"Debatable," Zellrid grumbled as he reluctantly got up, pulling on his clothes.

When Zellrid finally wrenched open the door, he found Aerovind leaning against the doorframe, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "Well, well," Aerovind drawled, his yellow eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look who finally decided to join the land of the living. Have a good night, did we?"

Zellrid's glare could have melted stone. "What do you want, Aerovind?"

"Oh, nothing much," Aerovind replied airily. "Just thought you might like to know that your old pal Ordeon's agreed to let me participate in the Purging Games. Isn't that exciting?"

Zellrid pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Fantastic," he muttered. "Because that's exactly what we need right now—you in a death tournament."

Aerovind clapped Zellrid on the shoulder. "That's the spirit! Now, come on. We've got training to do, broody. Can't have you getting soft on me now, can we?"

Zellrid and Aerovind made their way through the winding corridors of the Nightstalkers' stronghold. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls, a rhythmic counterpoint to their conversation.

"So, broody," Aerovind began, his yellow eyes glinting with curiosity, "got any good war stories? I bet a grizzled veteran like you has seen some things."

Zellrid grunted, his single eye fixed on the path ahead. For a moment, it seemed he might not answer. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.

"Five years ago," he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, "I took a contract. Nasty business."

Aerovind's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Do tell. Was it damsels? Dragons? Daring escapes?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at Zellrid's lips. "Something like that. The princess of the Dead King had been cursed with lycanthropy. Her father wanted it lifted."

"Ah, werewolves," Aerovind nodded sagely. "Tricky customers. Let me guess, you waltzed in, broke the curse, and swept the princess off her feet?"

Zellrid snorted. "Not quite. Fought her for three days straight. She was... formidable."

Aerovind whistled low. "Three days? That's some stamina, my friend. I'm impressed."

"Your turn," Zellrid grunted. "You've hinted at some interesting travels yourself."

Aerovind's usual smirk faltered for a moment, his eyes growing distant. "Ever been to Hell, Zellrid? And I don't mean metaphorically."

Zellrid's eye narrowed. "Can't say that I have."

"Well, let me tell you, it's not a tourist destination I'd recommend," Aerovind chuckled, but there was an edge to his laughter. "I once found myself in Asmodeus's domain. Even for someone like me... it was unsettling."

Zellrid raised an eyebrow, silently prompting Aerovind to continue.

"Imagine a place where every desire, every twisted fantasy is not only allowed but encouraged," Aerovind said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Where the line between pleasure and pain is so blurred it might as well not exist. It's... intoxicating, in the worst possible way."

"Sounds like a night at the tavern with Ordeon," Zellrid deadpanned.

Aerovind burst out laughing, the tension broken. "Oh, I'd pay good money to see that!"

Their conversation was interrupted by a blur of movement and the patter of small feet. Ela came racing down the corridor, her laughter echoing off the stone walls. Hot on her heels was a small wolf cub, its tongue lolling out as it playfully chased her.

Aerovind's face lit up at the sight, a genuine smile replacing his usual smirk. Zellrid noticed the change, his eye narrowing thoughtfully.

"Why are you keeping her, Aerovind?" Zellrid asked, his voice low. "It's dangerous, especially with what's coming."

Aerovind's smile softened as he watched Ela play. "She's special, Zellrid. When I found her... she didn't fear me. Everyone fears me, you know? But not her. She looked at me and saw... well, I suppose she saw a father."

Zellrid grunted, but there was a hint of understanding in his eye.

Suddenly, Aerovind's brow furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead. "Say, Zellrid," he began, his voice strained, "what was your father's name again?"

Zellrid's eye darkened. "Thorgar," he spat the name like a curse. "A criminal. A rapist. I haven't killed him yet only because the bastard fled before I got the chance."

Aerovind's face paled, then he forced out a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Well, isn't that funny? When I was a kid, I survived an encounter with a predator by the same name. Small world, eh?"

Zellrid's eye narrowed, sensing there was more to Aerovind's reaction than he was letting on. But before he could press further, Ela came bounding up to them, the wolf cub at her heels.

"Papa!" she cried, throwing herself into Aerovind's arms. "Look what I found! Can I keep him? Please?"

As Aerovind knelt down to Ela's level, his usual carefree demeanor returning, Zellrid watched them thoughtfully.

Aerovind's eyes twinkled as he looked down at Ela's hopeful face. "Of course you can keep him, little one," he said, ruffling her hair. "Every wolf needs a pack, after all."

Zellrid grunted, but nodded his assent. Ela's face lit up with joy as she hugged the wolf cub tightly, then scampered off, her laughter echoing through the halls.

As they watched her go, Zellrid's eye turned to Aerovind, his gaze searching. "Your mother," he began, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Is she still alive?"

Aerovind's perpetual smirk faltered, his yellow eyes dimming. "No," he said softly, his usual bravado absent. "She was... taken advantage of by my mentor. They hanged her in the village square." His fists clenched at the memory.

Zellrid's face hardened. "I'm sorry," he growled, the words awkward but sincere.

Aerovind nodded, then quirked an eyebrow at Zellrid. "What about yours? I assume she's not the warm, cookies-and-milk type, given your sunny disposition."

Zellrid's hand unconsciously moved to his eyepatch. "She's the reason I've only got one eye," he said, his voice low. "She's a cannibal. Among other things."

Aerovind whistled low. "Well, aren't we a pair of motherless bastards?" he quipped, but there was understanding in his eyes.

As they reached the courtyard, they spotted Ordeon in deep conversation with a masked figure. Aerovind's eyes lit up with mischief. "Say, Zellrid, fancy a bit of eavesdropping?"

Zellrid frowned. "We shouldn't—"

But Aerovind was already moving, slipping behind a nearby tree with surprising stealth. After a moment's hesitation, Zellrid followed, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"—a war criminal if you help Zellrid," the masked figure was saying, his voice cold and threatening.

Ordeon's face twisted in fury. "Go fuck yourself," he snarled. "I'm not selling out my friend."

The masked man's voice dropped to a whisper. "That's a declaration of war against Umbra. The Nightstalker school won't survive the armies of four kingdoms."

Ordeon leaned in close, his voice a low growl. "Let them come. We'll paint the ground red with their blood."

The masked figure nodded slowly, then turned and left without another word.

As soon as he was gone, Zellrid emerged from behind the tree. "I need to leave," he said, his voice heavy with resignation.

Ordeon whirled around, surprise quickly replaced by determination. "Like hell you will," he growled. "The Purging Games start tomorrow. All the Nightstalker schools in Soulinya will be there. It's our best chance."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Aerovind sauntered out from his hiding spot, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "Don't worry, big guy," he said, clapping Ordeon on the shoulder. "This time, Umbra has a god-slayer on its side. The one, the only, Ashen Wanderer!" He struck a dramatic pose.

Ordeon's face split into a wide grin, his earlier grimness evaporating. "That's the spirit!" he roared, pulling both Aerovind and Zellrid into a bone-crushing hug. "Tonight, we feast like kings! A whole cow, on me!"

----------------------------------------

The great hall of Umbra was alive with noise and merriment. Hundreds of Nightstalkers filled the long tables, their raucous laughter and boisterous conversations echoing off the stone walls. At the head table sat Ordeon, flanked by Zellrid and Aerovind, with Ela perched on a stack of cushions next to her adoptive father.

Ordeon raised his massive tankard, ale sloshing over the rim. "To Umbra!" he bellowed. "And to the fools who think they can bring us down!"

A thunderous cheer went up, tankards clashing together in a cacophony of metal and mirth.

Zellrid, nursing his own drink, leaned towards Aerovind. "You really think we can win this?" he asked, his voice low.

Aerovind's eyes twinkled with their usual mischief, but there was steel beneath the humor. "My dear Zellrid," he said, taking a dramatic swig of ale, "winning is what I do best. Well, that and looking devilishly handsome."

Across the table, a burly Nightstalker with a shock of red hair leaned forward. "Oy, yellow-eyes!" he called out. "Tell us how you killed that cybreus! Bet that was a sight to see!"

Aerovind's grin widened. "Well, my flame-haired friend, picture if you will a city of gold and sin..."

As Aerovind launched into his tale, embellishing shamelessly at every turn, Zellrid found himself drawn in despite his best efforts. The yellow-eyed traveler had a way with words, painting vivid pictures of epic battles and narrow escapes.

Ela listened with wide-eyed wonder, gasping at all the right moments and cheering Aerovind's victories. Her new wolf cub lay curled at her feet, gnawing contentedly on a massive beef bone.

As the night wore on, the mood in the hall grew rowdier. Drinking songs were bellowed at top volume, arm-wrestling matches broke out at every table, and more than a few good-natured brawls erupted.

Ordeon, his face flushed with ale and good cheer, threw an arm around Zellrid's shoulders. "It's good to have you back, old friend," he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

Zellrid stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into the embrace. "It's good to be back," he admitted, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

Aerovind, watching the exchange, raised his tankard in a silent toast. For all his jests and smirks, there was a warmth in his yellow eyes that spoke of a deep affection for his companions.

As the feast began to wind down, Ordeon stood, swaying only slightly. "Tomorrow," he boomed, his voice carrying over the din, "we face our greatest challenge yet. But tonight, we are family. We are Umbra. And we fear nothing!"

The roar that followed shook the very foundations of the stronghold. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth and loyalty of his fellow Nightstalkers, even Zellrid felt a flicker of hope.

Aerovind leaned in close, his voice pitched low so only Zellrid could hear. "You know," he said, a hint of wonder in his tone, "I think I might actually like it here."

Zellrid nodded, his single eye scanning the boisterous crowd. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Me too."

As the night deepened and the revelry continued, the shadows that had been gathering on the horizon seemed, for a moment, to recede. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but for now, in this hall filled with laughter and camaraderie, all was right with the world.

Little did they know, far to the north, in a chamber of ice and shadow, a figure sat upon a throne. His eyes, colder than the deepest night, fixed upon a flickering image of the Umbra stronghold.

"Soon," he whispered, his voice like the crack of glaciers. "Soon, my son, we will be reunited. And all will tremble before the might of Thorgar."

The image shattered, and darkness fell once more.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window of Zellrid's chamber, painting the stone walls with a pale golden hue. Zellrid stirred, his single eye fluttering open, only to find his vision obscured by a cascade of chestnut hair. Lyra clung to him, her body wracked with silent sobs.

"Lyra." Zellrid's voice was a low rumble, tinged with sleep and concern. He ran a calloused hand through her silken tresses. "What's wrong?"

Lyra raised her head, her emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears. "The Purging Games," she whispered, her voice catching. "I... I fear I may never see you again."

Zellrid's face remained impassive, but his eye softened. "Hmm. Been through worse."

"But this is different!" Lyra protested, her fingers digging into his shirt. "The other schools, the challenges... it's too dangerous!"

A rare, small smile tugged at Zellrid's lips. "Danger's my trade, Lyra. Like a butcher with meat."

His dry humor drew a watery chuckle from Lyra. "You're impossible," she murmured, pressing her forehead against his.

"So I've been told," Zellrid replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow before disentangling himself from her embrace.

Rising from the bed, Zellrid began his preparations with the methodical precision of a seasoned warrior. First came the black coat, a piece of armor in its own right, lined with hidden pockets and reinforced with flexible steel. As he donned it, Lyra watched from the bed, her eyes never leaving him.

"The coat suits you," she said softly. "A shadow among shadows."

Zellrid grunted in acknowledgment as he continued his preparations. From a locked chest, he retrieved a collection of potions, their contents swirling with barely contained power. These he secured in the coat's inner pockets, within easy reach.

Next came his weapons. The chained sword, a deadly dance of steel and skill, was sheathed at his hip. His obsidian blade, as dark as a moonless night, found its place on his back. Lastly, a wickedly sharp dagger disappeared into his boot.

As Zellrid turned to the mirror, adjusting his eyepatch, he paused. His hair, once an even mix of black and white, had shifted. The darkness now dominated, with only a few stubborn strands of white remaining.

"Your hair," Lyra noted, moving to stand beside him. "It's changed."

"Hmm. Good omen, some say."

Lyra managed a small smile. "Since when do you believe in omens?"

Zellrid shrugged. "Don't. But it can't hurt."

Their banter continued as Zellrid finished his preparations, a dance of words both tender and teasing. When at last it was time for him to depart, Lyra threw her arms around him, holding him fiercely.

"Return to me," she whispered fiercely. "Promise me."

Zellrid's embrace tightened. "Always," he vowed, his usual gruffness giving way to genuine emotion.

With a final kiss that tasted of salt and promises, Zellrid stepped out into the cool morning air. The Nightstalker courtyard bustled with activity, a hive of dark-clad figures training. Amidst the controlled chaos, a familiar scene caught Zellrid's eye.

Aerovind stood near the great gates, his yellow eyes flashing with exasperation. Before him, little Ela stomped her foot, her face a storm of childish fury. At her side, a wolf pup barely larger than a cat growled in what it likely thought was a menacing manner.

"But I want to go!" Ela wailed, her voice carrying across the yard. "I can help! I'm strong now!"

Aerovind ran a hand through his hair, his flamboyant personality at odds with his current predicament. "Listen, bunny," he said, crouching down to her level, "this shindig is a bit too spicy for you. We're talking 'dance with death' levels of hot, and I'd rather not have you while I am fighting psychopaths."

"I'm not a bunny!" Ela protested, even as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm a Nightstalker! And Fang will protect me!" The wolf pup yipped in agreement, somewhat undermining its own argument.

Zellrid approached, allowing himself a moment of amusement at his friend's predicament. "Trouble in paradise?" he asked, his voice dry as desert sand.

Aerovind shot him a look of mock betrayal. "Ah, the one-eyed wonder arrives! Care to lend a hand? Or should I say, an eye?" He winked, his humor undimmed by the situation.

Zellrid ignored the jab, focusing instead on Ela. "Listen well, little wolf," he said, his gruff voice softening slightly. "Your task is more important than ours. Guard Umbra. Who else can we trust with such a vital mission?"

Ela's eyes widened, her tears forgotten in the face of this new responsibility. "Really?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder. "I can protect everyone?"

Zellrid nodded solemnly. "Indeed. And when we return, we'll need a full report of your adventures." He glanced at the wolf pup, who was now chewing on the hem of Ela's tunic. "You and Fang both."

The girl's face split into a beaming smile. She threw her arms around Zellrid's neck, then Aerovind's legs. "I won't let you down!" she declared before scampering off, Fang tumbling after her.

As they watched her go, Aerovind shook his head in amazement. "I swear, Z, give me a horde of demons any day. Kids? That's the real terror."

Zellrid allowed himself a small chuckle. "Hmm. Agreed."

Their moment of levity was interrupted by the arrival of Ordeon. The massive Nightstalker's face was grave, the weight of leadership evident in the set of his shoulders. In his hands, he carried two medallions, each bearing the likeness of a dragon.

"My friends," Ordeon rumbled, his voice as deep as thunder, "these are for you." He handed each of them a medallion. The metal was cool to the touch, yet Zellrid could feel a pulse of power within.

"Ooh, shiny," Aerovind quipped, holding his up to the light. "Does it come with a matching tiara?"

Ordeon's stern expression cracked slightly. "They will warn you of nearby magic, be it friend or foe. Use them wisely."

"Magic detector got it," Aerovind nodded, slipping the medallion around his neck. "Any chance it can detect bad hair dyes too? Because I'm sensing one near me."

Zellrid secured his own medallion with a nod of thanks, choosing to ignore Aerovind's antics.

As one, the three turned to face the gates of Umbra. Beyond lay the path to the Purging Games, and whatever fate awaited them. The courtyard fell silent, hundreds of Nightstalkers watching their champions with a mixture of hope and fear.

Ordeon's voice carried across the yard, strong and unwavering. "May the shadows guide our steps and shield us from harm. Let’s go forth, and bring glory to Umbra!"

A cheer rose from the assembled Nightstalkers, a roar of defiance against the trials to come. As the gates creaked open, Zellrid cast one last look over his shoulder. In a high window, he caught a glimpse of Lyra, her hand pressed against the glass. On a balcony, Ela waved furiously, Fang barking at her side.

"Well, boys," Aerovind said, cracking his knuckles, "shall we crash this party?"

Zellrid grunted in affirmation, while Ordeon nodded grimly.

With a deep breath, Zellrid stepped forward, Aerovind and Ordeon flanking him. The Purging Games awaited, and with them, the fate of Umbra itself.

"Just another day at the office," Zellrid muttered.

Aerovind grinned. "That's the spirit, Z! Now, let's go write some legends."

As they disappeared into the morning mist, the gates of Umbra slowly closed behind them, sealing the fate of the three champions and the school they fought to protect.