"I told you not to pry into this matter," Agatha's stern words reverberated, silencing Viktor and the rest of the group. Her disappointment etched across her face, Agatha lowered her hand from her visage, a subtle yet poignant gesture that emphasized the gravity of their actions.
"Well, ma'am, we're leaving," declared a group of heroes who had stumbled upon Viktor and his companions in the woods. Their departure was swift, leaving Viktor and his friends standing in the aftermath of their encounter.
Agatha, acknowledging the assistance provided by the heroes, uttered a curt expression of gratitude before dismissing them. "Thanks for your help."
Aden, his disdain evident, couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Damn heroes."
With the heroes gone, Agatha turned her attention back to Viktor's group. A sense of impending consequences hung in the air as she directed Aden, Fenrir, Esme, and Celtic to their dorm with a firm command. "Go to your dorms first. Punishment will come later."
As the group dispersed, Viktor, burdened with a mix of emotions, made his way towards the exit. However, Agatha's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Viktor, your father, sent someone to pick you up."
Protesting, Viktor asserted that he was fine staying with his friends. Agatha's response, delivered with a sense of finality, shattered his resistance. "It's your father's order."
With a heavy heart, Viktor watched as the rest of his friends left the room, leaving him alone in the wake of the unfolding turmoil. As he stepped outside, Agatha's words lingered, and Viktor couldn't contain the tears that welled up. In a quiet whisper, almost drowned by the weight of his emotions, he uttered, "I'm sorry, guys."
The room echoed with the weight of unspoken apologies, a somber prelude to the uncertain path that awaited Viktor, now separated from his friends and thrust into the orbit of his father's command. The shadows of the mysterious woods seemed to extend beyond the field, enveloping Viktor in a sense of solitude as he faced the consequences of their fateful journey.
The air outside the Academy was crisp as Fenrir approached Aden, an unspoken tension lingering between them. Fenrir's usual demeanor seemed to carry an additional weight, prompting Aden to shoot him a curious glance.
"I need to talk to you," Fenrir said, his voice a low murmur that barely carried on the breeze. The two of them began to walk, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet punctuating the quiet conversation.
Aden, ever direct, didn't waste time. "What is it you want to talk about?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed Fenrir, who had been unusually silent throughout their recent ordeal.
Fenrir hesitated, as if grappling with the words he was about to share. The forest seemed to close in around them, a silent witness to the unfolding conversation. "I caught another scent at the scene back there," Fenrir finally admitted, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "It was yours."
Aden's brow furrowed in confusion. The revelation hung in the air, leaving an unsettling pause between them. The significance of Fenrir detecting Aden's scent at the mysterious scene stirred a mix of emotions within him.
"Why would my scent be there?" Aden questioned, his tone a blend of curiosity and concern. The forest, with its rustling leaves and distant echoes, seemed to echo the weight of the revelation.
Fenrir's eyes, usually veiled in mystery, held a rare intensity. "That's what I want to find out. Your scent was woven into the fabric of the queen's strange disappearance, and it's a puzzle we need to unravel."
"Come, follow me," Aden remarked, his voice carrying a weight of determination and urgency that Fenrir couldn't ignore.
The air between Aden and Fenrir hung heavy with unspoken tension as they traversed the secluded path away from the bustling heart of Elodor city. Fenrir's hesitancy lingered, a palpable unease settling over him like a shroud.
"Where are we going?" Fenrir questioned, his gaze fixed on Aden, who continued to lead with a determined stride. Despite the tension hanging between them, Fenrir knew that he had no choice but to comply.
"To the truth," Aden replied, his voice devoid of any warmth, and he didn't bother to turn and meet Fenrir's eyes. The weight of their shared history seemed to intensify, casting a shadow over their journey into the unknown.
Fenrir's senses were on high alert as Aden's demeanor shifted, a subtle yet unmistakable change in his aura. The air crackled with tension as Aden spoke, his words laced with a veiled threat that sent a shiver down Fenrir's spine.
"I guess you already know about it," Aden stated, a moment of silence stretching before him. The weight of the unsaid loomed large, leaving Fenrir in an uncomfortable position, his instincts urging him to tread carefully.
"What should I do to you now?" Aden's voice carried a veiled threat, the air crackling with an unspoken choice reminiscent of the ominous options in his mysterious book—Exterminate or Pet The Stray. This time, Aden makes his choices, the sudden change in Aden's demeanor sends a chill down Fenrir's spine, a realization dawning on him that the choices they faced might be more real than he had initially perceived.
Fenrir found himself in a tight spot, Aden's calm exterior now cloaked in hostility. The weight of the impending decision pressed upon Fenrir, a sense of foreboding settling over him. He knew that any attempt to resist or retaliate could lead to dire consequences.
As the two stood in the secluded enclave, the atmosphere crackled with uncertainty. The dance between truth and consequences unfolded, and Fenrir, caught in the intricate web of their shared destiny, braced himself for the revelations that awaited.
Aden's hand gestured in a mysterious summoning. As Fenrir stood before Aden, his senses heightened with anticipation, he watched with bated breath as. The air crackled with an unseen energy, and Fenrir braced himself for whatever revelation awaited.
Suddenly, from the outstretched palm of Aden, a book materialized, its appearance seemingly mundane yet laden with an otherworldly aura. Fenrir's eyes widened in surprise, though his caution remained intact. Aden, with a measured calmness, presented the book to Fenrir, unveiling a truth that sent shivers down Fenrir's spine.
Aden's voice, tinged with an aura of solemnity, broke through Fenrir's thoughts. "I was once the Demon Lord, Xander Nightborn," he confessed, his words carrying the weight of a thousand untold stories. Fenrir's mind reeled at the revelation, his thoughts spinning with disbelief and intrigue.
The notion seemed implausible, yet as Fenrir gazed upon Aden, he sensed a subtle shift in the air. Aden's aura, once shrouded in mystery, now bore the unmistakable mark of a Demon Lord. It was a presence that transcended mortal understanding, a testament to the truth behind Aden's words.
Fenrir's mind raced with questions, his skepticism warring with a growing sense of awe. Could it be possible that Aden, his trusted friend and companion, harbored such a secret? The implications were staggering, and Fenrir struggled to reconcile the image of the man before him with the legendary figure of the Demon Lord.
Before Fenrir could voice his doubts, Aden's urgency cut through the silence like a blade. "We must leave this place," he urged, a sense of urgency coloring his tone. "The knights of Elodor will soon descend upon us, drawn by the flow of a Demon Lord."
With a surge of adrenaline, Fenrir nodded in silent agreement. Together, they swiftly departed from the secluded clearing, leaving behind the echoes of their encounter. As they disappeared into the labyrinthine depths of the building around, Fenrir couldn't shake the sense of disbelief that lingered in his mind.
Aden's words proved prophetic as the air behind them stirred with the sudden arrival of Elodor's knights, drawn by the unmistakable signature of a Demon Lord.