The village was quiet the next morning. Children played barefoot near the well, their laughter carrying on the wind, a striking contrast to the bloodshed just a night before. Smoke rose gently from repaired chimneys, curling lazily into the morning sky. Paul sat alone near the edge of the field, staring silently at his sword. The once-sharp blade was now dulled and chipped, a grim reminder of the battle he and Kaela had barely survived.
Kaela approached him, carrying a wooden bowl filled with steaming stew. She knelt beside him and extended it gently. "We're heroes now," she said with a small smile.
Paul didn't return the smile. He stared ahead, eyes heavy. "Don't say that."
She didn't press him. Some wounds were deeper than blades could reach.
They left by noon.
Zephirra.
The city stood like a crooked crown beneath a blanket of storm-gray clouds. Its tall towers of tarnished gold, once radiant, now bore streaks of grime and corrosion. Zephirra had been a beacon in ancient times, a place where heroes gathered and light prevailed. Now, it simmered with unease.
The streets bustled with noise, but there was no joy in the movement. People clutched their cloaks tight, whispering to one another behind cautious glances. The market was filled with stale bread and overpriced herbs. Soldiers, clad in blackened steel with empty visors, marched in strict formations, their presence as heavy as the air.
Paul scanned the city as they entered. His hand rested instinctively on his sword's hilt. "Something's not right here," he muttered.
They made their way through crooked alleys and wide plazas to reach the Adventurer's Guild. The building loomed in the heart of the city—a squat fortress of cracked stone and faded banners. Inside, the mood was even darker. Quest boards were nearly bare, and the adventurers seated along the long benches avoided eye contact. The scent of stale ale and burning incense clung to the walls.
Paul approached the front desk, where a middle-aged woman in worn armor manned the counter.
"We're looking for dungeon information," he said flatly. "Anything on ancient fragments."
The woman's eyes snapped up. "Keep your voice down," she hissed, glancing around. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "There've been rumors… Forbidden ruins, buried in the western canyon. But strange things happen to those who go near."
Kaela leaned in. "What kind of things?"
"Visions. Whispers. Some don't come back. Others… aren't themselves anymore."
Paul nodded. "We'll take the request."
The woman hesitated, then added, "You should know—don't trust anyone near the palace. The king has changed. They say he sees things in mirrors, speaks to shadows."
That night, they stayed in a modest inn near the city's outer wall. Rain drizzled on the roof, rhythmic and cold. Paul sat on the windowsill, eyes trained on the alley below. Shadows flickered unnaturally, as though dancing to silent music.
Kaela sat at the desk, scribbling symbols into a worn notebook. "I did some asking around," she said. "The king hasn't made a public appearance in weeks. The nobles look like husks. Empty."
Paul didn't look away from the window. "A demon," he said.
"You're certain?"
"It's not Luna. I'd feel her."
Kaela paused, pen hovering over the page. "Another faction, then," she said quietly.
"Could be."
She nodded, hiding her unease. Paul didn't know the truth—that she had once stood in Luna's shadow, a willing participant in the schemes of darkness. A spy. A betrayer. But she couldn't tell him. Not yet. Not when the path ahead was unclear.
The next night, under the cover of storm clouds, they infiltrated the palace sewers.
With Kaela's maps and Paul's instincts, they navigated the ancient tunnels. The air was thick with mildew and forgotten magic. Rats scurried along rusted pipes, and faint chanting echoed from above.
Eventually, they reached a hidden chamber beneath the throne room. There, chained to a pillar of cursed stone, stood a horned demon wreathed in black mist. A cursed crystal throbbed above it, feeding pulses of energy up through the ceiling—into the palace itself.
Paul's jaw clenched. "It's feeding the king's madness."
"We can't fight it head-on," Kaela whispered. "The royal guard is above us."
"We kill it quietly."
Using coordinated traps, silence spells, and perfect timing, they lured the demon from its shrine. The battle in the confined space was brutal. Paul took a blow that slammed him into a stone wall, cracking ribs. Kaela burned through half her mana sealing the demon's movement. She located the cursed relic—a jagged black talisman—hidden beneath the shrine's altar. With a spell of shattering light, she destroyed it.
The demon let out a final, gurgled screech before collapsing into dust and shadow.
With the corruption severed, the king collapsed into unconsciousness. Above, the choking magic began to disperse. Lights in the palace returned to their natural hue. The heavy fog over Zephirra lightened.
They forged bounty papers that night and returned to the guild.
"We handled a bounty in the canyon," Paul said flatly, handing the receptionist their false report.
She took the papers and gave them a tired look. "I don't know what you really did," she said softly, "but something changed last night. The wind feels clean."
Paul gave a small nod.
Kaela asked, "And the ruins?"
The woman hesitated, then reached beneath the desk and handed over a sealed scroll. "Coordinates. Few know of them. Whatever's buried there… it's not meant for ordinary men."
They left the guild without another word.
The sun was beginning to set, casting an amber glow over the city. Zephirra's towers glimmered faintly as the last traces of corruption fled.
Kaela looked over to Paul. "Do you think the next fragment is really there?"
Paul's expression was distant. "I know it is."
Behind them, Zephirra was beginning to heal. But ahead, in the western canyon, the winds howled through ancient ruins. And in the silence of the forgotten lands, something stirred.
Kaela followed beside Paul, the weight of her secret growing heavier with each step. She had made her choice. For now, she walked with him.
But the day would come when he would learn the truth.
And on that day, the path would split.