"even the sun feels hesitant here."
EJ woke before dawn, the memory of that dream still clinging to him like smoke.
For a long while he simply lay on the narrow bed, staring at the black feather where it rested on the wooden table, its faint pulse steady and patient. When the first streaks of pale light seeped through the cracks in the cabin wall, he finally rose, dressing in silence. His amber eyes caught the faint glint of his ring, Strange, as he adjusted his gloves, and he tightened the strap of his cloak before stepping outside.
The air in Garrand was cold and brittle, sharper than last night. A thin fog lingered on the streets, curling around the corners of buildings and lampposts. Even now, in what should have been morning, the light was dull, hesitant, as though the city itself was afraid to wake.
The market square was just beginning to stir when he arrived. Stalls creaked open one by one, the muted clatter of crates and baskets filling the quiet. But there were no greetings called across the square, no laughter between vendors. The townsfolk moved mechanically, their shoulders hunched, their eyes darting now and then to the sky as though expecting something to swoop down at any moment.
EJ walked among them without hurry. His clothing — muted gray and black, unadorned save for the faint sheen of Celestial thread at the seams — did not draw overt attention, but his bearing and gait still turned heads. He carried himself like someone who belonged elsewhere.
He was, undeniably, a stranger here.
At the edge of the square, he spotted a boy arranging a small stall of fruits. His hands moved quickly, though his eyes kept flicking nervously toward the shadows.
EJ approached, lowering his voice when he spoke.
"Hey. I'll buy all your stock for today."
The boy froze, then slowly looked up at him, eyes widening in disbelief.
"Really?"
EJ nodded once. "Really. Are you alone here?"
The boy shook his head quickly, and just then a man — perhaps a few years older than EJ — emerged from behind the stall, wiping his hands on a rag. He froze when he saw EJ, immediately stepping forward to place himself between them.
"What do you want, mister?" the man demanded, his voice firm but betraying a faint tremor. His hand hovered near the boy's shoulder protectively.
Something in the man's stance, the way he shielded the boy without hesitation, tugged at something in EJ's memory. Ash-gray eyes in the dark, a rough voice saying Go. Now.
He pushed the thought aside and allowed a faint smile. "I only meant to buy your fruit. That's all."
The man blinked, visibly caught off guard, then straightened slowly. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
Relief softened the man's face, and soon enough he began packing the fruit into a worn basket with surprising care, as though he didn't quite believe his luck.
"You a tourist?" he asked as he worked, glancing at EJ curiously.
"An adventurer," EJ replied smoothly. "Passing through on my way to the next city. What's the story here? About this… dark phoenix?"
At that, the man's hands paused briefly. He lowered his voice as though the bird itself might be listening.
"It's been a month now. The thing flies overhead at night. No one's ever gotten a good look, just shadows and screams. Leaves curses behind, here and there."
"What kind of curses?" EJ pressed, his amber eyes steady.
The man hesitated before answering. "It… makes people lose their minds. Happens fast. One of us will suddenly go mad, eyes dark, screaming, then start attacking anyone they see. They don't stop for an hour, no matter what you do. Then—" His voice faltered.
"Then what?"
The man swallowed and finally looked up at him. "Then they collapse. But they don't die. They just… don't wake up. Some are still lying in the mayor's clinic even now. Like empty shells."
EJ's fingers curled slightly at his side. "How many so far?"
The man shook his head slowly. "Too many. Even one is too many. You'll see for yourself if you stay long enough."
EJ didn't reply at first, only touched the ring hidden under his glove. The faint hum of it grounded him, its quiet weight at his finger a silent reassurance. The man noticed his glance but said nothing, only handed over the basket of fruit with a faint smile.
"Good luck, adventurer. And… be careful."
EJ inclined his head. "Thank you. You too."
He left the stall and continued through the square, fog thickening slightly, the air colder still.
Later that morning, he found himself at the door of a gambling house near the end of the square — one of the only places where mortals spoke freely without fear of being overheard.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the faint scent of cheap liquor. Dice clattered on wood. Coins scraped across tables. The men here barely glanced up at him as he sat quietly at a corner table, listening.
At a table nearby, two older men leaned close, whispering loudly enough for EJ to catch pieces of their conversation.
"—happened again last night," one muttered, voice rough. "This time it was Arlen. Went mad, screaming bloody murder, sliced his wife open before the mayor's men dragged him off."
The other man shook his head slowly, disbelief and fear in equal measure. "Poor bastard. I heard he's in the mayor's clinic now, same as the others. They say his eyes are still open but he hasn't moved since."
"Same damn curse," the first spat. "And nothing we can do about it. Nothing."
By nightfall, Garrand had grown still once more.
Lanterns burned low, their flickering light barely pushing back the heavy dark that pressed in from every alley and rooftop. Doors groaned shut and bolted tight. The faint murmur of human voices dwindled into silence, leaving only the restless whistle of wind through empty streets. The city seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable.
EJ moved like a shadow between shadows, cloaked in the quiet power of Celestial stealth. Each step melted into the darkness; even the faint shimmer of light that clung stubbornly to him was dulled under his command. He slipped past sleepy patrols and locked gates as though they weren't there, his body nothing but a ripple in the air.
He wasn't here to start a fight. Not yet.
He needed answers.
The clinic loomed at the end of the street, its wooden shutters rattling faintly in the wind. Inside, the smell hit him at once — antiseptic, candlewax, and something faintly sour beneath it all. The air was thick, too warm, too quiet. Curtains swayed lazily as though stirred by ghosts. Distant footsteps echoed down the hall, muffled by the weight of so many unspoken prayers.
He passed room after room, pale faces glimpsed through half-drawn curtains. Men and women who had not woken.
Then, at the end of the corridor, he saw it.
Tag number 99.
He stood at the threshold a moment longer than necessary, one hand resting on the doorframe, before slipping inside.
The man on the cot lay limp, his limbs slack against the thin mattress. His eyes — wide open — stared past the ceiling, glassy and unseeing. Pupils blown, yet his chest still rose and fell, stubborn and mechanical, as though his body refused to follow his mind into stillness.
Ninety-nine victims.
EJ's throat tightened.
He stepped closer and froze.
Tucked into the man's dark hair was a black feather.
It glimmered faintly in the low light, its edge slick with some faint, unnatural sheen. The air around it was colder here, sharper, heavy with cursed energy.
Identical to the one the Emperor had given him.
His fingers curled around the hilt of Strange at his side. His amber eyes darkened, hardening to steel.
No coincidence.
This was deliberate. This was the Underworld's mark.
Before he could reach for the feather, a sound tore through the quiet — sharp, jagged — a scream that rattled the windows.
EJ vanished.
One breath he was standing in the quiet room; the next, he materialized outside, the square bathed in chaos.
A man stood at its center, his body cloaked in writhing shadows, his eyes burning with sickly red light. Around him, townsfolk cowered at the edges of the square. A woman knelt on the stones, sobbing over a small child bleeding out on the ground.
"Are the mayor's men on the way?!" someone cried desperately.
The cursed man turned toward the woman, blade raised to strike.
EJ moved before the thought even formed.
Strange cut through the air, the golden blade singing as it slashed the shadow away from the man without touching flesh. The dark aura shattered into black ash, drifting on the wind. The man collapsed in a heap at the woman's feet, alive but unconscious.
The shadow recoiled from the strike, fleeing like smoke torn from a flame, slipping between buildings, moving fast, alive.
EJ gave chase.
The streets narrowed, his boots hammering cobblestone as he followed the trail. He raised a golden arrow, light gathering in his fingers until it flared like a newborn star. He loosed it skyward, and it struck, illuminating the path ahead.
There.
A shape. Dark as midnight and fast as a gale — the phoenix.
It moved like liquid wind, its wings dragging shadows behind it as it fled through the alleyways.
EJ drew another arrow, already drawing back his bowstring.
But before he could loose it, another arrow screamed through the night.
It burned black, wreathed in shadow flame, and struck the phoenix mid-flight.
The creature shrieked, its cry splitting the air, and spiraled into the stones below. Its wings folded into itself, twitching and writhing before falling still.
EJ landed beside it, Strange drawn, golden light crackling at its edge.
But the air had already shifted.
Someone else was here.
He raised his eyes to the rooftops.
There, a figure stood at the far end of the alley, framed by dying embers. Cloaked and hooded, the wind catching his dark robes like a banner.
EJ leveled his sword. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice cutting through the silence like glass.
The figure did not move, but lifted his hands slowly — unarmed, at least for now.
"Remove your hood," EJ ordered, stepping closer, his blade held steady. "Now."
A long pause.
Then the voice came, smooth, quiet, heavy with something unspoken.
"As fierce as ever."
The words stopped EJ cold.
The voice curled around his ribs like smoke, familiar and impossible all at once.
His breath caught. His grip faltered for just a second.
And then the figure lowered the hood.
The world around him fell away.
Ash gray eyes. The same quiet strength. The same heartbreak.
Nicholas.
Alive.
"You haven't changed, EJ," Nicholas said softly, his voice carrying like a prayer swallowed by the wind.
And for the first time in a century, EJ forgot how to breathe.