The inn groaned under the weight of its disrepair, its walls whispering with every gust of wind as if the structure itself were alive, clinging desperately to its last breath. The weak flicker of an oil lamp cast long shadows, leaving most of the room in oppressive darkness. I stood by the door, arms crossed, my gaze fixed on Lyra. The silence between us was thick, a tension that could snap at any moment.
Lyra paced near the window, her boots scuffing the worn floorboards, her fingers trailing along the edge of the windowsill. The weight of unspoken truths hung heavy in the air.
“How long are you going to keep dodging the truth?” My voice cut through the quiet, low but commanding.
She paused, her hand lingering on the wood as if it anchored her to something. For a moment, I thought she might deflect again. But then, with a resigned sigh, she turned to face me. Her eyes, sharp and guarded, hinted at something deeper—something vulnerable, something dangerous.
“You’ve been waiting for this moment, haven’t you?” Her tone was flat, as though she had expected this confrontation all along. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you pressed for answers.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t need to. The silence between us demanded her to speak.
She exhaled slowly, shoulders tense. “My name is Lyra Valenwood.”
The name struck me like a sudden gust of wind, chilling me to the bone. **Valenwood.** As Lyra had told me in the tavern it's one of the four ruling families of Centrallis, steeped in ancient contracts and dealings with gods, forces beyond understanding. Her family was as powerful as they were mysterious.
“You’re one of them,” I muttered, the realization sinking in. “The Valenwoods… the family with the longest-standing contract with the gods.”
Lyra nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. While the Oswins are known for their strength and divine favor, my family was given something else—something more dangerous. Knowledge. Forbidden knowledge. Our task is to guard the balance between the Wyrd and the Veil, to keep the chaos from seeping into our world.”
My gaze sharpened. “Then why were you mingling with cultists?” My frustration flared, the tension between us growing thicker. “If your family’s supposed to protect the Veil, what are you really doing here?”
Lyra stepped closer, her voice lowering. “The cult we encountered isn’t just a band of fanatics. They’re trying to tear down the Veil—the barrier that keeps the Wyrd at bay. Worse, they’re looking for a way to access the Forgotten Continent.”
At the mention of the **Forgotten Continent**, a cold shiver crawled up my spine. The vision I had seen—the twisted, maddening landscape, a place of ruin and despair—flashed in my mind. But the full truth of it? No one knew. Not even the gods had whispered its secrets.
“The Valenwoods…” I trailed off, suspicion gnawing at me. “What is it your family truly wants?”
Lyra hesitated, just for a heartbeat. But in that pause, I saw it—the flicker of fear, the shadow of doubt. “We want to prevent a cataclysm. The gods’ contracts are weakening, and we believe the key to stopping it lies in the Forgotten Continent. That’s why I’m here—to understand the cult’s movements and prevent them from tearing the Veil apart.”
Her words weighed heavily, sinking into the depths of my mind. This wasn’t just about her, or me, or the Oswin name. This was something far bigger—something tied to the very fabric of Aeloria itself.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” I said after a long pause. A part of me understood why she hadn’t, but the secrecy still stung.
“I didn’t know if I could trust you,” she admitted, her eyes unwavering. “And I still don’t. But we’re in too deep now. We have to move forward, together.”
I glanced down at my side, where the **Oswin relic** should have been, but it remained sealed—hidden from me until I could prove myself. That relic held answers, I knew it. Answers about the Veil, the Wyrd, and perhaps even the Forgotten Continent. But it was out of reach, for now.
“The **Orders**,” I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of ancient lore creeping into my thoughts. “We need to find them.”
Lyra looked at me, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “The Orders? I thought they were gone. Disbanded centuries ago.”
I shook my head. “They didn’t vanish. Not completely. Some went underground, hiding from the public eye, but they’re still out there. Watching. Waiting. And if we’re going to stop this cult, we’re going to need their help.”
The mention of **Orders** brought a flood of memories—stories told in whispers, legends of their power, and warnings passed down through the generations. Orders were once the pillars of Aeloria, ancient organizations that wielded unimaginable magical power, each specializing in controlling the flow of mana, the Veil, and the chaotic energy of the Wyrd.
“Orders,” I explained, “were formed long ago, before the wars that tore the world apart. Each had its own philosophy, its own method of harnessing the power of the Veil and the Wyrd. They controlled the flow of magic in the world, preventing the Wyrd from spilling over and consuming everything. But after the fall of the Sixth Continent… most of them faded away.”
Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “And you think they’re still active?”
“Some of them, yes. They’re not as open as they once were. But the Valenwoods—your family—must know this. You were one of the families that dealt with them.”
She said nothing, but her silence was telling.
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“The Orders kept secrets,” I continued, “dangerous ones. They were the guardians of **forbidden knowledge**—rituals and sigils that could control the Wyrd, relics that could shape reality itself. Each Order had its own method of interacting with mana. Some focused on reinforcing the Veil, like the **Order of the Silver Veil**, while others, like the **Cult of the Wyrd-Touched**, danced too close to madness.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed. “You think these Orders can help us now?”
“They have to. If the cult is trying to tear down the Veil, we need their knowledge. Their power. The **Flamebearers**, the **Forgotten Paths**—they didn’t just vanish. They’re still out there, hidden. If we can reach them, we might stand a chance.”
I saw the shift in Lyra’s demeanor as I spoke, her posture relaxing ever so slightly. She understood, just as I did, the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t just about stopping a cult—it was about protecting the entire world from the chaos beyond the Veil.
“The Orders, if they’re still out there… they won’t be easy to find,” Lyra said quietly. “And even if we do find them, they’ll demand a price for their help.”
I nodded grimly. “I know. But we don’t have a choice. If the Veil falls…”
Lyra’s voice was a whisper, her eyes dark and serious. “If the Veil falls, the Wyrd will consume everything.”
I looked at her, the weight of our task settling heavily on my shoulders. “What’s our next move?”
She stepped closer, her voice low. “We need to find allies. People who know the old ways, who still understand the rituals and the magic of the Orders. We need to stop the cult’s ritual before it’s too late.”
“We’ll need a plan,” I said, straightening. “I have read about a few places through which we can reach the Orders.”
Lyra nodded, her eyes glinting with renewed determination. “Then we’d better move fast. The cult won’t wait for us.”
We left the inn, our footsteps quick and silent in the cold night. The city of **Harmony** loomed around us, but my thoughts were far beyond its walls—drawn to the Orders, the cult, and the dark forces we were about to confront.
...
As we moved through the shadowed streets of Harmony, the cold night air seemed to press in on us. The weight of our task was palpable. The cult we were chasing was dangerous, no doubt, but if they truly had access to the Wyrd, time wasn’t on our side. The **Orders**—the ancient institutions that once governed mana and forbidden arts—felt like another layer of threat altogether. But we needed their knowledge, no matter the risk.
Lyra’s eyes darted around, always on alert. She glanced at me, her pace steady. “You’ve dealt with the Orders before?”
“My family has ties with some of them, though… strained would be putting it mildly. The Oswins have always been cautious about the higher Orders, especially after what happened with my father.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow, her curiosity obvious, but she didn’t push for details. “So, you think they’ll help us?”
“It depends on the Order,” I replied, casting a quick glance at the shadowed corners of the alley. “Not all of them are willing to help without a price. Some prefer to keep their hands clean, while others… well, they deal in favors and dangerous bargains. But if we can find the right one, we might get the information we need on the cult’s rituals.”
As we continued down the narrow street, the late-night vendors we passed barely looked up from their stalls. Flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows across the cracked cobblestone, making the city feel alive in its own strange, watchful way.
“The **Orders**,” I began, speaking quietly as we walked, “are more than just schools of magic. They’re almost like kingdoms unto themselves, each with its own philosophy, rules, and power. Some focus on controlling the Veil and pure mana, while others dabble in the chaos of the Wyrd. But that comes at a price—sometimes their minds, sometimes their souls.”
Lyra’s eyes flickered with interest. “So, these Orders… they follow different Paths? What does that mean for us?”
I glanced at her, sensing she already knew some of this but wanted confirmation. “Every Order has its own Path, a way of progressing through knowledge and power. It takes years, sometimes lifetimes, to master. They teach their followers to control mana, or sometimes even the Wyrd, but in return, you’re bound to them—by oaths, rules, rituals. You don’t just _join_ an Order. You commit to it, with everything.”
I paused, looking up at the sky. The moon was half-hidden behind thick clouds, an ominous sight. Bad omen or not, we couldn’t afford to stop.
“That’s why we need to be careful,” I continued. “We can’t just walk in and ask for help. We’ll need to make it worth their while.”
Lyra tilted her head, her breath visible in the cold air. “And you think we can?”
“If we find the right Order, yes. Not all of them are obsessed with power for power’s sake. Some want balance, to keep the Wyrd in check. But the rituals we’ll need to perform… they won’t be simple.”
Lyra’s gaze shifted, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice softer than before. “About that. You understand the basics of ritual magic, don’t you? From your family’s teachings?”
“I know enough to avoid disasters,” I said, my tone steady. “Rituals aren’t just about power; they’re about control. Precision. One mistake can turn a blessing into a curse.”
She nodded slowly. “Good. Then I suppose you know about **Sigils** as well?”
“Of course.” I sensed she had more to share. “Sigils are the foundation of most rituals. They control the flow of mana, keep it stable, direct it. Without them, even a small fluctuation in the Veil can tear a ritual apart. Some sigils are tied to the Veil, others to the Wyrd—it all depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.”
Lyra’s eyes gleamed as she stopped walking for a moment, turning to face me fully. “You’ve seen what the cult is doing, haven’t you?”
I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean?”
“Their rituals,” she said, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. “They’re not just using mana, Aric. They’re using **Wyrd Sigils**. Ancient ones.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Wyrd Sigils were notoriously unpredictable, dangerous. They didn’t just manipulate mana; they drew from the chaotic forces beyond the Veil. “You’re sure?”
Lyra’s expression darkened. “I’ve studied them. The sigils they’ve carved into stones, the markings left on the victims… they match designs from texts my family has kept hidden. They’re using sigils that can tear open the Veil, bringing things through.”
The weight of her words pressed down on me. My stomach churned. “That’s why we need the Orders. No one else knows how to counteract Wyrd Sigils.”
Lyra paused, considering her next words. “There’s more to these sigils than just power. They’re… alive, in a way. When drawn properly, they pulse with the Wyrd’s energy, feeding off the intent of the user. But if you lose control for even a second…”
“They’ll devour you,” I finished, understanding the gravity of the situation.
She nodded. “Exactly. The cult knows what they’re doing—for now. But they’re growing reckless. The more they use these sigils, the harder it’ll be to control them.”
“So, we find the right Order, learn what we can about countering Wyrd Sigils, and stop the cult before they rip open the Veil.” I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of our task settling into my bones.
“Exactly,” Lyra replied, her voice filled with urgency. “But there’s something else about their rituals you should know.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.
“They’re not just summoning entities from beyond the Veil,” she said, her voice lowering to a near-whisper. “They’re binding them.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. Binding entities from the Wyrd was not only dangerous but nearly impossible. These weren’t beings meant for our world, and to control them—to truly bind them—was a gamble no one should ever attempt.
“They’re trying to create a permanent tear in the Veil,” she said. “One that can’t be closed.”
My heart sank. “Then we don’t have time to waste.”
....