The crackling of the campfire filled the night with a warm, comforting sound, though the tension between Guhin and Bokun had only just begun to ease. The flames danced in the darkness, casting flickering shadows on their faces as they sat across from each other, the uneasy alliance still fresh in their minds.

Bokun, breaking the silence, reached into one of his saddlebags and pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. He tossed it to Guhin, who caught it with a raised eyebrow. “Here, take this. It’s not much, but it’s better than starving,” Bokun said, his tone gruff but not unfriendly.

Guhin’s stomach growled loudly, a reminder of how long it had been since he last ate. He unwrapped the bundle to reveal strips of dried meat. He tore off a piece and began to chew slowly. Bokun did the same, though his focus remained on the fire, as if lost in thought.

Even though Guhin had agreed to help Bokun, even if it was for Ishu, his mind stirred with doubts. Could he really protect the village—or would his presence only bring more harm? Surely there was someone else who could handle this, someone more suited, someone who wasn’t… him. The Court of Thalos, perhaps? If the guards in Aryan knew of their passage, the Court must know as well.

He looked over at Bokun, catching a flicker of frustration in the man’s eyes. “Couldn’t the Court of Thalos deal with her? Maybe they can help us?” Guhin asked cautiously. “If the guards in Aryan knew about you, I'm sure—"

Bokun interrupted him with a snort, a bitter laugh escaping. “Thah! Those wizards and mages up on their high horses. And that damned Thalos—how old is that bastard anyway?” He shook his head, gaze sharpening as he looked at Guhin. “By the time they’ve noticed, it’ll be too late. Besides, you’re a Valherian, aren’t you? Have you ever seen them actually lift a finger for Valherya?”

Guhin didn’t answer right away, and Bokun continued, his tone edged with irritation. “They’re too busy with their own problems in the north. Their precious Holy City, or whatever they call it. They've been at war with their own people for years.” He glanced back at the fire, his voice lowering. “The Court of Thalos is good for one thing—keeping their noses buried in their own affairs while the rest of you fend for yourselves. And they dare to call us barbaric; they’re no different, I can tell you that for free.”

Guhin nodded slowly. He’d heard the stories—rumors of how the Court turned a blind eye to anything beyond their borders, leaving the people of Valherya to face threats alone while they stayed safe within their sanctum, high up in the northern capital of Iyen. They had a twisted sense of duty, one that served only themselves.

The silence returned, heavier with a shared understanding. Guhin chewed on the dried meat thoughtfully, the bitterness of Bokun’s words settling into his mind. He studied the flames for a moment before he spoke again. “So, this Merin… who is she exactly?”

Bokun’s expression darkened as he prepared to reveal the truth. He met Guhin’s steady gaze with a seriousness that was unusual for him. “Merin… she’s the granddaughter of Marheen.”

Guhin’s brow furrowed slightly, a rare display of interest crossing his usually impassive features. Marheen—he’d heard that name whispered in the shadowed corners of Aryan, mentioned in the old folktales passed down by the village elders. A name that carried the legacy of a legend, a man who had almost brought the entire continent of Furiël to its knees.

Bokun continued, sensing the shift in Guhin’s demeanor. “Marheen was once the greatest wizard Furiël had ever seen,” he explained, his voice steady, filled with the reverence one might reserve for a fallen hero—or a dangerous enemy. “Even our Academy was named after him, a place in our capital, Ishaldar, where the most gifted of our kind were trained in magic. He mastered every element, bent them to his will as if it was his birthright. But it wasn’t enough. Marheen wanted more… more power, more control. He betrayed everything he once stood for.”

Guhin remained silent. He recalled the tales from Aryan, the way the elders would speak of Marheen with a mixture of awe and fear. They said Marheen’s ambition knew no bounds, that he’d delved into magics that should never have been touched. His treason wasn’t just against Furiël—it was against the very world itself.

Bokun’s voice grew harsher as he recounted Marheen’s downfall. “His hunger for power led him down a path he couldn't return from. He sought to control the very essence of life and death, to become a god among men. But the others, the wizards of our council, discovered his treachery. Before they could strike, Marheen fled from the Academy, vanishing without a trace.”

He paused, spitting into the fire, the hiss of it swallowed by the flames. “But he didn’t leave alone,” Bokun continued, his tone growing darker. “He took his most gifted student with him—Merin.”

Bokun’s eyes flickered toward Guhin. “Rumor has it Marheen had been preparing her in secret, passing on his knowledge and ambitions. Wherever he is now, they say his legacy lives on through her.”

image [https://i.imgur.com/uONBmUR.png]

Bokun leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low tone. “They call her ‘The Witch of the East’ for a reason. She’s inherited more than just his talent for magic—she has the same hunger for power.”

Guhin repeated her title, almost to himself, “The Witch of the East…”

Bokun looked back at the fire, his voice bitter. “And now we've unleashed her in Valherya.”

A low whisper stirred in the back of Guhin’s mind, filled with amusement. She sounds... delightful.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Guhin allowed the silence to stretch between them, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the cold night air. Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice as measured as always, yet with a hint of curiosity. “If she’s so talented, how did you capture her then?”

Bokun smirked, but it was a smile without humor. “I didn’t. She was captured when I was overseas. Well... I shouldn’t say captured.”

Guhin’s gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”

Bokun continued. "When I returned to Ishaldar, she was already there, bound in the Ropes of Kāro, just... waiting. I didn’t even know what she looked like until she was handed over by the Academy."

He paused, his gaze distant. “Everyone always talked about her—said she looked young despite her age, with hair dark as night. But when I finally saw her… she looked worn, tired. Only her eyes matched the stories—those blue eyes, there was something about them. But after that first look... I knew. It was her.”

He glanced down, as if considering the strangeness of it all. “Since I’m the only one who knows how to navigate the eastern sea, they tasked me with escorting her to Erduwyn—the land of the druids—where she will be banished for all eternity. A fate we consider worse than death.”

Guhin leaned forward. “I’ve heard banishment is the same as being sent to hell. But why Erduwyn?”

Bokun’s gaze drifted to the fire again. “Erduwyn… It’s not just any place. It’s the only place for true banishment. The final stop for those who’ve crossed the line—far beyond what ordinary bars of steel and iron can hold... The druids there are the keepers of forbidden magic, secrets that even the oldest wizards have only dreamed of. Their prison doesn’t rely on walls or steel. Erduwyn itself is alive with enchantments that devour magic and willpower alike. Once inside, you’re cut off, trapped in a silence that swallows every cry, every thought, until nothing remains.”

He paused, his tone lowering before continuing. “When someone is sent to Erduwyn, they’re not just locked away. They’re erased, made to suffer in ways you can’t imagine. It’s not a place you go to serve time; it’s where you go to be forgotten.”

Guhin’s gaze remained steady. “So how did the Academy capture her then?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. “How did they manage to bring her in?”

Bokun sighed, his frustration evident. “That’s just it… they didn’t either. According to the reports, one day Merin… turned herself in,” he said, his eyes reflecting the flames. “She walked right up the grand steps of Ishaldar. No one saw it coming. The city was in shock—this feared witch, who had evaded capture for so long, walked straight into the heart of our stronghold and surrendered without a fight.”

Guhin’s eyes narrowed, trying to understand. “Why?”

Bokun shook his head, his own confusion still fresh in his mind. “I don’t know. The Academy, our Council, maybe the whole continent, had been hunting her for years, and she was always a step ahead, just like her grandfather... She knew she’d be banished if she was caught. She knows what happens to people who are sent there. Anyone with her power would fight to the death before being sent to Erduwyn… unless…”

Guhin muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Unless what?”

Bokun looked him in the eyes. “Unless there’s something she’s after. No one, especially someone as cunning as Merin, would willingly go to hell without a reason.”

Guhin’s interest deepened. “She might be using Erduwyn to get to something—or someone—else.”

Bokun nodded grimly. “Exactly."

Guhin studied Bokun for a moment, his gaze sharp. “You told me you didn’t even know what she looked like before you met her?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his tone. “And you were overseas when she brought herself in... If you ask me, you don’t seem very… involved in Furiël.”

Bokun’s jaw clenched, and a flicker of irritation crossed his face. “Believe me, I’m as ‘involved’ as they let me be. The council keeps me in other lands—I do the dirty work before it ever reaches Furiël’s borders. They don’t need me in Ishaldar; they need me out there, on their orders, without asking questions.”

He looked away, a flash of bitterness in his eyes. “They didn’t need me to bring her in—only to make sure she reached her destination without incident.”

Guhin gave a slight nod, still unconvinced but letting it go. “So they just handed her over to you?”

Bokun’s gaze hardened. “Yes. I told you—I’m the only one who can navigate the eastern seas. That’s why they gave me the job, and damn right they did. Whatever she’s after, I’ll make sure she’s banished from this world.

The fire crackled in the silence that followed, the weight of Bokun’s words settling like a vow. But Guhin’s gaze remained skeptical. “Why take her all the way to Erduwyn?” he pressed. “Why go through the trouble when they could have dealt with her in Ishaldar? She surrendered, why not just get rid of her there?”

Bokun’s jaw clenched, a flicker of irritation flaring in his eyes. “You think I haven’t thought of that?”

Guhin’s expression didn’t waver. “Then you should’ve said no.”

Bokun let out a short, bitter laugh. “Say no?” He shook his head, glancing away toward the fire. “We Royal Guards don’t get the luxury of saying no when we’re given orders. Besides,” he added, his tone darkening, “my father would have my head on a stake if I even thought about refusing the council’s request—let alone failed them.”

Guhin raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping into his voice. “I doubt a father would have his own son killed.”

Bokun’s smile faded, replaced by a look of bitter resolve. “Any father with a right mind wouldn't. But a king…”

He paused, letting the weight of the words settle between them. “A king is a different story. My father… he’s a man of iron will and colder steel. To him, I’m just another pawn in his game—a piece to be sacrificed if it serves the greater good of the kingdom.”

For a moment, the words hung in the air, their meaning slowly sinking in. Guhin’s eyes narrowed as the realization dawned on him. “You’re… a prince?”

Bokun stood up, a hint of amusement returning to his expression as he walked over to Guhin. “That’s right,” he said, extending his hand. “Before I could properly introduce myself, you decided to show Etro the palm of your hand, you asshole.”

He reached out his hand, his tone formal. “My name is Bokun ‘Ursus’ Khell, Prince of Furiël, and head of the Royal Guards.”

Guhin’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by the revelation. He didn’t even remember his own true name, but as he considered Bokun’s outstretched hand, he hesitated. He had already introduced himself that morning, after their fight, but something about this moment made him feel the need to reaffirm who he was.

For as long as he could remember, he’d called himself Guhin, yet there was always a quiet doubt lurking in the back of his mind—a lingering question of who he truly was beneath the name on his amulet. The letters scratched on the back of its worn golden frame, as if they didn’t belong there at all.

In these moments of doubt, Fukujin had always been there, tapping insistently on the amulet, and then on his forehead. Though he wasn’t nearby now, the memory of those taps gave him a sense of clarity, as if Fukujin were still urging him to hold onto what he knew.

Finally, Guhin extended his hand, though there was a moment’s pause before he spoke. “My name is Guhin.”

As their hands clasped, a quiet whisper slithered through his mind, cold and mocking. Liar... The word echoed within him, making him tense for a brief second.

But he held Bokun’s gaze, determined to stay true to the name Fukujin had led him to, even if it wasn’t.

Bokun’s massive hand nearly swallowed Guhin’s forearm in the grip. He gave a firm shake, a grin spreading across his face as he said, “There. That’s more like it, you little shit.” His deep laugh filled the quiet around them.

GUHIN!