The largest forest on the continent of Encanthia also boasted the greatest diversity of fauna and flora in the world, between animals and magical creatures such as ents, dryads, fairies, fauns, and other divergent species. Communities of forest elves also lived in that place. The journey was dangerous: without knowledge of the region or the right paths, one could stumble upon not-so-pleasant surprises, such as ravenous ogres, even black or brown bears, and panthers that vanished and reappeared suddenly, causing confusion among the unprepared.
However, what no one remembered was the secret that Encanthia guarded deep within its core — and Randyr knew its paths and, above all, the place where she intended to go: the lost city of Everyn, the goddess of justice.
The city, once exuberant and prosperous, had been abandoned over the years, left within the depths of the Forest of the Lost. The largest temple of the goddess Everyn stood at the heart of the ancient city. The forest dominated the old houses, buildings, inns, or what was left of those ancient structures — only remnants of a once-thriving place.
Randyr had lived during that time, known as the Axe of Tiphus, the goddess of strength. She was a powerful warrior, known for her relentless drive to do good for small communities. Now, she was the Emissary of Everyn, the warrior who wandered without purpose. Immortality had brought her bitterness, but that was not why she had come to the ancient ruins: she wished to see an old friend. Therefore, she crossed the place without worrying about possible enemies. There was no one walking the land who could rival her power, only her former teammates, whom she hadn't seen in so many years. Yet she would never forget their faces or stories. She had lived with the guilt for a long time; her memories always brought her harsh sensations.
The temple was majestic, even affected by the passing of decades. Vines were part of the landscape, though the sovereign pillars still looked imposing. The marble staircase was almost completely intact; the place was well preserved. Some animals fled at the presence of the warrior. With each step, the sound of her armor echoed.
Randyr was never discreet: the orcse was muscular and wore battle armor, her entire body protected by gleaming metal, indicating that its composition was no simple matter — it was imbued with magic, including the red cape that fluttered in the wind. Even though she felt the heat due to the early summer, she didn't mind the sweat; it was part of what it meant to be strong.
— Gil. — The orcse's voice echoed through the place; the main hall opened as soon as she entered the reinforced and carved wooden doors. Everything was enormous and had once been sublime. — Gilgrim. — She repeated. She knew that the dwarf and paladin of Everyn was in the temple. She had lived there, isolated from the outside world, for at least a century. None of those living an immortal life could cope with the passing years. It had indeed been incredible at first, but after her first loves died, she began to rethink: that prolonged life had become an unhappy curse.
— Did you dream too? — Gilgrim was sitting at the presbytery. The benches of the ancient chapel were intact, only with the usual dust of a place that hadn't seen cleaning in ages. The dwarf wore white garments with gold details. She no longer wore the imposing armor she once did. The Book of Everyn was laid open on the table above, glowing and magical, telling her story, speaking of her teachings and laws. Gilgrim, the justice of Everyn, did not possess the same brilliance as everything in that place: tired and difficult to sustain. There was still light, but it was slowly fading.
— Yes. Khaled escaped the tower. — Randyr approached slowly, sitting beside her old friend, gently squeezing her shoulder.
— Everyn spoke to me. Khaled managed to get one of her fragments; with that, he was able to create a bridge to the outside world. The challenges placed along the path to the tower kept getting harder, but the boy still managed to reach the wizard. — Gil didn't seem to complain about the matter. — We still can't rest. Khaled must be stopped again.
— Until when, Gil? It was good in the beginning: the power, the body I deserved since I was born... But seeing my husband die, my children, my grandchildren, everything ending and crumbling? It's a curse. — Randyr had been irritated ever since she dreamed she should find the paladin, for she knew what it meant: they were being used once again. — Who's to say Khaled is really dangerous?
— Are you doubting our goddess? The gods know what they're doing, Randy. His power was out of control; there was no one left to stop him but us. — It was an old story, wounds she wished had healed, but they reopened completely with a simple conversation.
— I'm tired. We're tired. I just want to join my kin, finally die in all the glory for having saved this world, but no matter how much I ask Everyn, I can't sleep for more than two nights. — Randyr ran her hand through her short hair, pressing the side of her head as if thinking were difficult. — As long as Khaled can be a threat, we'll be alive. You know that, right?
Gilgrim's devastating pause only confirmed what the orcse thought.
— "You may only die the day someone more powerful destroys you; then you shall find eternal rest. Until that moment, only Everyn can grant such a blessing." — Randyr said, and although they weren't the exact words, that was the feeling she had when she heard them. Death was a blessing, once a terror. — Only Khaled...
— No. We can't let Khaled kill us. We have a mission to fulfill, Randyr. We won't allow the wizard to end our mission; that means fighting for Everyn and for the cause. — Even if Gilgrim was tired, the dwarf knew her mission was more important than her desire to rest. She couldn't afford to fall when the world was once again in danger. Dwarves lived many years longer than humans or orcs, less than elves, so the passing of time hadn't been as harsh as for other immortals.
— That decision is mine. — Randyr finally stood up. — But I don't intend to let Khaled walk this world without concern. We need to go to Laurent first. I hope he still knows how to use a bow.
— Laurent worries me, but his power is essential. — The dwarf didn't like the man who had left long ago, living in promiscuity, desiring more than he should. Even so, it was necessary, and that was above her wants and dislikes.
She walked beside Randyr, thinking that they might see the wizard once more — and, once again, imprison him in that tower, hoping that he would escape and they would capture him again.
______________________________________________________
Liandre was worried. Even though it had been relatively easy to leave the cursed forest of Vale Alto, the moon would disappear that night. Khaled had practically destroyed every challenge that appeared along the way; the mercenary hadn't needed to make much effort, using his new acquisition: the Dawnlight Sword, so beautiful with its subtle, faint glow.
Either way, he remained astonished by how powerful the mage was; it seemed as if magic was a part of his very existence. If his power had been fragmented years ago, they still left a good part within him.
— How can you be defeated if you can do all these magical feats? — Liandre remarked, cutting through some stray branches along the path; the creature screeched in pain.
— You haven't seen all my power and yet you're impressed. — Khaled smiled softly. He used to be good at lying, but it didn't take long for the smile to fade as he thought about what had happened two centuries ago. — There were three enemies. Besides, I was caught by surprise. I didn't expect to be betrayed by friends I considered so close. But it wasn't exactly their fault.
— What do you mean? — Liandre was already sweating as they finally left the space around the tower; the sun was shining. It must have been noon, as his stomach protested.
— They were deceived by a petty deity. But that doesn't matter. — The mage could finally feel life around him; he could see what lay beyond the tower.
They stood at the top of Vale Alto hill. Below was a vast green area; the trees started further ahead. The path, which once seemed like a road, was now overgrown with weeds; it looked as if no one had dared climb the hill for a long time. The village could be seen in the distance, but to the mage, it looked abandoned. It wasn't uncommon for small villages to come to an end, mostly due to rumors or war. If Liandre had mentioned that new political regimes were in place, many cities would emerge while others would vanish, depending on what the government sought to achieve, for its own benefit or that of the people.
— Where's the nearest town? — the mage asked, beginning to descend the valley.
— Two days' journey on foot. I lost my horse a few hours from here. — Liandre thought about the hardships that had brought him to that point. Besides, he couldn't imagine the gods interfering in daily life. What kind of person was the mage? Why would any god even think of living creatures or act against someone? Only the one stubbornly walking ahead, proudly, despite his frail physique, could answer that. Liandre knew that, at some point, he would tire more quickly for not conserving his strength.
— I could take us to a city from my memories, but it's dangerous; perhaps everything has changed, and magic could fail tragically. Besides, walking a bit, enjoying freedom, isn't such a bad idea. — Khaled was strangely excited.
The mercenary understood his emotions: living in isolation for so long and now having the chance to leave, to smell the forest, to walk through the tall grass, to see animals running scared until they disappeared into the woods... Everything felt unique when he hadn't seen something so ordinary in such a long time.
Khaled was distracted by his observations. His foot slipped on the moss and he almost tumbled down the entire path; strong hands gripped his waist before he could even feel the fear of falling. Their bodies remained pressed together for a few moments. The mage could feel the warrior's heart beating more intensely and smiled at that. He could notice Liandre's increasingly evident glances; he chose not to comment on it, knowing that the bond was influencing the mercenary's feelings. It helped with empathy and even with the closeness the two might eventually share.
The mercenary's heart was shaken; at that moment he could only think: How can someone smell so good even after walking all night long?
— Better watch where you step; this area is really slippery. — Liandre said, his body shielding Khaled.
Slowly releasing him, it was evident how much larger the mercenary's body was: more robust and strong. The elf was delicate and small; his soft skin wouldn't last a minute in a sword fight, but the mage didn't need strength — he could be more powerful than anyone with just his magical words.
— Of course. — Khaled adjusted his hair, which had become disheveled when he nearly fell. He decided it was better for the other to take the lead.
Liandre followed the path carefully, helping the elf when necessary, trying to control himself. From the first moment he saw him, he had been struck by such beauty; now he was becoming embarrassed by their closeness. He had more serious things to worry about than to dwell on any nonsense his mind was formulating.
By nightfall, they would reach the old village. They only stopped due to the hunger that afflicted them, especially after the long walk. Liandre noticed that the elf didn't eat as much as he should.
They arrived at their first destination by dusk. The wooden houses were completely deteriorated; the mud ones had no remnants left. The best construction was the church in the center of the place: the stone foundations remained intact; the wooden areas had some holes due to termites. They decided to spend the night there. The pews had disappeared; the altar remained sturdy.
— Do you know why this building still stands, even with the houses so worn down outside? — Khaled walked toward the presbytery, dropping his bag on the single stone. Some wild rats scurried away in fear. The weeds had already invaded the place, but they could rest with a roof over their heads. The rain had begun to fall; leaks were part of the environment, but nothing that would bother either of them.
— Faith? — Liandre replied without paying much attention to the topic. He took off his white shirt, placing it over the backpack; then, unfastening his belt, he remained only in trousers — he knew what was coming and needed to prepare.
— Because priests prefer to spend on their temples than maintain the community's homes. — He said bitterly.
— The republic's promise is to give people a good life, so I guess temples should lose a little because of that. — Liandre commented, noticing that Khaled disliked the gods, and he even understood his stance. How many times had he prayed to Everyn? To Tiphus? Or any other deity that might give him some relief? But before he could say anything, he felt a deep sensation throughout his body, like a premonitory shiver of his own body's calamity.
He could feel the need for violence and blood clouding his mind. Liandre had been through this situation countless times; there was no way to put the pain into words. He dropped the sword, even though it was almost irresistible to draw the elf's blood right in front of him; he didn't allow himself to give in to such primitive instincts, even if he wanted to end the suffering. The first wounds opened on his arms, where old scars already existed: gashes in the flesh as if someone were cutting from beneath the skin. The white of the cut could be seen; the blood dripped onto the sacred floor of the chapel.
Khaled watched with admiration. He didn't want Liandre to suffer, but he was curious to see what magic did to a body unprepared to receive it. How could the merciful goddess commit such a sin against her children? — he wondered. He approached, intending to end the atrocity occurring before him. He had seen enough.
Liandre couldn't bear the weight of his own body due to the searing pain, collapsing to his knees. He made minimal noise; he didn't allow himself to scream or express the sensation of flesh tearing, each fiber slowly ripping like a torture that wouldn't end. Until he felt warm hands touching his face.
— Leave, or I might hurt you. — His voice came out hoarse, wanting, needing, to hurt another instead of himself. Khaled's face looked so serene it was unsettling to him: unbothered in its tranquility.
— I will help you. — The words made the warrior relax, even with every nerve strained. He trusted the mage; he knew he could end the disturbing sensation that had plagued him for countless minutes, hours, years. — Nayam.
The moment he heard the magical whisper in his ear, so close, he couldn't even process what was happening. He simply fell asleep, letting his body collapse onto the floor, red with the warm liquid streaming from his open wounds. The magical words continued flowing from Khaled's lips, easing the "curse" that afflicted the mercenary's body.
As long as the necklace hung around his neck, he could have peaceful nights of sleep. Khaled needed to tend to his wounds; he took care of that with a healing potion, giving it to him without much effort.
The elf only struggled to lift the large body onto the blanket; he had to use magic, being truly inept in any physical ability. He soon protected them both; he would sleep less time, but he really needed rest.
Perfect! Continuing the complete and rigorous revision, maintaining your style intact, with only grammar, spelling, punctuation, and redundancy adjustments.
Liandre's dreams were turbulent. He saw himself as a child, next to his sister. Linette was five years older, just a teenager facing the horrors of war. Their parents couldn't say goodbye to their children; they were taken to the central square, whose fountain bore the statue of the king — at that moment, it was headless.
The children's parents would be the twentieth noble couple to be executed, besides the sons, cousins, and uncles who had been sent to the gallows. The revolutionaries wanted an end to the monarchy. Even so, some nobles were granted concessions — only those who fought effectively, killing rebels, were completely annihilated.
Liandre witnessed his parents' deaths. He was sent with his sister to the orphanage, where they waited for years for someone to adopt them. Linette, despite being older, was adopted first, while the boy waited and eventually left straight to the streets of the capital. Those were hard times. They weren't good memories.
When he woke up, he felt anguish for remembering the past.
He noticed the beam of light entering the chapel through the wooden gaps, signaling dawn. However, what caught his attention wasn't the clear morning after the rainy night, but the elven figure sitting cross-legged, eyes closed. The sun shone directly on his face.
He rose slowly; he had some bandages on his open wounds but didn't feel hurt. He touched himself and noticed the glow coming from the family necklace around his neck.
— I imbued your necklace with magic, then cast permanency. It means your moonless nights will be peaceful as long as you wear this object. So be careful. Though, considering how old it is, it must be really precious. — Khaled turned toward the man, who still looked at him with admiration.
Liandre didn't really think when he threw his body around the mage, hugging him warmly, like a bear. He wasn't one to show affection; he was someone solitary by choice, but at that moment, he was relieved: he didn't feel the pain of a night of excruciating tortures — all thanks to Khaled. There was no way to thank him enough for giving him that relief. He would do everything until he completed his mission and returned every fragment the elf was searching for.
The mage could feel the comforting embrace. He was curious about the sudden display of affection; he didn't mind it but found himself wondering what Liandre would do if he knew all of his plans. Would he be disappointed? He liked his strength and the naive way he reacted to situations so far. Did he really trust Khaled that much?
He brought his hand to the bandaged arm, giving light pats, until he noticed the larger man pulling away. They were really close now.
— Thank you. — The mercenary finally managed to say, returning to the space they had before. Being grateful didn't give him the right to take certain liberties.
— No need to thank me. I can't let you get hurt. — Even knowing it was an agreement, Khaled understood how much the curse affected the warrior's life. So, he accepted his words, even though he hadn't taken any action out of empathy or sentimentality. He needed to complete his own goal, and Liandre was the bridge that would allow that; just a piece in his entire plan. He only needed to know how to move it properly — and, who knows, take some pleasure from the situation. He could think about that later: they needed to find the next fragment and destroy it as soon as possible.
To be continued.