A pair of knights, accompanied by two knight candidates, a devout monk, an eager apprentice to the monk, a venerable priest, and a diligent student of the arcane arts, embarked on a horseback journey along the rugged variant road that meandered toward the bustling harbors of Smyrnia.
The sky was cloaked in clouds, and a brisk wind swept through the air, lending an air of anticipation to the afternoon. The company had endured the arduous journey for a span of ten days, while the meticulous preparations had spanned three days.
"In the heart of the city lies the majestic square, adorned with a resplendent clock tower. And to the south, one shall find the bustling Syphress Bazaar, a haven of vibrant commerce. Behold, Crescent Bay stretches before us, its tranquil beauty captivating all who gaze upon it. And atop the eastern hill, an emblem of grandeur, stands the renowned Velvet Castle," Caleb eloquently elucidated to Christine, who beheld the wondrous city of Smyrnia for the first time. It was truly a gem amidst the realm of Illuthar, its streets alive with the vibrant chaos of life.
The young girl's eyes sparkled with exhilaration as she beheld the breathtaking panorama unfolding before her. The sprawling settlement of the city revealed itself beneath their descending path, as they left behind the winding variant road. Christine's gaze was drawn to the double-story houses with bay windows that graced the western shoreline, exuding an aura of elegance. She couldn't help but draw a comparison between the bustling dockworkers, scurrying like diligent ants, as they loaded cargo onto the colossal ships docked at the expansive harbor.
Throughout the journey, a pervasive silence cloaked the group, their connection and harmony sorely lacking. The stagnant air and tense disposition exuded by their leader, Brad Silverhilt, swiftly infected them all. Even Ismeth, renowned for his buoyant spirit, failed to bask in the fullness and grandeur of the captivating landscape that unfolded before them—an embodiment of life's richness.
Under the embrace of the hills traversed by the road, where olive and eucalyptus trees cast their shadowy tapestries, painters diligently crafted their art, capturing the scene's essence. Reveling in the absence of rain, noble lovers embraced the mid-autumn season with an exquisite nonchalance. These fortunate souls knew how to revel in the present, embracing each moment with an intoxicating blend of blissful indifference.
Unbeknownst to the rest, the seeds of discord had been sown ten days prior, during a fateful meeting where Brad, Ismeth, and Caleb inadvertently set in motion a chain of tensions yet to fully unfurl.
* * *
Ismeth took the lead and stepped into the meeting chamber nestled within the White Fortress's borders. Brad appeared composed, seated upon a small stool beside the crackling hearth, feeding the flames with logs.
"Well, Brad, how have you fared since our last encounter?" Ismeth inquired, scrutinizing the battle-worn warrior's visage.
"I am prepared to embark on the journey," Brad responded, without so much as a glance in Ismeth's direction. "And how do matters stand for you? I heard whispers of a magical wound."
"Merely a trifling scrape," Ismeth replied.
"Why would you undertake such a foolish act, Ismeth?" Brad questioned, now turning his gaze towards Ismeth.
"What do you mean?" Ismeth queried.
"Why did you attempt to trail my footsteps? Why did you embark on an astral voyage?" Brad pressed, his attention now fully focused on Ismeth.
"Are we not partners, Brad? The wizards informed me of your predicament. Without hesitation, I pressed forward. That is all," Ismeth responded, attempting to muster a smile.
"Ismeth, my troubles are mine to bear. There are enigmatic shadows swirling around me, yet to be deciphered. I have no desire to concern myself with your well-being. Never undertake such an act again. That’s an order. Your duty is not to follow me into the depths of damnation," Brad declared, his tone firm.
"Very well, my friend, very well. I shall not engage in argument with you. After all, I am but a humble man. These intricacies lie beyond the reach of my understanding," Ismeth conceded, acknowledging the limits of his knowledge.
"Remain as you are, Ismeth. Such a stance may grant you a longer life. And should you ever seek a new partner, I daresay I could arrange that. Lady Illaine appears to hold my words in high regard these days," Brad replied, his voice tinged with a mere hint of irony.
"I am content as I am, Brad. How splendid it is to tread the path of fame and glory," Ismeth retorted, his perennial grin widening.
Brad appeared ready to offer a cutting retort, yet at the final moment, he reconsidered. Releasing a profound sigh, he slowly rose from his seat, a task that proved arduous for him. Ismeth keenly observed his struggle. With a formal countenance, Brad requested Ismeth to summon Caleb, who patiently awaited outside the chamber.
This particular moment stung Ismeth deeply. As the newly appointed leader of their group, owing to their recent assignment, Brad had adopted a rather formal demeanor towards him, akin to a superior addressing a subordinate. Ismeth had received directives and was subsequently granted a formal invitation to enter the room. All of this felt novel to Ismeth. Although they had been separated for merely a few days, Brad's altered and distant conduct erected a chilly barrier between them. It was premature to ascertain if Ismeth could adapt to this new dynamic, yet it left a subtle wound etched upon his heart.
Caleb stepped into the meeting chamber, his tense demeanor evident as he settled into a chair. Ismeth remained silently in a corner, observing the scene. Brad took his place on the stool near the flickering hearth.
"We have plans for a journey to Lathvaryl in the northern lands, mage. I assume you have received the information. Would you be interested in joining us? Both you and the elf, Asvelas Freethorn," Brad inquired, his expression icy. "I had hoped the elf would be present for this gathering," he added.
"Asvelas had no desire to be here. However, whatever decision I make, Sir Knight, he will comply. What truly intrigues me is what you have been doing since we went our separate ways. Did you cross paths with Ilberius once again? How can I put it? How did you manage to extricate yourselves from that treacherous predicament?" Caleb responded.
"I regret to say that I have few answers to offer, mage. The whole experience seemed like a hazy dream. As I awoke, the details began slipping away from my grasp. I did cross paths with Ilberius. I remember him accompanying me for a time, but then he vanished," Brad explained.
"Knight Silverhilt, I am truly remorseful. The situation spiraled out of control, leaving profound wounds within each of us. It is ultimately my responsibility. My mentor, David, scolded me for it, but that alone is not enough. What I'm trying to convey is... I yearn to unravel the identity of the one who orchestrated this," Caleb expressed with genuine remorse.
"It is plausible that someone who was aware of our presence in the Great Library during our astral travel might be involved," Brad responded without hesitation.
"Do you suspect Asvelas?" Caleb asked, taken aback.
"Or perhaps your mentor, David," Brad stated. Then, turning to his companion, he inquired, "When you embarked on the astral journey, who was tasked with safeguarding your physical vessel, Ismeth?"
"The venerable wizard David," Ismeth replied.
"As I later unearthed, Asvelas was stationed diligently within the confines of the library chamber," Brad divulged.
"Attend closely, noble knight. Your vantage point upon this matter veers grievously astray. The affair, verily, bears complexity. Primarily, Asvelas ventured unto the library's sanctum under the solemn edict of Master David, sworn to safeguard my corporeal vessel subsequent to your utter vanishment..." Caleb commenced his explication.
Brad interjected brusquely, his timbre acrid. "These proclamations of yours resonate as conjecture. I, in turn, forge my own thesis. Inevitably, the truth shall unveil itself," he pronounced, severing Caleb's utterance.
"You are truly ensnared within the grip of madness, valiant knight. Master David, a sage of utmost reverence, has guided Lady Illaine and King Illuen even before the inception of the United Illuthar Kingdom. And he does persist in such guidance till this very hour. These unfounded indictments find no haven for acceptance," Caleb riposted, his voice trembling with ire.
"Then, by all means, make way," Brad uttered serenely.
A fleeting silence enshrouded the gathering.
"Esteemed Knight Silverhilt, I am no connoisseur of politics. The sole knowledge that resides within me is that the wounds adorning your, mine, and Ismeth's backs bear a mystical essence. A rarity of enchantment, if you will. It may bear a fateful significance or perchance something altogether distinct. All I desire is to unearth the perpetrator behind this enigma and pose my inquiries to them," Caleb expressed.
"When I apprehend them, should time allow for questioning, you shall have your chance, wizard," Brad responded.
In that very moment, Caleb beheld a concealed fury simmering within the visage of the knight, who had hitherto appeared composed. An unsettling dread coursed through him, contemplating the potential consequences. "This man brims with an entirely different magnitude of power," he pondered, shuddering involuntarily.
Seeking solace, Caleb abruptly rose from his seat.
"Initially, due to the intricate diplomacy between my mentor and Lady Illaine, I had no intention of broaching these matters, Sir Silverhilt. However, I have reconsidered. Let us speak candidly. In truth, you are not entirely innocent either. One moment, you were a mere knight candidate, and the next, you emerged out of nowhere. You spoke of a mystical artifact unheard of for three centuries, and elusive and enigmatic sorcerers whom no one could fathom. All the city's espionage units and underground organizations were suddenly on high alert. An intercontinental quest commenced." Caleb explained his thoughts, restlessly pacing around the room.
He paused for a brief moment to give some time to Brad to consider his words and continued.
"And during the five days you vanished, mind you, in the autumn, excluding the hundred-year curse, an unprecedented period unfolded in the history of this city. Hail fell from the sky, blanketing the entire metropolis with snow, paralyzing it. Some scholars even feared that if you had slumbered a little longer, the gods would have annihilated the city," the young wizard recounted, taking a deep breath and locking eyes with Brad. "Who are you?" he asked.
"And that's the very question I'm curious about as well. Perhaps that's why, despite all your grumpiness, I want to travel alongside you," he added.
"I am just an ordinary Illuen knight," Brad replied nonchalantly.
"That's where my suspicions arise," Caleb murmured. "Either you will bring about our apocalypse, or you are here to protect us from it," he sighed quietly, gazing at the knight with mixed emotions.
* * *
Derek Derylson and Elphered Gallantstone were taken aback, their spirits shaken, upon receiving the news of their new mission. Derek's ire blazed, flames of anger licking at his core, as he perused the orders, his realization dawning that their commanding officer was none other than the formidable Brad Silverhilt. Elphered, with great exertion, labored to assuage his companion's mounting fury. Eventually, Derek's restlessness yielded to a tempered hope when he learned that this mission held the potential to unlock the gates of knighthood. No longer did he entertain schemes of evading his responsibilities through familial influence; instead, his mind painted vivid portraits of heroic exploits.
"Elphered, can this mission truly bear such weight, such import?" Derek inquired, his voice tinged with both curiosity and doubt.
"I have heard whispers, Derek. They speak of a veiled and treacherous quest, whispered secrets that, if triumphantly unraveled, shall usher forth bountiful rewards. It is clear that discretion is paramount. Your days of revelry and indulgence in taverns must be abandoned until our preparations are complete. Let us dedicate ourselves to unwavering training, arming our souls for the trials that lie ahead," Elphered responded.
Derek contemplated Elphered's words, their gravity settling upon his shoulders like a mantle of truth. He grasped, with newfound clarity, that this mission surpassed his initial expectations. In the depths of his being, a reservoir of resolve surged forth, urging him to cast aside his grievances and focus intently on the task before them.
The path to knighthood beckoned, a path laden with trials and sacrifices. Side by side, Derek and Elphered would confront the perils that lay ahead, unwavering in their resolve to prove themselves worthy of the exalted title they aspired to attain.
Derek acquiesced silently, resigning himself to his fate. Thankfully, they embarked on their journey two days after the mission briefing, sparing Derek from further anticipation and the temptations of his carousing nature.
Even during their brief rests along the road, sword drills persisted without respite. Brad and Ismeth joined their practice sessions, subjecting everyone to their merciless training regimen. The training's objective was simple: the one who successfully disarmed their opponent emerged as the victor.
Bruised and battered, Elphered proved himself as the one who could endure Brad's relentless onslaught the longest, while Ismeth succumbed swiftly to exhaustion. Derek, however, remained under their level, lacking the skill and prowess of his companions.
On the fourth night, gathered around the campfire, Elphered's curiosity could no longer be contained, and he directed a question at Brad. "Why didn't you consider forming a Winged Blade, the elite formation of five pairs?" he inquired.
"The mission necessitates it," Brad replied, his demeanor troubled and weary from sleepless nights. "We must operate as a covert and agile unit," he added, emphasizing the importance of their tactical approach.
"Have you beheld that contemplative enigma?" Ismeth inquired, gesturing towards Shaeala, who was engaged in profound meditation, situated at a distance from the campfire, her form gracefully arranged in a lotus position.
Elphered assented with a nod.
"She is a White Maiden, among Lady Illaine's paramount sentinels, worth the value of at least five of our company," Ismeth remarked, a sly smile playing upon his lips.
"Do not embellish, Ismeth," Derek interjected. "That fragile woman?"
"Put it to the test, Derek. Confront her. Should you emerge triumphant, I shall bear the burden of your travel pack throughout our expedition. But if you falter, you shall serve as my attendant," Ismeth taunted.
Quickly incited by the provocation, Derek rose, prepared to confront the woman, only to be swiftly reprimanded by Brad's stern command. "Remain in your place," he ordered.
"We possess no time for frivolous wagers. Fixate your attention on the mission. Maintain utmost vigilance, as I have underscored previously. Devote yourselves to the duties of the night watch. Even the slightest rustle in the thicket must be reported to me. Unseen adversaries might be observing our every move," Brad warned, faithfully reiterating his admonitions each night before slumber befell them. "Direct your keenest scrutiny towards the elf and the sorcerer," he added, observing the duo from afar.
Asvelas and Caleb occupied separate spaces, preserving their personal boundaries. Priest Centavius, Shae, and Christine found themselves in a distinct corner, maintaining a certain distance from one another. Despite their shared journey, the three groups seemed to keep a deliberate separation. Brad engaged in sporadic conversations with the priest and the monk. Ismeth made an attempt to engage Shae in conversation, only to be met with her lack of interest. Consequently, Ismeth reluctantly turned his attention to Caleb for conversation.
However, one particular observation captured Ismeth's keen interest: the palpable unease exhibited by Christine in Brad's presence. Caleb, too, had not failed to notice this peculiar behavior. Ismeth and Caleb exchanged their mutual observations on the matter.
"I've caught wind of a rumor among the other priests suggesting that the young girl has had a previous encounter with Brad," Ismeth divulged. "Regrettably, due to our hasty departure, I was unable to gather many details. It appears that Brad has a childhood companion... by the name of Maliki, if memory serves me right."
"And... what came next?" Caleb inquired.
"Well, as the story goes, Brad and his companion encountered the girl in an undisclosed location. They claim she possesses the gift of sight, allowing her to perceive ethereal apparitions. In fact, Brad and Maliki purportedly engaged in a fierce battle against these spectral entities, all under the girl's guidance," Ismeth elaborated.
"So did they wield enchanted weaponry?" Caleb asked, his curiosity piqued.
"How would I know?" Ismeth retorted tersely. "The priest who relayed the tale was inebriated, to say the least. He's not much better than that decrepit Centavius," Ismeth commented, casting a disdainful glance at the wine-sipping priest seated across the campfire.
Priest Centavius remained in a perpetual state of indulgence, generously sharing his wine with Ismeth on a daily basis. Intrigued by the man's libations, Ismeth seized an opportunity to surreptitiously inspect the saddlebags and backpack adorning the priest's steed. To his surprise, he discovered no additional bottles apart from the flask the priest carried. It appeared as though the man possessed an endless reservoir of wine—a prospect that consumed Ismeth's thoughts.
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"Caleb, how does this fellow procure such copious amounts of wine every day?" Ismeth inquired, shifting the focus of their conversation.
"Is that your sole concern, Ismeth? We were engrossed in a matter of great import," Caleb rebuked.
"Yes, my curiosity remains unquenched," Ismeth persisted.
"He wields a form of aqueous conjuration. He implores his divine patron for wine each day," Caleb elucidated.
"Well, well, well, look at that. Behold the man's divine prowess, and more significantly, Orion's magnanimous nature within the realm of enlightenment," Ismeth chuckled, grasping the situation to some extent.
"Should we ever find ourselves marooned on a forsaken isle, he would ensure our sustenance and slake our thirst. But let us now return to the matter at hand," Caleb urged him.
"Ah, yes. Where was I? In an antiquated and decrepit edifice, Brad and his comrade chanced upon the girl and, guided by her supernatural aid, engaged in skirmishes. Brad sustained grievous wounds, necessitating an extended stay in the sanctuary of healing. Subsequently, he relinquished his path as a knight of the temple," Ismeth continued.
"What befell his comrade?" Caleb inquired.
"As per my gleanings, his comrade fell in that clash," Ismeth replied.
"Did he perish?" Caleb questioned.
"Nay, he succumbed to an enigmatic force, ensnared within a state of ethereal suspension. The inebriated priest rambled on with nonsensical tales. Lady Illaine, it is said, holds great reverence for that young man, guarding his whereabouts clandestine from his brethren. Only her foremost aides are granted an audience with him. According to the priest, Lady Illaine shields Brad solely to avert the unveiling of this enigma," Ismeth revealed.
"Hmm, this could be an intriguing topic worth delving into," Caleb pondered aloud. "Have you ever discussed this matter with Brad?" he asked Ismeth.
"Are you crazy, man? Brad never spoke a word about his past. And with his current cantankerous, paranoid, and embittered state, he won't reveal anything about his life. If I were to approach him with such a subject, it would undoubtedly lead to a fight," Ismeth replied.
"You're right. He looks ready to erupt in fits of anger at any moment, like a volatile barbarian," Caleb affirmed, offering his support.
Ismeth nodded in agreement to signify he shared the same opinion. Both of them swallowed nervously as they looked at Brad Silverhilt, their throats tightening under the weight of his piercing gaze.
As the seventh night approached, the group trudged onward toward the Baurnavia Mountain Pass, their steps burdened by the weight of their journey, when suddenly, a deluge of rain descended upon them. Having passed through the nearest town during midday, they now found themselves in the sprawling expanse of the Thorbaen Plains, encircled by an abundance of undulating hills. To their right, in the northern reaches, stood the solitary peak of Mount Saphir, perpetually shrouded in a mantle of snow, directing the ominous clouds drifting from the east towards the west. Brad, astute to the shifting weather, felt compelled to make an early decision to halt their progress.
"You have made the wise choice," remarked Priest Cestavius, as he settled down beside Brad. "It seems you are in need," he added, extending his flask toward Brad.
The knight courteously declined the offer. "I must keep my thoughts clear," he briefly explained.
Priest Centavius, a stout man with broad shoulders, reminiscent of a dwarf in many aspects, sat down. His lengthy beard, cascading down to his belly distended from wine, swayed gently as he toyed with it. "You appear fatigued, Brad. It brings back memories of the day I first laid eyes on you, or rather, the day I truly beheld you," he remarked, his smile tinged with bitterness.
"I never dozed off during those interminable history lessons of yours, esteemed priest. If that's what you're alluding to," Brad retorted.
"No, I do not refer to your days of training. I speak of when I first encountered you in the sanctuary of healing. The majority of priests who beheld your wounds believed you would never recover. Even if you did, they predicted you would become a maimed and disfigured man. Yet now, as I gaze upon you..." his words trailed off as he took a deep sip from his flask.
"What do you perceive, priest? Do not hesitate, speak your mind," Brad encouraged him.
"A miracle befell you, and behold, you were made whole. They spoke of Orion's decree, extolled you as the prodigious child. Some even proclaimed you the rightful heir to King Illuen's throne. But do you know what ran through my mind?" Priest Cestavius queried, mirth dancing in his eyes.
Brad regarded the man with a quizzical and sarcastic gaze.
"I surmised that Orion paid you little heed. For when you mended, you appeared as an empty shell. It seemed as though, while your flesh made a full recovery, a fragment of your very soul bore the cost," he expounded.
A profound sigh escaped Brad's lips. "Do you believe I still bear such semblance? Am I but a fractured man?" he inquired.
"Nay, you have misconstrued my words. Subsequently, you burgeoned into an entirely distinct individual. You emerged as one unbound by their expectations or mine. What I have come to apprehend is this: you are a man of singular essence," Priest Cestavius elucidated.
Brad's countenance brightened as he embraced the encomium discreetly threaded within the priest's discourse, for he hungered for such validation amidst these arduous times.
The priest's conversation and drinking persisted. "Alas, every coin has its flip side. On the day you departed the temple, a veil of melancholy descended. None had witnessed Lady Illaine so desolate, to use my own words, akin to an empty vessel since the tragic loss of her husband and child. One might even say since the day they toppled the Emperor. Nevertheless, upon your return, Lady Illaine blossomed once more, infused with vitality. Yet, what fate awaits her when you depart anew? That is the question that stirs my curiosity."
"I left to safeguard your establishment, Priest Cestavius, for I am not of that order," Brad elucidated.
"And that is precisely my contention, dear knight. I perceive it. You perceive it. Any discerning mind can perceive it. But why does the illustrious High Priestess of the grand Orion Temple persist in her denial?" he mused.
"Faith resembles a blade with two edges, esteemed priest. When the outcome fails to match one's fervent expectations, a person either forges ahead or persists in embracing the same falsehood," Brad remarked.
The priest indulged in another profound sip. "May you too discover the truth or the untruth you seek, Brad. For it seems you are in dire need of it," he said, departing with unmeasured and woozy strides, leaving Brad to his thoughts.
With a heavy heart, Brad Silverhilt found himself immersed in profound introspection. What were his true convictions? It had been only a few days since their stay in Barnachia, where he had directed his gaze towards the mesmerizing medallion known as Orion's Eye. The medallion now adorned the pommel of a silver dagger, its hilt shimmering with an ethereal glow.
The priest-blacksmith who had assisted him in the meticulous process of affixing the medallion onto the hilt had ardently proclaimed the unmatched efficacy of pure silver against ethereal beings, reciting sacred invocations throughout the forging of the blade.
Needless to say, this clandestine endeavor, borne from Brad's own beseeching, was shrouded in utmost secrecy, sanctioned solely by the solemn nod of Lady Illaine.
In the teachings of the God of Light, Orion, it was expounded upon the profound potency of the Sacred Light, which emanated from the harmonious fusion of truth, valor, sagacity, righteousness, temperance, integrity, benevolence, unity, and unwavering faith. Embracing all these virtues was deemed essential.
However, in the present juncture, Brad harbored doubt about his capacity to embody temperance and righteousness. A tempest of fury raged within him, and he wrestled with the formidable challenge of curbing the impulse to unleash his wrath unjustly upon another. Suspicion gnawed at his heart as he traversed the path, casting a dubious gaze upon those he encountered, especially Asvelas, whom he consciously evaded, Caleb, and even Ismeth.
Even in his attempts to seek respite through slumber, he found himself startled and abruptly awoken by the most fleeting of sounds. Perpetually besieged by the sensation of an imminent assailant, he labored to maintain an unwavering vigilance. Each passing day exacerbated his descent into a labyrinth of paranoia. The dearth of proper repose inflicted a toll upon his vitality, leaving him enfeebled. The wound etched upon his back remained ensnared in the clutches of unrelenting ache. On the rare occasions he managed to succumb to a fleeting respite, he was ensnared within the inescapable labyrinth of nightmares, their essence marked by a recurring motif.
Through the dense expanse of an enchanted forest, bedecked with majestic trees that reached for the heavens, Brad hurtled down the slope with unwavering determination. The cacophony of his relentless pursuers reverberated through the woodland, interwoven with the whistle of arrows that narrowly evaded their mark. A faithful companion, a bear, bounded by his side, their strides harmoniously synchronized. Such was the velocity of their flight, an embodiment of fluidity and grace.
Together, they descended into a sprawling valley, only to find themselves ensnared in the treacherous snare concealed amidst the rugged crags and hidden crevices.
Emerging from the shadows, masked figures gradually drew near, their identities unveiled in eerie unison. Each of Brad's once-trusted allies, now brandishing weapons infused with potent enchantments and sinister arms wreathed in wisps of ebony smoke, turned against him with malicious intent. In a malevolent onslaught, they unleashed a barrage of deadly assaults.
Night after night, his mind transformed into a harrowing battlefield, locked in an unrelenting clash against the eight shadowy adversaries. Without fail, he teetered on the precipice of defeat, only to be abruptly wrenched from the grips of this desolate nightmare, engulfed in a profound abyss of hopelessness.
* * *
"Arise!" reverberated a piercing cry that rent through the nocturnal air. "Take your positions! We are beset by assailants!" bellowed a voice that stirred familiarity.
Caught in a bewildered stupor, Brad's fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixating upon the enigmatic masked figures encircling their group. Suspended between the realm of nightmares and reality, he faltered momentarily. Yet, as his eyes beheld the fleet-footed archer, his nimble fingers releasing a formidable arrow, comprehension dawned upon him. Seizing his shield with unwavering resolve, he embarked on a furious charge toward his designated quarry.
The frenzied assailant managed to nock another arrow onto his bowstring, but Brad closed the distance with relentless speed. Though the quivering missile veered towards its intended mark, it met its demise against the swiftly raised shield, a reflex honed through countless practices. With a single, decisive strike, Brad sundered the man's chest. And then, he redirected his steely gaze towards the next archer, hurtling towards him with resolute determination.
Abruptly, a brawny figure wielding a battle axe materialized from the concealed depths of a thicket on Brad's left flank. Alas, Brad's notice came too late. However, in a breathtaking display, another shadowy form soared through the air, intercepting the oncoming assailant and redirecting his trajectory astray.
Remain ever vigilant," Shae's voice resounded, addressing Brad, her descent mirroring the grace of a hawk landing upon the earth.
Concealed behind a massive boulder, Derek stood as the guardian of Christine, the woman who had delivered a swift, mid-air kick to the axe-wielding assailant. The spectacle filled him with a mix of wonder and a touch of sorrow. At that moment, he cursed his own envy, for though he harbored admiration for Brad, he did not desire the knight to fall victim to a fatal blow.
Undeterred, Brad surged forward, closing in on the remaining archer. Witnessing Brad's relentless advance, the archer abandoned his bow and took flight. Simultaneously, Ismeth and Elphered engaged in fierce combat against their own adversaries.
The nimble archer proved to be an elusive opponent, deftly navigating the desolate and rugged terrain, skillfully maintaining distance for a prolonged period. However, his stamina dwindled, contrasting with Brad's unwavering endurance.
Eventually, the weary archer succumbed to exhaustion, collapsing within the embrace of a swift-flowing stream that cleaved through a steep hill, where the ancient olive tree boughs bent low. With his sword raised high, Brad commanded the young archer's attention, causing him to turn his gaze, now laden with fear.
"By whose command were you dispatched?" Brad bellowed, his voice reverberating like thunder across the expanse.
"We are but a lowly gang of marauders, my lord. We implore you, spare our wretched lives," the young man implored, his voice saturated with desperation.
"Do not attempt deceit. It was the elven enchanter who set you on this path. Admit it," Brad declared, brandishing his sword menacingly, its cold steel grazing the man's neck.
"Hold, Brad! Be calm," a voice called out from the shadows. It was Ismeth.
"These miscreants are mere cutthroats. No pursuers haunt our trails. I beseech you, quell your fury," Ismeth attempted to assuage him.
Brad clenched his jaw with ferocity, grappling to rein in his tempestuous wrath. He inhaled deep and coarse breaths, a technique honed through trials when his fury threatened to consume him whole.
"That accursed sorcerer lurks nearby, Ismeth. I sense it with every fiber of my being," he roared in a torrent of anger.
"Perhaps, Brad. Yet this man stands apart from their ranks," Ismeth responded. "Now, permit me to bind him," he added, stepping forth with measured caution as Brad receded several paces.
Brad sheathed his sword, granting himself a fleeting moment to regain composure. "When did I fall asleep, Ismeth?" he murmured softly, observing his companion expertly restrain and secure the captive.
"For a span of hours, Brad. It proves fortuitous. Your spirit demanded respite," Ismeth replied, his voice a balm of serenity.
Brad maintained his silence, a semblance of relief washing over him, yet he knew that the recurring nightmares will cast another shadow over the meager respite his few hours of sleep offered. He harbored a sense of urgency, knowing that he must uncover the truth behind that haunting dream before it consumed him entirely.
"In the heat of battle, where were Caleb and Asvelas?" Brad inquired, his voice tinged with concern.
"Asvelas proved himself a formidable warrior. His valiant efforts aided us greatly, and it was he who sounded the alarm. However, I must confess that Caleb's contributions to the fray were rather limited. He is a peculiar wizard, one who disclaims proficiency in combat spells. Instead, he gravitates toward the enigmatic realm of mystic arts," Ismeth responded.
Brad nodded in acknowledgement. "Indeed, I observed Caleb's distinct separation from our ranks.” Then he murmured softly, his words barely audible, “While standing within a realm cloaked in shades of gray."
The aftermath of the skirmish revealed a grim toll: three lives lost, five wounded, and one brigand apprehended in the midst of his desperate escape, culminating in a tally of nine adversaries.
Asvelas discerned additional tracks, suggesting a failed attempt at ambush. According to him, these audacious assailants were not merely opportunistic escapees but rather inexperienced youths who had dared to assault a group of seasoned warriors.
Elphered supported the elf, offering his perspective. "It is plausible that these men, driven by desperation, foolishly launched their attack," he proposed, his voice laced with contemplation.
Shae discretely pulled Brad aside, her voice laced with authority, urging him to assume his role as the team's leader. Simultaneously, she delivered a stern caution, emphasizing the tactical error in fixating his attention on chasing the elusive archer.
"Sir Brad, Lady Illaine's trust in you is what brought me on this arduous journey. However, I must emphasize the folly of needlessly endangering Christine, a captive against her will," the monk-woman's words carried weight.
"Forgive me, Lady Alchanor. I did not request Christine's coerced presence. I never intended for events to transpire in this manner. I merely conveyed my reliance on her extraordinary gifts and expressed my desire for her voluntary companionship," Brad attempted to clarify.
"What's done is done, knight. We find ourselves here now. It is time for you to shoulder your responsibilities. Should doubts plague your mind, seek me out for guidance. I possess ample knowledge of the spiritual realms. Alongside the priest Centavius, I was chosen for this purpose. I can guide you, even through the ethereal planes if necessary," she offered.
Brad nodded solemnly. "At present, I believe that may not be the optimal course of action. My mind... is fatigued, plagued by perplexing nightmares."
"Speak with the priest, knight. Dreams and visions are his domain of expertise. He is present for precisely that reason. Without opening yourself to introspection, new pathways shall remain concealed," she advised.
Brad assured the monk-woman that he would seize the opportunity to confide in the priest, yet for now, he remained ever watchful, traversing the night without encountering further incidents.
The following morn, they ventured into the treacherous Bournavia Pass, where the narrow and sinuous trails wound their way amidst towering mountains. With caution as their guide, they pressed onward, braving the onslaught of fierce winds and sporadic rainfall. As twilight approached, they arrived at the formidable stronghold of Bournavia Keep, where the captured men were duly surrendered.
That night, they were bestowed the honor of being guests within the fortress's walls, indulging in savory feasts before retiring to the embrace of comfortable beds within the snug chambers. The respite proved rejuvenating for all save one.
In the witching hour, Brad abruptly snapped awake, entangled in the clutches of a nightmarish vision. He found himself thrust into a dimly illuminated chamber, its hearth long bereft of flames.
Captain knight Aegean Alcyones, the commander of Bournavia Keep, had thoughtfully arranged a bespoke chamber in the guest quarters, an acknowledgment of Brad's exalted position as the leader of the dispatched company.
Untangling himself from the covers, Brad fumbled in the obsidian darkness, his hands searching for the rough touch of flint to ignite a spark of light. Amidst his efforts, an unusual scent wafted down from the upper floors—a scent that bore all too familiar a signature. The distinct fragrance of smoldering Averan powder had seared itself deep into his memory. Unbridled fury surged through his veins, unyielding. Driven by an unwavering resolve to uncover and confront the perpetrator employing Averan powder, he made a solemn vow.
The parting words of Lady Illaine before their odyssey had commenced reverberated within the recesses of his mind.
* * *
"Why did the High Commander decree the banishment of Averan powder, fair lady?" inquired Brad, his voice laced with curiosity.
The woman regarded Brad with eyes that carried the weight of ages, holding within them the echoes of profound history.
"Ah, Brad, it is a tale that spans time and space. Yet, permit me to pose but one query. Do you presently find yourself engulfed in a state of desolation? Weary to the core, mayhap?" Her words hung in the air, filled with a sense of foreboding.
With a heavy heart, Brad nodded, his gaze cast downward, unable to escape the weight of his exhaustion.
"That feeling shall grow more potent, my dear knight. It shall reduce you to fragments, leaving you adrift in a sea of confusion. For you have ventured into the very crossroads where two realms converge, and its consequences manifest tangibly within our own. Alas, the majority of souls, veiled in their ignorance, perceive Averan powder as naught but a trivial drug, offering them fleeting illusions. They are but shallow beings, their eyes unable to perceive the truth that lies beyond. Yet, I shall unveil the secret to you, Brad. Averan powder is naught but the essence of ashes, remnants from the enigmatic Hatt Realm, intricately intertwined with our own. It serves as the key that unlocks the gates where these two realms entwine, but solely for those whose eyes are touched by enlightenment. Now, dear Brad, do you possess knowledge of the origins of these sacred ashes?"
A faint glimmer of confusion flickered in Brad's eyes as he slowly shook his head, admitting his lack of understanding.
"From the mist-shrouded shores of the long-lost continent, Endrarun, these sacred ashes are gathered," she revealed, her voice carrying a tinge of melancholy. "From there, they embark upon a journey to Tyranny, their essence dispersed across the vast expanse of our world."
A profound sigh escaped her lips, laden with the weight of countless burdens.
"The Empire, driven by a burning fervor, amassed an army of two hundred and fifty thousand souls to exterminate the very source. Cursed be the Archmage Laneth, Illuen believed that the wizard king had unearthed a passage from the Pheone Continent leading to their discovery, concealed beyond the veils of mist... Alas, he was deceived. Nay, it was his supposed accomplices who played him as a pawn in their game, stringing him along until their own desires were fulfilled, only to abandon him, leaving no trace of their malevolence. The gods' sacred pact was shattered, forever altering the tapestry of our existence."
The elderly woman's lips curled into a sardonic smile, as if emerging from the depths of a reverie. "Forgive my meandering, Brad. To be succinct, Averan powder is treacherous. More precisely, those who fathom its true purpose are the ones who wield peril. They become the genuine addicts. It is a wellspring of power, yet its toll is exorbitantly high."
* * *
Initially contemplating ascending the stairs, Brad realized that the weighty door of his room would reverberate with clamor in the stillness of the night. Hence, he opted for the window, endeavoring to muffle any noise. With deliberate gestures, he unfastened the window adorned with a metallic frame, producing a faint, protesting creak.
Ascending onto the window ledge, Brad cast his gaze downward. The chamber he occupied loomed at a formidable altitude, surpassing thirty feet above the ground. The stone blocks lining the window's periphery protruded intermittently, creating niches. Assessing the situation, he surmised that scaling the wall would not prove excessively arduous.
Gripping the gaps between the cubic stones, he commenced his ascent. Despite his sinewy arms ablaze with fatigue, he made swift progress, climbing a level in a remarkably short span of time. Carefully maneuvering to the window's side, he tentatively extended his head inside. Sunlight pierced through the parting curtains, casting its rays into the room. Within, an elf with pointed ears, tresses of brown adorned with fiery streaks, sat in a cross-legged position, eyes tightly shut.
"Come forth, Asvelas, commune with me. Do you perceive his presence?" a voice entreated. It resonated with the timbre of Caleb's voice.
"Nay, the entity abides within this edifice. Its essence lingers close, yet veiled from my sight," the elven seer responded, his eyes sealed shut, enunciating in a listless and lethargic cadence.
"Indeed, I speak of that very being. I harbor trepidation, Asvelas. A seasoned sojourner or a pernicious specter lurks nearby, concealed from our gaze."
The strain in Brad's sinews burgeoned, burdening his arms with growing weariness.
"'Tis akin to... to an eternal clash betwixt two ethereal forces," Asvelas voiced, his tone trembling.
"Two spirits, you say?" Caleb sought clarification.
"Aye, albeit one diverges remarkably. It is of profound intricacy, whilst the other is simpler. Yet, within and without… they seem conjoined."
"Ah, you spin enigmatic webs, my companion. Yet, an inkling of comprehension stirs within," Caleb averred, his eyes ablaze with understanding.
At that precise moment, Brad's grasp faltered. His vision dimmed, and he endeavored to propel himself towards the window.
Caleb, attuned to the voice, hastened to the casement.
Summoning the last vestiges of strength, Brad clung precariously to the precipice of the window ledge, his fingertips gripping with desperate tenacity.
There, he glimpsed Caleb parting the swathing drapery. In the interlocking of their gazes, tension pervaded the atmosphere.
Then, gripped by panic, Brad relinquished his hold. He hurtled earthward, hurtling toward the jagged embrace of the rocky abyss below.