Chapter 6: Fractured Echoes
The night was restless, as if the world itself recoiled from the ripples Maelvas had set in motion. The forest, normally a silent sentinel, quivered under a growing tension. Faint stars glimmered above, pale and distant, as if afraid to witness what was to come.
Maelvas moved with calculated purpose, the edges of his long coat brushing against the damp earth. His mind churned with the echoes of his latest transaction. Lian's grief had been an easy well to draw from, her desperation a sharp blade that cut through her reason. The memory of her trembling hand signing the contract tugged at the corner of his lips—a faint smile of satisfaction.
"Such fragile convictions," he mused, his voice barely a whisper. "They build their lives on sand and wonder why the waves always claim them."
Yet, even in his triumph, the faintest ripple of unease tickled the edges of his awareness. The watchers. Their presence had been a stain on the air, subtle but undeniable. He had not turned to face them, but he had known. Every errant breath, every faint shift of weight on the forest floor, had sung their presence to him.
"Fools," he muttered, the golden glow of his eyes flickering like firelight. "They play a game they do not yet understand."
The village was far behind him now, the muted cries of Lian and Meilin's reunion fading like the echoes of a fading dream. Yet his steps carried him not toward solitude, but toward a deeper place, an ancient ruin hidden beneath the shadow of the forest.
He looked at the ruin Infront of him, Sensing something of otherworldly power in here and it doesn't belong to a soul merchant.. it's from Something stronger.
Stone pillars, worn smooth by centuries of erosion, rose like broken teeth from the ground. At the center of this desolate grove stood an altar, carved with symbols that predated even the gods whispered of in forgotten prayers. Here, Maelvas knelt, placing the contract on the altar's cold surface.
The parchment writhed like a living thing, its runes flaring briefly before seeping into the stone. The ground trembled faintly, and a low hum vibrated through the air.
"You've taken the first step, haven't you?" A voice, cold and disembodied, slithered through the shadows. It was neither male nor female, but an amalgam of tones that grated against the senses.
Maelvas rose, his expression unreadable. "Another soul added to the foundation. The tower grows taller."
From the darkness, the faint outline of a figure materialized. It was cloaked in shadow, its features obscured, save for two glowing points of light where its eyes should have been. "But at what cost?" the voice rasped, mockery lacing every word. "You draw too much attention. The Veiled Thorn watches. Others will follow."
"They are gnats," Maelvas replied, his tone sharp. "Their ambitions are as fleeting as the lives they cling to. Let them watch. Let them scheme. They are tools, nothing more."
The figure shifted, the glow of its eyes narrowing. "Confidence borders on arrogance, Maelvas. Do not forget the rules. The game has players far older and crueler than you."
Maelvas stepped closer to the shadowed figure, his golden eyes burning with defiance. "And yet they remain shackled by those same rules. I do not fear chains. I will break them."
The figure's laughter was a hollow echo, reverberating through the grove. "Break them, then. But remember—every step upward comes with a price. And every soul you claim carves your name deeper into the tapestry. There will be no escape."
With that, the figure dissolved, its form scattering like smoke in the wind. Maelvas remained still, his gaze fixed on the altar as the last remnants of the runes faded. His lips curled into a smile, his resolve unshaken.
"Let them try."
In a distant part of the forest, Lian cradled Meilin in her arms, the warmth of her daughter's body a stark contrast to the cold reality that gnawed at her thoughts. Meilin's eyes were bright, filled with life once more, but there was something else—a faint, unnatural glow that lingered just beneath the surface.
"Are you all right, Mama?" Meilin asked, her voice soft and hesitant.
Lian forced a smile, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter's face. "I am now," she whispered, though her heart ached with the knowledge of what she had sacrificed.
The forest around them seemed darker than before, as if mourning the purity that had been exchanged for this moment. Each step back toward the village felt heavier, the weight of the contract pressing against Lian's soul.
As they approached the edge of the forest, a chill ran down Lian's spine. She glanced back, her gaze searching the shadows. For a brief moment, she thought she saw something—a pair of glowing eyes watching from the darkness. But when she blinked, it was gone.
Far from the grove, the assassins of the Veiled Thorn regrouped in a hidden chamber beneath the forest floor. The leader, his silver mask gleaming faintly in the torchlight, stood before a stone table etched with intricate designs.
"Maelvas moves with confidence," he said, his tone measured. "But confidence is often a prelude to misstep."
Zhen, the youngest of the group, leaned forward, his eyes alight with impatience. "Let me deal with him. I'll carve that confidence from his throat."
The leader's gaze was cold, his tone a razor's edge. "You will do nothing without my command. Maelvas is no mere mortal. He has touched powers that would shatter you. Do not mistake your eagerness for strength."
The woman with silver tattoos crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "Then what do we do? Simply watch?"
"For now," the leader replied. "But the time will come. And when it does, we will ensure Maelvas learns the price of his ambition."
As the forest settled into uneasy silence, Maelvas stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a valley shrouded in mist. The wind tugged at his coat, carrying with it the faintest echoes of laughter and screams—a symphony of lives he had claimed.
"Each soul a step," he murmured to himself, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "And I will climb higher than any god."
The wind howled around him, as if in defiance, but Maelvas simply smiled. In the distance, the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of red and gold—a reminder that even the darkest night must yield to the sun.
But for Maelvas, the sun was merely another shadow to conquer.