Blood blurred my vision. The taste of iron coated my tongue. My body was heavy, the world tilting as I fought to stay conscious.
Shapes moved—no, streaked—through the haze. Shadows, slipping in and out of focus, shifting like ink in water. I couldn't count them. I couldn't tell if they were even human.
I tried to move. My fingers twitched. A sharp, throbbing pain flared in my skull, and the world turned black.
Then, I woke to the scent of damp stone and decay.
The air was thick, musty, laced with something rotten. My body ached, but I could move—barely. Shackles clamped around my wrists and ankles, their chains rattling as I tested them. They weren't tight. I had a few feet of freedom, but no more than that.
Blinking against the darkness, my vision adjusted. I was in a prison, fully enclosed, the walls slick with moisture. The only exit was a heavy metal door, bolted shut. I scanned my surroundings.
Two figures sat slumped against the walls beside me, one on my left, the other on my right. No breath, no movement. Their skin was pale, dry—hollowed. As if something had drained the life from them.
But directly in front of me, chained to the wall like I was, sat a woman.
She was tall—towering, even seated. Her frame was long, almost unnaturally so, all sharp angles and lean muscle stretched thin. Despite that, she was beautiful, in a way that unsettled me.
Her skin was fair brown, smooth against the dull light filtering through the cracks. Dark hair, black as ink, fell around her shoulders, the strands adorned with golden ornaments that caught the dim glow. Her pale gray eyes, half-lidded, held a depth I couldn't place.
She had glittery golden eyelids with thick black eyeliner, only enhancing the strange ornamental fabric seemingly woven into two distinct patterns beneath both of her eyes. It was as if it had literally been stitched into her skin.
She was draped in cloth and metal, a flowing garment of sheer black fabric with golden accents, layered and intricate. Thick golden cuffs encased her wrists and neck, glinting even in the dark. She didn't move.
I swallowed, throat dry.
Was she breathing?
I shifted, just enough to ease the ache in my legs. The chains rattled softly, but I stilled them quickly, not wanting to draw attention. Especially not from her.
But before I could settle, her eyes snapped open.
A sharp breath caught in my throat as her gaze locked onto me, unblinking. A deep, piercing stare, like she could see through my skin, through my bones. My pulse pounded in my ears.
I swallowed and shifted again, nervous now, my fingers curling against the cold stone beneath me. "W-What is this place?" My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
She didn't answer. Didn't blink.
Instead, her tongue flicked across her lips, slow and deliberate. The dim light caught the edge of her teeth—no, fangs. Two sharp points were barely hidden beneath her lips.
A chill shot down my spine.
Then, her eyes changed.
A deep, glowing red bled into the darkness, swallowing the dull gray that had once been there. They burned, unnatural, and hungry.
A slow smile spread across her face.
"They have brought me another snack."
Her voice was low, almost lazy, but there was something dangerous beneath it. Something that made my stomach twist.
…
(Present Day)
The woman's lips curled into a light smile as she raised her free hand—the one unburdened by the scythe.
At once, the red eyes in the darkness vanished.
The Holy Knights stiffened, their grips tightening on their weapons. One exhaled sharply, believing the creatures had disappeared. But Ophelia knew better. She could still sense them, closer than before, lingering just beyond the reach of the firelight, waiting for a signal.
The woman's gaze remained locked onto Ophelia as she spoke.
"So, you're the new Duchess, huh?"
Ophelia parted her lips, as if to ask something, but thought better of it. Instead, she simply smiled.
The woman's own smirk deepened.
"You know," she mused, "your head has quite a large reward. Especially after you and your little team killed the Bandit King of Steel."
Ophelia didn't hesitate. "So why have you not killed me yet?"
The woman's expression barely shifted, but there—a twitch at the edge of her smile, a flicker of something behind her gaze. Her eyes drifted downward, grazing over the ground where the bone powder lay in a near-perfect ring. Then, just as smoothly, they lifted back to meet Ophelia's.
She found no fear there, only cold certainty.
"There will be a chance," the woman said. "However, that chance is not right now."
Ophelia held her stare, unmoving.
'They are wary of us since Edwin killed that Bandit King,' she thought, 'She wants me to believe the bone powder is keeping them at bay… but that is just a trap. These people are more human than monster. If she wanted to, she could step over that line with ease… sly thing.'
The woman took a step back, then another, retreating into the shadows. But her voice carried through the night.
"Did you know? Your head is worth a great deal… but there's something worth far more."
She grinned.
"Capturing you alive is worth one thousand gold."
Then, she was gone. The darkness swallowed her whole.
Ophelia did not move right away. Her gaze lingered, piercing the black void where she could still feel them watching. At least fifty, maybe more. Silent. Waiting.
They didn't leave.
Even as she gestured for the Holy Knights to follow, even as they made their way back to camp, even as sleep eventually claimed the rest of the caravan—
Ophelia knew.
Chaos was coming.
…
The morning soon came. When Ophelia woke, she immediately noticed the absence of the watchful eyes that had lingered in the darkness the night before. But she knew better. They had not truly left—only retreated into the shadows, observing from way afar.
As the caravan stirred, she gathered the Holy Knights and workers, recounting what had transpired in the dead of night. She revealed the presence of the shadowy figures, the blood-red eyes in the darkness, and the woman's words.
Murmurs spread among them, tension settling in their shoulders. Some clenched their fists, others exchanged uneasy glances, but none doubted her. They trusted Ophelia, even as unease crawled beneath their skin.
Once the caravan had eaten and packed their supplies, they set out. They had scarcely gone a mile when the forest around them came alive with movement. Twigs snapped, low guttural growls rippled through the underbrush, and then they emerged.
A horde of goblins, their bodies hunched and ragged, poured out from the trees. Their sickly green skin was marred with dirt, their crude leather armor stitched together with sinew and scraps.
Some brandished rusted short swords, their chipped edges stained with the remnants of old battles. Others held crude bows, their arrows nocked and ready. At the center of the group, a taller goblin clutched a gnarled staff, its knotted wood pulsating with an eerie, sickly blue light.
Ophelia didn't need to give the order. The Holy Knights and Tridra moved as one, each stepping into their role.
Edwin was the first to engage. His longsword flashed in the morning light as he met the goblins head-on, shield raised to deflect the first desperate strikes. He slammed his shield forward, sending one goblin sprawling before skewering another through the chest.
A goblin archer loosed an arrow toward him, but he angled his shield, sending the projectile harmlessly into the dirt. With a quick pivot, he bashed another attacker with the pommel of his sword before driving his blade home.
To his left, Alexandra swung her longsword carving through the air. A goblin lunged at her with a dagger, but she sidestepped, slamming her knee into its gut before bringing her sword down in a clean arc.
Another goblin rushed her from behind, but with a simple twirl, she swung her blade in a wide, sweeping motion, severing the creature's weapon hand before finishing it with a clean thrust through the heart.
Not far, Tridra moved like a shadow amongst the knights of light, her twin daggers flashing in quick, lethal motions. She ducked beneath a goblin's swing, rolling forward and coming up behind her enemy, her blades piercing its back in a swift, calculated motion. Another goblin tried to grab her, but she twisted out of its grasp, slicing across its exposed throat before darting into the fray once more.
One of the Holy Knights, wielding twin shortswords, faced off against two goblins at once. He weaved between their attacks, his swords a blur as he parried and countered with relentless strikes.
A goblin leapt at him, but he caught its arm with one blade, severing it at the elbow before kicking it away. With a spin, he drove both swords into the remaining goblin's chest, wrenching them free just as another came at him from the side.
The mace-wielding Knight stood like an unshakable force, his shield absorbing blows as he swung his heavy weapon with crushing force. Each strike shattered bones, caved in skulls, and sent goblins crumpling to the ground. One tried to grapple him, but he drove his shield into its face, breaking its nose before finishing it with a downward swing of his mace.
The Knight with the lance held the line against the goblins attempting to flank. He thrust his weapon, skewering multiple enemies with each precise jab. When one goblin attempted to close the distance, he planted the base of his weapon into the ground and used it as leverage to vault over his attacker, landing behind it and driving his weapon through its back.
The battle-axe wielder fought with raw, brutal strength. His shield deflected incoming blows as his axe carved through goblin ranks. He cleaved through one enemy, then another, the sheer force behind each strike keeping the creatures from overwhelming him.
A goblin mage attempted to hurl a fireball at him, but he raised his shield just in time, the flames dissipating against the enchanted metal. With a roar, he charged forward, hacking the spellcaster down before it could summon another spell.
Meanwhile, the goblin mage desperately chanted, its staff glowing with mana. It raised its weapon, sending a jagged bolt of blue energy hurtling toward Edwin. But before it could reach him, a golden lion-shaped aura flared behind his back. The divine power of his mantle absorbed the spell, reducing it to harmless sparks. With a powerful lunge, Edwin closed the distance, his sword cutting clean through the goblin's staff before running the creature through.
The remaining goblins hesitated, their morale wavering. The Holy Knights and Tridra stood tall, their weapons gleaming with the blood of their foes, the Holy Knights' lion mantles radiating divine power. One by one, the goblins fell back, screeching in panic as they tried to flee.
But there would be no escape.
With a final coordinated assault, the warriors cut through the stragglers, leaving no survivors.
After the quick clean-up, Alexandra approached Ophelia. She wiped the blood from her longsword before sliding it back into its sheath. Her sharp eyes studied Ophelia for a moment before she spoke.
"Why didn't you use the Supreme Command?"
Ophelia didn't turn immediately. Instead, she let her gaze sweep over the treeline as if still searching for the Gloomtaurs. Finally, she answered, her voice calm but firm.
"The Gloomtaur are still most likely watching, and they do not know I wield such a power. It is best to keep it a secret for now."
Alexandra frowned slightly. "How do you know? From what you described, they seemed pretty well-informed."
Ophelia exhaled, crossing her arms. "Well… they are not. The leader was trying to play it up, but there is absolutely no way they know of such information."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
For a moment, Alexandra held her gaze, searching for any hesitation. Then, with a light smile, she nodded and turned away, leaving Ophelia standing alone.
Ophelia watched her go before turning back toward the treeline, her expression unreadable. A whisper escaped her lips, barely audible.
"Unless..."