The morning air was damp and heavy as Serenya and Drenic left the cave behind, their movements quiet and deliberate. The events of the previous night had left them both on edge, and even the slightest rustle of leaves or distant birdcall felt like a warning.
Serenya clutched her cloak tightly, her fingers brushing against the pendant that pulsed faintly beneath the fabric. Its magic had saved them yet again, but Drenic’s words lingered in her mind: They’re following your magic. Every time you use it, they get closer.
“How far are we from the next town?” she asked, her voice cutting through the tense silence.
Drenic glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “A day’s walk, if we keep moving. We’ll hit a trading post first. Quiet, off the beaten path. Should be safe enough to get supplies.”
“And after that?”
“We find your mentor,” he said.
Serenya frowned. “You say that like it’s going to be easy.”
“It won’t be,” Drenic replied. “But nothing about this has been.”
The terrain grew rougher as they traveled, the forest giving way to rocky hills and narrow paths carved into the cliffs. The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and something metallic that made Serenya’s stomach churn.
“What’s that smell?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
Drenic’s jaw tightened. “Blood.”
Her steps faltered. “What? From where?”
He pointed ahead, where the path curved sharply around a ridge. “Stay close,” he said, his hand drifting to the hilt of his dagger.
Serenya followed him reluctantly, her heart pounding as they rounded the bend.
The sight before them was like something out of a nightmare.
A caravan had been attacked, its wagons overturned and splintered. Bodies lay scattered across the dirt, their blood staining the ground in dark pools. The horses had been slaughtered, their carcasses left to rot beneath the rising sun.
Serenya clapped a hand over her mouth, her stomach heaving at the stench. “What happened here?”
“Veil assassins,” Drenic said grimly, crouching to examine one of the bodies. “Same weapons. Same methods.”
“They’re targeting travelers now?”
“Not just travelers,” he said, holding up a small, blood-stained pouch. He opened it, revealing a handful of black coins identical to the one he’d taken from the mercenaries in Ashen Hollow.
“Shade Marks,” Serenya whispered, her voice trembling.
Drenic nodded. “Whoever these people were, they were working for someone powerful. And they were carrying a message.”
He pulled a folded piece of parchment from another pouch on the dead man’s belt. Serenya moved closer, her eyes scanning the document as Drenic unfolded it.
The parchment was covered in intricate runes and a single phrase written in a language she didn’t recognize.
“What does it say?” she asked.
Drenic’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. But I know someone who might be able to translate.”
“Who?”
He hesitated. “An old contact. Not someone I’d call a friend, but useful.”
“And where is this contact?”
“Closer than Vaylen,” Drenic said, tucking the parchment into his cloak. “If he’s still alive, he might give us a lead.”
They moved on quickly, leaving the ruined caravan behind. The smell of blood clung to Serenya’s senses long after they’d left the ridge, and she couldn’t shake the image of the Shade Marks scattered among the dead.
“Why would the Veil kill their own?” she asked as they descended into a narrow valley.
“Loose ends,” Drenic replied. “The Veil doesn’t tolerate failure—or betrayal.”
“That’s brutal.”
“That’s business,” he said, his tone cold. “And it’s why we don’t have time to waste.”
The trading post was nestled in a sheltered grove, its wooden buildings huddled together beneath the sprawling branches of ancient oaks. Smoke rose lazily from a single chimney, and the faint sound of a hammer striking metal echoed through the quiet.
Drenic led Serenya to the largest building, its faded sign marking it as a general store. Inside, the air was warm and filled with the scent of dried herbs and leather.
A stocky man with a bushy beard stood behind the counter, his eyes narrowing as Drenic entered.
“Vael,” the man said, his voice heavy with suspicion. “Thought you were dead.”
“Not yet, Torik,” Drenic replied, his smirk faint. “I need supplies—and information.”
Torik folded his arms, his gaze shifting to Serenya. “And who’s this?”
“Just a client,” Drenic said smoothly. “Keep your questions to yourself, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
Torik grunted but didn’t argue.
While Drenic negotiated with Torik, Serenya wandered the store, her fingers brushing the worn edges of the shelves. She stopped in front of a display of daggers, their blades gleaming faintly in the firelight.
“You should take one,” Drenic said, appearing beside her.
She glanced at him, startled. “What?”
“A weapon,” he said, nodding toward the daggers. “You’ll need one.”
“I don’t know how to fight,” she admitted, her voice soft.
“Then learn,” he said simply.
His bluntness stung, but she knew he was right. With a sigh, she picked up one of the smaller daggers, its hilt wrapped in worn leather.
“It’ll do,” Drenic said.
They left the trading post with fresh supplies and a sense of urgency. Torik had confirmed that Drenic’s contact, a reclusive scholar named Calren, was still alive—and not far from their current path.
“Calren’s not exactly welcoming,” Drenic said as they walked. “But if anyone can translate that parchment, it’s him.”
“Why is he hiding out here?”
“Because he’s wanted in three kingdoms for selling forbidden knowledge,” Drenic said, his smirk faint. “The Veil doesn’t like people who know too much.”
Serenya shivered. “Are we putting him in danger by going to him?”
“Calren’s already in danger,” Drenic replied. “He’s survived this long by being useful. Let’s hope that hasn’t changed.”
The forest deepened as they approached Calren’s cabin, the trees growing taller and closer together until the sunlight barely reached the ground. The air was thick with the scent of moss and damp earth, and the faint sound of running water echoed through the stillness.
The cabin itself was tucked into a hollow at the base of a hill, its walls covered in ivy and its roof sagging under the weight of years. A faint wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, a sign of life within.
Drenic knocked on the door, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.
A moment passed before it creaked open, revealing a wiry man with a shock of white hair and piercing green eyes.
“Vael,” the man said, his tone wary. “What are you doing here?”
“Business, Calren,” Drenic replied. “We need your help.”
Calren’s gaze shifted to Serenya, his eyes narrowing. “Who’s the girl?”
“The Oracle,” Drenic said.
Calren’s expression froze, his eyes widening slightly before he stepped aside. “Come in,” he said quietly.
The cabin’s interior was cramped and cluttered, its shelves overflowing with scrolls, books, and jars filled with strange powders and liquids. A large table dominated the center of the room, covered in maps and runes drawn in faded ink.
“What do you need?” Calren asked, closing the door behind them.
Drenic pulled the parchment from his cloak, laying it on the table. “This. Tell us what it says.”
Calren examined the parchment, his fingers tracing the runes with practiced precision. His expression grew darker as he read, and by the time he looked up, his face was pale.
“This isn’t just a message,” he said, his voice low. “It’s a summoning ritual. A call to something ancient.”
Serenya’s blood ran cold. “What kind of something?”
Calren hesitated. “The kind that can’t be killed. If the Veil is using this, they’re preparing for more than just assassinations. They’re preparing for war.”
Drenic’s expression hardened. “Who’s behind it?”
Calren’s gaze shifted to Serenya. “Someone who fears you, Oracle. Someone who wants to end your line before you fulfill your prophecy.”
Serenya clutched the pendant beneath her cloak, its pulse steady against her skin.
“Then we have to stop them,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear gripping her.
Calren nodded grimly. “If you want to stop them, you’ll need more than visions. You’ll need power—and allies.”
“And where do we find those?” Drenic asked.
Calren’s lips curved into a faint smile. “The Heart of Lumina.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge. Serenya felt the weight of them settle over her, heavy and unrelenting.
“What is the Heart of Lumina?” she asked.
Calren’s smile faded. “A weapon. A hope. And the one thing your enemies fear most.”
Drenic glanced at Serenya, his smirk faint but resolute. “Looks like we’ve got our next destination.”
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