The hideout was dim and damp, its air heavy with the smell of metal and dust. Cairon sat slumped on an overturned crate, his hands trembling as he stared at the floor. Around him, the others gathered like silent statues periodically glancing at each other sideways.
Other than Vynn, the others were a part of his gang for a quite some time and had known him to some extent , but what just happened was a first. Bizarre and incomprehensible.
Marek's voice broke the stillness, sharp and controlled. "What happened, Cairon? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Before Cairon could speak, Vynn cut in, his voice uneven, urgent. "I… I've Seen This before ."
The others turned toward him—confused, uneasy. Vynn's face was pale, his gaze fixed somewhere far off, lost to memory. "I've seen it before. And I know what comes after."
"What do you mean?" Marek's brow furrowed as he straightened, his tone carrying both authority and fear.
Vynn hesitated, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. "Let me explain," he said softly, his voice trembling like a fraying thread.
" We have not been introduced completely , I'm from a village called the Daar , a village bordering the sea , rather small in size. " Vynn began, staring into the shadows, "a quiet border town by the cliffs overlooking the sea. We lived in peace, though the world beyond our shores was spoken of only in folklore fantasy like stories , stories we would tell the children . The sea itself acted as a wall—vast, uncrossable. And we believed we were safe."
The others listened, silent as Vynn continued.
He took a deep breath before continuing. "One day, a man washed ashore. I'll never forget how he looked—his skin pale as bone, his features sharp and unnatural. And his hair… it was dark, nearly black, but faintly streaked with a glow—blue like the light of a dying star."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"The villagers took him in, cared for him. For three nights, he lay unconscious, unmoving. Then, on the third night, he woke." Vynn paused, his hands trembling as he recalled the memory. "When he woke, he was… strange. He moved with an unnatural stillness, like he was a puppet on invisible strings. His voice—when he spoke—was soft, but it made my skin crawl. Couple of minutes passed in silence like that , that was until he He puked metal."
"What? Metal?" someone whispered, their voice faint with disbelief.
Vynn nodded slowly. "Coins. Dark, metallic coins with faint streaks of gold. On one side was the word Aetheris, and on the other…"
Here, Vynn faltered. He looked up at the group, his eyes wide with an old, remembered terror. "It was a lynx, but not like any lynx you've ever seen."
He faltered.
"What?" Marek pressed.
"A lynx," Vynn whispered, his voice so faint it was almost swallowed by the shadows. "It was carved in detail so fine it seemed alive despite its smallness. Its body was sleek and powerful, shoulders broad, fur flowing in elegant lines as though shaped by a storm. Its eyes were its most haunting feature—dragon-like, with vertical slits and an otherworldly glow that seemed to follow you. Around its head was a faint, flickering aura—like a halo of smoke and light. It had fangs bared, its expression both regal and terrifying. That beast…" Vynn swallowed, his voice almost breaking, "was watching. Even from the coin."
The room was silent, the weight of Vynn's words pressing down on them.
"What happened next?" Marek asked softly, though his voice was strained.
Vynn's eyes darkened. "The boy—he held the coins in his hands, humming a tune I didn't recognize. It was soft, like a whisper. I couldn't understand it, but it crawled into my ears, stuck in my head. Then he said something aloud—a single word. The A."
He shivered visibly. "The light in the room dimmed. Darkness crept into every corner like it was alive, and the shadows clung to him like old friends."
Vynn stopped, his breath uneven. He seemed to struggle to continue.
"Everyone considered him mad, a result of whatever happened to him , A lost soul." He laughed bitterly. "I thought so, too—until my father met him. My father was a broken man, aimless and bitter. But that man changed him. My father spent every day listening to him. He spoke of The A, the All-Knowing, and of faraway places—giant forests where people carved homes into ancient trees, tunnels underground connecting hidden cities, and mountains so high they pierced the heavens."
Vynn's voice dropped to a near whisper. "But then my father started… changing. He grew sharper, like a knife being honed. His eyes unfocused when he whispered The A. He became meticulous, obsessive. And then he started aging—his hair turned white, his skin like parchment. Two months later, he was dead."
A silence followed, suffocating the room.
"Six days after his death—on his 2nd remembrance night—it happened."
Vynn's voice dropped, his words sharp with remembered terror. "The screams woke us. Screams of pain, terror… and then we saw them. The Patrolclad. They wore black armor streaked with red light, like veins of molten metal. They didn't just kill—they destroyed. Houses, people… my entire village.."
The hideout seemed colder now, as though Vynn's words summoned the very chill of that night.
"They wanted the man," he continued, his voice breaking. "They knew he was there, and they tore through my village to find him. I ran—I ran through the fields while houses burned behind me. I could hear them moving—silent but fast. Every time I looked back, they were closer. I thought I was dead."
Vynn's breathing grew unsteady as he recounted the chase. "I collapsed, legs shaking, lungs burning. I remember turning to face them, ready to die."
He stopped, his voice a thin whisper. "But the man found me. I don't know how. He stepped between me and the Patrolclad like he'd been waiting for them. He held one of those cursed coins in his hand playing with it , moving it across between his fingers and whispered something I couldn't hear."
Vynn swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "The Patrolclad hesitated. For just a moment, they stopped—like puppets with their strings cut. And in that heartbeat, the man grabbed my arm and ran. I couldn't keep up, but somehow, he dragged me through the night. We escaped. We survived. And he led me here—to this city. I thought I'd be safe here"
Vynn looked up at the others, his expression hollow. "But we're wanted. I don't know what he did, but they're still searching for us. For him… and for anyone who knows him."
The room fell into silence, the weight of Vynn's story settling heavily over them. For a long moment, no one moved, the stillness stretching out like a void.
Then Cairon stiffened.
The room's edges seemed to blur, the corners darkening as though shadows were bleeding from the walls. A faint hum began—low and hollow, like the distant tolling of a bell. Cairon frowned, his heart quickening as the air grew thicker.
He heard it then.
"The A… The A… The A…"
The whisper. Soft, insidious, rippling through the space around him. It felt like it was crawling into his ears, his bones. Cairon's breathing quickened as the room dimmed further. The faint light flickered and waned, swallowed by the creeping darkness.
A smell filled the space—salt and smoke. The faint tang of fire, metal, and the sea all at once. Cairon's eyes darted to the others, but they didn't seem to notice. Marek's voice was distant, muffled, as though coming from underwater.
"Cairon?"
The whisper grew louder, though it remained soft—ever soft.
"The A… The A… The A…"
The darkness pressed closer, cold and alive. Cairon clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He could feel something shifting around him—something vast and unseen.
And then, as quickly as it began, the whisper stopped.
The room snapped back into focus—the light returning, the shadows retreating. Cairon stumbled slightly, breathless, his pulse pounding in his ears.
"Cairon?" Marek said again, this time louder, his eyes narrowing in concern. "What's wrong?"
Cairon looked up, his face pale and his voice barely above a whisper.
"Nothing," he lied, though his trembling hands betrayed him.
"The A… The A… The A…"
The words still lingered, faint and lingering like smoke in his mind.