At the Edge of the Western Wall
Nym stood at the edge of the western wall, gazing into the cold darkness that stretched endlessly before him. He felt nothing moving within, but every so often, an unseen gaze would fall upon him—heavy, watchful—causing him to tense up, only for it to vanish just as suddenly.
It was then that Nym understood why some of the guards struggled to sleep. This duty, this stillness, was more than tiring—it was a quiet pressure, an endless vigilance. Still, it wasn't a problem for him. In fact, he welcomed the idea of fighting a beast, or even a group. It would be a chance to test his abilities in real battle. Until then, he would remain relaxed, waiting for the fourth shift to arrive.
He had been assigned to the third shift—not too long, not too short, maybe a quarter of a day. What brought him a bit of comfort was knowing there were twenty other Bound in Tower D… and a friendly little fox that darted between the guards inside, snatching up the smoked meat they tossed to it.
Nym spoke in his mind, teasingly:
"So, you're in love with warmth and meat now? Abandoning your poor master to the cold and the dark?"
Ira's voice answered with a dramatic sigh:
(My dull-hearted master doesn't feel the cold—only hates the dark. I nearly froze to death out here with you.)
Nym blinked. Wasn't she his ever-loyal servant just moments ago?
(I can hear your thoughts, Master… but the cold doesn't distinguish between friend and foe.)
"Right. As if I had full control over the temperature around me."
Scratch… Skrrraaash…
A low roar—perhaps a shriek—echoed in from the distance. Not too far… but not near enough to be clear.
He turned instantly toward the void that loomed in front of him.
And there… he felt it. A disturbance in the World Essence. It was wilting, corrupted merely by the presence of something foul. Everything it touched seemed to decay—rot—and become part of it.
From within the shadows emerged silhouettes. Figures between two to three meters tall—some even reaching five. They walked upright on cracked, raw skin that exposed the bleeding flesh beneath. They looked like they were infected… desperate for healing they'd never find.
Nym shouted back to the resting guards in the watchtower:
"Attack! Attack! There are fifty of them—mostly ordinary beasts, but their leader… he's cursed!"
(Master, I'm coming!) Ira cried.
Men poured out of the tower, eyes searching the direction Nym was facing. Slowly, the moving shapes began to take form in the distant blackness.
"Fire! Fire at will!" the tower commander barked.
A young man stepped forward from among the bearded guards, summoned his core essence, and conjured a fireball of considerable size. With a grunt, he hurled it into the darkness.
Light and heat burst forth, slamming into the first wave of beasts—revealing something monstrous: a wolf with jet-black fur laced with crimson, a strange and sickening hue. Its entire body was covered in lesions and gashes, and from its head sprouted a horn two feet long, ending in a point so sharp Nym was nearly sure it could pierce metal.
The others were the same—grotesque and twisted—differing only in height and mass.
The young man who had thrown the fireball muttered in dread:
"Forty… fifty… there's too many."
His voice trembled, but one look from the commander made him stand straight. Fear still clung to his face.
Then Ira bit at his leg and dashed toward Nym.
Nym laughed, breaking the suffocating silence:
"Well done! Come on—we've got work to do. Don't slack off now."
He reached out, patted her head, then summoned five icy swords, focusing all his attention on them.
The beasts were no more than eighty meters away from the wall now.
They wouldn't climb it quickly.
That gave Nym a good chance.
And he intended to take it.