The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows against the eight of us. Tension hung thick in the air, coiling tight like an unseen noose. Even Lyrik, usually the first to crack a joke, sat still. The night stretched around us, vast and suffocating.

  I exhaled. Time to break the silence.

  “The Wraiths aren’t just a rogue faction,” I said. “They have access to something worse.”

  “What, deeper pockets?” Lyrik scoffed, tipping back his tankard, though his usual arrogance lacked its usual bite.

  “Listen,” I snapped, cutting through whatever sarcasm he was about to throw next. “This isn’t just some cult running amok in the shadows. They’re making pacts—real ones. With demons.”

  The fire popped. Someone cursed under their breath. No one laughed now.

  Selene was the one to break the silence. “You’re saying they’ve made pacts?”

  I nodded. “With the beings from the Outer Planes.”

  A ripple of unease passed through the group.

  The Outer Planes—an astral realm anchored to the real world, yet existing beyond mortal comprehension. A place where form was meaningless, where beings existed not in flesh but as shifting masses of essence, their shapes dictated by thought, will, and intent.

  These entities, neither fully alive nor dead, could be categorized into three kinds.

  The first were the malevolent ones, commonly called demons. Chaos given form, they thrived on destruction, whether through whispers of corruption or outright carnage. Some craved suffering, others sought oblivion, but all were dangers beyond comprehension.

  The second were the virtuous ones—beings who lent power to mortals they deemed worthy. But their perception of justice was not always kind. Some protected, others judged, and a few enforced their ideals with terrifying zeal, deciding who lived, who died, and what ‘righteousness’ truly meant.

  And then there were the neutral ones—the silent watchers. They did not guide, did not corrupt, did not care. They existed outside the grand struggle, detached, unbothered. Whether they possessed a purpose beyond observation, no one knew.

  These beings had no place in the mortal realm—yet here the Wraiths were, forging pacts with them.

  “…Demons?” Aleric’s voice was quiet but strained. His grip tightened around the prayer beads at his belt.

  Rylas leaned forward, arms crossed. “And you’re sure of this?”

  I met his gaze, unwavering. “One moment, he was a dwarf. The next, he wasn’t.”

  Selene’s eyes glinted with calculation. “Describe it.”

  “Their bodies change—completely. It’s not just power, not just mana augmentation. It’s a full transformation. Whatever they were before… it’s gone.”

  Mira, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “And you saw all of this?”

  I nodded.

  Ewin let out a low whistle. “So, what you’re saying is—we’re dealing with demon-infested lunatics.”

  “More or less.”

  Lyrik groaned. “Fantastic. Just when I thought this mission couldn’t get worse.”

  Rylas let out a slow breath, something between a sigh and a growl. “That explains why they killed themselves before capture. If word got out, the whole continent would come for them.”

  Aleric’s lips moved soundlessly in a whispered prayer. His fingers clenched tighter. “Demons… That’s…” His throat bobbed. “That’s blasphemy.”

  “No,” Rylas corrected, voice grim. “That’s treason against reality itself.”

  Ewin’s expression darkened. “What are they after?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? One I wasn’t about to answer fully.

  “They’re planning something,” I admitted. “And I do know one piece of it.”

  I let the firelight flicker across my face before I spoke again.

  “They’re going to raid Silent Rock.”

  A ripple of tension passed through the group.

  Lyrik swore. “You mean that backwater mining town?”

  “Population of about a thousand,” Mira murmured, brow furrowing.

  Selene’s expression darkened. “I believe they are not after the silver veins.”

  Mira’s voice was eerily calm. “More like resources.”

  Aleric’s lips parted in quiet horror. “People…”

  I nodded. “They called it ‘harvesting materials.’”

  Ewin let out a humorless chuckle, a dry, hollow sound. “That’s a damn lot of materials.”

  “We’re talking a mass slaughter,” Rylas growled. “A sacrifice.”

  I shook my head. “No. If all they wanted was bodies, they’d hit smaller, nameless villages.”

  “Like Twisted Trunk,” Ewin murmured.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Lyrik gave a bitter laugh. “Exactly like Twisted Trunk.”

  Selene furrowed her brow. “Then why there?”

  Mira tilted her head, thinking. “Religious cults always follow a pattern. They seek power, spread influence, recruit followers. But more importantly—” she glanced at Aleric, ignoring his tight-lipped disapproval “—they need proof.”

  The fire crackled.

  “Their so-called divine artifacts,” she continued. “Relics supposedly blessed by their gods. The proof that their faith is real. That’s what cults kill for.”

  Silence.

  Her words settling over like ash, thick and choking.

  “The Wraiths avoid attention at all costs,” she pressed on. “Yet they’re risking exposure now. Which means only one thing.”

  My eyes flicked to the flames. Mira was good.

  “They’re after something in the mines,” I said.

  Mira nodded. “It’s highly probable. Perhaps an ancient ruin beneath the town, or even…” she hesitated, “a Monolith.”

  A sharp breath sucked the air from the group.

  Ewin’s smirk faded. “A Monolith?” He muttered a curse under his breath. “If that’s true…”

  Rylas tensed. “Then we’re in for a clusterfuck.”

  Lyrik ran a hand through his hair. “We’re walking straight into this madness, aren’t we?”

  I let the moment stretch. Then, I spoke.

  “Or, we ride to Astradel.”

  The fire flickered, throwing long, wavering shadows over us. No one spoke at first.

  Then—Lyrik exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His usual smile was gone, replaced with something raw, something close to rage.

  “So let me get this straight.” His voice was low, measured, but beneath it was a barely leashed fury. “We know innocent people are about to be butchered like livestock. Just like before. And instead of stopping it, we’re going to ride away?”

  His fingers dug into his knee, knuckles white. “I’ve seen this before, Kaelan. We all have. We know how it ends.” He laughed, though not because of amusement. “You think the Wraiths leave survivors? That they burn a village and just walk away?”

  The silence pressed in. No one argued.

  “Children.” The word hung in the air, leaden. “Families. Mothers clutching their sons, begging for mercy that won’t come. Fathers dragged into the streets. And we’ll let it happen.”

  His hands curled into fists. “And you expect us to sleep at night? To live with it?”

  His voice hardened, the fire reflecting in his eyes. “No, I get it. You’re thinking long-term, right? You want the king’s support, the kingdom’s resources. You want to win the war.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “But at what cost?”

  His words settled in the space between us, heavy and suffocating.

  Vyk exhaled through his nose. “And what do you expect us to do, Lyrik?” Vyk’s voice was honed steel, measured and precise. “Storm into Silent Rock like some grand, doomed saga? We are eight.” He let the number settle. “They are an army.”

  He tilted his head slightly, gaze cold. “You think the universe bends for righteous men? It doesn’t.”

  His gaze flicked over the group. “No clear numbers. No intelligence. No fallback plan. No guarantee we’d make it out alive. We got nothing.” His tone sharpened. “And if we die at Silent Rock, we lose everything.”

  He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto Lyrik’s. “You think emotion makes you right? That it’s more important than the mission?” His voice dropped. “It’s not.”

  “It’s the righteous thing to do!” Lyrik snapped.

  “It’s suicide,” Vyk countered. “It’s exactly what they want.”

  Rylas ran a hand down his face, torn. “Tch. We don’t even know if we’d make it in time.”

  Lyrik’s fists tightened. “So, we just let them do this?” His voice cracked. “We just let it happen?”

  Ewin sighed, running a hand through his hair before looking at them both, golden eyes flickering in the firelight. “You’re both too damn focused on the extremes,” he said, voice cool. “This isn’t just about people or the risk to us. It’s about what happens after.”

  His gaze flicked to Lyrik. “Say we go to Silent Rock. Say we win. Say we pull off a miracle and kill every Wraith there.” He tilted his head. “Then what?”

  No one answered.

  His smile was humorless. “Then we’ve got the rest of them hunting us down, and we’re running blind.” His fingers tapped against his knee. “Meanwhile, if the Wraiths find a Monolith, and we’re too busy bleeding out in this nameless town to stop them?” His smirk vanished. “Then we’ve lost the war before it’s even begun.”

  Mira nodded. “If they think an artifact is there, slaughter is the least of our worries.”

  Aleric exhaled shakily. “You’re saying they won’t just massacre the town, but they’ll bring something back?”

  “If there’s something there,” I said carefully, “then stopping them is important. But if we go in oblivious, we might lose more than we could afford.”

  Lyrik’s jaw tightened. “If we don’t go, no one survives.”

  Ewin hummed. “So, gamble that we get there in time, or go to Astradel and secure real backing.”

  Lyrik turned to him; voice raw. “By then, they’ll be gone. And every single person in that town will be dead.”

  Selene finally spoke; her voice quiet but absolute.

  “I stand with Kaelan.”

  Lyrik turned sharply, frustration bleeding into his expression. “And you’re just fine with that?”

  Selene met his gaze. “I trust his judgment,” she said, voice steady. Then she shook her head. “No. I trust him.”

  She exhaled softly, her fingers tightening slightly on the hilt of her sword. “More than I trust myself.”

  The fire crackled between them.

  Lyrik searched her face for something—doubt, hesitation—but found none.

  And that, more than anything, silenced him.

  Rylas sighed. “Astradel, then.”

  Vyk’s nod was final. “It’s the smarter choice.”

  Mira’s voice was distant. “We leave at first light.”

  Aleric’s grip on his prayer beads tightened. “The king must know.”

  Ewin smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  Lyrik stood, his voice hollow. “Kaelan, if this goes wrong… can you live with it?”

  I met his gaze. “If it does, I won’t have to.”

  The fire burned. No one moved. No one spoke.

  The decision had been made.

  But no one could pretend to be at peace with it.

  The weight of it sat on their shoulders, pressing down like an unseen hand.

  There was no turning back.

  Because this was war. And in war, there were no good choices.

  Only the ones you had to live with.

  ***

  The fire had burned low, reduced to embers that pulsed like dying stars against the darkness. A thin mist clung to the earth, curling around the edges of camp, whispering through the trees. Beyond the fading glow, the world was silent—no beasts stirred, no distant voices called. Just the quiet breathing of their sleeping companions, the occasional shift of a restless dream.

  I pulled my cloak tighter against the pre-dawn chill, eyes fixed on the dark horizon.

  It was my turn to keep watch.

  “You’re thinking too hard again.”

  And Selene’s turn was as well.

  I glanced across the fire. Selene sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, the dim light flickering over her face.

  I huffed. “And you’re assuming too much.”

  She smirked, tilting her head. “Please. I’ve seen that look before—you’re brooding. You get it right before you do something reckless.”

  I exhaled a small laugh. “I don’t do reckless.”

  Selene snorted. “Oh really? You want me to start listing things?”

  I groaned.

  Too late. She was already counting on her fingers, grinning. “How about the time you almost drowned, betting you could hold your breath forever? Or the time you jumped from the balcony, thinking you could fly? Or when you kicked a knight—”

  “Stop, stop!” I reached across and clamped a hand over her mouth, which she promptly giggled against. “Okay, you win, alright?”

  She nodded, laughing as I let go. “I almost forgot—I seem to recall a certain prince taking the blame for a broken stained-glass window.”

  I shot her a flat look. “What was I supposed to do? You threw a book at it.”

  “And you stepped forward before I could say a word.” She grinned, resting her chin on her knees. “That was reckless.”

  “That was tactical.” I leaned back, smirking. “You were already on thin ice. If you got caught again, they would’ve shipped you off to a monastery to ‘cultivate inner discipline.’”

  Selene rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like I was some uncontrollable menace.”

  “You set a stable on fire.”

  “That was one time.”

  I gave her a deadpan stare.

  She coughed into her fist. “Fine. Maybe two.”

  I smirked. “Since we’re on the topic, remember why you threw that book?”

  She stiffened.

  I grinned. “Little Sel missed her best friend, and when she saw he was trapped with a bunch of old fogies, she grew jealo—Aww! Why did you hit me?!”

  She ignored me, stubbornly looking away, pouting.

  She didn’t answer me, just looked ahead not turning towards me. I continued, aiming for a little revenge. “Hah, it’s mother’s fault, really. Spoiling you rotten, trying to make you all prim and proper… but look at you—”

  I didn’t get to finish.

  Selene turned sharply, eyes narrowing, her voice like cold steel. “What did you just say?”

  A warning. One I should’ve heeded.

  “W-well…” I coughed, backpedaling. “I mean, Mother’s a hypocrite. Telling you to be a ‘proper lady’ when she spent half her youth hurling spells and chasing monsters.”

  Selene crossed her arms, unimpressed.

  I pressed on, desperate to shift the target. “Look at Alina! She was a terror, and still is! Even after becoming the Saintess of Light, nobles flee when they hear she’s coming.”

  Selene raised a brow.

  I sighed. “And then there’s you.”

  Her brow twitched.

  “Kaelan,” she said, voice dangerously level. “You’re making it worse.”

  I realized, too late, that I was walking on thin ice.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I muttered, seizing the lifeline she’d so graciously thrown.

  A comfortable silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant rustling of the wind through the trees.

  Selene shifted, watching me carefully, her expression softer than usual. “You never did tell me why you took the blame.”

  I glanced down, dragging the toe of my boot through the dirt. “You’ll have to be more specific. There’s a long list.”

  She nudged me, and I huffed a quiet laugh.

  “If you must know,” I said, meeting her gaze, “it’s because we’re partners.”

  A flicker of something soft, something fragile passed through her eyes, catching in the firelight.

  I held the moment for just a second longer before smirking. “Partners in crime. Better to share the blame than take it all yourself, don’t you think?”

  For a heartbeat, she said nothing.

  Then, her expression shifted and a sharp smack landed on my head.

  I winced. “Ow.”

  Selene tilted her head, huffing. “I thought it was because you were a martyr.”

  I scoffed, rubbing the spot she hit, but my grin didn’t fade. “Hardly.”

  The fire crackled between us, but for once, it wasn’t the only thing keeping the cold away.

  After a moment, Selene nudged my boot with hers. “Well, for what it’s worth, I repaid the favor.”

  I arched a brow. “How?”

  She grinned. “Do you think those kitchen cookies magically appeared in your room?”

  My expression stilled. “…That was you?”

  Selene laughed. “Who else? You were always skipping meals, locked up with your studies. I figured if you weren’t going to take care of yourself, someone had to.”

  I stared at her.

  For years, I had assumed it was one of the castle maids—some kindhearted soul who pitied the lonely prince.

  I opened my mouth, but for once, no words came.

  Selene smiled softly, nudging me again. “You can thank me properly later.”

  I shook my head, letting out a quiet chuckle.

  It didn’t last.

  Because the moment of warmth—the fleeting nostalgia—was swallowed by the weight of reality.

  Of what we had seen.

  Selene’s laughter also faded. Slowly.

  Too slowly.

  She turned back to the fire, watching the embers pulse like dying stars. “Kaelan.”

  I looked at her.

  She exhaled, barely more than a whisper. “What happened to us?”