Eliud felt he should be getting much more credit for how level-headed he was about what had just transpired. In a life not exactly lacking in spectacular incidents, the last few moments ranked disturbingly high on his list of memorable ones.

Firstly, something—some nameless, faceless force that had singularly defied his attempts at identification—had risen from the ground and swallowed his small group during their race through the forest. Such a thing was not exactly an everyday occurrence, even by his standards. He had barely had time to begin summoning a defence, his arcane senses clawing at the unknown before the force had spat them out again into this . . . whatever this was. A castle, perhaps? Certainly some kind of ancient stone structure, towering and bleak in its silence.

As a self-proclaimed expert on portal magic—and not just any expert, mind you, the foremost alive, a quiet, insistent voice whispered in his head—he was uncomfortably aware that whatever had happened should not have been possible. There were, of course, many Skills that could shift a group from one location to another in the blink of an eye, but none that should have worked on him. Not while he was in the process of anchoring himself to the physical plane. And yet, here he stood.

Manifestly unanchored.

All around them, a sense of wrongness permeated this place. Not the tangible, flesh-crawling discomfort that had become the norm in the forest of the Dark God but the more insidious dread of a structure whose bricks were steeped in old, blood-soaked history. Even the stones beneath his feet seemed to hum with the weight of sorrow. This place remembered and felt far more than it should.

Putting that aside for a moment, Eliud exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to rub his temples. He turned his attention to the second reason today was likely to be long etched into his memory: a reunion! Although, even as his heart lept in joy, his eyes fell on the tall, grim man holding twin Greataxes in his hands like extensions of his own body. Semi-familiar was perhaps a better way to put it. Certainly, he recognised the mana signature behind that stoic figure, but there was little left of the old, curmudgeonly Secretary. No, this man was something else entirely. Something feral, hungry, and dangerous. He recognised the man's new Class instantly: a Doom Reaver. If the legends were to be believed - and the stories of those who took that Class were many and bloody - then this was not a development to be trifled with. Instinctively, Eliud's fingers twitched, filling with the crackling blue glow of lightning.

Let him be.

The words were a soft touch on his mind, maternal but ironclad. They quelled his rising energy, and Eliud stifled the irritation that came with Her voice. Though Her interference gnawed at him, the Goddess’ words had the desired effect. The thunder dissipated from his hands as he turned to face his . . friend? Was that the correct word for the complicated emotions he had always felt for the woman before him, a mix of fondness, frustration, and a hint of something deeper. She stood before him, and there was a tension in her gaze, a wariness that hadn’t been there before—it was all too familiar, and yet utterly different.

"You have changed, my Lady," he managed, still somewhat astonished at the change in her. Before he could react, she stepped forward, embracing him. His feet left the ground as she lifted him effortlessly, the sheer unexpected power in her arms catching him off guard. "In more ways than one," he added with a nervous laugh, still unsure if he should be relieved or concerned by her newfound strength.

But before he could ask further, Daine’s attention had already shifted, her eyes softening as they found another. She released Eliud and bent down, scooping the much smaller form of the boy they had all been seeking into an equally powerful embrace. Genoes.

A tightness formed in Eliud's chest. The sight of Daine holding the boy like a mother reunited with a long-lost child was... disconcerting. And somehow, he felt like an intruder, standing there and watching them. A voyeur to a moment too private, too intimate to witness as the Knight of the Road - no, she was not that any more, was she? By the Goddess, was he the only one in their little party who had not undergone some tremendous evolution since they last spoke? - whispered to the lad, stroking his hair.

Then Josul was barking wildly, leaping onto Genoes and licking his face with unrestrained joy. Genoes’ laugh, bright and innocent, echoed through the dark corridors, momentarily dispelling the weight that had fallen over them all. Eliud’s gaze flicked to Donal, wondering how the grim Doom Reaver would react to the playing of the dog and boy. If there was any warmth left in him, it was clearly buried deep, locked away behind strong mental walls. And yet, in the flicker of his eyesas he watched Genoes and Daine, Eliud thought he saw something—maybe the ghost of the man he had met in the village.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"It's good to see you, girl," the Templar said, nodding at Kirstin and taking in the more assured set of the archer's shoulders and the massive, dark bow in her hand. "Seems I am not the one to have had some adventures!"

Kirstin, clearly still shaken from the sudden teleportation, blinked. Her wide-eyed gaze darted between Daine and Donal, lingering on the heavy, ominous presence of the latter. "We were captured, and then... there were dragons... and the King... I mean, I met the King and—"

But whatever she had been about to say was drowned out by Genoes, who, free from Josul’s affectionate attack, threw himself around her waist, his small arms hugging tightly. Savage hissed but did not move from his place on Kirstin's shoulder as Josul continued bounding around, tail wagging furiously.

While the younger members of their party were distracted, Eliud gave a slight nod to Daine and Donal. The three of them moved further down the stone corridor.

"It's been a while," Eliud said, his voice unusually strained.

"Yes. Obviously we might have hoped to see you earlier, my lord. Being as we were holding an indefensible position in expectation of your imminent arrival with the fire and the brimstone and the, you know, usual last-moment rescue." It was odd, Daine thought, hearing Donal's typically snarky phrases delivered in quite such a grim, growly way.

Eliud winced. "Yes. Apologies for that. The girl and I were... delayed. And, well..." He hesitated, feeling the awkwardness rising in his throat. "I was told to leave you to it."

That caught Daine’s attention. Her eyes flashed, hardening as they fixed on him. "Told? By who?"

But even as she asked, her expression softened as if she already knew the answer.

It was important you were able to confront the Stonehand on your own terms. Had the Duskstrider swooped in to save you, the circumstances around your Class Evolution would not have been in place. You needed to be stronger for what is to come.

The voice of the Goddess slid through Daine’s mind. A memory, sharp and painful, resurfaced—the faces of those who had fallen, their blood soaking into the dirt, into her hands. The dead, sacrificed so that she could become what she now was: a Templar Ascendant.

A title that had cost too much.

Daine clenched her fists, the dark steel of her gauntlets creaking. Was this truly what it had all been for? Had the loss, thesuffering, been justified simply to forge her into something more? A better weapon for the Goddess to wield. Memories of Old Gant warning her about choosing to become a Knight of the Road came crashing down. The weight of it all pressed down on her shoulders, a burden so immense that for a moment, she felt like she might collapse beneath it.

Donal, standing at her side, was less composed. His knuckles were white where they gripped the handles of his Greataxes, the edges of the blades glinting in the dim light. The tension radiating from him was palpable, his barely restrained anger a storm waiting to be unleashed.

"Oh, really?" Donal growled, his voice a low rumble that echoed. "Is that the case? The literal rivers of blood we had to wade through were all entirely worthwhile, were they? Did it not occur to anyone that perhaps a little warning would have been appreciated? Our entire strategy was built on the belief that the Pendragon was moments away!"

The silence that followed was suffocating, the air thick with Donal's rage. The Goddess, usually so quick to justify Herself, offered no reply.

Eliud, sensing the growing tension, stepped forward cautiously. "You know I would have been there if I could," he said, his voice softer now. "But She made it clear—my presence would have only made things worse."

Donal’s response was swift, a sneer twisting his lips. "Oh, lovely. So you left us to it? Fantastic. Let me assure you, nexttime I have the opportunity to leave you hanging by a thread, I will do so. With bells on."

Daine placed a hand on Donal’s arm, feeling the muscles beneath it trembling with the effort of keeping his rage in check. She met Eliud’s gaze, her expression unreadable.

"It’s fine, my Lady," Eliud said quietly, a faint spark of lightning dancing through his purple eyes. "Your . . . companion is justified in his anger. I’m truly sorry. But recriminations can wait. Right now, we need to figure out who, or what, brought us here."

"Actually," came a quiet voice from behind them, and all three turned to see Genoes, a strange look on his face. "I think... that might have been me."