Devon's world was a blur of chaos and menace. Small, horned dwarves with gnarled faces and glinting eyes swarmed around him, their claws scraping against the earth. Their guttural snarls filled the air as they closed in, a suffocating circle of malice. Devon swung his blade with desperate strength, each strike meeting resistance as the creatures lunged, their horns gleaming under a sickly, flickering light. Sweat stung his eyes, and his heart pounded like a war drum in his chest.
From above, a soft, ethereal voice pierced the din—a girl's voice, calm yet urgent, drifting from a radiant glow. "Follow the path unsure that lies ahead."
"Which path?" Devon screamed, his voice raw with panic as he parried a claw aimed at his throat. The light pulsed, then dimmed, and the voice faded into silence. The dwarves surged forward, their numbers overwhelming, their eyes burning with hunger.
A sharp, mechanical voice blared in his mind, cold and unyielding.
[Warning! Host in grave danger!]
[Accept the change!]
[You are being overwhelmed! Warning!]
The system's alerts buzzed like a swarm of angry wasps, each warning tightening the knot of dread in his gut. The dwarves pounced, their claws inches from his flesh, their snarls drowning out his thoughts. As their weight bore down on him, crushing the air from his lungs—
Devon jolted awake, gasping, his body drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved as he clutched the damp sheets, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him like a shroud.
The room was dim, the first rays of dawn creeping through the heavy curtains, casting faint golden streaks across the stone floor. His heart still raced, the echo of those snarling dwarves lingering in his ears.
The air felt heavy, thick with the musty scent of old wood and linen, grounding him in the safety of his chamber. He ran a trembling hand through his dark, tousled hair, trying to shake the lingering terror.
The memory of Miranda Chase flickered in his mind—her sharp wit, her commanding presence, and the forbidden thrill of their encounter the night before. A faint smile curved his lips, a mix of pleasure and unease.
The nightmare's grip loosened, but its warning lingered like a shadow.
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. The door creaked open, and a young woman stepped inside, her blonde pigtails bouncing with each step. Selvina, the senior maid, carried a stack of fresh sheets, her round face brightened by a warm, practiced smile. Her uniform was crisp, the white apron stark against her dark dress, and her presence filled the room with a quiet, comforting energy.
"Good morning, my lord," she said with a graceful bow, her voice cheerful but respectful.
Devon propped himself up on his elbows, his smile genuine but tinged with fatigue. "Good morning, Selvina. How are you today?"
"All is well, my lord," she replied, her tone light as she began unfolding the sheets with practiced ease. "The manor's buzzing already. Everyone's eager to keep things in order for you."
He chuckled softly, reaching for a small scroll tied with a red ribbon on his bedside table. "Selvina, take this to Garrick. He'll know what to do with it."
She paused, her hands stilling on the linens, and took the scroll with a nod. "Yes, my lord," she said, tucking it into her apron pocket before resuming her task.
The rustle of fabric filled the quiet room as she worked.
A familiar chime sounded in Devon's mind, accompanied by the system's cool, mechanical voice.
[Subject identified: Selvina.]
[Occupation: Senior Maid.]
[Status: Loyal.]
Devon's smile widened, a playful thought flickering through his mind. I also know she has a thing for bondage, he mused, his gaze briefly tracing Selvina's curves before he caught himself—Focus, Devon.
He shook his head, dismissing the distraction.
He rose from the bed, the cool stone floor biting at his bare feet as he made his way to the washbasin at an enclosed edge in his room, he hot water already prepared was bracing, washing away the last traces of the nightmare's chill.
He finished and dressed in a fresh blue tunic with a cross-chested design, paired with dark trousers and polished boots.
He opened a drawer beside his bed, retrieving a heavy iron key, its weight familiar in his hand. As he stepped toward the door, the system chimed again.
[New Quest: Ride to the town by noon today and meet your destiny.]
Destiny. The word hung in the air, heavy with promise and foreboding. Devon's brow furrowed as he tucked the key into his pocket and stepped into the hallway.
The manor was alive with morning activity, its grandeur illuminated by the soft light of dawn, servants bustled past, their footsteps echoing on the gold-and-white tiled floor.
"Good morning, Lord Devon," they greeted in unison, their voices a chorus of respect. He nodded in return, his gaze sweeping over the spacious hallway. Ornate lamps nestled in alcoves along the stone walls, their bases adorned with intricate engravings that caught the light. Large windows at either end flooded the space with golden sunlight, casting long shadows that danced across the tiles.
As he approached the far end of the hall, Devon's steps slowed. A door stood ajar, and through it, he glimpsed a familiar figure.
Miranda Chase stood at the center of the room, her red dress vibrant against the muted tones of the manor. At five-foot-five, she carried herself with an air of authority, her brunette hair catching the light as she gestured animatedly. Two maids in black-and-white uniforms listened intently, one clutching a large sheet of paper as Miranda pointed and issued orders. Her lips moved with a rhythm Devon recognized, a commanding cadence that stirred both admiration and unease.
The system remained silent—no data, no insight. Miranda was a blind spot, an enigma that gnawed at him.
He didn't linger. With a quick glance, he turned and continued toward the staircase, his boots clicking against the tiles. The quest loomed in his mind, urging him forward.
The third floor was a stark contrast to the lively levels below. Dust motes floated in the dim light, and the air carried it about.
The hallway stretched wide, nearly six meters across, its walls draped with heavy curtains that concealed suits of armor and faded family portraits.
Devon's footsteps echoed, each one stirring memories of childhood games with his elder siblings—carefree days that now felt like a distant dream.
He paused before a large brown door, its plain surface marred only by the carved inscription at the top: Traventis the Third. Below it, strange runes in a forgotten language sparked a flicker of curiosity.
The manor had been in his family for generations, but its secrets remained elusive, locked behind doors like this one.
The system's voice in his mind broke the silence.
'I can help with that, it says To wield a sword is bravery, but to seek knowledge is success."
Devon smirked, running his fingers over the runes.
"Thanks, system," he said aloud. "There are some odd shapes here, too, but they don't seem to matter much."
He slid the key into the lock, the mechanism clicking with a satisfying thud.
The door creaked open, revealing his father's study—a room frozen in time. Shelves lined the walls, neatly stacked with books, while the large mahogany desk at the center was buried under a chaotic sprawl of parchment and scrolls.
Family portraits hung on the walls, their eyes seeming to follow him as he stepped inside.
His gaze fell on a flat wooden box on the desk, its surface engraved with the words, From the Ravens.
[Memory restoration: 70%.]
The system's HUD appeared.
Devon's fingers brushed the box, but a letter caught his eye—a single sheet of parchment, its blue ink scrawled in a hurried hand.
He lifted it, noting the date: three days after he'd been carried back to the manor, unconscious from the battle that nearly claimed his life. The words sent a chill down his spine.
"I regret to inform you, my lord Traventis the Third, the Fiend behind young Devon's crew attack resides in court. He goes by the name Chief Tanister."
Devon froze, the name searing into his mind. Chief Tanister. A name he knew all too well—a name now tied to betrayal, to blood, to the scars he still carried.
The letter trembled in his hand as the weight of its revelation settled over him like a storm cloud.
The quest to the town now held more purpose as his agenda now shifted, find Chief Tanister.