The keep fell silent once more as the messenger entered—eyes wide, chest heaving, nearly out of breath.
"My greetings, Your Graces," he panted, bowing deeply. His trembling hands extended forward, offering a sealed letter.
"And from whom do you bring word?" asked the eldest of the Vanguards, his voice a weathered rasp that echoed through the cold, stone chamber.
"Garrik Veymar, Your Grace," the messenger replied, his voice tight with unease.
The mere utterance of that name sent a ripple through the hall. Whispers died on lips. Tension coiled in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst. Garrik Veymar—the hunter who was both legend and thorn. Revered by the people, yet a relentless agitator in the eyes of the Vanguards. He had never feared challenging their decrees, never hesitated to call out folly when he saw it.
He was no ordinary man. Garrik had long earned his place among the guild's most fabled. A hunter of mythic renown, he was beloved by the common folk for his humility, bravery, and unshakable moral compass. He wielded one of the few legendary weapons—Ripper's Claw. Whispers among hunters claimed the weapon had chosen him, not the other way around, as was tradition. And there were stories, spoken with awe, of his nearly inhuman strength and the impossible feats he had accomplished in his prime.
Despite all he had to boast of, Garrik never let it touch his soul. He would often disappear from the soaring sanctum of Celestis Rise to wander the wild woods and share bread and laughter with villagers. That's how he met Mirelda—Kael's mother. A radiant, graceful woman with long mahogany hair that shimmered like satin, eyes the color of ocean depths, and a smile warm enough to thaw even the cruelest winter. It was no mystery why Garrik had chosen her.
But above all else, Garrik Veymar was a man of honor—unyielding, steadfast, and fiercely loyal to the hunter's code. His legacy was carved into the very bones of the guild—indelible, immortal.
And then… he vanished.
No warning. No message. Not even Mirelda or his son knew why—or where—he had gone. The guild, though shaken, did not search. Garrik was unlike any other. If anyone could survive alone, it was him.
"Garrik Veymar disappeared without a trace," one of the Vanguards to the right said, his voice thick with doubt. "And now you claim he's sent word?"
"It's no trick, Your Graces," the messenger insisted, flipping the letter to reveal the sigil stamped into the wax—a scorched wooden crest bearing Garrik's unmistakable mark.
"See for yourselves. It's his seal."
The room fell silent again as the Vanguards leaned in to examine it—grim expressions etched into their weathered faces. Slowly, reluctantly, they acknowledged the seal's authenticity with subtle nods.
The eldest Vanguard raised a hand, signaling the messenger to proceed.
He cleared his throat and read aloud:
---
To the Twelve Vanguards of Celestis Rise,
The Fractalis calls for the Harbinger. I believe he intends to escape Umbra's End through its power. There are sightings—destructive reports—of a new breed of Fallen terrorizing the north and west.
I warned you of signs like these before, but your arrogant, ignorant arses dismissed me.
I no longer possess the Fractalis. The Harbinger hunts me now. And by the time you receive this, I may already be on my way to Umbra's End—to face the darkness myself.
Perhaps to stop it.
—Garrik Veymar.
---
The words hung in the air like a suspended blade, ready to fall.
No one moved.
They all knew Garrik. Knew what kind of man he was. This was no bluff.
Witnesses had seen a figure resembling Garrik—massive shoulders like a statue carved from living bronze, his chocolate-brown skin gleaming beneath the sun, muscles rippling with each measured movement. His tousled brown hair framed a chiseled jawline, and a pair of abnormally long canines hinted at something more than human. His eyes—deep, dark, intense—scanned every shadow with a predator's calm. Strapped across his back had been a sword unlike any other, its golden hilt glinting with ancient symbols, whispering secrets of power long forgotten.
And he was holding the Fractalis.
A hunt party had been dispatched to retrieve it—but this letter confirmed what many feared. It was him.
"What is he thinking, going to Umbra's End alone?" one voice murmured.
"I say we send a party after him," another suggested, urgency edging into their tone.
"No. That is not necessary," the eldest Vanguard interjected, his voice low and firm. "The Harbinger was defeated and sealed within Umbra's End during the Battle of the End. We all witnessed it. We fought in that battle." His eyes swept over them. "Right now, our focus must remain on retrieving the Fractalis."
"Agreed. This news must not leave this chamber. We cannot risk throwing Celestis—or the rest of the world—into panic."
"Burn the letter," commanded one of the Vanguards on the right, gesturing to the torch beside the messenger.
"Yes, Your Grace," the messenger said, stepping forward.
All eyes watched as the parchment curled, blackened, and crumbled to ash in the flame.
The messenger was dismissed, and the Vanguards began to retreat to their chambers, their robes rustling like whispers through the dim hall.
As they exited, a voice called out, quiet but firm. "Eldrin."
The eldest Vanguard paused and turned. "What is it, Thadeus?"
"Don't you think Garrik's words deserve consideration?" Thadeus asked softly, a shadow of worry in his gaze. "He may be stubborn, but his honor is beyond question. You know that. Do you truly believe he'd lie about something like this?"
Eldrin's expression hardened. "Do away with such thoughts. You defend the honor of a man who vanished without a word, then reappears only to be accused of stealing what holds the balance of this world. You speak of honor—then tell me, where was the honor in that?"
Thadeus said nothing. His heart was heavy with doubt and dread, but he simply lowered his eyes and whispered, "None."
He turned and made his way to his quarters in silence.
And so, the Vanguards—proud, stubborn, blind—dismissed the warning of a man forged in fire, a man whose honor had once been the guild's very compass.
But in time, their ignorance would bear fruit.
And the harvest would be their undoing.