The night was thick with silence after the battle, save for the low hum of magical wards Seraphine had cast around their camp. The fire crackled weakly, casting flickering light over the group's faces. Everyone was exhausted—bruised, and silent.
Freedom paced near the fire, his hands flaring occasionally as if unsure whether to burn something or cool off. Talon sat on a fallen log, arms crossed, his stoicism tinged with frustration. Grint leaned against a tree, wiping blood off his blade in long, deliberate strokes.
Justice lounged upside down on a thick branch above them, staring up at the stars, her face unreadable. Truth brewed a dark tea nearby, his back straight, ears wide open. It was Talon who broke the silence.
"We don't tell Eldoria about Tess."
Grint nodded without hesitation. "Agreed. Word gets out that she's alive and back from the Verge? Panic. Paranoia. People will start suspecting each other all over again."
Freedom turned sharply, fire crackling in his palms. "Are you serious? We just got ambushed by a traitor and a literal swarm of Hollowspawn, and your first instinct is silence?"
Talon didn't flinch. "It's not about cowardice. It's about containment. If Eldoria reacts the way I think it will, we're going to have a city of frightened mages accusing each other of betrayal before sunrise."
Grint joined in, folding his arms. "We have no proof. Just a face, some fancy words, and a vanishing act. Tess was elite. She knows how to sew chaos. She counted on that."
Freedom stepped forward, his voice rising. "She tried to kill us! And you think playing dumb is the smart move? We're supposed to be Pillars. We don't hide the truth—we fight for it."
Talon's tone turned razor-sharp. "We are fighting for it. But you don't win wars by handing your enemy all the cards. Sometimes the hardest choice is the right one."
Grint threw a stick into the fire. "You really want to march back into Eldoria and say, 'Hey, guess what? The woman who nearly brought the guild to its knees is back, and she brought monsters this time'?"
Freedom's voice lowered, but it hit harder. "I won't become someone who hides in the shadows. If that's your idea of loyalty, then maybe the guild needs a reminder of what courage looks like."
Justice chuckled softly from above. "He's got that righteous fire again."
Seraphine cleared her throat. "Enough." All eyes turned to her.
She stood, calm as ever, her tone carrying weight. "This isn't a dictatorship. It's a team. So we'll put it to a vote."
She held up one hand. "Raise your hand if you believe we should report everything to Eldoria—Tess, the Hollowspawn, the ambush."
Freedom's hand shot up.
Justice glanced around, then shrugged. "I kinda like chaos, but I'll admit I'm curious to see how Eldoria would react. I'm in." Her hand went up.
Truth looked down at his tea. "I trust the truth, but I also know the weight it carries. Still…" He slowly raised his hand.
Seraphine nodded. "Three for disclosure."
She turned to the others. "And who believes we keep this to ourselves, for now?"
Talon raised his hand immediately. Grint followed. Seraphine hesitated. "I don't like either answer. But if the city isn't ready…" She raised her hand as well.
Freedom's jaw tightened. "So that's it? Three-three?"
Truth looked up, steam curling around his face. "Then it appears we are at an impasse."
Justice flipped upright on her branch and landed gracefully. "Guess we better not sleep too deep tonight. Nothing's more dangerous than a group with too many secrets." The fire crackled on, shadows dancing along the treeline as the Pillars settled into uneasy rest.
***
The room smelled of old smoke and incense—thick, cloying, and bitter. Chains hung from the curved obsidian walls like decorative moss, and a deep red light pulsed from the glyphs beneath the floor, matching the rhythm of a heartbeat.
Torez awoke to the sensation of cold iron around his wrists and the dull throb of poison still lingering in his veins. His vision sharpened slowly, revealing a circular chamber with tall columns carved from volcanic glass. He was suspended by his arms in the center of the room—alive, but humiliated.
Across from him, Robin leaned against one of the pillars, chewing a sliver of sweetroot between her teeth. Her long brunette hair was tied back in a tight braid, and the pink of her eyes shimmered unnaturally under the torchlight. "You went down easier than I expected," she said coolly, not looking up from the obsidian-tipped arrow she was polishing.
Torez groaned. "You call that a win? Took you a whole cult and a cheat shot."
Robin smiled, wicked and amused. "You're still breathing, so clearly I held back."
He tugged against his chains, muscles flexing, but there was no give. "Let me guess. Now comes the grand lecture from the High Priest? Or do you plan to drag me around like a trophy?"
"No lectures. Just disappointment." Her voice dropped, tone suddenly heavier. "You were supposed to be one of us. You were one of us. And then you ran."
"I ran because your war is a grave with no bottom. You think you're building a future? All I saw was a cult desperate to bleed the world dry to rewrite a past that never loved them."
Robin's gaze darkened. She walked slowly toward him, boots echoing softly. "That's the thing about truth, Torez. It's subjective. You see rot. I see resurrection. And you—" she paused in front of him, tapping his cheek with the arrow tip, "—you're the traitor who got sentimental." A door creaked open.
Footsteps—slow, measured. A figure entered robed in red silk and silver bone. His face was hidden behind a mask resembling a serpent's skull. The room instantly shifted. Colder. Quieter.
"High Fang," Robin muttered, bowing her head slightly.
The masked figure turned to Torez. "The Smite-Dodger returns. A miracle, they said. The one that got away." His voice was smooth, too calm. "And yet here you are. Shackled. Mortal. Weak."
Torez chuckled through clenched teeth. "Still took your best to bring me down. Guess I'm not that weak."
The High Fang tilted his head. "Not weak. Just... confused. You're a relic of our cause. Once sharpened steel—now dulled by doubt. Tell me, Torez. Were the Pillars really so terrifying you had to beg a goddess for protection?"
Torez's face tightened, jaw clenched. "They weren't terrifying. They were different. They cared. Even if they didn't realize it yet."
"A fatal flaw," the High Fang replied, circling him like a predator. "Empathy softens the blade. You forgot what made you useful."
Robin stood straighter. "What do we do with him?"
The High Fang paused. "I haven't decided. But if he's to survive, he must prove he still has teeth."
Torez spat blood onto the floor, laughing. "You want proof? Unchain me. I'll carve my answer into whoever's next."
"No," the High Fang said, unmoved. "Your next test isn't a fight. It's a choice."
He turned to Robin. "You will take him to the Cauldron. If he kills the boy, he's one of us again. If not… leave his body in the Maw."
Robin's expression faltered. For a second—just a flicker—something human flashed across her face.
Torez's voice cut through the silence. "What boy?"
The High Fang didn't answer. He merely turned and left the room, robes hissing against the floor. Robin didn't look at Torez.
She simply whispered, "You'll understand soon."
The Cauldron was not a place for second chances. It was a cavernous pit chiseled into the deepest chamber of the cult's stronghold, ringed with glowing runes and draped in veils of smoke that tasted like ash and despair. The walls whispered with the voices of those who failed the trial.
Torez stood in the center of the ring, unshackled, though his arms bore the raw marks of his chains. In front of him, a boy no older than twelve knelt in silence, bound at the wrists, head lowered. His robes were plain. His eyes—when he dared lift them—were violet and terrified. Robin stood on the opposite side of the ring, her bow unstrung but in hand. Her expression was unreadable. For once, she didn't mask her thoughts with words.
Torez looked down at the child. He didn't ask questions. He didn't speak. He simply stared. "You can still turn away," Robin said finally, her voice lacking its usual edge. "This isn't who you are."
Torez didn't move. "You don't know who I am anymore."
"I used to," she replied quietly. "Back before you started hiding behind sarcasm and metal arms."
His eyes flicked to her. "And you? Hiding behind smoke and old gods?"
Robin looked away.
The boy whimpered.
Torez took a step forward. Every breath in the chamber held. He crouched down, placing a single finger under the boy's chin and lifting it gently.
"Look at me."
The boy's eyes brimmed with fear but obeyed.
"If I do this," Torez said calmly, "I will never come back from it. Not really."
From the edge of the Cauldron, Robin tensed. "Then don't."
"But if I don't," he continued, "they'll do worse."
Robin's mouth parted—almost an objection, maybe a plea—but no words came. She didn't know what she wanted him to do. Or rather, she did—and feared what it would cost them both. He stood slowly.
Silence.
Then—
A gust of wind blew through the chamber. Not from the tunnels. Not from any direction the cult recognized. It was sudden. It smelled like cinders and lilacs.
The wall behind the High Fang exploded inward.
Stones shattered. Flames erupted. The cultists screamed as glowing glyphs blinked out across the chamber. And from the smog and fire, a voice rang out—
"Truly ghastly decor. All this darkness—makes your skin dry out just walking through."
A figure emerged through the wreckage. He was tall, with skin the color of burnished clay, his slicked-back curly hair bouncing with theatrical volume. His eyes glowed bright white, flickering with runes that pulsed in real time. His beard curled downward like a perfect spiral staircase. Robes of deep violet and emerald whipped behind him like living smoke.
Galdron, Wizard of the unchained. Herald of Kiras.
"Hello darlings," he said smugly. "Miss me?" Robin reacted first, drawing an arrow of shimmering blacklight—but Galdron flicked a single finger. The air tilted, and her arrow melted mid-flight, evaporating into harmless sparks.
"You," the High Fang snarled. "You were supposed to be banished."
"And yet, here I am," Galdron grinned. "Wearing better boots than your entire army. Shocking, really."
"Protect the core!" one of the cultists shouted, rushing forward—but Galdron raised his staff and twisted the air like a towel. The cultist turned inside out with a wet pop.
Robin took a step back. Her eyes darted to Torez.
"You brought him here?"
Torez didn't answer. He hadn't moved since Galdron's arrival. His hands were clenched, heart pounding. But his face—his face was unreadable.
Galdron stopped beside him, gaze flicking toward the boy. "Ah. A trial. How dreadfully primitive."
"Leave," the High Fang growled. "Now."
"I will, eventually," Galdron mused. "But not before I collect my prize."
Robin's eyes narrowed. "Torez?"
Galdron smiled like a man offering a poisoned apple. "Of course. Our dear, conflicted rogue. Kiras sends her love, by the way."
"No," the High Fang spat. "He chose us. His blood runs through our rites. His soul is bound."
"Maybe," Galdron said. "But his heart? Hm. That seems... negotiable."
With a flash, Robin hurled a smoke bomb at the floor, engulfing the chamber in a choking shadow. When it cleared, she and the High Fang were gone—vanished through one of the glyph tunnels. Torez didn't move. Not even when the boy scrambled behind him, shivering in the smoke. Not even when Galdron placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "Well. You didn't kill the kid. That's progress."
Torez looked at him, unreadable. "Didn't say I wasn't going to."
"No," Galdron agreed, voice softening just a touch. "But you didn't."
The wizard raised a hand, creating a portal of glimmering green stardust. "Come along. You're on thin ice, Torez Warman. But Kiras believes in reclamation." As the portal shimmered, Torez hesitated. Not out of fear. But because—for the first time in a long time—he wasn't sure who he hated more.