Author Note : This chapter slightly darker than the ones before.
Aldric could feel it, the corruption, he couldn't smell it like Lysara but he knew something was wrong in this forest. They moved carefully through the dead forest, following Lysara's lead. She barely spoke, her silver eyes sharp, her expression tight with concentration. Moving almost on all four's
Aldric watched her out of the corner of his eye.
She wasn't just tracking.
She was hunting.
Her scales had darkened to a deep, shifting silver-white, her nostrils flaring as she followed the invisible trail of corruption, the way a bloodhound might track a scent. They both knew what they were looking for.
A tear in the Veil.
Aldric's grip tightened on his sword as a memory surfaced—Sir Danton's voice, firm but patient, explaining how such rifts were formed.
"The Void is the barrier between realms, boy. It holds the divine at bay, keeps the unnatural from spilling into our world. But it is not impenetrable. It tears when someone—mortal or otherwise—acts against the natural order."
"A king slaughtering his own heir. A priest condemning a god's chosen. A warrior forsaking his oath in blood."
"Where faith is broken, so too is the Void."
Aldric clenched his jaw. If there was a tear here, something or someone had violated the order of things.
Lysara suddenly stopped.
Aldric halted beside her, instinctively lowering his stance.
Her silver eyes narrowed, her body rigid. Then—her scales flared white.
She barely whispered it.
"It's close."
Aldric followed her gaze, scanning the terrain ahead.
The trees grew twisted here, their bark cracked and gnarled, their branches reaching like skeletal hands toward the sky. The ground beneath them was dry, cracked—unnatural.
And deeper still—at the heart of the dead wood—was the Tear.
Aldric could see the unnatural distortion in the air, a rippling fissure of reality itself, pulsing faintly, like an open wound in the fabric of existence. Surrounding it were numerous bodies in various levels of decay and torn asunder in ways that defied the natural order.
Aldric's breath slowed.
At first, they saw only shapes—shadowed figures shifting between the trees, moving with the slow, deliberate patience of predators that knew they had time.
Then the horde emerged.
Lysara cursed under her breath. "It's bigger than the last one."
She wasn't wrong.
The corrupted beasts were thick here—Arlocs, Borlocs, even another two Trelocs—but there were more.
Too many.
Aldric's muscles coiled in instinct, his body already preparing for the retreat—but then he saw them.
The humans.
He froze.
They stood among the corruption, moving as one with the horde, their forms wrapped in tattered armour, their weapons rusted but held with discipline.
And they were flying a banner.
Aldric's blood ran cold.
The Holy Order of Temialia flag.
His fists clenched so hard the leather of his gloves groaned under the strain. He knew those men. They had served at Millbrook. They were knights of the order.
They had stood alongside his brothers-in-arms, his fellow squires, his knights.
And now they stood among corruption.
Something in Aldric snapped.
His voice was low, dark, laced with an anger he couldn't contain.
"Fallen knights."
Lysara's gaze flickered toward him. "You know them."
Aldric couldn't look away.
"They were there that day." His voice was flat, but his grip on his sword tightened. "They fought under the Order's banner. And now—" He exhaled sharply, his teeth grinding. "Now they serve this. Did this" pointing the bottom of the tear.
Lysara's expression darkened, her eyes shifting toward the fallen knights, studying them with an unreadable look. Aldric barely heard her when she spoke.
"What happened to them?"
His breath came slow and measured, but his rage was controlled now—focused, sharpened.
"I don't know. But they have broken the order of things"
He took one step forward.
"But I'm going to find out."
Aldric knew this wasn't smart.
He knew that charging headlong into a horde this size wasn't just reckless—it was suicidal.
But he couldn't turn away. Not now. Not after seeing what had become of them. His fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword as he nodded at Lysara.
She exhaled sharply, her silver eyes flickering with hesitation. She knew what he wanted.
She also knew it wasn't wise. Her gaze searched his face, looking for doubt, hesitation—anything that might stop this. She found nothing.
Lysara sighed through her nose. "You're impossible."
Then she raised her hands and started her chant.
Lysara's prayer surged through the air, invisible to mortal ears, but heavy with divine power.
Aldric felt it immediately. The rush of light, the holy fire that poured through his body like molten steel. It burned, but he was ready for it this time. It was Lysara overcharge prayer. He knew there would be a backlash but would need it if he was to survive this.
His body didn't falter like before. He had grown. And so had she.
Her divine reserves, once limited, now poured into him like an unending tide.
Aldric didn't hesitate.
He moved like lightning.
Aldric was a storm unleashed.
He cut through the first Arloc before it even had time to snarl, his blade slicing clean through diseased flesh. His body moved faster than thought, divine energy guiding his every motion.
Lysara followed.
If Aldric was lightning, she was water—flowing through the gaps he left, sealing wounds before they could open, forcing the enemy back with pulses of divine might. Making them knell or slow down using her lightbearer.
An Arloc lunged—she twisted, graceful, unshaken, unbothered—her staff slammed into its ribs, divine power cracking through its corrupted body like a hammer through glass.
A Borloc reared up on its hind legs—Aldric dove in before it could crush them, his shield bracing the impact before he twisted low and drove his sword deep into its side. The beast howled, black ichor spilling into the dirt.
They pushed forward, cutting through the horde in perfect tandem.
Then the fallen knights intervened. Aldric barely had time to react.
The first knight moved too fast. One moment, he was behind the line of Borlocs—the next, he was in Aldric's face, blade flashing toward his throat.
Aldric blocked on instinct, steel meeting steel in a vicious clash. Without his Oath, the force behind would have sent him skidding back. He gritted his teeth. That wasn't normal.
The second knight was already on Lysara. She whirled, staff raised just in time to redirect the incoming strike, but her eyes widened slightly. They were strong. Too strong. These weren't just men. The corruption had changed them.
One of them—a knight Aldric recognized, his once-pristine armor now rusted and blackened—grinned as he circled them, his sword lazy at his side.
"You're fast, squire," he sneered. His voice was wrong—too smooth, too self-assured. "But not fast enough."
The others laughed, their voices carrying that same unnatural confidence.
"You can feel it, can't you?" one of them taunted, stepping forward, blood dripping from his corrupted blade. "The power. The strength. This world gods are weak. You too could be strong all you need to do is—"
Aldric didn't let him finish.
He lunged
Corruption had twisted them, made them faster, stronger—not in the way of well-trained warriors, but something unnatural, something that should have broken the limits of flesh.
Still—Aldric didn't falter.
His sword met theirs with deadly precision, his shield catching strikes that should have shattered bone, his body moving with a force that was not entirely his own.
And yet, the battle raged on.
The horde was endless. The battle was like the flame that drew in the moth. For every Arloc or Borloc that fell, more emerged from the trees, drawn to the tear in the Veil like scavengers to a rotting carcass.
Lysara's prayers burned hot, divine light flaring in violent pulses as she cut through the ranks, her staff cracking skulls, sending holy fire cascading through the darkness.
Still, it wasn't enough. The Tear was the source. And it had to be closed. Aldric knew this.
He caught Lysara's eye in the chaos, nodding sharply. She understood immediately.
Aldric broke away, sprinting toward the Tear, blade still dripping with black ichor.
The air distorted around it, a sickly wound in reality itself, pulsing with twisted, unfinished intent.
"Tears form where faith is broken," Sir Danton had told him.
"Where faith is broken, it must be reforged."
Aldric dropped to one knee, pressing his shield into the dirt.
His hand hovered over the Tear, and he spoke. He had to be quick before the fallen knight stopped him.
Not in battle cries.
Not in fury.
But in faith.
A prayer—not to the gods who had tested him, not to the Night-Mother or the Sun-King, but to Tellik, the one who shielded the broken.
A pulse of pure divine energy erupted from his hands, washing over the distortion—searing it, forcing it closed.
The Tear began to mend.
But something was wrong.
The air went still.
The horde froze.
Then, a presence emerged. Clearly drawn by the battle happening.
It stepped through before the Tear fully closed, forcing its way into the world, its massive form towering over them all.
A Zerloc.
Aldric had heard whispers of them—high-level corrupted beasts, twisted beyond recognition, their forms part nightmare, part ruin.
This one was monstrous—its body a fusion of plated bone and raw, pulsing sinew, its clawed hands twitching*as if tasting the air.
And then, it moved.
It was fast. It had Aldric speed before look like slow motion.
Aldric barely had time to react before it swung.
A strike aimed directly for his head. Aldric wasn't going to survive it. He knew it. Taking on the horde was suicidal and he was going to pay the price. His rage had cost him everything.
And then—
Lysara was there.
She threw herself in front of him, staff raised, body braced.
The impact hit like a warhammer, her body slamming back into Aldric, the force of it enough to send them both sprawling.
For a heartbeat, he thought she was dead.
Then—he felt it. The bond.
The oath. And the pain hit him instead.
Aldric gasped as agony tore through his ribs, his bones screaming in protest as he took the damage meant for her. Lysara started to heal him while he was taking the damage.
He collapsed onto one knee, vision blurring, the world tilting sideways.
Lysara was on the ground, coughing, her breath ragged, but alive. The healing prayer had taken the last of her stamina.
Aldric barely managed to push himself up.*
The fallen knights rushed forward, hands grabbing Lysara's arms, dragging her back before she could regain her footing.
"No!" Aldric's voice was raw, but his body couldn't move fast enough.
Lysara snarled, twisting, but she was weakened.*
The knights sneered. "Don't worry we will take good care of her."
And then—
The Zerloc turned on them.
It didn't care about their allegiances.
Corruption had no loyalty.
It only devoured.
The knights barely had time to scream before the Zerloc ripped through them, its claws tearing their bodies apart as if they were made of cloth.
Aldric watched in horror.
For all their twisted strength, for all their goading, the Zerloc had no need for them anymore.*
It had a new enemy, it had Lysara.
And it was going to kill her.
Aldric moved.
His body was barely holding together, his ribs screaming with every step, but he forced himself forward, throwing his shield up just as the Zerloc struck.
The impact sent him flying.
He landed hard, his head spinning, his vision darkening at the edges.
He knew he shouldn't have survived that.
But then—
Something massive swooped down from the sky.
Aldric barely had time to register the shadow before Dralore crashed into the battlefield, talons tearing into the ground.
The great Dragle let out a deafening screech, his golden eyes burning with raw fury at the Zerloc.
Aldric felt a rush of movement as Lysara was yanked upward, talons closing around her shoulders.
A second later, Aldric felt the same.
And then—they were off the ground.
Dralore's wings beat against the air, lifting them away as the Zerloc roared beneath them, its massive claws slicing through empty space.
Aldric's vision swam.
His body throbbed in pain, the Oathbound still surging through his veins, but he was alive.
And Lysara—
Lysara was still breathing.
Dralore flew them away from the battlefield, the world tilting beneath them, the wind howling in Aldric's ears.
He let his head fall back against the great beast's side, closing his eyes for just a second.
They had survived. But once again they had run away, this time they would return.