We step out of an abandoned storage shed near the edge of an orchard. Beyond the thin, spindly trees that surrounded us, the faint outline of a stone fence could be seen. The smell of salt that tinges on the chilly air told me that we were nearer to the coast than not. Nyt steps towards it, and I stop her with a raised arm.

A chariot of some deep red metal rushed by on squealing wheels rushes by pulled by animals with the shapes of horses stripped of all skin, flesh, and muscle, replaced by bounded brier weaving in and out of hollow bones. Satyrs, armed and armored march alongside it. It was obvious that they were preparing for something. At the very back of their ranks, I spot the figure of something I hadn’t seen for a while: a dogman. It pauses at the side of the road, and its eyes dart into the orchard. Shit.

I slip into Shadow’s form and dart into the spindly tree. Nyt follows after me, hiding perfectly within the curving shadows. The dogman steps over the stone fence and into the orchard. On his back, a spear, and on his chest the symbol of the White One on his white tunic. Black fur pokes out from the chain around his neck as his yellow eyes pierce through the darkness. He’s about the size of a human but walks with the presence of a giant. As he steps closer and closer to the door, I notice a faint white steam coming off of his body. He hisses and stops about a dozen and a half feet from it.

“Emissary Agert, are you well?” A bleating voice calls from the road.

A stately-looking satyr trounces in over the stone gate, but he stops about thirty feet from this dogman.

“I am. I thought I saw something stir here, now I think it’s just this old mind of mine playing tricks.” He pivoted on the heel of his padded foot.

“Let’s get back to port, Cypra.”

“I do not know how you can stand being so close to that thing.” The satyr says, “Just stepping into the orchard is enough to make my skin start bubbling."

“Agert…” Nyt whispers once she’s sure that they’re far enough away.

I hop down from the tree and shift into my normal form.

“Do you know the name?”

“Of course. He’s one of the generals responsible for the fall of the Irian Kingdom, and the one responsible for breaching the Western Walls of the City of Athet’s Reach.”

I suppose that Athet’s reach is what that massive walled city is called. Through the night, I can see her fingers tremble as she contemplates if she should jump out and kill him right now.

“Eager?”

Nyt nods.

“He’s responsible for the death of millions of my kind. Why wouldn’t I want to?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The corners of her mouth pulled as she fought the burgeoning nervous grin. I can feel the pull of mana beginning to coalesce around her fingertips.

“Let’s go find somewhere we can set up as a base,” I whisper, as I move through the shadows.

The suggestion knocks Nyt out of her temporary trance. The low light bleeding through the canopy that had been gathering around her dissipated into the shadows. Nyt went first and crept to the edge of the orchard to scout out the roads that encircled it. She motions for me to follow, and I do so; stepping as lightly as I could through the fallen, dried leaves as I make my way to the very edge of the treeline. She darts out of the cover and springs forward, as I linger at the edge of the orchard; taking in the view.

To our right, a large mountain range; packed with snow at the very top, encircled the small village we find ourselves in. On the top of each of these peaks was a different statue; one that held a spear, one that held a bow, and one that held a staff. The fogwalls start well before either of them, however, and extend downward in the other direction. To our left, down the cobblestone road and a gentle slope stretched out the sea, and a port where five separate ships sat bobbing up and down the ebbing and flowing tides. The fogwall terminated about half a mile away from the port.

“Lawrence!” Nyt whispers loudly, “Hurry!”

I follow after her; sprinting across the street, and ducking into a nearby building; a stone hovel with vines winding their way over and through the woods, grass poking through the cracks in the stone floor leading up to the front door; a squat, wooden thing attached to a wood frame in the wall. A single chimney with black smoke billowing out of it sits at the very top of the square roof, and plants in clay pots line the edge of the roof that contain some of the roots of these vines that wound their way in and out of the walls. Similar buildings sit in neat little rows, bisected by two cobblestone streets that climb up toward the distant peaks away from the sea, and small alleys between every house that connected the two.

A single satyr body; pierced through the head with an arrow of light and stuck to the wall, was the only thing…well, not living anymore. Aside from that, there was a small round table in the middle of the tiled floor, near the fireplace, where a large pot of bubbling stew sat on a rack hanging over the orange flames.

“Are we making this our base?” I ask as Nyt dismissed the arrow of light, and caught the falling satyr.

“For now. What do we have to do here?”

I lift my wrist. Nyt steps behind me and peeks from behind my arm.

“What’s the goal for this dive?”

Kill the Corrupted Godbeast.

Shit. A level 80 godbeast? This is going to be tough.

“I wonder what the godbeast will be? A Glass Owl?” Nyt taps her chin with one of her claws. “Or a Black Coatl?”

Seeing as we were in the land of the Mykos, probably the godbeast of Shel; the Patron God of the fox-like people.

“We should probably locate Seth before doing anything else.”

I want to fight as little as possible and get Seth home safely as well, so I sit cross-legged on the floor.

“Gah-tay, gah-tay, para-gah-tay, para-soom-gah-tay, bodhi svaha…” I repeat the mantra over and over again with the thought of, ‘Seth,’ until I’m able to expel my consciousness from my body and out of the house. Upwards I send it, spiraling out through the roof and into the skies until I’m overlooking the entire dive. The dive itself was long and narrow; terminating at the base of the climb up to the snow-capped peaks. The cobblestone streets end at a boulder fall, that led up to a long gray stone plateau and continued over a narrow channel that might have once been a waterfall.

The cobblestone streets were filled with marching satyrs, minotaurs, dogmen, and a variety of brier-bound creatures all moving toward the ships bobbing and bumping against the dark wood docks. The streets themselves were long and narrow heading up toward the mountains. Once the two rows of street reach the orchard it splinters off to completely encircle it. Beyond the orchard was a large port town that pressed against the beach. On either side of the port-side town, the roots of the mountain stretch far into the waters of the sea; creating a protective cage around the town.

My vision blinks through the crowded town toward the mountains; over the small port town we found ourselves in, and over the satyrs marching through the streets toward the port.

I can feel the wind howling through my body as I move forward toward the very edge of the fogwall, into a small mine, now a tunnel that spiraled down into a cavernous underground lake. A small fire burns at the banks of the large shore of the underground lake, and there I see him: a black-haired man with fierce, piercing blue eyes, cooking something over the small fire.

My consciousness snaps back into my body.

“Found him,” I say to Nyt, who was busy making herself a bowl of the stew that had been left in the pot.