Chapter Sixty:

“Betrayals in the Night”

Roland awoke to the pressure of a hand clamped over his mouth.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up, muscles tensed, heart hammering, instincts screaming danger. He tried to twist free, his fingers already reaching for the sword at his side, but before he could fully spring into action, he caught sight of the figure looming over him.

Sterling.

Blindfold in place, his expression veiled in shadow. The old man remained motionless for a beat, his free hand raised to his lips. A signal, clear and absolute. Be still. Be quiet.

Roland exhaled through his nose, forcing his racing pulse to slow. He nodded once.

Only then did Sterling remove his hand.

Without a word, the blindfolded man gestured toward the tent flap. A silent instruction. Follow.

Roland glanced at the others, still sleeping, undisturbed. Whatever this was, it was meant for him alone.

Gripping his boots and coat, he moved to follow Sterling into the cold beyond.

Roland stepped out into the night, following Sterling beyond the tent’s threshold. The blizzard had eased, leaving only slow-falling flurries drifting through the still air. Large flakes, bathed in the soft glow of the twin moons, their blue and red light blending into a muted glow over the snow as the flakes drifted downward.

The cold pressed against Roland’s skin, though it no longer bit the way it had before. His breath came in steady plumes as he turned to Sterling, watching the blindfolded man stand motionless, as if listening to something just beyond Roland’s perception.

“What is this about?” Roland finally asked, his voice low but firm. “Why the secrecy?”

Sterling exhaled, his fingers tightening briefly around his staff. “I did not speak of this before because I did not wish to alarm your companions.” He hesitated, tilting his head slightly toward his hut. “Nor my daughter.”

At the mention of Hex, Sterling shuddered. It was not the tremor of a man merely cautious, but of a father walking a path he knew his daughter would never forgive him for. A brief grimace passed over his face, the kind of quiet guilt that weighed heavy on one's soul. He drew in a measured breath, shaking it off before setting his stance and continuing.

“There are too many risks,” Sterling admitted. “Too many people moving through the Mire at once invites disaster. I am sorry I misled you, but morning is the worst time to go. Now, under the cover of night, this is our best chance.”

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Roland frowned slightly, a crease forming between his brows. “And what about the others? We were all prepared to go together.”

Sterling shook his head. “Your companions should not be put at risk, just as I refuse to put Hex at risk.” His expression hardened, resolve settling into his features. “But you and I? We can do this. Together.”

The words settled between them, quiet but unshakable. Roland studied Sterling, searching for deception but finding none. Roland scrutinized Sterling’s every word, every shift of his stance, waiting for the slightest crack in his conviction. But there was nothing, no hesitation, no falsehood. Everything the old man was saying, Roland was sure he believed it with absolute certainty.

And that certainty was enough to make Roland agree.

Sterling’s voice cut through the stillness. “We cannot waste any more time.”

Roland’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t argue. The urgency in the blind man’s stance, the way his fingers twitched as if sensing something unseen, made it clear that waiting wasn’t an option.

Before they could move, Sterling turned to him, unease tightening his features, a rare crack in his composure. “Before we leave, you must retrieve Souleater.”

Roland opened his mouth, then shut it again, uncertainty gripping him for a brief moment. "Chris' sword?"

Sterling nodded. “Its ability to absorb souls will be invaluable against the ghost flames. Our magic will not be enough alone.”

Roland eyed the tent, unease settling in his gut. Taking another man’s weapon without asking didn’t sit right with him, but deep down, he knew Sterling wouldn’t suggest this if it wasn’t necessary.

Reluctantly, he turned on his heel and stepped back inside. The warmth of the enchanted space enveloped him once more, creating a sharp divide between the cold night outside. His eyes passed over his sleeping companions, their forms undisturbed, oblivious to what he was about to do.

His gaze landed on Chris' sword, Souleater, resting beside its owner. With careful movements, he reached down, wrapping his fingers around the hilt. A slow thrum stirred beneath his fingers, like a heartbeat in his palm, the blade knew it had a purpose. He unstrapped his own sword and placed it in Souleater’s spot. “Sorry, Chris.”

Roland’s eyes lingered on his companions, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you all can forgive me.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, he turned and left, stepping back into the cold. As he rejoined Sterling, he slung Souleater onto his back, its weight unfamiliar yet strangely fitting.

Sterling revealed a slight grin. “Good. Now, we move.”

Roland and Sterling walked in silence, their footsteps crunching against the frost-laced earth as they approached the edge of the Ashen Mire. A low, eerie hum filled the darkness within, drifting ghost flames flared and faded within the trees. Moans and wails rose from deep within, broken by bursts of laughter and quiet, shuddering sobs.

Sterling came to a stop just before the boundary. Without hesitation, he lifted his staff, fingers brushing over the worn wood. “Illuminate.”

A soft orb of light bloomed at the tip, expanding outward in a steady glow. The murk retreated ever so slightly, shadows shrinking beneath its reach. The radiance flowed, golden and steady, casting faint rainbow colored reflections off the undisturbed snow.

He turned his head slightly toward Roland. “Your turn.”

Roland inhaled, drawing Souleater from his back. The blade hummed faintly in his grip. He held it firm and focused, his voice steady. “Illuminate.”

The response was immediate. A glow spread along the blade’s surface, pulsing once before settling into a deep, silver-blue radiance. It wasn’t harsh, nor blinding, its quiet luminescence a weapon against the creeping unknown.

Roland turned the sword slightly, watching the light hold steady along its length, smooth and unwavering. “Huh,” he muttered, the faintest edge of admiration creeping into his voice.

Sterling nodded, the faintest trace of approval crossing his features. “Good. That should keep the worst of them at bay.”

Without another word, they stepped forward, their magic cutting into the darkness, revealing just enough to remind them they were never alone.