(As recounted by Aurelio)
The old man did not speak for a long time after that. The dawn light had grown stronger, painting the room in shades of gold and amber. The Scholar sat in silence, his quill drying in his hand, his eyes fixed on the weathered face of the storyteller.
Aurelio was not looking at him. He was looking through him, at something far away, far back, far gone.
"The coast," he finally said, "was not what we expected. We had dreamed of ships. Of escape. Of salt air washing away the stench of plague and death. But when we reached the cliffs overlooking the sea, we found only ruins."
He closed his eyes.
"Godbrand had been there before us."
— Memory —
The port town of Portovenere had been a jewel once; whitewashed houses climbing the hillside, a harbor filled with fishing boats, a fortress guarding the entrance to the bay. Now it was a graveyard.
The ships were burning.
Aurelio stood on the cliff path, staring down at the harbor. The masts of a dozen vessels leaned at drunken angles, their hulls blackened and cracked. The water was thick with ash and floating debris. The smell of smoke and roasted flesh filled the air.
"He burned them," Gerald said, his voice flat. "He burned them all."
"Why?" Riccio asked. "He needed those ships to leave."
"He does not need them anymore," Liam said. "He found another way. Or he was never planning to leave. He was planning to trap us here."
Cecilia stood apart, the girl Elara clinging to her hand. The child's eyes were wide, taking in the destruction with a silence that was more terrible than screams.
"We need to go down there," Aurelio said. "There may be survivors."
"There may be traps," Gerald countered.
"There may be both. We go carefully."
The descent to the harbor was treacherous. The path had been damaged, perhaps by the same fire that had consumed the ships, perhaps by something else. Loose stones skittered beneath their feet, and more than once, Aurelio had to catch Cecilia's arm to keep her from falling.
Elara did not stumble. She moved with a quiet precision that reminded Aurelio of a deer he had once seen in the woods; alert, fragile, ready to flee at the slightest sound.
They reached the harbor as the sun reached its zenith. The heat was oppressive, and the air was thick with the smell of death. Bodies lay in the streets; not plague victims, but the victims of violence. Slit throats. Cracked skulls. Wounds that had been made by blades, not disease.
"Godbrand did this," Riccio whispered. "His own people. The ones who refused to follow him further."
"Or the ones who tried to leave," Liam said. "He cannot afford deserters. They know too much."
Aurelio knelt beside a body; a young man, no older than Riccio, his face frozen in an expression of surprise. There was a wooden cross carved into his forehead. A mark of judgment.
"He is not just killing them. He is sending a message."
"What message?"
"That there is no escape. Not for them. Not for us."
They found survivors in the fortress overlooking the harbor.
A small group of fishermen and their families had barricaded themselves inside the old tower, hoping to wait out the violence. They were gaunt, frightened, and armed with little more than fishing knives and courage.
Their leader was an old woman named Serafina, her hair white as bone, her eyes sharp as flint.
"You are the ones they speak of," she said, studying Aurelio. "The grove-keeper. The Viking. The witch."
"The heretic," Cecilia said, with a faint smile.
"I did not say heretic. I said witch. There is a difference in these parts."
"Is there?"
Serafina shrugged. "Witches can be useful. Heretics just burn."
She led them to a chamber at the top of the tower, where a window overlooked the burning harbor.
"The preacher came three days ago. He demanded our ships, our food, our children. We refused. He burned the ships anyway. Killed anyone who tried to stop him. Took the children."
"He took children?"
"Dozens of them. Said they were the future. Said they would be raised in the light, away from the corruption of their parents."
Aurelio felt something cold settle in his chest. "Where did he take them?"
"North. Along the coast. There is an old monastery there, built into the cliffs. He has made it his stronghold."
"How many followers?"
"Hundreds. Perhaps more. He has been gathering them for weeks."
Gerald let out a low whistle. "We cannot assault a fortress with a dozen people."
"We do not assault it," Aurelio said. "We infiltrate it. We find the children. We get them out."
"And Godbrand?"
Aurelio's hand went to his sword. "Godbrand is mine."
That night, they made their plans.
Serafina knew the monastery well. She had grown up in the shadow of its walls, and she knew a secret path; a tunnel that led from the cliffs below to the monastery's cellars.
"The tunnel is old," she warned. "Unused for decades. It may collapse. It may be guarded. It may lead nowhere."
"It is the only chance we have," Aurelio said.
They divided into teams. Aurelio, Liam, and Riccio would enter through the tunnel. Gerald and the Norsemen would create a diversion at the main gate. Cecilia would remain with Serafina, guarding the survivors and tending to the wounded.
"I should go with you," Cecilia said.
"You should stay with Elara."
"The girl is not my responsibility."
"She is everyone's responsibility. That is what we are fighting for. Her. And children like her."
Cecilia looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded.
"Come back."
"I always come back."
"You did not come back from the Anvil. Not really."
Aurelio had no answer for that. He simply took her hand, squeezed it once, and turned toward the tunnel.
The tunnel was darkness itself.
The walls were damp, slick with moisture, and the air was thick with the smell of salt and decay. Aurelio led the way, his sword drawn, his gift humming at the edge of his awareness. Liam followed close behind, his breathing steady. Riccio brought up the rear, his bow strung and ready.
They walked for what felt like hours. The tunnel sloped upward, then leveled out, then sloped again. Twice, they had to squeeze through gaps where the ceiling had collapsed. Once, they had to wade through water cold enough to steal their breath.
And then, finally, they saw light.
A faint glow, filtering through a wooden door at the top of a flight of stone steps.
"The cellars," Liam whispered.
Aurelio nodded. He climbed the steps, pressed his ear against the door, and listened.
Silence.
He pushed the door open.
The cellar was empty. Crates of wine and barrels of grain lined the walls, covered in dust. No guards. No traps. Just the quiet decay of a place that had been forgotten.
"Too easy," Riccio muttered.
"Too easy," Aurelio agreed.
They moved through the cellar and into the monastery proper. The halls were silent, lit by flickering torches. The walls were stone, cold and grey. And everywhere, there was the scent of incense; thick, cloying, masking something else.
They found the children in the chapel.
Dozens of them, sitting in rows on the stone floor, their faces blank, their eyes empty. They were not chained. They were not guarded. They simply sat, staring at the altar, where a wooden cross had been draped in red cloth.
"Godbrand has done something to them," Riccio whispered. "Look at their eyes."
Aurelio looked. The children's eyes were open, but they were not seeing. They were in a trance. A waking sleep.
"Can we wake them?"
"I do not know. Maybe. But it will take time. Time we do not have."
Aurelio made a decision. "We take as many as we can carry. The rest... we come back for."
They moved through the rows, lifting children into their arms. The children did not resist. They did not respond. They were dolls, empty shells.
They had loaded a dozen children when the doors burst open.
Godbrand stood in the entrance, flanked by his guards. His eyes were bright, feverish.
"I knew you would come," he said. "I knew you could not resist. You are so predictable, grove-keeper. So bound by your own sentiment."
"Let the children go," Aurelio said. "This is between you and me."
"Oh, but the children are between you and me. They are the future. They are the proof. They will show the world what happens to those who resist the cleansing."
He raised his hand.
The children stood.
As one, they turned to face Aurelio. Their eyes were no longer empty. They were silver.
"Run," Liam said.
They ran.
— Present —
The old man's voice had dropped to a whisper.
"We ran from that chapel with the children in our arms, and the children... the children were screaming. Not in fear. In rage. Godbrand had turned them. Not into Echo Walkers, but into something else. Something worse. Soldiers who did not know they were soldiers."
He looked at the Scholar.
"We lost Riccio that night. He stayed behind to hold the door. He gave us time to escape. And Godbrand... Godbrand laughed. He stood in the doorway of the chapel, watching us flee, and he laughed."
The room was silent.
"Chapter 30 ends here. But the nightmare... the nightmare was just beginning."
The Scholar's quill trembled. He set it down.
The dawn had fully arrived, but the room felt darker than it had at midnight.