The world lurched as Nero staggered out of the portal, his boots scraping against solid ground.
His boots scraped against solid earth, but his mind hadn't followed. Not yet.
The madness of the Shatterveil still clung to his skin like a second shadow, pressing against the edges of thought, whispering of violence, of weightless screams and fractured skies.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his entire body aching from battle.
His robes were torn, bloodstained, some of it his, most of it not.
His fingers, still curled tightly around his wand, refused to relax.
A familiar voice broke the silence.
"Well, well, well."
Nero turned, eyes narrowing as Zen strolled toward him, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his lips.
It was the kind of grin that spoke volumes.
Teasing, but carrying the weight of unspoken relief.
"Gotta say, you look good," Zen drawled, eyes scanning the wreck Nero had become.
Nero exhaled, shaking his head, the sound rough. "Nice to see you too."
Mu stepped forward quietly, his expression more measured.
There was no surprise in his gaze, only a flicker of approval.
"Three weeks," he said, nodding slightly. "Not bad. How did it go?"
Nero didn't answer right away. His body protested even the thought of speech.
Every muscle screamed, but he didn't let it show.
Instead, he wiped his brow, ran a shaky hand through his hair, and muttered,
"I need a bath first."
Zen barked a laugh. "Yeah, no kidding. You smell like you lost a duel with a troll and fell into its den afterward."
Mu watched him a beat longer.
"Looks like you left caution out in the wind," he said evenly. "I imagine you fought a lot."
Nero tilted his head, voice low. "Yeah. Quite a lot."
Zen's grin faded. "Who?"
Nero met his gaze. "Monsters. Reavers. Black Talons. Shadow Hunters… and Malrik."
The air between them grew tense, the name hanging like a blade.
Zen let out a slow whistle, while Mu's fingers curled slightly at his side.
"You're still standing," Mu noted.
"Barely," Nero muttered.
Zen nudged his shoulder.
"Come on then, let's get you cleaned up.
You can narrate your glorious survival after that.
I wanna hear how you managed to piss off the Shatterveil's warlord and not die."
Nero didn't protest. Each step was heavier than the last, but he followed them.
He had survived.
He had grown.
And now he understood more than ever in which area he should concentrate his effort to maximize his growth.
'Wait for me, Malrik.'
——————————————————————
The walk through the forest was a blur.
Each step felt heavier than the last, exhaustion creeping into his bones like poison.
The gnarled trees loomed around them, their twisted branches casting long shadows beneath the moonlight.
Nero's boots dragged against the uneven ground, his body sluggish from fatigue.
Mu and Zen didn't speak, merely walking beside him, their presence grounding him in the present as they finally neared the edge of the forest.
And when they crossed the forest's final edge, Nero felt the pressure of the Shatterveil slip away like a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
As if the land itself begrudged his release.
Mu turned toward him. "Are you able to Apparate?"
Nero nodded.
Zen smirked. "Try not to splinch yourself, yeah? We just got you back."
With a flick of his wand, Nero twisted into the seamless pull of Apparition, the world bending around him effortlessly before settling into place.
He landed on the wooden porch of Zen and Mu's home as if he had merely stepped through a doorway, his posture steady, his breathing even.
The act required no effort, no strain, no nausea, as usual.
Yet Nero couldn't help but feel that the transition felt slightly different.
A flicker of something… unfamiliar.
It wasn't the usual stillness of Apparition.
This time, the space felt more… willing.
Almost eager to accommodate him, shifting around him with an unnatural smoothness.
He made a mental note to dig into it after resting properly.
Zen appeared beside him with an easy grace, while Mu materialized a second later, his stance steady.
Zen clapped his shoulder. "Water's ready. Figured you'd want a bath the second you got back."
Nero gave a tired smirk. "You know me too well."
The door opened with a nudge of Zen's wand, then shut behind him, as Nero stepped inside.
Half-floating from exhaustion, he stripped off his ruined clothes.
Bruises and cuts lined his torso.
He winced at a gash still raw near his ribs, but said nothing.
The bath was already steaming.
He stepped into the warm water, sighing as the heat soaked into his aching muscles, washing away the grime, the blood, the lingering scent of death.
He closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the silence.
For the first time in three weeks, he wasn't fighting to stay alive.
No monsters. No cursed magic. No looming sense of imminent death.
Just warmth, and silence.
The tension in his shoulders eased, and for the first time, he allowed himself to feel the weight of everything that had happened.
The battles. The cursed clan. The hollow tree. Malrik.
The warlord had been stronger than he expected.
Strong and ruthless.
The only reason Nero had survived was because he had played the long game, choosing when to fight and when to run.
But Malrik would not stop.
Hope had warned him. Five years at most, before it reached its final stage. Maybe less.
That was the window.
The destruction of a few anchors and his tactical escape had only delayed the inevitable.
Malrik's plan would continue.
Five years to become someone capable of stopping what was coming.
He stayed until the water cooled, then stepped out, dressed in clean clothes, before stepping back into the main room.
Mu and Zen were waiting. Quiet, patient.
Nero sat down across from them.
Rolled his shoulders once.
Then said, voice steadier now, "Alright. Let's talk."
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