As the sun began to set on, they crested a final hill, and the Nightstalkers' school came into view.

It rose from the mist-shrouded valley like a Gothic fever dream all soaring spires and imposing stone walls. Gargoyles leered from every corner, their sightless eyes seeming to follow the approaching travelers.

Ela's eyes widened. "It's like something out of a storybook," she breathed.

"Oh, it's a story alright," Aerovind remarked, his usual levity tempered by a note of caution. "Though I'm not sure it's the kind they read to children at bedtime."

Zellrid remained silent, his single eye fixed on the looming structure. Memories flickered across his face – pain, pride, and something deeper, harder to define.

As they approached the main gate, seven figures materialized from the shadows. The Larian guards, their pale skin gleaming faintly in the twilight, regarded the newcomers with a mix of suspicion and recognition.

"Zellrid," one of them called out, his voice carrying a hint of fang. "Didn't expect to see you at our door again."

Zellrid dismounted smoothly, his movements betraying no tension despite the palpable hostility. "Varin," he acknowledged with a nod. "Still guarding the gate, I see. Ordeon must be getting desperate."

Before Varin could retort, a high-pitched squeal pierced the air. A blur of pale skin and wild hair launched itself from the battlements, hurtling towards Zellrid with inhuman speed.

"ZELLRID!" the figure shrieked, resolving into a woman with eyes that blazed with equal parts madness and desire. "My love! You've returned to me!"

With a grace that belied his bulky frame, Zellrid sidestepped at the last moment. The woman sailed past him, managing to twist in mid-air and land in a crouch.

"Lyra," Zellrid sighed, his tone a filled with exasperation and something almost like fondness. "Still working on your impulse control, I see."

Lyra's face split into a manic grin as she straightened. "Oh, my darling, you know I can't control myself around you. It's been so long, so very long." She took a step towards him, her movements predatory. "Let me show you how much I've missed you."

Aerovind, who had dismounted with Ela, cleared his throat loudly. "As touching as this reunion is," he drawled, "perhaps we could continue it inside? Preferably somewhere our young charge won't be traumatized for life?"

Lyra's gaze snapped to Aerovind and Ela, her eyes narrowing. "You brought... guests?" The last word dripped with disdain.

"My guests," Zellrid stated flatly, his tone brooking no argument. "Ordeon will want to hear about the last contract."

At the mention of Ordeon's name, the atmosphere shifted. The guards exchanged glances, and even Lyra's manic energy seemed to dim slightly.

"Very well," Varin said after a moment. "But they'll be your responsibility, Zellrid. You know the rules."

Zellrid nodded curtly, then turned to Aerovind and Ela. "Stay close," he murmured. "And try not to draw attention to yourselves."

Aerovind raised an eyebrow. "My dear Zellrid, when have I ever drawn attention to myself?"

Zellrid's withering glare was answer enough.

As they passed through the massive gates, Ela pressed closer to Aerovind, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. The courtyard was a hive of activity, filled with Larians going about their business. Some were training, their movements a blur of deadly grace.

Others huddled in small groups, conversing in low tones that didn't quite mask the slight lisp caused by their fangs.

Many paused to stare at the newcomers, their cat-like eyes reflecting the torchlight. Whispers followed in their wake, a mix of recognition, surprise, and suspicion.

"Is it really him?"

"Zellrid the hollow hunter..."

"Who's the yellow-eyed one?"

"And the child... surely they wouldn't..."

Aerovind kept up a steady stream of quiet commentary, pointing out architectural features and making outlandish guesses about the purposes of various buildings. His light tone seemed at odds with the tension in his posture, but it kept Ela distracted from the less-than-friendly stares.

Lyra flitted around them like a demented moth, alternating between gazing adoringly at Zellrid and shooting venomous looks at Aerovind and Ela. "My love," she cooed, "I've kept your quarters just as you left them. Perhaps later we could... reminisce?"

Zellrid grunted noncommittally, his eye fixed on the looming central keep.

As they approached the main hall, the sounds of revelry grew louder. Raucous laughter, the clash of tankards, and the unmistakable thuds of fists meeting flesh echoed through the stone corridors.

"Ah," Aerovind remarked dryly, "I see the Nightstalkers are as committed to sobriety and decorum as ever."

Zellrid's lip twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "You haven't seen anything yet."

The massive oak doors swung open, revealing a scene of controlled chaos. The hall was filled with Larians in various states of inebriation, many sporting fresh bruises and cuts that were already beginning to heal. At the center of it all, two massive figures grappled, their movements a blend of raw power and inhuman speed.

One of the fighters, a mountain of a man with a shaved head, let out a booming laugh as he threw his opponent across the room. "Is that all you've got?" he bellowed. "I've had stronger challenges from human children!"

His opponent, a wiry woman with a shock of red hair, snarled as she picked herself up. "Big words from a man who can't even grow hair, Ordeon!"

Ordeon's laugh redoubled. "Hair is for those who need to hide their ugly faces, Mira. Now, are you going to fight, or shall I find a real challenger?"

The hall erupted in cheers and jeers, with several Larians pushing forward, eager to test themselves against their leader.

Aerovind leaned close to Zellrid, his voice low. "Charming fellow, your Ordeon. I can see why you speak so fondly of him."

Before Zellrid could respond, Ordeon's head snapped towards them, his nostrils flaring. The hall fell silent as he strode forward, the crowd parting before him like water.

"Well, well," Ordeon rumbled, his scarred face splitting into a feral grin. "Look what the cat dragged in. Zellrid the hollow hunter, gracing us with his presence once more."

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Zellrid met Ordeon's gaze unflinchingly. "Ordeon," he acknowledged. "I see you're still solving all your problems with your fists."

Ordeon's grin widened. "Why fix what isn't broken?" His gaze shifted to Aerovind and Ela, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And what's this? Bringing strays into our home, Zellrid? You know that's against the rules."

Zellrid's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. "We need to talk, Ordeon. Privately."

The tension in the hall ratcheted up a notch, every Larian present poised on a knife's edge between violence and restraint.

Aerovind, seemingly oblivious to the danger, stepped forward with a flourish. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, his voice carrying easily through the silent hall. "Surely we can discuss this like civilized beings? Perhaps over a drink or ten? I, for one, am parched after our journey."

Ordeon's attention snapped to Aerovind, his eyes narrowing further. He looked the newcomer up and down, taking in the yellow eyes and the easy confidence. "And who might you be, short stack? I don't recall ordering a jester with my prodigal Nightstalker."

Aerovind's grin widened, undaunted by the towering Larian. "Ah, where are my manners? Aerovind, at your service. I believe you sent for me, though I must say, your invitation left much to be desired in terms of hospitality."

Ordeon's eyebrows shot up, recognition dawning on his face. "You're the one I sent to fetch Zellrid? I expected someone... taller."

"Yes, well, good things come in small packages," Aerovind quipped, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'd offer to prove it, but I'd hate to embarrass you in front of your adoring public."

For a moment, it seemed as though violence was inevitable. Then, unexpectedly, Ordeon threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"By the blood, Zellrid," he chuckled, "where did you find this one? He's either the bravest man I've ever met or the biggest fool."

"The jury's still out on that one," Zellrid muttered.

Ordeon's laughter subsided, but his grin remained. "Very well," he declared. "Drinks first, then we talk. But the child…," he added, his tone brooking no argument.

Zellrid tensed, but Aerovind laid a hand on his arm. "It's alright," he said softly. "Ela will be safe with me. Won't you, little one?"

Ela, who had been watching the proceedings with wide-eyed fascination, nodded solemnly. "I'll be good," she promised.

Zellrid hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Fine," he growled. "But if anything happens to her..."

"Yes, yes," Ordeon waved dismissively. "You'll tear us all limb from limb. Your reputation precedes you, old friend. Now," he clapped his hands, the sound like a thunderclap in the quiet hall, "let's drink! And you, little yellow-eyes," he pointed at Aerovind, "I want to hear how you managed to drag this grumpy bastard back home."

As if a spell had been broken, the hall erupted into noise once more. Larians surged forward, eager to hear tales of Zellrid's exploits and to size up the strange yellow-eyed newcomer who dared to banter with their leader.

Aerovind found himself swept up in the tide of bodies, Ela clinging tightly to his hand. As they were pulled deeper into the throng, he caught Zellrid's eye one last time. The message was clear: be careful.

With a crooked smile and a wink, Aerovind allowed himself to be carried along by the crowd. "Well, my towering friend," he called out to Ordeon, "it's quite a tale. It involves a dragon, three angry bitches, and a particularly stubborn nightstalker. But first, about that drink you promised..."

The crowd roared with laughter, and even Zellrid's perpetual scowl seemed to soften.

— — —

The raucous laughter of the Nightstalkers echoed off the stone walls as Aerovind finished his tale, his animated gestures and quick wit having captivated his audience.

Even the usually stoic Larians were wiping tears of mirth from their eyes.

Ordeon, his massive frame shaking with laughter, clapped Aerovind on the back hard enough to stagger a lesser man. "By the blood, yellow-eyes, you're full of surprises! To think you not only managed to drag our brooding hero back but also stopped his eldritch madness in Senura and killed an avatar of Mammon!"

Aerovind, barely fazed by the blow, raised his tankard in a mock salute. "All in a day's work for a humble traveler such as myself."

Ordeon's eyes gleamed with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. "You've got skills, little man. How would you like to become one of us? A Nightstalker? With your abilities and our blood, you'd be unstoppable."

A hush fell over the crowd, all eyes fixed on Aerovind. Even Zellrid, who had been quietly nursing his drink in the corner, looked up with interest.

Aerovind's ever-present smirk softened into a genuine smile. "I'm flattered, truly. But I'm afraid I must decline. You see, I'm already a bit of a mutant myself." His yellow eyes seemed to glow a little brighter. "It's quite the tale, but perhaps one best saved for another time."

Ordeon nodded, respect evident in his gaze. "Fair enough, yellow-eyes. You're welcome here, mutant or not."

Turning to address the hall at large, Ordeon's voice boomed, "Let it be known that Aerovind and the child Ela are under my protection. They are to be treated as honored guests of the Nightstalkers!"

A cheer went up from the assembled Larians, the party resuming with renewed vigor.

Ordeon made his way through the crowd to where Zellrid sat. "Come, old friend," he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "We need to talk."

Zellrid nodded, rising to follow Ordeon out of the hall and into a small, private chamber. As the door closed behind them, shutting out the sounds of revelry, Ordeon's jovial mask slipped away, revealing deep concern.

"Are you alright, Zellrid?" Ordeon asked, his voice low and serious. "Truly?"

Zellrid was silent for a long moment, his single eye fixed on some distant point. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "No, I'm not. The eldritch presence... it's growing stronger. I can feel it clawing at the edges of my mind."

Ordeon's massive hands clenched into fists. "We'll find a way to stop it. There has to be—"

"No," Zellrid cut him off, his gaze snapping to meet Ordeon's. "I need you to promise me something. If I lose control, if the madness takes over... you have to end it. End me."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions. Finally, Ordeon nodded, his face grim. "I promise. But Zellrid, don't lose hope. Remember what I always say: 'The night is darkest before the dawn, but it's in that darkness that we Nightstalkers shine brightest.'"

A rare smile tugged at the corner of Zellrid's mouth. "Still spouting that old nonsense, I see."

Ordeon grinned, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "It's not nonsense if it's true."

As Zellrid turned to leave, Ordeon called out, "Oh, and one more thing. There's a small competition coming up. It might help you grow stronger, but it's not exactly... friendly. You'll need a partner. Someone you can trust."

Zellrid raised an eyebrow. "How dangerous are we talking?"

Before Ordeon could answer, a shimmering in the air caught their attention. An owl materialized, clutching a rolled-up parchment in its talons. It dropped the scroll at Zellrid's feet before vanishing in a puff of ethereal feathers.

With a sense of foreboding, Zellrid unrolled the parchment. His eye widened as he took in its contents: a wanted poster bearing his own face, with a bounty of 1,000,000 gold pieces offered by the Kings of the North for his role in the fall of Senura.

Ordeon peered over Zellrid's shoulder, letting out a low whistle. "Well, old friend, it seems the competition might be the least of your worries now."

Zellrid's grip tightened on the poster, his jaw set in a hard line. "Looks like I brought more trouble to your doorstep, Ordeon."

Ordeon's laugh was grim but not without warmth. "Trouble? Zellrid, my friend, trouble is what we Nightstalkers do best. Now, let's go see what that yellow-eyed companion of yours thinks about all this. Something tells me he might just be crazy enough to help."

Zellrid nodded, his expression a blend of resignation and concern. "I don’t know if Aerovind will accept, now that I’m wanted by the kings," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

Ordeon let out a heavy sigh, his massive frame seeming to deflate slightly. "Leave the talking to me," he said, clapping a hand on Zellrid’s shoulder. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, his booming laughter filled the small chamber. "Your job now, old friend, is to train for the games. Become the one-man army you once were!"

A rare smile tugged at Zellrid’s lips, a flicker of his old fire igniting in his single eye. "Alright," he said simply, the word carrying the weight of a solemn vow.

Together, they made their way back to the main hall, where the celebration was still in full swing. Aerovind’s voice carried over the din, regaling the Nightstalkers with another outlandish tale. As Zellrid and Ordeon approached, intent on speaking with the yellow-eyed traveler, the massive doors swung open once again.

The change was instantaneous. Laughter died in throats, tankards clattered to the floor, and the air filled with the whisper of steel as weapons were drawn. Even Aerovind’s perpetual smirk faltered, his usual humor evaporating like morning mist.

"By me," Aerovind muttered, his eyes wide. "The kaizen on this one... it’s frightening."

A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, lean and dangerous. As he stepped into the torchlight, details came into focus:

fiery red hair, a face lined with old scars, and most notably, a single arm. The empty sleeve of his Nightstalker coat fluttered with each deliberate step. But it was his eyes that drew the most attention or rather, the lack of them.