Three nights before Eldrin's deadline, they were all nearly at the end of their strength. Leonard and Yelena, now bearing a peculiar blessing of nature, had been on the run for over sixty days since they had begun their escape. In a makeshift camp just a few miles from the nearest village, silence reigned; the night cloaked the earth in dense darkness, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant rustling of leaves in the cold night breeze. Leonard and Yelena slept in their tent, exhausted from the day's journey, while two young geomancers, Berun and Sudir, barely more than boys, kept watch, their eyes heavy with fatigue.
At the very moment their eyelids drooped in a brief dream bathed in the dim light of the dying fire, sinister shadows crept toward them from the darkness. Villagers—ordinary people with pitchforks, hoes, and torches—approached, filled with anger, distrust, and fear of these strange travelers who had been seen on the roads over the past few days. The torchlight illuminated their faces, twisted with determination and hatred. Why did these unwelcome nomads linger so close to their homes? What if they brought ruin, soldiers who would plunder their tilled fields, or diseases that might befall their children?
Then came the first spark. Flames flared up from one tent to another, and as the fire spread, the first cries echoed through the waking camp. Leonard jolted awake, immediately gripping Yelena’s hand and whispering for her to stay calm. Panic was already erupting outside. Geomancers rushing from their tents suddenly found themselves face-to-face with their attackers. The villagers charged forward, their weapons pointed at everyone around them.
“To the circle!” shouted Nestor, his voice booming like thunder with the shadow of his father’s strength. The startled geomancers instinctively gathered around him. Their hands nearly crackled with the power of their glowing stones, ready for a magical strike. An almost invisible, electrifying barrier surrounded them, conjured by Nestor with the skill to protect those under his command. The torch flames beyond it danced menacingly, reflected in the geomancers' eyes, mirroring the rising tension ready to explode.
“We come in peace!” Leonard cried desperately, holding Yelena close. But his words were met only with shouts and bitter curses. “Please, trust us, we mean you no harm!”
Nestor’s face was stone-cold. “The world cannot be trusted when it’s fueled by hatred,” he whispered to Leonard. “But when we fight, whether against men or anything else, we must be steadfast. We stand at the very edge of promised freedom, and though our pact forbids us from wielding any power other than what has already wounded us, this time, we must break that oath.”
Leonard tensed, his gaze shifting to Yelena, recognizing both fear and a hint of resolve in her expression. She herself had used abilities unknown among geomancers against soldiers in the forest. He realized this battle could not be won with reason or mercy. They were all in a game of life and death.
Suddenly, one of the villagers, armed with an iron spear, broke through the barrier that had protected them until then and lunged at Leonard. Panicking and fearing for Yelena’s life, Leonard hesitated, drawing his golden sword instead of relying on magic, which still felt more natural to him in such a moment. Nestor intervened alongside him. With one swift movement of his hand, he stirred up the wind, pressing the man to the ground. When Leonard saw the power Nestor wielded in such a short time, he felt a chill down his spine. He was grateful for Nestor’s help, yet at the same time, he realized how dangerous the power Nestor possessed as a natural warrior truly was.
Under the dark sky, lit by red flashes, the clash erupted into a brutal, merciless dance of violence and magic. A horde of enraged, fear-driven villagers closed in on the geomancers like a blacksmith’s tongs from both sides—they were everywhere, drawing nearer, shouting! Their faces were twisted with anger and despair. The ground beneath them shook, churning with dust and blood as bodies sank into the soil, every blow, every strike, every spell adding color to the canvas of this relentless battle.
Driven by the will to survive, the geomancers seemed to cast aside their moral restraints entirely. In the glow of the flames, their hands conjured deadly spells, their energies spreading like a wave of devastating force. One of the men collapsed to the ground with a jerk. His skin was seared to an unbearable red, oozing, as if consumed by a fire that bit down to the marrow. His body fell like a puppet cut from invisible strings, lifeless and hopeless.
Beside Yelena, one of the women in the group tried to flee the combat’s reach, running, her eyes wild with fear. But an axe from a man, who charged at her with a look of fierce hatred, found her. The axe’s blade drove into her body, slicing through flesh and bone with a crack like dry wood. She fell, her scream mingling with the mad laughter of the villager who killed her—but it lasted only a brief moment. From the throat of her husband, a geomancer, rose a strangled groan, echoing across the field, laden with torment, fury, and despair. His hand, trembling with rage and the weight of a broken heart, drew forth a force that surged within him like a vast wave from a stormy sea. The man who had delivered his wife’s final blow suddenly halted. His body shriveled as though something unseen was wringing him out. For a brief moment, the air around him seemed to thicken, drawing in on itself like mist, until his body began to tear apart, his skin exploding to reveal his torso full of entrails, which the geomancer, still in a fit of rage, managed to split in two before it hit the ground.
The sounds of breaking bones, crackling fire, and deathly screams filled the air with the sickly scent of burnt flesh. Every blow, every spell cut through the velvet of the night like knives. The bloodied faces of the geomancers shone in the torchlight, their gazes hardened and unyielding, their movements ruthless. Blood dripped from their hands, and their cloaks were stained with bodily remains as the fight continued, terrifying and relentless.
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On the periphery of it all, Leonard, clutching a weeping Yelena close, looked on at the chaos and destruction around him. His eyes widened with horror, his heart pounded as he watched his comrades turn into merciless killers, descending to the ground, now beasts enslaved by their desperation and will to survive. He bore witness to how Nestor, with a stone-cold expression and merciless gaze, unleashed a storm that crushed masses of people to the ground, breaking them, grinding them until their bodies lay battered, half-covered in dust and lifeless.
When the battle finally ceased, a suffocating silence fell upon the death-soaked field. The earth, torn and defiled, belonged to no one now. The flames burned down, casting long shadows on the motionless bodies, while smoke continued to rise toward the sky. Leonard trembled, his breathing ragged, unable to comprehend why this had to happen.
Beside him, Yelena paled and, without warning, doubled over to empty her stomach. The stench of charred flesh and the metallic scent of blood permeated her senses like a poison she couldn’t spit out. Nestor stood nearby, his fists clenched, his expression cold, yet his eyes betrayed a heavy realization: the boundary had been crossed many times over.
The geomancers, once proud guardians of wisdom, now stood among the dead as their tormentors. Leonard shuddered, his gaze flickering over the faces of others, reflecting the same horror. Years of suppressed fear and anger had exploded in this one night, taking their dignity down with them.
No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone knew there was no turning back. They began to leave the battlefield before dawn, knowing that soon, soldiers would arrive to discover the horrors. The path was heavy, stifling, their steps painted with shame as a bloody trail stretched behind them. Every glance back at the field strewn with lifeless bodies haunted them for years to come. Though initially they feared staying close to each other, during the escape, they had no choice but to follow Nestor in silence. They walked with lifeless faces, while the first light of dawn etched against the distant horizon.
When they finally reached a broad stream, the icy water glistened beneath their feet like crystal eyes, watching their penance. In the moonlit surface, they saw not only the mirror of their faces but the weight they carried within. One by one, they knelt by the shore and immersed themselves, letting the cold stream wash over their bodies as if trying to cleanse themselves not only of the battlefield’s grime but of the indelible guilt.
Leonard closed his eyes and submerged his face in the water. The icy water gripped his skin like thorns, but he felt relief. He let his thoughts flow freely, the chill seeping deep into his soul, purifying it. He vowed to lock away this trauma deep within himself and never speak of it. There would be no trace, no word, just a silent secret. Then he rose, his gaze drifting to Yelena—the star of his heart, who, naked and pale as alabaster, desperately scrubbed away the last remnants of the night. In her eyes were the same shadows that would never fade. There was nothing left but to move forward and reconcile with their gnawing conscience.
Two days later, just before the deadline, they finally arrived at the place where Eldrin had first met Leonard. A strong tension, fear, and restless anticipation showed in the eyes of everyone present. Most felt they simply wanted it to be over. They longed for an answer to whether they had made the right choice and whether true freedom awaited them—the freedom they had dreamed of and fought for. Leonard's gaze wandered over his companions, reading these questions and sharing an understanding with them. Yet what he feared most, a fear he could not publicly admit, was that Eldrin might condemn their horrendous deeds and revoke the promise he had made. And that he might not come to the meeting place at all…
Time passed, and the geomancers' patience waned. Soft murmurs turned into cries, loud complaints, and words of doubt. An elderly woman, her face creased with worry and pain, shook her head and declared loudly, “We were deceived by his sweet promises! I can go no further—I would rather die a fool than return if we must.”
Leonard tried to calm the crowd, standing firm with Nestor at his side, whose quiet presence lent strength to his every word. However, when a young man named Sudir shouted into the void, “Abromer was right! He just used us to save his noble hide!” Nestor turned to him with a gaze full of anger. He raised his hand as if to silence Sudir forever, to suppress every voice of dissent that echoed his own inner turmoil. At that moment, his hand was stopped by Nadia; her palm brushed against his, and in that gentle touch, tiny flowers bloomed. Overcome by the beauty of the moment, Nestor allowed his anger to dissolve within them and raised his hand no more.
As the day drew sorrowfully toward its end, some had already started on their way back. Then suddenly, Yelena cried out, her voice carrying an urgent realization into the night air. “Leonard, you have that instrument! How could we not think of it? You must call him with it! Hurry!”
With a trembling hand, Leonard drew forth the ornate golden jaw harp, the instrument Eldrin had entrusted to him at the end of their meeting. He brought it to his lips and struck it gently with his fingers; a deep, resonant sound filled the silence like a dark echo from the hidden depths of the earth. It resonated upward, reverberating further and further, lasting as a faint tremor on the edge of hearing, until it seemed this sound would never cease, rising toward the mountain peaks like an endless song linking worlds.
Then, from the summer sky, snow began to fall, as if it were itself the messenger of that promise. The flakes drifted slowly, their white dance filling the space with sacred tones of silence, soothing the aching hearts of those present. With the falling snow, Eldrin appeared—a majestic Capricorn with a glowing onyx horn, its radiance piercing the darkness like a star at the center of the night. His presence was immense, like an avalanche flooding all present with awe and mysterious calm.
Eldrin descended, carrying an unparalleled ancient authority. When his gaze fell upon the gathered geomancers, they knelt before him in reverent light, and some shed tears of joy. Yelena was among them, smiling, bathed in his glory. When Eldrin turned to Leonard, he bestowed upon him a silent blessing and the faintest smile.
Eldrin then lifted his head to the stars, as if consulting with the ancient lights in the night sky. Each of his movements radiated unshakable dignity. Finally, he charged forward, and his mighty horns struck the hard rock before him with a thunderous blow, as if even it had no choice but to yield to his will. From the depths of the mountains, a narrow stream of light poured forth, gradually expanding into the contours of a perfectly crafted gate, blazing with an aurora. It was a light so pure that they would remember it for the rest of their days, never to be revealed again. It was a moment of redemption—the moment when their faith found fulfillment.