Chapter 11
When consciousness returned, it came not as peace but as ache.
Azre stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to an unfamiliar ceiling of timber beams, faint morning light spilling across them. The scent of smoke and herbs clung to the air, a faint reminder of the battlefield. She blinked, confusion giving way to memory the forest, the shadows, Holon's gaze, the Executioner blazing in her grip until exhaustion had dragged her down. The metallic tang of blood, both hers and others', lingered faintly in her nostrils, a phantom echo of the carnage.
Now her body screamed. Every muscle throbbed, her ribs burned with each breath, and when she tried to move, pain lanced through her limbs so sharply she nearly cried out.
"Gods…" she whispered hoarsely, biting down against the groan that clawed at her throat. Slowly, stubbornly, she tried to sit up, but her body resisted like lead.
The room was simple: plain walls, a table with a pitcher of water, sunlight filtering through a single shuttered window. Not the barracks of the Purge Knights, nor her home.
An inn, she realized, recognition dawning as she caught the distant sounds of the city stirring awake. Ethille.
She fell back against the pillow, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Though she lived, her body felt broken, stretched to its limits and beyond. And still, part of her wondered not whether she could rise again, but whether she should.
The memory of Holon's crimson gaze burned behind her eyelids, chilling her more than the pain ever could. He had escaped. Despite her awakening, despite her fury, he had slipped away like smoke.
Azre shut her eyes, fighting the sting of tears. I was not enough.
Downstairs, Rowan sat opposite Eldhar at a sturdy oak table, its surface worn from years of use. The inn's common room was quiet save for the crackle of the hearth. The knights were resting in nearby chambers, their wounds tended, their strength spent.
Eldhar leaned forward, his expression grave, his voice low.
"Tell me, Rowan. How did you and Thalia come upon us in that cursed forest? And what of Lady Seraphine? When last we parted, you remained at her manor."
Rowan nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the hilt of his sheathed blade beside him. "I'll explain everything. But you won't like what you hear."
He drew a breath, eyes darkening as memory pulled him back to that night.
"The memory of that night still burns in my mind, Eldhar. I can close my eyes and feel it as if it were happening now the sounds, the smells, the fear and the weight of every choice that night. It was the Brightnox Manor, gleaming under the moonlight like some impossible jewel among Ethille's noble houses. Its walls were a fortress of wealth and history, its spires reaching toward the sky, a symbol of both protection and pride. Lady Seraphine's family had risen from merchants to one of the city's most influential dynasties, commanding fleets that spanned the seas, her archives brimming with relics and scrolls older than many kingdoms. But it was not only wealth that defined them. There was elegance, there was grace, and Seraphine herself… she carried kindness in her eyes and loyalty in her heart. She supported the Purge Knights quietly, without fanfare, but it was a steadfast support that mattered more than she realized.
That night, the manor was alive with music and laughter. Candles in golden sconces cast dancing shadows across the grand hall. Noblemen toasted with crystal chalices raised high, musicians played violins, lutes, and flutes, filling every corner with melody, and the tables bowed under the weight of delicacies from distant lands. I remained near Thalia as usual. She had always been alert, but that night her vigilance seemed almost instinctive. Her hand rested lightly on her bowstring, eyes sweeping the hall with quiet suspicion. I felt steadied by her presence. Her gaze seemed to penetrate the very walls, searching for a threat I could not yet perceive.
Even as the music played, I sensed unease. The servants moved with stiffness, their steps too measured, their gazes lowered as if afraid to meet our eyes. The warmth of the candles could not reach the chill that had settled over the hall. Something dark was coming, and I knew it. Thalia sensed it too, her shoulders taut, jaw clenched, her whole body a coiled tension ready to spring. She subtly adjusted her stance, her weight shifting slightly forward, ready to react in an instant.
Then the scream came. It tore through the hall like steel through silk, shattering laughter and music alike. Panic erupted.
Cloaked figures poured into the hall. Their blades glinted in the candlelight, and their masks bore sigils of black flame that seemed almost alive. The Trinity of the Abyss had arrived. Steel clashed immediately. I struck down the first cultist with a practiced sweep of my blade, while Thalia's arrows flew like falling stars, piercing the hearts of zealots before they could reach the nobles. The grand feast dissolved into chaos in seconds. Blood ran in dark rivulets across the marble floors. Nobles screamed, scattering like frightened birds, their once pristine gowns and robes smeared with crimson. The smell of spilled wine mingled with blood and smoke, creating a metallic tang that made my stomach churn. The air crackled with dark energy, a palpable sense of malice that made the hairs on my neck stand on end.
They were not here merely to kill. I could feel it. They hunted something moving with precision, as if they knew exactly what they wanted. Their focus was the manor's archives.
"Thalia! The library!" I shouted, slicing through a zealot that had lunged toward a cluster of nobles. We fought our way through the tide of black cloaked attackers together, side by side, our movements perfectly synchronized from years of training. The doors to the archives were shattered, the hinges twisted and splintered. Smoke and a dark, acrid energy poured from within. The smell of burning parchment and some foul sorcery made my stomach tighten.
Inside, Seraphine knelt in terror, her hands raised before her as a zealot poised a dagger above her. Her eyes were wide, the fear clear even from across the room. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, a testament to her helplessness.
"Seraphine!" Thalia's voice cut through the chaos. Her arrow flew true, burying itself in the cultist before he could strike. Seraphine gasped and stumbled back, nearly losing her balance. I surged forward, my blade flashing like fire in the dim light. Every strike I made drove back the shadows around her, not just from duty but from a need to shield her trembling form. I planted myself firmly before her, my stance wide, my grip tight on my sword.
"Stay behind me!" I shouted.
The battle inside the archives was brutal. Blood soaked the marble floors, ink ran across torn scrolls, relics were chipped and shattered beneath our boots. One zealot, smaller but quicker, broke away from the fight, clutching a tome bound in black iron. I shouted after him, but he vanished into the night before we could stop him, taking the Brightnox secret with him. The tome pulsed with a faint, dark energy, a silent promise of the chaos it would unleash.
When the fighting ended, silence fell like a suffocating blanket. The guards lay slain to the last, nobles cowered in broken corners, and the marble gleamed red where blood pooled. Seraphine stood trembling, her silken gown torn, eyes glistening with tears she fought to contain. She gripped my arm, and her voice quavered as she spoke.
"They sought it," she said, "the book my family has kept hidden for generations. A key to the Altar of Daath, the second of its kind." Her gaze searched mine, filled with fear, yet holding a fragile trust. "They spoke of Holon. Of his trap for the Purge Knights that he would crush them in despair before ending them."
I had no words of comfort. Only resolve. Thalia placed her hand on my shoulder, grounding me, her calm presence a tether in the storm of memory and emotion. Her touch was a silent reassurance, a reminder that we were in this together.
We carried Seraphine to Captain Viera's company, ensuring her safety. She clung to my hand a moment longer than necessary before letting go, her eyes speaking volumes of gratitude she could not put into words. There was a depth of emotion in her gaze, a silent plea for protection that resonated deep within me.
The ride through the night was tense. Shadows of the forest seemed alive, swaying in unnatural patterns under the silver moonlight. Every crack of a branch, every whisper of wind could be a threat. We rode swiftly, urgent, knowing the Purge Knights were in peril. The air grew colder with each mile, a chilling premonition of the horrors that awaited us.
And then we arrived. Just in time. I can still feel the moment, Eldhar. Darkan had Aven in his grasp. His strength was overwhelming, and Aven struggled futilely, desperation clear in his eyes. I could almost taste the finality if we had arrived a heartbeat later. The stench of decay and despair hung heavy in the air, a testament to Darkan's malevolent power.
We had to act fast. Thalia and I moved as one, cutting through the remnants of Darkan's shadowed minions. I swung my sword with precision, forcing Darkan to release Aven long enough for him to roll away, gasping, staggering, but alive. The moment stretched endlessly the silence punctuated by heavy breaths, the smell of scorched earth and blood thick in the air. The weight of responsibility pressed down on me, a crushing burden to ensure their survival.
The portal we used to reach this battlefield came next. It was the same magic Holon had used in his hideout, and it was unpredictable. The air around us vibrated with energy, the sky above shimmering with unnatural colors as we stepped through. We emerged not far from where we needed to be, but far enough that we had to quickly navigate the scarred earth. I remember the urgency, the pounding of my heart, the way Thalia's steady gaze pushed me forward without words. Her presence was a constant source of strength, a silent promise that we would face whatever lay ahead together.
Even after Aven was safe, we could feel Holon's presence lingering, a shadow at the edge of every thought. We had stopped him that night, but I knew then as I know now that it was only a temporary reprieve. The portal's magic faded behind us, leaving the world quiet, still, and burning with the remnants of terror and chaos. The knowledge that Holon was still out there, plotting and scheming, gnawed at me, a constant reminder of the danger that loomed.
Eldhar, the memory of that night is etched deep. Every face, every scream, every heartbeat matters. Even now, I can feel the weight of those choices pressing against my chest. We acted, yes, but barely in time. And that is the truth I carry forward every victory comes with the shadow of what might have been, and every failure waits silently in the wings, ready to test our resolve. The line between success and disaster is often razor thin, and we must always be vigilant, prepared to make the difficult choices that lie ahead.
We reached the battlefield, almost too late, yet still in time to save Aven. That night taught me, Eldhar, that being a Purge Knight means standing at the edge of despair and still choosing to act, even when hope is thin. And it is that memory, more than anything else, that drives me forward, reminding me of what we fight for, and what we must never allow to fall."