The group crossed the wooden gates into Ragnar, the town buzzing with quiet activity. Cobblestone streets wound through rows of wooden and stone buildings, their architecture reminiscent of a bygone era. Merchants called out half-heartedly from stalls offering wares—jewelry, dried meats, and trinkets with faint glimmers of magic. Yet beneath the bustle, something felt off.
Aiden slowed his pace, taking in the muted expressions of the townsfolk. People moved with purpose but little joy, their laughter forced, their conversations hushed. Even the children playing near the fountain seemed overly cautious, their games devoid of the exuberance Aiden had seen in the safe zone.
"They're alive," he said finally, his tone uneasy. "But they don't seem happy."
Rowan glanced at him, her spear resting casually on her shoulder. "They're not. This place isn't like our safe zone. People here… survive, but they don't live. The Core's shadow is too close, and they've learned to live under its weight."
Sylva hovered beside Aiden, her glow faint but steady. "Not all fragments have the same strength. Ragnar endures because of its protector, but its people remain tethered to the darkness they fear."
Kieran's gaze swept the streets, his shield gleaming faintly at his side. "It's functional. That's all they care about. Functionality doesn't breed happiness."
As they moved deeper into the town, guards in blackened armor eyed them warily. Aiden noted how even the heroes stationed at the gates seemed weary, their weapons polished but their stances guarded. The air itself felt heavier, tinged with salt from the dark ocean stretching into the distance. Waves lapped quietly against the shore, but the water shimmered unnaturally, its surface laced with crimson streaks that pulsed like veins.
"Look at that," Rowan muttered, nodding toward the ocean. "Doesn't exactly scream 'paradise.'"
Aiden shivered, feeling a faint pull from the ring on his finger as he gazed at the vast expanse. "What's out there?"
Sylva's glow dimmed slightly. "That is the dark sea—the edge of the Core's influence. The ocean feeds the darkness, just as the fragments feed it. It is vast and unknowable, even to me."
Before Aiden could respond, a voice called from the steps of a grand hall near the center of town. "You're the new arrivals, I take it."
The group turned to see a woman descending the steps, her presence commanding but graceful. She was dressed in a flowing gown of deep blue, embroidered with golden patterns that caught the light. Her dark hair was braided intricately, framing a face that seemed both regal and severe. She carried herself with an air of authority that demanded attention.
Sylva brightened slightly, her tone warm but cautious. "Darya."
"Lady Saltykova," the woman corrected gently, though her smile was disarming. Her accent was faint but present, adding an exotic lilt to her words. "Protector of Ragnar. And one of your chosen heroes, if I'm not mistaken." She inclined her head toward Sylva with practiced grace. "It's an honor to host you."
Rowan raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to Aiden. "She doesn't look like a hero. She looks like she owns the place."
"She does," Kieran said quietly, his tone unreadable.
Darya's sharp eyes flicked to them, her smile unwavering. "Please, come inside. We have much to discuss, and I suspect you could use some rest after your travels."
The group exchanged hesitant glances but followed her into the grand hall. Inside, the space was richly adorned with tapestries and chandeliers, though the opulence felt excessive rather than comforting. Servants moved silently, their gazes fixed on the floor as they set out refreshments.
Darya gestured for them to sit at a long table. "Ragnar has stood against the Core's influence for longer than most fragments," she began, her voice smooth and deliberate. "But the cracks grow wider every day. The Sentinel's forces have grown bold."
At the mention of the Sentinel, Sylva's light flickered faintly. "Have they breached the fragment?"
"Not yet," Darya replied, folding her hands on the table. "But their presence in the dark sea is constant. I've done what I can to maintain order here, but…" Her eyes drifted to Aiden, the faintest trace of curiosity in her expression. "You've felt it, haven't you? The pull of the darkness."
Aiden stiffened, his gaze dropping to the ring on his finger. "I've felt it," he admitted quietly.
Darya leaned forward slightly, her tone softening. "Then you understand. The balance between light and dark is fragile, and sometimes… sacrifices must be made."
Kieran's eyes narrowed. "What kind of sacrifices?"
"Whatever it takes to protect the people," Darya said smoothly. Her words were measured, carefully chosen. "I've kept Ragnar safe by ensuring the darkness is fed. Controlled. Managed."
Rowan frowned. "You're feeding it? What does that even mean?"
Darya's smile tightened. "Some things are better left unsaid. But rest assured, my methods work. Ragnar stands because of me."
Sylva's light dimmed. "Darya, the darkness cannot be bargained with. You know this."
"Do I?" Darya countered, her tone still pleasant but laced with steel. "Because I've bargained, and Ragnar still stands."
The room fell silent, tension hanging thick in the air. Aiden watched Darya closely, unease twisting in his chest. Something about her felt wrong, but he couldn't place it.
Darya rose gracefully, smoothing her gown. "You're welcome to rest here as long as you need. But I suggest you avoid the sea. The Sentinel does not take kindly to… interlopers."
As the group prepared to leave, Sylva hovered beside Aiden, her voice a whisper. "Be wary of her, Aiden. Darya may still wear the mantle of a hero, but her light has grown dim."