The City of the New Moon was no longer sleeping.
Ever since the massacre on the Rolsvince estate, things seemed... different. The air was heavier, the streets emptier, and even the bells in the tower seemed to ring with a darker echo.
My father, Rillen, was still alive. But barely.
When I ran towards him and hugged him that night - bloodied, with his left arm torn off below the shoulder - I felt as if his soul was slipping through my fingers. His breathing was weak, but still there. For a moment, I feared that this would be our last contact. That I wouldn't even have time to say what I never said.
But he survived.
Now, days later, he is lying in bed, breathing more regularly, although the pallor of his face shows how much he has lost. How much he will never recover.
In his absence, the hyenas began to move.
The daughters of Casa Rolsvince - or rather, the widows of the tragedy - acted quickly. Each married into families that had always coveted what the Rolsvince had: land, influence, deposits hidden beneath the ancestral soil.
Tenehir and Grenvene.
They wasted no time. In less than three days, I saw their carriages leaving and entering the ruins of the old Rolsvince estate. Each passage took away tapestries, contracts, silverware, even the marble statuettes that adorned the inner gardens.
The investigators who still prowled the city? Ignored as if they were insects.
But that's how it always is. When a power falls, all the rats come out to gnaw at what's left.
What they didn't foresee - and perhaps still don't realize - is that two snakes can't share the same burrow.
Less than a week later, the disputes began.
Sharp words in court, veiled threats at public dinners, even small duels between servants and squires in the streets. I watched it all. I didn't interfere. Not yet.
Meanwhile, we kept quiet about what happened that night. Not a word escaped the gates of Castle Udrik. Not even my father - who only gave a formal statement - revealed who or what had exterminated the Rolsvince.
And the most disturbing thing is: he doesn't remember.
He knows he fought. That he almost died. But everything after that... is a blur.
As if someone had ripped his memories away with an invisible blade.
In the corridors of the fortress, the servants whisper about "the war of the lake". An exaggerated name, but somehow appropriate. Too much blood has been spilled to call it just a battle.
I, on the other hand, don't forget.
I saw it. I caused it.
Now I spend my days at Rillen's bedside. I bring him fruit, make him tea, watch him sleep unevenly and silently. The man who taught me how to hold a bow now can't even lift a spoon.
Today, he woke up. His eyes opened slowly, full of that old steadiness, even in the midst of pain. The voice came low, slurred:
"How were things while I was asleep?"
I put the knife aside and wiped my hands. I took a deep breath before answering:
"The agents of the Army of Dawn and the Local Guard came. They told me to look after you and then they left. They're watching. Testing the limits. If we show weakness now, we'll be the next Rolsvince."
He laughed, or tried to.
"I'm still alive. I've lost an arm, yes, but fortunately not my dominant one. I'm 20% weaker at most."
"That might be enough for the others to try."
"I know." he admitted. "But you're here. That changes things."
He looked at me for a long moment. As if he was measuring me. I recognized that look. The same one he used to give new recruits when he wanted to know if they had any fiber. He smiled.
"That person... who saved me... I don't remember. Not even the tone of his voice. All I know is that if it hadn't been for her, I'd be dead."
I nodded. But inside, something was boiling.
"I'll take care of things until then." I said, realizing my own voice was harsher than I'd intended.
"Good. It's a great time to put your strength on the table. If they know you're a High Archer, they'll think twice before acting. And Tenehir and Grenvene will be too busy fighting each other."
He believes in me. For the first time, not as a son. But as a successor.
It was only after my father went back to sleep that it really hit me.
What I'd done. What I almost did.
I entered that hall like a hurricane, overwhelmed by blind rage, guided only by pain and the possibility that he was dead. And I wanted them all to be dead. Everyone who smiled at the fall of the Rolsvince. Everyone who dared to mock my father's name.
If I'd had more arrows at that time... I swear by all that is holy, I would have continued. I would have rained blood.
But I stopped. Not out of mercy. For lack of ammunition.
I was shaking when I took the ring out of my pocket. I had kept it with me since that day, without knowing exactly why. Part of me wanted to forget about it, throw it somewhere, bury it in the ashes. But something always stopped me.
"So all this... was because of a damn ring?" I muttered, more to myself than to him.
"Yes." replied my father, his voice still slurred by tiredness.
I held the ring in my fingers.
It was dark, but the tone of the metal was unusual. Not iron, not steel, not bronze. It didn't look like silver or obsidian either. There was a coldness about it that wasn't just physical - it was a presence.
There was no coat of arms. No inscription visible at first glance. But the design... it was strange. Ornamented like an insect wrapped around itself. A black centipede, its segmented body contorting itself into a perfect circle. On its head, a cracked ruby. Red like dried blood.
The jewel seemed to stare at me.
My father looked at the ring with an expression that was hard to decipher. Curiosity mixed with something else. Nostalgia? Fear?
"There must be something special about it..." he murmured.
"Do you know it?"
It took him a while to answer.
"It was my friend's... from the war. He always wore it. Index finger of the right hand. But he never talked about what it meant."
"Who was he?"
"Someone you never met. The last time he came by, your mother was still pregnant with you. You stayed in the forest for a few days. You tried to eat one of those red-headed centipedes. He nearly died."
"Why would he do that?"
"I never understood. He came home furious. He never said anything. But now... maybe it had something to do with that ring."
I remained silent. My gaze locked on the jewel.
"Put it on your index finger." said my father, more firmly now.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
I swallowed and slid the ring onto the indicated finger.
Right away, I felt it.
A violent shiver ran up my spine, as if something was seeping into my skin. The centipede's black body began to pulsate, emitting a dark, deep, almost liquid glow. The cracked ruby sparkled like an eye opening for the first time in centuries.
And then my own energy responded.
The light of life inside me - dark crimson, distorted since I started consuming the forest centipedes - reacted. It began to move of its own accord. A connection was made. I felt it.
The ring was recognizing me. Or... something inside it.
My eyes fixed on the surface of the metal. Now there was something engraved there that hadn't been there before - or that I hadn't been able to see until now.
"Letih?" I read in a low voice.
The word flashed for an instant before disappearing again.
It was Ghoten. One of the ancient languages we were forced to study at school, but which few actually took seriously. I only knew the basics... enough to understand that the word carried weight.
"Could there be another way to read it?" my father asked, frowning. He clearly hadn't mastered Ghoten as well as he thought.
I stood there, staring at the ring in silence, trying to recall what I knew of that archaic language. There was something... something about the structure of words... how they worked with intention rather than pronunciation.
Then, suddenly, it surfaced.
"Le... tih!" I exclaimed.
It was like opening a lock.
The ring reacted immediately. The centipede's body glowed dark crimson and, at the same moment, a sharp pain exploded in my finger. I screamed, trying to pull it off, but it was as if it had taken root. The segmented rings moved like living claws, biting into my skin. I could feel the creature's tiny teeth digging into my flesh.
My heart raced.
The room plunged into a pulsating red light. It was intense, suffocating. The color spread across the walls, the clothes, the skin. My skin. My arms seemed to be dyed in living blood. It was as if my whole body was being bathed in that red energy.
And then something else began to bubble up inside me.
My light of life - that distorted flame I gained after devouring the red-headed centipedes - began to pulsate. Not like before. This time, it was as if I was being sucked in. Or fed. Or... fused.
I trembled.
It was as if I was holding a beating heart in my hand. A heart that wasn't mine, but that was beating inside me now.
And then the light stopped.
The centipede went still, cold and silent. The glow died, and the ring... the ring had partially disappeared, swallowed up by the flesh of my finger. Only the outer parts were still visible. But I knew. It was no longer possible to remove it. Not with a knife. Not with fire. It would have to be amputated.
I looked up slowly. My father was already staring at me.
"What's that?" I asked, my breathing still ragged. My voice came out hoarse, startled. I had no idea what had just happened.
He didn't answer immediately. He seemed as surprised as I was.
- I have no idea... But now I understand why he was so protective of that ring. He always seemed obsessive. But... why did he react to you? Why did he attach himself to you and not to him?
We were silent for a moment, lost in thoughts that seemed to have no answers.
And then, at the same time, our voices overlapped:
"The centipedes?" we said together.
We looked at each other again. But this time with a different expression. It wasn't just confusion - it was recognition. As if, for the first time, something was starting to make sense.
The centipedes were the key. Both he and his friend had tried to eat them. But only I consumed them in large quantities. Only I survived... and changed.
And maybe... maybe the ring had been waiting for someone like me all along.