I had been following the path for several hours already, my footsteps leaving traces in the hot, dry dust that covered the ground. An oppressive heat, typical of a merciless summer, weighed on my shoulders. The acrid scent of scorched earth mingled with the wilted vegetation. The dry air created an unreal, almost suffocating atmosphere. The wind blew hard, but it was warm, like a burning breath sweeping across the arid fields, carrying with it the dust of the plains.
My gaze was fixed far ahead, where the path barely took shape beneath an endless horizon.
A group, still distant, slowly emerged through the heat-blurred air.
I hadn't hesitated.
The instinct for survival had resurfaced, and without wasting a second, I activated my stealth skill.
I merged instantly with the air, the wind surrounding me and adopting me like a fleeting shadow. Without a sound, my movements became lighter, my steps almost invisible, as if I were fading before the relentless nature surrounding me.
My heart was pounding—not out of fear, but from the strange thrill of stalking, the sensation of imminent danger.
Within seconds, I found myself just a few steps away from the group.
The heat seemed more intense near them, their silhouettes outlined in the burning air of this harsh land.
They looked unmistakably like demons.
A dozen of them, imposing and sturdy, stood with overwhelming confidence, like giants frozen in this scorched earth. Their skin was a metallic grey, marked by the searing sun and past battles. The ritual tattoos adorning their arms and chests seemed to glow, emanating a vibrant light in the heat, like powerful runes amplified by the environment around them.
Their eyes, incandescent red, were fixed on the horizon, as if they were already prepared to fight for every inch of this unforgiving terrain. Their faces, scarred deeply, bore an unshakable pride. Horns, rigid and black, jutted from their foreheads, emphasizing their bestial nature. The armor they wore was robust and weathered, forged in the flames of a thousand battles, resistant to the oppressive heat yet clearly worn.
And then, among them, one individual caught my attention. He wore clothing that starkly contrasted with the others. His robe, a deep blue, was brand new, without a speck of dust or sign of wear. The armor he bore, adorned with intricate golden patterns, gleamed under the blazing sun, shining like a flash of azure in that sea of sand. Precious stones adorned his sleeves and collar, capturing the sky's warm light, and his tunic looked so fine and meticulous that it seemed far removed from the concerns of the warriors around him.
He, unlike his companions, did not seem built for direct combat. His armor was lighter, more decorative, made to impress, but more symbolic than practical. His black velvet cloak floated gently around him, contrasting with the parched earth. His sword, though long and elegant, didn't seem to have seen much use. His face was finer than those of the other demons, his features almost noble, but marked by light scars—an inheritance of a life beyond battle.
At the center of this dark and menacing assembly, a little girl stood, chained like a slave, like a prisoner of war forgotten by the world.
She couldn't have been older than ten. Yet despite her youth, she bore the marks of a life of suffering. Her skin, an unusually pale pink among these creatures, clashed with the dark aura of her surroundings. Her medium-length hair fell in messy strands over her face, framing two imposing horns, larger than those of the other demons.
Was it a sign of nobility? A remnant of a rank she had lost?
Her long, pointed ears barely trembled under the tension of her battered body. A tail, similar to a reaper's, ended in a sharp blade, but it hung limply, drained of all energy. She wore a tattered kimono, worn by time and trials, clumsily held at the waist by a simple cord. Her open collar revealed skin marked by abuse: fresh wounds, still red and painful, mingled with older scars, silent witnesses of a torment that seemed never-ending.
But what shook me most wasn't the pitiful state of her body.
No, what pierced me like a cold blade were her eyes.
Red, intense, but desperately empty.
They reflected nothing anymore—only an abyssal void, a nothingness where all light of life seemed extinguished.
She saw nothing. She felt nothing.
And in that instant, a shiver ran down my spine.
Because as I looked at her, I saw myself.
Me, after Lucas' death.
Me, after losing everything.
I had already gauged the group's level. Nothing impressive. Most of them were barely stronger than a Xylorath chimera—mere obstacles with no real threat.
Their captain, however, stood out slightly. His aura reminded me of a tiger: more powerful, more fearsome… but not enough to concern me.
Far, far from the power of a Sovereign, he posed no real threat.
I hadn't even needed to take the slightest precaution.
Without hesitation, I deactivated my skill, locking eyes with the nobly dressed being.
Surprised, the group reacted instinctively, adopting a combat stance.
A mixture of tension and uncertainty filled the air as they tried to assess the situation.
The captain stared at me intensely, scrutinizing my every move, trying to gauge my power.
But before he could decide, the man in front of me reacted with lightning speed.
— "Idiots, put away your weapons!" he thundered, his voice commanding.
— "Good choice," I said, my tone indifferent.
Far from surprised by my words, he looked at me with a calculated calm, as if he had already expected this outcome.
— "I know that if you had wanted to kill us, we'd already be dead," he stated evenly.
Seeing us conversing, and pressured by the nobleman's insistent gaze, the other warriors eventually relaxed. But I wasn't fooled. It was just a façade. I could feel the tension in their muscles, the tightening of fingers on weapons. They were ready to strike at the slightest suspicious move.
Ignoring the latent hostility, the man before me continued in the same courteous tone:
— "Allow me to introduce myself."
With an elegant gesture, he slightly bowed, placing one arm across his chest while the other folded behind his back.
— "I am known as Baron Vaelthorn," he declared with dignity.
Then, lifting his gaze toward me, he added with feigned politeness:
— "Might I have the honor of knowing your name, oh humble traveler?"
Caught off guard by his request, I hesitated briefly. I couldn't give my real name. Better to be cautious and leave no trace of my passage in this world.
Thinking of Lucas, I finally responded in a neutral tone:
— "My name is Lukaris."
— "Charmed, Lord Lukaris," he said, his voice laced with formality.
Given the speed of his reaction and his scrutinizing gaze, I suspected he thought I was hiding my identity.
Perhaps, in his eyes, suspicion crept in, as if I were a mask concealing a more powerful figure. But that suited me just fine.
He was likely imagining me as an influential figure, someone better treated with deference.
Thus, my mystery could well serve me in earning the consideration I sought.
My goal here had initially been to gather information from him.
— "Is there anything I can do for you?" asked Baron Vaelthorn, his piercing gaze scanning my every move.
I took a moment to assess the situation, keeping my calm. The goal remained the same: gather information. No rushing. Just the perfect opportunity to learn more.
— "For now, nothing in particular," I replied, keeping my tone detached. "But I would be interested in a conversation, if you permit, Baron Vaelthorn."
— "With pleasure," he answered, a slight smile curling his lips.
I noted his quick response and measured tone. He didn't seem hostile, but I knew his words likely hid more complex intentions.
— "The air is heavy here, isn't it? I've heard these lands harbor secrets... and dangers. Perhaps you could tell me more about the region. It's not a place often visited."
— "Ah, Kharz'Gorath... Yes, it's not a region one crosses lightly. These lands hide more than simple paths. But if you're unfamiliar with this place, it is wise to ask questions..."
He paused for a moment, as if to gauge my query.
— "What exactly do you wish to know?"
— "Oh, I'm just curious. I get the sense that every corner of this world holds a little story. Perhaps you, as a man of great experience, could enlighten me about the nature of the inhabitants of these lands. I was wondering what the dominant race is in this region... What can you tell me?"
— "The Gorr'Shan..."
He let his voice linger on the word, clearly thoughtful.
— "We are powerful in our own way, but our society is in decline. A warrior people, yes, but our clans are divided. You see, in this region, we are no longer what we once were. There is hidden nobility among us, but few still know how to fight for their own freedom."
He looked to the horizon, perhaps avoiding being too direct.
— "However, the ruler, the Lord of this land, remains a respected figure among them."
— "Ah, I see. You seem to say your people are powerful but divided. That must make governing territories particularly delicate, doesn't it? And this Lord you speak of... where is he exactly?"
— "The Lord... He is a complex character. He resides in the Citadel of Iron, a place as timeless as the Gorr'Shan's history itself. But, I must warn you, he's not an easy man to approach. Many have tried to meet him... few have left without regret."
He let those words hang, reinforcing the aura of mystery around the Lord.
— "I see... And this group, your unit, I mean... I get the impression you walk with trustworthy soldiers. But I wondered, what kind of units accompany you on this journey? From what I perceive, you're not traveling alone. Your unit seems more... modest? But strong, I imagine, in its role?"
— "Modest, perhaps. But every soldier here has their role, their usefulness. We do not venture out to show off strength."
— "Our captain, on the other hand..."
He paused, and his gaze hardened as he thought of the captain.
— "He is an elite warrior. That's not a title worn lightly. He is the one who ensures our safety in such hostile lands. Without him, this journey would be madness."
His voice deepened, as if referring to something more personal.
— "An elite captain, truly... It must be an honor to travel under his protection. Such authority in a group like yours makes all the difference. But speaking of important individuals, there's also that slave you're escorting... I couldn't help but wonder who she is, given the care with which you treat her. She must be someone of great importance, I suppose?"
I smiled slightly, but my interest was obvious.
The slave...
He nodded slowly, but his eyes betrayed a palpable tension.
— "You're curious. More than you seem willing to admit. But I advise you not to get involved. She's not mere merchandise. Every piece in this game has its place, and some secrets must remain buried, even for those who believe they hold the key."
His tone had turned colder, more menacing, but he quickly composed himself, his gaze only hardening slightly.
— "It's best not to speak further of this. The road is still long."
— "I understand... I didn't intend to touch on sensitive topics. I can only admire the weight of these choices, of course. But it seems this road leads to a turning point, doesn't it? The Citadel of Iron... I feel like that name carries significant weight. A fortress, a Lord... and a slave who seems essential to it all. A power game I'm only beginning to grasp, but one that intrigues me greatly."
— "A power game, you say?" A nearly imperceptible smirk crossed his face.
— "You are right, but remember... some games can only be played by those who know the rules, and sometimes, the rules change when you're not paying attention."
He paused briefly before adding, his tone calm but firm:
— "Now, if you'll excuse us, we must quicken our pace. Night will fall soon, and it's never wise to linger in such unpredictable territories."