When I awoke again, the purple flames in the braziers burned lower, casting deeper shadows throughout the chamber. The pain in my chest had dulled to a manageable ache, and my thoughts felt clearer. Vesper’s prayers and healing magic had done their work well.
I tested my restored strength by pulling pushed myself up to a sitting position. My muscles felt stiff but functional. The wound where I’d stabbed myself had closed completely without a single trace of a scar.
But something else had changed during my recovery--the shadows around me seemed more responsive, more alive. The dark energy that flowed through my veins felt stronger, deeper somehow. My connection to Valic’s power had grown, as if facing death and corruption had strengthened my bond with shadow itself. Even the purple flames seemed to bend slightly away from me, acknowledging my enhanced presence.
The chamber was empty, save for Corvus, who sat in the same chair as before. His favorite crow was sitting on his shoulder, her head tucked under one wing in sleep. Corvus’s head was bowed in deep prayer, hands pressed together in solemn devotion. While I’d seen him commune with Valic before, his prayers were usually brief and purposeful. This felt different. His posture spoke of a depth of devotion that I rarely glimpsed from the seasoned warrior. There was something oddly fitting about the sight of this dangerous man finding a moment of peace in communion with our dark god. I wondered what he prayed for, what secrets or burdens he lay before the Dread Lord’s altar.
At my stirring, Corvus lifted his head and lowered his hands, somehow sensing my state. His crow stirred as well. “You’re awake, brother,” Corvus said, tilting his head slightly. "And... different. Your aura has gotten stronger. It seems that your brush with death has strengthened your connection to Lord Valic's power."
I flexed my fingers and watched as tendrils of shadow curled around them like smoke. "I can feel it. The shadows respond more readily now, almost eagerly."
"The crucible of battle often forces such growth," Corvus nodded approvingly. "Especially battles against powerful fiends. Your victory, though costly, has elevated your standing in Lord Valic's eyes."
I absorbed this information, feeling the truth of it in the way dark energy pulsed through my veins. The power felt more controlled now, more refined, as if my near-death experience had burned away some lingering weakness.
"What time is it?" I asked, changing the subject.
“Nearly midday. High Acolyte Vesper left to tend to other matters, but said you should be well enough to travel now.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed then realized I was wearing black robes. My armor and weapons lay cleaned and neatly arranged on a nearby table.
“We should prepare to leave soon,” Corvus continued. “The journey back to the Dreadspire Sanctum will take several hours.”
I nodded absently. “Before we go…”
“I know what you’re going to ask. And the answer hasn’t changed.”
“Just a few minutes, brother. Please. I must see her one last time with my own eyes.”
Corvus frowned and was silent for a long moment. Finally, he sighed. “Let me speak with Vesper. But first, you should eat something and prepare for the journey.” He got up and left the chamber, quietly closing the door behind him.
Minutes later, a novice acolyte entered carrying a tray of food—warm bread, thin slices of meat, and a flask of watered wine. I ate mechanically, barely tasting anything as my mind was focused on what lay ahead. After finishing the meager meal, I donned my armor and secured my weapons.
Corvus returned with Vesper as I was putting on my boots. “I understand you wish to see the bard before departing,” the cleric said, his expression stern. “I will allow it, but there are conditions.”
I gave my weapons a final check to ensure they were secured at my belt. “Name them.”
“You must maintain your distance—no closer than three paces from her bed. You cannot touch her or attempt to wake her. The healing magic surrounding her is delicate, and any disruption could have severe consequences. And most importantly…” He fixed me with a penetrating stare. “You will have no longer than five minutes in her presence. Your dark aura, if exposed to her for too long, could interfere with the healing process. Even now, her soul is incredibly fragile. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I replied with a curt nod.
“Very well.” He gestured for me to follow. “This way.”
We walked through the winding corridors of the underground temple, descending deeper into the complex. The air grew noticeably cooler, and the purple flames in the wall sconces cast strange, shifting shadows. Corvus followed silently behind us with his crow awake and alert on his shoulder.
We reached a heavy wooden door marked with protective runes. Vesper traced a complex pattern in the air, and the wards flickered briefly before fading. “Remember,” he warned as he opened the door, “five minutes, three paces only, and do not disturb her rest.”
I stepped into the chamber alone. The room was smaller than the one I’d recovered in, but similar in design. The walls were lined with the same shadow-veined stone, though here they seemed to pulse with a gentle, soothing rhythm. Several crystals mounted in wall brackets gave off a soft, white light that felt oddly comforting.
And there she was.
Evangeline lay motionless on a narrow bed, her chestnut hair spread across the pillow like a dark halo. Her golden skin was so pale it almost matched the shift she wore. Her chest rose and fell slightly with shallow breaths, the only visible indication that she was still alive.
I kept my promised distance, though every instinct screamed at me to go to her, to touch her again. From where I stood, I could see the evidence of what the fiend had done to her. Her skin held an almost translucent quality, as if something essential had been drained away. Her lips, usually full and expressive, were pale and lifeless. Even her hands, folded peacefully across her stomach, looked thin, bony, and fragile.
The sight of her in such a state wrought a painful twisting feeling in my chest. Evangeline had once been a defiant spirit that was full of life and music. To see her reduced to this pale shadow of herself filled me with a rage so profound it threatened to overwhelm my careful control.
I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to go to her, to gather her in my arms and somehow force life back into her still form. But I had given my word, and I would not risk harming her further by disrupting the healing magic that cocooned her.
“I’m sorry…” I whispered, though I knew she couldn’t hear me. “I… failed you…”
The crystals’ gentle light flickered slightly, casting soft shadows across her face. She looked so vulnerable, so mortal. The fiend had nearly consumed her soul, feeding on her essence like a parasite. And for what? Power? Control? I gritted my teeth.
“Never again,” I promised her silent form. “I swear by all the power Lord Valic has given me, no fiend will ever touch you again. I will find a way to protect you. Whatever it takes, whatever price I must pay, I will keep you safe.”
The words felt like a binding oath, settling around my shoulders like a mantle of purpose. I would need to become stronger, to delve deeper into the dark powers at my command. There had to be ways to ward against fiendish influence, to create protections that would keep her safe even when I couldn’t be near.
My time was up. I took one last look at her still form, burning the image into my memory. Then, before the temptation to break my word became too strong, I turned and walked out of the chamber.
Vesper and Corvus waited in the corridor, both silent as I emerged. The heavy door closed behind me with a sound of finality, and I watched as Vesper reactivated the protective wards.
***
The journey back to the Dreadspire Sanctum began in silence. Our nightmare steeds carried us swiftly through Ebonheart’s winding streets, their hooves striking sparks against the cobblestones. The city felt different now, as if awakening from a long dream. People moved about their business with dazed expressions like sleepwalkers gradually coming to consciousness.
The former magistrate’s mansion loomed, dark and empty as we passed. Its windows stared back at us like dead eyes. Already, I could see the aftermath of the fiend’s corruption spreading. The stone walls were crumbling as if decades of decay were catching up all at once. Nature, it seemed, was eager to erase all traces of the creature’s presence.
“The city will recover,” Corvus said, as if sensing my thoughts. “Though it may take time for the people to fully understand what happened to them.”
I grunted in response, my mind still dwelling on Evangeline’s pale form in that underground chamber. The image was burned into my memory, haunting me with each hoofbeat that carried me further from her.
We passed through Ebonheart’s gates without incident. The guards barely glanced at us, too preoccupied with their own confusion to question our departure. Beyond the walls, the eternal twilight of Aetheria stretched before us, the familiar grey landscape both welcoming and oppressive.
Our mounts seemed eager to run, perhaps sensing their riders’ desire to put distance between themselves and the corrupted city. The ground flew beneath us as we galloped across the ashen plains, kicking up clouds of glittering dust in our wake. Corvus’s murder of crows followed us from high above, keeping watch over our path to home.
“You’re quiet,” Corvus observed after we’d been riding for an hour.
“I’m thinking.”
“About the bard?”
I shot him a sharp look, though the effect was lost on his blindfolded face. “About everything. The fiend, its plans, how easily it infiltrated and corrupted an entire city.”
“Ah. And you wonder if there are others like it, hiding in plain sight throughout Aetheria.”
“Aren’t you?”
Corvus was silent for a moment, his head tilted as if listening to distant sounds only he could hear. “There are always threats lurking in the shadows,” he said finally. “It’s why the order exists. Why Lord Valic grants us power.”
“But we almost failed to stop this one,” I pointed out. “If Evangeline hadn’t...” I couldn’t finish the sentence, as the memory of her sacrifice was still too raw.
“Is that what truly troubles you? Our near failure? Or is that you couldn’t protect her?”
I tightened my grip on the reins, causing my mount to snort in protest. “Both,” I admitted after a long moment. “I’ve been trained to fight, to kill, to harness shadow itself. But when it mattered most, I couldn’t shield her from that creature’s corruption.”
“You cannot protect everyone, brother.” Corvus’s voice carried a note of personal experience. “Not even those closest to us.”
“I can try.”
He shook his head. “That path leads to madness. Trust me, I know.”
We rode in silence for a while, our mounts’ hooves striking a steady rhythm against the ashen ground. The landscape changed gradually, becoming more desolate. Sparse trees gave way to bare rock and deep ravines. Far in the distance, dark lightning split the sky, illuminating the jagged peaks of the mountains that surrounded the Dreadspire Sanctum.
“When we arrive,” Corvus said, breaking the tense silence, “let me do most of the talking.”
“You don’t trust me?” I asked.
“I don’t trust you to maintain objectivity where the bard is concerned.” His tone was matter-of-fact, without judgment. “Malachai will notice any hesitation, any attempt to downplay certain aspects of what transpired.”
I knew he was right, but the admission stung. “And what exactly will you tell him?”
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“The truth, but carefully framed. The recovery of the Serpent’s Fang, the discovery of the fiend’s corruption, its eventual banishment. These are the key points he needs to know. The... personal elements can be minimized.”
“You mean my relationship with Evangeline.”
Corvus adjusted his position in the saddle. “Malachai expects his warriors to be focused solely on their duties to Valic and the order. He sees emotional investments as distractions at best, weaknesses at worst.”
The truth of his words settled heavily in my stomach. I’d known this, of course, and had been taught from the beginning that attachment was a liability. But knowing something and feeling it were very different things.
“What would you have me do?” I asked. “Forget her? Pretend none of it happened?”
“No.” Corvus’s reply was surprisingly gentle. “But learn to compartmentalize. Keep your duties to the order separate from your... personal interests.”
“Is that what you do?”
He was quiet for so long, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Finally, he said, “I made my choice long ago, when I accepted this blindfold. Everything else... everything I was before... had to be set aside.”
The weight of unspoken history in his words made me wonder, not for the first time, about who Corvus had been before joining the order. What attachments had he been forced to abandon? I wondered.
“Have you ever...” I hesitated, unsure how to phrase the question delicately. “Did you ever experience... feelings for someone?”
Corvus’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “We all have a past, brother. Even those of us who choose to forget it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.” His crows above cawed softly, as if encouraging him to continue. “There was someone, once. Long ago.”
The admission surprised me. “What happened?”
“What always happens when mortals love too deeply.” His voice carried an edge of old pain. “We were young, foolish. I thought I could protect her from everything, even fate itself. When the fiend came with its offer of power, I convinced myself I was doing it for her. That with such abilities as seeing the truth in all things, I could keep her safe from any harm.”
“But?”
“But power always comes with a price. The things I saw, the truths I was forced to witness... they changed me. And the more I changed, the further she slipped away.” He shook his head slowly. “In the end, I had to choose between the power I’d gained and the love I’d hoped to protect. I chose power. She chose to leave.”
The raw honesty in his words struck me deeply. “Do you regret it?”
“The past cannot be changed,” he replied with quiet finality, seeming to deliberately dodge my question. “We can only move forward and learn from it. But I learned valuable lessons from that time. About the nature of power, about the price of attachment. About the dangers of thinking we can shield others from their own destinies.”
I absorbed this in silence, thinking about Evangeline lying pale and still in that underground chamber.
“What if you ever found love again?” I asked. “What if there was someone who could accept you as you are now?”
A bitter smile crossed his features. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because of my pact, my dedication to a darker purpose.” His smile quickly faded. “Besides, who could love a man who sees through the eyes of carrion birds? Who walks in shadow and speaks with darkness?”
Something in his tone made me press further. “You sound as though you’ve considered it before.”
Corvus was silent again. “There are... moments,” he admitted. “Fleeting thoughts of what it might be like to be truly known again, to be accepted despite what I’ve become.” He shook his head. “But such thoughts are dangerous.”
“Because of Malachai?”
“Because of what we are, what we serve.” His voice hardened. “Love requires trust, vulnerability, the sharing of one’s true self. Our path demands secrecy, strength, and unwavering dedication to Valic’s will. The two cannot coexist.”
“You sound very certain of that.”
“I am.”
I cast him a dubious look. There was something in his tone, a slight wavering that made me wonder if he truly believed his own words.
“What about someone who walks in shadow, like yourself?” I suggested. “Someone who understands our path?”
“You mean someone from the order? No. Never.”
“Why not? Surely they would understand better than anyone—”
“Because they are my family,” he cut me off. “The brothers and sisters of our order are more than just fellow warriors. They are the only family I have left, the only ones I truly trust.” His voice softened. “When I lost everything else, when I chose this path, the order became my home, my sanctuary. To corrupt that with... romantic entanglements... would be unthinkable.”
“Is it really corruption, though? Or is that just what we’re taught to believe?”
“It’s not just about beliefs or rules, brother. It’s about maintaining the sacred bonds that hold us together. When you join the order, you become part of something greater than yourself. The connections we forge here are deeper than blood, more binding than any mortal love could be.”
“But—”
“No,” he said, his tone sharp. “Some lines should never be crossed. The trust and respect we share as brothers and sisters must remain pure and untainted by lesser desires. Love between members of the order is not only forbidden, it’s dangerous. It creates divided loyalties, clouds judgment, leads to choices that put personal feelings above duty.”
I thought about this, remembering the way the other blackguards interacted, the deep bonds of trust and loyalty I’d witnessed. “Is that why everyone in the order seems so... close, yet distant at the same time?”
“Exactly.” Corvus nodded. “We support each other, fight together, die for each other if necessary. But we maintain certain boundaries. It’s what keeps us strong, focused on our true purpose.”
“For someone claiming to have entirely abandoned the feelings of attachment, you seem to understand these feelings well,” I observed.
“Understanding something and allowing oneself to experience it are very different things.”
“True.” I guided my mount around a jutting rock formation. “But you speak as if from recent experience, not distant memory.”
The crows’ soft caws became obnoxious squawks, echoing their master’s unease.
“There are...” Corvus began, then stopped, choosing his words with unusual care. “Sometimes we encounter people who... challenge our certainties. Who make us question paths we thought were fixed.”
Something in his tone caught my attention. “You’re speaking of someone specific?”
He pursed his lips a moment, then spoke again in a softer tone. “There is someone who... sees me differently. Who looks past my darkness to something I thought was long buried.”
“Someone in Ebonheart?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Someone far from there. Someone who...” he paused again, and I could sense him wrestling with how much to reveal. “Someone who serves a different purpose, walks a different path, but also understands more than they should about the nature of shadow and sacrifice.”
The silence that followed his words felt heavy with unspoken meaning. I wanted to press further, to understand more about this mysterious person who had somehow penetrated Corvus’s carefully maintained barriers. But his posture had become rigid, closed off, and I recognized the signs that he’d already shared more than he’d intended.
“Tell me more about the fiends,” I said, changing the subject. “I want to learn about their true nature.”
Corvus relaxed slightly, clearly relieved by the shift in topic. “Seeking knowledge to protect your bard?” he asked, though his tone held no mockery.
“Yes,” I admitted. “The creature in Ebonheart—the masphroth... I’ve never encountered anything like it. The way it could hide in plain sight, corrupt an entire city...” I shuddered at the memory. “I need to understand what other kinds of creatures we may be facing.”
Corvus nodded slowly. “The knowledge of fiends is not something you can glean in a few hours. The Sanctum has an extensive library of books on the subject that will tell you more. But.... for basic knowledge, fiends are complex beings, far more so than most mortals realize. Each type has its own hierarchy, its own methods of corruption.”
“How many types are there?”
“More than you can count,” he replied. “From lesser imp servants to mighty pit fiends, their hierarchy is vast and intricate. But they all share certain common traits—a hunger for power, a desire to corrupt and control, and an infinite capacity for patience.”
“Patience?”
“Yes. That’s what makes them truly dangerous. A fiend might spend decades, even centuries, working towards a single goal. They view time differently than mortals do. The creature in Ebonheart probably spent years laying the groundwork for its plans, slowly weaving its web of corruption through the city’s power structure.”
I thought about this, remembering how thoroughly the fiend had embedded itself into Ebonheart’s society. “Is it possible to ward someone against fiendish influence? To protect their soul from being stolen or corrupted?”
Corvus tilted his head, considering. “There are ways, yes, though none are simple or without cost.”
“Tell me.”
“The most basic protection comes from faith itself. True devotion to a deity can shield the soul from corruption. But that protection isn’t absolute, as we saw with the aurorium’s followers.” He adjusted his grip on the reins. “More powerful wards exist, ancient rituals and artifacts that can create barriers against fiendish influence. But such things are rare and often carry their own dangers.”
“What kind of dangers?”
“The stronger the ward, the higher the price,” Corvus explained. “Some require regular blood sacrifices to maintain. Others slowly drain the life force of the person they protect. And the most powerful ones...” He shook his head. “Well, let’s just say there’s usually a reason such protections aren’t commonly used.”
I frowned. “There must be a way. Something that doesn’t require such steep costs.”
“You’re thinking of specific protections for your bard.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” I admitted. “After what that creature did to her... I can’t let it happen again.”
Corvus tilted his head in thought. “I’ve heard whispers of certain spells and rituals of protection that draw on shadow itself. Ancient magic that can anchor a soul, making it harder for fiends to claim them. The Sanctum’s mages study such things, though I confess I know little of how they work. You’d need to consult them directly if you want to learn more.
“But you must understand, brother. These methods are complex, requiring precise execution and significant power. Even if you were to somehow succeed in creating such wards, they’re not perfect solutions. No protection is absolute.”
“I don’t need absolute. I just need enough to keep her safe when I’m not there.”
“The strongest protection would be to keep her close to you,” Corvus said. “Your own connection to shadow, your growing power in Valic’s service, would naturally extend some protection to those in your immediate presence. But I suspect you already know that’s not possible.”
“Because of Malachai,” I spat.
“Because of what we are,” he corrected. “Our path demands sacrifice, brother. Sometimes that means sacrificing the very things we wish to protect.”
“There has to be another way.”
“Perhaps.” Corvus’s tone suggested he had more to say, but he fell silent as we crested a ridge and the Dreadspire Sanctum came into view.
The massive fortress rose before us, its dark spires piercing the eternal twilight sky like obsidian blades. Purple lightning crackled between the towers, and the very air seemed to thicken with power. Our mounts slowed instinctively as we approached, their hooves striking sparks from the black stone of the path.
“We’ll speak more of this later,” Corvus said as we neared the main gates. “For now, remember what I said about letting me do the talking.”
I nodded grimly, pushing my previous thoughts aside. The massive gates swung open silently at our approach, and we rode into the courtyard, where a few dedicated warriors were engaged in late-night combat drills.
The clash of weapons ceased as we dismounted. The blackguards lowered their blades and turned to face us.
“Brother Corvus. Brother Caelum,” Elena greeted, stepping forward. The elf woman’s silver hair marked her decades of service. “You’ve returned! Were you successful?”
“Indeed.” Corvus revealed the rolled-up parchment from his cloak.
“The Grandmaster will want to hear your report immediately,” Elena said. “He’s been... unsettled since you left.”
Something in her tone made me uneasy. “Unsettled how?” I asked.
“He’s been spending more time in the chapel’s private oratory,” Dominic offered, then flinched when Elena shot him a sharp look. “What? It’s true. He barely comes out except to check if there’s word from Ebonheart.”
I furrowed my brow at the young man, who had only taken his vows a month before I had. I had spent many of my early training days together with him as my sparring partner.
Corvus tilted his head slightly. “Interesting,” he murmured so quietly only I could hear. “Malachai never shows such obvious interest in routine missions.”
“Maybe he knew about the fiend?” I suggested under my breath.
“Perhaps.” But Corvus’s tone sounded like he suspected something else entirely.
Before we could discuss it further, a figure emerged from the main entrance—one of Malachai’s personal attendants, a thin man named Thaddeus, whose perpetually nervous demeanor belied his position of trust.
“Brother Corvus,” Thaddeus called out, his reedy voice carrying across the courtyard. “The Grandmaster requires your presence immediately. Alone.” His eyes flickered briefly to me before darting away.
Corvus straightened, his favorite crow landing on his shoulder with unusual silence. “Of course.” He turned to me. “Get some rest, brother. We’ll speak later.”
“But the report—”
“I’ll handle it,” he said firmly. Then, he added more quietly, “Something isn’t right here.”
I watched as Corvus followed Thaddeus into the fortress. The other blackguards resumed their training, but there was a tension in their movements that hadn’t been there before.
Elena touched my arm lightly as she passed. “It’s good to have you back.”
As I was about to respond, a gruff voice called out. “Oy! Brother!” I turned to see Baylin approaching, his rust-colored beard braided elaborately, as always. Despite his short stature, the dwarf moved with the fluid grace of a seasoned warrior, his heavy armor barely making a sound.
He glanced around quickly before stepping closer, lowering his voice. “Glad you’re back in one piece, lad.” His weathered face split into a genuine smile, though his eyes held a hint of concern. “Was starting to wonder if that cursed city had swallowed you whole.”
“It nearly did,” I admitted, matching his quiet tone.
“Aye, some of the missions we get are never easy. But you made it back, and that’s what counts. Though...” he glanced towards the entrance where Corvus and Thaddeus had disappeared, “seems you’ve returned to quite the hornets’ nest.”
“You’ve noticed it too?” I asked, curious about what the observant dwarf might have picked up.
“Hard not to,” he grunted. “The Grandmaster’s been jumpier than a cat in a thunderstorm—prowling about, snapping at everyone, spending hours in the Chamber.” He shook his head. “Not natural, if you ask me. But then again, no one ever asks ol’ Baylin, do they?”
His attempt at humor didn’t quite mask the concern in his voice. Baylin had been with the order longer than most, and his instincts were rarely wrong.
“Keep your head down for now, lad,” he advised, patting my arm with a gauntleted hand. “And if you need anything...” He left the offer hanging, but I understood its significance. In an order where trust was carefully measured, such offers of support weren’t made lightly.
“Thank you, brother,” I said sincerely.
He nodded once, then unhooked his axe from behind him and rejoined the others. But I noticed how he positioned himself to keep me in his peripheral vision while he trained.
As I headed towards my chambers, I mulled over the strange tension that seemed to permeate the sanctum. Something had changed during our absence, something that had even the most seasoned blackguards on edge.
The familiar corridors felt different somehow, the shadows deeper, more watchful. Every alcove and corner seemed to hold secrets, and the usual comfort I found in darkness was replaced by an unsettling wariness. I reached my chambers, grateful to be back in its dark comforts. I was already thinking about a nice relaxing bath that was calling out to me.
But as I opened the door, I immediately noticed that someone had been here in my absence. Nothing was obviously disturbed, but small details caught my attention—a book slightly out of place, a candle stub that had been moved, the faintest scent of unfamiliar incense lingering in the air.
Closing the door behind me, I began carefully checking every inch of my quarters. My roguish instincts, combined with my blackguard training, made the search thorough but quick. I found nothing obvious—no hidden messages, no signs of tampering with my personal belongings. Just the subtle evidence that someone had been searching, and searching carefully.
I sat on the edge of my bed, my mind racing. What’s going on? Who’s been snooping around in my chambers? The more I tried to make sense of these swirling questions, the more frustrated I felt when they provided no answers.
As the purple flames in my chamber’s braziers flickered and danced, casting ever-shifting shadows on the walls, I felt an unshakable shift in the air. Whether it had something to do with the fiend, I wasn’t sure. Things were changing, and when the time came, I had to be ready for whatever choice I would be forced to make.