Dessix lay on the farthest edge of the Milky Way, a hidden jewel with a radius stretching two thousand one hundred eighty kilometres. It was a secret world, shrouded in mystery, that even the most sophisticated sensors could barely glimpse. Its ecosystem, lush beyond expectation for a world so small, was a vivid patchwork of swamp-filled jungles and rainforests, where an eerie, ever-present fog draped the land in a ghostly veil. The air was thick and heavy, infused with the scent of damp moss, wet earth, and the vibrant pulse of life, and it felt as though every shadow held some secret creature lurking just out of reach. Here, beings of all sizes wandered freely: sharp-eyed lizards, each the length of a man’s arm. Furtive mammals with silvered fur shimmered in the twilight, while colossal herbivores moved in solemn herds, devouring entire trees from root to crown. In the murky swamp valleys, ancient mud worms, silent and deliberate, slithered beneath the mist, their watchful eyes ever alert for unsuspecting prey..

  The Citadel rose at the heart of Dessix, a fortress built in a massive depression whose origins whispered of myths that had drawn Torne to the planet ages ago. The area’s shape was striking, a broad, flat basin bordered by low hills resembling a crater’s rim, making it a natural fortress within a fortress. Izzar had spent most of his life in the forested swamps encircling the Citadel, trudging through the mist and shadowed pathways in search of relics to serve his grandfather’s wishes. But now, the familiar territory felt stifling, the thrill of exploration dulled. He longed to see what lay beyond the crater, to uncover the hidden reaches of Dessix that few, if any, had ever seen.

  For both Aargon and Viha, Dessix was like stepping into a realm from an ancient fable—a land of endless shadows, with a dense fog that clung stubbornly to the marshy valleys, even under the faint light of day. The mist made the air feel heavy, almost breathing its own presence. Only the highlands above the marshes allowed brief glimpses of the sky, and even there, the fog lingered in silvery wisps, curling around the trees as if alive. The stories they’d heard about Dessix’s inhabitants unnerved them: strange beasts lurking just out of sight, creatures with jaws strong enough to tear through flesh, and eyes that pierced the mist.

  While these dangers stirred discomfort in Aargon and Viha, Izzar felt something else—a thrill, an urge he could barely contain. He had heard tales from the Modus Ipsimes of formidable creatures roaming close to the Citadel, and he dreamt of a true test of his skill, a clash in the wilderness with a beast that matched his own ferocity. For him, the marshes held promise, the hope of facing the unknown and coming away with a story woven from battle.

  Long before Torne’s arrival, humans had ventured to settle the hidden corners of Dessix, carving out lives in the distant reaches of the planet. Some colonies took root near the southern pole, where the jungles were less menacing and the fog less oppressive. Yet even those settlements fell to ruin, abandoned as if driven off by the very shadows that now enveloped the land. And when Torne arrived to build his Citadel, the remnants of humanity dwindled further; few survived his reign, and many fled off-world, leaving Dessix as it was now—a place reclaimed by its secrets, its predators, and the silent authority of Torne’s fortress.

  Izzar glanced up at the sky, noting the sun’s steady, relentless arc as it raced past midday. Time on Dessix moved differently, with days lasting just eight Earth hours before the dense shroud of night settled over the marshes again. The short days made each hour precious, and he knew their task demanded urgency. Even though the Citadel tracked Earth’s calendar, Dessix seemed to follow its own rhythm, one that felt ancient and indifferent to the lives of those who came to conquer it. Here, time was a quiet adversary, slipping away faster than they could grasp, pushing Izzar to feel the weight of each passing moment.

  The hours they’d lost gnawed at him. Dusk was a heartbeat away, and the task seemed insurmountable. How could they possibly uncover a new stone in time, let alone complete the deeper search Torne had set for them? Izzar’s mind darted to a possible shortcut—retrieving the stones Torne himself had planted might save them from failure. But even that thought brought a chill; a shortcut would mean skirting the challenge, and on Dessix, every task held a hidden lesson. He couldn’t risk facing Torne’s disapproval or, worse, his contempt.

  “These jungles…” Aargon’s voice was a mix of awe and frustration. “Everything here looks the same. Are we even going the right way?”

  Izzar held up his hand, signalling a pause. “Patience, Aargon. These paths aren’t what they seem. Rush ahead, and you’ll find yourself circling back or stepping into trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Aargon echoed, glancing over at Viha, who had gone still, her eyes sharp as they swept over the dense, shadowed undergrowth. She seemed fixed on something out in the mist, her posture tense, alert.

  “Viha, what is it?” Izzar asked, noting the way her hand hovered over her blade.

  “We’re being followed.” Her tone was calm, almost unnervingly so, as she drew her sword, the steel flashing faintly in the dim light.

  Izzar placed a steadying hand on Viha’s sword, lowering it gently. “On Dessix, you’re never alone,” he murmured. “It’s a rule as fixed as the sky here. Something always watches.”

  Aargon stiffened, his usual bravado slipping as sweat trickled down his temple. His hand shook slightly, betraying his unease. Violence unsettled him; he was a speaker, not a fighter, and Dessix’s quiet menace felt as if it were seeping into his bones.

  “We’re safe enough,” Izzar continued, keeping his voice calm as he found a white, worn stone and sat. “Nothing here attacks without a reason.” He gestured around them, inviting Aargon and Viha to take a moment’s rest. “If you push too hard, the jungle will find its own way of stopping you.”

  Reluctantly, Aargon sat, though Viha chose to remain on her feet, gaze vigilant as she scanned the undergrowth. To her, Izzar’s easy comfort felt foreign; yet, for him, these jungles were home, familiar as breath. Each whisper of the swamp and the distant crack of a branch only seemed to relax him more.

  Viha decided to remain on her feet; Aargon relaxed a little more and sat down on another rock next to Izzar. The two strangers to Izzar were not used to this kind of environment; every sound kept them on their toes, yet for Izzar, he was used to it. There was no other kind of nature he knew; the surrounding forest allowed him some peace from the rigorous training at the Citadel.

  “How long have you been on Dessix?” Aargon asked, his voice hesitant, as though sensing that the answer might be heavier than he anticipated.

  Izzar looked out over the murky trees with a trace of something unreadable in his eyes. “Since birth,” he replied quietly. “Dessix is all I know. I’ve only seen the worlds beyond in holovids—images frozen in time, light-years away.”

  Aargon furrowed his brow, taken aback. The Citadel was known for its celibate order, and yet here was Izzar, raised among them. But how? The thought crossed his mind—was Izzar born naturally? Or could he be a product of elite cloning practices, as was rumoured in some places? He glanced at Izzar again, wondering if he dared to ask.

  “And Viha?” Izzar’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, careful not to catch her attention as she surveyed the mist with hawk-like focus. “How long have you known her?”

  Aargon shifted slightly, lowering his voice to match Izzar’s. “We met just before coming here. She doesn’t talk much, keeps her guard up. I think that’s just… her way.” He stole a glance at her, half in admiration, half in wariness.

  Izzar’s gaze lingered on Viha. He’d known few people, and even fewer women. The mystery around her drew him in—a silent, forceful presence that felt both disquieting and strangely compelling. Her movements had a precision he hadn’t seen, almost too perfect, unmarred by any scars. It was clear she was no ordinary warrior.

  Her skin seemed soft to the touch; it was clean with no scar or blemish to behold on any part of her visible body. She was supposed to be the best warrior in her father’s guild; he would have expected some scars on her from her many battles. Aargon was precisely what he expected. Most of the Modus Ipsimes, when taking away their customs and traditions, were precisely like him. Tall and not as mysterious as they led on, only serving a single purpose and would not stay quiet under any circumstances.

  Izzar let his guard slip, his gaze drifting away as his thoughts circled back to the Citadel. Something gnawed at him, a deep unease that he couldn’t shake. Years of studying Torne’s every move, every flicker of expression, had taught him when his grandfather was disturbed, and lately, he’d sensed an unusual tension, one Torne masked with unsettling calm. Whatever it was, it lay heavy, like a shadow cast across the Citadel. But Torne kept his secrets close, even from Izzar.

  Izzar’s jaw clenched at the memory of his grandfather’s dismissive gaze whenever he dared to question him. For all his training and lessons, he was always kept just outside the circle of knowledge, a student, never a confidant.

  The quiet broke suddenly, a whisper of a blade cutting through the air aimed at Izzar’s face. Viha had launched an attack—but a flicker of hesitation held her back, her blade freezing inches from his skin. Acting purely on instinct, Izzar spun, catching her weapon with his bare hand, twisting it free in a heartbeat.

  They locked eyes, arms entwined in a brief but fierce grapple, their breaths shallow and quick. Viha’s lips turned up slightly, and, without meaning to, Izzar found himself smiling back. An unexpected warmth flooded him, unsettling in its ease. There, in the heart of the swamps, he felt a strange sense of belonging—foreign, elusive, but undeniably real.

  He realised his guard was down, dropped without his knowing. She must have sensed it too because her stance shifted, her usual steel softened by a moment’s vulnerability.

  With a sudden twist, Viha struck, landing a swift punch to his ribs that forced the air from his lungs. Izzar barely had a moment to react, blocking her follow-up blow with trained precision. He pivoted, aiming a kick toward her chest, but she caught his foot, stabilising with ease. They were a matched pair, both surprised and impressed by each other’s reflexes.

  Aargon’s voice cut through from the sidelines, an attempt to intervene, but they ignored him, locked in the rhythm of their spar. Izzar felt an exhilaration he’d rarely known—finally, an opponent who challenged him, who met him move for move. His training had never felt like this. With Viha, every strike, every block was a dance, a silent conversation between two forces that, for now, seemed perfectly balanced.

  She did not give him any chance or opening; her defences were flawless; Izzar knew he would have a difficult time with her.

  Each movement was seamless, each strike like the crest of a wave, each block the calm resistance of stone. They flowed around each other, two forces of nature entwined, yet distinct—both unyielding and attuned. Their combat was a language, unspoken but deeply understood, a powerful rhythm echoing through the thick air. Watching them, Aargon’s awe grew, mesmerised by the harmony in their practiced violence.

  When the clash finally ceased, they held their stances for a breath, their eyes locked in mutual respect. Then, a shared, almost shy smile broke the intensity. For Izzar, the thrill lingered, and in Viha’s expression, he saw the same exhilaration.

  “You’re better than I expected,” Viha remarked, catching her breath, a bead of sweat tracing her brow as she steadied herself.

  “Right back at you,” Izzar replied, feeling an unfamiliar sense of lightness, a happiness that, somehow, he instinctively wanted to hide. He managed a half-smile. “That was… the toughest fight I’ve had in a while.” He inclined his head in a respectful bow.

  Viha’s grin widened, her eyes alight. “But you were holding back,” he said, with a deliberate challenge in his voice.

  They straightened, still smiling, but a sudden quietness fell. Viha glanced to her side, noticing for the first time the empty spot where Aargon had been sitting. She looked back to Izzar, both now realising that, somewhere in the heat of their sparring, Aargon had vanished.

  “I…” Izzar hesitated, a feeling of unease settling over him as he scanned their surroundings, but there were no immediate signs of where Aargon might have gone. He watched Viha as she circled the area, her gaze sharp and precise. When she bent down between two rocks, Izzar’s curiosity piqued.

  She lifted a narrow, telescopic rod, something distinctively Aargon’s—a tool he’d been fiddling with earlier. “Aargon wouldn’t have just left this behind,” she murmured, holding it out for Izzar to see. “Someone, or something, took him while we were…” She trailed off, the realisation dawning on both that their sparring had left them distracted.

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  “Or something,” Izzar echoed, a chill prickling his skin. Dessix was alive with hidden dangers, but few would have ventured so close to them unnoticed. “Whatever it was, it had to be fast and silent.”

  Izzar nodded slowly, piecing together the likelihood of what might have happened. Perhaps one of Dessix’s predators had observed them, misreading their sparring as a sign of hostility—and sensing Aargon as the weakest link. There were creatures here that rarely confronted humans directly, and yet, now and again, Izzar had felt the unnerving gaze of a predator fixed on him. In those moments, he’d learned that showing any sign of strength often drove them back into the mist.

  But a targeted capture—an animal that saw Aargon as prey—that was different, and a complication he hadn’t accounted for.

  Izzar looked around the rocks. It wasn’t easy seeing in the mist and on the moist ground, but there were signs of something nefarious that happened moments ago. Aargon might not have been conscious when he was taken away; there might be some poisonous animal who saw its chance and captured its unsuspecting prey.

  “Where could he have gone?” Viha’s gaze was fixed into the fog, eyes narrowing as if trying to penetrate the veil of mist shrouding the swamp. The undergrowth was thick, masking sight beyond a few feet.

  Izzar’s eyes scanned the area instinctively. “We’re not alone,” he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

  Viha’s hand hovered near her sword. “I told you before, something was shadowing us.” There was an unsettling calm in her voice, as if she were more intrigued than alarmed. Whatever primal unease the jungle stirred, it seemed unable to shake her warrior’s resolve.

  After a beat, she turned to him, her expression almost amused. “Would this be a bad time to ask what happened to Master Torne’s eyes?”

  Her question caught Izzar off guard, her sudden shift in tone throwing him off. He gave her a curious look, wondering how her mind had leaped from their missing companion to Torne’s own mysterious injuries. But he’d learned by now that Viha’s thoughts were as unpredictable as Dessix’s shadowy marshes.

  “Now’s not the time for that,” Izzar said, his voice laced with urgency. “We need to find Aargon. We can’t go back to the Citadel without him.”

  Viha nodded, the memory of Torne’s icy threats from earlier pressing down on her. Her encounter with him had left a chill that no fog could match. She wouldn’t dare imagine the consequences if one of them was lost—or worse.

  Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the stillness, reverberating in the thick fog. Izzar’s pulse quickened as he recognised it instantly: Tarium. Viha’s sword flew to her hand in reflex, her stance tense until she realised who had joined them.

  “Master Izzar,” Tarium’s voice was calm, but his words were urgent. “Your friend is in danger. A Fargesrat has taken him. They’re clever creatures.”

  Izzar’s shock was evident. “Tarium, where did you come from?” His heartbeat thundered as he peered into the mist.

  “I was ordered to track you and bring a new assignment,” Tarium replied. “But we have little time. Aargon won’t survive if we don’t act quickly.”

  Izzar’s brows knitted together. “I thought Fargesrats avoided humans. They’re usually too skittish to approach.”

  Tarium’s expression darkened. “Lately, the creatures near the Citadel have grown…bolder. Something is riling them up, though we don’t yet know what.”

  “Will someone explain what exactly a Fargesrat is?” Viha asked, exasperated.

  Both Izzar and Tarium turned to her, but Tarium spoke up first, his tone instructive.

  “Fargesrats are… unusual,” Tarium said, casting a cautious glance at the shadows shifting in the fog. “They’re mainly scavengers, feeding on smaller creatures. And though they only eat every few days, they can be formidable. Scaled with long snouts and wickedly sharp teeth. In better times, we used their hides for cloaks and gear at the Citadel.” He paused, the worry deepening in his gaze. “If food’s been scarce, this one could be ravenous.”

  Tarium turned to Izzar, urgency in his voice. “We need to move quickly if we’re going to save him. And,” he added, shifting his attention to Viha, “your mission isn’t done yet. The Master has a new task for you all.”

  Viha’s curiosity flickered. “A new task? What could be so important that we’re getting assignments in the middle of the swamps?”

  Izzar, however, was more concerned with Tarium’s sudden appearance. “How long have you been tracking us?” he asked sharply.

  Tarium inclined his head, answering without delay. “I’ve followed you for the past two hours, my lord. Long enough to know we’re running out of time. Fargesrats rarely wander far from their dens.”

  Viha shot him an annoyed look, her question about the new task seemingly ignored. But Tarium’s eyes were fixed on the direction he sensed Aargon might be, his expression strained with urgency.

  “So, what about this task?” Viha pressed, curiosity breaking through her usual stoic demeanour. Whatever it was, if Torne deemed it important enough to send Tarium after them, it had to be significant.

  Tarium turned to her, meeting her eyes with a grave look. “Young Mistress, the task is not just about completion—it’s about unity.” He gestured to the two of them. “The three of you, as Torne ordered, must work together as one. Each of you depends on the other to complete the trials he’s set before you. Without Aargon, there is no task. Without all three, Torne’s design cannot unfold.”

  Viha’s brow furrowed. She wasn’t used to sharing responsibilities. “Where I come from, a warrior only depends on others if she’s been bested. Strength is found in independence, not interdependence.” Her words were steady but edged with irritation.

  “The rules you’ve followed on Gandron do not hold here,” Tarium said firmly, his voice edged with a warning. “Here, you stand by the Epsimus and the Citadel. There is no code higher.” He paused, his eyes piercing. “And there are greater oaths to keep, Viha.”

  Her jaw tightened. She took a steadying breath, aware that each word Tarium spoke chipped away at the foundations she’d been raised on.

  Tarium held Viha’s gaze, his voice steady but carrying an edge of frustration. “The Code of Gandron is behind you now, Viha. Here, your loyalty is bound to the Epsimus. There is no code higher.” He watched her, seeing the resistance in her expression.

  “But I swore a blood oath,” she spat back, her tone fierce, echoing her stubborn adherence to the ways of Gandron.

  Tarium’s eyes narrowed. “Do you even understand what a true blood oath means here?” He waited, watching her defiance turn to a flicker of confusion.

  “It is the ultimate oath,” she said, her voice edged with pride and frustration. “To spill my own blood on the warrior’s stone and bind my life to my word. That oath binds me to the guild in life and death!”

  “To the warriors of Gandron, yes,” Tarium replied, his tone turning steely. “But in the Epsimus Order, an oath of blood is not taken with one’s own blood. It requires the life of someone you love, someone bound to your heart. A sacrifice far greater than any you have made in battle.”

  Viha let out a sharp laugh, dismissive and incredulous. “I’ve slain more people than you could imagine, Tarium.”

  Tarium’s gaze remained unyielding. “But did you love any of them? Because, Viha, one day, you will be asked to kill someone you love to fulfil your oath to the Epsimus. And it is in that moment that your loyalty will truly be tested.”

  For the first time, a shadow crossed Viha’s face. She looked away, suddenly unsure, as Tarium’s words hung heavily in the fog-drenched air.

  She was shocked; it wasn’t possible; they would never send a young person to murder someone they loved. How could they?

  “We know there is only one person you love in this entire galaxy.” Tarium continued, wiping any thought that she could fool them.

  “But don’t worry, young mistress; it will be a good couple of years before you are presented with such a task.”

  Tarium turned back to Izzar, urgency flashing in his eyes as he took in the delay. Though he hid it, he knew Iphis’s forces were already moving, set to arrive within days. Every minute here was borrowed time, and though Tarium didn’t want to reveal the full scope of the danger, he was more determined than ever to see this mission through.

  “We’ve wasted enough time,” Tarium said, his voice a low murmur.

  Izzar nodded, taking the lead into the thick undergrowth as Tarium directed. The terrain was unforgiving, and signs of Aargon’s trail were already fading into the soft, damp soil. Izzar glanced down, feeling the weight of the mission in his chest—he knew how irreplaceable Aargon was, both in skill and in Torne’s plans.

  “We’ll find him,” he said under his breath, more to himself than anyone. Torne would expect nothing less.

  Each step seemed to pull them deeper into the fog-draped wilderness, where the echo of distant creatures hinted at unseen threats. Izzar’s sharp gaze caught the faintest impressions of tracks—the only guide to where Aargon might be. Yet he knew that if these traces vanished, Aargon could be lost to the marshes forever.

  The marshes thickened as they descended; the fog intensifying until it pressed around them like a damp shroud. They were entering the heart of the valley, a place where predators burrowed, and the landscape seemed to shift. Tarium trailed behind Viha, who kept her blade drawn, while Izzar led the way with quiet confidence.

  Izzar knew these paths better than anyone; even as the trees migrated across the swamp, he had learned to navigate by the few solid features that remained unchanged. Still, the ever-shifting forest made it a challenge. He had lost his way here once before; the trees scattering his markers across the landscape until he spent three days retracing his steps back to the Citadel. Now, he moved with a careful eye, leading them deeper into a territory that demanded respect.

  Tarium glanced at Izzar’s back with something between trust and urgency. They were too close now to let the trail slip.

  Viha’s patience wore thin, her unease deepening with each step through the tangled swamp. They had been searching for the burrow for over an hour, and in her mind, Aargon was likely already dead. It was inconceivable to her why they hadn’t just moved on with the new task without him. Back on Gandron, the rules were brutal but clear: kill or be killed. Every decision was centred around survival. Yet here they were, in this mist-filled jungle, risking their lives for one person. To Viha, it felt like they were walking headfirst into a trap.

  The marshy forest held secrets she didn’t care to uncover. Although she mentally prepared herself for battle, she knew that the strange ecosystem of Dessix presented dangers she was not yet familiar with. Her instincts were sharp, her courage unwavering, but her experience here was limited, and it frustrated her deeply. She could fend off attackers and outmatch any opponent in close combat, but even she knew that if a pack of predators found them, neither her strength nor her skill would ensure their survival.

  Izzar halted abruptly, lifting his hand to signal the others. He dropped into a crouch, hearing a faint, unsettling sound ahead—a gnawing, rhythmic and coarse. With a quiet whisper to Tarium and Viha, he said, “Wait here,” before vanishing into the mist.

  Moving slowly, he crept through the undergrowth, using the murky fog as cover, and took care with each step. A ray of weak sunlight filtered through the trees, casting just enough light to reveal a figure lying in the mud. It was Aargon, motionless and alone. Izzar’s pulse quickened. His eyes darted around, straining to catch any hint of movement in the fog.

  He took a cautious step forward, his senses alert to even the slightest disturbance. The quiet gnawing grew louder, closer. With each silent step toward Aargon, Izzar scanned his surroundings, determined not to be caught off guard as they had been earlier.

  Relieved to feel Aargon’s faint pulse, Izzar’s worry eased, though only slightly. He noticed an unnatural bulge near Aargon’s shoulder—a probable break in his collarbone. The leaves around him were scattered and disturbed, as if something had been there before.

  But it wasn’t a Fargesrat.

  Out of the damp, thick layer of leaves, a monstrous mud worm slithered forward, its thick, segmented body emerging with a sickening hiss. These creatures—serpentine yet heavily armoured—possessed a moisture-resistant hide that made them nearly invulnerable to the planet’s swampy terrain. And worse yet, they never travelled alone.

  Three more mud worms wriggled forth from the shadows, encircling Izzar and the unconscious Aargon. They loomed, their eyeless heads scanning as they honed in on their prey.

  Izzar muttered a curse. Before he could react, the largest worm lunged forward, its snapping maw aimed directly at him. But Viha was already there, her sword cleaving through the air and striking the creature mid-charge, severing a fleshy appendage from its face.

  Just then, Tarium appeared, his face grim as he assessed the sudden onslaught of predators.

  “They knew we’d come for him,” Tarium muttered, his voice edged with unease. “Looks like they disposed of the Fargesrat that had Aargon in the first place.”

  Viha didn’t wait. Her instincts drove her forward as she lunged at the largest worm, her blade flashing. In her experience, taking down the biggest adversary often deterred the smaller ones. But these worms weren’t as easily intimidated.

  Tarium handed Izzar his retractable dark sword, a weapon that pulsed with an energy Izzar felt surge through him as he gripped it. Now armed, Izzar and Tarium each squared off against a worm. Viha was still grappling with the largest of the creatures, but her skill and fierceness gave her a dangerous edge. Yet another worm circled behind her, ready to strike.

  Her movements were fluid, and her smile widened with each parried attack. Here, during battle, she felt alive. She relished the thrill, even as the odds seemed insurmountable. If she were to fall today, at least it would be with honour in combat.

  Realising Viha’s vulnerability, Izzar lunged, thrusting his sword into the belly of the mud worm he had been battling. The creature writhed, then disappeared beneath the wet leaves. Wasting no time, he dashed forward and blocked the strike aimed at Viha’s back, intercepting the worm’s attack just in time.

  Amid combat, a voice echoed faintly in Izzar’s mind—a voice both familiar and elusive. Each blow seemed to amplify it, and with each shout, his frustration mounted. He was nearly overwhelmed, feeling the weight of his grandfather’s expectations pressing on him like a physical burden. They were outnumbered, and the chance of victory was slipping.

  Closing his eyes, he let the rising tide of pain and anger flood his senses. He felt his fear surge and then, as if commanded by that voice, release. All at once, his rage burst outward, taking the form of an intense, unfamiliar energy. It erupted from him in a powerful wave, incinerating the nearest mud worm instantly. The damp leaves around him shrivelled and scattered into dust, disintegrating into the air.

  The other mud worms were struck by the blast and injured but retreating. Tarium and Viha, thrown back, stared in stunned silence. Izzar looked down at his hand, where purple energy pulsed and flickered, gradually fading back into his skin.

  The ground vibrated beneath them, shaking them from the daze Izzar’s unexpected power had cast over the group. Tarium’s expression turned grim, his eyes scanning the shadows around them.

  “We need to leave. Now,” he urged, his voice tight with worry.

  Izzar didn’t need any further prompting. He moved quickly to Aargon’s side, lifting him onto his shoulders in one swift motion. Every instinct screamed urgency—this place was no longer safe. As he began to move, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and his breath caught. A dark, towering figure loomed in the fog, massive and foreboding, its silhouette rising high above the trees.

  Fear clenched in his gut, and he hoped desperately that the beast hadn’t noticed them. Viha and Tarium were close behind, mirroring his urgency, their focus now singular: escape.

  Back within the Citadel’s shadowed halls, Torne stood motionless, a cold sensation creeping up his spine as he sensed the surge of Oblivium energy. It pulsed from the planet’s surface, unmistakable in its intensity. This was impossible—only he could harness Oblivium, or so he believed.

  “Izzar has begun to awaken,” a deep, resonant voice intoned, reverberating through the crypts.

  Torne’s jaw tightened. “It was stronger… uncontrollable,” he murmured, his tone edged with unease.

  “The power is his,” the voice continued. “He has unlocked the first key.”

  Silence stretched as Torne clenched his fists, his mind reeling. “What have you done?” he demanded, his words echoing sharply against the stone walls.

  But the presence, the entity known as Nivshevus, offered nothing more. Torne was left alone in the dimly lit chamber, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily upon him.