After ensuring Korr wasn't on the brink of death and watching the massive bear-man shrink back to his normal size—still imposing by human standards—Ezra finally allowed himself to collapse. The adrenaline that had kept him going drained from his body, and the exhaustion hit like a hammer. Blood pooled around him from wounds he hadn't even realized he'd sustained during the fight.
Mercenary work was supposed to be guarding caravans and dealing with a few scrappy bandits, Ezra thought bitterly as the edges of his vision darkened. Not fighting demon princes and chaos paladins. This is absolutely, positively, gods-damned terrible.
His last conscious thought was a silent plea that someone, anyone, would handle cleaning up the mess while he took a well-deserved nap... or passed out, whichever came first.
After some time, Ezra stirred awake, the warmth of a small fire easing the chill in his battered body. He glanced over to see Alfira seated by the flames, carefully maintaining them with faint wisps of magic. Her energy felt weak, barely a flicker compared to the monstrous power they had faced earlier, but she was focused.
Ezra groaned as he pushed himself up, every muscle protesting. His eyes landed on Korr, still unconscious, his massive frame wrapped in bandages infused with medicinal herbs. The sight brought a small, weary smile to Ezra's face.
He turned his attention to Alfira, her face illuminated by the soft firelight. "You're pretty good at this camping stuff, Princess," he said with a smug grin, his voice hoarse but playful. "Looks like you've patched up more than a few people before."
Alfira glanced up at him, her expression caught between relief and irritation. Ezra shifted his gaze to his own chest, now wrapped in neatly applied bandages, then over to his armor—or what was left of it. The once-sturdy leather had been reduced to a pitiful collection of scorched and shredded scraps lying to the side.
"Though, I have to say," Ezra continued, his grin widening as he gestured toward the remnants, "it seems my armor didn't survive the night nearly as well as I did."
Alfira rolled her eyes but didn't respond immediately, her hands returning to tending the fire. It was clear she was exhausted, but her determination to keep things in order hadn't wavered.
A few hours later, Korr finally stirred, letting out a low groan as his massive frame shifted under the bandages. His eyes blinked open, and despite the obvious pain etched across his face, he grinned broadly as he sat up, his usual playful demeanor slipping back into place as if the life-or-death battle had been nothing more than a bad dream.
"Well, that was a warm-up I wasn't expecting," Korr said with a chuckle, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. He turned to Alfira, who was still by the fire, her gaze distant as she poked at the embers with a stick. "Hey, Princess, since we've got some downtime, mind telling us what it's really like being royalty? Fancy banquets? Palaces? Hoards of servants waiting on you hand and foot?"
Alfira stiffened at the question, her hand pausing mid-motion. "It's not as glamorous as you think," she replied curtly, not looking at him. Her tone carried a sharp edge that made even Korr pause for a moment before recovering.
"Aw, come on," Korr pressed, leaning forward despite the twinge of pain in his ribs. "You're telling me you didn't have a throne to sit on, or at least a mountain of gold somewhere in the family vault? Doesn't sound very royal to me."
Alfira shot him a withering glare. "I said it's not what you think. Drop it." Her voice was firm, but the way her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the stick gave her away.
Ezra, watching the exchange from where he rested against a tree, didn't say a word, but his sharp eyes caught everything. The way Alfira's gaze had faltered when Korr mentioned her family, the subtle flinch whenever the word "royalty" was thrown around, and the haunted look that crossed her face when her brother had transformed into that monstrous form earlier—it all painted a picture he was beginning to piece together.
Korr, oblivious as ever, either didn't notice or decided to push further. "You've gotta give us something. What about that brother of yours? He sure didn't seem like the 'fancy banquets and dancing' type."
Alfira's hands clenched, and for a moment, Ezra thought she might snap. But instead, she let out a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of her past had momentarily crushed her spirit. "You wouldn't understand," she said softly, almost to herself. "None of you would."
The fire crackled in the heavy silence that followed. Korr finally seemed to get the hint, leaning back with an awkward chuckle. "Alright, alright. I'll back off. No need to bite my head off, Princess."
Ezra finally spoke, his voice low but steady. "Leave it, Korr. Some scars don't need to be picked at." He glanced at Alfira, who was now staring into the fire, her face a mask of exhaustion and buried pain.
The mood grew somber, but Ezra's mind was racing. Whatever had happened to her in the demon courts, it had left deep marks, ones that even her brother's appearance hadn't fully healed. He couldn't say he trusted her yet—her noble heritage and ties to the demons were enough to keep his guard up—but he could at least understand why she was the way she was.
The journey to the Kingdom of Tavelon was relatively uneventful, save for the occasional wildlife rustling in the underbrush. The trio kept a steady pace, the tension from the earlier battle with Zyrion gradually fading into the background. The dirt path eventually widened into a well-trodden road, evidence of civilization drawing nearer.
Korr, ever the one to fill silence, adjusted the straps of his pack and grinned. "So, Princess, what's the first thing you're going to do when you get back to your fancy castle? Demand a feast? Bathe in a pool of gold coins?"
Alfira rolled her eyes but couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at her lips. "I think I'll settle for a bath and some sleep, thanks. Unlike some people, I've been running on adrenaline for days."
Korr chuckled. "Fair enough. But you should try the feast idea. Nothing says 'I'm back' like a roasted boar the size of a horse."
Ezra shook his head, smirking slightly as he walked ahead of them. "Leave her alone, Korr. Not everyone dreams of stuffing their face the second they get through the gates."
Korr feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. "What? Food is life, Ezra. You of all people should know that. How do you think I keep this amazing physique?"
Ezra snorted. "By eating like a bear. Oh wait, you are one."
The trio laughed, the tension from the past few days easing into a more relaxed camaraderie. Alfira seemed less guarded than usual, occasionally chiming in with sarcastic quips, though she kept much of her focus on the road ahead.
As they crested a hill, the sprawling walls of Tavelon came into view. The city gleamed in the midday sun, its white stone walls and golden accents a stark contrast to the surrounding countryside. The massive gates were flanked by armored guards, their polished weapons glinting in the light.
"Impressive," Ezra muttered, his eyes scanning the fortifications. "They don't mess around with security, do they?"
Alfira straightened her posture, her demeanor shifting into something more regal as they approached the gates. "Tavelon is one of the oldest human kingdoms. They take pride in their traditions... and their defenses."
The guards at the gate stiffened as they noticed Alfira, their eyes widening as they recognized her. Without hesitation, they stepped aside, bowing slightly. "Princess Alfira, welcome back to Tavelon," one of them said, his voice respectful but curious. "The king has been expecting you."
She nodded curtly and turned to Ezra and Korr. "Wait for me here. I won't be long." With that, she disappeared through the gates, leaving the two mercenaries standing awkwardly under the scrutinizing gaze of the guards.
Korr stretched and leaned against the wall. "So, how much do you think this job's worth? Escorting a princess has to pay more than killing bandits, right?"
Ezra shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough. Let's just hope it's enough to replace my armor. That demon did a number on it."
True to her word, Alfira emerged about an hour later, her expression calm but her movements brisk. She approached the duo and handed Ezra a small pouch. "Three hundred gold pieces," she said simply. "And this."
She held out a singular, large coin made of an unfamiliar, shimmering metal. Its surface seemed to shift colors under the sunlight, alternating between hues of silver, gold, and faint purple. Strange runes were etched along its edge, their meaning indecipherable.
Korr whistled. "What's that? Looks fancy."
Alfira's lips curved into a faint smile. "It's called an Astral Mark. A token of the royal family's favor. It might not seem like much, but it'll open doors for you in places where gold won't."
Ezra examined the coin, turning it over in his hand. "Useful," he said simply, before tucking it away. "Thanks."
Alfira inclined her head. "Thank you. For everything. I wouldn't have made it here without you two." She hesitated for a moment, as if considering saying more, but then turned and began walking back toward the gates. "Safe travels," she called over her shoulder before disappearing once more into the city.
Korr slung his pack over his shoulder, a satisfied grin on his face. "Well, looks like we're in the royal family's good books now. Not a bad day's work."
Ezra nodded, his mind already turning to their next move. "Let's find an inn. We've earned a break."
As they set off down the road, Ezra couldn't shake the feeling that this job had been more than just an escort mission. The Astral Mark weighed heavily in his pocket, a silent promise of more to come.
As Ezra and Korr strolled through the bustling streets of Tavelon, taking in the sights of the lively marketplace, a short woman brushed past Ezra, her hand lightly gripping his shoulder. Instinctively, Ezra tensed, his hand moving to swat her away, assuming she was a pickpocket.
Before he could react further, she leaned in close and whispered, her voice low and urgent, "Now that you've killed a member of the demonic royal family, they won't let you rest. You'll be safe for a while, but soon you'll be in more danger than you can imagine. Get stronger. Be safe, oh son of Elthar."
Ezra froze, her words slicing through the noise of the street like a blade. He turned to look at her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. There was something hauntingly familiar about her—her dark skin, the untamed curls that framed her face. She looked like him. The resemblance was uncanny, as if she shared his lineage, his blood.
"Wait," Ezra said, his voice sharper than he intended. "Who are you? What did you—"
Before he could finish, she stepped back, her gaze steady and knowing. A faint, otherworldly glow began to emanate from her figure, casting warm orange light onto the cobblestones around her. She offered no explanation, only a small, enigmatic smile, and then she was gone. One moment she was there, and the next, her form dissolved into wisps of orange light, fading into the air.
Ezra stood rooted to the spot, his mind racing. His hand twitched as if to grab her, to pull her back, to demand answers about her cryptic warning and the strange power he'd awakened during his fight with the Chaos Paladin. But it was too late.
Korr, who had been preoccupied buying roasted nuts from a nearby vendor, finally noticed Ezra's expression. He ambled over, his brow furrowed. "What's with the face? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Ezra shook his head slowly, still staring at the spot where the woman had disappeared. "Might've been. Or something worse," he muttered under his breath.
Korr glanced around, confused, then shrugged and shoved a handful of nuts into his mouth. "Well, whatever it was, it's gone now. You good? Or do we need to track down whoever spooked you?"
Ezra let out a slow breath, his hand moving to the pouch where the Astral Mark rested. "I don't know yet," he admitted, his tone distant. "But something tells me this isn't over."
The pair continued down the street, though Ezra couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The woman's words echoed in his mind, a warning that carried both promise and dread. Son of Elthar. He had no idea what it meant, but he had a sinking feeling he'd soon find out.