at her. "Are you okay?" he asked gently.
She looked away, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. "It will be easier than the Labyrinth, I think," she murmured. "These were animals to be put down."
Godfrey shrugged, a hint of weariness in his posture. "I don't know when I became so comfortable dealing death."
Riella met his gaze briefly. "The Empire wants us to be comfortable meting out justice," she said. "Many small villages and towns don't have access to the legal system. If frontier justice fails, a passing Hand or Tongue can work just as well."
He shook his head slowly. "I saw firsthand the 'justice' of a Hand. It ended in the death of two innocent people."
She wasn't surprised. "I've heard stories about some of the older Hands and Tongues," she admitted. "How their age can deteriorate their minds, make them unpredictable. But the power they wield—both political and physical—prevents anyone from forcing them into retirement."
"It's a dangerous flaw in the system," Godfrey said quietly.
Riella nodded. "It is. But the Empire values power over prudence. As long as they can enforce their will, the cost seems irrelevant to them."
He sighed deeply. "Sometimes I wonder if we're just cogs in a manufactory machine that's broken beyond repair."
She gave him a sympathetic look. "Perhaps. But tonight, we made a difference—for that family, at least."
A faint smile touched his lips. "You're right. Small victories."
They continued in silence, the sounds of the night enveloping them. The canopy of stars above provided a stark contrast to the darkness they felt creeping into their world.
As they neared their camp, Godfrey spoke again. "I've been thinking lately. Why am I here? Is this what I want? Or is this just the destiny others have chosen for me—to strive and learn from the Hand, to become safe and happy through strength?"
Riella considered his words carefully. "Only you can decide that," she replied. "But maybe it's not about the destiny others have set for you. Maybe it's about what you choose to do with the path you're on."
Godfrey laughed then, from his belly. “Sounds like platitudes to me. Someone I know would have loved that.”
He looked up at the emerging stars. "It's hard to know what's right sometimes."
She offered a gentle smile. "Doubt means you're thinking for yourself. That's not a bad thing."
Godfrey sighed. "Perhaps. But I can't help feeling like a piece on someone else's game board."
Riella touched his arm lightly. "Then maybe it's time to change the game."
He glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not," she admitted. "But nothing worth doing ever is."
They reached the edge of their camp, the warm glow of the fire contrasting with the cool night air. The rest of their companions looked up, relieved to see them return safely.
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"Everything alright?" one of them asked.
Godfrey nodded. "Just a minor encounter. There was an armed band, we dispersed them. But we should be prepared."
As they settled down by the fire, and the group’s conversation turned to the fight which had just occurred, Riella sat beside him. "For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I'm glad you're here."
He looked at her, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. "Thanks."
She grinned slightly. "Besides, who else is going to keep me from stepping on every twig in the forest?"
He chuckled softly. "I suppose I have my work cut out for me."
XXX
Rinthess barely reacted when Godfrey and Riella reported the encounter with the dozen armed men. She looked up briefly, her eyes sharp beneath the brim of her travel-worn hat. "They were dispatched?" she asked curtly.
"Yes," Godfrey confirmed. "All of them."
She nodded, her attention already drifting back to the maps spread across the neck of her horse. "What was the state of their clothing and gear?"
"Poor," Riella answered. "Ill-kept weapons, tattered armor."
"Good," Rinthess murmured. "No need for concern unless we encounter another band. One group is misfortune; two would be a pattern, and patterns rarely bode well." Her tone carried a hint of cryptic wisdom, leaving them pondering as she returned to her charts.
With those enigmatic words hanging in the air, the group pressed onward toward their undefined destination. The forest path wound ahead, dappled with sunlight filtering through the dense canopy. Birds sang hidden among the leaves, oblivious to the worries of those below.
Adrian, usually the heart of their camaraderie, was hunched over in his saddle, a pained expression etched on his face. A stomach ailment had taken hold of him, turning his customary cheer into sour mutterings that dampened the group's spirits. Godfrey noted with mild amusement that the jovial man could become quite petulant when unwell—a fact he tucked away for future ribbing.
Fortunately, Thyra had taken it upon herself to tend to him. Riding close, she offered him sips of herbal concoctions and soothing words. His grumbles softened in her presence, and they often drifted into quiet conversations that no one else could hear. Godfrey was grateful someone was able to weather Adrian's foul mood, sparing the rest of them his barbs.
Godfrey found himself riding alongside Riella, the rhythmic clop of their horses' hooves setting a comfortable pace. He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, trying to find a position that didn't make his back ache.
"Having trouble there?" Riella asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.
He glanced over to see her sitting effortlessly atop her horse, her posture relaxed and confident. "Just... getting used to the saddle," he replied, attempting to mask his discomfort.
She raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You know, if you loosen your grip and stop clinging to the reins like they're a lifeline, your horse might actually like you."
He chuckled wryly. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone who's been riding since they could walk," she quipped. "Here, try adjusting your feet in the stirrups. It'll help with balance."
He attempted to follow her advice, sliding his boots further into the stirrups and easing his grip on the reins. The horse seemed to relax beneath him, and he sat a bit straighter. "Better?"
"Much," she affirmed with a nod. "Now, try to move with the horse instead of against it."
He gave her a sidelong look. "You make it sound so simple."
She laughed lightly. "Years of practice. Growing up, I spent more time on horseback than on solid ground."
"That explains your uncanny ability to make it look effortless," he said, genuinely impressed.
She leaned in slightly. "Stick with me, and you'll be galloping like a pro in no time."
"I'll hold you to that," he replied, his gaze meeting hers.
They shared a moment of easy camaraderie, the sun casting a warm glow over the landscape. Ahead, the path began to widen, the trees thinning slightly.
"You know," Riella began thoughtfully, "it's nice to see Adrian and Thyra getting along."
Godfrey glanced ahead at the pair. Adrian was still pale but seemed in better spirits as Thyra spoke softly to him. "Indeed. She has a calming effect on him."
Riella smirked. "Someone needs to keep him in line when he's under the weather."
He chuckled. "I can't decide if I should feel sorry for her or admire her patience."
"Maybe a bit of both," she mused.
Just then, Rinthess straightened atop her horse, her eyes scanning the horizon. The maps she'd been poring over fluttered in the breeze as she rolled them up with practiced efficiency.
"We've arrived," she announced, her voice cutting through the group's conversations.
XXX
Godfrey exchanged puzzled glances with Riella and the others. There was nothing remarkable about this particular spot—no landmarks or signs to indicate they had arrived anywhere significant. Yet, Rinthess seemed increasingly animated. She rolled up her maps with quick, almost erratic movements, her fingers twitching with nervous energy or perhaps excitement.
"Here," she announced again, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that none of them had seen before.
"Here?" Adrian echoed skeptically, glancing around at the unremarkable surroundings. "This looks like every other part of this forsaken road."
Rinthess ignored his remark and pointed into the dense forest to Godfrey's right. "We'll find what we're looking for in that direction," she declared.
Godfrey turned to gaze into the woods. As his eyes adjusted to the shadows beneath the trees, he felt a deep, soft thump resonate in his chest, like the distant beating of a giant heart. A whisper seemed to ride on the wind, brushing against his consciousness. He strained to catch it, but the harder he focused, the more elusive it became, dissipating like mist under the morning sun.
Rinthess secured her maps and swung down from her horse. "We proceed on foot from here," she instructed. "The terrain is too rough for the horses."
Adrian groaned but dismounted without further complaint. Thyra patted her horse reassuringly before joining the others.
Godfrey adjusted his pack and took a deep breath. The air seemed thicker here, laden with the scent of earth and something else—something ancient.
Rinthess led the way into the forest, moving with purpose. The underbrush was dense, branches snagging at their clothes and vines threatening to trip their steps. The sounds of the forest faded as they ventured deeper, replaced by an almost palpable silence.
After what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, they emerged into a small clearing. At its center stood a massive stone archway, overgrown with moss and entwined with roots. Intricate symbols were carved into its surface, their meanings lost to time.
"This is it," Rinthess said reverently.
Godfrey felt the thump in his chest intensify. The whispering returned, circling around him like a faint echo. He glanced at Riella, who was staring at the archway with wide eyes.
"What is this place?" she asked.
Rinthess approached the archway, her fingers tracing the ancient symbols. "An old gateway," she replied. "A remnant from before the Empire, perhaps even before recorded history."
Adrian frowned. "And what exactly are we supposed to find here?"
"Answers," Rinthess said cryptically. "Power."
Godfrey stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the archway. "I can feel something... calling."
Rinthess nodded. "Those who are attuned can sense its presence. It's why you're here."
He looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"
Rinthess didn't respond. Instead, she took a deep breath and uttered a sharp intonatio. The very air around them crackled with energy, a palpable force that pressed against their senses.
Godfrey felt a sudden weight descend upon him, his vision darkening at the edges. The whispering grew louder, swirling into a cacophony that overwhelmed his thoughts. He tried to reach for his sword, but his limbs wouldn't respond. The world tilted, and his vision went black.
Riella, Adrian, and Thyra struggled beside him, their bodies rigid, eyes wide with fear. They tried to speak, but no sound escaped their lips.
Rinthess stepped forward, her gaze fixed on Godfrey with cold determination. "It's time," she repeated.
He glared at her, anger and confusion boiling within. "Release us! What is the meaning of this?"
She met his fury with an icy stare. "Soon, several dozen armed men under the command of Knight Corvin will descend upon this archway."
Godfrey's heart pounded. "Knight Corvin? What are you talking about?"
She continued, unperturbed by his questions. "Beyond the archway lies a door. You must open it, or you and your friends will die."
He struggled against the invisible bonds. He had overcome her power before, if only he could remember…
"This is the only way," Rinthess replied. "You must claim the power inside the vault. Unless you harness and accept it, your friends will perish."
"You're mad!" he spat.
A flicker of frustration crossed her face. "This is bigger than you can comprehend."
"You're sacrificing us for your own gain!"
She took a step closer, her voice low and edged with urgency. "Believe me when I say I am not sacrificing you. Time is running out, however"
"You're insane," Godfrey growled. "We won't be your pawns."
Rinthess's eyes flashed. "Enough." She uttered another command, and his voice was silenced, his mouth moving but producing no sound.
He felt a force compel him to his feet, his body moving against his will.
She turned her attention to the others, and with a mere gesture, Riella, Adrian, and Thyra were also lifted to their feet, their eyes reflecting confusion and fear.
Just then, from the corner of his eye, Godfrey noticed movement among the trees beyond the outskirts of the archway. Shadows shifted, and the glint of armor caught the sunlight.
Rinthess glanced toward the woods. "They are here," she said calmly. "Time is running out."
The sound of distant voices and the clinking of metal grew louder. Knight Corvin's men were approaching fast.
She directed Godfrey toward an ancient stone archway that stood amidst the trees—a structure he hadn't noticed before, concealed by the forest's embrace. Intricate symbols adorned its surface, pulsing faintly with ethereal light.
"Go," Rinthess commanded. "Open the door."
He fought to regain control, his mind racing. "Why are you doing this?" he thought desperately, though he could not voice the words.
As if sensing his turmoil, Rinthess spoke softly. "You must trust me, Godfrey. This is the only way to save them."
He glared at her, his eyes burning with defiance.
The soldiers were closing in, their footsteps thundering like approaching storm clouds.
"Move!" Rinthess's voice cracked like a whip, and Godfrey felt his legs carry him forward against his will.
He passed beneath the archway, and a surge of energy rippled through him like the echo of distant thunder. Ahead, a narrow path wound deeper into the forest's embrace, leading to a large metal door embedded in the hillside—a sentinel guarding secrets long forgotten. Ancient runes adorned its surface, swirling and twisting, alive with a subtle luminescence that mirrored the archway's own cryptic symbols.
As Godfrey gazed upon the door, the world around him dissolved into shadows. The clamor of his friends regaining control, the shouts of approaching soldiers funneling through the overgrown ruins—it all faded into a distant murmur. His worries for their safety, for his own, slipped away like leaves on a stream. All that remained was the door and the hypnotic dance of words flowing over its surface like liquid silver.
He could read them now, the arcane script unfurling before his eyes, a gift gleaned from his trials in the Labyrinth. The runes whispered tales of a bygone era, the very history etched into this place. This was no vault, as Rinthess had believed—it was a crypt, the tomb of an ancient king. A few steps more, though he had no memory of moving, and his hand hovered inches from the cold metal.
Behind him, the clash of steel and the sizzle of arcane intonations tore through the air, warping it like heat waves rising from scorched earth. But Godfrey was scarcely aware. A song enveloped him, wrapping around his soul like a warm, sharp-edged blanket. This was not merely a resting place for a body or a man; it was the tomb of an idea, the sepulcher of a weapon.
His fingers brushed the door, and Rinthess's Compulsion surged within him, propelling him forward when he might have hesitated. The song pulsed through his hand, vibrations melding with his flesh—a melody woven of bone and blood. He felt it crawling into his mind, grasping, yearning to find a voice. This was a threshold, he realized, a point of no return. A choice awaited him here, and he refused to let it be made for him.
Gathering his will, he wrested control from the unseen forces, reasserting his sense of self. His eyes began to trace the intricate text upon the door, seeking patterns and divergences. Thaliric was not a linear language; it melted into itself, forming new meanings when viewed from different angles. Moments ago, he had approached the door as a supplicant, shrouded in ignorant bluster. Now, he examined it as its master might. The inscriptions were a warning.
"Heed the path of those before you," the runes seemed to whisper. "Power lies not in possession, but in understanding."
Closing his eyes, he reached deep within, searching for the clarity that had guided him through countless trials. The melody of the door's song pulsed in harmony with his heartbeat. He breathed in slowly, letting the cacophony of battle fade. When he opened his eyes, a newfound resolve illuminated them.
"I will not be a pawn," he whispered.
Drawing upon the knowledge gleaned from the Labyrinth, he began to manipulate the runes, his fingers gliding over the metal surface with purpose. The symbols responded, shifting and rearranging, the door's song altering its tune.
He looked anew at the door, and as his eyes Focused, his pupils bled into an inky blackness. The forest around him faded away—the looming threat of death for himself and his friends dissolved like mist. Instead, he heard only the Song. The Song. The Song the ancient Thals knew better than to invoke. It was an inhuman abomination, born from the terror and cruelty the Sea Folk had inflicted upon their people.
Godfrey now understood what this place truly was. In the depths of the Song, somehow made tangible and real, he saw an old friend. The face shifted through familiar visages—Hawker, John, Tarlow, Griffin, Rhys, Brutus.
The scent of brine filled his senses, the salty tang of the ocean waves crashing against the cliffs far below the sunlit balcony where he and his old friend stood.
He felt weak and frail, yet as his gaze swept along the coastline, taking in the vast expanse of his domain kissed by a legendary sunrise, he pondered all that he would lose when the Sea Folk overcame his brother's forces and breached the Sea Wall. He imagined their armies pouring along the roadways, laying waste to his homeland as they advanced unchecked.
He sighed deeply. Even now, after his wife had left him in disgust, taking their sons and daughters with her, he refused to invoke the Song. Even with the fate of his people hanging by a thread, he would not unleash its power. His eyes returned to the slab of Astraferum he was manipulating with his voice—a final gift, he hoped, that would be enough to turn the tide. The world was not ready for the Song, not while the beauty of the Thals still endured.
That was what his kin did not understand. To invoke the Song was to abandon all hope of peace. It was a path that led only to destruction.
He was too weak to invoke it. Too much of a coward. Perhaps, one day, one of his lineage would be strong enough to wield it.
As these realizations washed over him, Godfrey became aware of himself, and aware of a choice—a pivotal moment where his actions would shape not only his fate but that of countless others. The Song beckoned, its melody both alluring and dreadful, promising power beyond comprehension. But at what cost?
A sudden clamor snapped him back to reality. The sounds of battle surged around him—the clash of steel, the cries of his friends locked in desperate combat. He turned to see Riella, Adrian, and Thyra fighting valiantly against waves of soldiers pressing through the archway. The narrow chokepoint was moments away from being overrun.
His heart pounded as he spotted Knight Corvin. With a powerful swing, Corvin blasted through the limbs of a gnarled tree entwined in the ruins, splintering wood and stone alike. In an instant, he stood behind Godfrey's friends, his eyes blazing with hatred. Time seemed to slow as Corvin's gaze met Godfrey's, a cruel smile creeping across his face. He raised his blade, poised to strike the unsuspecting trio.
"Corvin!" Godfrey shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Corvin hesitated, his cold eyes snapping back to Godfrey. "Ah, there you are," he sneered. "I was beginning to think you'd fled."
Godfrey's mind raced. The Song pulsed within him, its power tempting, almost overwhelming.
Corvin took a deliberate step toward Riella, Adrian, and Thyra, who remained unaware of the imminent danger behind them. Panic surged within Godfrey. Time seemed to slow as he grappled with his options. The Song pulsed insistently within him, its power tempting him to unleash it. But he knew the devastation it could bring.
"Stop!" Godfrey shouted, desperation edging his voice.
Corvin ignored him, raising his sword to strike.
In that critical moment, something deep within Godfrey shifted. The barriers he had carefully maintained around the Song dissolved. He felt a surge of energy unlike anything before—a convergence of his will and the ancient power he had feared to touch. His mouth opened, and from the depths of his soul, the Bladesong burst forth.