JULIAN FELIS
"So… you're here with the new books for me to read, right?" Julian drawled, leaning casually against the rough bark of a tree. He smirked at the witch, Rok-To, who stood before him in the middle of the forest-camp for the tournament.
Her piercing gaze made him sit up straighter.
"Something wrong is going down in your tournament," she said, her tone sharp and unwavering. "I cannot contact El Ritch's pendant, nor can I watch over him. He's completely isolated, and that shouldn't be possible."
Rok-To's agitation was clear as she began pacing back and forth.
Julian tilted his head, feigning ignorance. "What's the problem, really? This is the forest of Hornet. Mana breaks and reforms all the time. It's natural," he replied, his voice calm and soothing, though his true intentions were far from noble.
The witch's pacing stopped abruptly. She turned to him, her eyes cold as steel. "I know how you taught him. I know what you taught him. He's practically naked and blind out there..." Her voice sharpened, every word a blade. "I don't care what petty qualms you have with Aldric—the child is neither yours nor his to torment."
Julian kept his face passive, though her words struck close to the truth. The boy wasn't Aldric's, but tormenting him served a far more entertaining purpose: a crack in Aldric's perfect facade. Watching Aldric's legendary composure falter would be a delight worth every risk.
The witch sighed, "I've learned something while El Ritch was away," Rok-To said, breaking Julian from his musings. She picked up a broken branch, her fingers curling around its jagged edges as she began scribbling symbols onto the trees surrounding Julian.
An uneasy feeling crawled up his spine, but he stayed seated, feigning indifference.
"The 'curse' has been relieved," she said, her voice low and deliberate. "That means a 'knight'—" Julian's eyes widened involuntarily at the word, his body tensing despite knowing it wouldn't cause him pain anymore. The instinctive fear, the sharp jolt of it, was a curse all its own, a side-effect of gaining emotions.
"—can use their abilities now," Rok-To continued, ignoring his reaction. "And so can a witch from the old Evandria."
Julian felt it before he understood it. A sharp, unbearable pull tore through his body. Looking down, he saw his muscles splitting apart, blood spilling freely from his wounds.
He doubled over, clutching his sides as his muscles began to tear apart. Blood spurted from his joints, dripping onto the snowy ground.
"Do you know why we are immortal?" Rok-To mused, her tone calm despite the agony wracking his body. "It's a thesis I've developed from a little experiment. This Sanctuary we've entered—it wasn't made for us. Not for Conjurers. Not for Knights. Not for Witches. It was made for something that should enter the Sanctuary, not be born in it."
"We are unwanted variables, Julian." She chuckled softly, almost to herself. "The 'forbidden' words aren't forbidden—they simply don't exist in this world. And if they were to exist, this Sanctuary wouldn't be able to protect the thing it was made to protect. Now, I just simply don't know what is the 'thing' it is protecting. An animate or inanimate object, but that is a story for the later."
Julian's teeth ground together as he forced out a response. "Did you… cancel… the immortality?"
"Oh, dear no," Rok-To said, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. She raised her hands dramatically. "Until I discover the anchor, I cannot. But I can stop the healing side-effect within a little Sanctuary I made to isolate you, now."
Julian chuckled weakly through the agony. "So… the scribbling… was for this…"
"Indeed. A pretty little trick, isn't it?," the witch replied, her smile serene.
The torment stopped as abruptly as it had started. With a final mark on a nearby tree, she dispelled her temporary Sanctuary. Julian's body began to heal, his muscles knitting back together with audible pops and cracks.
The witch watched him impassively, waiting until he was fully restored before speaking again.
"This is my warning, Julian," she said softly, her tone almost kind. "Search your tournament executives. Find out what's wrong. If I have to return-"
She smiled at him, "-I will skin you alive next time."
She smiled as she turned, disappearing into the wild without another word.
Julian sat there for a moment, his breath shallow. He clenched his fists, his body trembling—not from fear, but from rage at being humiliated so thoroughly.
Damn these useless emotions and-
"Damn this witch," he muttered, standing slowly. "Such dramatics," he muttered, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. "But effective, I suppose."
Straightening his coat, he glanced toward the distant forest where the tournament was unfolding. Something was wrong, indeed, he thought looking at the fog creeping towards them, and, though it was fun, he had it's fill.
With a deep sigh, Julian began walking toward the camp's main pavilion, where the tournament officials waited. It seemed it was time to play the concerned leader, at least for now.
EL RITCH
"We walked throughout the night, thinking we'd pace them all out and send my owl to guide you through the safest and shortest path but…"
"You got stuck here," Bada finished Agun's sentence.
Agun nodded, frowning in frustration. "Exactly."
"Makes sense why you're wrapped up in those warm clothes," Bada remarked, her gaze sweeping over Misti and Agun's thick woolen layers. "But why haven't you taken them off now?"
"It's warm and comfortable," Misti cooed, her voice playful as she hugged her woolen layers closer. "Now I don't want to~"
"It's a hassle to think about, but do you think…" Agun began, pausing for Bada to finish his thought.
"A Sanctuary?" Bada asked, her voice curious but measured. "By what? A beast? Are you saying our chief would allow the ceremony of the tournament to fall apart?"
"No," Agun replied, his tone cautious, "but what about the executives?"
Bada raised an eyebrow. "The executives live in the wild."
"Exactly. We'd never know what they're scheming." Agun retorted.
"You're basing that on your personal grudge," Jol interjected, rolling his eyes as he stretched out beside the fire. "Stop letting them live in your head rent-free."
Agun groaned, waving Jol off dismissively.
El Ritch sat quietly near the campfire in their makeshift shelter. The shed above their heads was built from tightly bound branches and logs, keeping the snow and wind at bay. Though the fire warmed him, he felt distinctly out of place amidst their banter and plans.
Misti and Jol were locked in a playful wrestling match nearby. Despite her smaller stature, Misti easily overpowered Jol, throwing him down time and time again. Jol, ever the optimist, kept getting back up, his excitement growing with each defeat.
El Ritch watched them, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite his lingering unease. This camaraderie was foreign to him, but it was also oddly comforting.
Meanwhile, the only ones who seemed focused on the situation were Agun and Bada.
As El Ritch poked at the fire with a stick, his mind wandered to their earlier conversation. The term Sanctuary was unfamiliar to him, but it clearly carried significance. He wasn't sure whether it was the forest itself or something else entirely that had trapped them here, but he knew one thing: this wasn't ordinary.
"El," Jol's voice broke through his thoughts, jolting him.
El Ritch looked up to find Jol grinning at him, his hair tousled from his latest defeat at Misti's hands. "Why so serious? You're with us now. If something's out there, we'll handle it."
Misti smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah, stick with us, little man. You'll survive just fine."
El Ritch wasn't sure whether to feel reassured or even more nervous. But for now, he simply nodded, keeping his worries to himself.
___________
"Shh!" Misti hissed, her voice sharp as a blade. "Did you hear that?"
Her piercing gaze locked onto the darkness of the forest to their right. Everyone froze, the tension in the air thick as frost. The only sound was the faint crackling of the campfire, the wood popping and burning.
El Ritch strained his ears, his heart pounding. The silence stretched unbearably long, and then—
A faint whistle.
A sharp snap.
An arrow hurtled through the air, cutting through the quiet. Misti's head cocked instinctively, her reflexes razor-sharp, avoiding the arrow that struck the tree just beside her neck without grazing her. Without hesitation, she grabbed her bow, nocked an arrow, and fired back into the direction the attack had come from.
A blood-curdling scream split the night. "My eye!" a man's voice howled in agony. The launch of the arrow carried an intensity as it made a loud boom.
"Move!" Jol barked, shoving El Ritch out of the tent. The boy stumbled into the snow just as Jol pulled Bada away, the tent collapsing behind them.
A boy with an axe crashed down onto the remnants of the tent, roaring in fury. Agun darted in front of Misti from the tent, his daggers flashing as he intercepted another attacker—a man wielding a short sword who had rushed out of the snow. Misti tried to draw another arrow, but a spear shot out of the darkness, splitting the shaft of her arrow mid-draw and forcing her to step back.
The boy with the axe snarled, his rage palpable. "YOU!" he roared, his voice distorted with otherworldly malice. "YOU TRAPPED US!"
The ground beneath them rumbled violently. The snow shifted with alarming intensity, rippling outward. They were on a slope, El Ritch realized and so did everyone, but it was too late.
"An avalanche!" someone shouted.
But the warning came too late.
The boy with the axe lunged toward Bada, his weapon raised high.
Jol reacted instantly, his hand brushing Bada's arm. The world blurred as their positions swapped in the blink of an eye. Now standing where Bada had been, Jol delivered a devastating punch to the axe-wielder mid-air, an uppercut on his jaw.
"I WILL KILL YOU!" the boy screeched, his voice a raw mix of fury and desperation, despite the punch.
Snow roared around them, swallowing everyone in its cold embrace.
El Ritch landed hard, half-buried in the snow. His body ached, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He clawed his way up, pulling his head above the surface, and found himself alone—except for the boy with the axe.
The boy loomed over him, his face twisted with hate, his breath visible in the icy air. He dragged himself free of the snow, pointing his axe at El Ritch with trembling fury.
"You traveled with them!" he spat, his voice dripping venom. "I will make sure you die, at least."
El Ritch's heart hammered in his chest. His trembling hand gripped his worn sword, but his legs felt frozen—not by the cold, but by fear.
I will die...Rok-To