Nyric stepped into the room in silence, head lowered, eyes shadowed with frustration.
The man was already smiling—smug, knowing. Bastard, Nyric thought.
The man didn't acknowledge him. His gaze stayed fixed on Kael.
Say something, damn it.
Two minutes passed in taut silence before Nyric couldn't take it anymore.
"All right, fine. I accept your deal," he snapped.
The man turned to face him, tilting his head with a faintly amused look.
"What deal?" he asked, smile untouched. "And why are you back here?"
Nyric's brow twitched. "The deal you made. You can put the tattoo on. Just give me the compass."
"This compass?"
He pulled the object from his pocket, letting it glint in the dim light.
"Strange. You left already. What changed? What's so special about it now?"
Nyric gritted his teeth. "Don't act like you didn't know that snake would attack me."
"Is that so?" the man mused, head still tilted.
"Then why didn't it attack before? Hmm... Maybe something was masking your presence."
He smiled, eyes flicking back to the compass.
No shit, Nyric thought bitterly.
He took a steadying breath.
"I'll accept the deal. Just give me the compass—" He hesitated, then added, "—and the reward."
The man raised an eyebrow, his smirk sharpening.
"Oh, that deal? That was a one-time offer."
A chill crept down Nyric's spine as he stepped closer, smile widening.
"Now the terms are simple," the man said.
"You keep the mark as long as I decide. When I call, you come. But outside that... your life continues as normal."
He leaned in slightly, voice a mockery of kindness.
"And don't worry. I won't need you for much."
Nyric's heart clenched. His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
He knew he had no choice. Still, it didn't sit right with him.
"Oh, and no reward this time," he added, that damned smile still on his face.
"Unless, of course, we count your life as a reward."
Nyric coughed, a protest rising in his throat—but it died when he saw the man's expression and remembered the snake.
Maybe I can hide in one of the deeper caves... break through. Maybe then I'll have a shot...
But that thought was crushed by the man's next words.
"If you refuse this deal, leave the caves," he said, voice still calm.
"If I sense you again, I'll kill you. And that snake? Even Form-walkers can't hurt it."
Nyric sighed, low and bitter.
"Fine. But can't I at least get the essence crystal?"
"No," the man said simply, grinning.
Nyric began to answer—
"All right, fi—"
—but was cut off by a sharp, burning sting.
He gasped, jerking his gaze to his left wrist. The tattoo was back, dark and pulsing like fresh ink.
"Why did it sting this time?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Oh, nothing," the man said airily, already tossing the compass his way.
You smug bastard. What do you mean nothing?
Nyric caught the compass, cradling it with surprising gentleness—an expression of almost reverence.
A stark contrast to the look he gave the man.
"By the way... what's your name?" Nyric asked, voice flat.
"I should at least know who my employer is."
"Just call me Thorne," the man said without looking at him.
Figures, Nyric thought. Sounds like a scammer's name.
"I'll be outside," he said. "Absorbing the crystal."
He turned to leave, but paused.
"Don't be mad, but... do you have a coat—"
Thorne shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone.
"Sheesh."
Nyric raised his hands in mock surrender as he backed out.
"Just asking."
---
Harold sat outside the healer's house—one of the few still standing after yesterday's rampage.
The morning sun caught the angles of his worn face, deepening the lines etched by time and fatigue.
His eyes were distant, his thoughts heavy, and his spear rested across his lap like a lifeline.
The creak of a door to his left stirred him.
An old woman stepped out. Her hair was streaked with silver, but her posture was straight, her steps steady—untouched by the years most others couldn't outrun.
She stood for a moment, watching the sun rise, then moved to sit beside him.
"How is she?" Harold asked, his voice low and hoarse, as if he didn't want the answer.
"Stable," the woman murmured. "For now. That's all I can do."
Harold let out a slow breath. Sheila was alive—that was more than he expected, given how he'd found her.
And he understood why Ananye couldn't do more.
The village was broken. The injured were everywhere.
Even he was hurt, though he hadn't stopped long enough to care.
"You can't just sit here," Ananye said, eyeing the bandage around his hand.
The cloth was red, the white long gone.
"You need treatment too."
"I'm fine," he muttered. "Treat the others."
His gaze shifted to the open ground, where the wounded lay on mats and bare earth.
Ananye's apprentices moved between them, hands quick, faces drawn.
"Your disciples can't handle this," he added.
"Nonsense," she snapped.
"If they can't manage this, they're not ready to be my disciples."
He gave a dry chuckle. "They're kids. They weren't prepared for something like this."
Ananye sighed.
"You've never been able to take a joke," she said, then softer,
"No one should."
She stood and scanned the village—scorched earth, shattered walls, ash drifting like dust.
Her gaze stopped on a group standing just beyond the healer's house: four figures in matching blue garb marked with pale patterns, speaking with a young man who had a spear strapped across his back.
"Make yourself useful then. Go talk to them," she said.
"They're not dressed like anyone from this kingdom."
Harold followed her gaze.
"Could be a new sect," he said. "You're being paranoid."
"You said could," she replied.
"And what would a new sect want with a poor village like ours?"
She looked back at him.
"Besides, it's your responsibility. You're the most respected man here now—after the chief."
He grunted. "I doubt that."
"Well, you're scaring everyone with that grim face. Go do something."
"You could've just said that."
He lifted his eyes to the sky with a sigh.
He rose, stiff but steady.
He was the only warrior left standing, and not even fully.
His body was healing—slowly—thanks to his bloodline and sheer will.
But others weren't so lucky.
The chief was unconscious. Bones shattered. The village left in ruins.
The strangers had arrived just hours after the attack, but Harold hadn't spared them much thought.
The chief's boy had stepped in for now, but that couldn't last.
She was right. He had to do something.
He stepped forward, toward the group in blue.