"Someone or something went through a lot of trouble to make sure he wouldn't reveal anything," Arcainius wiped his brow, hand trembling just enough to betray his calm. "Whatever bound his mind... it wasn't just a failsafe. It was ancient. Old magic. Woven to unmake."
"So, you learned nothing?" I asked, frustration sharpening my tone as I kicked at the gray dust.
"Not exactly. I managed to extract one piece of information before I was forced out—there's a team being sent to Soreanth."
Soreanth. The capital of Volstruum Valley. Heart of the Falstarians. My stomach twisted into a cold knot, a flicker of unease I couldn't shake. The last time I saw Soreanth, its towers were lit for festival. I remember music in the streets—now I imagined fire. Screams echoing off marble.
"How many?"
"Couldn't get an exact number, but it's an elite unit. Unfortunately, most of our experienced members are already on missions elsewhere. I can't send green recruits into something this dangerous." His gaze settled on me and Torglel—heavy with expectation. "That means it's up to you two. Gather allies. Intercept them."
With that, he turned and walked away, cloak trailing behind him—leaving the mission's weight to settle on us like damp stone.
I cracked my knuckles. The pop echoed in the tunnel's stillness. "I know just the people to help us."
Torglel raised a brow, curiosity flickering in his bright eyes. "Oh?"
"That Falstarian girl, Alythiel. And our old friend Laboritus."
The name brought a smirk to Torglel's lips. "Laboritus, eh?"
Laboritus was Thuumar—blood of the old stone, kin to the ancient colossi the old stories still feared. But Thuumar were the edges, not the bulk; sharp, fast, and never where you expected them. Even among them, Laboritus stood out. He loomed a head and a half above most men. A tactician with a mind like a steel trap.
One of the finest archers I'd ever seen—his arrows found throats like they were drawn by fate.
Torglel and I had worked with him years ago. Blood, brawls, and something like brotherhood. The kind that wasn't forged in trust, but in knowing the other man would still be there when the dust cleared—and maybe drag you out of it if you weren't.
"Alright," Torglel said, hefting his hammer onto his shoulder. "Let's go crack some skulls and take names."
We stopped by the armory first.
I slid extra knives into my armor's slots, checked the edges of Celerius and Mors—black and white steel gleaming faintly in the torchlight.
Torglel grabbed a pouch of smoke bombs, grinning like a fool, and slung a spare waterskin over his back.
Once we were loaded, I turned to him. "Let's hope Alythiel still has that rune."
Gripping his shoulder, I pulled out a teleportation rune—its surface cool in my palm. I channeled magic into it, felt the familiar buzz under my skin. The rune flared—blinding light engulfing us.
When it faded, we stood before her.
Alythiel leaned against a gnarled tree, arms crossed, silver hair catching the last rays of dusk.
"Need me so soon?" she asked, one brow arched.
"Soreanth is about to be attacked," I said bluntly. "We need all the help we can get."
Her face darkened. Moonstone eyes narrowed. "My family lives there. I'm in."
I pulled out another rune. Its weight steady. "Good. One more ally to go. Grab on."
She and Torglel each clamped a hand on my shoulders. I focused on Thalina—the Thuumar stronghold. A bright white light swallowed us whole, blinding and absolute. The light dissolved. We appeared in the heart of town—greeted instantly by distant shouts and the clash of steel.
Without hesitation, we ran toward the noise.
Thalina sat atop a plateau, cliffs acting as natural watchtowers over the valley. We reached the edge and looked down.
Chaos sprawled below—masked warriors, the same kind as the assassin, clashing with Thuumar defenders. Their blades flashed like teeth in the fading sun.
We charged into the fray.
Stone stairs cut into the cliffside carried us down, worn smooth by centuries of boots.
As I hit the battlefield, a voice whispered in my skull—low. Insidious. "Become one and be stronger."
I shoved it deep down. Now wasn't the time.
I spotted Laboritus mid-fight, loosing arrows with deadly precision.
We once fought back-to-back in the burning ruins of Varr Tal'Gar, standing on bodies and cursing in three languages. If he was here, we had a chance.
Four masked warriors flanked him, closing in. I stepped forward to intercept them—but two shadows slipped right, aiming for my flank.
Blades slashed down—twin arcs of death. I ducked low, rolled under them, and came up swinging. Celerius carved through one's midsection. Mors sliced the other. Blood splashed hot across my hands. They dropped.
My body surged forward—too fast, like gravity broke. I wasn't sprinting; I was being pulled. My limbs moved before I even decided to. For a moment, it felt like something inside me stepped out front and the rest of me just followed.
One moment, I was yards from Laboritus. The next—I was on him.
A knife flew from my hand, burying itself in an attacker's throat.
Celerius followed—cleaving another from shoulder to hip.
I flanked the last two, impaling them before they could turn. Their gasps were cut short.
I stood for a breath. My blades slick. Lungs steady.
That wasn't training. Wasn't instinct. That was... something else. Almost familiar.
Laboritus barely blinked. Loosed an arrow past my ear, dropped one mid-charge. "Good to see you, my friend," he said casually—like we'd run into each other at the market, not knee-deep in corpses.
He blinked. Just once. A flicker of surprise under the calm. Like he saw something—and filed it away for later.
I turned. Torglel was a whirlwind of bronze and fury, laughter booming like thunder. Nearby, Alythiel tended wounded Thuumar, dagger flashing at any foe who strayed too close.
"When did you get so fast?" Laboritus asked between shots.
A cold, distant laugh echoed in my skull.
I shook my head. "I don't know. But it just saved your hide."
Was I still me when I moved like that? Did it matter, as long as my blades landed true?
The tide turned as we pressed the attackers back—Torglel's hammer scattering them like leaves, my blades carving space for Laboritus, his bow a relentless rhythm of arrows that dropped every target they touched.
Masked warriors faltered—then vanished in bursts of blue light. I hurled a knife into one's back as he blinked out. It sank deep.
The Thuumar erupted in cheers. Fists raised.
Laboritus turned, wiping sweat from his brow.
"You saved us today. What brings you here? Surely not just a casual visit?"
"The same people who attacked you are headed for Soreanth. We need your help."
No hesitation. "Then I'm with you." He clapped Torglel on the back. "Good to see you again, old friend. And who's this?"
"Alythiel," she said with a warm smile, brushing blood from her hands. "Any friend of theirs is a friend of mine."
"You heal?"
She smirked. "When I have to."
I took a breath. Steadying myself. "I can summon Duroga to fly us to Soreanth."
Alythiel's eyes widened. "Who?"
"My dragon." A flicker of a smile.
Alythiel blinked. "You have a dragon?"
Laboritus groaned. "You always did have a flair for understatement."
"You...have... a dragon?" she repeated. "And you're just now mentioning this like it's a pet goat?"
Night fell, and the Thuumar threw a feast. Meat sizzled over flames. Ale flowed like rivers. The air thick with smoke and laughter.
I slipped away from the fire. Just needed air, or space, or something less than memory.
One of the masked warriors was being dragged to the pyre. Armor blackened, limbs limp. Could've been a brother. Could've been no one.
When I returned I sat beside Laboritus, firelight warming my face.
"You seem troubled," he said, voice cutting through the revelry.
I stared into the flames.
"They look like me," I murmured. "Same eyes. Same bones. Same silence when they die. I spent years wondering where my people went—and now they show up with blades."
I clenched my fist, knuckles blanching. "Guess I got my answer."
Saying it didn't make it easier. Didn't stop the churn in my gut. I'd wanted answers for as long as I could remember. I just hadn't expected them to come dressed in blood and fire.
"It still leaves more questions."
Laboritus placed a hand on my shoulder. Solid. Steady.
"It isn't easy, learning who you are at the end of a blade. But the world has a way of showing us truths—just rarely in the order we want." He tilted his head toward the fire. "For now, enjoy this victory. You never know when celebrations like this will be your last."
Maybe he was right.
I joined Torglel by the fire, listening to his exaggerated retellings—each punch grander, each foe taller. Alythiel danced near the flames, laughter ringing out in bright, defiant bursts that cut clean through the blood-soaked day.
I almost didn't join them. But his laughter dragged me back, like it always did. For a moment, I let myself forget the questions ahead.
That night, Laboritus offered us a place to rest.
But I knew—
The real fight had only just begun.And that night, sleep didn't take me. It dragged me. Down. Through memory that wasn't mine. Through heat that didn't burn—but whispered. Through silence that had been holding its breath—waiting for my name.
I dreamed of a mountain, but it was screaming. I dreamed of a voice, but it wore my face. I dreamed of fire, but it didn't give warmth. Only shape. Only hunger.
There's something inside me that remembers. Things I've never lived. Names I've never spoken. And now...
It's waking. Not to ask for permission. But to take its turn.