The night was still. Too still.

The only sound was the slow shifting of armor and the distant snorts of restless horses. The bridge, few minutes ago a place of silent ambush, was now the center of a deadly standoff.

Eloken stood with his sword lowered, his mind racing through every possible outcome. He, Gotak, and Zosima were outnumbered more than ten to one. Vaerin Malrik, heir to Lord Malrik’s estate, sat atop his black stallion, a picture of effortless confidence. His golden-stitched cloak draped over his armored shoulders, the hilt of his sword catching the moonlight.

From the opposite side of the road, Captain Gaelin and his soldiers tightened their grip on their weapons.

“Quite the mess you’ve made,” Vaerin said, his voice smooth and measured. He dismounted with a casual grace, as if he had all the time in the world. “My father will be very displeased.”

Eloken didn’t respond. He knew better than to waste words when outnumbered.

Gaelin, however, had no patience for theatrics. “Surrender now,” he barked, stepping forward. His scarred face twisted into something between a scowl and a sneer. “You’ve nowhere to run, and Lord Malrik has no interest in wasting more men on you.”

Gotak shifted beside Eloken, his fingers twitching around the handle of his spiked mace. “If he didn’t want to waste more men, he shouldn’t have sent so many.”

Zosima chuckled, twirling a dagger between her fingers. “Oh, Captain, why so nervous,” she mused, tilting her head at Gaelin. “You are not as charming as you presented yourself in the tavern, I see.”

Gaelin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That mouth of yours is going to get you killed, girl.”

“She does have that effect on people,” Eloken said.

Vaerin took another step forward, hands resting lightly on his belt. “Enough,” he said, though there was no urgency in his voice. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You three lay down your weapons, and my father will see to it that your deaths are... painless.”

Gotak let out a low laugh. “See, that doesn’t sound like much of a bargain.”

Vaerin shrugged. “That depends on how much pain you’re willing to endure before you die.”

The silence stretched. The wind stirred the trees, sending dry leaves skittering across the dirt path.

Eloken took a slow breath. Think.

They couldn’t fight their way out—not against this many. But surrender was out of the question.

That left one option.

A gamble.

His grip tightened on his sword, and he slowly raised it, pointing the tip at Vaerin.

“If you want me,” he said, voice calm, “fight me for it.”

A ripple of amusement spread through the soldiers. A few chuckled. Others murmured among themselves.

Vaerin’s lips curled into something resembling a smirk. “You want a duel?”

Eloken nodded. “One-on-one. You win, we surrender.”

“Dangerous wager,” Vaerin said. “What do you get if you win?”

“I take my people and walk away.”

Gaelin scoffed. “You think Malrik would allow that?”

Eloken didn’t take his eyes off Vaerin. “You’re his heir. If you give your word, he’ll honor it. Or are you afraid you’ll lose?”

The words hit their mark. Vaerin’s smirk flickered, just for a second. He glanced at his men, then back at Eloken.

And then he laughed.

A deep, amused laugh, like he had just heard the greatest joke in the world.

“Fine,” he said. “I accept.”

Zosima and Gotak both turned sharply toward Eloken, but he gave them the slightest shake of his head. Trust me.

Vaerin unfastened his cloak and handed it to a nearby soldier. He stretched his arms, then unsheathed his dueling sword with a practiced flick. The polished steel glinted under the pale moonlight, its razor-sharp edge a testament to the wealth and training behind it.

Eloken exhaled slowly, adjusting his stance. The weight of the sword in his grip was familiar, grounding. He watched the way Vaerin moved, the way his fingers flexed around the hilt. This wasn’t a man who hesitated. This was a killer.

The world around them seemed to still. The soldiers, both Gaelin’s and Malrik’s, formed a loose circle around them, their expressions ranging from amusement to anticipation. A duel was always a spectacle, even in the midst of a manhunt.

Zosima and Gotak stood a few paces behind Eloken, their weapons still in hand, tense but motionless. They knew this fight wasn’t about skill alone—it was a distraction, a gamble to carve out the slimmest chance of escape.

Vaerin smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Let’s see what you have, then."

And he lunged.

Eloken barely had time to react.

His blade clashed against Vaerin Malrik’s in a shower of sparks. The force of the strike sent a numbing vibration up his arm, but he held his ground. Vaerin was fast, his movements precise, the sign of a noble trained in the art of dueling from birth.

But Eloken wasn’t playing by the rules of nobles

He twisted his wrist mid-parry, shifting the angle of his blade and forcing Vaerin’s sword to slide off-course. In that fraction of a second, he kicked forward, his boot slamming into Vaerin’s knee. The duelist stumbled, cursing under his breath.

Eloken turned sharply and met Zosima’s gaze. Now.

Zosima moved first. She lunged, not at Vaerin, but at the soldier nearest to her, her daggers flashing in the moonlight. She sliced across his arm, forcing him to drop his weapon. Chaos erupted.

Gotak roared, swinging his mace in a wide arc, catching one of Gaelin’s men in the chest and sending him sprawling.

"Stop them!" Gaelin bellowed.

Eloken didn’t need to hear it twice. He grabbed Zosima’s wrist, yanking her back as the three of them broke into a dead sprint toward the tree line.

Behind them, Vaerin’s voice rang out. “Don’t let them escape!”

The night exploded with motion.

They darted through the dense forest, weaving between towering trees, the underbrush clawing at their legs. Behind them, the sound of hooves and shouted orders grew louder. Malrik’s men were in pursuit, and they weren’t just running them down—arrows whistled through the trees, striking bark and slicing through the air dangerously close.

Gotak grunted as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. “We need to lose them fast.”

“We’re working on it,” Zosima shot back, her breathing quick..

Eloken glanced behind him. The soldiers weren’t relenting. Archers had positioned themselves at a distance, loosing arrows in a relentless assault, luckily dense forest was providing a decent cover, but then Gotak let out a strangled sound. He stumbled forward, barely catching himself against a tree.

Eloken’s stomach dropped. An arrow jutted from Gotak’s shoulder.

“Shit,” Zosima cursed, grabbing his arm. “We have to keep moving.”

Another arrow sliced through the air—this one embedding itself deep into Gotak’s back.

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Gotak stumbled, his knees hitting the dirt. His breathing was ragged, but he still managed to grip his mace, planting it against the ground as if it alone would hold him upright.

“Gotak!” Eloken moved toward him, but Gotak raised a shaking hand.

“No—” he gasped. “No time.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Zosima snapped.

“You have to.” Gotak’s voice was strained, but unwavering. He forced himself to his feet, staggering slightly before finding his balance. He turned toward the approaching soldiers. “I’ll hold them off. Buy you time.”

Eloken clenched his jaw. “We can find another way.”

Gotak gave him a bloody grin. “This time, you don’t have time for another way.”

Another arrow whistled through the air, narrowly missing them.

Zosima hesitated, her hands clenching into fists. But she knew the truth. Gotak was already dead.

She turned toward Eloken. “We have to go.”

Eloken’s breath caught in his throat. He met Gotak’s gaze one last time, nodding.

Gotak smirked. “Don’t waste this.”

Then, with a roar, he turned, charging toward their pursuers.

This time Zosima grabbed Eloken’s wrist, yanking him forward as they ran.

The terrain became rougher, the incline steeper. They were heading away from the city, deeper into unfamiliar ground. The shouts behind them were growing fainter, but not because Malrik’s men had given up. No. They were closing in, driving them toward something.

Then they saw it.

The cliff.

Eloken skidded to a halt, dirt and loose stones kicking up at his feet. The drop stretched below them—a sheer rock face leading down to jagged rocks and a winding river far, far below.

Zosima turned, cursing under her breath. Behind them, the torchlights of their pursuers flickered between the trees.

They were out of time.

Vaerin emerged first, his sword still in hand, his expression infuriatingly composed. Behind him, Captain Gaelin and a dozen soldiers spread out, weapons ready.

Vaerin tilted his head. “That was not in heart of duel.” But what to expect from a low life thief and con artist.”

Eloken took a slow step back. The edge of the cliff was less than two feet behind him. Zosima stood beside him, her breathing steady despite the situation.

Gaelin sneered. “You are done, I am going to enjoy killing you two once Lord Merlik is done with you.”

Eloken exhaled. He looked at Zosima.

She met his gaze.

Neither of them needed to speak. They understood.

Zosima smirked. “Well, if we die, at least we don’t have to listen to him talk anymore.”

Eloken chuckled. “You can always find a a silver lining.”

They moved in unison.

Zosima grabbed his hand, and together—they jumped.

The last thing Eloken heard was Vaerin’s voice, sharp and angry.

Then the world vanished beneath them and the darkness swallowed them whole.

The wind howled past Eloken’s ears as he plummeted into the abyss.

His body twisted violently midair, his stomach lurching as he fought for control—as if there was anything to control in a fall like this. Zosima’s grip on his hand was iron-tight, her nails digging into his skin. The rush of cold air burned against his face. He barely registered the sound of Vaerin shouting something above them, lost to the wind and the thunder of his own heartbeat.

Then—impact.

The world cracked apart.

Pain unlike anything he had ever known surged through him as he slammed into a slope of jagged rock before tumbling the rest of the way down. The force of the landing wrenched his arm free from Zosima’s grasp. Everything spun. Rock. Water. Darkness.

He didn’t even feel himself hit the bottom and for a for a moment, there was only silence as he drifted into unconsciousness.

The pain awoke him.

A searing, all-encompassing pain that rooted him to the cold, wet ground. His chest heaved, but breathing sent daggers through his ribs. He tried to move his fingers, to assess the damage, but even that sent tremors of agony through his limbs. His legs wouldn’t move. His left arm was completely useless. His right… barely responsive.

He was broken.

And he wasn’t alone.

Through the haze of pain, his blurred vision settled on a form lying just a few feet away. Zosima.

She wasn’t moving.

Eloken tried to speak, but only a choked rasp escaped his lips. He forced himself to move, dragging his barely functioning arm against the ground, trying to inch toward her. Each breath came shallow, and his vision blurred at the edges. If he could just reach her…

Then the world around him shifted.

A presence.

He wasn’t alone.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Shadows twisted at the edges of his vision, stretching unnaturally in the pale moonlight. Then they solidified, stepping into view like specters from a half-remembered dream.

Four figures. Hooded. Featureless. Impossible.

Eloken forced his head up, barely able to keep his consciousness together. “What…” His voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Who are you?”

The tallest of the figures stepped forward. Its voice was not one, but many—layered and ancient, like a chorus of whispers echoing through time.

"Am I dead?" Eloken asked.

“You are not dead Kryon Thormwol. But you are close.”

His breath caught in his throat. How do they know my name? My real name.

The second figure knelt beside him, and for the first time, he saw their eyes—made of bluish mist, glowing, unnatural.

“You are awakening.” The figure said, voice coming from all directions.

Eloken swallowed thickly, his mind struggling to grasp what was real and what wasn’t. He felt like he was floating, trapped between consciousness and something else entirely. His pain was still there, but distant, muted by the sheer impossibility of the moment.

“Awakening?” he managed to whisper. “What… what are you talking about?”

The third figure extended a hand, and suddenly—Eloken saw.

Not with his eyes, but with something deeper. A pulse of energy rippled through him, and in an instant, he felt it— what later he would find out was Vit. For some reason everything was clear, as if that figure was leading him through the history of the magic source.

It was like a river beneath the surface of reality, unseen, untouched, waiting

“This is the true power Eloken,” the fourth figure intoned. “Lost to this world. Until now. And it’s only one of many”

Eloken gasped as something shifted inside him. The pain that had just a second ago been unbearable… lessened. His fingers tingled. His breath came easier. The figures weren’t touching him, but somehow they were guiding him—helping him tap into this source, letting it mend what was broken.

His vision sharpened. He tried to move, and though his body still ached, he could move. But as soon as he regained some control, his mind snapped back to one thought.

Zosima.

He turned to her, his breath catching at the sight of her still form. At first, panic gripped him—but then, a flicker of hope. Her chest rose and fell, weakly, barely noticeable, but enough. She was alive.

"Help her!" Eloken rasped, dragging himself toward her. His arms trembled, barely able to support his weight, but he pushed forward. "She’s still breathing. Heal her like you did me."

The tallest of the figures shook its head. "She cannot be saved."

"Bullshit!" Eloken snapped, his voice raw. "You just brought me back from the brink. You can do the same for her!"

"She does not have the gift, Eloken," another figure said, its voice eerily calm. "She does not carry the ancient connection to the Essence."

"I don't care about ancient connections!" Eloken spat, reaching for Zosima's wrist. Her skin was cold, but there was still warmth underneath, a faint pulse struggling against the inevitable. "You can fix this. You will fix this."

“Eloken...”

The whisper barely carried beyond the wind. Zosima's fingers twitched, barely moving. Her lips parted, voice hoarse, breath shallow. “Help me... please.” She reached for Eloken, he didn’t notice.

His focus was on the hooded figures, fury burning behind his eyes.

"She will not survive the night," the first figure said.

"Then do something!" Eloken barked. "If she can’t tap into this magic, then use whatever you have! Please, I am begging you.” Eloken was desperate. “Please, you owe, god fucking damnit somebody owes me for my fucked up destiny.”

One of the figures stepped forward, lowering its hood slightly, revealing glowing, mist-like eyes. "We owe you nothing. But we offer you everything. Justice. Power. A future. If you leave now."

Eloken clenched his jaw, hands curling into fists. "You think I need Power? Fuck power!” He said frustratingly.

“What about Justice?”

“Justice? For what?" Eloken was loosing his patience.

"For your family," the third figure whispered.

“What about my family?”

“We know who killed your family, we know it was not the Kotars.” The tallest figure said.

Frustration boiled inside Eloken, he was not sure what was going on anymore, why were those figures speaking about his family, he broke. "You think I don’t already know who killed my family? I know it was my uncle. My own blood."

"You know," the fourth figure said. "But knowing is not enough. Do you know how to claim justice? To take what was stolen from you and do it the right way? Without falling to the same corruption?"

Eloken hesitated. A dangerous silence filled the air.

“Eloken” Zosima tried again, her fingers barely curling toward him. “Help me.” But it was in vain, as if she was invisible to him.

“What are you talking about?” Eloken asked.

"We know the way," the tallest figure took the rains of the conversation again. "The law of Honorable Combat. The ancient rite that even kings cannot deny. A challenge issued by right of bloodline. A trial by battle that no court can overrule."

Eloken stared at them. The words rang with truth. His uncle could suppress every rebellion, buy every judge, but he couldn’t ignore an ancient laws, if they spoke truth, this was something he could use.

"We will help you set the pieces in motion," the second figure said. "Guide you. Train you. Ensure your victory. And after you take back what was stolen, there is a greater war to fight. The world is on the edge of of something big, and you could be its salvation."

“Don’t do this... Eloken please”

Zosima’s breath was coming in ragged gasps now. She struggled, barely able to lift her head, reaching for him with everything she had left. “Please, don’t listen to them, can’t you see they are twisted, they are playing you.” She almost reached him.

Eloken swallowed hard. He turned back to her, anguish flickering across his face.

"I can't leave her here." He said, but he didn't notice her movements.

"You must."

"She’s still alive!"

"For now," the third figure said, almost pitying. "But if you stay, you die with her Malrik's men will be here in less than a minute. And your family’s murderer walk free. They never get the justice they deserve."

Eloken clenched his fists. His heart thundered. He looked down at Zosima—pale, unconscious. He could stay. He could fight. He could try.

But he would fail. He knew that.

His uncle would stay in power. Malrik’s men would find him here. And if there was a slightest chance that these figures were right... if they really could set up something from the ancient laws that could challenge his uncle for the crown, he needed to try that, that’s what they were tying anyway, to get revenge, to right the wrongs, to avenge his father, his mother, his brother who should have been a grown man now, thousand times better than Eloken.

He took a step back.

Zosima’s reached again. “No...” She felt short.

Another step.

“Please.” She lifted her head, but he didn't see it.

Her vision blurred. Her breath caught. She couldn’t move anymore. He was withing her grasp and now he was gone.

She watched as Eloken turned away. She saw was his silhouette vanishing into the darkness and then she drifted into unconsciousness.

Next thing she heard were Malrik's men, Captain Gaelin yelling to his soldiers to look for Eloken, before stepping over her broken body. “This bitch is still alive,” He said with a twisted smile. “There is a god after all.”