Devine lifted her head, her heart hammering in her chest. Standing before her, cloaked in the same brown leathery armor, was a figure she hadn't expected to see—let alone in her defense.
A Malian? Standing up for a commoner?
It was unheard of in the entire Assyrian Empire. Her mouth went dry as she processed the sight before her, disbelief swirling through her mind. She had never seen such a thing.
"Sedrick, is this where you and your team are supposed to be camping?" The voice cut through the night like a blade, sharp with authority. Aamon's presence was imposing, his voice carrying the weight of command that made the air itself seem to still in reverence.
Sedrick and the others froze. She could feel their fear ripple like a wave. Trainee Malians didn't defy a Captain's orders—not if they valued their lives. In the empire, hierarchy was absolute, and disobedience carried a steep price.
Sedrick, trembling, bowed his head. "I apologize, sir. We saw villagers heading this way and...we thought they might be trying to steal from the storehouse." His lie was weak, brittle, but he delivered it with false conviction. His eyes flicked toward Devine, a warning gleaming behind his cowardly facade—stay quiet, or else.
Aamon's gaze flicked to her briefly, cold and unreadable, before returning to Sedrick. His silence hung heavy in the air, full of unspoken consequences.
"You do realize this is where the villagers bathe, correct?" Aamon's voice was steady, but there was an edge beneath it, a danger simmering just below the surface.
"No, sir, we didn't." The lie was spoken in unison, and the fear behind it was almost palpable.
Aamon's lips curled into a sneer of disgust. "Get that through your thick skulls. Now *scram*!" His command was a whip-crack, sending Sedrick and the others scurrying into the shadows like rats, fear dripping off them with every step.
Once they were gone, Aamon's sharp gaze landed on Devine again. The weight of his stare was suffocating, as if it pinned her to the spot. "You shouldn't be out here alone. It's dangerous at night." His tone was icy, and the silent message beneath it was clear—this wasn't a suggestion.
With one last hard look, Aamon turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Devine standing alone, her heart racing. The tension in her limbs slowly ebbed away, but her mind remained a whirlwind.
'A Malian protecting a villager? Why?' she wondered, still unable to comprehend what had just transpired. Malians never intervened unless there was something to be gained. She shivered, though not from the cold. It felt as though invisible eyes were always watching, something darker lurking just out of sight.
And then there was the Witch of Athens—her name spoken in hushed whispers, an enigma wrapped in mystery. It was said that even the strongest captains of the Empire felt uneasy in her presence. If the tales were true, they were on *her* turf now.
Aamon's voice echoed in her mind. "I don't care if the rumors are true," he had muttered to himself as he walked away, his voice laced with quiet dread. Something about this place seemed to gnaw at his soul, an unseen force pressing down on them. It was faint, barely noticeable, but persistent. As if something, or someone, was watching.
---
Garmond waded through the cool waters of the stream, the gentle glow of the moon illuminating the surface. He stared down at the reflection of his face, the familiar contours of his body rippling in the water's mirror. But what he saw staring back at him made his heart stop.
"Gary?" he whispered, his voice laced with disbelief.
He turned around, looking over his shoulder, half-expecting to see someone behind him. But there was no one. Only the quiet rustling of leaves and the murmur of the stream greeted him.
It was his face...but it wasn't. His hand trembled as he touched his reflection again, running his fingers over the familiar features—dark hair streaked with crimson, sharp indigo eyes. It was unmistakable.
He had reincarnated into the body of his own son.
"Impossible…" The word escaped his lips, his breath stolen by the revelation. The world around him seemed to tilt, confusion and disbelief swirling through him like a storm. What kind of magic was this? What dark wizardry could bind his spirit to this vessel?
His thoughts raced as he tore at his clothes, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes scanned the familiar scars on the body—no, *his* body—until his gaze settled on the one mark that shattered all doubt.
The burn. The jagged scar that marred his chest. The mark he had failed to prevent, the one burned into Gary's skin the day Azazel had taken everything from him.
The memory hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath, his heart aching with the raw, painful memory of his son's suffering. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as anger bubbled up inside him. He had failed to save Gary from the clutches of that cursed sorcerer.
"Gary?! Are you still there?" Devine's voice shattered his thoughts, pulling him violently back to the present.
He froze, panic flaring in his chest. He had forgotten she was waiting.
"Oh, no…"
Before he could cover himself, she stepped out from the shadows, her eyes locking onto his. Time seemed to slow, the night growing still. Devine stood rooted in place, her mouth slightly agape, her face flushed in the moonlight.
"Uh… I just came to see if you were alright," she stammered, her voice shaky. She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks burning a deeper red.
Garmond blinked, completely thrown off by her sudden appearance. He didn't have time to explain. "Wait, I—"
But she had already turned and was practically running away, her feet pounding against the soft earth as she fled the scene.
"Well, that went well," Garmond muttered under his breath, releasing a heavy sigh. As awkward as the encounter was, he still had more important things to deal with. Whatever had brought him back into this world—into *Gary's* body—was no accident. And he would uncover the truth.
---
The night air was cool, carrying the scent of wildflowers as Garmond stepped back into the stream. He let the water wash over him, his muscles loosening as the cold bit into his skin. The moon's reflection danced on the surface, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to forget the burden of his past.
But the memory lingered. The burn on his chest, the pain in his soul—Azazel's curse was still with him. He closed his eyes, letting the water flow over his face.
"I don't know how I came back," he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. "But this time, I'll end it. I'll end all of it."
---
Devine sat on a stone platform, her mind racing as she waited for Garmond. Her thoughts kept wandering back to his bare chest, the sight of his toned body, malnourished but still powerful.
She shook her head, embarrassed. "Stop it, Devine," she muttered under her breath, slapping her cheeks lightly to clear her thoughts. "Get it together."
"What's on your mind?" Garmond's teasing voice startled her, sending a jolt through her.
Her heart skipped a beat as she turned, seeing him approach with a smirk on his face. "It's...nothing," she stammered, her voice betraying her nervousness. "Are you done already?"
"Yeah," he said, smiling softly. "It was refreshing."
"Good," she mumbled, trying to mask her embarrassment. "Let's get going. It's already late."
As they made their way back to the old house, Devine couldn't help but wonder. *Who exactly is this man?*
---