The forest welcomed him like a grave.
Rintal stumbled between the trees, their trunks half stone, half flesh — and some seemed to be formed entirely from shards, as if pieced together by unseen hands. Their roots pulsed faintly beneath the soil, and on a few of them, distorted faces bulged outward, frozen in eternal silence. The fog crawled through the branches like pale veins, whispering with the wind. Every step was soundless in the emptiness, and the stench of rot clung to him stronger than blood.
"My fever's getting worse… from exhaustion and wounds," he muttered under his breath."But I have to get out of here alive… I have to lose the shadows."
In the distance, he could hear them — the cries of the Shades. Rayuka's servants, hunting for the two thieves.Rintal wondered if Rayuka created the shadows himself, or if he needed victims — sacrifices — to sustain them. And whether their ship had even reached the shore in one piece.
But his thoughts quickly scattered; he had to keep moving.Every motion hurt. At times, his knees buckled, and he could barely hold himself upright."Lucky the fog is this thick," he thought. "Easy to slip past them."
But the pain kept clawing at his focus. For a single moment, he faltered — and in the fog, where he could barely see past his own nose, he caught sight of them. The Shades.They screamed as they drifted through the mist, their voices echoing like tortured souls caught between worlds.
Rintal dropped flat to the ground, crawling toward the brush. But the small pouch stitched to his cloak — the one that held the sphere — scraped against the pebbles, making a faint noise.Just enough for a hunter to hear.
Yet the Shades didn't react. They only kept walking, stiff and silent, like corpses animated by habit.
That was when he realized — the Shades could see, but they couldn't hear.
His pulse slowed. The thief's instinct returned. Calm and silent, he moved between them like smoke.
Hours passed. Or maybe only minutes. Then, shapes began to emerge from the fog — a village, if it could still be called that. Shattered huts leaned against one another, built from driftwood and bone. The air was thick here — heavy with ash and sickness.
Shadows moved among the ruins — people, or what was left of them.Their skin was covered in gray scales and open sores, their eyes glowed dull yellow, and their teeth were too sharp. Some dragged their limbs, as if their bones had forgotten what it meant to be human.When they saw Rintal, they didn't scream. They only watched — empty, cautious, like animals that had known fear for far too long.
From the ruins, an old man emerged. His back was bent, his eyes milk-white, yet his voice carried a strange, cutting clarity."Another wanderer," he rasped. "You came from the shore? Then the sea hasn't claimed you yet… not completely."
He helped Rintal to a crumbling bench beside a fire pit and began cleaning his wounds with trembling hands."You shouldn't be alive," the old man said softly. "No one survives the northern storm. But you… you carry something. I can feel it — burning beneath your skin."
He drew a small vial from his cloak. Inside, a green, shimmering liquid glowed faintly."Drink. It heals faster than nature allows. Made by the same hands that cursed us."
Rintal hesitated.Why should I trust him? he thought. Then again… if he wanted me dead, I already would be.I have to drink it. Otherwise, everything we've fought for — our dream — it'll all be gone.
The pain made the choice for him. The liquid burned down his throat like molten glass.
Almost immediately, his vision blurred. His heartbeat slowed."I hope you wake soon," the old man murmured before his voice faded away.
Then came the crackle of fire… and the distant echo of screams.The world shattered again.
He was standing in his childhood village.The houses burned. The sky glowed red, the smoke and fire merging into one endless storm.His mother's voice screamed his name as armored soldiers marched through the streets — clad in black and silver plate, their banners flickering in the inferno.
On their flags glowed a crimson emblem:a black serpent coiled around a golden sun, fangs buried in its heart — the crest of the Empire of Solmaren, whose iron will ruled the continent.
Their armor gleamed like mirrors of steel; their cloaks were deep crimson, and their helmets had narrow, downward-sloping visors that made their faces look like judgment itself.They rode black horses draped in banners of ash and gold — knights of conquest, executioners of order.
Rintal ran. The ground trembled beneath him.He leapt from one burning window to another, but the collapsing roof fell on him before he could escape.
Through the smoke, he saw his mother's hand clawing through the debris, his father cutting down soldiers just to reach their home.Then — a flash. Steel. Blood. Silence.
Two knights fell upon his mother. One pinned her to the ground, laughing.But the fragile, golden-haired woman Rintal had always seen as an angel drew a knife from her boot — and drove it into the attacker's throat.The man's eyes glazed over as he collapsed, lifeless.
The second knight didn't hesitate — he rammed his blade through her neck.
Rintal's world shattered.The woman he had seen as pure light lay still before him, her perfectly symmetrical face now cold and pale, her blue eyes open and unseeing.
His father still fought a few meters away — his shoulder and side already pierced by blades.Even as two crossbow bolts struck him in the back, he managed to cut down two more soldiers before falling to his knees.
When he looked up, he saw only the executioner — taller than any man Rintal had ever seen, wearing a lion-headed helm.Before his father could rise, the executioner's greatsword came down — a single, brutal strike that pierced through his skull and drove deep into the earth.
Rintal screamed, trapped beneath the rubble as the world faded to black.His life lay in ruins. And he with it.
Then — a hand broke through the debris.Areday's.
He looked just the same… and yet not.His eyes were bright blue instead of brown, his hair longer, messy, its tips glinting white. His face looked almost identical to Rintal's — like brothers. Maybe even twins.
The image trembled. Time split apart.
Areday smiled — but it wasn't his smile. It was sharp, deranged, mocking.
"This is your fault, Rintal," he said, his voice layered — as if two voices spoke in unison: his own, and the seal's."You were too weak to save them. Just like you're too weak to save yourself."
The world flickered again — the flames froze midair — and suddenly Areday's voice softened.He pulled Rintal from the wreckage."We have to go," he said. "The Emperor's knights are still here. If we stay, we die."
Then the distortion returned. Areday's face twisted; his eyes widened, his grin stretching into something inhuman."Or maybe I'll kill you myself," he hissed. "If you're not useful… you'll rot like your parents."
The vision shattered into fragments.
Rintal gasped awake, drenched in sweat, the taste of blood on his tongue.The old man knelt beside him, murmuring prayers in a language older than the forest itself.
But Rintal wasn't listening.Because in the reflection of the old man's eyes — for a single heartbeat — Areday was standing behind him, wearing that same broken, haunting smile.