Sylas moved silently through the underbrush, his senses heightened. The drow hunters, still unaware of his presence, crept along the edge of the northern ridge, their dark armor blending with the shadows cast by the trees. Moonshadow hummed quietly in his hand, the blade eager for battle, its connection to the moonlight urging him forward.
But this time, Sylas would not rush blindly into the fray. His time with Eilistraee's Sentinels had taught him the importance of restraint, of balance. Revenge had no place here, only justice.
"They're scouting for weaknesses," Althar whispered, crouching beside Sylas, his keen eyes scanning the enemy. "It won't be long before they make their move."
Sylas nodded. He could feel it too—an eerie anticipation in the air, like the moment before a trap was sprung. The drow hunters were patient, disciplined. He knew them well. These were not common mercenaries; they were elite assassins of House Xorlarrin, the very same warriors who had trained alongside him in the Underdark. Once, he had been one of them.
But not anymore.
"How many do you count?" Sylas asked, his voice low and controlled, despite the storm of emotions raging within him.
"Five," Althar replied, narrowing his eyes. "Armed with crossbows, and at least two with enchanted weapons. We'll need to be precise."
Sylas's gaze shifted to the nearest figure—a familiar silhouette that sent a chill down his spine. He recognized the blackened steel of the armor, the distinctive helmet adorned with jagged silver spikes. Varian, one of House Xorlarrin's most feared hunters, and a figure Sylas had once called brother.
The memories flooded back—training under Lolth's merciless gaze, the blood-soaked duels, the whispered oaths of loyalty. Varian had always been a zealot, his faith in Lolth absolute, his hatred for any who defied the Spider Queen unmatched. If he had been sent to hunt Sylas, it meant Lolth considered him more than just a deserter. He was a threat.
"We strike quickly, before they can regroup," Sylas said, his voice tightening with resolve. "I'll take Varian. The others won't be a problem."
Althar gave him a sidelong glance. "You're sure you can handle him?"
Sylas met his gaze, the moonlight reflecting in his silver eyes. "I must."
Without another word, Sylas stepped forward, his form melting into the shadows as easily as if he were back in the Underdark. The soft rustling of leaves masked his approach, and he moved with the grace of a dancer, each step perfectly measured. The teachings of Eilistraee guided him, reminding him to keep his emotions in check, to let the light within him shine through the darkness.
He could feel the pull of the moon above, its radiant energy flowing into him, sharpening his senses and strengthening his resolve. As he drew closer to Varian, the cold grip of his old hatred began to stir within him, but he pushed it down. This fight wasn't about vengeance—it was about redemption.
Stay in the light, Sylas reminded himself.
The moment he was close enough, he struck.
Moonshadow flashed in the air, its blade catching the moonlight as Sylas darted forward, aiming for Varian's exposed side. But Varian was no novice. In a blur of motion, the drow hunter whirled around, his sword drawn in an instant, deflecting Sylas's strike with a sharp clang that echoed through the trees.
"So, the prodigal son returns," Varian sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "I should have known it was you when I heard of a drow playing knight for the surface world."
Sylas didn't respond. He let his blade speak for him, sweeping it low in a series of fluid, precise strikes. Varian matched him blow for blow, their swords clashing with a fury that sent sparks flying in the moonlight. It was a deadly dance, a battle of skill and speed, and for a moment, it felt as though they were back in the training pits of the Underdark.
But Sylas was no longer the warrior he had once been. Eilistraee's teachings had made him faster, more agile. He flowed through the fight like water, each movement guided by the light of the Dark Maiden. Varian, though fierce, was weighed down by his rigid adherence to Lolth's brutal combat style.
"I see you've grown soft, Sylas," Varian spat, his eyes flashing with hatred. "You always were a coward, turning your back on your people, your house. And now you play at being one of them—these pathetic knights!"
Sylas parried another strike, his muscles burning as he blocked a heavy blow aimed for his neck. He could feel the weight of Varian's words, the bitterness in his voice. Once, it would have stoked the fire of anger inside him, pushed him to reckless violence.
But not now.
"I didn't abandon my people," Sylas said, his voice calm, though his blade moved with deadly precision. "I saved myself from them."
Varian's face twisted in rage, and with a roar, he swung his sword in a wide arc, trying to overpower Sylas with sheer brute force. But Sylas was quicker. He sidestepped the blow, his blade flashing out in a swift counterattack. Moonshadow's edge bit deep into Varian's arm, drawing a spray of blood.
The drow hunter staggered back, clutching his wound, his face pale with shock. "You… dare…"
"I dared to leave," Sylas said quietly, stepping forward, his blade at the ready. "And I dare to fight for something greater than the Spider Queen's lies."
For a moment, Varian stared at him, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then, with a snarl, he lunged at Sylas, his movements wild and desperate. But Sylas was ready. In a single, fluid motion, he raised Moonshadow and brought the blade down in a sweeping arc.
The strike was clean, and Varian's sword clattered to the ground as he collapsed to his knees, the light fading from his eyes.
Sylas stood over him, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. The rush of battle slowly ebbed away, leaving behind only a hollow ache. He had won. But the victory felt… empty.
The other drow hunters, sensing their leader's defeat, scattered into the shadows. Althar, who had dispatched the others with ease, approached, wiping his blade clean.
"It's done," Althar said quietly, his voice steady. "Are you all right?"
Sylas stared down at Varian's lifeless body, his emotions a tangled mess. "I didn't want it to end this way."
Althar placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression understanding. "Sometimes, we can't control the way things end. But you fought with honor, Sylas. That's what matters."
Sylas nodded slowly, though his heart still felt heavy. The darkness of his past was not so easily forgotten. Even here, under the light of the moon, it clung to him, reminding him of what he had been, and what he still struggled to become.
"Come," Althar said, guiding him away from the clearing. "There will be more battles ahead. But for tonight, let Eilistraee's light guide you to peace."
As they disappeared into the forest, the moonlight bathed the clearing in silver, and Sylas couldn't help but wonder if peace was something he could ever truly find.