The ruins of the cathedral lay behind them as Lyra and Azeron stepped into the twilight. The sky was painted in hues of crimson and gold, a reminder of the fractured balance in the realms. The silence between them was heavy, filled with words unsaid and questions unanswered.
Lyra gripped the hilt of her new sword tightly, its golden glow faint but steady. She glanced at Azeron, who walked a few paces ahead, his shoulders hunched as though carrying an invisible weight.
"Where do we go from here?" Lyra finally asked, her voice breaking the stillness.
Azeron didn't stop walking. "There's a village not far from here. We can rest there, but it won't be safe for long. Malrik will regroup, and he won't stop until he gets what he wants."
"And what does he want?" Lyra pressed.
Azeron paused, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Control. Chaos. He thrives on destruction, and he knows I'm the only thing standing in his way."
Lyra frowned. "You're not standing in his way. We are."
Azeron turned to face her, his eyes shadowed with doubt. "You shouldn't be involved in this, Lyra. You don't understand what you're up against."
"Then help me understand," she said, stepping closer. "You keep saying you want to protect me, but how am I supposed to fight alongside you if you keep shutting me out?"
Azeron hesitated, his jaw tightening. "I'm trying to keep you alive."
"And I'm trying to do the same for you," Lyra shot back. "So stop treating me like I'm some fragile thing that needs saving. If we're going to survive this, we need to trust each other."
For a moment, Azeron said nothing. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're right," he admitted. "I owe you the truth. But not here. Not now."
Lyra crossed her arms, clearly unsatisfied, but she let it go. For now.
---
The Village of Velorn
The village of Velorn was a quiet, unassuming place nestled in a valley surrounded by dense forest. Smoke rose from the chimneys of modest homes, and the faint sound of children laughing carried on the breeze.
But as Azeron and Lyra approached, the villagers' laughter faded. Doors shut, and windows were shuttered. The air grew tense, heavy with suspicion.
"They know what you are," Lyra murmured, glancing at Azeron.
He nodded grimly. "Demons have terrorized these lands for centuries. They have every reason to fear me."
Lyra stepped forward, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. "We're not here to harm anyone," she called out. "We just need a place to rest."
An older man stepped out from behind a wooden fence, a pitchfork in hand. His eyes darted between Lyra and Azeron. "You travel with a demon," he said, his voice trembling. "Why should we trust you?"
Lyra hesitated, unsure of how to respond. But Azeron stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "You don't have to trust me. Just trust her." He gestured to Lyra. "She's the one who's fighting for you, not me."
The man's gaze lingered on Azeron, then shifted to Lyra. Finally, he nodded. "You can stay the night. But if he causes any trouble…"
"He won't," Lyra said quickly, cutting him off.
The man didn't look convinced, but he stepped aside, allowing them to pass.
---
A Moment of Peace
The room they were given was small and sparse, but it was warm, and for that, Lyra was grateful. She sat on the edge of the bed, her sword resting across her lap. Azeron stood by the window, his gaze distant.
"Why did you say that back there?" Lyra asked.
"Say what?"
"That I'm the one fighting for them, not you."
Azeron turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Because it's true. I'm not a hero, Lyra. I'm not here to save anyone. The only reason I'm fighting is to keep my father from destroying everything."
"And what about Malrik?" she asked. "Why does he hate you so much?"
Azeron sighed, leaning against the wall. "Malrik was always my father's favorite. He was stronger, more ruthless, everything a demon lord's heir should be. I… wasn't." He looked down, his voice soft. "When I started questioning my father's orders, Malrik saw it as betrayal. To him, I'm a traitor. A disgrace."
Lyra studied him, her expression thoughtful. "You're not a disgrace," she said finally. "You're trying to do what's right, even if it's messy. That counts for something."
Azeron looked at her, surprised. "You really believe that?"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," she said simply.
---
The Hunter Arrives
The peace didn't last.
In the dead of night, Lyra awoke to the sound of screams. She bolted upright, her sword in hand, and turned to find Azeron already at the window. His expression was grim.
"They've found us," he said.
Lyra rushed to the window and saw the village in chaos. Dark, wolf-like creatures with glowing red eyes prowled the streets, their snarls echoing through the night. Villagers ran in terror, their torches barely keeping the beasts at bay.
"Hellhounds," Azeron muttered.
Lyra didn't wait for an explanation. She grabbed her sword and headed for the door. "We have to help them."
Azeron caught her arm. "It's not just the hellhounds. Malrik sent a hunter."
As if on cue, a figure stepped into the village square. Clad in black armor similar to Malrik's, the hunter carried a massive scythe that glinted in the moonlight.
The hunter raised his weapon, his voice a low growl. "Azeron! Come out and face me, or I'll tear this village apart!"
Lyra turned to Azeron, her eyes blazing. "We fight. Together."
Azeron hesitated, then nodded. "Together."
As they stepped out into the night, the hunter's eyes locked onto them, a predatory grin spreading across his face.
"Ah, there you are," the hunter said, his voice dripping with malice. "Let's see if you're as strong as the stories say."
Lyra raised her sword, its golden light cutting through the darkness. Azeron summoned his shadows, his resolve hardening.
The battle for Velorn had begun.
---