For an instant, Allen feared they would load the box into a cargo ship, which would complicate things, but instead, they threw it into a rowboat just wide enough to accommodate a few large bags and medium-sized boxes, with a crew of three to four people. This type of compact boat wasn't rare and was primarily used to transport necessities to ships anchored in the middle of the lagoon, waiting for their turn to dock, or to travel between the harbor and the settlements on the cliffs. It was faster than walking, as the journey time was cut in half, and less cumbersome for people carrying heavy loads. Most fishers also traveled by water to bring their prizes of the day to the market, which was overly active in the evening in the White Moon land.
"Annoying," Allen clicked his tongue as he came to a halt not too far from the rowboat, glaring at the crew from under his hood. Myrven followed suit and stood beside his young chief. He didn't ask questions, despite the odd behavior, and waited for him to speak up first and explain what was going on. Unlike him, he had yet to pick up the familiar scent. "Where do you think that boat is going?"
Although Allen asked, he already had an idea. Considering that it was a traditional rowboat from the White Moon tribe, with the usual ward-off arrays carved on its edges and the dark wood from the jungle, and that the men smelled like werewolves, they were probably about to row back to one of the cliffs instead of a ship. It was the most likely choice, unless they were planning to pan off the being to merchants, which Allen highly doubted. In his mind, he had already drawn up a list of potential suspects among the elders, and all of them had one thing in common: they were greedy bastards, and selling the being would be nothing short of a waste. If anything, they had to leash them and train them to be obedient until they grew strong enough to be of use.
"They crossed the lines this time…"
The fact that Allen could tell at once for what use they needed the being was something he didn't know whether to laugh or cry at. It was easy to guess: it was most likely either to keep the next chief in check or to outright kill them. Elders pretended to be alright with their tribal god choosing who should lead them, but Allen was more than aware of how they always viewed the newcomer as nothing more than a nuisance. How could they not? They were granted the power to rule over the tribe for almost two decades in his absence and then were suddenly required to relinquish this privilege whenever he appeared. It wasn't something these old coots were willing to do. If it weren't for the covenant agreed upon by their ancestors, they certainly wouldn't.
"Wua'en," Allen whispered. "Can you get on the rowboat and tell your brother where they dock and keep us updated?"
The little girl, whose appearance was still blurry in Allen's eyes, nodded before climbing into the boat. She nonchalantly sat on a box in the back and swung her tiny legs as she waited for the men to load in the few bags left. All along, Allen stood on the dock, observing them with an indescribable fury twisting his guts. It had been a long time since he had last felt this angered, and although he'd like nothing more than to wring these halfwits' necks, he had to contain himself for now. He couldn't make a scene in the harbor in front of all these people. It would only make things worse for him and for the being later on.
So, Allen gritted his teeth and watched the rowboat as it left the harbor.
***
"How many hideouts like this do you think there are?" Allen scoffed, looking down the cliff. The entrance to the underground dungeon was well-hidden, enough that he might never have found it if it wasn't for the ghosts. It was only because Wua'en had sent them enough information to figure out where the men had brought their load that they stood here now. It was also due to Wue'en, as the closer they got, the more agitated the boy became. The siblings could detect each other's presence from miles away, which allowed Wue'en to guide them to their end goal. "They sure kept themselves busy while I was away."
"They've gotten good at doing it discreetly, too," Myrven growled, clenching and unclenching his fists. Allen had told him what he had felt had the harbor and his suspicions, stirring up as much fury in the pit of his stomach as it had in Allen's. "How bold of them!"
"I won't be of much use this time, not in this pitiful state," Allen sighed, running a hand in his hair that had been carefully untangled by Myrven earlier. He knew it would take years to mend this malnourished body of his and regain some semblance of good health. "Don't go on a rampage. We need some of them alive if we want to go on a proper hunt: don't kill the ones in charge. The others, do as you please."
"Duly noted."
That said, Myrven offered a hand, which Allen tacitly took, allowing the familiar spirit to hoist his frail body in one arm, holding him against his chest, before jumping down the cliff. The moment Myrven landed, he didn't give an instant to the guards to react before crushing their skulls: one with his free hand, the other with a foot. He showed no pity or mercy. Wua'en had been recounting everything she had seen and heard since the rowboat docked at the shore, and none deserved any lenience.
The entrance opened on a narrow corridor. It quickly turned into a bloody carnage as the werewolves on watch were dealt with, and others gathered at their comrades' cries and shouts. The heavy smell of blood quickly filled the place. There were no windows to allow a breeze to swipe it away, and since Myrven had closed off the sole entrance after entering the hideout, everything and everyone was trapped inside. It was a mess, but Allen didn't care. He lazily leaned against Myrven's chest, comfortably nestled in an arm, and watched the bloothbath unwind, his eyes still hidden under his hood.
"What the fuck is going on!" A panicked voice resounded, and a languid, vicious smile stretched Allen's lips. Finally, the main character had arrived. "What are you doing?! The guy's alone! Bring him down!"
"I don't think I need to tell you what to do," Allen said to Myrven, aware that the familiar spirit had also recognized the raspy voice. It belonged to one of the elders, one who wore a face of benevolence in front of everyone, including other elders. Appearances were treacherous, however: this one was rotten to the core, enough to subject innocent people to abject experiments, all for a dystopian goal. "Still, keep that one alive. The rest can die for all I care."
"Understood."
Up to that point, Myrven had been careful not to inadvertently kill someone he shouldn't have. Now that they knew what target they had to keep alive, he didn't have to restrain himself anymore. His movements grew faster and deadlier, and at one point, the hood slid down, revealing his face. Even if the populace hadn't seen it much this past decade and most had forgotten what he looked like, there was no way an elder wouldn't recognize him. A shocked gasp resounded as the man backed off against the wall, his body shaking. Fear crept over him, and the words that came out of his mouth were stuttered.
"W-what are you doing, Myrven! Stop this insanity this instant!"
He didn't listen. Why should he? He only stopped moving once the elder's henchmen were lying on the floor in a pool of their own blood. Myrven shook his hand to get rid of the sticky blood. Monstrous claws had replaced his nails, and they had shredded many living beings tonight. It was like slicing through tofu, and the claws left gaping gashes in their wake. The candles cast a dim light over the carnage, and the elder stayed still. An acrid odor assaulted Allen's nose, letting him know the man hadn't been able to control his bladder. How pitiful.
"Wua'en said the girl is in the innermost room," Allen spoke up, feeling nothing as his gaze landed on the face of a dead woman, her lifeless eyes staring at him in disbelief and accusation. "Let's go find her."
"And him?"
"Break his legs and throw him in a cell," Allen snorted, gesturing to the rows of rooms lining the narrow corridor. "There's plenty to choose from, aren't there?"
"True."
No matter how much the elder pleaded, Myrven turned a deaf ear and quickly got the task done, locking up the howling man into one of the many cells. How funny it was that he was bawling his eyes out from broken legs when he had done far worse to those beings. Wua'en had reported some of the hearsay she heard in the hideout as she waited for them to arrive, and it had been enough to make the blood drain from Allen's face. It was no wonder that only one being was still alive after everything they had gone through, and that being was a little girl.
When they arrived at the innermost room, they were greeted by the sight of a small girl, whose age seemed to be between five and seven, lying on the cold floor on her back. Her ankles were shackled to the wall, and she hadn't even been granted the decency of clothes, exposing her tiny, skinny body for everyone to see. It was littered with burn and cut marks; most represented engraved arrays. They forced obedience on her and deprived her of her free will. It was a practice that had been banned over a century ago, and although Allen had been sure to destroy every document about these horrifying, deshumanising arrays, it seemed that some had slipped through his fingers. An ominous premonition flared up in the pit of his stomach.
How many of these forbidden arrays had survived, then?
Now wasn't the time to think about that, however. Allen patted Myrven's shoulder, letting him know that he wanted to be put down, which the familiar spirit did right away. Allen then took off his cloak to cover the girl's naked body before gesturing to Myrven to break the shackles. They snapped in a crisp thud. Yet, the girl was still unmoving, not even glancing at Allen. Her eyes were lifeless, almost as if she were dead, but her small chest moved up and down, letting him know that she was alive.
"Do you need help getting up and fastening the cloak?"
No reaction. She was like an empty shell, alive but dead inside.
"Can I touch you? I want to fasten the cloak properly. You will need to sit for that. Is that alright with you?"
Again, no reaction. She didn't flinch, she didn't blink: she stayed still like a doll. Allen knew not to expect a verbal answer, as Wua'en had warned them in advance that the girl's tongue had been cut. Still, he had hoped she would react in some way, any way. But the girl had closed off her mind to cope with the harsh reality, killing her emotions so that she would feel no fear and no pain. It was a sorrowful realization, and Allen thus knew it would take a long time for the girl to escape from the torpor she had plunged herself into, if it ever happened.
All Allen could do until then was to take care of her: protect her and teach her about her lineage. She had been robbed of her early childhood, but he refused to let the rest of her life be filled with nothing but pain. Saving her from this hellhole wasn't enough. She was now his responsibility until death, and from today on, he'd ensure she received everything a child needed and should have – even though one could argue that he was currently a child himself.
"Let's get out of here, shall we?"