Far to the east, in the heart of Valdris. King Vaan sat alone in the dimly lit throne room, waiting. The chamber was silent, save for the occasional crackling of dying embers in the hearth. An hour had passed, yet there was still no sign of his guest. He began to doubt—perhaps no one would come. Perhaps he would be spared the dread that these people brought. But just as his shoulders relaxed, his hopes were crushed.

It was there. A shadowed figure stood only a few steps away, just down the five stairs leading to the throne, shrouded in black. Vaan couldn’t discern any features on its face. It was always unnerving how they appeared, as if by magic. The main door was locked, the windows sealed against the freezing wind. And yet—this man, or thing, was here. His pulse quickened, but he forced himself to remain composed. Straightening his posture, he masked his unease. "I almost thought you wouldn't come," the king said, his voice steady despite the chill in the air. The figure shifted slightly, its presence heavy and unnatural. "You're not the only one I had to meet tonight," it replied, its voice like frost on bare skin. A shiver ran down Vaan’s spine, but he didn’t flinch. He was a proud warrior of Valdris after all. "We will grant your army the power they need to win this war," the figure continued. "But in return, you must increase the mining operations in the north. We require twice the amount of Ether crystals." Vaan stiffened, a lump forming in his throat. Double the crystals? His miners were already at their limit, struggling against the brutal cold and treacherous terrain. Villagers had begun resisting, murmurs of rebellion growing louder with each passing week. He opened his mouth to protest, but before a single word could escape— The figure was gone.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Vaan exhaled, only now realizing he had been holding his breath. He leaned back against the throne, rubbing his temples. He hadn’t even noticed the first light of dawn creeping through the thick curtains. Was this truly the right path? He had agreed to their terms out of desperation, but now doubt gnawed at him. And yet, if he wanted to end this war—one that had begun long before his birth—what choice did he have?

The time had come to close this chapter and finally seize control of Vandorath. But first, the fanatics of Osthain had to disappear.

+++++++

Once again, Izak’s night was anything but restful. Whether it was a dream or something else, he couldn’t tell. But he was there—standing in a misty valley, his vision obscured by the thick fog stretching endlessly around him. He could barely make out his surroundings; the only things breaking the monotony were a few ghostly trees, standing far apart like silent sentinels. The air was cool, the silence absolute.

Izak unsheathed his sword and took a step, then another. He hadn't gone far before something materialized a few meters ahead. A faceless shadow. It had a vaguely human shape, but nothing else was discernible. Izak opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Only now did he realize—his footsteps had been silent as well. The sheer unnaturalness of it sent a shiver down his spine. Then, without warning, the shadow attacked. It was fast, way too fast... A blade, forged from darkness itself, slashed toward him. Izak reacted too late. He barely managed to raise his sword to parry, but the figure twisted unnaturally mid-strike, slipping past his guard. Pain flared as the shadow’s weapon sliced through his forearm. He gasped, dropping his sword, but before he could even process what was happening, the shadow struck again. A sharp slash—black steel tearing through his neck.

Darkness.

Izak jolted awake, hands flying to his neck, the phantom pain still lingering. He panted, his breath ragged, expecting to see the forest around him—but no. The misty plain stretched on endlessly. Before he could even get back on his feet, another shadow emerged from the fog. He was still on the ground when a spear impaled his skull.

Death came again. And again. And again.

He lost count of how many times he had died. His body screamed with agony, his mind frayed, teetering on the edge of collapse. Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he awoke..

The damp scent of earth, the rustle of leaves, the distant call of a bird. He was back. The wet grass beneath him, the looming trees of the forest—he had escaped that fucking nightmare. The sky had begun to brighten. Dawn was approaching. Too afraid to close his eyes again, Izak slipped out from beneath the crude shelter, letting the crisp morning air soothe his fevered skin. He stood there for a long moment, steadying his breath, forcing his heart to slow.

When his heartbeat calmed enough, he stepped back inside. Ailee was awake, crouched beside a small flame, warming water with a handful of herbs. Ailee glanced at him, her voice groggy from sleep. "Rough night?" Izak ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "Yeah... you?" "Not great either," she admitted, stirring the warm water. "At least the sun’s up."

He gave a small nod, letting the warmth of the fire chase away the last remnants of the nightmare. Once their morning preparations were done, they packed their things and set off once more.

Izak slowed his steps. It was a familiar feeling—one he'd experienced many times while trekking through the high páramos and the dense Amazon rainforest. The faint rustling in the underbrush... the weight of unseen eyes on his back. They were being followed. He kept moving for a few more seconds, his senses sharpening, waiting. Then it came—the unnatural pauses between footsteps. This wasn’t an animal. It was a group of humans.

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He glanced at Ailee. She was walking a few paces behind him, her gaze fixed on the uneven ground ahead. Unaware. Vulnerable. There was no way out. The forest stretched around them, deep and unyielding. If they kept walking, they’d only be caught from behind.

Izak stopped.

"You’ve been following us long enough," he called out, his voice steady. "Come out." The forest held its breath. Then, from the thick brush, three figures emerged. Their clothes hung in rags, their faces gaunt, eyes hollow from exhaustion. Fear and desperation clung to them like a second skin. Despite the grime and dried blood caking their bodies, Izak recognized them—scavengers from the camp. Their leader, the broad-shouldered man, still carried his battle-axe. Flanking him were his two lackeys, swords in hand. But something was different. They looked drained.

Izak understood.

Without the map, they had been lost... and whatever they had found at the old battlefield wasn’t what they had expected. Something had terrified them. And Izak had no intention of discovering what. If they’d returned to camp, they had likely stumbled upon their dead comrade as well. Now, they wandered without direction, desperation gnawing at their bones. And desperation made men dangerous.

"You shouldn’t have stopped," the leader rasped. His voice was hoarse, cracked. "We were just gonna slit your throats quick and easy... now we'll have to do it the hard and painful way." Izak sighed. "Why don’t you just walk away? We have nothing of value, not even food..." "The map, you piece of shit," the man spat. "I saw your tracks in the camp. I saw them while following you. You’re that little thief..." As the words left his mouth, the scavengers’ grips tightened around their weapons. Izak drew his blade, holding it at his side, tip angled toward the ground. Behind him, Ailee slowly stepped back, moving behind him just as the leader barked—

"Attack!"

And the fight began. Izak, still haunted by his demons from the night, didn’t wait. He stepped into the fight, meeting one of the grunts mid-charge. He hadn’t landed a single strike in his nightmare, but this was different. He swore it would be.

The dense vegetation worked in his favor—his enemies couldn’t attack all at once. Their swords clashed in a burst of sparks. The scavenger snarled, pushing forward, but his swing was sluggish, lacking power. Too slow. Izak saw the opening and plunged. He crouched beneath the enemy’s blade, twisting his sword in a fluid thrust. Cold steel pierced the man's throat. The scavenger's eyes widened in shock. He gurgled, staggered back, then crumpled into the dirt, lifeless. Izak barely spared him a glance. The battle wasn’t over. He had yet to pull back his sword when the axe came in—a brutal, sweeping arc.

Too fast.

Izak backstepped, but not far enough. The axe's edge tore through the leather, carving a shallow cut into his side. Blood splattered onto the dirt. Pain flared—sharp and hot—but he didn’t fall. It was nothing compared to what he had endured just a couple hours before... The leader grunted, the force of his missed swing throwing him off balance. He stumbled sideways, off-kilter.

An opening. Izak moved to strike... but the second scavenger was already on him, his sword flashing down in a deadly arc, aiming to split Izak in half.

Luck saved him. The blade caught on a branch, slowing the attack for a fraction of a second. Just enough. Izak’s body moved before his mind could catch up, instinct taking over. His sword lashed out in a horizontal arc, slicing through flesh and muscle. The scavenger’s momentum carried him forward, even as his stomach split open. Blood and viscera spilled onto the forest floor. A choked gasp. Then he collapsed, face-first, his insides pooling around him.

Only one remained. The leader hesitated, his gaze flicking to his last fallen man—almost cleaved in half. For the first time, doubt crept into his face. Izak rolled his shoulders and stepped forward. The leader roared and charged, swinging his axe in a wide arc. Izak moved back swiftly, dodging just in time, his blade poised and ready. There was no parrying a blow from that devastating weapon—getting hit was out of the question. His focus narrowed, everything else fading away. No pain. No exhaustion. No fear. Only the fight.

His vision tinted red. The leader swung again, this time with an upward cleave meant to split Izak from waist to shoulder. Izak sidestepped—he had seen the hit coming. The scavenger was a brute, relentless and powerful. But brute force alone wouldn’t win this fight. Izak stayed on the defensive, moving efficiently—nothing wasted, no unnecessary motion. Not a result of training, but of something deeper. Instinct.

Ailee gasped. She saw it before Izak noticed. His eyes—glowing like embers, a crimson hue burning in the dim light. The leader’s swings grew sluggish, his breath ragged. He was tiring, the weight of his axe dragging him down. Izak, however, only moved faster. His footwork grew sharper, his blade more precise. Each motion smoother than the last, as if he had done this a thousand times before. The leader saw it too. And when his gaze locked onto Izak’s burning eyes—he froze.

Terror swallowed him whole. "You… what are you…?" A flash of silver silenced him.

Izak took the opening. His blade cut through flesh and bone in a single clean stroke. The leader’s head separated from his body. It hit the ground with a dull thud, followed by a fountain of blood erupting from the lifeless corpse. Izak exhaled slowly. His eyes were already back to normal.

"You're hurt!" Ailee shouted, running to him. Izak glanced down at himself, afraid the axe had cut deep on his side. He remembered the sharp impact, the burning sensation of the axe biting into his flesh. His fingers traced his side, expecting to feel a deep wound, warm blood seeping through torn flesh. But instead, only a faint mark remained. The cut was nearly gone, as if it had never been there at all.

He frowned. "That’s... new." Ailee swallowed, eyes darting between his face and where the wound should be. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t human. And for the first time, Izak knew it too. Something was definitely not normal with him.

Without a word, Izak checked the corpses, but as expected, they had nothing useful. They had nothing they could use. If the map was right, they should reach the settlement before nightfall. Without wasting more time they continued their way with hope of spending the night into a real bed.