The road out of Myrthos was bathed in morning gold, the sun slicing through the mist like a sharpened blade. Rico and Lyra rode side by side in silence, each cloaked in their own thoughts. The clop of their horses' hooves was the only sound, a rhythmic reminder of the path they had chosen to walk together—however unwillingly, and however temporary it might be.
Rico hadn't intended to join anyone. After Zara, after the chaos of Blackspire, he had vowed to work alone. Yet here he was, following a mysterious woman who moved like a ghost and spoke like someone who knew too much. And what troubled him most wasn't that she was good—it was that she might be better than him.
"You're quiet," Lyra said, not looking his way.
Rico grunted. "So are you."
She smirked. "I like to listen. The world tells you more in silence than in shouting."
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her cloak was plain, but her weapons were not. Twin daggers rested at her hips, forged of rare obsidiansteel. Her boots bore the worn edges of travel, but her posture screamed discipline. She moved like someone trained in more than one style of combat—and lived to tell the tale.
"You've killed before," he said.
She didn't flinch. "So have you."
They rode in silence for a while longer.
After several miles, they stopped in a grove of whispering trees. A ruined stone temple stood hidden beneath ivy and time, its walls cracked and overgrown. Lyra dismounted and motioned for Rico to follow.
"This way," she said.
Inside the temple, the air was cool and thick with the scent of moss. Statues of forgotten gods stared down at them, eyes chipped and faces worn.
"This is one of the old places," Rico murmured. "Where magic was once made."
"Still is," Lyra replied. She approached an altar at the center of the ruin and touched a hidden sigil carved into the stone. With a soft hum, the slab shifted, revealing a hidden staircase leading into darkness.
Rico's hand moved to his belt, where his alchemical vials clinked gently. "What is this?"
"A meeting. Of sorts," Lyra said. "And a test."
Rico narrowed his eyes. "What kind of test?"
"The kind that proves whether you're truly renounced... or just hiding behind the word."
She descended without another word, leaving Rico with no choice but to follow.
---
The chamber below was ancient. Candles burned in shallow alcoves, illuminating symbols of the First Alchemists. The air tasted of dust and power—long forgotten, yet never truly gone.
At the far end stood a man in a crimson robe, his face obscured by a bone mask. Around him stood six others—hooded, silent, armed.
Rico tensed. "What is this, Lyra?"
She stepped forward. "This is the Circle of Red Veil. You may have heard of them."
Rico's heart sank. "You brought me to a cult?"
The bone-masked man spoke. "Not a cult. A reckoning."
Lyra turned to Rico. "They deal in forbidden contracts. And they're responsible for kidnapping children from villages across the western provinces. I've tracked them for months. But I need you to do what I cannot."
"And what's that?"
"Destroy them from within."
The masked man laughed. "She flatters you, Alchemist. You're not here to help her. You're here to survive."
Suddenly, the six hooded figures drew their blades.
Rico hissed under his breath. "You set me up."
Lyra unsheathed her daggers, stepping between him and the circle. "I said it was a test. Now let's see if the legend of the Renounced Alchemist still breathes."
They fought as one.
Rico's hands moved instinctively, hurling a smoke vial that exploded into a cloud of disorienting black fog. From the haze came screams—short, brutal. Lyra moved like a blur, striking with speed and precision. Rico used his alchemy sparingly, conserving what little energy he had left. His last vial—a concoction of fire essence and frozen ash—set one of the attackers alight in seconds.
The bone-masked leader fled toward the shadows, but Rico was faster. He tackled the man, slamming him against the stone. The mask cracked. Beneath it, the leader was no demon—just a man, afraid and trembling.
"Why the children?" Rico demanded.
"Power," the man choked. "They're vessels. Untouched by corruption. The purest source of energy..."
Rico didn't wait for more. He crushed a vial against the man's chest. A cold alchemical burst encased him in stone.
---
Later, above ground again, the wind felt cleaner.
"You used me," Rico said.
"I did," Lyra admitted. "But I also trusted you. I knew you wouldn't let them get away."
"You could've told me."
"And you would've said no."
He studied her, his anger dulled by the truth. She had manipulated him—but not for selfish gain. The Circle was evil. She'd needed help. And he had delivered.
"You fight like someone who's lost more than she admits," he said.
Her gaze darkened. "I have."
He nodded. "Same."
They didn't speak again until camp.
---
That night, by the fire, Lyra removed a small pendant from her cloak and handed it to Rico. It was an insignia—an ancient seal of the Fallen Dagger, a long-extinct guild of elite warriors.
"I used to belong to them," she said. "Before they were wiped out."
Rico turned the pendant in his fingers. "By who?"
"A man named Kael Vorr. A name I think you'll be hearing very soon."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because he's building something. Something worse than the Circle. Something that could make your past sins look like schoolyard mischief."
Rico leaned back, eyes narrowing at the fire. "Then we stop him."
"You're in?"
He sighed. "I'm not done running. But I'm tired of burying people braver than me."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Then let's start digging out the rot."
---