“We arrived in Ashenbrook just as dusk settled over the town,” Caelus began, his voice steady but thoughtful. “The light was fading fast, casting long shadows over the buildings. The air…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “It smelled of rain-soaked earth, but something about the quiet—it wasn’t right. Too still, too heavy. Like the town itself was holding its breath.”
He glanced at Rowan, then at the others, gauging their reactions. “We found the stable without much trouble,” he continued, “but that’s when things started to feel… off.”
His eyes shifted to Seraph briefly. “Seraph was the first to pick up on it. Her circlet gave her a vision, a fleeting glimpse of danger. But we didn’t listen, not at first. We thought it was just her instincts, nothing more.”
Caelus paused again, his voice lowering slightly. “At the time, we brushed it off, figured it was nothing. But looking back…” His words trailed off, a faint tension building in the room.
The Champions shifted uncomfortably at the memory. Seraph’s circlet was rarely wrong, but they had all brushed off the warning that night. Lorian’s gaze fell, and Magnus tightened his grip on the edge of the chair, his lips pursed.
Caelus continued, his tone darker now. “We pushed forward, found an inn, and tried to settle in for the night. The innkeeper greeted us with a warm smile, her hospitality almost too perfect. But there was something unsettling beneath it all—a strange tension in the air that none of us could quite place. It felt like we were being watched, even as we tried to relax.”
Riven crossed her arms tightly, the memory of the innkeeper’s odd behavior still lingering. “It wasn’t just the innkeeper. It was everything,” she muttered, but Caelus ignored her, his focus still on the tale.
“That night, things got worse,” Caelus said, the pace of his words picking up, a subtle urgency creeping into his voice. “Lorian… Lorian saw the man. The same one Seraph had sensed. But he wasn’t just standing there. No, he was in our bathroom—right in the middle of the night. Watching us.” He let that hang in the air for a moment, the tension in the room rising with the weight of his words.
Lorian’s hands trembled slightly as he clutched Cheese, pulling the little slime close to his chest. The soft blue glow of Cheese’s body flickered with worry, the creature’s jelly-like form quivering in response to Lorian’s unease. “By the time Caelus came in... the man was gone,” Lorian whispered, his voice a mixture of relief and lingering dread, as though the mere thought of the encounter sent a shiver down his spine. Cheese’s worried squeak echoed softly, nuzzling further into Lorian’s arms.
Magnus took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing, his calm demeanor betraying the gravity of the tale. “The next morning, we decided to check on the dragons at the stable. Darius had been unsettled since the night before. But when we got there, Elira…” Magnus’s words faltered for just a moment, his gaze flicking to Elira, who had grown uncharacteristically quiet. “She came into contact with the man again. But this time, something was different. He didn’t just look at her. He pulled her in, and in the blink of an eye, she vanished.”
Elira, normally full of energy, now sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her expression muted. She avoided eye contact, her mind clearly reeling from the memory. She had vanished from sight—just like that.
Magnus continued, his voice carrying the weight of the loss. “We couldn’t understand what happened, not until the town... vanished. It was as though Ashenbrook was never there at all. One moment, we were in the streets, and the next, there was nothing left but empty air. No trace. No sign.”
Caelus’s hands clenched on the table, his knuckles white. He had to finish the story. They all needed to hear it. "That's when the man changed. The skies darkened, as if they were being swallowed by some unnatural force, and he… he transformed. Into something monstrous. Something... twisted. The ground trembled beneath us. We found ourselves standing in the middle of the Withered Woods, with no way to escape.”
Rowan’s brow furrowed, his golden hair glinting under the torchlight as he leaned forward, his piercing gaze fixed on the Champions. He said nothing, his silence pressing them to continue, urging them to reveal more. The tension in the room thickened as they retold the story, each word hanging heavier than the last.
Magnus cleared his throat, his voice unwavering despite the weight of the tale. “We fought it,” he began. “But it was too strong. It overpowered us. It got to Lorian too... He vanished, just like Elira.”
At the mention of Lorian’s disappearance, the room seemed to hold its breath. Cheese, still perched on the table, puffed up indignantly, its soft, gelatinous form swelling as if to assert itself in the face of the grim memory. It rippled and quivered with a mixture of distress and quiet indignation, the slime’s tiny, translucent body glowing faintly as it recalled the danger. Lorian’s absence—however brief—was still felt by the little creature. But before it could fidget further, Darius’s voice cut through the heavy atmosphere, shifting the mood.
“And then... Cheese saved the day,” Darius announced, his grin wide and mischievous, eyes sparkling with both disbelief and a bit of admiration. The way he said it, with a hint of incredulity, made it clear he still couldn't fully wrap his mind around what had happened. He leaned forward, holding his hands out in a dramatic flourish as if to show the impossible scale of the event. “I’m not kidding. This little slime—this one right here—grew to the size of a mountain and started punching the living daylights out of that monster.”
Rowan’s eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief and awe crossing his face. He leaned in, his gaze shifting from Darius to the small slime on the table. His voice softened, but still held an air of incredulity. “Cheese did that?” he asked, his tone a mix of wonder and disbelief.
Cheese, always the humble hero, puffed up even more, its gooey form swelling with pride. Its tiny body quivered with an almost comical display of self-satisfaction, the pale yellow color of its form deepening in a subtle glow. It vibrated slightly, as if it were basking in the attention. The little creature had no way of vocalizing its triumph, but it didn’t need to. The pride emanating from it was as loud as any boast.
Darius chuckled, his voice full of admiration, though tinged with his usual playful tone. “You should’ve seen it. That slime was a force of nature. I thought it was going to tear the monster’s heart out with its bare—well, whatever it has—hands.” He shook his head in disbelief. “We got the opening we needed to strike its core, and... well, you know the rest.”
Rowan’s lips quirked into a smile, his surprise fading into amused appreciation. His gaze shifted to Cheese, eyes sparkling with a mix of fondness and wonder. “I’ll admit, that’s not what I was expecting,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him. “But truly, you’ve all done well. You’ve faced dangers most would never even dream of—and Cheese here might just have stolen the show.”
Cheese puffed up even more, its form rippling as if trying to contain all the pride it could handle. It seemed to vibrate with such intensity that, for a moment, one might have thought it might just float right off the table from sheer pride alone.
Elira let out an exaggerated groan, her arms flailing dramatically as if the weight of the world had fallen on her. “Whaaaat?!” she whined, her voice full of playful frustration. “I missed all that?! Ugh, I should’ve been there!” She threw her hands in the air, giving the table a theatrical, defeated look as if she were mourning the lost opportunity to be the one to punch a monster into oblivion. Her expression was a mix of mock disappointment and frustration.
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Riven, ever the pragmatist, rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as a smirk tugged at her lips. “And see everyone bawling their eyes out after? Yeah, no thanks,” she replied, the dry humor in her voice cutting through the air like a sharp breeze. Her gaze flicked toward Elira with a raised brow, as if to say, Some things are better left unseen.
Seraph, always the quiet observer, let out a soft chuckle behind her hand. The gentle sound of her amusement softened the mood further. “I genuinely thought Elira and Lorian were goners,” she confessed with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Can you blame me?” Her voice was light, but there was a quiet relief in it, as though even the stoic Seraph had been shaken by the perilous battle.
The entire group shared a brief, quiet laugh, the sound of camaraderie filling the room as the tension from their previous discussion seemed to dissolve, if only for a moment. It was a rare moment of levity, one that made them all seem less like warriors and more like friends who had shared something impossible together.
But the laughter faded as quickly as it had come, and Elira and Lorian’s expressions turned somber. Elira shifted uncomfortably, her fingers lightly grazing the surface of the table before she slowly placed her artifact in front of King Rowan. The red shield gemstone—once a vibrant, powerful symbol of her strength—was now marred with a deep crack, the jagged line splitting the once-pristine gem in two. Its faint glow seemed weaker now, almost defeated, as if it carried the weight of her recent battle within it.
Lorian, too, placed his artifact down beside hers. The white teardrop-shaped crystal, once a delicate and beautiful piece of craftwork, now bore a similar, jagged crack across its surface. The light that had once shone within it now flickered faintly, as if the crystal itself had been drained of its strength during the battle.
Rowan’s gaze softened as he looked at the damaged items. He didn’t need to say anything at first; his eyes alone spoke volumes. He reached forward, his fingers gently brushing over the cracked gems, a solemn expression crossing his face. “These artifacts… they’ve protected you,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, as if in reverence. He held them up to the light, using his magic to examine the damage closely. “These were made to resist dark magic. It’s no surprise they cracked under the strain of Myrkos’ curse.”
The Champions watched him, their expressions a mixture of relief and unease. Even though they had triumphed in the end, it was clear the battle had taken more from them than they had expected. The artifacts, symbols of their strength, now lay shattered before them—a reminder that even the strongest forces could be broken.
Caelus, his gaze lingering on the artifacts, felt a quiet unease settle in his chest. “That wasn’t even Myrkos’ full power…” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. The thought weighed heavily on him. If this had been the result of one of his curses, how would they stand against his full might? How much more would they have to endure?
Rowan’s sudden clap broke the heavy silence like a spark in the dark. The sharp sound echoed through the room, and for a brief moment, the weight of the conversation was lifted. “Don’t dwell on that now,” he said, his voice lightening as he leaned forward in his chair, his youthful face breaking into a grin. “You all did wonderfully. And now we know… Ashenbrook is gone.”
There was a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in Rowan’s expression as he uttered the last words, his tone softening, and his shoulders slumping ever so slightly in a rare display of vulnerability. His eyes drifted toward the ground for a moment, as if the loss of the town weighed on him too. But he took a deep breath and waved his hand, banishing the lingering sadness with a simple motion.
“I assume your Level has risen significantly, considering the formidable creature you faced,” King Rowan observed, his gaze flicking across the group with a mixture of concern and curiosity. His tone carried the weight of both expectation and relief that they had survived.
Caelus, curious himself, opened his Soulbound Interface with a swipe of his hand. The familiar, faint shimmer of magic filled the air as the translucent screen materialized before him. Last he checked, he had been Level 7 after defeating their first major boss—a milestone that had felt monumental at the time.
But now…
“Level 21?!” Elira’s voice cut through the quiet, a burst of excitement that drew everyone's attention. Lorian’s eyes sparkled as he turned to Cheese. “Yay!” he shouted, raising a hand. Without hesitation, Cheese extended a small, gelatinous limb from Lorian’s chest, meeting his hand with a satisfying, wet smack.
Caelus couldn’t help but chuckle at their infectious energy, his own excitement bubbling beneath his calm exterior. His gaze returned to the screen, tracing the glowing numbers that reflected his newfound strength. His base Stats had increased significantly, each value a testament to the grueling battles they’d endured. Strength, agility, endurance—they had all surged, and with it came a ripple of exhilaration that coursed through him like a second wind.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle hum of power resonating within his body, a tangible reminder of his growth. “This… this is incredible,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. The realization that their struggles had not only granted survival but also newfound strength filled him with a rare moment of pride.
Lorian, still riding the wave of celebration, gave him a playful nudge. “What’s with the serious face, Caelus? We’re leveling up like pros here!”
Caelus grinned, shaking his head. “Just taking it in, Lorian. You know, appreciating the fact we’re still standing—and stronger for it.”
King Rowan’s lips curved into a faint smile, his youthful face betraying a sense of relief. “It seems the trials you’ve faced were not in vain. Let’s hope that strength will be enough for the battles yet to come.”
With that, several small pouches of gold appeared before each of the Champions, materializing out of thin air as though they had been summoned by Rowan's will alone. The soft jingle of coins inside broke the quiet, and the pouches gleamed brightly in the dim room.
“Good job,” Rowan said, his faint smile returning as he looked over his Champions. His gaze lingered just a little longer on them, as if proud of what they had accomplished, though the strain of the moment still lay heavy on him.
Riven was the first to react, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the pouch. Without hesitation, she reached forward, her fingers practically trembling with excitement as she snatched it up. Her usual cool demeanor cracked for a moment as she grinned widely, her sharp eyes glinting with the thrill of the reward. “Finally,” she muttered, her voice full of relief and appreciation. “It’s about time.”
Darius wasn’t far behind, his wings fluttering slightly as he moved to grab his pouch. His face broke into an expression of pure joy, and his usual stoic nature melted away. He held the pouch in both hands, inspecting it as though it were a prize he’d long awaited. “Gold never gets old,” he said, his voice carrying a rare lightness. A low chuckle escaped him, and he gave the pouch a little shake, the coins inside clinking together in a rhythmic dance. His grin was wide, unguarded, like that of a child receiving a treat.
The rest of the group watched with amusement, though their expressions carried an undertone of approval. Even Caelus, who had been absorbed in the weightier aspects of their mission, allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. They had all earned this, in their own ways. The gold was a reminder that, despite the trials they had faced, they had persevered together.
Before anyone could relax too much, a shift in the atmosphere signaled that the conversation was far from over. With a subtle motion of his hand, Rowan gestured, and the air around him seemed to shimmer. From the far corner of the room, a large, floating platform slowly rose, its edges glowing faintly with an ethereal light. It drifted toward the center of the chamber, and upon it, suspended like a grotesque display, was the creature that had attacked them in the woods.
The creature was a nightmarish vision: its body was a bulbous, inky black mass, covered in sickly black skin, which shimmered unnaturally in the dim light. At its core was a single, enormous eye, its iris swirling with a glowing, malevolent light that seemed to pierce through the very air. Its spindly, malformed legs were thin and creepy, each one ending in sharp, clawed feet that seemed to scrape faintly against the surface of the platform. Every movement it made was jerky, disjointed, as if it existed in a state of unnatural haste, twitching with an unrelenting urgency.
Caelus felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as his gaze fixed on the creature. The unease he had briefly shaken off returned tenfold, settling like a stone in his chest. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, though he knew the creature was no longer a threat. Not for the moment, at least. But its presence alone was enough to send a wave of dread rippling through him.
Rowan, however, remained composed, his face hardening with determination as he regarded the monstrous form before them. “This,” he said, his voice low and heavy with gravity, “is what I truly need to discuss with you.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge, each syllable carrying the weight of something much larger than they could fully comprehend. His gaze swept over the group, lingering just a moment longer on Caelus, as if to gauge their readiness for what was to come.
Caelus’s eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening. He could feel the tension in the room tighten, thickening like a storm on the horizon. Whatever came next, he knew in his bones, it wouldn’t be easy. There was something about this creature that felt like a harbinger, a signal that darker days were ahead. A reminder that the world they knew was shifting, and with it, the forces they would soon face.