Caelus awoke with a groggy sense of warmth lingering in his bones, remnants of the wine and the deep, dreamless sleep that followed. He stretched, taking a moment to shake off the last dregs of drowsiness before crossing the room to Lorian’s bed. He laid curled up, face buried in the pillow, with Cheese snuggled beside him, still as a stone. Caelus gave Lorian’s shoulder a firm shake. “Rise and shine. We’ve got a kingdom to save, remember?”

Lorian stirred, blinking up at Caelus with bleary eyes, his hair sticking up in a mess of white. “Already?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. But he sat up, casting a quick glance at Cheese, who seemed to awaken instantly, bouncing in response to Caelus’s prodding. With a groggy smile, Lorian let Cheese settle onto his shoulder as they trudged to the washroom.

They washed up in the morning chill, splashing cool water onto their faces to shake off the sleep. Caelus took a quick shower, feeling the warmth run down his shoulders and washing away any lingering fatigue. Lorian followed suit, while Cheese contentedly floated on the water in the tub, bobbing up and down with curious little squeaks. Once they were refreshed, they brushed their teeth, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the small, polished mirror above the basin. Caelus paused, studying his reflection as he ran a hand across his jaw. The face staring back was unmistakably his—strong jawline, determined eyes, yet there was something that felt subtly different.

He leaned closer, tracing the faint lines of exhaustion and the lingering tension from the day’s events. “I look like… myself, I guess. Nothing’s changed,” he murmured under his breath, as if searching for something new in his own gaze.

Beside him, Lorian spat out a mouthful of water and looked at Caelus, a grin tugging at his lips. “We’re still us, Caelus,” he said with a casual shrug. “Just a bit more... heroic now, I’d say.”

After getting ready, Caelus strapped his sword securely to his back and glanced at Lorian, who adjusted the buckles on his boots with practised precision. With one last look around their small room, they stepped out into the morning light, the city of Helia already awake and bustling around them.

As they made their way through the cobblestone streets toward the castle, Caelus glanced over at Lorian, whose stomach rumbled faintly. “Hungry?”

Lorian’s eyes lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Starving, actually. And Cheese too, right?” The little slime bounced eagerly, jiggling in a way that somehow conveyed pure enthusiasm.

As they made their way through the bustling morning streets, they caught the warm, inviting smell of freshly baked bread and roasting meats. Following their noses, they found a small stall tended by an elderly man with twinkling eyes and hands that worked with the practised precision of years. He handed them each a warm Wolpertinger sandwich, wrapped in parchment and practically steaming with deliciousness.

Taking his first bite, Caelus couldn’t help but savour the tender, herb-infused meat and the light crunch of the bread. A contented sigh escaped him as the warmth of the food spread through him, easing any lingering weariness from the morning. He shrugged, grinning. If it tastes good, I don’t care.

“What even is a Wolper… whatever?” he asked between bites, watching Lorian devour his sandwich with equal enthusiasm.

“Oh, they’re… well, a bit like hares, but they have these small antlers and wings.” Lorian paused, as though recalling a memory or something he’d once read. “Imagine a rabbit crossed with a deer—and then it can fly.” He gave a sheepish grin. “I know, it sounds strange, but hey, here we are.”

Caelus chuckled, glancing down at the sandwich. “Flying rabbit with horns or not, I’m sold.”

Cheese peeked out of Lorian’s bag, seeming almost as interested in the sandwich as its owner. With a sly smile, Lorian tore off a small piece of his sandwich and held it out to Cheese. The little slime reached out with two tiny tendrils, grabbing the morsel like a chipmunk with its paws. For a second, Cheese seemed to study the food in adorable curiosity, then stuffed the entire piece into its mouth with a delighted jiggle.

Caelus let out a chuckle, watching the spectacle. “I think Cheese is enjoying the journey as much as we are.”

Lorian grinned, giving Cheese an affectionate pat on its squishy surface. "Cheese deserves a treat for keeping up with us."

The towering spires of the castle loomed ahead, its stone walls shimmering in the early sunlight. As they approached, two guards clad in ornate armour stepped forward, nodding in acknowledgment. “This way, gentlemen. The king awaits you.”

The guards led them through the castle's grand corridors, which echoed with the soft shuffle of their footsteps. Tapestries hung along the walls, depicting Helia’s storied history in vibrant threads, scenes of heroes battling dragons and rulers crowned in glory. Lorian gazed up, entranced, while Cheese peered curiously from Lorian’s shoulder, occasionally squeaking at the colourful sights.

They arrived at a grand oak door with polished brass handles. One of the guards pushed it open, revealing a spacious meeting room where the others were already gathered. The room was dominated by a long table, its surface strewn with maps, sketches, and various documents.

As Caelus and Lorian entered, they found the rest of the champions already seated around the large, map-strewn table, laughing and talking quietly. The air was light and comfortable, a marked contrast to the usual gravity of royal meetings. The champions each wore expressions of camaraderie, easing into the morning with relaxed smiles and a few shared jokes.

Riven was leaning back in her chair, her short green hair spilling out from under her hood, her mask set aside for once. She was balancing a dagger by its tip on her fingertip with deft precision, and her wry grin hinted that she was mid-story, likely one of her tales of mischief. Elira, seated beside her, chuckled, her deep, hearty laugh filling the room. She reached over to give Riven a playful nudge, almost knocking the dagger from Riven’s hand, earning a mock glare from the assassin.

Across from them, Magnus was lounging, his fingers absently twirling a small vine that sprouted from his ancient staff. He watched the banter with a serene smile, his gentle presence adding a calming note to the group’s energy. Every so often, he glanced at Darius, who was sitting beside him, fully immersed in a conversation about the health of the castle’s stables and the animals within. Darius’s eyes lit up with interest as he asked Magnus for tips on soothing the younger dragons—a topic they both seemed to enjoy.

Next to Darius sat Seraph, her dark robes spilling over her chair as she listened with a quiet smile. She was carefully jotting notes in her journal, pausing now and then to add a thoughtful comment, occasionally earning a quick nod of agreement from the others. Her usual solemnity softened in the presence of her fellow champions, a rare warmth flickering in her silver eyes.

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As Caelus and Lorian approached, Cheese poked its head out from Lorian’s satchel, its colour shifting to a curious yellow as it looked around the table. Darius was the first to spot them, and his face brightened. “Ah, finally! The heroes of the hour!” he called, raising a hand in greeting.

Magnus chuckled, gesturing to the seats next to him. “Come join us. We’re just catching up.”

As they took their places, King Rowan at the head of the table smiled at them, his earlier sternness melting away. “Good morning, Caelus, Lorian. We’re just about to start, but it’s good to see everyone here together.”

There was a warm, collective nod around the table, and with each champion seated and relaxed, the meeting felt less like a tense discussion of war and more like a reunion of old friends, all eager to face the challenges ahead as a united front. Caelus unfastened the leather sling that held his sheathed sword across his back, sliding it off with practised ease. He placed the heavy, sheathed blade carefully on the floor beside his chair, leaning it upright so it rested securely against the leg. The sword’s dark hilt, worn from countless battles, faced upward, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.

“Good morning, everyone,” Rowan greeted, his voice steady yet carrying a subtle weight. He waited for everyone to settle into their seats, his gaze sweeping over each of them as if assessing their readiness. “Today, we have a vital discussion ahead—about Myrkos, the threat he presents, where we believe he’s hiding, how best to confront him, and your next mission.”

As Rowan continued, a subtle tension began to build in the room. “Myrkos is no ordinary foe,” he said, his tone darkening. “He’s a Changeling steeped in dark magic, twisted by the very curses that plague the lands he roams.” Rowan paused, as though the weight of describing this enemy weighed on him.

Caelus listened intently, picturing the dark sorcerer in his mind. There was a heaviness to Rowan’s words, one that suggested he was well aware of the risk he was asking them to take. Lorian, sitting beside him, leaned forward, his gaze focused and intent.

Caelus leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Rowan. He could feel the king’s tension, the strain of sending them into this perilous hunt. Myrkos was a threat unlike any other—a sorcerer, a deceiver, and someone willing to bend darkness to his will. So this is what we're up against, Caelus thought, his jaw tightening. The Warlord in him was eager to face such an enemy, but he knew this battle would demand more than strength; it would require caution and wit.

“Myrkos is also known for his use of curses,” Rowan continued, tracing a finger over a map spread on the table. “He’s been sighted around the Withered Woods, where dark energy festers. His curses have devastated villages, and those who survive are left changed—twisted. We suspect he’s working with forces beyond our understanding.”

Lorian, seated beside him, absorbed each word with a quiet intensity. His white hair fell over one eye as he studied the map before them. The young mage’s hands tightened around his spellbook, a subtle sign of his unease. The thought of curses sickened him—a magic meant to twist and corrupt, far from his own powers meant to protect and heal. His mind raced, searching for ways his magic might counter the dark spells Rowan described. He knew he would need to keep his wits about him if they were to have any chance of confronting Myrkos without falling victim to his malice.

“Myrkos has a particular affinity for disguises,” Rowan continued, his eyes flickering across the room to each champion. “As a Changeling, he can take any form, blending seamlessly into a crowd, even posing as an ally. He often appears as a man with long, white hair. He carries a grimoire—an artefact he uses to spread his curses. If you can see this book, it’s likely you’ve found him.”

A ripple of unease passed over the champions. Elira’s hands clenched into fists as she envisioned this faceless enemy who could infiltrate their ranks. A master of deception, someone who could destroy lives not by force but by corruption—that was something that disturbed her deeply. Her warrior’s instinct urged her to protect the group, to be on guard at all times.

Magnus, however, closed his eyes for a moment, listening with a calm that contrasted the rising tension in the room. Though the threat Myrkos posed was chilling, Magnus felt the pulse of the earth beneath him, a grounding presence that reminded him of his purpose. The forest has weathered worse storms, he reminded himself, drawing strength from his bond with nature. Yet, even his tranquil spirit was troubled by the thought of encountering a darkness so deep that it twisted life itself.

Rowan’s voice grew even quieter as he leaned over the map. “The Withered Woods…” he gestured at a marked section, dark with ominous ink. “He’s been sighted here, around villages that once thrived but now linger under a shadow of dark energy. Myrkos leaves destruction in his wake. Villagers are left… changed, twisted in ways that even the strongest clerics struggle to undo. His curses drain the strength and will from his victims. And…” Rowan hesitated, “we have reason to believe he’s not working alone.”

The Champions around the table murmured among themselves, exchanging worried glances. Darius cleared his throat. “Other than the little slime over there, is there any way to counter his curses?”

Rowan nodded slowly. “Yes, we’ve been researching countermeasures. We believe that certain magical wards and charms could help protect you. Our mages have prepared a few, which will be distributed before you leave. But above all, your strength as a group—your unity—will be crucial.”

Caelus felt a surge of determination. The idea of confronting such a powerful foe was daunting, but he could feel the resolve growing among his companions. They had come this far together, and he felt that no matter how dire things became, they would find a way.

Rowan’s gaze softened slightly as he looked over each of them. “I know what I’m asking of you is dangerous, but I believe in each of you. You’ve already proven yourselves against the orc lord and his minions. Myrkos is our next step toward restoring Helia. We must stop him before his darkness spreads further.”

Seraph, ever curious, raised her hand slightly. “Your Majesty, if I may ask—what drives him? Why does he do this?”

Rowan’s expression darkened. “Myrkos seeks power above all else. He was once a respected mage, but his ambition led him down a path of forbidden magic. He desired to commune with a dark god, and in return, he was promised power… but at a terrible cost. His mind and soul have been corrupted. Now, he only wishes to expand his control, spreading curses and ruin wherever he goes.”

King Rowan’s finger hovered over the map, pointing to a dense, shadowy stretch of forest marked with an eerie symbol. His gaze shifted from the map to the champions gathered around the table. “Your next mission,” he began, his tone firm but steady, “is to travel to the Withered Woods. It’s the last place Myrkos was seen, and there’s a small village nearby. Your task is to find any clues of his whereabouts, speak with the villagers, and uncover whatever you can about his movements.”

The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of the mission settled in.

Riven leaned back in her chair, the quiet click of her boots against the floor the only sound as she folded her arms across her chest. Her mask was back in place, but the subtle twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement. "The Withered Woods, huh?" she muttered, tapping her dagger against the table in a rhythm only she could understand. "Sounds like a lovely vacation spot.” Her voice carried the usual sarcastic edge, but it was clear she wasn’t fazed. “I’ll go, but if this turns into one of those ‘cursed forest’ scenarios, I’ll need a little more than a dagger to get through it.”

Magnus, ever the quiet presence, studied the map with a furrowed brow. His fingers absently twisted a small vine around his wrist, his thoughts visibly drifting as he considered the task. “The Withered Woods…” he murmured softly, as if speaking to the trees themselves. “The land there is sick with the corruption of dark magic. The plants are… not what they should be. And if Myrkos is involved, we may be looking at more than just his disappearance." His voice trailed off into a quiet hum, as though the winds of the forest were already calling to him, warning of danger and decay. Despite the concern in his voice, his calm demeanour never wavered. He would go—he always went where nature demanded. His connection to the land might give them the advantage, but even he could not deny the ominous presence of the Withered Woods.

Caelus’ thoughts, however, were a whirlwind. The place seemed like it had a sinister reputation, and the mention of Myrkos’s name stirred the dark memories of Vorrath’s battles in Helia. Myrkos is no ordinary foe. He has the power to curse an entire kingdom… But I can’t let that stop me. Helia’s fate is on my shoulders. His jaw clenched, a bitter taste at the back of his throat as he realised how much of their past was entangled with this mission. He would face whatever darkness lay ahead—if not for himself, then for the kingdom he once served. For the people who had died because of this curse.