Ch 8: At Dawn’s First Light
Veilstone was once a beacon of prosperity and hope, its influence stretching across continents like the roots of its ancient oaks. Six months had passed since that fateful night, the Broken Hour, when everything changed. Once,the nation thrived on its abundant resources: the fertile plains that yielded vast fields of golden wheat, the bustling coastal ports that welcomed merchants from distant lands, and the mountain ranges that held untold mineral wealth within their veins of stone.
Its cities were vibrant with commerce and culture—a harmonious blend of ancestral tradition and progressive innovation. Towering spires of crystal and steel glinted in the sunlight, while the aroma of freshly baked bread, and exotic spices filled the air as traders bartered beneath colorful awnings.
This was the Veilstone that the world knew—a realm that nourished nations, its fields and factories churning out grain, textiles, and the enchanted tools and artifacts imbued with the mysterious The Catalyst energies. It was a nation that commanded the region’s economy, a provider that fueled both prosperity and power. To the world beyond its borders, Veilstone was a pillar of strength, a guardian, and a symbol of stability.
But now, Veilstone is a husk of its former self.
The fall came without warning. The cataclysm, known only as the Broken Hour, struck like a bolt of lightning, sending tremors through the nation and beyond. One moment, the capital was vibrant with life; the next, darkness engulfed its heart. Whispers of an assault rippled through the city, but no official statement followed. The government’s silence was as loud as the explosion that tore through the capital’s center, leaving nothing but ruins and smoke in its wake. The air, once sweet with the scent of life, now hung heavy with the acrid tang of scorched metal and the metallic taste of blood.
The Veilstone Vassals—the elite protector clans known as the Veilstorm, Veilshade, and Veilheart—moved swiftly to respond. Their banners flew high as they raced through the streets, rallying to restore order and shield the city. Members of the Veilheart Clan delivered proclamations stamped with the city’s crest, assuring the people that the disaster was a “natural event.” Truth, locked behind the stone walls of the capital, hinted at something far darker. Newspapers, carried by messenger birds and delivered to every corner of Veilstone, whispered of sabotage and unseen enemies. Fear and uncertainty began to fester.
Beneath the carefully managed facade, the attack had struck at the essence of Veilstone’s strength—its resources. The once-fertile fields that had fed nations for generations turned barren, their soil tainted by an enigmatic energy. Crops withered overnight; the leaves of fruit trees blackened and curled, and the earth, once rich and dark, lost its vitality. Ships that once carried goods to foreign lands lay abandoned in the harbor, their masts creaking like mournful specters. Merchants who had thrived on Veilstone’s wealth now whispered in shadowed alleys, trading in scraps and rumors instead of silks and spices.
The impact of the Broken Hour rippled far beyond the nation’s borders. Neighboring countries, once allies dependent on Veilstone’s steady supply of food and trade goods, felt the sting of scarcity. Prices soared, and riots erupted as the balance of power shifted. Veilstone, once a nation whose voice commanded respect in every council hall, was now a hushed whisper, its influence dissipating like smoke on the wind.
But just as Veilstone’s whispers began to fade, a darker affliction took root—the Blight.
First, it was the crops. Farmers reported that their fields—once lush and vibrant—had shriveled overnight. The soil, which had once promised bounty, now lay barren and cold. Livestock, too, succumbed to the Blight, growing restless, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light before turning savage and attacking their own herds. The Blight spread like a plague, creeping across the landscape. But it was not only the fields and herds that suffered—soon,the people themselves began to change.
Those who had once wielded The Catalyst energies with mastery and control found their powers slipping into chaos, warping them into something grotesque. Some transformed into twisted, monstrous versions of themselves, their bodies contorting as the corrupted energy consumed them. These mutants, consumed by mindless rage, roamed the countryside, attacking anything that moved. The authorities attempted to contain the truth, insisting the incidents were isolated and under control, but stories of horror spread faster than the Blight itself.
Adventurers returning from expeditions spoke of villages left empty, with only claw marks and bloodstains as evidence of their inhabitants’ fate. Merchant caravans traveling once-safe routes reported assaults by creatures that defied description—beasts with unnatural limbs and flesh pulsing with dark energy. It was as if the very land had been cursed, and the corruption was spreading.
In a nation spiraling into terror, even those who returned had little comfort to offer, recounting villages left empty… With the government struggling to contain the chaos, the guilds—the Merchant, Adventurer and Mercenary guilds—stepped forward to fill the void.
These organizations, once content to operate behind the scenes, emerged as pillars holding up the remnants of society. Recognizing the need for structure in a world spiraling into chaos, the guilds formalized a system of classes, roles, and ranks to maintain stability and control over an increasingly dangerous world.
Each guild adopted a rigorous class system, requiring individuals who sought to join their ranks to undergo intense training to earn their ranking plate—a color-coded metal tag worn as proof of skills and status. This system extended from single-class guild members, who specialized in one discipline, to the rare dual- and tri-class holders, who were allowed to operate across multiple roles. Each class member’s rank not only defined their responsibilities but also unlocked specific benefits tied to their guild: access to guild-sponsored housing, Catalyst resources, and the coveted ability to cross borders.
Single-class guild members, focused on one discipline—whether merchant, adventurer, or mercenary—were expected to complete a minimum of one monthly mission to maintain their ranks and privileges. Benefits ranged from essential resources to Catalyst-infused tools, critical in a land scarred by scarcity. Dual-class and tri-class holders, by contrast, received longer mission windows, up to six months, allowing them to take on complex cross-discipline assignments that required elite skills. These high-ranking members were also granted travel permits, granting them legal passage across the city’s guild-controlled borders—a privilege increasingly valued as Veilstone’s territories became isolated.
However, this class system demanded strict adherence to guild law. Identity verification was managed through physical tags engraved with unique details for each member. Yet the system, while practical, was far from perfect. Reports of stolen tags and fraudulent identities surfaced as guild-controlled borders became critical, complicating efforts to secure Veilstone’s lands. These breaches raised troubling questions of loyalty, guild authority, and whether a mere tag was enough to protect their fragile society.
The Merchant Guild, led in Veilstone by Reva, played a vital role, adapting its far-reaching network to secure dwindling resources. Reva’s team managed not only trade but also intelligence on Catalyst-afflicted resources, in partnership with Adventurers who brought back specimens from Blight-ridden zones. The guild kept the economy functioning, albeit under strict regulation, prioritizing survival essentials over luxury goods.
The Adventurer Guild, now Veilstone’s scouts, explorers, and researchers, took on the risky task of mapping Blight zones and exploring unknown regions. They became the city’s primary line of defense, gathering Catalyst knowledge as well as rare resources to sustain the guilds’ work. The guild’s classes allowed for a range of specialties within its ranks, including botany, geology, and alchemy, making it the most interdisciplinary of all guilds.
The Mercenary Guild, operating under Reva’s allies in Veilstone, reinforced the city’s defenses, patrolling borders, guarding vital trade routes, and hunting Blight creatures encroaching on the last bastions of civilization. Members who earned dual- or tri-class status served across multiple sectors, shifting from patrol to active combat missions to maintain Veilstone’s defenses against the unknown forces beyond.
Yet the guilds’ strength came not only form their ranks but from key leaders who each served a vital role in holding Veilstone’s fraying edges together.
The Veilstone Vassals, too, rallied their forces to protect the city, but even they found themselves overwhelmed by the growing tide of darkness.
Nyssa Veilstorm, a formidable member of the Veilstorm Clan, patrolled the streets and secured the gates, defending the city from Blight-born abominations and the unrest brewing among its citizens. With her telescoping tonfa-staff, Nyssa led squads in pushing back the mutants, ensuring the city’s borders remained fortified. The Veilstorm soldiers became the city’s shield and sword, but their numbers dwindled, and the threats continued to multiply.
Isolde Veilshade, a rising star within the Veilshade Clan, operated under the guidance of Dorian, the clan’s enigmatic leader. Isolde and her fellow agents moved through the shadows, gathering intelligence and hunting for the source of the catastrophe. Known for her stealth and precision, Isolde infiltrated the city’s darkened alleys and Blight-ridden ruins, searching for answers. Despite her clan’s efforts, the truth remained elusive, and the tension within the city only escalated.
Gorun Veilheart, a steadfast member of the Veilheart Clan, worked alongside his fellow enforcers to maintain order among the citizens. Gorun’s presence was one of strength and stability; his booming voice and naginata ensured that disputes were resolved and peace upheld. Yet, as resources dwindled and fear spread, the Veilheart struggled to quell the rising unrest.
The Merchant Guild, under Reva’s guidance in Veilstone, became a vital lifeline for the city. Recognizing the importance of stabilizing the economy, Reva adapted her guild’s sprawling network into a mechanism for survival. Working closely with Dorian and the Veilshade clan, she strategically balanced trading and alliance-building, ensuring the essential supplies circulated, albeit at a cost. Their collaboration was key to keeping markets open—albeit with tight regulation and a shift in focus from luxury to basic survival.
Meanwhile,the Mercenary Guild, operating with Allied leaders, expanding its presence, controlling alongside Veilstorm soldiers and reinforcing defenses, guarding trade routes, and protecting the last stronghold the guild proved indispensable, even if its loyalty was transactional.
Together, the guilds and the Vassals formed a fragile alliance, striving to stabilize Veilstone even as the Blight crept ever closer.
Despite their efforts, Veilstone remained teetering on the edge of collapse. The city’s streets buzzed with whispers of conspiracy and betrayal, as no one knew who had truly struck at Veilstone’s heart or why. Some murmured of foreign agents, while others feared ancient curses or the misuse of the The Catalyst energy. With each passing day, the shadows deepened, and the fear that Veilstone might crumble under the weight of its secrets grew more palpable.
As the guilds and Vassals fought to maintain the city’s stability, they faced an unavoidable truth: Veilstone’s future was uncertain, and if they could not contain the darkness, everything they had built might be consumed by the Blight.
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The forest reverberated with the sounds of battle—shouts, snarls, and the relentless clanging of metal against mutated hide. Ayola’s keen gaze took in the frenzied motion around her, each ally holding their ground against the wave of blighted beasts that surged forward with disturbing coordination.
Directly ahead, Taren stood like an unyielding wall, his shield braced against a monstrous gorilla-like creature. The beast was unlike anything Ayola had ever seen, far larger than a normal gorilla and twisted with unnatural mutations. Its fur was matted, patches of coarse black hair giving way to sinewy, warped muscle that bulged and pulsed with a dark energy. Sharp, jagged bones protruded from its elbows and knees, and its eyes glowed an eerie shade of red, as though tainted by a malevolent force.
Flanking Taren, Elda’s twin daggers danced in and out of the chaos, targeting vulnerable spots on the Skornwolves that harried them from the sides. These creatures, once resembling ordinary wolves, had been transformed into something far more nightmarish. They were larger, nearly double the size of their natural counterparts, with crystalline spines jutting from their backs and twisted, elongated limbs that gave them an unnatural, predatory grace. Their fur had a sickly, mottled sheen, and their eyes glowed with the same haunting, crimson light.
Above them, Vyn loosed arrows with deadly precision, each one finding its mark in the eyes or throats of bird-like creatures with twisted wings and elongated talons. These Corvus Shrikes circled above, their bodies marked by mutated, razor-sharp feathers that shimmered with a dark, iridescent gleam. One of the creatures swooped low, aiming for the formation, only to be struck down by Vyn’s arrow mid-flight.
Despite the group’s best efforts, the creatures’ unsettling intelligence began to show. One of the Skornwolves broke away from the melee, its predatory gaze locking onto Varis, who had been hanging back, clutching his alchemical vials in a tight grip. The wolf, its crystalline spines glinting in the dimming light, charged at him with terrifying speed. Varis barely had time to react, fumbling for his belt pouch in a desperate attempt to defend himself.
Just as the wolf leapt, a figure interceded. Ren, his short sword raised, stepped in front of Varis, managing to parry the wolf’s initial strike. The sharp clang of steel against crystalline hide rang out as Ren braced himself. The wolf, snarling, lowered itself into a crouch, its mutated limbs coiled with unnatural energy.
Ren’s breaths were labored, his movements slowing as the prolonged fight wore on him. The wolf lunged again, but this time, Ren’s blade sliced through one of its crystalline legs. The creature staggered back, snarling with a cold, calculated rage that sent a shiver through Ayola.Just as Ren prepared for another attack, a massive shadow barreled toward him. And then, without warning, a flash of moment cut through the chaos, drawing Ayola’s eye.
The enormous gorilla-like creature, its thunderous steps shaking the ground. She saw Ren’s expression shift to desperation as he realized his predicament, trapped between the Skornwolf and the charging monstrosity. He raised his sword, but Ayola could see he was tired. He wouldn’t make it in time.
A hooded figure surged forward with an uncanny speed, his katana glinting in the dim light. The cloak’s hood was pushed back mid-stride, and for the first time, Ayola saw him clearly—, his cold orange eyes blazing with a fierce intensity, the color burning against the dark landscape like molten embers. There was a calm precision in his every move, a lethal grace that made the forest itself seem to hold its breath.
Ffffssshk
Soren’s katana sliced through the air, connecting in a flawless arc. Ayola’s breath caught as the blade cut cleanly through the Gor’thaal, splitting its massive body in two.The momentum carried the beast’s severed halves past Ren, and for an instant, it was as if time had frozen, the creature’s halves slid apart before collapsing a with a thunderous crash.
The Skornwolf, momentarily stunned by the flash of motion, hesitated just long enough for Ren to strike.
Ren paused, blinking at the severed halves of the massive beast that had almost crushed him. “Did…did he just slice that thing clean in half?” He turned to Vyn, who was shaking his head in open-mouthed awe.
“I don’t know what that was,” Vyn replied, a grin spreading across his face, “but I’m glad he’s on our side.”
Ren laughed, a bit of the tension falling from his shoulders. “Guess I owe him one.”
He swung with all his remaining strength, severing the creature’s head in a single blow. The twisted beast crumpled to the forest floor beside its fallen comrade and for a moment, the forest held its breath. As the last echoes of the fight faded, Taren regrouped the others, voice steady.
“We’re not out the woods yet…”
A heavy silence fell over the clearing. The remaining beasts, sensing the shift in the battle, began to retreat into the shadows. They moved with an unsettling synchronization, disappearing into the dense foliage as quickly as they had attacked, leaving only the quiet aftermath of the fight.
Ren exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging in relief. He looked over at Soren, eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief, but Soren was already sheathing his blade, his expression calm and unreadable, as if the carnage had been nothing more than routine.
“That… that was incredible,” Ren muttered, still catching his breath.
The others paused, their gazes flicking between the fallen beasts and Soren.
Taren crossed his arms, staring at the carnage with a mix of admiration and something like suspicion. “I’ve seen my share of swordplay,” he muttered, “but nothing quite like that.” He gave a love impressed whistle and nudged Varis, who was gazing at Soren with something close reverence.
“You know,” Varis murmured, almost to himself, “in my line of work, I meet all sorts. But not many can make quick work of something like that.” He chuckled, a bit of boyish excitement in his tone. “Can’t put a price on skills like those.”
Taren’s face softened with a rare grin, but his tone grew serious. “We’re lucky to have him. Just hope he’s stickin’ around for more than just a fight.”
Elda, standing at the edge of the clearing, let out a low whistle. “Clean… and quick,” she observed, her sharp eyes glinting with respect, though her expression stayed guarded.
Perched on a small rise, Vyn lowered his bow with a wry smile. “Looks like we got more than a low level merc riding with us. That’s some serious skill.”
Ayola, observing from her vantage point, narrowed her eyes, as Soren turned his attention back to the darkened forest. The coldness in his gaze, the steady, almost unnerving calm in his movements… There was more to him than he let on. Her lips curled into a small, thoughtful smile, the words slipping out in a whisper. “Impressive,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Didn’t think you had that kind of edge. There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”
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The forest had finally fallen silent, save for the soft rustling of the trees and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. The group stood amongst the remains of the battle, their breaths heavy but controlled as they surveyed the aftermath. The creatures they had fought now lay in heaps, twisted and malformed by the blight that had spread through this region—yet even in death, there was a strange, unsettling harmony in the way their bodies had fallen. It was as though the very forest itself had orchestrated the attack, its creatures now mere instruments of a greater, unseen force.
Taren, ever the stalwart leader, broke the silence with his deep, gravelly voice. “We need to clean this up before nightfall,” he instructed, his words commanding attention without a hint of doubt. “The last thing we need is the scent of blood drawing in more of these things.”
The others nodded, already moving to follow his orders. The air was still thick with tension, the adrenaline from the skirmish slowly ebbing away but leaving behind a palpable sense of unease. Every shadow cast by the lowering sun seemed to twitch, as if the forest itself was watching, waiting for them to drop their guard.
Elda, always swift and efficient, was the first to act. With practiced motions, she knelt by the nearest corpse—a crystalline wolf, its once-beautiful hide now shattered and bloodied. With a deft hand, she began to strip it of its valuable materials, prying loose the shards of crystal that could fetch a good price at any decent guild outpost. Her fingers moved like a master artisan’s, precise and unhurried, as if she’d done this a hundred times before. In truth, she probably had.
Ren, his usual lighthearted demeanor slightly tempered by the day’s events, busied himself with dismantling the camp. He still managed a smirk, though, as he glanced at Vyn, who was struggling to help Taren move the carcass of the fallen gorilla-like beast. The massive creature’s weight was proving to be more than the younger adventurer had anticipated.
“Heeeeyyy, Vyn, that oversized monkey givin, you trouble?” Ren drawled, raising an eyebrow “I’d help, but y’know—don’t wanna embarrass ya”
Vyn shot him a half-hearted glare, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’ve got it,” he grunted, though the strain in his voice said otherwise. With Taren’s help, the beast was eventually rolled onto its side, where the two could start gathering any useful materials. Its bones and hide would be worth something to the right buyer, but there was no need to strip the entire carcass here. Time was running short.
Varis, the merchant, hovered near the edge of the clearing, his gaze flicking between the busy adventurers and the forest beyond. His role here was not to fight but to observe, to record, and to collect what he could for trade. Yet even he, unused to such direct conflict, had taken a turn with the knife, helping to cut strips of hide and bundle them neatly. He worked methodically, his hands shaking just slightly from the rush of the battle.
“You know, those crystalline hides…in the right market, you’re looking at a decent haul,” Varis murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Assuming, of course, we make it back.” His merchant’s instinct was always assessing value, even in a situation like this. He carefully wrapped the fragments in a thick cloth, tucking them into one of his many packs with the practiced ease of someone who had traded in goods for most of his life.
As the group worked to harvest what they could, Taren cast an eye toward the setting sun. The fiery orb was sinking lower behind the thick canopy of the forest, casting long shadows that crept ever closer to the camp. “Light’s fading fast,” he said, voice clipped and firm. “Cover the rest. Blood will only bring more of these beasts—can’t afford that tonight.”
Elda, always quick to think ahead, moved silently through the underbrush, using dirt and leaves to cover the remaining carcasses. The scent of blood and death would attract more predators if left unchecked, and in a forest like this, where the creatures seemed more intelligent and coordinated than normal, that was a risk they couldn’t afford.
With the sun now dipping beneath the treetops, casting the clearing into a deepening gloom, the group began to move again, marking their path as they went. Elda’s keen eyes picked out landmarks along the way—trees with distinct patterns in their bark, rock formations that stood out against the otherwise uniform landscape. She made small, almost imperceptible marks on the trees as they moved, ensuring they could find their way back if necessary.
Ren, despite his earlier bravado, was growing quiet now, his gaze constantly shifting to the darkening forest around them. “I don’t like this place,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s too… still.”
“Ren, you’ve got no idea. Those wolves were eyein’ me like dinner, alright?” He rolled his eyes shooting a quick grin. “But you? You’re too scrawny for their taste.”
Ren shook his head, his expression more serious than usual. “No, it’s not that. It’s the way they fought. Like they knew what they were doing—like they were working together.”
Taren, always the pragmatist, cut in. “Focus on the task at hand. We’ve got a ways to go before we can set up camp. Keep marking the path, and stay alert.”
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Night Fall
The sun had finally set, casting the forest into deep shadows. The group reached a small clearing sheltered by overhanging trees and a large rock formation—an ideal spot to rest for the night. The ground here was softer, covered in moss and leaves, and the natural barriers offered some protection from the elements and any potential ambushes.
“This’ll do,” Taren said, his voice low but steady. The group immediately set to work.
Ren began collecting kindling for a fire, while Vyn pitched the tents with an almost eager efficiency, clearly determined to make up for his earlier struggles. Elda moved through the clearing with a quiet grace, setting traps and placing subtle motion alarms around the perimeter. She worked with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before, her eyes constantly scanning the forest for any signs of danger.
Varis, once again taking on the role of the group’s supplier, unpacked their rations and began preparing a modest meal. His hands were steady now, the earlier tremor gone, as he set out dried meats and herbs. Though his role in the group was often questioned by the others, his presence was invaluable when it came to keeping them fed and supplied.
The crackling fire brought a measure of comfort, but the shadows beyond still loomed, reminding them of the threats lurking in the darkness. As they finished eating, Taren’s gaze swept the group. “We’ll need someone to take the first watch.”
Before either could respond, the hooded figure, who had remained quiet and withdrawn throughout the entire evening, stepped forward. His movements were fluid, his voice calm and composed. “I’ll take the first watch.”
Taren raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You sure? We’ve got it covered.”
The hooded man—Soren—gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable in the firelight. “I’m fine. I don’t need much sleep.”
Taren hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his options. He glanced at Elda and Ren, who both gave subtle nods of approval, and then back at the mysterious mercenary. “Alright,” he said finally. “Suit yourself. Someone will come relieve ya in a few hours. ”
Soren nodded once more before moving to the edge of the clearing, where shadows seemed to breath and stir in the darkness. The forest once alive with their battle earlier, now fell into a stillness as Soren took up his silent vigil, the crackling of the fire the only sound against the quiet night.
The others had already retreated to their tents, though quiet murmurs could still be heard from within. Ren and Vyn were trading light-hearted jabs, trying to wind down after the long day. Even their playful banter, however, was tinged with an underlying tension—the knowledge that the forest around them was anything but safe.
In her own tent, Elda lay quietly, her sharp mind replaying the events of the day. She was careful to keep her breathing slow and even, giving the appearance of sleep. But in truth, her thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the mysterious mercenary standing just outside their camp. There was something about him—something that didn’t quite fit. His movements were too precise, his presence too controlled. It was as if he had been through this exact scenario countless times before, and nothing seemed to faze him.
Ayola, lying still beneath her cloak in a corner of the camp, kept her eyes half-closed, observing everything from the shadows. She had a knack for blending in, for going unnoticed when she wished it. And tonight, she was content to let the others think she was just another face in the crowd.
Her gaze lingered on Soren as he stood guard, his silhouette barely visible in the dim firelight. “Just passing through, huh?” she whispered to herself, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. There was more to him than he let on—she was certain of that. But for now, she would wait, watch, and bide her time.
As the fire cast long shadows against the trees, Soren stood alone, a quiet guardian against the forest’s depths. But in the shelter of their tents, Elda and Ayola lay awake, each with thoughts centered on the mysterious mercenary who now stood watch.
The night stretched on, and in the quiet, the forest waited.