The underground tenth floor of the obsidian tower, it was a place where the earth pressed in from all sides, a crushing weight that whispered suffocation.
There were many cells on this level. Rows of iron doors stretched into the darkness, their surfaces covered in runes of suppression that had long since gathered dust. They were empty. The things that used to scream behind those doors had either died or been forgotten by time.
All but one.
At the end of the corridor, a massive door stood shut. It was not merely a barrier; it was a slab of solid metal, half a meter thick, inscribed with glowing violet glyphs that pulsed with a low, sickening hum.
In the center of the cell, suspended by heavy, rattling chains, hung a woman.
She was suppressed by the heavy iron shackles clamped around her wrists, ankles, and neck. These were not ordinary manacles. They were made up of metal forged to drink Awen and suffocate Numen. They made her heavy. They made her flesh. They made her weak.
She knelt on the cold stone floor, her arms strung up above her head, the chains pulling taut so she could never fully lie down, never fully rest.
Her face, once an elegant mask of beauty, was smeared with the grime of the dungeon. Her hair hung in matted, dirty strands over her eyes. Her long legs, covered in scars from years of torture and battle, trembled with exhaustion.
She was listening.
For years, she had listened to the drip of water. To the scurrying of rats in the walls. To the heartbeat of the earth.
But today, she had felt it. A ripple in the Awen. A chaotic, jagged burst of ice and iron far above. And then... the snapping of a connection.
She knew Norvin's signature. She had spent weeks watching him through her projection, molding him, whispering to him. She had felt his terror, his hesitation, and finally, his survival.
She slumped forward, the chains clinking softly.
"Oh, Norvin..." she whispered. Her voice was a cracked ruin of its former power, rough from disuse and dehydration.
She closed her eyes, imagining the boy running through the forest. She imagined him escaping the shadow of this accursed tower.
"I am sorry I couldn't help you more," she murmured to the damp floor.
She knew what she had done. She had pushed him. She had saved him from the poison, but in doing so, she had forced him to witness the death of his protector. She had broken his innocence to save his life.
"But I am glad," she breathed, a single tear cutting a clean track through the dirt on her cheek. "I am glad you got out. You are young, but you are not weak."
She shifted her weight, the shackles biting into her raw wrists.
"Live your life properly, Norvin," she whispered.
Then, a shadow crossed her mind. A tall, dark shadow with eyes like a wolf.
'Thane Cladaron.'
She frowned, her brow furrowing deep. She knew the Captain of the Serpent's Maw better than anyone alive. She knew his ambition, his cruelty, and his twisted code of honour.
"But knowing Thane..." she whispered, a chill running down her spine. "He won't let you go. He collects broken things. He sharpens them."
She lifted her head. It took every ounce of her remaining strength. She looked up at the ceiling, staring through the tons of rock and stone, staring toward the surface she hadn't seen in decades.
"I am sorry," she said to the boy she couldn't see. "I am so sorry."
The violet glyphs on the door hummed louder, as if sensing her distress. They tightened the suppression field, sending a wave of nausea through her body.
She gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing with a momentary spark of red—a dying ember in the ash.
"Don't come back," she hissed at the ceiling, her voice desperate. "Run, you fool. Run far away. Don't come back for me."
The silence of the tenth floor swallowed her words, leaving her alone in the dark once more.
One floor above, on the ninth level, the air was different.
Chief Riven walked with a stiff, proud gait, holding a heavy ring of keys. Behind him walked the two Primes, Sir Corell and Sir Kine.
"The Captain was... displeased with the report of the breakout," Riven said, trying to fill the silence. "But this... this will redeem us. The Ninth Floor has been a project of ours for eleven months."
Corell looked bored, picking a speck of lint off his copper-trimmed armour. "Spare us the words, Riven. Show us the weapon."
"Of course."
They reached the end of the corridor. Unlike the cells above, this was not a standard prison. It was a massive containment unit.
Riven unlocked the viewing port and stepped back, gesturing grandly.
"Behold."
Corell and Kine stepped forward. And for the first time since arriving, their arrogant expressions vanished.
Inside the cell, chained to the wall with massive adamantine bolts, was a nightmare.
It stood—or rather, hunched—at twelve feet tall. It was humanoid in shape but monstrous in proportion. Its body was covered in thick, dark green fur that looked like matted moss, slick with moisture.
But the fur stopped at its torso.
Its chest and stomach were exposed, revealing skin that looked like brown bark stretched over muscles so dense and knotted they looked like boulders. Every breath the creature took caused these muscles to ripple and spasm, a display of raw power that made the stone floor vibrate.
But it was the head that made Corell recoil slightly.
It was the skull of a moose.
Not a mask, but the actual head. Bleached white bone, jagged and prehistoric. From the temples, two enormous antlers protruded, spiraling outward like twisted branches, covered in dripping green moss.
The skull seemed to be an outer shell, a calcified helmet protecting whatever fleshy horror lay beneath.
"What is it?" Kine rumbled, his eyes narrowing as he studied the creature's hands—claws that were currently digging furrows into the stone floor.
"An Astarey," Riven said, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and pride. "A Demon from the Land of Foul Souls."
Corell leaned closer to the demon. "How were you able to subdue it?"
"We found it deep in the southern swamps of the Land of Foul Souls," Riven explained. "Our entire retrieval unit marched in. Fifty men. We lost thirty-five just trying to subdue it."
Kine looked at the creature's face. The eye sockets of the deer skull were empty. Dark, hollow pits.
"It has no eyes," Kine noted.
"It doesn't need them," Riven said. "It senses life force. It smells fear. It hears the blood pumping in your veins."
Suddenly, the Astarey moved.
It didn't roar. It didn't scream. It simply snapped its head toward the viewing port.
Even though it had no eyes, both Primes felt it looking at them. They felt a wave of malice.
"It's... docile?" Corell asked, though he took a half-step back.
"Better," Riven smiled cruelly. "It's empty."
"Empty?"
"We hired a Scholar.," Riven said, tapping his temple. "A few of our men worked with the Scholar to run tests on it. They spent weeks inside its head. They burned out its consciousness. They erased its memories, its instincts, its self. It is a husk. A biological puppet."
Riven held up a small, glowing crystal amulet.
"Whoever holds this, holds the leash. It will fight for us. It feels no pain. It knows no fear."
Kine nodded slowly, impressed despite himself. "A hollow demon. Controlled by the Falchion."
"It is ready for deployment," Riven said. "If the Wanderers dare to show themselves, we will unleash it and—"
BOOM.
The sentence was cut short as the entire building lurched.
Dust fell from the ceiling. The lights flickered.
A deep, resonant vibration travelled through the floor, shaking the Primes in their boots.
Riven grabbed the railing to steady himself. "What was that?"
Kine turned his head, looking up toward the ceiling as if his gaze could penetrate the layers of rock.
"Explosions," Kine stated, his voice calm but hard. "Surface level. Heavy impacts."
Corell grinned, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. The boredom was gone from his face, replaced by a sharp, eager hunger.
"It seems," Corell laughed, "that the dinner guests have finally arrived."
Inside the cell, the Astarey threw its head back and let out a sound that wasn't a roar, but a high-pitched, rattling shriek—the sound of death waking up.
The Wanderers had arrived.
They didn't sneak in. They didn't use the sewers or the shadows. They came like a storm front, crashing directly into the base of the Obsidian Tower.
Aegis Kazar, the Wind-walker, stood atop a ruined guard tower. His cloak whipped around him in a gale of his own making. He wasn't just controlling the wind; he was the wind.
Around him, the air shimmered with razor-sharp currents. He raised his hand, and a tornado of compressed air blasted outward, tearing through the heavy wooden gates of the Obsidian courtyard as if they were made of paper.
"Forward!" Aegis commanded, his voice carried to every one of his men by the breeze. "Two objectives! Kill the Demon! Kill Thane!"
Below him, the Wanderers poured into the breach. They were a motley crew. They wore mismatched armour, but they moved with a desperate, fluid coordination.
Leading the charge on the ground was Cahir.
The Titan was a terrifying sight. His iron skin gleamed under the magical flares lighting up the battlefield. He didn't use a weapon. He didn't need one.
A squad of Bronze Falchion guards formed a shield wall to stop him.
"Hold the line!" their sergeant screamed. "Stop the Titan!"
Cahir didn't slow down. He lowered his shoulder and barreled into them.
CRUNCH.
The sound of metal buckling and bones snapping echoed across the courtyard. Men were sent flying like ragdolls. Cahir grabbed a knight by the helmet and threw him into another, shattering both.
"Where is it?!" Cahir roared, his voice booming over the din of battle. "Where is the demon?"
The Obsidian defenders were faltering.
But then, the sky changed.
A deep, guttural sound rolled over the battlefield, drowning out the clash of steel. It was the sound of massive lungs exhaling.
Aegis looked up, his eyes widening.
"Cover!" he screamed.
From the east, a flight of shapes blocked out the moon.
'Dragons.'
Leading them was a beast of crimson and white scales, a massive Inferno Dragon that radiated heat so intense the banners on the tower walls began to smoke.
Riding atop the beast, strapped into a gilded saddle, was Gareth.
The Golden Knight looked resplendent. His armour shone like a beacon.
"Burn them!" Gareth shouted, his face twisted in a euphoric grin. "Burn all of them!"
The dragon opened its maw.
ROAR.
A torrent of liquid fire cascaded down onto the battlefield. It splashed against the stone, clinging to everything it touched.
Wanderers screamed as they were consumed. The formation broke.
"Dragons!" a lieutenant yelled, panic seizing the ranks. "They have air support!"
Aegis created a dome of high-pressure wind above his squad. The dragon fire hit the wind-shield and scattered, raining down harmlessly around them, but the heat was stifling.
"Cahir!" Aegis shouted down. "We can't advance with those lizards in the air!"
Cahir smashed a guard into the pavement and looked up. He saw Gareth circling for another pass.
"I can't reach them!" Cahir bellowed, frustrated. He ripped a stone pillar from a ruined archway and hurled it at the sky.
The heavy stone flew true, but the dragon banked lazily, avoiding the projectile with ease.
Gareth laughed from above. "Look at the ants throwing pebbles! How adorable!"
He signaled his flankers. Two smaller drakes broke formation and dived, their talons extended, aiming for the Windwalker.
The battle had shifted. The ground belonged to the Wanderers, but the sky belonged to the Golden Knights. And in war, the sky usually won.
The Serpent Camp was miles away from the battle, but the sky was visible to everyone.
Thane stood up from the log. The negotiation was over. The pact was sealed.
"I have a lot of work," Thane muttered, dusting ash off his black coat. "I hate piling things up."
He adjusted his gloves, the leather creaking.
Just then, the horizon lit up.
A massive plume of fire erupted in the distance, painting the underbelly of the clouds in violent shades of orange and red. Even from this distance, they could hear the faint, thrumming roar of the dragons.
Thane paused. He looked at the fire.
The entire camp had gone silent. Knights emerged from their tents, spoons and whetstones forgotten. They stared at the light show over the Obsidian Tower.
"Dragons," a soldier whispered nearby. "The Kvothe Knights are engaging."
"Who are they fighting?" another asked. "The Wanderers?"
Thane watched the distant carnage. He saw the flashes of green wind magic mixing with the red fire. He saw the chaotic beauty of it.
He looked back at Norvin. The boy was also watching the fire, his expression hard.
"Well," Thane said, a wicked gleam entering his eyes. "It seems the world is impatient."
He turned away from the fire and began walking toward the armoury.
"So," Thane said, his voice rising, "I will take care of your request right now."
He walked into the center of the camp. The men saw him coming. They saw the dark energy rolling off him like smoke. They scrambled to form ranks, abandoning their confusion for discipline.
Thane stopped in the middle of the assembly area. He took a deep breath.
"WE ARE GETTING LATE TO THE PARTY!"
His voice was a cannon shot. It didn't need awen to carry; it carried on the sheer force of his lungs and his authority. It echoed off the trees.
"LET'S GO AND ENJOY!"
The knights blinked. They looked at each other, confused. 'Enjoy? Attack? Now?'
"Sir!" a lieutenant shouted. "Form up! Defensive positions!"
"NO!" Thane roared, spinning around. "Who said defence? Who said anything about defending?"
He pointed at the burning horizon.
"ATTACK!"
The confusion deepened. Mat and Chief Varic came running from the command tent, struggling to buckle their armour as they moved.
"Captain!" Mat yelled, breathless. "Captain, is this the right time? We don't have intel! We don't know who is winning! If we march now, we walk into a crossfire!"
Thane didn't look at him. He looked at the fire. He looked like a pyromaniac watching a fuse burn down.
"Mat," Thane said, his voice dropping to a terrifying purr. "The crossfire is where the fun is."
He turned back to the men.
"Get your gear!" Thane screamed, his arrogance washing over them like a tidal wave. "We march in five minutes! If you aren't ready, I leave you behind! And if I leave you behind, don't bother being here when I get back!"
Mat and Varic exchanged a look. It was a look of shared terror and resignation. They hated this. They hated when the Captain took over the tactician. But they knew there was no stopping him.
"MOVE!" Varic bellowed, channeling his fear into command. "You heard the Captain! Full combat load! Move!"
The camp exploded into activity. It was organized chaos. Men ran to tents, grabbing spears, swords, and shields. Horses were saddled. Medics packed kits.
Norvin stood amidst the swirling madness. He felt the adrenaline in the air. It was infectious.
"This is it", he thought. "The chaos I need."
He didn't wait for orders. He walked to the weapon rack near the training grounds. He bypassed the swords. He bypassed the spears.
He reached for two hand-axes.
They were brutal, simple weapons. Heavy iron heads, thick wooden hafts. They weren't elegant. They were meant for chopping wood and hacking bone.
He gripped them. The weight felt good. It felt like an extension of his arms.
From across the camp, Sizzle watched him. She held a bandage roll in her hand, forgotten. She saw the boy—the child she had healed—standing there with axes in his hands, his face set in a mask of grim determination.
He wasn't a slave anymore. He wasn't a victim. He was a soldier of fortune, marching to his own war.
"Five minutes are up!" Thane shouted.
He stood at the edge of the camp, facing the Marsh Forest.
The forest had changed. The battle nearby had awoken it. The trees were twisting, the roots writhing like snakes. It was in its metamorphosis period, aggressive and hostile. It formed a natural barricade between the Serpents and the Obsidian Tower.
Usually, an army would go around. Or wait for the forest to settle.
Thane drew his weapon.
It was a massive, two-handed battle axe made of Redstone. The blade glowed with a dull, malevolent heat. The intricate designs etched into the metal pulsed like veins.
"The forest is in the way," Thane stated.
He swung.
WHOOSH.
His axe hit the massive oak trees at the edge of the forest.
CRACK. BOOM.
Three trees, thick as barrels, were sheared in half instantly. They fell with a thunderous crash, clearing a path.
Thane stepped over the fallen trees. He didn't look back to see if his army was following. He knew they were.
"Whoever dies in the forest," Thane shouted over his shoulder, his voice cutting through the sounds of the dying trees, "before they reach the enemy stronghold..."
He paused, swinging the axe again, decapitating a lashing vine monster that tried to grab him.
"...will be personally killed again by me!"
The Serpents charged.
They poured into the breach Thane had made, screaming war cries to drown out their own fear.
Norvin ran with them. He was small, unarmoured, and bandaged, but he kept pace. He dodged a root, swung his axe, and severed it.
He looked ahead at Thane's back—the black coat flapping, the Redstone axe rising and falling like the gavel of a mad judge.
'Kill them all', Norvin thought, tightening his grip on his axes. 'Kill them all.'
The Serpent's Maw had entered the game. And they were hungry.