Standing there alone amidst the ruins of Frostmere, the oppressive silence pressing in from all sides, I couldn't shake the weight settling in my chest. The fight was over, Malric's madness was silenced, but there was no triumph in it.
I looked around at the remains of what once was a village. Scattered rubble, bloodstains long dried into the cracked earth, and the remnants of lives now extinguished. A cold breeze swept through, carrying with it the faintest trace of decay.
Is there anything I can do?
The thought gnawed at me, as futile as it felt. I'd come here to investigate, to see what happened, and maybe to stop whatever was responsible. And I had. But Frostmere was still gone. The people who laughed, who worked, who lived here—they weren't coming back.
I remembered a time, not so long ago, when Frostmere was filled with life. When Roderick and I had come through, tired from the hunt, but greeted with smiles. A granny, her hands worn from years of baking, had pressed a loaf of bread into my hands. It hadn't been much—dense and a little overcooked—but it was warm. And somehow, that warmth had spread through me, chasing away the fatigue of the day.
Now, that memory felt like it belonged to another life.
I could still taste that bread if I thought hard enough. The crust wasn't great, but the feeling it gave me... that warmth and coziness, that sense of belonging—it was gone now, just like the granny who'd made it, just like everything else.
I gripped my staff tighter, the wood solid and grounding in my hands. But it didn't stop the ache in my chest.
I wasn't naïve. I knew I couldn't bring them back. No spell I'd learned, no magic in this world could undo what Malric and his demons had done. But damn it, I wished there was something—anything—I could do to make this village what it had been again.
Feeling the heavy weight of futility pressing down on me, I turned my gaze to Malric's frozen body. Encased in ice, his gaunt form looked less menacing now, more like a twisted statue than the maniac who had wreaked so much havoc.
He was dead. Stopped. Whatever madness or ambition had driven him, whatever dark force had tainted his soul, it ended here. Frostmere's fate wouldn't be repeated, not by his hand.
And that was something, wasn't it?
This village wasn't far from Hollowbrook—maybe too close for comfort. If Malric had made it there...
I shook the thought away. No point in imagining the horrors he could have unleashed. He didn't make it there. I'd made sure of that.
I stepped closer, staring at the frozen expression locked on his face. Hatred, confusion, and desperation all etched into a mask of ice. The same emotions that had guided his actions, that had brought him to this end.
"Well," I muttered softly, raising the tip of my staff, "guess you won't be turning anywhere else into your 'masterpiece.'"
The cold glow of the ice reflected faintly off the staff as I touched its end to his frozen form.
The moment the wood made contact, the body shattered.
The sound was sharp, echoing in the empty square like glass breaking against stone. Pieces of Malric fell to the ground in jagged shards, scattering across the scorched dirt. No blood. No screams. Just an instant, hollow silence.
I packed my belongings with methodical precision, each motion steady and deliberate, more for keeping my mind busy than anything else. The village was silent around me, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through broken timbers. I cleaned up what I could—not much to tidy in a graveyard—but it gave me a moment to breathe, to center myself after everything.
With my bag slung over my shoulder and my staff in hand, I took one last look at Frostmere. It was hard to reconcile the image in my memory—the lively, warm village—with the husk it had become. But staring at the ruins wasn't going to change anything.
I turned toward the road.
If my memory served, there was a city not too far from here. Not as sprawling as Caerwyn, but big enough. Big enough for what I needed—a bed to rest, some food, maybe a pint of ale to wash away the lingering bitterness in my throat. And more importantly, a board filled with missions.
Yes, I had to keep moving. The demons chasing me weren't going to stop, and standing still was as good as signing my own death warrant. But I still had to live. And monster-slaying? That wasn't just how I lived—it was how I stayed sharp.
Every beast I brought down was one more step ahead of the family of demons breathing down my neck.
And truthfully, a good fight might be exactly what I needed to clear my head.
The road stretched on for what felt like forever, winding through fields that gradually gave way to thicker and darker woods. The midday sun had long since disappeared behind the dense canopy, and before long, the dirt path narrowed to nothing more than a faint suggestion of a trail.
Eventually, even that suggestion vanished. The road just... ended.
I sighed, gripping my staff tighter as I stared at the wall of dense jungle ahead of me. "Of course," I muttered. "Why make things easy?"
Brushing aside a low-hanging vine, I muttered the incantation for Windslash, and the tip of my staff flared with energy. A sharp blade of air cut through the vegetation in front of me, slicing vines and branches as easily as if they were paper.
I couldn't help but think of the last time I'd used this spell. Lavael. The same incantation that had cleanly taken her head was now serving as an overqualified machete to hack my way through a jungle.
"From decapitating demons to clearing shrubbery," I said dryly, smirking to myself as I slashed through another thick tangle of undergrowth. "Quite the résumé for you, Windslash."
The jungle slowly yielded to my efforts, the sharp bursts of wind carving a narrow path forward. The leaves and vines fell away, leaving jagged openings where sunlight tried to pierce through the dense foliage.
As I moved deeper into the greenery, my thoughts wandered to the versatility of my magic. Most mages I'd met were rigid in their thinking, treating spells like tools with only one purpose. Fireballs for burning, shields for protection, water streams for... well, who knows what. But for me? Spells had always been more about how you used them.
Take my Water Stream spell, for example. To most, it was a simple utility spell for quenching fires or filling a canteen. For me? It was my makeshift shower on the road, a quick way to clean up when no streams were nearby. But it was also perfect for soaking an enemy before unleashing an electric spell on them. There's a reason people yell louder when lightning hits wet skin.
I grinned at the memory of an arrogant bandit who'd learned that the hard way.
The same principle applied to nearly every spell I used. Why settle for just one use when you could adapt? Magic wasn't just a hammer smashing into a nail—it was a thousand different tools waiting to be improvised.
Another burst of Windslash cleared the next few feet of jungle, and I stepped through, brushing stray leaves from my sleeve.
"You think outside the box, Thalia," I muttered to myself, wryly amused. "And you've got the scars to prove it."
After what felt like hours of hacking through the jungle, I finally stepped into a clearing. The dense forest opened up around me, revealing a patch of flattened grass and earth under the pale light of the moon. It wasn't much, but it was large enough to make camp and, more importantly, quiet enough to feel safe—relatively speaking.
The air here felt lighter, though the faint rustling of leaves and distant chirps of nocturnal creatures reminded me that the jungle never really slept. Still, it was better than trudging through vines and underbrush in the dark. I set my staff down and stretched, rolling my shoulders with a sigh.
"This'll do," I muttered to myself.
I pulled out my tent, a simple roll of canvas and poles, and began setting it up. The frame went up quickly enough—well, quickly by my standards—and soon the small triangular structure was standing firm.
Of course, this wasn't just any tent. Like everything I owned, it had a little magical enhancement to keep me alive in situations where fabric and sticks alone wouldn't cut it.
Once the tent was secured, I crouched by the entrance and whispered the activation spell, brushing my fingers along the edge of the canvas. The magic responded immediately, spreading like a ripple across the surface until the entire structure shimmered faintly and then disappeared from sight.
Invisible to the naked eye, the tent was now cloaked in a charm that masked its presence entirely—not just visually, but aurally as well. No rustling, no creaks, nothing to alert a curious beast—or worse, someone with ill intentions—that I was here.
"Not bad, Thalia," I murmured, giving it a small pat for good measure.
Inside, the tent was just as functional. A soft bedroll that could keep me warm even on frostbitten nights was neatly laid out in one corner. A faint, magical glowstone hovered near the center, providing just enough light to make it cozy without being overbearing.
I sat down on the bedroll, pulling off my boots with a groan as the day's weight hit me all at once. My legs ached, my shoulders burned from carrying my gear, and my mind was still swirling with everything that had happened in Frostmere.
But for now, I had this. A small, quiet space in the middle of nowhere. A safe bubble in a world that seemed intent on crushing me.
I let out a sigh, my shoulders finally relaxing as I leaned forward to check my bag. I rummaged through it, my fingers brushing past the familiar weight of potions and supplies until I found it: a small, wrapped bundle tucked neatly at the bottom.
When I unwrapped it, I couldn't help but smile. A stale piece of bread and a strip of dried meat. Elara must have snuck it in before I left. I hadn't noticed it earlier—too focused on the road ahead—but now, with my stomach growling and the long day catching up to me, it felt like a gift from the gods.
"Should've told me, Elara," I muttered, shaking my head with a small laugh. "Would've saved me hours of hunger."
I set the bundle down and conjured a small flame with a flick of my fingers, watching as it hovered just above the ground. With some effort, I managed to balance the bread and meat near the fire, rotating them awkwardly as the edges began to toast.
Cooking wasn't exactly my strong suit. I could wield magic to fell monsters, to shield myself from the deadliest attacks, even to decapitate a demon—but making something edible? That was a challenge of its own.
Still, I managed.
The bread darkened around the edges, the meat sizzling faintly as the heat coaxed out what little flavor it had left. It wasn't much, but it was better than eating it cold.
I sat back and poked at the bread with the tip of my staff to test it. Not exactly gourmet, but I'd had worse. Roderick never complained about my cooking, though knowing him, he probably just didn't want to deal with my sarcasm if he did.
I took a bite of the bread first. It was tough, dry, and slightly burnt on one side, but it was enough to quiet the gnawing in my stomach. The meat was salty and chewy, but it paired well enough with the bread that I didn't mind.
It wasn't good, but it was enough.
By the time I finished, my eyelids were heavy, the long day catching up to me all at once. I wrapped the remains of the bundle and tucked it back into my bag, leaning back on the bedroll as the warm meal settled in my stomach.
Not great, but enough to make me sleepy. And in the middle of nowhere, that was enough.
The moment sleep took me, I wasn't in my tent anymore.
I was somewhere else.
The room was cold and dark, the only light coming from a faint, unnatural glow that illuminated just enough for me to see the chains binding my wrists. They were heavy, biting into my skin as they kept my hands locked above my head, the cold metal rattling with every movement.
And standing in front of me, smiling that same unnervingly perfect smile, was him.
Lucian. The Pride Demon.
"Where are you?" he asked, his voice smooth and almost amused, like someone searching for a misplaced trinket. His golden eyes gleamed, his hands clasped casually behind his back as he took a step closer.
"It's really hard to track you now," he continued, tilting his head as if he were genuinely impressed. "You killed Malric—good riddance, by the way, he was becoming tiresome—but after that, I couldn't quite pin you down."
He stopped, his smile widening as his eyes swept over me, taking in the chains, the bindings, the obvious vulnerability. "Must be nice," he mused, his tone dripping with mockery. "To be such a powerful mage, able to conceal her movements even from us."
His smile didn't falter, but the golden gleam in his eyes darkened, just slightly. "Oh, Thalia," he said softly, his voice almost tender. "You can't hide forever."
Thankfully, that was all of my dream.
My eyes snapped open, the chill of the morning air pressing against my skin as I lay still for a moment, the memory of Lucian's voice lingering at the edges of my thoughts. I exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out of my chest. Just a dream, I reminded myself.
Still, it left me uneasy.
I pushed myself up and washed my face with a quick spell, the cool water refreshing against my skin. A quick bath followed—nothing luxurious, but enough to clear my head and shake off the remnants of sleep. When I finished, I pulled out the last of the bread from last night, chewing slowly as I packed up my belongings.
It wasn't much, but it did the job, and by the time I stepped outside the invisible barrier of my camp, I felt a little more like myself.
The morning sky was overcast, the clouds a dull gray that hinted at rain but didn't quite commit. The air was thick and humid, the kind of weather that stuck to your skin and made you long for a good breeze.
"Great," I muttered to myself as I broke down the tent, rolling the canvas and securing it neatly to my pack. "If it rains before I get to town, I'll be soaked by noon."
I worked quickly, folding and packing with practiced efficiency. It didn't take long, and when I was finished, I hoisted my pack onto my shoulder, adjusting the weight before giving the area one last look. The clearing was as empty and quiet as it had been last night, the jungle just as dense and unwelcoming.
Then I heard it.
A faint rustling, barely audible over the soft breeze. My body went still, every muscle tensing as my ears strained to pinpoint the sound. It was behind me, somewhere just beyond the line of trees.
I turned slowly, my staff sliding easily into my grip. "Alright," I called out, my voice calm but firm. "If you're planning to ambush me, let's skip the suspense."
The rustling grew louder, closer. Something—or someone—was definitely there.
But instead of the snarling beast or bandit I was expecting, a figure stumbled out from the dense jungle.
A young man.
No—on closer inspection, a kid. Barely older than Breon, if that.
He was thin but wiry, with a lean frame that suggested agility over strength. His short, messy hair was a deep chestnut brown, sticking out at odd angles as though he'd just tumbled out of bed—or, in this case, through the jungle. Bright, curious eyes the color of honey darted around the clearing before landing on me, widening slightly.
And then he smiled.
It wasn't just any smile—it was the kind of grin that could light up a room, a cheerful, unrestrained beam of pure energy that made me think of someone too young to realize just how cruel the world could be. It reminded me, painfully, of Roderick when we were kids.
He raised a hand in a friendly wave, completely ignoring the fact that I was holding a staff aimed in his direction. "Hey there!" he called out, his voice bright and full of enthusiasm, like we were long-lost friends reunited. "Didn't mean to scare you or anything—promise I'm not here to cause trouble!"
I blinked, lowering my staff slightly but keeping my guard up. His energy was almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the tension I'd been carrying since I woke up.
"Who are you?" I asked, keeping my tone sharp.
"Oh, sorry!" he said quickly, running a hand through his messy hair. "Didn't even introduce myself—my bad. Name's Kael!"
He gave a mock bow, his grin never faltering, and straightened again with an easy confidence that bordered on reckless.
I took a closer look at him. His clothes were simple but well-worn, a sleeveless tunic and loose pants cinched with a sturdy belt. His arms were wrapped in cloth strips, frayed at the edges, and his hands bore faint calluses, the kind that came from a lifetime of physical work—or combat. A small satchel hung from his shoulder, and the hilt of a short blade peeked out from its side.
"Nice to meet you!" he added, rocking back on his heels with an infectious enthusiasm.
I raised an eyebrow, still trying to decide if he was a harmless stray or an overly cheerful assassin. "You're... very chipper for someone wandering through a jungle."
Kael laughed, a light, easy sound that seemed entirely out of place in this dreary clearing. "Yeah, well, it beats moping around, right? Besides," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the jungle, "the adventure's half the fun!"
I narrowed my eyes, studying him. His excitement was almost unnerving, a mirror to everything I wasn't. But his smile, his open expression, and the light in his eyes—they were disarming in a way I hadn't expected.
"Great," I muttered under my breath, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at my lips. "Another Roderick."
Kael blinked, tilting his head at me with an expression of genuine confusion. "Wait, who's Roderick?"
That caught me off guard, and before I could stop myself, I let out a small laugh. It was light, involuntary, and completely unexpected after everything I'd been through in the past day. "He's my brother," I said, shaking my head. "You just reminded me of him for a second."
Kael's face lit up again, his ever-present grin stretching wider. "Oh, well, that's bad."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Bad?"
"Yeah," he said, rocking on his heels and folding his arms. "I'd rather not remind you of a brother."
I stared at him, unsure if I'd heard him right, but when he raised his eyebrows suggestively, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. This kid is onto me.
I rolled my eyes, fixing him with the kind of look I reserved for people who had just said something profoundly stupid. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. Look, kid—"
"Kael," he corrected quickly, wagging a finger at me.
"Kid," I repeated, ignoring him. "I'm older than you. Way older. I'm so far out of your league, we're not even playing the same sport."
Kael nodded along like he agreed with every word, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Exactly! That's where the charm is, isn't it?"
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Oh, for gods' sake."
"What?" Kael said, his voice full of mock innocence. "I'm just saying—you're clearly talented, powerful, smart—"
"Stop," I said, holding up a hand. "If you keep going, I'm going to conjure something very unpleasant."
Kael smirked, leaning forward slightly like he was daring me. "Something unpleasant, huh? Sounds exciting."
I pointed my staff at him, and he raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning like he'd just won some kind of prize.
"You're lucky I don't blast you into next week," I said, shaking my head but unable to keep the faintest smirk off my own face.
"Hey, if it means spending more time with you, I'll take my chances," he quipped, his grin widening.
"Unbelievable," I muttered, turning away to hide the slight twitch of amusement tugging at the corner of my lips. What have I gotten myself into?
Kael's grin faltered for a moment as his eyes flicked to the side of my head, his expression turning curious. "Hey, uh," he started, pointing vaguely, "what's that behind your ear?"
I stiffened for a split second before sighing and brushing my fingers over the mark. "It's... complicated," I said, my tone wary.
"Well, lucky for you, I love complicated," he said with an infuriatingly cheerful smile.
I rolled my eyes but indulged him anyway. "Fine. It's a mark. A demon's mark, to be precise. I killed one of them, and now the rest of them want me dead. It's like a never-ending family feud, except the family is made of demons, and they all want to eat my soul."
Kael stared at me for a moment, wide-eyed. Then, without missing a beat, he grinned again and said, "Hot!"
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. "This kid," I muttered under my breath.
"What?" he said, throwing up his hands in mock innocence. "I mean, it's badass! You've got demons chasing you, and you're just, like, out here doing your thing, taking them down like it's no big deal. That's kind of amazing!"
"It's also kind of a death sentence," I shot back, crossing my arms. "But thanks, I guess."
Kael shrugged, unfazed, and tilted his head slightly. "So, where are you headed, anyway?"
"To a city," I replied vaguely.
His grin returned, brighter than ever. "Oh, you mean Velbridge? That's where I'm going!"
I raised an eyebrow. "You're headed to Velbridge?"
"Yep!" he said, nodding enthusiastically. "I know the way like the back of my hand. You should just follow me."
"Follow you?" I repeated, skeptical.
"Yeah! I mean, you could wander around trying to figure it out on your own, but I'm way faster. Plus," he added with a wink, "great company, remember?"
I groaned softly, already regretting the decision I hadn't even made yet. "Alright, fine. Lead the way, Kael. But if you get us lost, I'm turning you into a toad."
"You wouldn't dare," he said, mock-horrified, before breaking into laughter.
Kael moved ahead, hacking at the jungle undergrowth with his short blade. He wasn't particularly graceful about it, but he was persistent, slashing away at vines and branches with an almost childlike enthusiasm.
After a moment, he glanced back at me over his shoulder, his honey-colored eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So," he began, "what's your name?"
"Thalia," I replied simply, keeping my tone neutral.
He grinned, that same bright, boyish grin that made him look like he didn't have a care in the world. "Nice to meet you, Thalia!" he said, his voice brimming with energy. "We'll be in Velbridge in no time."
To be continued...