Achem and Lysara had escaped the immediate threat, but the dangers surrounding them were far from over. The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the crumbling ruins of what had once been Rogar's mighty fortress. Now, it was nothing more than a husk, a place where whispers of the past clung to the stones like ghosts.
Achem crouched near a fallen column, his breathing steadying as he tried to push aside the lingering pain from his wounds. The memories that had flooded his mind still left him dazed. Rogar's past was now intertwined with his own, a maddening mix of knowledge, regrets, and emotions that weren't his. He pressed his fingers to his temples, willing the headache away.
Lysara, ever watchful, stood a few feet away, scanning the horizon. "We need to keep moving. We bought ourselves some time, but not enough."
Achem exhaled sharply. "Where are we heading?"
"Somewhere we can regroup. There's an old hideout in the forests beyond the valley. It was once a refuge for rogues and mercenaries. If any of Rogar's former allies remain, that's where we'll find them."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "And how do you know about this place?"
She smirked. "I know many things. Besides, Rogar trusted me once. Whether you trust me now is another matter."
Achem pushed himself up, gripping the hilt of his borrowed sword. "Let's go. But if you lead me into a trap, I promise you'll regret it."
Lysara merely smiled and started walking, her movements fluid and deliberate. Achem followed, his mind spinning with thoughts of what lay ahead.
The journey through the dense wilderness was grueling. The path was uneven, filled with gnarled roots and overgrown vegetation. The cold night air carried distant sounds of nocturnal creatures stirring in the underbrush. Achem's body ached with every step, but he forced himself to move forward. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and fatigue weighed heavily on his limbs.
Lysara walked ahead, her presence a constant reminder of the precariousness of his situation. He knew she was dangerous, but he also knew she was his best chance at survival. For now.
Yet, something about her bothered him. The way she moved, the confidence with which she navigated the land—it was too precise. As if she had walked these paths many times before. That didn't sit right with Achem. Rogar's fragmented memories didn't recall much about her past, but something told him she wasn't being completely honest. For now, he kept his suspicions to himself.
After hours of silence, Achem finally spoke. "Tell me about the council."
Lysara glanced back at him. "What about them?"
"Who are they? What do they want?"
She sighed. "The Council of Lords is a collection of the most powerful noble families in Eldoria. In theory, they exist to maintain balance, to advise the king, to ensure stability. In practice, they are parasites. Each member vies for dominance, using deception, assassination, and betrayal as their weapons. They were the ones who orchestrated your fall."
Achem clenched his fists. "And Alistair Valen? The so-called king?"
"A figurehead. A puppet on their strings. He wears the crown, but they hold the power." Lysara's voice was laced with contempt. "He was always weak. They placed him on the throne because they knew he would bend to their will."
Achem's grip tightened on his sword. "Then he must die."
Lysara studied him for a moment. "Killing him won't be enough. If you want to reclaim what you lost, you need to be smarter. Stronger. You need allies."
Achem knew she was right. Revenge alone wouldn't be enough. He needed to dismantle the council, break their influence, and seize control before someone else did.
By dawn, they had reached the outskirts of the forest. Before them lay a valley, covered in mist, with ancient stone ruins barely visible through the dense fog. The hideout Lysara spoke of was near. But their exhaustion was catching up with them. Achem's vision blurred with every step, and he could hear the raggedness of Lysara's breath.
"We need shelter," he muttered. "If we keep going like this, we'll collapse before we even reach your mercenary friends."
Lysara hesitated before nodding. "There should be caves nearby. We rest for a short while, then move again."
They found a small cave nestled between jagged rocks. Achem gathered some dry branches while Lysara muttered another spell, conjuring a faint glow to guide their way. The fire was small but enough to warm their chilled bodies. Achem slumped against the stone wall, exhaustion settling deep in his bones.
As they sat in silence, he studied Lysara. Her features were sharp, elegant, but there was always something unreadable in her eyes. "Why are you helping me?"
She smirked. "Maybe I enjoy the company of fallen kings."
He scoffed. "You don't strike me as the sentimental type."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I want the council destroyed just as much as you do. They have wronged me in ways you can't imagine. If you fall, I fall. So, for now, our interests align."
Achem held her gaze, searching for any sign of deception. He found none. But that didn't mean he trusted her.
After a few hours of rest, they pressed forward. The closer they got, the more Achem's instincts screamed that they were being watched.
As they reached the base of the valley, Lysara stopped. "Wait."
Achem halted, his hand instinctively going to his sword. He felt an unsettling dissonance within himself—Rogar's instincts surged, sharpening his senses, while his own office-worker logic faltered, unfamiliar with the weight of steel in his grip. "What is it?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she muttered an incantation under her breath, and a faint pulse of energy rippled through the air. The mist around them shifted, revealing figures hiding in the shadows.
Armed men stepped forward, their weapons drawn. Their leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, smirked at them. "Well, well. Look what we have here."
Before Lysara could respond, a low growl echoed through the valley. The air grew heavy with the scent of blood and decay. Achem turned sharply, his pulse quickening. From the darkness, red eyes glowed, emerging one by one from the mist.
Beasts. Dozens of them. Their fur was matted with dried gore, their claws glistening in the dim light. Their eyes burned with an eerie, unnatural glow, scanning the area with a predatory hunger. The air crackled with dark energy, and Achem could feel the unmistakable weight of sorcery binding these creatures to a singular purpose. They were summoned beasts—hunting not just anyone, but specifically looking for Rogar.
Garron wielded his axe, waving urgent gestures at his subordinates. Some turned pale, fear gripping their faces. Some of them, Rogar included, the brave ones, started to defend themselves. Others, already losing their nerve, began to run.
Achem tightened his grip on his sword, his mind racing. They had escaped one death trap, only to stumble into another.
And this time, there was no easy way out.