Aaron was lying in silence inside the stasis chamber. Time slowed within the capsule, allowing his body to mend at an accelerated rate. The wounds from his last battle—the night the Phoenix Ring awakened—had vanished without a trace. No pain. No scars. Just the lingering memory of fire and fury.
When the chamber hissed open, Aaron stepped out, testing his limbs. He felt… whole. Stronger than before. His bare feet met the cold floor as he took his first steps through the dimly lit corridors of the Skyweavers' lair. He was still adjusting when a voice made him jump.
"Finally decided to wake up?"
He turned sharply to find Era leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"I heard you were out for three nights," she added, pushing off the wall and stepping closer.
Aaron masked his surprise. He hadn't expected to be unconscious for so long. "I guess I needed the rest," he said, then allowed a rare, genuine expression to break through. "Glad to see you made it back in one piece."
Era's smile faltered, just slightly. Something about her stance told him she'd only just returned.
"Where were you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"While you were off dreaming," she said, rolling her shoulders, "I was on a mission. I got back not long ago."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous?"
Era's smirk returned. "Wouldn't be fun otherwise."
Before he could press further, a Skyweaver approached. "Good, you're both here. High Weaver Hydra needs to see you. It's urgent."
Aaron and Era exchanged a glance before following the messenger to a meeting chamber deep within the lair.
---
The room was dimly lit, its walls lined with maps, monitors, and celestial charts. Hydra stood at the head of the table, her presence commanding as always.
"We've picked up a signal," she announced without preamble. "The Ring of Forgotten Souls has surfaced. It was detected at the Harvest Fair."
Aaron tensed. The name of the ring alone sounded ominous.
Era was the first to speak. "You're sending us to retrieve it?"
Hydra nodded. "You two, plus an experienced Weaver for backup. The fair is the perfect cover—crowded, chaotic, full of distractions. The ring doesn't have a bearer yet, but that won't last. We need to act fast."
Aaron clenched his jaw. "I didn't sign up to take orders from you." His voice was sharp as a blade.
Hydra exhaled slowly, her gaze unwavering. "This isn't about orders, Aaron. It's about survival. The Ring of Forgotten Souls is dangerous, but more than that—it can mark any other ring, including the Phoenix Ring. If the Eye of the Void gets their hands on it, they could use it to track you."
Aaron's fists tightened, but he remained silent.
Era, ever the tactician, voiced her concern. "Sending two ring-bearers into a public space is a risk. If the Eye of the Void is watching, they could take all three rings at once. That would be a disaster."
"You're right to be cautious," Hydra admitted. "But this is our best shot. We have to act before someone else claims the ring. The fair will work in our favor—it's easy to move unseen in the crowd."
Era nodded, though her expression remained wary. "I understand, High Weaver. I just hope we're not underestimating them. The Eye of the Void is relentless."
Hydra's gaze softened. "They are. But you are stronger than you know. Trust in that."
Aaron finally spoke, his voice cold. "I don't care about the ring. I just want to find my father and make him pay for what he did."
Hydra's eyes darkened, but she didn't argue. "Your anger is justified," she said carefully. "But if you let it control you, it will destroy you. Stay focused. Revenge will come in time."
Aaron didn't answer, but the tension in his stance spoke volumes.
Era placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "One thing at a time," she murmured.
Hydra gave her final command. "Get ready. You leave soon."
Aaron and Era turned and walked away to prepare. Neither of them said much, but they both felt this mission was more than just finding the ring.
---
The Harvest fair.
Hours later, Aaron, Era, and Thorne reached the entrance of the Harvest Fair. The towering gates were decorated with vibrant banners and strings of flickering lights, casting a warm glow across the bustling scene. Laughter, chatter, and the sweet scent of roasted nuts and candied apples filled the air.
Aaron stopped to take it all in, his unease evident as he rubbed the back of his neck. The crowd was massive—people of all ages wandered between colorful booths and lively attractions. "This place is packed," he muttered, glancing at Era. "How are we even supposed to find the ring in all this chaos?"
"You'll learn," Era said calmly, then glanced at the man behind them. "And if we don't, Thorne will."
The older Weaver stood just a few steps back, draped in a nondescript cloak, his posture relaxed but alert. His sharp eyes, scanned the crowd with the practiced calm of someone who had been through far worse. He said nothing, but the subtle nod he gave was reassuring enough.
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "He always this talkative?"
Era smirked. "Only when something's on fire."
Aaron hesitated before moving forward with her. "I didn't realize it yet… you're the bearer of the Griffin Ring," he said as they navigated through the throng of people. He avoided bumping into an excited child darting past with a balloon. "How did that happen?"
Era turned to him briefly, a sly grin on her face. "The Griffin Ring has been in my family for millennia. It's passed down from generation to generation, like a family heirloom, until it chose a bearer."
Aaron frowned, sidestepping a vendor waving caramelized apples in his face. "And why should your family have the right to keep a ring by passing it down from generation to generation?"
Aaron frowned, sidestepping a vendor aggressively hawking caramelized apples. "And why should your family claim the exclusive right to possess this ring, merely by inheritance through generations?"
"To tell you the truth," Era began, her voice lowering, "originally there were seven rings in all. The Griffin's Ring, the very last one, was forged by the stars themselves and given as a reward to a distant ancestor of mine who had been particularly..."
"Keep moving," Thorne murmured behind them, cutting Era off. It was the first thing he'd said since they arrived, but it carried weight. Something in the air had shifted—a subtle tension that raised the hairs on their necks.
They continued through the fair, brushing shoulders with strangers as the din of the crowd swirled around them. Vendors called out to advertise their wares, from handcrafted trinkets to jars of honey and rows of intricately painted masks. The aroma of fried food mixed with the earthy scent of hay bales scattered across the fairgrounds.
Aaron found himself momentarily distracted by a fire-breather performing near a ring toss booth, but Era tugged his sleeve. "Stay focused," she said sharply, her voice cutting through the noise.
"I was focused," he grumbled, but Era didn't respond. She suddenly froze, her eyes narrowing.
"What is it?" Aaron asked, immediately on edge.
Thorne suddenly caught up with them and stopped them by holding them by the shoulders then he tilted his head, as if listening to something only he could hear. "The ring," he said quietly. "I can sense its signature. It's nearby."
Then he moved forward, silently pushing through the crowd with the grace of someone who knew how to disappear in plain sight. Era followed, and Aaron hurried to catch up.
After a few minutes of dodging people and passing rows of colorful stands, the three stopped in front of a large crowd gathered around an attraction. Thorne motioned for Aaron and Era to come closer.
"This is it," he said, his voice low. "The signature is strongest here."
Aaron craned his neck to see over the heads of the gathered crowd. In the center of the commotion, a man stood beside a classic strongman attraction—a high striker with a long bell tower and a mallet. There was something wrong about him. A dark, dirty aura clung to him like a shadow, sending a wave of unease through Aaron.
Thorne, who also seemed to have felt it, had his hand already near the hidden blade beneath his cloak.
People cheered as the man raised the mallet above his head and brought it down with incredible force, sending the indicator straight to the top. The bell rang loudly, and the crowd erupted into applause.
"Bravo, Mr. Mayor!" someone called.
Aaron's breath caught in his throat. His gaze locked onto the man—the mayor—and he felt a chill run down his spine.
The mayor turned to the crowd, his polished smile masking whatever malice lurked beneath. He held up the prize he'd won—a small, intricate trinket glowing faintly in the dim light.
Aaron's hands clenched into fists as he stepped forward. "That bastard," he growled, his vision darkening with rage as the aura around him pulsed stronger. "He's the one. He has to pay for what he's done!"
"Aaron, wait—" Era called, but it was already too late.
Driven by a black fury, Aaron lunged toward the mayor, the crowd parting in stunned silence as he surged forward.
Thorne reached out to stop him, but his hand caught only the sweat Aaron had shed—slipping through his fingers without even a glance back. And then it was done. The mayor had already turned, eyes locking onto Aaron.