The wind here did not howl.
It whispered.
Low, conspiratorial, like a lover's breath in a guilty ear.
The Crimson Warden stood at the threshold of a city wrapped in dusk — not true night, but an eternal half-light that painted everything in shades of violet and gray. The place was ancient, unfamiliar and yet... intimate. Like something from a forgotten dream.
The city had a name once, though it had long since been devoured by time. He simply called it Velmir.
Here, secrets had weight.
And they moved.
The architecture curved unnaturally, as if built to confuse the eye. Streets spiraled without logic. Archways led to more archways. Windows blinked. Lamp posts hissed with low static, and mirrors hung like ornaments in alleys and plazas — always slightly askew, slightly cracked.
It was a city of whispers.
Of Nyx.
The Warden moved slowly, cane in hand, eyes sharp. Sol's light burned faintly within him now, warming his blood, guiding his balance. The cane had changed again — subtly longer, its edge more defined, pulsing with faint golden veins.
"She's close," he murmured.
The wind answered not with sound, but with scent — lavender and smoke.
A figure stood at the center of a circular courtyard, back turned.
Barefoot.
Cloaked in flowing purple silk that fluttered unnaturally — not from wind, but from intention. The veil over her eyes shimmered, though her posture was perfectly straight, as if she saw everything and more.
Nyx.
The Echo of secrets. The part of him that never forgot the lies, the silent sacrifices, the darkness he had once called necessary.
"You've taken my city," he said softly.
"No," she replied, without turning. "I built it. From your truths."
He stepped forward.
"Return to me."
"Would you return to a cage once you've tasted the freedom of its shadow?"
She turned slowly.
Her face was pale, flawless, unbothered. But the eyes beneath the blindfold were burning. Not in flame — in awareness. A thousand possibilities danced behind her gaze.
"I know your doubts," she said. "I hear them even now."
"I came to reclaim you."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I will take you."
"Then you've learned nothing."
The mirrors in the plaza shattered.
Fog exploded outward, veiling the world in thick, velvet-dark silence.
The Warden's stance shifted instantly. The cane bent and snapped into a wide-edged saber, gleaming with crimson and gold.
A dagger shot toward his neck.
He blocked it just in time, the impact ringing through his forearm. Another came from behind. Then another — high-speed illusions, each more real than the last.
Nyx had vanished.
He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing.
Let the shadows speak.
The air around him twisted. His cane retracted into a whip, swinging wide in a 360° arc. It met resistance — a flicker of body — and sparked as it collided with Nyx's second skin.
She reappeared for a flash, then blinked out again.
"You forget," he said aloud. "You may live in the dark…"
The whip snapped back into a spear.
"…but I made you in the dark."
A series of crimson razorbill birds tore from the sky, summoned by his thought, sharp as daggers, their cries shredding the fog. They dove, hunting movement, tracking pulse, chasing memory.
Nyx appeared — flipping backward, daggers spinning, her body blurring.
She danced through the air, slicing three of the birds mid-flight before the fourth pierced her shoulder.
She landed with a hiss, rolling to a crouch.
"That's new," she said.
"I've grown," the Warden replied. "Sol remembered discipline. You will remember trust."
She lunged again, blades first.
He stepped into her path.
The cane shifted mid-swing, widening into a double-axe, and clashed with her knives in a burst of shadowlight.
They were close now — faces inches apart.
Her breath was sweet, but cold.
"You're afraid," she whispered. "Afraid to be whole."
"No," he said, voice low. "I'm afraid to let you stay broken."
He twisted the cane's form again — now a pronged snare — and locked her wrists in a sudden strike. She screamed, struggling, but the energy in the snare wasn't just physical — it dug into her echo, her identity.
"Return," he said.
"No!"
"You are not just secrets."
"I am what you repressed. What you denied."
"You are what I need."
He reached for her blindfold.
She didn't stop him.
Underneath were eyes like void-stars — endless, deep, beautiful in their pain.
They softened.
"I don't want to forget," she said.
"Then don't," he replied. "Remember with me."
Nyx dissolved into violet light.
It rushed into him like a sigh.
The city screamed — and then went silent.
Mirrors cracked inward. Buildings shivered. The dusk retreated like breath pulled from a corpse.
And the Warden stood taller.
Sharper.
The cane glowed with violet lines now — layered over gold.
He looked toward the south.
The ground rumbled.
Vines burst from the horizon, spiraling like tendrils of rage.
"Thorn," he whispered.
"I'm coming."
End of Chapter Three
Next: Chapter Four – Thorn of the Cursed Root