“Shall I, your highness?” Enforcer Aoidh’s words rang. Her voice commanded attention, her mere presence struck fear. She marched past Midhir without even sparing him or Arwen a glance. Her white hair glimmered to the torchlight as she stood at the forefront. She finally shot him a glance of her shoulder.

  A wave of relief washed over him. He nodded once.

  She turned her gaze back at the cultists, then at their leader. Then, she stepped forward. Her blade lit up with crimson flames, while winds whirled around her body.

  The cultist leader visibly flinched. “Attack!” He screamed, his fear palpable. He pointed at her with unsteady hands as he matched every one of her steps with a step back.

  “Captain Marr.” Midhir turned his gaze away for a moment. “Aid the enforcer – try and capture a few of them alive. Your priority is their leader.”

  “Yes, your highness!” The Captain sharply said. “You three, there – the rest of you are with me…”

  He didn’t pay much attention to the orders she was giving her men. Instead, he turned his gaze back at the passage that had formed in the back wall of the cell. Were the edges expanding still, or was he just imagining things?

  The cultists lined up in the forest path marched forward to face Enforcer Aoidh, while their leader continued to retreat towards them. His gaze turned to Arwen, whose expression was a mix of relief and fear.

  “Arwen!” His sharp voice startled her. Her attention snapped to him. “Can you do something to close whatever… rift… thing that is?”

  Her eyes widened for a split second. “I don’t know…” She muttered. “I’ve never seen something like that before. If I make a mistake, it might just make things worse-“

  “Try.” He ordered.

  “But-“

  “Try it!” He snapped. “That thing is going to turn into a tear in the rift if we don’t do something, and you know I don’t have that kind of strength or ability.”

  The young witch’s face grew pale. She gulped as her grasp on the shaft of her crystal staff tightened. Her gaze turned to the impossible passageway as her staff began to glow faintly.

  The dungeon echoed to the sound of metal striking metal. Enforcer Aoidh’s blade struck her opponents as her march forward continued. A wave of flames followed her blade, forcing the cultists to step back with each step she took forward.

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  Any other ordinary men would have turned tail and ran. So why were these people so bold and brave? How come did their belief in their leader not waver in the face of such oppressive power? Was the promise of ascension so sweet that they’d throw their lives away chasing it?

  Midhir shook his head. It didn’t matter. Not now. The cultist leader continued to retreat, and in just half a dozen steps, he would be in that forest path instead of the now cave-like prison cell. His men threw themselves at the Enforcer, crowding around her in an attempt to slow her march, while the rest of them clashed with the imperial guards under Captain Marr’s command.

  He broke into a dash, running past the enforcer, weaving past the smaller clashes between the guards and the cultists. His blade glimmered to the torchlight as he reached within to pull at that string of power. It came pouring out, flowing down his arms, through his fingers into the hilt of his blade – into the silver gemstone hidden under the wraps.

  White-silver flames danced on the blade as he leapt over the overturned slabs and dead cultists, stepping into the cell at last.

  “Escaping while your men die?” He shouted over the sound of clashing steel, the screams of the wounded and the dying, and the roaring flames of the enforcer’s blade. “What a leader you are!”

  The cultist leader clenched his fists. “Their sacrifices will be remembered, and in death they shall ascend to the throne of the Old Gods!”

  “Ascension awaits!” The voices roared behind him. They chanted it over and over again as they charged at Enforcer Aoidh.

  A cold shiver ran down his spine. It was just like her – they refused to see reason, blinded by their faith to the world at large. They were insane. They were all utterly, completely insane.

  The cultist leader snatched a sword off the ground. “You can’t stop us, your highness! We will ascend!” Grasping the sword’s hilt with both hands, he charged at Midhir, the blade raised over his head.

  So he was finally attacking. Finally putting his own life at risk. Midhir raised his own blade as the leader swung down with all his might. The dungeon echoed to the sound of their blades clashing. His form was uneven, his strikes weak. This man was no fighter. He might not have had any training whatsoever. He almost acted like this was the first time he was wielding a blade.

  Something wasn’t right. He turned his focus from the leader to his surroundings while only defending. His eyes scoured the obscured corners of the dungeon – who was he distracting Midhir for?

  Something glinted in the forest path ahead, like the sun reflecting off a wet leaf.

  “The Veil will come down!” The cultist leader shouted as he struck Midhir’s blade over and over again. “And we shall see the world as it really is! The Old Gods will roam the skies once more and-“

  Something moved.

  He caught it with the corner of his eye. Like a snake, it slithered along the ground, then reared behind the cultist leader.

  “… and so on and so forth.” The man finally stopped talking, then ducked.

  Like a whip, it lunged towards Midhir as the cultist leader threw himself to the side.

  He jumped aside as it struck the ground. In that split moment before it moved again, he saw it for what it was. Intertwined vines. Someone was controlling the forest again, just like that false priestess had done back in Bareon.

  He fed more power to the white-silver flames dancing on his blade. The forest had no place in Derwen Hold. It could burn, as far as he was concerned.

  As the vines lunged at him again, he met them with the cold, all-consuming flames.