The Council took the cultist incident seriously.
Within twenty-four hours of the team's return, the northern outpost was reinforced with additional guards. Patrols doubled in frequency. The Mage's Guild dispatched specialists to examine the ritual site for lingering corruption. And every adventurer team that had participated in the sweep was called in for debriefing.
The Warriors Four sat in a Council chamber—smaller than the main hall but still imposing, with high ceilings and walls lined with official seals. Across from them sat three Council representatives, including Varrick.
"Walk us through the encounter one more time," the lead representative said—a stern elven woman named Councilor Thera. "From the moment you entered the clearing."
Selene recounted it all: the ritual site, the arranged bones, the masked cultist, the corrupted wolves. She left nothing out, her account precise and professional.
"And the cultist's words?" Councilor Thera pressed. "You said he mentioned 'finding' something. Finding what?"
"He didn't say specifically. His speech was cut off before he could finish." Selene glanced at her team. "But the implication was clear—the entire operation was a lure. They were searching for someone or something."
"The other teams reported similar statements," another representative noted, shuffling papers. "The Iron Hawks' report mentions the cultist saying 'the ritual will reveal what we seek.' The Silver Talons heard 'the bearer must be among them.'"
Nolan kept his expression carefully neutral, but his stomach twisted. *The bearer.* They'd been looking for him specifically.
The cold weight in his chest shifted. Not words. Just... awareness. Diablo was listening.
"Bearer of what?" Varrick asked, frowning. "Did anyone determine what the ritual was meant to do?"
"The Mage's Guild specialists are still analyzing the site," Councilor Thera replied. "But preliminary findings suggest it was some form of detection spell. Designed to identify individuals carrying specific magical signatures." She looked at each of the Warriors Four in turn. "Did any of you feel strange during the encounter? Any unusual sensations, pulls toward the ritual circle, anything of that nature?"
"No, ma'am," Selene said.
"Nothing unusual," Kaida added.
"Just the normal amount of terror," Darion contributed.
They all looked at Nolan.
"I... the wolf that attacked me acted strange," he said carefully. "More focused on me than it should have been. But I assumed it was just targeting the weakest-looking member of the group."
The pressure in his chest increased. Still no words. Just Diablo's presence, cold and patient.
"Corrupted beasts do sometimes fixate on specific targets," Councilor Thera acknowledged. "Very well. You're all dismissed. But be aware—the Council is taking this threat seriously. The Eternal Flame has been a nuisance for years, but ritual magic and coordinated attacks represent an escalation. Report any suspicious activity immediately."
As they filed out, Varrick caught Nolan's arm gently. "A word?"
They stepped into a side corridor while the others waited.
"Are you alright?" Varrick asked quietly. "That must have been frightening—cultists, dark rituals, creatures that spoke."
"I'm okay. Just... processing it all."
"If you need to talk, my door is always open." Varrick's expression was genuinely concerned. "And Nolan? If you ever feel like you're in danger—real danger—come to me immediately. The Council has resources, protection we can provide."
"Thank you. I'll remember that."
As they rejoined the team, Nolan felt the darkness in his chest settle back into waiting stillness. Like a predator that had observed prey and chosen not to strike. Not yet.
The next few days were deliberately quiet. No missions, no training—just rest and recovery. The Council had suggested all teams from the sweep take time off, process the trauma, let their nerves settle.
Nolan spent the time trying to act normal while his mind raced with paranoia. Every stranger on the street could be a cultist. Every casual glance could be reconnaissance. The wolf's words echoed in his thoughts: Bearer of the seal.
They knew what they were looking for. They just didn't know which adventurer it was yet.
The weight in his chest remained constant. Heavy. Hungry. Waiting.
On the third day of forced rest, Kaida invited Nolan to join her at the Great Library.
"You seem restless," she observed as they walked through the Scholar's Quarter. "Thought a change of scenery might help. Plus, the library has resources that might interest you."
"What kind of resources?"
"Historical records, magical theory texts, accounts of past cult activities." She smiled slightly. "I've been doing some research. The Eternal Flame isn't new—they've been around for nearly two centuries in various forms. Always human supremacist, always attracted to forbidden magic, always obsessed with artifacts of power."
Nolan's heart skipped. "Artifacts?"
"Mmm. There are dozens of accounts throughout history of them searching for relics, weapons, sealed objects. They believe human mages were meant to be supreme among the races, and that ancient artifacts will restore that supremacy." Kaida's expression grew thoughtful. "The ritual in the forest—if it was designed to detect magical signatures, they might have been searching for one of these artifacts."
"Do you think they found it?"
"No. If they had, they wouldn't have killed themselves to avoid capture. You don't destroy knowledge when you're successful—you preserve it." She pushed open the library's massive doors. "Which means whatever they were looking for, it's still out there. Still hidden."
The Great Library was even more impressive inside than out. Shelves stretched upward for what seemed like miles, connected by elegant staircases and floating platforms held aloft by magic. Thousands of books, scrolls, and tablets filled every available space.
"The history section is this way," Kaida said, leading him through the maze.
They spent the next few hours in research—or rather, Kaida researched while Nolan pretended to read but mostly watched her work. She was methodical, pulling texts, making notes, cross-referencing accounts from different time periods.
"Interesting," she murmured at one point. "There's a gap in the cult's recorded activity. They were extremely active two hundred years ago, then suddenly went quiet for decades. Then they resurface twenty years ago with renewed focus."
"What happened two hundred years ago?"
"That's when the Dark Lord was sealed." Kaida looked up from her notes. "You know the story? Diablo, the human mage who led a supremacist movement, tried to conquer Eldoria, was defeated and sealed in a pocket dimension?"
Nolan's mouth went dry. The darkness in his chest stirred—not words, just a cold ripple of recognition. Ancient memory surfacing.
"I've heard it mentioned."
"Well, the Eternal Flame was his cult. His followers. After he was sealed, they fractured—some gave up, some went underground, some died trying to free him." She tapped her notes. "But twenty years ago, they reorganized. New leadership, new strategies, renewed purpose."
"Why twenty years ago specifically?"
"No one knows. But that's when reports of their activity start increasing again. Small attacks at first, then gradually escalating to what we see now—ritual magic, organized operations, active recruitment." Kaida frowned at her notes. "There must have been some catalyst—a discovery, a prophecy, new leadership. Something significant enough to reorganize after two centuries of dormancy."
"Any theories?"
"Several, but nothing concrete. Some scholars think they found new texts about the Dark Lord's sealing. Others believe a charismatic leader emerged. The Council's official position is that it's simply a generational resurgence—enough time passed that new extremists felt emboldened." She closed her book with a sigh. "Personally, I think they found something. Some artifact or knowledge that convinced them their cause was still viable."
The darkness receded slightly. Watching. Waiting. Patient.
"Sounds like you're doing the Council's job for them."
"Someone has to. The Council tends to be reactive rather than proactive. They wait for problems to become crises before addressing them." Kaida stood, gathering her notes. "But I think we've done enough research for today. Want to grab something to eat?"
They found a small café near the library, one of those quiet places where scholars gathered to discuss theories over tea. Kaida ordered something with an unpronounceable elvish name. Nolan got regular tea and immediately regretted not being more adventurous.
"Can I ask you something personal?" Kaida said once they'd settled.
"Sure."
"Do you ever feel like you don't belong? Like you're pretending to be something you're not?"
Not what he'd expected. "Sometimes. Why?"
"Because I felt that way when I first joined the Warriors Three. I came from prestigious academies, trained by master mages, top of my class in every subject. And then I joined an adventurer team and realized all that theoretical knowledge meant nothing in actual combat." She smiled at the memory. "I spent months feeling like a fraud, like I was just pretending to be competent while secretly being useless."
"But you're one of the best mages I've seen."
"Now, yes. But it took time, practice, and accepting that I didn't have to be perfect—I just had to be useful. That teamwork mattered more than individual brilliance." She met his eyes. "You have that same look sometimes. Like you're waiting for someone to discover you're not good enough."
"I... yeah. That's pretty accurate."
"Well, stop it. You've proven yourself repeatedly. The wyrm, the bandits, the Titan, the corrupted wolves—you've held your own in every fight. You belong on this team, Nolan. Stop questioning that."
Despite everything, despite the lies and secrets and constant fear, her words made something in his chest loosen slightly.
Then the darkness tightened again. Cold. Deliberate. A reminder.
"Thank you. I needed to hear that."
"Good. Now drink your boring tea and tell me—do you have any hobbies besides brooding and fighting monsters?"
The conversation shifted to lighter topics. Kaida told stories about her academy days—the ridiculous rivalries, the experimental spells gone wrong, the professor who'd accidentally turned himself into a toad for three weeks. Nolan shared carefully edited memories of Lintbloom—helping his father chop wood, his sister's terrible singing, his brother's attempts at fire magic.
Normal things. Human things.
For a few hours, he could almost forget about cultists and seals and the darkness living in his chest.
Almost.
When they returned to the townhouse that evening, Selene was waiting with news.
"Contract came in. High priority, good pay." She held up a posting. "Merchant caravan needs escorts through the eastern trade route. Five days there and back, 600 silver for the team."
"Eastern route is usually safe," Darion observed. "What's the catch?"
"Reports of increased bandit activity. Several caravans have been hit in the past two weeks. The Merchant's Guild is offering premium rates for reliable protection." Selene looked around. "We've had three days off. Everyone rested enough?"
"I'm good," Darion said.
"Ready when you are," Kaida added.
They both looked at Nolan.
He thought about refusing. About staying in the relative safety of the capital where there were walls and guards and witnesses. Where the cult would have a harder time making him disappear.
But he also thought about what Kaida had said—that he belonged, that he'd proven himself, that he should stop questioning his place on the team.
"I'm in," he said.
"Good. We leave tomorrow morning. Standard long-haul prep—full supplies, combat gear, expect trouble." Selene's expression softened slightly. "And Nolan? Whatever's bothering you lately—whatever's making you look over your shoulder constantly—we're here. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"Good. Now get some rest. Tomorrow starts early."
That night, Nolan pulled out his grandfather's journal and letter, reading them again by candlelight. Most of the technical portions went over his head—complex seal theory, mathematical formulas, references to ancient techniques. But the personal entries revealed a man carrying tremendous weight.
Day 847: The sealing is complete, but the cost weighs on me. We've imprisoned something that should never have existed, using methods that blur the line between salvation and damnation.
Day 851: Rufus came with his decision. We will split it—two vessels, two seals, twice the security. I argued against it, but he was resolute. His newborn son will bear half the burden.
Day 852: I held the child today. So small. So innocent. What we're about to do... there are no words for the guilt.
Day 860: It's done. The boy cried through the entire ritual. I wanted to stop, but Rufus insisted this was the only way to keep the power hidden, contained. "He'll never need to know," he said. "The seal will hold forever." But I know better. Seals fail. They always do.
Day 903: I see the choice we made everywhere. Every child I pass, I wonder—would we have done the same to them? Sacrificed any innocent life if it meant protecting the world?
Day 927: Rufus writes that the boy is healthy, showing no signs. He seems relieved. I am terrified. The longer it remains dormant, the worse the awakening will be.
Day 1156: I've decided to leave the capital. Staying close only increases the risk of discovery. Better to draw attention away, let the boy live normally for as long as possible.
Day 1200: I watched from a distance today. The boy—Nolan—is six years old. Playing with his siblings, laughing, happy. He has no idea what sleeps within him. Part of me hopes he never will. Part of me knows that's impossible.
The entries continued, marking years of watching from afar, tracking Nolan's growth, waiting for the inevitable.
Nolan closed the journal, tears stinging his eyes. They'd known. Both of them had known what they were doing to him, and they'd done it anyway.
The darkness in his chest stirred. Not offering comfort. Not making commentary.
Just... there. A presence that had always been there. Would always be there.
Diablo : Lies come easier now.
Three words. Cold as winter. Then silence again.
Nolan sat there for a long moment, the journal in his lap, those three words echoing in his mind. They did come easier. Every conversation with his team was built on deception. Every smile was hiding something. Every reassurance was a carefully constructed falsehood.
The corruption was working. Slowly. Methodically.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He hid the journal and letter back under the floorboard, then lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow they'd leave for the eastern trade route. Five days there and back. Ten days total away from the capital, away from the Council's protection, away from anything resembling safety.
Ten days where anything could happen.
The weight in his chest settled into stillness. Heavy. Patient. Hungry.
Waiting.
Outside, rain began to fall—soft at first, then harder, drumming against the roof like countless fingers tapping.
Tomorrow, they'd leave for the eastern trade route.
Tomorrow, the next chapter would begin.
Whether he was ready or not.
And in the darkness of his chest, something ancient smiled.