The night after the assassin's retreat was unnaturally quiet.
No rustling of leaves, no calls of night birds—just silence. Almost as if the forest itself held its breath after witnessing the clash of fire and shadow.
Rihan sat apart from the others, his sword buried in the ground before him, flames flickering faintly along its edge. His body was battered, cuts stung across his arms, and his chest burned with every breath. But it wasn't the pain of his wounds that troubled him.
It was the assassin's words.
"We are the same, Rihan. Vessels of Draemir's will."
He clenched his fists. "No… I won't accept that."
---
🌙 Healing Circle
Behind him, Elira worked quietly, her hands glowing with soft green light. She moved from Kael's deep gash to Sirena's shoulder wound, her magic stitching life back into their weary bodies.
Kael broke the silence first, his voice gruff.
"That assassin… he was barely older than us. And yet, his power…" He shook his head. "If Draemir can twist children into such weapons, then this world is in greater danger than we imagined."
Sirena, her silver hair catching the faint moonlight, frowned deeply. "He wasn't just twisted. He believed in it. That's the true danger—faith in the wrong cause can make anyone unstoppable."
Her eyes flicked toward Rihan. "But his mask cracked… and for a moment, he faltered. That means he's still human underneath. Not fully lost."
Elira finished her spell, exhaustion written on her face. She looked at Rihan, who hadn't moved since the fight. "Rihan… talk to us. You've been silent since it ended."
Rihan hesitated, then finally spoke. "He said we were the same. That Draemir chose us both. I… I don't know what that means. But if there's a chance he's right…"
His flame flickered dangerously at his fingertips. "…what if I really am just another herald of Draemir?"
---
🌑 Confronting the Fear
The group exchanged uneasy glances. No one spoke immediately. The weight of Rihan's words pressed heavy in the cold night air.
Finally, Sirena stepped forward, kneeling in front of him. She grabbed his hand, ignoring the faint burn of his fire. Her eyes were fierce, unwavering.
"Listen to me. You're not Draemir's vessel. You're Rihan. The boy who risked his life to save a stranger in that marketplace. The fighter who refuses to kneel even when shadows crush him. You're stubborn, reckless, infuriating—"
She smirked faintly. "But you're ours. And I won't let some god of ruin take that away."
Rihan stared at her, the fire in his hand steadying. Slowly, he let out a breath. "…Thanks, Sirena."
Elira added softly, "Your flame burns because of your choices, not Draemir's. Don't forget that."
Kael grunted in agreement. "If you were truly his puppet, you wouldn't be questioning yourself. The fact that you're afraid of it proves you're not."
For the first time since the battle, Rihan smiled faintly. The whispers in his head weren't gone—but they didn't feel as suffocating anymore.
---
📜 The Messenger
Just as silence returned, a faint rustling broke through the night. Instantly, Kael was on guard, spear in hand. Sirena's blade gleamed, and Rihan's fire reignited.
From the trees stumbled a hooded figure, clutching a wound at his side. He collapsed to his knees, coughing blood.
"W-wait!" Elira rushed forward, checking him. "He's human!"
The stranger's hood slipped back, revealing a middle-aged man with weary eyes. His clothes bore the insignia of a minor kingdom—one of the border provinces.
"You… you must be the ones who fought the Herald," he rasped. "I was sent… to find you."
Sirena narrowed her eyes. "How do you know of us?"
The man coughed, pulling out a torn scroll sealed with crimson wax. The wax bore a sigil unfamiliar to Rihan—but Sirena's eyes widened in recognition.
"That's… the mark of the Lunar Sentinels. My order."
The messenger nodded weakly. "Your order has been watching the cult. Draemir's followers are preparing something… a ritual. If completed, it will awaken more heralds—stronger, darker than the one you faced."
Rihan's blood ran cold. "Where?"
The messenger's voice dropped to a whisper. "…The Ruins of Eridral. Three nights from now."
His hand trembled as he grabbed Rihan's sleeve. "Stop them. Or this world will drown in shadow."
With those words, the man went limp in Elira's arms.
Dead.
---
⚔️ The Oath
The group stood in grim silence.
Kael's jaw tightened. "So it begins. Draemir's cult isn't just testing us—they're accelerating."
Elira closed the man's eyes gently. "He came all this way just to warn us. We can't let his death be in vain."
Sirena turned to Rihan, her expression hard. "This is it. We don't have the luxury of hesitation anymore. The cult moves fast, and if we delay, they'll succeed."
Rihan stared at the lifeless messenger, then at his companions. His chest burned—not with Draemir's whispers, but with his own resolve.
He tightened his grip on his sword.
"Then we'll stop them. At Eridral, at the cult, at Draemir himself if we have to. I won't run from this fate—and I won't let them turn me into a weapon."
The fire in his blade roared higher, steady and pure.
For the first time, the group wasn't just fighting to survive. They were fighting for something greater—for the fate of the world itself.
---
🌑 Cliffhanger
High above, in the endless void between stars, Draemir stirred. His voice rolled like thunder across the unseen realms.
"The vessel denies me. Good. Struggle harder, little flame. The brighter you burn, the sweeter your fall will be."
And in the temple of shadows, the Cult Mistress smiled, her violet eyes fixed on the same destination as Rihan's.
"The Ruins of Eridral," she whispered. "Let the game truly begin."