Whispers and Wind: A Tale of Gods and Ghosts, The Scrolls of the Raithsworn, Chapters 9 - 12

Disguised within the enemy’s keep, Lyrra and the Ghost Talon infiltrate a decadent and brutal feast hosted by the Empire’s elite. Beneath the spectacle of excess, something far darker unfolds.

Content Warning

This excerpt contains scenes of graphic violence, sexual assault, and abuse, including harm against minors. It also depicts torture, murder, and intense psychological distress.

Some readers may find these themes disturbing.

Chapter 9

I had been in the Keep once before. Only the lower levels. It was back when the cooking staff ran short on herbs and needed a rush supply. Mostly rosemary, tarragon, oregano, and thyme. Gren never grew much, just enough for us to use, and enough to share when someone truly needed it.

The thought of Gren struck me like a blade. My chest ached so deeply, it felt like a part of me had died with her.

We moved through the Keep’s narrow stone corridors. Cold and winding, draped in black and gold banners. Snake sigils everywhere. The D’ral were bloody everywhere, patrolling in droves, along with the Keep’s scrappy village guards.

I’d never been to the upper levels before and the place was a maze.

The five Raiths, all dressed in D’ral black and red, walked beside me. Doing our best to look like we belonged, like we knew where the hell we were going.

Eventually, we found our way to the banquet hall. A massive room that seemed to sit at the heart of the Keep.

As we entered, I scanned the space.

It was packed with highborns from the region and Stewards of the Empire. We took our place along the far wall. Lagna stood to my right. Krag to my left. Hask beside him. Grim and Skara on the other side of Lagna.

We waited.

For what, I wasn’t sure.

I kept watch, scanning, tracking, mapping the exits, marking where men left and where they might be going. But I didn’t see Andi.

At the head of the room, up a small flight of stone steps, sat a massive wooden table. Behind it, the warden of these lands, Lord Amr and his advisor looked down on the hall like minor gods.

The Warden Lord oversaw all of Aorrea. He wasn’t old. But he wasn’t young. He couldn’t have seen more than four or five summers more than I had. Thin. Gaunt. His jet-black curls hung past his ears, framing skin so pale he looked half-dead. A black fur pelt, most likely wolf, given the region, sat on his shoulders, paired with a long black cloak. His clothes were simple, black and gold.

Below him, every table groaned with food, enough to feed the villagers for months. The highborn picked delicately at the spread. The stewards, meanwhile, tore into it like animals.

Half-naked women danced in formation. Four rows of three.They moved provocatively as the men watched, leered, grabbed. Not a single highborn woman was present.

It was all men.

And that, more than anything, made my stomach turn.

They came for the slaughter.

But not with their wives. That would’ve been too shameful.

Animals.

My markings burned.

My hand trembled around the shaft of my spear.

Lagna noticed.

“Wait,” she whispered, low and steady.

“This is a wild party,” Grim muttered. “Smells like death and sex.”

“Shush,” Skara hissed, elbowing him.

“We need to find Andi,” I said under my breath. “She’s close. I can feel it.”

The dancing ended.

The women dispersed. Climbing into laps, pouring drinks, pressing themselves against the men like offerings.

Servants poured into the hall with more food, more drink. I recognized many of them from the village markets.

We watched as the men descended on it like wolves on a carcass, ravenous, tearing into flesh, drunk on blood and excess.

They ate with no restraint. Stuffing their faces. Grabbing, groping. Shouting, cursing, laughing.

One of the lords reached for a servant girl. She recoiled, panic flashing across her face, and in her haste smashed her tray into a young male servant. He stumbled and crashed to the ground.

The men jeered. Then fell abruptly silent.

“Bring him here… and her,” Lord Amr said, his voice flat, devoid of feeling.

D’ral soldiers seized them both by the scruff and dragged them to the raised platform at the head of the room, his throne in all but name. They were thrown to their knees below the steps.

“Your insolence will be punished,” he said.

“My lord, please,” the girl begged, her voice breaking. “It was my fault. Maz shouldn’t be punished for my mistake.”

Lord Amr looked at her, not with anger, not even disgust, but with complete indifference. As if she were already dead.

He inspected his nails, then flicked his hand in dismissal.

“Put her in one of the rooms,” he said. “Throw him from the turret.”

The hall erupted, cheers, laughter, cruel delight.

The servants begged. Pleaded. It made no difference.

I moved to strike.

Lagna caught my arm in a vice grip.

“Do not,” she said, low and sharp.

The D’ral dragged them away.

Moments later, the Warden rose and lifted his glass.

The room followed.

We snapped to attention with the other guards. Spears raised, eyes forward. We stared ahead, pretending not to see. Not to hear.

“Such unpleasantness,” the young Lord said lightly. “Now, back to the evening.”

He raised his voice.

“My brethren,” he called, “welcome to the Feast of Revyr—god of blood, purity, and sacred rites.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the hall.

“Tonight, we gather. We feast. We, the men of this realm, keepers and protectors, stewards of Emperor Tyraneus Menethari, partake in the gifts bestowed upon us by the one true God in the Vale above.”

He smiled faintly.

“I have fulfilled my duty as Warden of these lands. Now… it falls to you, my lords.”

He gestured to the table.

“Let us begin the Drawing of the Swords, to see who will next fulfill the sacred rites.”

The next?

Vel’ariin, I was too late.

Far too late.

Anger surged through me. Cold, sharp fear curled around my spine. My hand gripped the spear tighter. If I hurled it at the Warden’s head with enough force, he’d drop like a stone.

It took everything in me not to do it.

I could feel it, the blackness on my arm writhing, itching with my desire to wipe them all out and off these lands. My whole body began to shake.

Lagna looked at me, alarm flaring in her eyes.

“Princess, hold. And get it together,” she whispered.

But I couldn’t hear her. Not really.

I wanted them dead. All of them.

The desire filled me to the brim, cold and bottomless. I knew it wasn’t mine. Something deep and ancient had stirred beneath my skin. Woken up. Hungry.

The men moved to the table, tossing their swords into a pile. The Warden reached in and drew one.

A second man, well-dressed, older, greying, stood and took it. He was met with cheers and back slaps, as if he’d just won a prize.

“Lord Bahowyn. Please enjoy the rite,” Lord Amr chuckled darkly.

“What in the name of all the Vel’ar?” I muttered.

“Follow the portly bastard,” Lagna said under her breath.

We slipped from the hall, moving like shadows into the corridor. We tracked the lord through the main hallway, then down a side one, careful to look like six D’ral on orders, confident, silent, unquestioned.

Lord Bahowyn climbed a staircase.

We waited at the bottom.

“Wait here,” Lagna murmured to the others. “The princess and I will go up.”

We ascended the steps together.

And then it hit me, that sickness blooming in my gut. The whispers rising.

The shadows stirred, clawing at the edges of my mind. Begging me to just give in. Let go.

They called my name.

They summoned me.

But, I resisted.

We headed down a narrow hall. Bedrooms. And I heard the cries, the begging, the screams. Andi’s. Clear as day.

I ran. To the first door. It was locked.

Think. Open it.

Open, damn it.

The lock clicked.

Lagna’s gaze snapped to me.

I didn’t explain. Didn’t even look at her. I just shoved the door open and rushed inside.

My heart stopped.

Here was Andi. My dear sweet friend Andi, chained to a massive four-poster bed not a stitch of clothing on, tears streaked down her face, her body marred with bruises, slashes, and so much blood.

Something inside me broke.

The black rose up, curling around me like smoldering smoke, feeding a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path.

I fought it. Forced it back.

My body trembled with the effort.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Bahowyn barked, spinning on his heels.

I looked at him, my vision burning with rage. I could have breathed fire.

Instead, I struck.

My spear whipped through the air, spinning once in my grip before slicing clean across his throat.

Andi screamed, yanking against her chains.

Bahowyn clutched his neck as blood poured through his fingers. He dropped to the ground, choking, sputtering.

I watched him crumple.

“Princess!” Lagna shouted.

I could hear soldiers ascending the stairs, armor clashing, voices rising. The D’ral.

I tore off my helmet and stripped away most of my uniform as I ran to Andi.

She tried to shrink away from me, still chained, still terrified.

“Andi. It’s me. Beth. I’ve got you,” I said, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around her. I tore the chains free from the bedpost and pulled her into my arms.

She curled into me, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, cradling her face. She sobbed. Huge gasping cries as I removed the cloth from her mouth. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Lagna moved to the door, blade ready.

“She needs clothes and we need medicine for her wounds,” I called.

“Right.”

Lagna grabbed pieces of my uniform and tore the trousers from Bahowyn’s lifeless body. I stripped off my kirtle and blouse, handing them over.

Andi dressed with shaking, unsteady hands.

The black surged again, clawing at the edges of my mind.

Not yet.

Get Andi safe. Get her safe first.

Once she was dressed, I stood, now in nothing but a corset, trousers, and boots.

“Go,” I told Lagna. “Get her out.”

“And what in the seven hells are you going to do?” Lagna snapped.

“I don’t know. Just go!” I shouted.

“Beth…” Andi pleaded.

“Go with Lagna,” I said, softer now to Andi. “She’s my friend and she will keep you safe.”

Lagna gave a sharp nod.

“Move. Now.”

They ran out a back door, a servant’s entrance.

The D’ral were at the main doors, pounding hard enough to shake them from their hinges.

I drew my sword.

The room stank of blood, sweat, and something fouler. It clawed at my senses, dragging memories to the surface. My memories.

The feeling came again.

That pull.

That promise.

Let go.

Let the dark take it.

Let it end them.

This time…

I didn’t fight it.

I gave in.

The door burst open.

And the world went black.

But the D’ral did not enter a room with a woman.

They entered a room with something else entirely.

---

Chapter 10

I was running barefoot through a wildflower-covered hill.The late afternoon sun hung in the sky golden and warm. The tall grasses and flowers around me tickled my hands as I ran with my arms out. The ground beneath my feet was soft with moss and uneven in places I needed to balance myself. My older brother chased me. Calling out to me. The sounds were distant like a memory seen through a looking scope. The wind through the grass and the tall trees. The birds in their nests.

“Lyrra, I’m going to catch you,” Kaeleth laughed. “And when I do you are going to get squashed.”

I laughed. “Never Kael. I am too fast for you.”

My three younger sisters ran around us, giggling and following when they could keep up.

My mother was sitting nearby on a blanket, holding our baby brother. He watched from our mother’s lap, waving his chubby arms. My mother was beautiful. She wore a blue and gold dress, her long russet curls falling down her back, eyes bright as she laughed and called after us.

In those days, like most nights, the banquet hall was alive with warmth, family, villagers, and my father’s men. Fighters and nobles who would follow him anywhere.

I remembered my father well. He was tall, with golden hair, a short-cropped beard, and blue eyes that always looked tired, but kind. His voice was deep but soft, and he never raised it unless it truly mattered. That made it all the more powerful when he did.

That night, like many, I’d been eavesdropping.

After the feast, he gathered with his men in the study. A map was spread across the table. He was outlining a route. We moved often. For reasons I didn’t fully understand then.

He always said it was because our name held power, and that power is feared. But power, he told us, must be earned. Otherwise, it’s not power at all, just control and manipulation. Those who rule without earning it become tyrants. So desperate to hold onto power, they wield it in ways that scar the world.

Kael came up beside me as we peered through the cracked wooden door.

“If he catches us, he’ll belt us, you know that?” Kaeleth whispered.

“Then you should leave,” I replied.

He didn’t. He only smirked.

He was just as curious as I was, about the whispers, the plans, and why we had to uproot our lives every time the men did. We were always passed from one noble house to another, pretending to be distant relatives, staying only long enough to leave before questions caught up.

We watched as the men filed out, leaving our father alone.

“I know you’re there,” he said gently. “Come out.”

Kael and I looked at each other. He sighed, then stepped through first.

“How much did you hear?” our father asked, looking between us.

“We’re moving again?” I asked.

“We are,” he said, exhaling. “Come. Both of you.”

We stepped into the room, drawn toward the large table with the map. Its topography raised and carved. Many lords owned them, but ours felt older, worn, used.

He sat in his chair and pulled me into his lap so I could see. Kael rose on his toes beside us.

“This is the continent. A’Laes is our homeland. Or it used to be,” he said, his hand gliding over the southern lands. “When the old kings ruled, our house, the Quinniceiros, sat among those sworn to keep that realm safe.”

“Safe from what?” I asked.

“From the many peoples that reside in these realms. All sorts.”

“You mean like dwarves, goblins, and fairies?” Kael asked, incredulous. Our nursemaid filled our nights with such stories.

“Yes,” our father said. “But they are not called fairies. They are peoples. They do not go by such childish names. They call themselves by the names of old. The ones the Vel’ar gave them, long ago. Some were warriors, even great civilizations. Now most are slaves.”

“Slaves?”

“Yes. Enslaved by the Empire.”

“Because they are frightening?”

“Because they are feared. The Empire fears them, their beauty, their magic, their power. And what men fear, they seek to control and eventually destroy.”

He pointed to the map again. “All this land once belonged to them. Long before kings. Before men.”

​I stared at the map, wondering what it would look like if it had never been touched by greed or war.​

“Is that why we move so much?” Kael asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” our father said. “We believe peace is possible. That a better way of ruling is possible. One that sustains all the races of the continent.”

“We do?” Kael asked.

“We do,” our father confirmed. “We are part of a resistance. An alliance that moves quietly across these lands. Fighting the tyranny of the Empire. And because of that, we move.”

“We’re part of a rebel force?” Kael blinked. “Like the Raiths?”

We had heard the name whispered in many of the households we stayed in. Half myth, half threat.

“The very same,” our father said. He adjusted me on his knee and pointed further south. “This is the Southern Tower. If anything happens you find this tower.”

He traced a path with his finger. “Follow the River of Srven. Go to the village of Venereth. Hike the mountain called Trevern. It’s used as a lookout post. From the peak, you’ll see the tower. Go to the southern tower. Wait. Do not leave. Do you understand?”

Kael nodded, sharp and serious. Committing every word to memory.

“When someone comes,” he continued, “Kael, you go with them. Lyrra —” he turned to me “—you return to the village. Show the Warden Lord this.”

He placed a brooch in my hand, a lion over a sword, carved in old metal.

I furrowed my brow. Dread tightened my chest.

“I don’t want to be without you,” I whispered.

“If something happens,” he said gently, “he’ll take you in as his ward. See that you’re raised properly. Find you a husband. Keep you safe.”

​“Kael, do you understand?” he asked again.​

“Yes,” Kael said.

“Nothing is more important than keeping our bloodline alive,” our father said. “Lineage is everything in an age set on destroying all that is good and noble.”

We nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Now off to bed. Your mother will be cross we had this talk.”

As if summoned by his words, she entered, her blue gown catching the candlelight, gold embroidery shimmering.

She folded her arms. “Has your father been filling your heads with Eyrenian nonsense and rebellion again?”

“Yes,” Kael and I said in unison.

Our father grinned and ruffled Kael’s golden hair.

“Time for bed, both of you,” she said, waving us off.

We brushed past her, but paused just outside the door. We couldn’t help but listen.

There was an edge to their voices.

“We have to prepare,” my father said. “They’re circling. We can only run for so long.”

Their shadows flickered in the hallway, embracing.

“Promise me,” she murmured, “you’ll protect them. With everything you have.”

“You know I will.”

The next morning, our training began.

Swordsmanship. Archery. Hand-to-hand combat. His men taught us on the road, between houses.

The newest house felt wrong from the moment we arrived. Lord Tyres, the man who claimed to sponsor us, watched me every time I entered the room. His gaze crawled across my skin like I was something to be devoured.

I didn’t understand the feeling fully. But my heart raced, and my legs wanted to run.

I avoided him, kept my focus sharp and steady, on my blade, my breath, my survival.

But his wife was worse.

She looked at me like I was something to squash. Like she was jealous. Of what, I didn’t know. I was a child.

It was three months before his men came to my room and dragged me to his. And they came back. Every night. For months.

He told me if I told my father or any of his men, he’d inform the Empire where we were hiding. We’d all be slaughtered. I believed him.I feared him.I hated him.

I hated what he did to me. What it felt like.What it made me feel after. He said it was my fault, for being so beautiful. And I believed that, too.

So I fought harder. Trained harder. Buried the screams in sweat and steel. Kael did his best to keep up.

One day, after a mock skirmish with Father’s men, Kael came up beside me. I’d barely spoken in weeks.

“I know what he’s doing,” he said quietly.

“How?” I whispered.

“I followed them. Last night.”

My heart stopped.

“Tell Father,” he said.

“I can’t.” I shook my head. “He said if I did, he’d tell the Empire.”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “Then I will.”

I grabbed his arm, eyes wide. “You can’t. He’ll tell. And then where would we go?”

“Anywhere but here, Lyrra.”

He hugged me, and for the first time since Sir Tyres touched me, I broke. I wept.

Kael told our father.

The outrage that followed was unlike anything I’d ever seen from him.

He stormed into my room, eyes wild, scanning me like he could see where I’d been hurt.

“Lyrraveth, you should have told me.”

“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I was frightened. I am frightened.”

My mother appeared behind him, eyes already wet. She wrapped her arms around me and held me like I had died.

The shame inside me was deep and thick and rotting. I wanted to disappear.

There was a fight. A loud one.

Father loaded us into a carriage, Mother, me, Kael, my sisters, my baby brother. He sent guards with us.

I didn’t want to go. I cried.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please don’t leave us.”

“Lyrraveth, this is not your fault,” he said, holding my face in his hands. “You are strong. Braver than you know. But you are too young to carry this. What he did was wrong. And he will pay for his crimes.”

He looked at Kael and me.

“Go with your mother. Travel with Hast, Yrena, and Brack. I’ll meet you in Valos in Eastbarrow.”

“We’ll have to go through the Eyrenian timbre camps, Father,” Kael said, his voice laced with fear.

“You will. You have nothing to fear of the Eyrenian. Only of the empire, understand?” Father said. He kissed us both and placed us inside the carriage with Mother.

He kissed her, whispering something in Eyrenian I couldn’t understand. Their lips hadn’t parted before the wheels began to turn.

Mother stared back at him, eyes full of storm and sorrow.

We traveled for hours. I slept. I didn’t know how long we’d been moving before I woke.

The night was dark.

Outside, I heard the thunder of hooves. Rough voices. Steel clashing.

Mother grabbed us all and pulled us close. Her body shook.

“They’ve found us,” I whispered.

 She didn’t have to say it.

Kael looked at me. Guilt darkened his face. The same guilt sitting in my own chest like stone.

“Sir Tyres told them. Because I told Father. And now they are here,” Kael said.

I could hardly breathe. Ice slid through my veins. We might all die, right here.

The door of the carriage burst open. My mother screamed as they yanked her out, my baby brother in her arms. One of the soldiers tore him from her grip. He screamed, and then he didn’t.

Tears blurred my vision. My mother wailed, a sound that split the night in two.

Kael gripped a small dagger Father had given us. I reached for mine, hidden under my cloak.

They dragged my sisters out next, sobbing, crying.

Then they pulled my mother into a ditch. I could hear her screaming as the men tore at her skirts.

Kael and I were next. We kicked. Fought. But we were small. They were not.

I couldn’t see my sisters anymore. I couldn’t hear them. All I could hear was my mother.

And I knew what they were doing to her. What they planned to do to me.

No.No.NO.

One of them gripped me. Held me tight.

I palmed my dagger, aimed low, and sank it in. I dragged it down, where men are softest.

He howled.

Kael moved like lightning. Did the same to his captor.

The man’s grip on me broke and I screamed, “Run!”

That was all I could think about.

Not my sisters. Not my brother. Not even my mother.

Just survival.

We ran.

I tore through the forest, branches slashing my face. Roots grabbing at my feet. Kael was beside me, his breath ragged, footsteps pounding.

We ran and ran and ran. Until we couldn’t run anymore.

Until the sun rose.

We collapsed by a riverbank and drank, gasping.My lungs burned. My legs were useless.

I drank until I couldn’t anymore.

Then I cried.

I wailed, like my mother had.

Kael held me, silent tears streaming down his face.We didn’t speak. Just cried. Until we couldn’t cry anymore.

Staring at the water.

Eventually, we rose. Because we had to.

We started walking, through the woods.We had to find the nearest refuge. Figure out where we were.Make our way south.

To the Southern Tower.

It was our only chance now.

The only two living heirs left of the House of Qinnceiros.

I had no proof. No confirmation. No bodies. No final words.

But somewhere deep inside in the part of me that still believed in instinct over hope, I knew.

And Kael did, too.

They were all dead.

---

Chapter 11

I was in the dark again.

Submerged in it.

A part of it.

Or maybe it was a part of me.

I felt surrounded, like I was underwater, but there were no senses. No sound. No breath. No taste. No scent. No air.

Nothing.

It wasn’t silence.

It was the absence of everything.

I moved, or tried to. Reaching, pulling, searching for something solid. Something real. As if I could find the surface, break through, cling to the edge like this darkness was nothing more than a pond… a deep, black lake.

I screamed.

Nothing came out.

Use me, I thought. Help me. Don’t throw me into the dark, again. Please.

“You want an end to this?”

“I do.”

The moment the words formed. The void shattered.

I was there.

Standing at the edge of a turret.

The Warden Lord dangled in my grip, my hand locked around his throat. His boots kicked uselessly in the open air as he choked and struggled far above the ground.

I held him effortlessly.

My lungs filled with smoke rolling up from below. The air tasted of ash, blood, and death.

In the courtyard, Ghost Talon fought, cutting through a battalion of D’ral. I watched them with a strange detachment, like it meant nothing at all.

Then my gaze dropped back to the Warden Lord.

Whatever he saw in my eyes made him recoil as much as he could in my grasp, pleading, begging, shaking.

Fire raged below us, casting flickering orange and gold across the stone, like the stories of the deepest pits of Tahlmorren.

Screams echoed, men and women alike, as they scrambled to put out the flames. Ash drifted through the air, settling on my skin like falling snow.

The Lord whimpered.

A coward.

A coward who had condemned others to death. Who had taken. Who had watched. Who had allowed. Who had drawn swords and called it sacred.

The edges of my vision darkened.

The world pulsed.

Something vast and ancient surged through me. Black, endless, alive.

And it was answering.

“You…” I said, slow and deliberate, my voice layered with something darker than my own. “Did she beg? Did you listen… or did you ignore her and take what was not yours to claim?”

I tightened my grip as he stammered.

“It is the White Culling. It is ritual. Please have mercy. I was only…”

“Mercy. You don’t deserve mercy. You don’t get to beg.”

I held him out further, his feet dangling. Disappearing into the dark.

“Please,” he screamed. A wet, choking sound that tore through the night.

Below us, the courtyard erupted. More D’ral poured in from every direction. Soldiers from the town, from the barracks, even the taverns.

Clatter and movement erupted behind them at the gates.

Another force seemed to be storming the keep.

They wore dark armour, cloaked in black, faces hidden beneath masks and hoods. Powerful. Precise. They cut through the D’ral from the opposite side, blades flashing.

They dropped into formation as one.

Shields rose. Burning with blue flame and starlight, as if forged from the night sky itself.

Magicks rolled off them. Ancient. Deep.

I felt it.

And something inside me answered.

I let go of the Warden Lord. Watched him fall.

For a heartbeat, he dropped.

Shadows lashed out from the dark corners of the keep walls, catching him midair.

They coiled around him, snaring chains from the keep walls, wrapping him tight. The metal obeyed me, twisting and binding like living things. Serpents bending to my will.

He hung there, suspended.

Helpless.

I stepped off the turret.

The ground rushed up to meet me.

I hit hard.

Nothing broke.

A fall like that should have shattered every bon in my body. It should have killed me.

It barely pained me. I barely noticed my muscles, my bones. Any part of my body. But I moved with precision. With speed. With a fierceness that had I not been the one moving would have left me breathless to take in.

I fought every D’ral as they rushed me, steel clashing, bodies falling. Moving on to the next and the next. I flung them aside like they weighed nothing, left and right, cutting through them before my mind could even catch up.

I moved faster than thought.

Shadow, chains, steel. I commanded them all. They answered without hesitation.

I was a weapon.

Arcane energy tore through me, obscure and relentless, ripping into anyone who came too close. Nothing stood against it. Nothing survived it.

When the last of the D’ral fell, the newcomers closed in around me.

Vye’Raiths.

I saw the emblems etched into their armour and recognized the energy rolling off them. Vyeth. Eerynian. Tharn. Grothgyn. Orguhn. Drakari. Shuunai. Even a few men among them.

They called to one another, forming ranks, but their attention kept shifting to one man.

Their leader.

Tall. Dark-haired. Dark-eyed.

Power radiated from him, controlled and lethal. I had watched him cut through D’ral with ease, weaving magick into weapon and shield, striking down anyone who dared stand against him.

Now his sword was pointed at me.

His other hand twitched, ready to blast me into the wall behind me. I had watched him do exactly that to more than one D’ral.

A screech tore through the air above us. Sharp. Unmistakable.

Skaeryn.

The Raith riders’ beasts. Part bird, part animal, part dragon. Winged and weaponized.

A full battalion swept overhead, their wings thundering through the sky. Black, white, gold, and deep brown. Massive. Magnificent.

For a brief second, I looked up.

That was all it took.

The Vyre of Vye’Raiths lunged.

They came at me all at once, shouting, begging, commanding.

I didn’t recognize any of them.

I didn’t know if it was because I was trapped in this half-awake state, watching my body move on its own, wielding shadow like instinct… or if I wouldn’t have known them at all.

But they knew me.

“Lyrra, stop this. Now!” a blond male shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The words wouldn’t come. Not even if I tried.

I fought them all.

And they came at me.

Again and again.

Until their leader reached me.

He was stronger than I expected. Not just in brute force, but in skill and sheer mystical power. Controlled. Precise.

He slammed me back with a blast from both hands, then closed the distance, relentless, blade already moving.

Something in me welcomed it.

Something in me wanted to see what he could do.

Our swords clashed.

Shadow surged up around me, alive, eager to strike, but he met it head-on. Shields of power flared to life, forcing it back, breaking through with his own force of magicks.

He drove me back again and again, each strike heavier than the last. My body began to fail me, like it was fighting the dark power coursing through my veins.

“Stop,” someone said deep inside me. The voice was mine and it whispered in desperation. “Stop.”

I faltered.

The leader was shouting something, but I couldn’t hear it over the whispers in my own head. My body at war with the power it wielded.

Another blast hit me hard enough to send me crashing into a crumbling wall. Stone gave way and collapsed over me.

Shouts erupted all around us.

Before I could recover, he was on me.

He closed the distance in a single leap and pinned my wrists above my head.

The others followed.

Too many. Hands, weight, pressure. Holding me down.

Voices overlapped around me, urgent but controlled.

I arched, fought, screamed, clawed for purchase, but they held firm.

He held me.

“You’re mine,” the leader said, his voice deep and unyielding. “Do you hear me? You. Are. Mine.”

Then he reached for something at his belt. A wrapping. Cloth marked with old sigils.

He began to speak.

Ancient words.

Eerynian.

Understanding hit me like ice.

He was binding me.

Panic surged.

The darkness recoiled, loosening its grip as if the spell itself threatened it.

“Wait!” I screamed. “Andi. The girl. You have to help her. You have to keep her safe. Lagna took her. Ghost Talon.”

In that endless black hunger, I had forgotten her. Andi. The reason I was here.

All I had wanted was more. More blood. More ruin. More destruction. More vengeance.

“Lyrra,” the leader barked, his gaze locking onto mine.

Brown eyes were all I could see. Flecked with gold and black. Dark curls peeked out from beneath his hood, framing mahogany skin that caught the firelight. The lower half of his face was hidden behind a leather mask.

His eyes burned with something I couldn’t name.

Recognition, maybe.

My breath caught.

“Vel’ariin… be still,” he said.

Then.

“What have you done?”

“We will keep her safe,” another voice said. A woman. Red hair, tusks filed down. Tharn.

The Ghost Talon rushed toward us, Lagna at their head.

I searched for Andi, but I couldn’t see her.

The Raiths held me down as the leader finished the rite. The bindings tightened around my wrists, sealing into place.

The markings on his hands flared to life, glowing with a soft, effervescent blue.

He was Eerynian. But not only that. He was also Vyeth. Powerful.

I felt it in the way his magick settled, in the way the darkness inside me reacted.

And then the voice returned.

Low. Endless. Amused.

Laughing.

As the world began to slip away, something formed in the dark.

At first, it was only shadow. Then shape. Then something… more.

---

Chapter 12

A figure rose around me, built from the darkness itself. The shadows gathered, folding into something vast and terrible. He was towering, broad, and scarred, his presence suffocating. His form was wrapped in a hood of ragged shadow and torn black cloth that seemed to move without wind.

I couldn’t see his face.

There was nothing there but void.

Only two faint slits where eyes should be, glowing with a dim, unnatural light.

When he spoke, the sound vibrated through me. Not just in my ears, but in my bones, my blood, my breath.

“Lyrraveth… you tried to hide from me.”

His voice was slow, drawn out, like the growl of something ancient and starving.

“What… what are you?” I stammered, startled that my own voice still worked. “Who are you?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying me.

Measuring me.

Judging.

“Don’t you remember?” he asked.

There was anger in it. Cold and restrained, but unmistakable.

“What is happening to me?” I shouted. My voice echoed into the void, deep and hollow, shaking the space around us. It felt endless. A cavern without walls.

“You are of men,” he said.

His presence pressed in on me, immense and suffocating.

“I am of the shadows. The void.”

My mind struggled to understand. To hold onto anything solid.

“Only those born of great power, shaped by the stars and the earth, can bond with it.”

A pause.

“And through it… me.”

The words sank into me like weight. Like something trying to rewrite what I was.

None of it made sense to me.

I felt like I was unraveling under the truth of it.

“You’re…”

“I am Kyeir,” he said.

“The Dark One,” I whispered.

The translation came without thought. Instinct. Knowing.

His silence confirmed it.

He stood over me, unmoving, radiating a power so vast it felt endless. Like touching the origin of everything… and realizing it could erase you without effort.

I was shaking.

With fear.

With awe.

With both.

“How?” I asked, my voice unsteady. “How am I seeing you? How are you here?”

Somewhere far away, or maybe everywhere at once, I heard it.

Yelling. Movement.

Reality bleeding through.

“How is anything?” he replied. “The will of the Vel’ariin… as you call them.”

“But how are we… are we…”

I couldn’t finish the thought.

Though I couldn’t see his face, I felt it.

A smile.

“We are, Lyrraveth Qinniceiros.”

“My name?” I asked, small, uncertain.

He nodded once.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know all things,” he said. “Everything you are and are not.”

“Why don’t I?”

“Do you wish to?”

“Of course,” I said, the word breaking out of me.

“You tried to hide from me, Kierre. I am bound to you and you tried to hid and run.”

“Kierre?”

“Little dark one.”

The name settled over me, heavy and intimate.

“The power,” I whispered. “The power… it’s yours. It’s all yours.”

He inclined his head.

“Show me,” I said. “Show me how we—”

“Became as one?”

“Yes.”

He reached toward me.

His hand was wrong. Too long. Too sharp. His fingers ended in talons like a Skaeryn, black and gleaming. His form did not touch the ground, but hovered in a shifting cloud of shadow and darkness.

Slowly, deliberately, he brought one clawed finger to my forehead.

The moment it touched me, everything shattered.

I was thrown into it.

A nightmare.

A dream.

A memory.

I gasped, dragging in a breath like I had been drowning. And finally broke the surface.

---

Chapter 13

The ground was nothing but dust and rock as I followed the narrow trail toward the Druhellen crystal and gem mines in the northern reaches of Xolaria.

Four others trailed behind me. Jorraine, my Shadow Sword and second. Zayha and Jinso.

“So much damned dust,” Jorraine muttered, slapping his gloved hands against his black leather. His dark hair was pulled into long braids down his back, the wooden beads at the ends clicking softly with each step. His sharp gaze swept across the mines, missing nothing.

The Druhellen workers laboured in the pits, pushing wheelbarrows heavy with stone, driving pickaxes into towering walls of crystal-veined rock. They were shorter than men, but just as sturdy. Just as proud. Some wore long, braided beards, their limbs marked with intricate, swirling patterns etched into their skin.

The females worked beside the males, no less relentless. Tunics, leggings, boots, and long braids streaked with dust. Their skin ranged from pale as birch bark to deep onyx, catching the light of the fractured crystals around them.

I drew in a slow breath as we moved deeper into the camp, heading toward the far end.

Toward their leader.

“They’ve uncovered something?” Zayha asked.

I let out a long, measured breath.

“No. They sensed something deep below. The Druhellen perform an ancient rite before they break ground, even in the camps. It’s called Stone Calling. They went as far down as the caverns would allow, and when they performed the rite…”

I trailed off, going still as I became aware of it.

Everyone in the camp had turned toward the forest. All work had ceased.

Watching. In our direction.

Like they could see us. Like we weren’t just ghosts in the hidden corners behind trees.

“What?” Zahya pressed. Her long, pointed ears were lined with rings and piercings, her white curls pulled tight into a sleek bun that stood in stark contrast to her ochre skin.

Jinso adjusted his half-bun, tightening it as he spoke for me. “My guess? The mountain answered. Told them it was a no-go.”

“Empire must’ve loved that,” Jorraine said with a snicker. “I’m sure their response was tough luck, mudkins.”

“Don’t call them that. It’s derogatory,” I said adjusting the sword at my hip.

Jorraine arched a brow.

“We need them to tell us what they know,” I continued. “Arkyn is certain there’s something ancient here. We’ll need their trust. That starts with respecting them.”

Zahya huffed softly. “Lyrra, you’re the only one of us born of men. We get it. And Jor, stop being such a cheeky bastard all the damn time.”

Jorraine smirked and shrugged. “Never.”

I let out a quiet breath and shook my head. “Fair. I tend to overcompensate for that exact reason.”

“It’s one of your more redeemable qualities,” Jinsu said, throwing an arm around me.

“That, and you always have the best bannock,” Jor added with a chuckle. “Every time we go on a flare, I raid your stash.”

I laughed softly. “That’s because one of the Watchers has a crush on me and saves me the good ones.”

Zahya rolled her eyes. “I know who you’re talking about. She’s sweet. Maeve’s been making her interest very clear. Nimra, right?”

“That’s the one,” I said. “She is sweet. Lovely. Too innocent for Maeve.”

“When has that ever stopped her?” Jor threw up his hands up.

“It hasn’t. She’s wild, that one.” I shook my head.

“Most Tharns are,” Zahya added.

We kept walking.

We reached a cluster of canvas tents and slipped in through the back.

“Orun alive,” a voice called. “I thought you were some lost beasts.”

“Not far off,” Jorraine replied, folding his arms.

I pulled back my hood, letting my long braids fall free, blonde, and bright as sunlight in the dim space.

A Druhellen woman approached, brown eyes wide with quiet awe. She reached out and gently tugged a strand of my hair.

“Tharas… that’s real? It’s like spun sunlight.”

I tilted my head slightly. “Yes.” I offered a tight-lipped smile. “I’m Lyrraveth. Warden of the Black Wake 4th Vyres of the Ascended Legion of the Vye’Raith.”

“I’m Haletha,” she said.

Her voice was calm, assured. She had long, dark hair that fell in thick waves down her back, and she wore a slate-blue dress that marked her apart from the labourers outside. She was no more than four feet, curvy and muscular all at once. She had markings up her neck and long her hairline, like a crown.

“I am a Child of Druhellen,” she continued, “and matriarch of one of the oldest lines in existence, Edrin. My father’s father’s father’s once ruled the lands in the north known now as Xolari.”

She gestured beside her.

“This is my husband, Theryx.”

Theryx.

The name settled in my mind. He was the one we had come to see.

But as I studied them, it was clear.

Haletha was the true authority here.

The Empire imposed its laws on inheritance and power, stripping women of title and rule across these lands.

But some truths ran deeper than an empire.

And this camp still answered to her.

Theryx was a portly male, no taller than my waist, pushed himself up from his thick wooden chair, carved with ruins, sigils and markings. He wore a blue linen tunic, brown tights, and thick leather boots, with a worn leather vest and a belt cluttered with more pouches than I could count. A pickaxe hung at one side, a small axe at the other. His brown hair was streaked with grey, his face ruddy and dusted with earth.

“Did Arkyn send you?”

“He did,” I said. “We’ve come to see if the whispers in camp are true.”

“What did the mountain say?” Jinsu asked.

Theryx turned to him slowly, incredulity plain across his broad, weathered face.

Haletha let out a low chuckle.

“What did it say?” Theryx repeated. “It’s a pile of rock. What do you mean, what did it say?” He huffed.

“We don’t speak to rocks,” Haletha said, her voice soft but firm.

“Thick as inglots,” Theryx muttered under his breath.

Jinsu let out a sharp breath.

“We call to our ancestors,” Haletha continued. “Same as the Eerynian, the Vyeth.”

“The Shuunai believe everything has life, essence, energy. Even rocks. We pay homage to them all and listen in stillness to their teachings,” Jinsu said calmly.

Haletha inclined her head in acknowledgment.

Theryx shook his head, still muttering.

“No offense was meant,” I said quickly, keeping my tone even.

“Direct your ire towards me,” I added. “I’m their superior officer.”

“You. You’re of me. Leading a Vyeth, an Eerynian and a Shuunai Warrior.”

“She earned her rank,” Zahya shot back, gripping the pommel of the sword at her hip, tightly.

Haletha looked me up and down, as if measuring my soul.

“I’m sure I have my own misrepresentations of men,” she said, clipped.

I gave a tight-lipped smile. “Few of those are misrepresentations. Unfortunately.”

“Hm.” Haletha hummed, considering my words. Then she continued.

“The ancestors bless the dig. Guide our hands. In this case, they sent a clear warning. Do not go too deep.”

“Why?” I asked.

“We don’t know,” she said. “But whatever lies beneath… it is old. Ancient, even.”

I let out a slow breath.

“We need you to take us to the site of the rite,” I said.