Etro neighed wildly as he urged Guhin to move. Without hesitation, he grabbed the reins with steady hands and swung himself into the saddle. The horse shifted beneath him as Guhin leaned forward, the leather smooth against his palms.

“We have to find him,”

Etro lunged forward, his powerful legs carrying them down the slick, treacherous path. Mud sprayed with every strike of his hooves, the storm raging around them. Guhin’s eyes darted across the mountainside, taking in the devastation the lightning revealed.

Massive trolls, their hulking forms cleaved open, lay scattered along the trail, blood pooling in dark rivers that ran downhill, filled with lost limbs and severed heads.

Guhin’s jaw tightened as his gaze shifted to the masked hunters, dozens of them, their bodies broken and torn, their weapons discarded in the mud.

Along the path downward, the hand of a dead troll was still holding three hunters at once, their bodies crushed together beyond recognition. The troll’s skull was split open, fragments of bone and yellowed teeth sticking in the ground nearby.

This wasn't a battle, it was a massacre, and Bokun had left no survivors.

Etro slowed as they approached the large stone stairs leading down from the summit they had come from. The ancient, overgrown steps descended to a ledge overlooking the vast expanse of Jhorfa. The guardians of these lands, colossal statues on either side of the stairs, stood watch as though they were passing judgment over the entire southern region.

The cascading waterfalls that poured from their hearts thrashed loudly, crashing into the depths below and filling the area with their deafening roar.

Etro halted abruptly as Guhin pulled the reins. He slid from the saddle, his boots splashing against the slick stone. His breath fogged in the cold air as he stepped forward. It was there, that he saw him.

Bokun.

The smiling giant of a warrior stood amidst the carnage, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each breath, his greatsword held loosely in one hand, slick with blood. Around him lay the last remaining hunters, their lifeless bodies spread in a stain of entrails.

Behind him was an archway of stone, marking the boundary between the wilds, and the mountain where they had made camp. It must have taken Bokun all night, fighting from the summit all the way down to its entrance.

The storm began to recede, the thunder rolling farther into the distance until only a low rumble remained. The light of dawn struggled to pierce through the ashen clouds, casting a dim, ghostly hue over Jhorfa.

Bokun’s eyes met Guhin’s as he approached the ledge from above, his blood-smeared face breaking into a wide grin. “Well, look who finally decided to wake up!” he called. “Took you long enough!"

Guhin said nothing, he was speechless. Bokun had been fighting all this time, defending them while Guhin had been lost in a dream, lost in a fragment of his imagination. The battle was over, but the feeling of guilt was heavy to bear. He could see the toll the battle had taken on the smiling giant. Every cut, every bruise was because of him. Again.

He turned his head westward, toward Aryan. The melody was still there, carried on the restless wind. It slithered into his ears like a whisper. Merin's ethereal voice, was calling him...

His hands curled into fists as that ache in his chest returned, that sickening ball of grief that creeps its way in like the sharp pains of hunger. He shut his eyes tightly as he tried to block it out. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“Just a dream,” Guhin told himself. “Just a dream.”

As the words left his lips, the melody faltered. It grew weaker, fading into the storm until it was nothing more than a lingering echo in the back of his mind.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the present, on the man who saved his life, on the idiot, who would throw his life away for someone like him.

Guhin's eyes fixed on the gap infront of the statues, where the land dropped off into nothingness. Without a word, he broke into a run, his muscles tensing as he neared the edge. Most men would hesitate, knowing such a leap was certain death. But Guhin wasn’t most men.

With a powerful push, he launched himself into the air, the wind tearing at his cloak and robes. The falls roared below, but he soared above them, landing with a thunderous crack that sent fissures rippling through the stone beneath him. Rising from his crouch, he straightened and began walking toward Bokun, who waited, bloodied and exhausted.

Bokun’s grin widened as Guhin approached. “You know,” he said, his voice rough but playful, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were showing off.”

Guhin’s eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze swept over the battlefield before landing on Bokun. “Idiot,” he muttered, irritation lacing his tone. “I told you to run, and you agreed.”

Bokun’s grin faltered, turning into a scowl. “Idiot?” he shot back, stepping forward. “If I hadn’t done anything, you’d be dead by now! You can die when our job is finished, you hear me? I don’t care what you do after that...”

Guhin’s eyes widened slightly, the bluntness of Bokun’s words hit harder than he wanted to admit. He had been ready to give up, to let them take him, to let it all end. But Bokun… Bokun had refused to let him fall.

His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment. He couldn’t bring himself to respond. When he looked up, his eyes meeting Bokun’s once more, he nodded, a small, reluctant gesture of understanding.

“Bokun…” Guhin began, his voice quieter now. He didn’t need to say the rest. The nod was enough.

In return, Bokun snorted, rolling his eyes as he waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah, you bastard," he grumbled, though there was no real anger in his tone. "I'm going to start charging you for this, you know."

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A chuckle escaped Guhin’s lips, It was brief but genuine, a sound that felt strange after everything they’d endured, cutting through the tension that had wrapped around him for what felt like forever.

Bokun, still catching his breath, wiped his sword clean before sliding it into its enchanted sheath. The weapon disappeared smoothly, the magic locking it in place with a snug fit.

As the crackels of the storm rolled over the mountains, Bokun’s gaze shifted to the mangled corpses around them. His brow furrowed. “These maggots…” he said, nudging a silver mask with the tip of his boot. “They don’t feel alive, I mean, they look alive, but they don’t fight like it. No pain. No hesitation.” He kicked the mask aside. “What are they?”

Guhin said nothing, his eyes snapped to the sky. Something was wrong. The vortex, the herald of the hunters, didn't vanish completely. It seemed forced to remain open. And then he saw it, inbetween the swirling clouds of grey. A bright flash of gold.

"What is that..." he breathed.

Before Bokun could answer, a bolt of lightning tore through the sky, bathing the battlefield in a harsh, blinding light. Bokun raised an arm, cursing as he shielded his eyes. “Damn it!” he growled, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

When his sight returned, he noticed Guhin's body was tense, his eyes wide with shock. “What’s gotten into you?” Bokun demanded, adjusting the high collar of his fur shirt, which had started to tickle his cheek. He followed Guhin's gaze, and when he did, his breath caught in his throat.

There, standing a few paces away, was an old man, or at least, his face suggested age. His jawline was strong, set beneath a scruffy beard, and his white hair was slicked back, revealing a face that held both the wisdom of years and the strength of someone much younger. The man tilted his head upward, his deep green eyes fixed on the fading vortex above, watching as it dissolved into the storm clouds.

So that’s how he does it, the man mused silently. His gaze dropped to the ground, landing on the pieces of mangled flesh and shattered masks, remnants of the hunters Bokun had obliterated. How he sends those, puppets of his… he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. Zenyo, you sure are crafty—I’ll give you that.

The stranger stepped forward, his cloak swaying with the motion. The white fabric draped over his shoulders hid most of his attire beneath, save for the glint of his black robes, woven with lignings of gold, which fell smoothly over his armored gloves and boots.

Bokun’s fingers twitched toward his greatsword, the instinct to fight roaring within him like a beast straining against its chains. But something about the man made him pause. The way he carried himself, it was different from the hunters Bokun had faced, different, from anything he had faced.

His aura, it was something else entirely than just strength, power or magic—it was supremacy. Absolute controle.

"Where did you come from?" Bokun finally managed to ask, his voice hushed, as if he were afraid to break the strange, heavy silence that had settled over them. "You're not one of them, are you?"

The man didn’t answer. His emerald eyes remained locked on Guhin, scrutinizing him as though peeling back every layer of his existence. The intensity of his gaze made it clear that, for the moment, Bokun was little more than an afterthought.

"Hey!" Bokun barked. He took a step forward as he drew his blade and pointed its tip toward the stranger. "I'm talking to you."

Bokun's words didn't reach him, he was far too focused at studying Guhin, who stood in stunned silence. He’s grown, the man thought to himself. His eyes flickered ever so slightly, softening for the briefest of moments before hardening again It’s a shame it has to come to this.

He closed his eyes, his jaw tightened subtly, along with the lines of his face. Mark my words, Master Seryu. Master Ryusen. I, Myrkhos, will do what should have been done, centuries ago.

Tired of waiting, Bokun’s voice cut through the quiet. “Last chance, old man. Who are you?” He took another step forward, the tip of his greatsword lowering but still ready.

The stranger, Myrkhos, opened his eyes, the vibrant green of his irises seeming to pierce through the gloom. He turned his gaze toward Bokun, but only briefly, as though even that effort was a courtesy.

“There is no need for introductions,” he said at last, his voice steady and calm, the faintest hint of disdain coloring his tone. “I’m afraid we are running out of time.”

From the moment he spoke, Guhin felt the world around him shift. The howling winds, the pounding rain, it all died out. It was as though nothing else mattered, as though his existence had narrowed to this one moment, this one voice.

A flicker of something, ignited inside Guhin, something long buried beneath years of running and fighting, a fragile spark threatening to be extinguished.

Hope.

Could this man be the one to finally give him the answers he so desperately needed? Could he be the one, to finally end his search? He had given up on finding answers long ago, but now, there was a chance, a chance that he might finally understand. Why.

But before Guhin could speak, before he could demand the truth, Myrkhos, moved.

After a deep breath, cracks began to spiderweb outward from beneath his feet, spreading through the stone like creeping vines. The archway behind him groaned under the pressure, crumbling as fractures climbed its surface. Myrkhos cloak began to rise, not by the wind but by the force of his aura. When he opened his hands, the rain, which had been falling steadily, suddenly stopped in midair.

image [https://i.imgur.com/Wbqlhq9.png]

Bokun instinctively took a step back, his boots scraping against the stone as his eyes widened. “What in the—” His words trailed off, the disbelief plain in his voice. “Running out of time for what exactly?! Start talking old man, or I’m done asking nicely!” he barked, while his gaze darted between the suspended rain and Myrkhos.

With a faint, almost imperceptible hum, the droplets began to move. One by one, they were drawn toward Myrkhos. As they spiraled inward, they gathered mass, lengthening and solidifying in his palms.

As the last droplet fused into his creation, the rain that had drenched the land ceased entirely, leaving behind a massive, crystalline hammer that rested in his hands. Myrkhos held it with an ease that belied its size, his grip firm and steady as the air around him vibrated with raw power.

When Guhin saw the weapon pointing towards him, he knew. This man, wasn’t here to help him. Of course not. He was just another hunter, someone else who was there to claim his life.

Myrkhos tilted his head slightly, his attention falling on Bokun. “Step aside,” he commanded. “This does not concern you.”

Bokun’s grip on his greatsword tightened, his knuckles whitening. “Oh yes, it does,” he growled, as he stepped in front of Guhin, his broad frame blocking him from view. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me first.”

The storm surged again, lightning flashing across the sky and illuminating the area in short, bursts of light. Merin’s voice, called from the west like a distant memory refusing to let go. But it seemed to dim further with every second that Myrkhos stood there. Merin, Aryan, even Ishu and Lira, all ceased to exist for a moment.

Guhin had enough.

The answers were here, standing before him, and he wasn’t about to let them slip away. His fists clenched at his sides as he stepped out from behind Bokun. “You know, don't you... you know who I am.” Guhin said, as he slowly raised his hood and locked eyes with Myrkhos. "I’m not letting you leave until you tell me.”

Myrkhos' lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile, an expression that held neither warmth nor malice but something more unsettling. A quiet certainty.

“Then let us begin,” he said, raising his crystalline hammer. His voice was calm, but the promise of violence lay in every word. Let us settle this once and for all, Keeper of Shadows.

Both Guhin and Bokun adjusted their stances, bracing themselves for what was to come. They exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. This was no ordinary foe. This man was in a league of his own, and the battle ahead would be unlike anything they had ever faced before.

Guhin's eyes flicked to Bokun for a last time, the smiling giant standing resolute beside him. Despite everything, Guhin felt something inside of him. Relief, maybe. Or perhaps it was a deeper, more selfish emotion, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge until now. He was glad to have Bokun on his side.

The feeling of wanting to give up, to let it all end, faded. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to die.

Not yet.

GUHIN!