The forest road was dappled in golden light, sun filtering down through the canopy in flickering patches. The group moved at a steady pace, the morning quiet, but not unpleasant.

  Belladonna rode just ahead, her borrowed horse far too large for her, but obedient nonetheless, ears twitching at every sound. Anders rode beside her, boots swinging slightly out of the stirrups, posture lazy but alert. He was talking—rapid, animated, hands moving far too much for someone meant to be holding reins.

  “I’m telling you,” he grinned, “it was definitely your turn to take kitchen duty. You just gave me that smile and skipped away like a ghost.”

  “I did no such thing,” Bella gasped, covering her mouth with exaggerated innocence. “You’re making things up again.”

  “I saw you!” The mage said, turning in his saddle dramatically. “You vanished. No sound. Nothing. One second you were there, next second—poof.”

  Belladonna giggled, her entire posture bouncing with laughter. “That’s not a lie, technically. I am very good at poofing.”

  Sol, trailing just behind them on his Velmari, cut in languidly.

  “She also disappeared during dishes, laundry, bandage folding, and patrol duty. I’ve been keeping score.”

  “Traitor!” She gasped at him, clutching her chest. “I thought I was your favorite!”

  Solferen tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “You were. But then Anders learned to make that spicy stew and stopped flooding the kitchen… Until yesterday.”

  “Only one time!” Anders cried, indignant. “I didn’t know potatoes float like that.”

  Bella’s laughter echoed through the trees again, light and bright—almost too bright for the woods around them.

  Caelus watched all this with a mixture of confusion and—well. He didn’t know what it was. It was too familiar. Too warm. They spoke like siblings. Moved like they belonged to each other.

  Sol didn’t speak much, but every glance he cast their way was lined with something gentle. Something fond. Parental.

  It was strange.

  These people were criminals. Mercenaries. Traitors to the crown. And yet… they laughed as children in spring. Like a family. They fit—in a way that made Caelus feel like a stranger in his own mission.

  As if he was third-wheeling in a story that had already moved on without him.

  Cael looked away.

  The forest, which had once felt alive and vibrant, felt quieter. The kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

  No birdsong. No distant rustle. Even the wind seemed to avoid them.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  Off.

  Something was off.

  But before he could speak—

  A shriek from above.

  A blur of movement. Something dark dropped from the trees, clawed and screeching—hurtling straight at Caelus like a missile of fangs and shadow.

  His horse reared with a wild cry.

  Cael barely had time to raise an arm before it was intercepted.

  THWACK.

  A monstrous jaw snapped shut around the thing mid-air.

  The not-horse crushed it in its teeth with a sickening crunch. Right in front of the knight.

  Blood splattered across the leaves.

  The corpse dropped to the ground with a wet thud—a mangled heap of sinew and scale, its limbs twisted in unnatural directions.

  The not-horse licked its lips. Loudly.

  Then, as though nothing had happened, it bent its head and tore off a chunk of meat with a satisfied grunt.

  Caelus stared, wide-eyed.

  Sol, without missing a beat, gave the creature an affectionate pat.

  “Good boy.”

  The beast crunched happily, tail swishing as if it had just done a fine job of retrieving a stick.

  Caelus stared at him like he’d gone mad. “What in the Pit was that?!”

  “Imp.” Sol replied casually. “They usually don’t come this close to this path.”

  Belladonna’s brows furrowed.

  “It’s… not right,” she murmured. “The forest doesn’t feel right today. Like it’s holding its breath.”

  Anders looked around warily, suddenly much less cheerful. “Yeah, I noticed that too. It's too quiet. Even Chunk is nowhere to be seen.”

  Sol's expression darkened ever so slightly.

  “Eyes sharp,” he said, low and steady. “No more fooling around.”

  The mood shifted.

  The laughter from earlier was gone.

  Bella adjusted her posture. Anders drew closer to her side. Even the not-horse seemed to walk more alert, ears flicking back and forth.

  And Caelus, still shaken from the attack, took a deep breath.

  He felt it now, deep in his bones.

  But there was nothing he could do but to ride on.

  Farrowstead lay on the eastern edge of the Blightreach. Its farmlands stretched long and golden toward the Veil Breaker—the Northeast Tower of Magi.

  Solferen dismounted first, giving his beast a loving pat before leaving it to rest in the forest’s shade. The rest of the party dismounted at the town stables, flipping a few coins to the stablemaster.

  Bella looked around with wide-eyed wonder, like someone who’d never stepped outside before—let alone into a town.

  The moment she got the chance, she clung to Sol’s arm, eyes gleaming, smile radiant.

  “Do you think you can buy me a new dress?!” She tugged at him as a spoiled child. “Pretty please!”

  “I don’t see why not.” He chuckled.

  Anders, clearly offended, stomped up on the other side and grabbed Sol’s other arm.

  “What about me?! I want new stuff too!”

  Caelus just stared.

  Two bright-eyed blondes—apparently adults—were latched onto either side of one overgrown, smirking elf, looking up at him like he hung the moons.

  And Cael was so impossibly tired of this idiocy.

  “Excuse me?!” He barked. “Why are you treating a mission like a family outing?!”

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  Both blondes froze, mid-tug, brows raised in perfect synchrony.

  Sol turned toward him, and the grin was already there. Menacing.

  Cael regretted opening his mouth.

  “What’s wrong, darling?” Sol purred. “You want something too? Say the word—I’ll buy out the entire market if it’ll make you smile.”

  Caelus groaned, pressing both palms to his temples.

  Maybe if he squeezed hard enough, this entire nightmare would pop like a blister.

  “Papa, mom’s angry again!” Anders stage-whispered, loud enough for half the town to hear.

  Bella suddenly appeared beside the templar, linking her arm with his like she owned it.

  “Come on, Our Lady of Glaring!” She beamed. “We have to pass through the market anyway! It’ll be quick, I promise!”

  Before he could protest, she was dragging him along—much stronger than someone her size had any right to be.

  Sol and Anders were already ahead, plotting mischief.

  The Mercenary King let them both run wild like unruly children, indulging every whim, every shiny impulse.

  But he stayed close to Caelus—always just a step behind, as some kind of bodyguard.

  The market trip was a blur of noise, fabric, haggling, and mayhem.

  Bella tried on every dress in sight, twirling in circles and asking Solferen for his opinion.

  Anders discovered fruit stands and immediately began an unofficial competition to sample everything.

  The knight, meanwhile, walked like a man being marched to his execution.

  He was boiling.

  They were almost done.

  Almost.

  He was already fantasizing about riding out of this clown parade and never stepping foot in a market again when Sol suddenly grabbed his arm. Hard enough to halt him mid-step.

  “What?!” Caelus barked, already regretting asking.

  Solferen didn’t answer.

  He dragged him—not gently—toward a small jewelry stand near the edge of the market. Rows of silver and bronze trinkets glinted in the light. Earrings, rings, studs, cuffs. All hand-carved, some decorated with dull gems.

  Sol hovered.

  He picked up one earring.

  Turned to Caelus.

  Looked him in the face.

  Turned back. Picked another.

  Turned to Caelus again.

  Stared.

  Cael’s brow twitched.

  “What are you doing?” He hissed, stiffening.

  No answer.

  Sol selected a third earring—this one longer, etched with twisting lines—and turned to face the knight.

  Then looked him dead in the eye again. Deadpan.

  Caelus grit his teeth. “Do you have brain damage?”

  Sol just smiled vaguely. The merchant stared at them as if they were a very slow-moving, very dramatic couple.

  Finally, the Mercenary King made his choice. A thin, curved silver piece with a steel-blue gem at the center.

  He paid and walked off without a word.

  Cael turned to leave—only to see Solferen sit down on a nearby bench, pull out a small blade, and casually pierce his own ear right there in the middle of the godsdamn square.

  “Oh my God.” Cael looked away. “You’re an animal.”

  Sol pressed a cloth against the blood, then slid the earring in smoothly, completely unfazed.

  Right then, Bella passed by, holding a small bag of candied nuts.

  “Ohh!” She cooed. “New decoration?”

  Sol tilted his head, the silver catching sunlight.

  “It matches Cael’s eyes perfectly.” She exclaimed happily.

  Caelus ceased living. Every nerve in his body ignited.

  He turned slowly. “I beg your pardon?!”

  Bella was already walking away, happily munching.

  Sol said nothing. Just smiled. Quiet. Satisfied. A man who had just won something Caelus couldn’t name.

  He didn’t say she was right.

  But he didn’t deny it either.

  Cael stared at the new earring, still glinting in Sol’s ear. His heart skipped a beat—then hit harder to make up for it.

  He looked closer.

  There were more.

  So many more.

  A simple gold ring. An intricate cuff. A sharp-edged silver design with a hanging turquoise opal. A fang. At least eight in total, scattered across both ears—each one different, mismatched, collected.

  Trophies.

  He stared at them.

  And for the first time, his brain—already hanging by a thread—connected the dots in the worst possible way.

  What if each one meant something?

  A soul claimed. A kill. A mind tormented. A humiliation ritual. A trophy taken every time he shattered someone’s dignity and walked away smiling.

  His breath stilled.

  He was the latest addition to that collection.

  He was the blue stone.

  His pulse pounded in his ears. One hand twitched. He clenched it to stop the trembling.

  “...No,” Cael muttered to himself, stepping back.

  Sol looked at him—just once, sideways—and smirked. “What? I thought it was pretty.”

  Caelus didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself to.

  The realization clung like oil, thick and hard to scrub off. He tore his gaze away from Sol’s earrings, from the quiet smile that meant everything and nothing, and pretended the thundering in his chest was just leftover adrenaline.

  A bell rang somewhere in the market. The crowd shifted, voices rising. The moment passed.

  Sun tilted westward, casting long golden shadows as the party regrouped by the edge of the square. Caelus had managed to escape most of the damage, until Sol handed him a small pouch he definitely didn’t ask for.

  “What now?” Cael asked, dry as ash, arms crossed.

  Solferen smiled innocently. “I got you something.”

  The knight blinked. “Why.”

  “Because I’m thoughtful.” The smile grew wider.

  “You’re insufferable.” Caelus corrected.

  Sol didn’t protest. Held the pouch out, expectant.

  With a groan, the knight snatched it from his hand—and opened it.

  Inside, nestled against soft cloth…

  A silver earring, long and sharp-edged, matching the one Sol wore.

  A brooch, shaped like sun. Suspiciously similar to the symbol of Aurenos, but… older. Elvish.

  Caelus stared.

  “What,” he said flatly, “is this madness?”

  “A keepsake,” Sol said, utterly serious. “So you don’t forget me when you leave.”

  Cael looked up, face the very picture of exasperation.

  “Forget you?” He snapped, voice dripping with disgust. “You humiliate me, insult me, nearly drowned me, and you make me question my own sanity at least ten times a day since we met. I could burn this memory from my mind a hundred times and you’d still be there—rotting in the back of my skull like a curse I can’t scrape out.”

  The Mercenary King looked like he’d just received the best flirt line of his life.

  “Good.” He purred, content. “Then the keepsake’s working.”

  The sincerity in his voice made it worse. He seemingly, truly believed Cael would want to remember him. Like he expected to be remembered.

  No one had a right to sound so heartfelt while being so utterly insane.

  Caelus was sure his face betrayed his repugnance.

  He rolled his eyes, shaking it off. Barely.

  “And this?” He held up the earring like it was cursed.

  “That’s mine. Well—its pair.” Sol tapped his own ear, the glint catching sunlight.

  The rest of his mismatched ensemble chimed softly.

  “Right. Psycho.” Caelus narrowed his eyes. “I’m selling it.”

  “You won’t,” Sol said with a smug little tilt of his head.

  Cael stuffed it deep into his pack, vowing to sell it the moment he was done with this mess.

  The nerve of that man. The way he said it with such certainty. Like it was some twisted game only he understood. Like he already knew he wouldn’t be able to let it go.

  Yeah, sure. Not in this lifetime.

  He refused to acknowledge the fact that this was the first gift someone gave him since he was a child.

  Cael took a breath. A long one. Counted to three.

  Didn’t help.

  Because Sol had the audacity to whistle.

  “Everyone got what they needed?” He called, in that tone that made Caelus want to commit crimes in broad daylight.

  Bella bounced over, her arms full of unnecessary trinkets and suspiciously shiny candies. “Oh! Oh! Did you hear? There’s gossip going around!” She chirped, eyes wide with excitement.

  “More gossip?” Anders groaned. “The last one was about a tree that screamed.”

  “It did scream,” Bella insisted, deadly serious. “But this one’s better.”

  She leaned in, eyes wide. “There’s an orc woman traveling the roads, who’s been picking fights with anyone that looks at her wrong! They say she carries a sword bigger than most grown men, and one guy tried to flirt with her and she broke his nose with a pumpkin.”

  “A pumpkin?” Anders laughed.

  “She was holding it at the time,” she said with a dainty shrug. “Seemed efficient.”

  Anders barked another laugh. “Gods, I hope that part’s true.”

  “She’s been scaring travelers, apparently,” Bella continued. “They say she’s terrifying. Half the merchants think she’s cursed. One lady swore she was foaming at the mouth.”

  “Sounds like my kind of girl,” Sol muttered under his breath, grinning.

  Caelus paled, horrified. “You’re joking.”

  They treated it like harmless gossip, but his unease built with every word.

  An aggressive orc. Wandering. Unprovoked. Picking fights. That was no idle tavern tale to him—it was a warning. He’d fought orcs before. Not many, but enough to know it was nothing to laugh about. Their culture thrived on glory through violence. Strength through chaos. He had seen what they could do, and it wasn’t all fun and games.

  And if the rumors were true… they were heading straight into her territory.

  “We’re here for the farmland mission,” he muttered, almost to himself. “We’re supposed to gather information. Return to the Pope. Not… get pulled into savagery.”

  “Don’t worry,” Anders said cheerfully. “If she tries to gut you, I’ll tell her you’re not worth the effort.”

  “Comforting,” Cael deadpanned.

  Sol, walking ahead, either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

  They passed through the last scattered homes before the wilderness resumed. At a bend in the road, a small group of villagers whispered nearby, eyes nervously glancing toward the horizon.

  Whatever fate had planned…

  Caelus had a sinking feeling it was about to begin.