Chapter 10
The forest lay still.
The aftermath of their escape from the Hollow Spire had left Draziel and Sylas weary, battered, and breathless — but free. For the first time in days, the weight pressing against their shoulders had eased. They had made it out. And Rynn was safe.
They camped near a winding brook beneath a curtain of trees, its gentle murmuring the only sound that broke the silence of the night. Sylas leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the sky sprinkled with stars. Rynn quietly tended to a low flame, her hands moving in slow, practiced motions.
Draziel sat apart from them, his blade resting beside him, eyes half-closed in thought. The mark on his palm still pulsed faintly, a reminder of the power he now bore — and the curse that clung to it.
For a brief moment, there was calm.
But peace, as always, was a fleeting illusion.
***
Miles away, in a shadowed hall wreathed in silence, a sealed scroll passed from gloved hands into a waiting palm.
"Target: Draziel Vale."
The figure who accepted it smiled faintly.
The parchment bore one name, etched in glowing crimson ink:
*DRAZIEL VALE*
*Dead or alive.*
*Reward: 10,000 sovereign marks.*
The bounty slipped into the gloved hand of a woman lounging on a marble throne. Her smile widened beneath her half-mask — a delicate blend of silver and bone.
*Nyra Fen.*
Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she flipped the parchment. "How dramatic," she whispered. "I do love a man with secrets."
She vanished in a ripple of smoke and violet fire.
---
*Later that night*
Their small camp crackled with quiet firelight. Ryann hummed softly as she ground herbs into a paste, applying it to Sylas' arm. Draziel sat with his sword resting beside him, half-listening, half-drifting.
Then, *a breeze changed direction*.
The hairs on his neck rose.
A shimmer in the trees.
A flicker of movement.
He stood, slowly. "We're not alone."
Too late.
The fire hissed out — snuffed by unseen magic. Shadows twisted. A cascade of golden cards fluttered from the sky, embedding in the earth like knives.
And then she landed.
Perched on a low branch like a cat, *Nyra Fen* smirked beneath her mask.
"Draziel Vale," she purred, voice like velvet laced with venom. "I've been *dying* to meet you."
---
Nyra Fen. A name whispered across dominions with both fear and awe. Cloaked in mystery and skilled in illusion, she thrived on unpredictability — and the thrill of the hunt. A flair for theatrics wasn't just her style — it was her signature.
She tucked the scroll into her coat and vanished into the dark.
***
Night deepened around the camp. The flames flickered low. Rynn had just begun drifting to sleep when the fire suddenly roared back to life — then vanished, snuffed out in a burst of shimmering dust.
Draziel snapped upright. "Stay alert."
A slow clap echoed through the trees.
From the shadows stepped a woman — elegant, agile, her long coat shimmering with enchanted embroidery that shifted like living ink. Her crimson eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Well, well," she said, voice smooth as silk. "The infamous Draziel Vale. You're even more handsome than the bounty poster."
Sylas cursed under his breath, already reaching for his dagger.
Nyra raised a brow, amused. "Oh, relax. If I wanted you dead, you'd already be."
She twirled a dagger between her fingers — one that vanished into mist and reappeared behind Draziel's head before dissipating again.
"A show-off," he muttered.
"A professional," she corrected.
"You're here for the bounty."
"I'm here because someone put a very interesting price on your head. And I never ignore interesting."
Her illusions flickered like dancing shadows, each one teasing a strike — or a feint — or something far more dangerous.
But Draziel didn't flinch.
He stood. "If you're going to make a move… do it."
Nyra grinned. "Oh, I will. But not tonight."
She tossed a glowing sigil into the dirt. It sparked, hissed, then burst into harmless smoke.
"Consider this a preview."
And with that, she vanished — leaving behind silence… and the weight of a new hunt that had only just begun.
---
The smoke slowly dissipated, leaving behind nothing but the crackle of a dying ember and the faint scent of burned herbs. For a few heartbeats, no one moved.
Then Sylas let out a low curse. "We should've killed her when she walked in."
"She wasn't here to kill," Draziel muttered, scanning the trees. "She was testing us… seeing how we'd react."
Rynn stirred from her crouched position, her eyes still locked on the spot where Nyra vanished. "She could've finished any of us. That wasn't just illusion magic—she was blending arcane veils with shadow weaves. Old-school caster tricks. She's dangerous."
Draziel clenched his fists. "And now she knows exactly what we are."
"No," Rynn corrected, "she knows what she *thinks* we are."
Sylas sat back down, brushing ash from his cloak. "You think she'll come again?"
"She said this was a preview," Draziel replied, his voice flat. "Which means she's either going to wait until we let our guard down, or…"
"Bring company next time," Sylas finished grimly.
A long silence followed.
Then Draziel turned to Rynn. "Do you still have that old map of the border towns?"
She nodded, already reaching for her satchel. "There's a smuggler's passage east of here. If we move before dawn, we can vanish before she tracks us again."
"She'll track us," Sylas said darkly. "She's a bounty hunter, not a foot soldier. This is what she does."
"Then we outplay her," Draziel replied.
They packed in silence. The fire remained dead, the air colder now. As they moved out, a quiet resolve settled between them. Whatever unknown force had placed a bounty on his head… they had reached further than expected.
And they had sent someone who didn't miss.
---
The treetop perch gave her a perfect view.
Nyra Fen crouched like a shadow on the thick branch, boots silent, cloak blending with the leaves. Her illusion had done the job—testing their reactions, studying their dynamic. She had expected arrogance or chaos. Instead, she found coordination… and restraint.
Draziel Vale, she mused, watching the group's retreating figures.
He moved like someone who'd led armies. His instincts were sharp—too sharp for a novice. And that little healer? Definitely not ordinary. The silver-eyed rogue, Sylas, was no slouch either.
She smirked.
*Three marks. One bounty.*
The parchment in her pouch whispered of high stakes—sealed with a glyph not even *she* dared tamper with. Whoever had issued it didn't want Draziel silenced quietly. They wanted him broken.
"And I *do* enjoy a challenge," she murmured to herself.
Nyra reached for her arcane locket and whispered a command. The crystal pulsed—marking their trail. She wouldn't strike again immediately. No. The next move had to be theatrical.
She vanished with the wind, laughing as she went.
---