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Chapter 19 - The Eldritch Vessle is the friends we made along the way

Zellrid raised an eyebrow, silently prompting Aerovind to continue.

"Imagine a place where every desire, every twisted fantasy is not only allowed but encouraged," Aerovind said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Where the line between pleasure and pain is so blurred it might as well not exist. It's... intoxicating, in the worst possible way."

"Sounds like a night at the tavern with Ordeon," Zellrid deadpanned.

Aerovind burst out laughing, the tension broken. "Oh, I'd pay good money to see that!"

Their conversation was interrupted by a blur of movement and the patter of small feet. Ela came racing down the corridor, her laughter echoing off the stone walls. Hot on her heels was a small wolf cub, its tongue lolling out as it playfully chased her.

Aerovind's face lit up at the sight, a genuine smile replacing his usual smirk. Zellrid noticed the change, his eye narrowing thoughtfully.

"Why are you keeping her, Aerovind?" Zellrid asked, his voice low. "It's dangerous, especially with what's coming."

Aerovind's smile softened as he watched Ela play. "She's special, Zellrid. When I found her... she didn't fear me. Everyone fears me, you know? But not her. She looked at me and saw... well, I suppose she saw a father."

Zellrid grunted, but there was a hint of understanding in his eye.

Suddenly, Aerovind's brow furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead. "Say, Zellrid," he began, his voice strained, "what was your father's name again?"

Zellrid's eye darkened. "Thorgar," he spat the name like a curse. "A criminal. A rapist. I haven't killed him yet only because the bastard fled before I got the chance."

Aerovind's face paled, then he forced out a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Well, isn't that funny? When I was a kid, I survived an encounter with a predator by the same name. Small world, eh?"

Zellrid's eye narrowed, sensing there was more to Aerovind's reaction than he was letting on. But before he could press further, Ela came bounding up to them, the wolf cub at her heels.

"Papa!" she cried, throwing herself into Aerovind's arms. "Look what I found! Can I keep him? Please?"

As Aerovind knelt down to Ela's level, his usual carefree demeanor returning, Zellrid watched them thoughtfully.

Aerovind's eyes twinkled as he looked down at Ela's hopeful face. "Of course you can keep him, little one," he said, ruffling her hair. "Every wolf needs a pack, after all."

Zellrid grunted, but nodded his assent. Ela's face lit up with joy as she hugged the wolf cub tightly, then scampered off, her laughter echoing through the halls.

As they watched her go, Zellrid's eye turned to Aerovind, his gaze searching. "Your mother," he began, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Is she still alive?"

Aerovind's perpetual smirk faltered, his yellow eyes dimming. "No," he said softly, his usual bravado absent. "She was... taken advantage of by my mentor. They hanged her in the village square." His fists clenched at the memory.

Zellrid's face hardened. "I'm sorry," he growled, the words awkward but sincere.

Aerovind nodded, then quirked an eyebrow at Zellrid. "What about yours? I assume she's not the warm, cookies-and-milk type, given your sunny disposition."

Zellrid's hand unconsciously moved to his eyepatch. "She's the reason I've only got one eye," he said, his voice low. "She's a cannibal. Among other things."

Aerovind whistled low. "Well, aren't we a pair of motherless bastards?" he quipped, but there was understanding in his eyes.

As they reached the courtyard, they spotted Ordeon in deep conversation with a masked figure. Aerovind's eyes lit up with mischief. "Say, Zellrid, fancy a bit of eavesdropping?"

Zellrid frowned. "We shouldn't—"

But Aerovind was already moving, slipping behind a nearby tree with surprising stealth. After a moment's hesitation, Zellrid followed, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"—a war criminal if you help Zellrid," the masked figure was saying, his voice cold and threatening.

Ordeon's face twisted in fury. "Go fuck yourself," he snarled. "I'm not selling out my friend."

The masked man's voice dropped to a whisper. "That's a declaration of war against Umbra. The Nightstalker school won't survive the armies of four kingdoms."

Ordeon leaned in close, his voice a low growl. "Let them come. We'll paint the ground red with their blood."

The masked figure nodded slowly, then turned and left without another word.

As soon as he was gone, Zellrid emerged from behind the tree. "I need to leave," he said, his voice heavy with resignation.

Ordeon whirled around, surprise quickly replaced by determination. "Like hell you will," he growled. "The Purging Games start tomorrow. All the Nightstalker schools in Soulinya will be there. It's our best chance."

Aerovind sauntered out from his hiding spot, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "Don't worry, big guy," he said, clapping Ordeon on the shoulder. "This time, Umbra has a god-slayer on its side. The one, the only, Ashen Wanderer!" He struck a dramatic pose.

Ordeon's face split into a wide grin, his earlier grimness evaporating. "That's the spirit!" he roared, pulling both Aerovind and Zellrid into a bone-crushing hug. "Tonight, we feast like kings! A whole cow, on me!"

***

The great hall of Umbra was alive with noise and merriment. Hundreds of Nightstalkers filled the long tables, their raucous laughter and boisterous conversations echoing off the stone walls. At the head table sat Ordeon, flanked by Zellrid and Aerovind, with Ela perched on a stack of cushions next to her adoptive father.

Ordeon raised his massive tankard, ale sloshing over the rim. "To Umbra!" he bellowed. "And to the fools who think they can bring us down!"

A thunderous cheer went up, tankards clashing together in a cacophony of metal and mirth.

Zellrid, nursing his own drink, leaned towards Aerovind. "You really think we can win this?" he asked, his voice low.

Aerovind's eyes twinkled with their usual mischief, but there was steel beneath the humor. "My dear Zellrid," he said, taking a dramatic swig of ale, "winning is what I do best. Well, that and looking devilishly handsome."

Across the table, a burly Nightstalker with a shock of red hair leaned forward. "Oy, yellow-eyes!" he called out. "Tell us how you killed that cybreus! Bet that was a sight to see!"

Aerovind's grin widened. "Well, my flame-haired friend, picture if you will a city of gold and sin..."

As Aerovind launched into his tale, embellishing shamelessly at every turn, Zellrid found himself drawn in despite his best efforts. The yellow-eyed traveler had a way with words, painting vivid pictures of epic battles and narrow escapes.