The forest canopy churned above like a sea of emerald flame as Cainan blurred forward, chains flaring out behind him in arcs of crimson heat. Qorrak spun his staff with one hand, the other three flexing midair like serpents coiled for the strike. Cainan came in low, sliding beneath a sweeping arc of wind, his boot carving through moss and root, then sprang up with a brutal uppercut—chains wrapped around his forearm like a serpent lunging from hell. Qorrak twisted, using one leg to vault off the trunk of a nearby tree, his momentum flipping his body upside down as he brought his staff down like a guillotine. Cainan raised both arms, the chain catching the blow, sparks flying as steel screeched against wind-forged wood. Their eyes met—one flaring with fury, the other alight with thrill.
"You're slower than they say, witch killer," Qorrak growled, flipping backward into the air, limbs moving like ribbons in a storm. "That all you've got?"
Astrid circled them above, wings fluttering with excitement. "He's just getting started, you damn tree-climbing lint-ball! Cainan, kick his oversized monkey teeth in!"
Cainan's breath burned in his chest. 'Too slow. That staff moves like light, faster than it looks. Four arms, unorthodox flow. Can't match tempo right now. Not while I'm still bleeding inside.'
His mind pulsed like a battlefield. 'He's not just spinning—he's baiting, waiting for me to slip. Every dodge resets his flow. That staff's made for tempo control…'
He rolled aside from a wind spike shot from Qorrak's jab, chains dragging deep gouges into the dirt behind him, then coiled them around his leg. Using his own weight as a pivot, he slingshotted himself around a boulder, redirecting with brutal speed—his body corkscrewed midair, foot aimed at Qorrak's exposed flank.
Qorrak's lower right arm caught it. The simian twisted, launching Cainan skyward with a powerful heave. But Cainan wasn't done. His chains shot downward mid-arc, striking the ground and snapping him in reverse, and he came down with both fists clenched. Qorrak flipped, landed on all fours like a beast, and counter-vaulted with a spin that was a blur, staff leading in a wide crescent. Cainan blocked it—but the moment his chains touched the staff, wind exploded in his face, and he was hurled into a thicket of stone and bark, coughing blood.
"Come on!" Astrid shouted, practically vibrating with delight. "Don't let Qorrak the monster punk you like that, chain boy!"
'Tch! He's not wasting any movement! The staff is like an extension of his heartbeat. Every gust is momentum, every strike redirects mine. But he's cautious when I reach for it. He's guarding it too closely.'
Cainan limped out of the crushed wood, one eye bloody. He's scared I'll steal it. Because I almost did, twice. That means… it's the key. My chains keep reaching for it, not by accident. They know. I don't know much about the way magic or affinity works in this world, not like the scholars and wizards. We're all just born with this magic, but it feels a part of us, but like it has a mind of its own. My chains..it wants his staff..we'll get it..I just have to bait him. Plus I'm super damn weak, I didn't give my body time to heal.'
Qorrak was already rushing him again, dancing in a sideways spiral—arms swirling, staff tracing slashes of air that sliced bark and split the wind like glass. Cainan dodged left, then backward, then pivoted forward into a dive, rolling low as the staff swept inches overhead. He rose mid-spin, chains lashing like twin serpents, but Qorrak flipped over them, landing behind and cracking his staff into Cainan's spine with a sickening crunch. Cainan dropped to one knee, coughing, the world swimming. Wind gusted around them as Qorrak pointed the tip of his staff to Cainan's neck, grin wide and breath calm.
Astrid's voice cut through the trees. "NO! GET UP! YOU CAN'T LOSE TO THIS FURRY BOOTLEG DRUID!"
Qorrak's grin widened. "He's finished. All that talk. Hmph." He stepped forward.
'No… not yet…' Cainan's eyes narrowed. Then—he let the staff come. The tip pierced his side, but he didn't scream. His chain wrapped around the staff the moment it struck. He grit his teeth through the pain, hands locking onto the shaft, and his chains surged out from his back like iron vipers. They curled around the staff, embedding it into his wound—and glowing red.
Qorrak's eyes widened. "Wait—"
Too late.
"I caught it," Cainan hissed. "Finally."
The chains lit up, dragging the wind magic into their own crests, turning the staff's energy inward. Cainan wrenched it from Qorrak's grip with a roar, spinning in place with a whirlwind of chained fury. Cainan spun in mid air, and smacked Qorrak across the face with the staff, wind blasting all over the face alongside blood and tree chunks, sending Qorrak bashing through a few trees.
Now wielding the very staff Qorrak had used to dominate him, Cainan's stance shifted—lower, predatory. Chains danced over his arms like twin hydras.
"Get the fuck up…" Cainan snarled at Qorrak.
'Haha! No way that brat baited me,' Qorrak realized, eyes narrowing. 'He was studying me the whole fight. Not just fighting—he was targeting my grip, movement, pressure points. He knew the moment I got confident, I'd go for a decisive thrust… and that was when he'd let himself be struck. Damn it he's good! But he's reckless. He would allow himself to endure pain just to gain the upper hand. But that's badass, so I'll let him slide. Especially since he's weakened in his current state.'
Cainan stepped forward, now armed with Qorrak's own magic-infused weapon. He smiled, a trickle of blood slipping past his lip.
"Let's see how you like it," he growled.
Qorrak let out a sigh as Cainan leveled the wind-forged staff at his chest, its haft wrapped in glowing chains like a sacred relic reborn. Then, slowly, the four-armed warrior raised all his hands in surrender, lips curled into a crooked grin.
"Alright, alright. I yield," he said, shrugging. "You win, witch killer."
"Pfft. Loser."
"STOP RUBBING IT IN MY FACE, BRAT!"
"You said something?"
Qorrak whispered to Astrid, "I don't regret almost smiting him earlier by the way. Ya sure we want this kid?"
Astrid exploded into a spiral of cheers above, zipping in loops with glee as she zoomed down, smacked Qorrak's shoulder with both palms—doing absolutely nothing—and triumphantly raised Cainan's arm high above his head. "THE VICTOR—CHAIN FREAK SUPREME!" she declared, voice echoing like a stadium announcer in a sacred arena. "Take that, you hairy wind pipe!"
Cainan grunted, releasing the staff, tossing it back to Qorrak with a flick of his chain. "Yeah yeah, can I get answers now?"
The wind rustled.
Qorrak caught the staff mid-spin, settled it on his back, and exchanged a glance with Astrid. A moment passed, heavy with implication, and then the monkey-like mystic spoke.
"Walk and talk, kid."
They turned from the clearing, heading down a descending trail etched between two roots as thick as towers—trees older than memory casting kaleidoscopic shadows as the sun shifted. The path wound downward into the Might Cradle Canyon, a chasm carved not by erosion, but by some titanic war in ages lost. The canyon yawned below them in tiers like an inverted coliseum, its vertical walls honeycombed with cave dwellings and glowing bioluminescent fungi that pulsed like slow heartbeats.
Long, thread-thin creatures floated between ridges—Glissorms, translucent serpents that sang in low frequencies to lure prey. Massive crystal pines sprouted sideways from the walls, shedding glowing needles that never hit the floor. On the canyon floor, a vast bone-like structure jutted from the earth—the Spine of the Cradle, believed by some to be the petrified rib of a titan.
Strange avian beasts darted overhead—their wings bone-framed and webbed like gliders, their feathers iridescent and full of hypnotic patterns. One landed briefly on a crystal pine and screamed a note that made the fungi shift color.
As they walked, Astrid's voice turned serious. She floated down beside Cainan, her eyes gleaming.
"Before time had texture, the world was one—Ivenvar, the Wombrealm," she said, tone like a hymn. "And at its center… Laevmara, the Tree of Ascendance. Not wood. A living concept of power and divinity. Each branch a god not yet born. Its roots coiled through the fabric of everything."
She floated ahead, spinning in the air, silver hair catching glints of the canyon's bioluminescence. "Inside Laevmara are God Larvae, unborn deities wrapped in divine logic. Sleeping, waiting for the right conditions to emerge. A plea. A vessel. A blood sacrifice. Balance maintained by us—the Aurumkin faires. We sang them into dormancy. Guardians of perfect sleep. Without our song, they would spiral out of control and become distressed, and nah sprout prematurely, which would cause them to go mad, and with the witches running about, a chaotic mad god running around killing shit is not what we need right now. Though…I love violence…it would be cool to see…"
Cainan replied, "Huh?! No it won't be cool—!"
Qorrak picked up where Astrid left off, voice low. "—But one god didn't wait."
Astrid landed lightly on Cainan's shoulder, her tone now colder. "Vargometh. The God of Blood and Darkness. Slithered free from an unknown flaw in the bark. Not shaped by harmony, but by bruised yearning. Crown-broken mortals, chained ones, the unjust—he heard them. And he whispered: 'You suffer because they pretend fairness exists.'"
Cainan whispered, "Unfairness…the concept those witches scream all the time…"
They descended a stair carved into the cliffside, lined with glyphs etched by hands long gone. Below, shadows moved—beasts that looked like they had bark for skin and lanterns for eyes, silently grazing.
"When the first queen drowned her bastard daughter in a silver basin," Astrid whispered, "the scream reached not the stars, but Vargometh. And so the first witch was born."
Cainan thought, 'I heard that same phrase before…didn't Azrael..that witches summon…say the same thing?'
"Laevmara's roots," Qorrak said, gesturing across the canyon, "they stretch through every seat of power. Every throne. That's what the witches believe. That kings and priests are just branches fed by sleeping gods. And if you sever the roots, you kill the order."
They stopped near a ledge, the canyon vast beneath them.
"In the Larval Chamber," Astrid continued, "the gods still dream. And to wake one? You need to break the Four Locks. Crisis of Faith. Sacrifice of Legacy. Song of Naming. Tear from the Goddess Above."
Cainan's eyes narrowed. The pieces began to fall into place.
Qorrak folded all four arms. "All in all, kid… the witches want to birth a god in their own image. One that'll destroy all law—mortal and divine. They think if they kill the system, the world will finally be free. And given how many of them were exiled, hunted, or had everything they loved burned by kings and queens? They're out for blood and revenge."
He looked at Cainan pointedly.
Cainan scoffed, "Yeah what they're doing is fucked up, making the whole world suffer because how they were treated. So you're telling me people can make deals and contracts with gods from the god larvae?"
"Something like that." Astrid spun in the air.
The canyon groaned far below, a deep, ancient rumble echoing across the spine.
Astrid floated beside them, her wings pulsing slowly with a dim, sorrowful gold. Her voice lost its teasing lilt and dipped into reverence, heavy with the weight of memory.
"After Vargometh's awakening, everything unraveled," she said quietly. "Mortals began accidentally triggering larval births. They didn't understand the Four Locks, didn't care. Their pain called to the Tree, and the Tree… responded. Each god that woke was malformed—twisted by incomplete prayers, broken logic, desperate blood."
"If they would've understood the Four Locks.."
"The gods would have woken up in their right mind. The songs from my kin that we sing to the god larvae keep the pain of the people from interacting with the Tree itself. As it's constantly trying to awake them in chaos
She lowered her gaze to the winding path below, where bioluminescent moss glowed beneath their feet.
"Anyway, There were gods of rot, obsession, silence, hunger, flesh…" Her voice quivered. "Each one more cursed than the last. Whole cities vanished in minutes. Lovers merged into one body. A forest that sang children to sleep until they never woke again."
"To stop it," Qorrak picked up, voice grim, "the Veltrac Covenant was formed. Brutal pact—last Harmonist kings and what was left of the Aurumkin. They called it the Cradle-Burning War. Mortals stormed temples, nurseries of divine essence, and slaughtered gods in their cribs. Before they could finish fully forming."
"Whole nations burned," Astrid added. "Dozens of almost-gods erased in golden fire. But the thing is—when gods die… they go back into their larvae."
Cainan's jaw clenched. "Then how the hell can someone birth a god in their own image by breaking those locks?"
Astrid looked at him, serious. "You don't just break them—you embody the opposite. Crisis of Faith? You lead others to heresy. Sacrifice of Legacy? You erase your bloodline, your name. Song of Naming? You forge a new tongue from pain. And the Tear of the Goddess Above? You steal it—rip it from a living Aurumkin."
Cainan turned away, eyes narrowed in thought. Astrid's wings shimmered dimly.
"My kin believe the witch queen is drawing power from Vargometh—God of Blood and Darkness," she said. "Using that black magic to weaken the Veil. The Veil hides the Tree. If it fades, she'll see it. Reach it. And once that happens… no more locks. Just open birth."
Cainan's voice was low. "What do you know about her? A name?"
Qorrak scratched behind one ear with a lower hand. "She was once part of a noble family. Real powerful. But something happened—some members of thehouse was wiped out. Their souls went to Hell. Hers didn't."
Cainan's brow furrowed. "What does Hell have to do with this?"
Both Qorrak and Astrid exchanged a look.
"We don't know," she said.
Then she looked down, wings fluttering. "I just know I have to stop her. My father tried to keep me locked in our home. My sister died to a witch. He thinks keeping me caged will stop that from happening again. But I hate being trapped. Doesn't matter if it's a castle or a cage, or my own thoughts and struggles. I needed to leave. Needed fighters. People strong enough to stop this. I just want to be trusted. Yeah I might be in over my head, but my own kin aren't doing anything besides singing songs to the God Larvae to ease them from the cries of pain from the world, and protecting the Tree. None of them are trying to go out and actually DO something. Don't literally need EVERYONE, just send a few."
Cainan's mind drifted. Espen. Idrathar's daughter. The black rose petals as she vanished.
"I made a promise," he muttered. "To kill the witch queen. And I will. I'll help you."
He turned to them both, eyes sharp. "But if I'm teaming up with a flying nuisance and this furry staff-thruster, then I'm the one in charge. Got it? I say when we eat, when we sleep, and when you both get to take a royal shit. Understood?"
Astrid zipped into his face, nose scrunched. "Excuse me? You think you're in charge? You just spent the last fight bleeding out like a popped wine skin! I'm the brains here!"
"Oh really? Then fly us into a god's stomach, see how that goes. Face it—fairy brains are half sugar water."
"Better than your chain-rattling meat brain! You couldn't strategize your way out of a cabbage patch!"
"Cabbage patch? That's the best you got?"
"Oh sorry, I forgot I'm talking to a glorified chain boy with anger issues!"
"Weren't you just ROOTING FOR ME TO KILL YOUR FOUR ARMED FRIEND EARLIER?!"
"Y-YEAH SO?!"
Qorrak suddenly slammed the butt of his staff into the ground, wind spiraling outward in a sharp blast that parted them like bickering children. His voice rang out, low and thunderous.
"We're here."
They turned forward.
The Hidden Blight wasn't what Cainan expected.
Sunlight filtered down through carved stone archways covered in glowing vine-crystals, casting dappled blue-green light over cobbled streets. The town was alive with color and energy—merchant stalls brimmed with strange meats and glowing fruits, children dashed through crowd-lined paths with wooden beast masks, and incense curled from hanging braziers shaped like screaming gargoyle heads. Everything felt celebratory, fragrant, and fast. Music, chatter, and laughter blended into a warm cacophony.
Cainan, Astrid, and Qorrak walked through it all, brushing shoulders with passing travelers. Beastkin in steel-mesh tunics laughed with plated mercenaries. A silver-haired scholar bartered loudly with a limbless druid over a fist-sized glass eye that blinked.
At the center of town loomed two massive boards—one made of reinforced monster bone, marked the Hunter's Board, swarmed with grim-eyed warriors tightening belts and readying potions. The other stood just across, carved from a thousand bound scrolls—The Pledge Board, where Adventurers stood with hands on hips, loudly arguing over who had seniority on a "Hydra-Babysitting" quest.
"Oh come on, I led that raid against that witch cult last month!"
"And we all needed therapy after, Vrem. Sit down. Those cultists were crazy. I don't even think we got them all."
Astrid snorted.
"Pfft," Cainan muttered, eyeing the chaos. "What are we doing in this madhouse? This place gives me the creeps.."
"We saw your carnal friend with the horns," Astrid said, pointing casually at a group of stunned villagers. "Scythe lady. Lynzelle. Real dramatic entrance. She's here somewhere."
Cainan blinked. Then gasped. Cainan smiled, "She is?!" Then he cleared his throat, and made a straight face, saying deeply, "So she's here?"
Qorrak and Astrid looked at each other, and said, "Lover boy."
He turned so fast his chains nearly knocked over a fruit cart. "I gotta find her!" He started to sprint toward the crowd, but Qorrak's broad hand caught his shoulder.
"What is it?" Cainan snapped.
Qorrak's expression turned grim. "We're not just here for her. We're also here to find Dante Vaerdyn."
"Who the hell is that?"
"Family butler. Worked for the Vaerdyn noble line," Qorrak explained. "Just left the noble estate one day. But he's been writing. Word is, he's going to expose the family—said they're keeping a Witch Mother hidden. A Witch Mother named Thredra."
Cainan's brow furrowed. "Ugh. So witches have ranks now? I never paid attention, I just ripped them apart."
Astrid nodded. "Witches are the foundation. Spellcrafters, blood-binders, the lot. But Witch Mothers? They're the architects—older, wiser, corrupted deeper. They don't serve the Queen; they guide her."
"And the Queen?" Cainan asked.
"She's the rupture. She doesn't just cast spells—she births ideologies. Witches worship her because she unchains reality. Thredra's presence in a noble family is bad. Means they're not just hiding witches. They're breeding something."
Cainan's eyes narrowed. "Then I say we don't kill her."
Both Astrid and Qorrak paused.
"I want to use her," he said. "Let her draw the others out. Let them all come. If we kill them together, at once… maybe we can summon Espen. I don't care if it's madness. I'm doing it."
Astrid and Qorrak exchanged glances again—uncertain, but silent.
"If it doesn't work," Cainan said, stepping past them, "I'll kill her without hesitation."
"…Understood," Astrid said quietly. "You've fought more witches than we ever have."
Qorrak nodded. "And bled more than both of us combined."
"I'll search for Lynzelle," Cainan said.
"We'll ask around for Dante," Qorrak added. "He lives here. Shouldn't be too hard to find."
Astrid waved as Cainan turned to leave. "And if fighting breaks out—call my name, so I can watch! I love violence!"
"Okay," Cainan said flatly, already walking away.
Suddenly, a group of children ran up to Astrid, squealing with delight. They grabbed her legs and wings, dragging her into a frantic game.
"*No—wait—don't grab the wing—"
"Make the fairy fight the war doll!"
"I'm not a toy!! Qorrak, HELP ME!!"
Qorrak turned, grinning slyly as he knelt beside the kids. "Hey little monsters. Got room for one more?"
"YEAH!!"
Astrid flailed. "I hate you. I hate you, Qorrak! Big dummy simian!"
Qorrak chuckled. "This is the happiest I've been in years."
Cainan's boots clicked steadily across the smooth, darkstone roads of Hidden Blight, each step echoing through a town alive with contradiction. Despite its name, the place radiated warmth and vibrance, like a secret kept too long that had decided to blossom anyway. Suspended cloth canopies stretched between crooked rooftops—each dyed in muted crimsons, dusky violets, and soft golden hues—casting shifting patterns over the busy cobbled streets. Lanterns made of blown boneglass swung gently in the wind, glowing with slow-burning fairy light. Wind-catchers spun on every corner, strung with crow-feathers, copper bells, and teeth-shaped charms that clattered like dry rain.
He had changed his attire quick, not wanting to get a bunch of attention here as he knows people would get in his way. He was wearing only a black sackcloth cloak with the hood over his head, black wraps around his fists, black leather pants, and black boots.
Everywhere he looked, the town thrummed with life. A troupe of bards perched on overturned crates near a cracked well, weaving together a somber melody on dulcimers and bone flutes, their lyrics a soft warning carried on the wind:
"Far from the flame, far from her twitch—
Hide your name, don't thank a witch…"
Further down the main avenue, poets with ink-black eyes and scripture-tattoos covering their faces sat in circles on color-drenched rugs. They scribbled furiously into bark-bound journals, whispering in fragmented verse to one another about rot, betrayal, and god-larvae, their words twisting like roots. The perfume of roasted fruits, damp spell-ink, and cheap wine hung in the air like incense.
Atop a dry fountain, a town crier in royal-blue rags projected his voice through a battered bronze horn, calling out to the masses between gulps of some sickly-sweet liquor.
"ATTENTION—blightroot worms have returned to the lower ridge farms! All children under ten to be kept from soil contact!"
"ATTENTION—three Hunters lost to a sleep-curse in Gnawmarsh! Hunter Eltro currently dreaming of drowning. Donations welcome!"
"ATTENTION—Idrathar of Kalazeth mourns the loss of his daughter, Espen. Taken by the witch-flame. Her ashes said to bloom black roses in dreams…"
That last line slowed Cainan's steps. It coiled around his chest like a cold, invisible chain. He glanced to the side and saw children drawing strange protective sigils in the dirt with crow-feathers. A masked perfume merchant shouted about fear-repellents named Witch's Regret. A pale man carried a jar filled with nothing but a flickering shadow and tried to sell it as a captured curse. And everywhere he went, whispers followed him.
He kept walking, then his eyes caught on something chalked against a worn stone wall. Old warnings, faded but deeply etched by belief:
Never thank a witch out loud. Gratitude is said to bind you to them. People wear crow-teeth necklaces to ward off soul theft. Crossing your own shadow is an omen of future betrayal. -
The dead are buried upside down, mirrors in their mouths—so their souls reflect into the underworld instead of crawling back into the world of the living.
'I've heard so much about this place. It's like some safe haven. Not really safe but…like a sanctuary of people not wanting to live on the surface where the witches roam. Witches barely travel below ground, so these people used that to their advantage. Not saying it's not possible for a witch raid, but they're better off than some of the people on the surface.'
Then he heard it. That voice—rich, elegant, with a touch of mockery to every vowel.
Lynzelle.
He followed it instinctively, turning down a plaza where people gathered in rows of makeshift seating. An open-air stage had been built on old warstones. It was decorated with soft, glowing set pieces—a castle wall painted onto a tall curtain, paper ivy hanging down like dreams, a fake moon turning slowly on an arcane pulley system. Behind the stage, a small orb hovered in the air projecting tiny illusion-fires for atmosphere. The crowd had filled the square with laughter and chatter, but Cainan only heard one thing.
Lynzelle stood at the center of the stage in a shimmering gown of sapphire and gold, cinched at the waist, her black hair braided back into a regal ponytail. Her horns were hidden beneath a fine tiara, but her red eyes glowed unmistakably. She was smiling—genuinely. He could count on one hand how many times he'd seen that.
Before her, a flamboyantly-dressed "knight" knelt over a "dead witch," played by an exhausted actor who was still fidgeting and wiping fake blood off their nose.
"I feared you would never return!" Lynzelle said, loud and melodramatic, but with a strange softness.
The knight responded with a quivering voice, "I could not stay away—not while the world is cursed by her kind!"
The audience gasped in unison.
"What's gonna happen next?"
"Are they gonna run? More witches could be around!"
Cainan took a step toward the stage, ready to pull her off and ask what the hell she was doing—but then he paused. He remembered the way she once described her fascination with theatre. How she longed to be seen as something other than a weapon or a threat. How she had never had the chance to act, to play, to perform—to pretend.
So, he stopped himself.
'Shit…guess I'll watch or whatever.'
He sat in the very back, in a rusting wooden chair, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He knew getting too close would throw her off.
He leaned forward slightly, watching as she held out her hand to the sky while the "knight" shouted about justice, purity, and some dramatically named kingdom. The witch-actor let out an exaggerated groan and rolled onto their side with all the grace of a half-dead pig.
The stage dimmed and shifted to a deep violet hue as the backdrop flared into a painted night sky over a crooked, thorny forest. The knight—flamboyant and full of fire—brandished a dulled wooden sword, his voice rising like a hymn, "Stay back, cursed witches! Foul hags! Tainted sisters of shadow! You'll not touch her, not while I still draw breath!"
The entire time, Cainan was making a disgusted face, like he wanted to puke.
From behind painted trees, a small chorus of actors in ragged cloaks and pointy hats lunged forward, waving fake wands and shrieking dramatically. One even held a papier-mâché hound puppet with glowing red eyes, snarling like a rabid beast. The knight spun in the middle of the chaos, striking witches left and right with exaggerated swings, fending off a dozen at once.
Lynzelle stood center stage in her princess gown, hands clasped dramatically over her chest, staring into the nonexistent horizon. "No! My sweet knight! My one and only—" she paused. Her eyes squinted. "Oh shit."
She spun around, yanked a crumpled piece of parchment from beneath her dress, and began whisper-reading it with blinding speed. The sound of her muttering buzzed across the stage like a swarm of wasps. "With deepest regret—I—forsake—the throne—to—embrace—this—cursed—love—"
The entire audience stared at her, then burst into laughter. Even the witches onstage broke character, giggling as they stumbled around. One even "tripped" on her fake broom.
Lynzelle flung the paper into the air like it was cursed, puffed up her chest, and stomped forward, instantly returning to character with a raised chin and flaring nostrils. "You will not take him from me!" she screamed. "I would rather be torn apart by your crooked claws than live a moment without love!"
Gasps. Cheering. Children clapped, squealing with glee as Lynzelle dashed across the stage and leapt in front of the knight just as a "spell" was flung at him—a bundle of white cloth tied with ribbons. She caught it with a dramatic pirouette and dropped to the floor.
She lay sprawled across the stage, tongue sticking out, arms flung wide. "Urghhhh! I die! So beautifully!"
The knight dropped to his knees beside her. "No!" he cried, voice quivering. He pulled off his helmet to reveal a head of wavy red hair, a face full of freckles, and wide, teary light-brown eyes. "You shouldn't have saved me… You shouldn't have done this for me!"
Lynzelle squinted at him from the floor, then fluttered her eyes shut again. "I did it… for love…"
The knight leaned down, trembling, clearly aiming for the grand finale—a kiss. The crowd gasped and giggled. The children were chanting, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" in unison. Lynzelle's eyes snapped open slightly. She looked… deeply uncomfortable.
As his lips got closer, Lynzelle suddenly sat up and slapped her hands on her hips.
"Ah! I feel good as new!"
The knight froze mid-pucker, his voice cracking into a harsh whisper. "THAT'S NOT IN THE SCRIPT!"
"I'm doing improv now!" she declared, grinning wide.
The audience exploded with laughter. The fake witches flopped over in defeat. The cursed hound puppet was tossed into the crowd, where children fought over it. Lynzelle bowed deeply, soaking in the applause like a sunbather, her smile flashing like mischief incarnate. The knight followed suit, flushed and dazed. Curtains drawn with a flick of the sorcerer's hand, and the stage was swallowed by dusk.
Backstage, Garlen—the red-haired knight—rubbed the back of his head, nervously chuckling. "Hey, uh… that was fun. Really fun. I—I know some beautiful spots, you know? Around the cliffs and the waterfall path. Thought maybe we could go sometime?" He tried to sound casual, but it cracked like cheap glass. "With witches getting stronger, who knows how much time we have left, right?"
Lynzelle blinked at him, brows raised. "I'm married, guy."
Garlen laughed, nervously. "Oh. Right. Like always. Hah. The classic Lynzelle routine." He nudged her gently. "But seriously, if you wanna—"
"Lynzelle!" came a sharp, commanding voice from behind.
They both turned.
Cainan stood there, arms firm at his sides, chains faintly rattling at his wrist. His eyes locked onto her like a promise.
Lynzelle's flustered expression betrayed her for just a second before she turned sharply.
"Cainan…" she muttered, and then spun on her heel and ran off.
"Wait!" he shouted, already breaking into a sprint after her.
Garlen stood there stunned, jaw slightly open.
In his mind: 'A fan. One of those intense types. A real test. She's testing how far I'd go for her! To see how jealous I would get!'
He gripped his helmet and charged after them with a determined cry.
"Don't worry! I'll prove my worth!"
The chase began.
Cainan bolted after Lynzelle, boots slamming against the cobblestone street as he weaved between market stalls and startled townsfolk. "Lynzelle! Hey! Stop!
She didn't stop.
She twisted around a corner, her dramatic theater gown trailing behind her like a tattered cape, nearly knocking over a peddler balancing candied eels on a tray. Cainan cursed, hurdled the eel cart with a roll, and picked up speed, his chains subtly dragging behind him like coiled serpents, ready to lash out.
'Why is she running from me?! Is she really ashamed of what happened?!'
As they darted through an alley and burst into a small square, they zipped right past Qorrak and Astrid. Qorrak was sitting cross-legged, surrounded by laughing kids using sticks and dolls to battle imaginary monsters, while Astrid—struggling—had two toddlers pulling at her arms like she was a puppet.
"What in the Heavens?" Qorrak blinked as a blur of red and black streaked past.
Astrid, pinned under a child pretending she was a dragon, just groaned. "Was that Lynzelle and—HEY! TELL ME IF A FIGHT STARTS!"
Lynzelle skidded across a merchant's fruit display, apples bursting beneath her feet as she kicked off a stack of crates, flipping onto a rooftop. Cainan followed suit, his chains snapping up the ledge and launching him after her. He reached out with a grin.
'Gotta come up with something to make her stop!'
"I'll buy you lunch! I'll get you cake! I'll never mention the play again—"
She almost stopped.
Almost.
Then her eyes narrowed. "You're trying to trick me!"
"N-No I'm not!"
'Crap. Nevermind.'
Lynzlle sped up.
They sprinted over clotheslines, ricocheted off wooden beams, and dove over balconies. Townsfolk below watched in awe as two bizarre figures chased each other like gods on a deadline. When they burst onto the main road, the crowd parted like a wave, watching the chaos unfold.
And then, from behind—
"HEY!" Garlen's voice rose, full of theatrical bravado and real indignation. "Get away from her! She said no! And no means NO!"
Cainan blinked, mid-run. "What the hell—you looking to die or something? Scram."
A brick came flying toward his head.
He turned slowly, catching sight of the projectile as it closed in.
His eyes deadpanned.
He leaned slightly, opened his mouth, and chomped the brick in half. Chains flashed out from behind his teeth, reinforcing the bite as shards scattered across the street like gravel. His gaze met Garlen's, eyes flat and unimpressed.
Garlen froze mid-sprint. The color drained from his face. "He's a… monster," he whimpered, collapsing to his knees.
Cainan spat out brick dust and kept running.
Finally, at the edge of the central plaza, Cainan pushed off the last step and tackled Lynzelle mid-stride. They crashed through the air in a tangle of limbs, spinning down a curved stone stairway, rolling with momentum until they landed hard at the bottom.
Cainan groaned, sprawled out with Lynzelle straddling his chest, her breathing just as ragged. His ribs ached, and stars danced behind his eyes. She slowly looked up at him, black hair slightly mussed, eyes wide, cheeks tinged faintly pink.
Then she looked around.
People were staring. Whispering. Children giggling. An old woman muttered something about "young love and drama." A bard somewhere started softly strumming a romantic tune.
Lynzelle quickly slid off, sitting beside him, knees pulled to her chest. She stared at the ground. Cainan sat up, rolling his shoulder with a hiss. The silence between them thickened. Neither looked at the other.
Finally, Cainan turned slightly toward her.
"…Why did you run from me?" he asked softly. "If it's anything I did—"
"No," she cut in. "It's not you. It's me."
Her voice trembled, not with fear, but something heavier. "When we fought Nezreth… I didn't mean for you to see me like that. In my devil form. I didn't even want to use it. I didn't want you to see it. And when I did, when I saw your face—" She swallowed, eyes glassy but refusing to cry. "I thought you'd look at me differently. Or… be scared. I was scared."
She hugged her knees tighter.
"I come from Hell, Cainan. Everything there is ruin. Shame. War. Despair. Everyone lies. Everything's blood and screaming and power and… I didn't want to bring that here. Not to you. Not to this world. So I ran. And I got into a dumb play to feel something… happy."
Cainan listened, silent for a moment.
Then he let out a breath and leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the sky. "I've seen a lot of crazy shit, Lynzelle. Your devil form's not even in the top five."
She snorted faintly. He went on.
"Truth is, I could never be scared of you. Honestly… I'm scared of myself more than anything. Scared that one day, I'll get too tired. That I'll finally stop fighting fate, stop resisting everything, and just let it all kill me. Let the world win."
He looked over at her.
"I've been fighting that urge for years."
Lynzelle turned to him slowly. Her eyes softened. Her voice lowered.
"…That's the same thing I feel. Every day."
They sat like that, in quiet understanding. The clamor of the town went on around them, but for a moment, they were the only two who mattered.
And for the first time since the fight with Nezreth, Lynzelle smiled. Just a little.
Lynzelle hugged her knees tighter, her voice low, her gaze distant. "And when I said that's the same thing I feel every day… I meant it. Every morning I wake up and wonder if I'm already too broken. If the stuff I was made from—the screaming, the fire, the hatred—if that's all I'll ever be. And if I ever stop pretending I'm fine, if I ever drop the smile, maybe that'll be the day I stop fighting and let it all rot." She laughed faintly, bitter and small. "It's like there's this version of me that never left Hell, just screaming behind my ribs. And some days I think, what if that's the real me?"
Cainan nodded slowly, meeting her eyes. "I get it. There's this version of me too. He's on his knees, letting the world win. He's chained himself down so hard he forgot how to move. I'm scared I'll become him the second I stop swinging. The second I think I'm allowed to rest."
Their eyes met again, and Lynzelle didn't look away this time. She gave him a slight, knowing smile.
Then Cainan exhaled, standing up slowly, brushing dust off his coat. "But… if this is what you want… if being out here, smiling like you did on that stage, makes you happy—then I won't stop you. I saw you up there. You looked like someone who finally belonged somewhere. And I won't be the reason you leave that behind. Really wanted to find you to make sure we were good."
He turned to walk.
But Lynzelle grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly firm. "Cainan," she said, and he froze. Her voice dropped, serious and clear. "My goals haven't changed. I still need to find my mother. I still want to kill the Witch Queen. And I still want to live and make sure this world doesn't turn into Hell. That hasn't changed." She looked up at him, eyes fierce with sudden emotion. "And as your best friend, I won't leave you. Ever."
Cainan looked at her for a moment, taking in her words. "You sure? We'll probably be fighting witches and demons and gods and all that."
Instead of answering, Lynzelle suddenly grinned wide—then grabbed him by the neck and started violently shaking him, her manic energy snapping back like lightning.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! YES!!" she shouted, hair flailing as Cainan staggered under the assault.
"Gah! Not so hard! I'm still sore from rolling down the stairs with you, demon woman!" he barked, trying to pry her off.
They both collapsed into the grass, wrestling and arms flailing, legs kicking, until a cough cleared the air nearby.
They both froze.
Standing just a few paces away were Qorrak and Astrid. Qorrak had his arms crossed, brow raised. Astrid looked like she was watching the ending of a rom-com she hadn't signed up for, arms full of sticky candy from the kids who'd left her behind.
Lynzelle blinked, still half-straddling Cainan. "Uh… who are your friends?"
Astrid stepped forward first, her tone chipper and absolutely unhelpful. "Hi! I'm Astrid. They use me as a toy."
Qorrak gave a short bow. "Qorrak is my name. We're joining Cainan to kill the Witch Queen. Or he's joining us…"
Lynzelle lit up instantly, jumping to her feet. "Oh Hell yes! When are we starting?!"
"Now." Qorrak then exchanged a glance with Cainan. "We found Dante."