The door creaked open, spilling rain-speckled shadows into the hearth-lit common room. Fenrik looked up from his mug of steaming barkroot brew. Galvir, seated beside him with his boots kicked up on a stool, paused mid-chuckle at some crude tavern story.
Both went silent.
Adrien stepped through first. His coat was torn at the shoulder, edges darkened with blood both dried and fresh. His left sleeve was missing entirely, revealing bruises and a strange scorched marking trailing down his arm like ink running from a broken quill. Damien limped in behind him, a bandage wrapped around his midsection, cloak heavy with mountain mist.
Between them padded Nyxaris, fur darker than ever, faintly rippling with shadow. His crimson eyes glowed low, flickering with tired alertness. A faint scar marked his flank — fresh, angry, and not yet healed.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Fenrik stood, slow and deliberate.
"Well... that's a look I haven't seen since I stepped into the Blighted Gorge. Sit down before you collapse, both of you."
Adrien offered a tired grin, "Glad to see someone missed us."
Galvir leaned forward, inspecting them. "What the hell did you fight? A dragon nesting in a volcano?"
Adrien dropped into a chair, Nyxaris curling near the hearth. Damien groaned and slumped beside him.
"No dragon," Adrien muttered, staring into the flames. "Worse."
Fenrik poured them mugs from the kettle. "Talk."
Damien wiped sweat from his brow and leaned back. "Mount Grimhollow wasn't what the system described. Not exactly."
Adrien's gaze sharpened. "It was a realm. A sealed place — something ancient and... wrong."
He hesitated, then continued.
"First day, we were chased by shadow panthers. Alpha-class variant. Had to split. I sent Nyxaris to draw them off while we climbed. He didn't make it out."
Fenrik's eyes narrowed, shifting briefly to the now-living Nyxaris by the fire.
"I got better," the wolf muttered lowly, voice like mist on stone.
Galvir blinked. "The beast talks?"
Adrien just gave him a tired smirk.
"Second day," Damien picked up, "we ran into something... flying. Looked like a cross between a bird and a nightmare. Shadow Blood Eagle, Adrien called it. It tore through everything we threw at it."
"We weren't alone either," Adrien added. "There was a man. Big, old, and... not human. He helped us. But when he transformed to finish the eagle—" He clenched his jaw. "He broke something."
"A seal," Damien confirmed. "When it cracked, something exploded out. System didn't wait. It force-pulled us out before the whole place went to hell. We woke up in the Asheveil Desert."
Silence stretched.
The fire crackled louder than before.
Galvir exhaled. "That... that sounds like the kind of story I'd laugh at drunk and punch someone for sober."
Fenrik remained still, watching Adrien closely. "You said seal. What was it holding?"
Adrien shook his head. "Didn't get to find out. But whatever it was... it wasn't supposed to wake up."
Nyxaris opened one eye from the floor. "It remembered me."
That silenced the table again.
Galvir downed the rest of his drink. "You two need a week's sleep, maybe a divine cleanse, and possibly a therapist."
Adrien chuckled, then winced. "We'll settle for a warm meal."
Fenrik finally sat back. "One day, you're going to tell me everything about that mountain. But tonight? You survived. That's enough."
Damien raised his mug, half-smiling. "To surviving."
Adrien clinked his against it. "To not doing that again."
They drank. The fire danced. Outside, the rain deepened.
And somewhere beneath the hearth's gentle warmth, unseen by most, shadow coiled softly around Adrien's wrist, pulsing like a heartbeat — unseen but awake.
The warm glow of the hearth was gone in an instant.
The door exploded inward, shattered wood flying like daggers across the room. A concussive boom followed, flattening the tables, overturning chairs. Flames licked the walls, dancing from enchanted torches as the cold night air was sucked in like a beast gasping for breath.
Adrien was on his feet before the sound faded, hand on blade. Fenrik and Galvir drew steel beside him, and Nyxaris materialized from shadow, growling deep.
Through the splintered frame stepped a figure in black and silver plate — the Captain of the Duke's Guard, a tall woman with short-cropped silver hair and pale gray eyes that crackled with power. Around her followed nearly a dozen armored knights, each bearing the sigil of Dawnfire's sunburst crest.
"Adrien of Ashvale," the captain called. Her voice was calm — too calm. "By order of Duke Evermoon, you are hereby—"
"Don't care," Adrien snapped, shadows pooling at his feet.
"You've made a mistake," Fenrik growled, stepping forward.
"You made it first," she said. "Kill them all."
The room erupted.
Two guards surged at Adrien. His blade sang, shadow lashing from its edge. They were fast — trained — but he was faster. He ducked under one, spun low, and slashed the other across the hamstrings. A shockwave burst from the strike, cracking the stone floor, and the man screamed as blood misted the air.
Galvir threw a blast of bluefire, catching one knight mid-charge and igniting his armor. The man crashed through the wall like a comet, screaming.
But it was Damien who caught the captain.
"You picked the wrong damn inn!" he roared, surging forward, sword blazing with pure mana.
N/C: I might switch between essence and mana. Please forgive. Still working on it.
She met his swing with a tempest-coated greatsword, the collision exploding outward in a shockwave so massive it blew out all the windows in the block. Glass, brick, and flame spiraled into the night air.
They clashed again.
And again.
Each strike thundered like a god's drumbeat.
Adrien blinked into position behind a knight, slitting his throat before vanishing again, weaving between bodies and broken beams. Fenrik hurled a spear of bone, impaling two at once.
"Nyxaris—guard Damien!" Adrien barked.
But Damien didn't need guarding. Not yet.
His eyes glowed bright gold, veins flickering with light as he pushed his limits, drawing more and more from his system. His muscles tore and healed with every breath.
The captain gritted her teeth, blood on her chin. Her next strike sent Damien skidding backward, boots carving a trench in the cobblestone. He coughed—then grinned.
"Getting tired, Lady Wind?"
"You don't know tired," she hissed, spinning in a cyclone of wind.
They collided again. Buildings cracked from the shock. The inn collapsed behind them. Civilians screamed in the distance.
"We need to fall back!" Fenrik shouted, already dragging Galvir toward the alley.
But Damien didn't move.
His sword was glowing white-hot now. Burning.
He lunged one last time, all power pushed into a single blow—
And she was faster.
Her blade swept in a wild arc, catching his side, ripping through armor, flesh, and bone. A spray of blood, hot and red, arced across the square. His body crashed into the cobblestones, unmoving.
"Damien!" Adrien's voice cracked.
He moved without thinking, blinking through shadow, appearing beside Damien's fallen form. His hands pressed against the wound, but there was too much. Too much blood. Too little time.
"Hey…" Damien whispered, smiling weakly.
"Don't—don't say anything," Adrien snarled. "We'll fix this. You're not—"
"I beat her," Damien chuckled, blood in his teeth. "Even if... she swung last."
Adrien's hand trembled.
Then Damien's light flickered out.
Something inside Adrien snapped.
The air darkened. Even the moonlight dimmed.
Nyxaris howled, a sound more ancient than the wind.
The captain took a step back. "No…"
Adrien rose, shadows crawling up his arms like living things. His eyes were not human now — not entirely.
"You took my friend."
His voice was calm. Dead calm.
"I'll take your damn city."