At long last, the sun pierced the thick veil of clouds, casting a soft, golden light over Darkwood Hollow. The storm, which had ravaged the region for days, had finally passed, leaving the air crisp and cool with the scent of fresh rain lingering. Though the winds had stilled, the earth beneath them remained sodden and heavy as if the ground had absorbed their ordeal's weight. Inside the sanctuary, a different storm had been weathered—a battle for Layla’s recovery that had consumed the group for nearly two weeks.

Now, eleven days after her injury, Layla was finally on her feet. Though still pale and weaker than before, her spirit was undiminished. She moved about slowly, testing her strength with each step, determined to show she was ready to continue their journey.

Silas and Rowan watched her from the other side of the room, their expressions a mix of concern and relief. Kie, as ever, hovered nearby, her sharp eyes monitoring Layla’s every movement, ready to intervene if needed.

Layla moved carefully, each step a subtle reminder of the battle she had fought—both against her injuries and within herself. After a moment of silence, her eyes sharpened with determination, cutting through the air. “We need to discuss the trial,” she said, her voice steady, despite the strain on her body. She seated herself carefully, looking at her companions.

Rowan and Silas exchanged glances, both of them recalling the horrifying ordeal they had faced. The memory of those flesh-eating locusts, the sacrificial ritual, and the strange creature they had encountered still haunted their thoughts.

“What about it?” Silas asked, his tone cautious. He didn’t want Layla to push herself too hard, but he also knew she wouldn’t rest until they had a plan.

“I’ve been thinking,” Layla said, her voice taking on a steadier tone. “There’s still a chance we can clear the trial.” She paused, her gaze sharp. ““I know the trial stated we had to kill all the locusts, But Soulweavers have been given leniency before—when circumstances were… unusual.”

Rowan’s frowned as his hands clenched into fists instinctively. He wasn’t entirely convinced. “But we didn’t finish the trial,” he said slowly, a hint of doubt in his voice. “There were too many of them—locusts everywhere. We couldn’t stop them.”

Layla nodded, acknowledging the difficulty they had faced. “I know. But think about it—the locusts weren’t ordinary. And that sacrificial ritual, the strange creature, and the wooden sculpture… there was something more to this trial than just killing a swarm of insects. If we report all of these details to the authorities in Amberheart, they might declare that we passed under these unusual circumstances. I think it’s worth it to spend this time on a trip back. It could save us weeks if not more.”

Silas considered her words, his brow furrowed in thought. “You really think they’ll let us pass? The trials are strict, and Soulweavers have been known to die sometimes, when they fail…”

Layla leaned forward, her eyes intense. “I believe they will. We didn’t just fail—we uncovered something far more sinister. If the trial was corrupted or altered in some way, that’s something the Amberheart authorities will want to know about. We have a strong case, and it’s worth trying.”

Rowan, still hesitant, looked to Silas for support. Silas met his gaze and then turned to Layla, his expression softening. “If you think we have a chance, then I’m with you. We’ll go back to Amberheart and report everything.”

Rowan sighed but eventually nodded in agreement. “All right. Let’s do it. But you better be right about this, Layla.”

Layla smiled, grateful for their trust. “Thank you. I know it’s a risk, but it’s one we need to take.”

“Amberheart’s on my list too,” Kie chimed in, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “I might as well tag along. You three brave warriors wouldn’t leave me to fend for myself, would you? After all, someone’s got to protect my delicate self.”

Silas rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your delicate self, huh? The same delicate self that knocked Rowan upside the head?”

Rowan rubbed the spot where Kie had smacked him, giving her a sideways glance. “Yeah, we’ll be sure to protect you, all right,” he muttered, though a hint of amusement was evident in his tone.

Kie laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “Good! It’s settled, then. Let’s get moving before we lose any more time. I’ve got big business waiting for me~”

With their course set, the group began preparing to leave Darkwood Hollow. This trial had tested them in ways they hadn’t expected, but they had survived, and now they would seek the recognition they deserved.

As they gathered their supplies and readied the horses, sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. The storm had passed, and though the journey ahead was uncertain, they would face it together.

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The journey back to Amberheart had been long and gruelling, but after a week of travel, the towering stone walls of the city finally came into view as the evening sky deepened into rich indigo. The familiar bustle of the city was a welcome contrast to the haunting stillness of Darkwood Hollow, though the tension from their recent trials still clung to the group like a shadow.

As they passed through the gates, Silas glanced at Layla. She looked weary but determined, the exhaustion of the journey etched on her face. He knew she was still recovering, and the relentless travel had taken its toll. When they reached the main square, he turned to her and said, “You should stay at Lonestar Manor tonight. We have plenty of empty rooms, and you need your rest.”

Layla was about to agree when Silas, a mischievous glint in his eye, added with a teasing grin, “Unless, of course, Rowan would prefer to take you to his home?”

Rowan, distracted and lost in thought, nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, that’s not a bad idea, I was actually thinking—” he started, then froze as he realised he had spoken that aloud.

Layla’s eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat at the unexpected suggestion. For a moment, she considered it, feeling an unexpected rush of warmth that surprised her. But she quickly masked it with a scowl, shooting Silas a withering glare. “Why would I want to go to his house?” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “Even if he… did want me to,” she added, crossing her arms with just a hint of uncertainty.

Turning to Rowan, she added sharply, “And you—what exactly were you thinking? If you’ve got any indecent ideas, I swear I’ll… I’ll slap you!”

Rowan’s face turned red. “It’s not like that!” he stammered, his eyes darting nervously. “I just thought… you might want to meet my parents.” Knowing how strange it sounded, he winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

Seeing Rowan’s dejected expression, Layla felt her irritation waver. With a sigh, she relented. “Fine,” she said, her tone softer but still guarded, “I’ll meet them. But don’t get any funny ideas. This is just a meeting—nothing more.”

A flicker of relief and sly satisfaction crossed Rowan’s face as he replied, “I—I won’t.” He was blissfully unaware that Layla hadn’t been fooled by his sudden shift. She was simply playing along, fully aware of his true intentions.

Kie, who had been listening with a smirk, suddenly chimed in. “Well, since we’re all about introductions, I’d like to meet your father, Silas. I’ve heard a lot about Sullivan Lonestar, and I think it’s time I saw for myself if the stories are true.”

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Silas raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her interest, but nodded. “All right then. Let’s head to the manor.”

They parted ways in the square—Layla and Rowan heading to his family’s home, while Silas and Kie went to Lonestar Manor. The journey through the winding streets of Amberheart was quiet, with only the occasional sound of distant revelry breaking the silence.

When they finally reached the imposing gates of Lonestar Manor, Silas felt a familiar sense of comfort wash over him. Home. It was a grand estate with towering walls, lush gardens, and an air of old money and tradition. Kie looked around appreciatively, whistling softly.

“Impressive,” she said. “But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

Aisha and Minerva greeted them, smiling, taking their horses, and offering a warm welcome. Silas led Kie through the grand halls, lined with portraits of his ancestors, until they reached his father’s study.

Sullivan looked up from his desk as they entered, his expression softening slightly when he saw Silas..

“Silas,” he greeted, rising from his chair. “Welcome back, Silas.”

Silas returned the greeting with a respectful nod. “Father, it’s good to be back. This is Kie Takahara, a benefactor and a companion from our journey.”

Sullivan extended a hand to Kie, who shook it with a smile. “I’ve heard much about you, Warmaster Sullivan,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Kie,” Sullivan replied, his tone polite but guarded. He then turned to Silas, his expression growing more serious. “I didn’t think that you would return so soon. I take it there’s something to discuss?”

Silas nodded, the weight of the past few weeks settling heavily on his shoulders. “Yes, Father. The trial didn’t go as expected. There’s something I need to explain.”

Sullivan gestured for them to sit, and Silas recounted the events of the Trial of the Devouring Swarm. He spoke of the locusts, the sacrificial ritual, and the mysterious creature they encountered. Sullivan’s brow furrowed as he spoke, his gaze growing more intense.

When Silas finished, there was a heavy silence in the room. Sullivan leaned back, fingers steepled in thought. His expression darkened, the weight of his authority palpable. “This is more than troubling,” he said, his voice low. “If the trial was truly corrupted, then we’re dealing with forces far darker than we anticipated.”

"I fear that's exactly what happened," Silas agreed. "The locusts were likely drawn to the blood ritual, but the nefarious aura emanating from the sculpture must have corrupted them, turning them into mindless servants. It was fortunate that some villagers managed to escape before the locusts attacked. Once I destroyed the sculpture, the locusts regained their freedom, reverting to their natural instinct to feed on blood. However, when I incinerated the blood, they disappeared, likely returning to their original state or dispersing."

"We need to be cautious moving forward," Silas continued. “We must be prepared for anything."

Sullivan studied his son for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “You’ve done well to bring this to my attention. I’ll make inquiries and see what can be uncovered. In the meantime, be vigilant. We cannot afford to be caught off guard.”

Kie, who had been listening intently, suddenly spoke up. “Silas, would you mind if I had a private word with your father?”

Silas looked at her in surprise but saw the seriousness in her eyes. “Of course,” he said, standing. “Then, I’ll leave you two to it.”

He exited the room, closing the door behind him. As he walked down the hall, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Kie than she let on.

Inside the study, Kie waited until she heard the door click shut before turning to Sullivan and sitting next to him, her playful demeanour returning. “I never expected to see you of all people here,” she whispered next to his ears, her eyes narrowing.

Sullivan’s expression softened a little with a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he sifted his hand through her soft hair. “It’s unexpected for me to see you here as well, Kie. I trust you still remember that you owe me?”

Kie leaned back in her chair, studying Sullivan with a lazy, knowing smile. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “But what could a poor woman like me offer to someone as powerful as the great Warmaster?” She paused, letting her words hang in the air as she traced a finger along the edge of the desk. “I’ve barely enough to feed myself…” she continued, her tone playful yet deliberate. Then, leaning closer, her breath brushed against his ear as her voice dropped to a whisper. “Unless… I repay the debt with my body~”

She let her kimono slip revealing her velvety smooth shoulders and undergarments beneath. The fabric pooled around her waist as she leaned into Sullivan, pressing her body against him. Her hand trailed lazily over his chest as she abruptly pulled him in by his shirt for a passionate kiss.

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As cold winds swept through the small study, far to the north, the darkness reigned in a distant land. In Frosheim, the storm raged like an angry god, tearing across the icy fjords with unforgiving force. The world was a harsh contrast to the quiet intrigue of the manor…

Snow fell in thick, relentless sheets, blanketing the landscape in white. The night sky, shrouded in heavy clouds, gave no light save for the dim, pale glow of the moon, occasionally visible through the swirling storm. Near the shores of the frozen sea lay a small, isolated village called Vestr Dyr. Its homes huddled against the biting winds, roofs laden with snow, while the dark waters of the nearby fjord crashed violently against jagged rocks. Amidst this desolate scene, a monstrous figure approached its massive silhouette, barely visible through the shadows and swirling snow.

From the heart of the storm, a skeletal colossus emerged, its monstrous form looming against the night, nearly indistinguishable from the blackened sky. The creature was almost a hundred feet tall. Its emaciated body was draped in ragged, tattered garments that billowed like torn banners in the howling wind. Sickly, ash-grey flesh clung to its bones, stretched so thin it seemed more like ancient parchment than skin, barely covering its twisted frame. Where its eyes should have been, there was only a smooth, featureless stretch of bone, giving the thing a sightless gaze. Yet despite the darkness, it moved with an eerie precision, as though it perceived the world in ways far beyond human understanding.

The most grotesque feature, however, was its massive, gaping maw—a gash in its face lined with crooked, blackened teeth that twitched and writhed as though each tooth had a sinister life of its own. Each step it took sent tremors through the ground, and the air around it was thick with a palpable sense of dread.

As the creature neared the village, a suffocating silence settled over the frozen streets, as though the night itself held its breath in terror. The snow continued to fall, but no sound escaped the homes; only the wind stirred the blackened trees. In the heart of the village, the skeletal giant came upon an open square. The scene that greeted it was both grotesque and meticulously arranged, illuminated only by the faint, flickering light of a dying torch.

Lined in perfect rows were the naked bodies of a hundred villagers, men, women, children; old and young. Their pale flesh frozen in the cold, their eyes wide and lifeless. Each corpse had been meticulously sliced at the neck; their blood gathered and pooled into a giant stone goblet that sat in the centre of the square. Kneeling beside the goblet were two men and a woman, their faces bloody and their lips curled into unsettling smiles. Each had severed their own tongue, holding the bloody organs out in both hands as an offering. Their eyes, glassy with madness, glistened under the dim torchlight of the stormy night.

Behind them, carved out of ice, stood a towering sculpture—a vague yet unmistakable representation of the skeletal figure looming over them. Its features, though crude, mirrored the creature’s grotesque form, a testament to the dark worship that had taken root in this forsaken village.

The creature paused, surveying the macabre display before letting out a low, rumbling chuckle that echoed through the still, cold air.

“Mmmm… what a delightful surprise,” it purred, its voice a deep, unsettling whisper. The creature’s writhing maw twisted into a grotesque semblance of a grin. With a single motion, it bent down, grasping the stone goblet in its bony hands.

The creature lifted the goblet to its mouth and began to drink. The blood, thick and dark, slid down its throat in great gulps, each swallow punctuated by a guttural hum of satisfaction. As it drank, its massive frame began to shrink, folding in on itself until it stood no more than twice the height of a man. Its once towering form was now more compact, its hunger no less voracious.

With a gleeful smirk, the creature approached the three who had offered their tongues. Their faces, still fixed in those ghastly smiles, showed no fear as the creature drew near.

“Mmmm, such dedication,” it cooed. “I do love a good tongue.” It reached down, plucking the severed organs from their hands one by one and devouring them with sharp, deliberate bites. “Ahhh, exquisite… just the right texture. A little bland, but… still, lovely.”

Once it had finished its grisly feast, it licked its blackened lips and looked down at the three, who still stood motionless, their eyes glazed with devotion.

“Now then,” the creature said, a twisted excitement creeping into its voice. “Let’s not waste any more time. Follow me—I’ve something… fun to show you.”

As if awakened by the words, the three corpses jerked into motion, their bodies stiff but obedient. They followed the creature without hesitation, their eyes blank and their bloodless mouths still frozen in those same unsettling grins.