10th Cycle of the Year 312, Month of the Black Mists

  The return to camp was marked by a heavy, suffocating silence. Each man walked with slow steps, shoulders hunched under an invisible burden. It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was fear.

  Kael led the march, his eyes locked on the horizon. His thoughts looped endlessly, haunted by the recent events. The image of Farren vanishing in that unnatural light was burned into his mind. There had been no scream, no blood… just a sudden absence, a total erasure, as if his very existence had been wiped away.

  Behind him, Darius cast nervous glances around them. The former mercenary, usually confident and unshaken, kept his grip tight on his axe handle, as if expecting the invisible threat to strike again at any moment.

  Lysara, usually composed, remained silent. But Kael noticed the way her fingers clenched around the hilt of her dagger—a habit she had never had before. He had known her for years. She had never feared death. But today, what they had faced was not death.

  When they finally reached the camp, the tension in the air was palpable.

  The sentries at the entrance observed their return with wary eyes, as if afraid the shadows had followed them back.

  Kael stopped in front of them and spoke in a hoarse voice:

  — "We lost men. But we have learned a truth far more terrifying."

  The guards exchanged uneasy glances. Kael didn’t wait for a response. He turned to Darius and Lysara.

  — "Gather the officers. Now."

  The command tent was dimly lit by a few oil lamps. A large map of the territory was spread out over the central table, marked with red lines and symbols representing enemy positions, known fortifications, and viable routes.

  But tonight, it wasn’t an ordinary battle they were concerned with.

  Kael stood at the head of the table, watching his officers. They were few, yet they formed the heart of his army. Darius, massive and imposing as ever, stood with arms crossed, his expression grim. Lysara, tense, her sharp eyes scanning the room. Orlen, the group's scholar, his aged face deeply marked by the weight of knowledge he carried.

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  Kael took a deep breath before breaking the silence.

  — "We need to talk about what we saw."

  Lysara was the first to respond.

  — "Talk about what, exactly? That a man was… erased before our eyes? That the world we live in still hides horrors we can’t even comprehend?"

  Darius gritted his teeth.

  — "That’s all in the past. These are relics of a dead world. We need to focus on surviving here and now."

  Kael slammed his fist on the table, commanding everyone’s attention.

  — "No. It’s because we ignore the past that we are in danger. We can’t just survive. We have to understand."

  He turned to Orlen.

  — "You, who know the old world’s stories… what could have caused this?"

  The old man hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the cost of revealing long-buried secrets.

  — "There are… legends. Ancient whispers of forgotten technologies, of wars fought with weapons beyond our imagination. But more than that, there is a place. A library, deep in the Shattered Lands. It is said to contain the last writings of scholars before the Fall."

  Kael held Orlen’s gaze, a certainty forming in his mind.

  — "Then that’s where we’re going."

  The silence that followed was ice-cold.

  Darius broke it with a bitter laugh.

  — "The Shattered Lands? You want to send us straight into hell, Kael?"

  Lysara shook her head.

  — "Few who venture there ever return."

  Kael crossed his arms.

  — "Exactly. If no one can go there, no one will follow us. And that’s where we’ll find the answers."

  The officers exchanged uncertain glances.

  Darius sighed, running a hand over his face.

  — "You’re serious?"

  Kael locked eyes with him.

  — "More than ever."

  That night, Kael found no sleep.

  The wind howled through the tents, lifting swirls of ash. The air carried that metallic scent again—a scent Kael did not like.

  He rose, stepping out of his tent and into the darkness.

  Everything seemed calm. Too calm.

  Then, an eerie sensation made him slow his steps.

  Someone… or something… was watching him.

  His warrior’s instincts flared. He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and turned slowly, scanning the shadows.

  Nothing.

  Just the shifting darkness.

  But Kael was no fool.

  He took a step forward, his breath slow and measured.

  — "Who’s there?"

  No response.

  Then, a whisper. Distant. Almost inaudible.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  It wasn’t the wind.

  He knew something was there, lurking just beyond sight.

  Kael slowly stepped back, returning to camp.

  He didn’t yet know what awaited them in the Shattered Lands…

  But he knew one thing.

  Their journey was not a simple quest for knowledge.

  It was a trap.

  And they were already caught in it.