The fire crackled, casting long, flickering shadows against the cavern walls as the trio settled into a tense silence. Gabriel sat in a disciplined, cross-legged stance, his eyes closed as he focused on the "static" in his mana veins. Across from him, the old man clutched a bowl of warm broth provided by Genevieve, his hands still trembling so violently that the liquid rippled.
Finally, the man in the ruined white robes looked up. The firelight caught the tears in his eyes, reflecting off the shattered silver holy symbol hanging from his neck.
"My name is Thaddeus," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I am… I was… a Brother of the Silver Noon."
Gabriel opened one electric blue eye, tracking the man's elevated heart rate. "You were part of a caravan. High-value targets. Why were you in the High-Pass?"
"We were transporting tithes and sacred texts to the High Sanctum," Thaddeus said, a sob catching in his throat. "We thought the pass was clear. But then… the shadows moved. It wasn't just a raiding party. There were dozens of them, and they were led by a Shaman. A grey-skinned devil with a staff of bone that bled green fire."
Genevieve paused her whetting stone, the rasp of metal on metal stopping abruptly. "A Shaman this far south? That's a Tier-2 threat. Goblins don't usually have that kind of leadership in the crags."
"He was… horrible," Thaddeus continued, staring into the flames. "He didn't just kill; he unmade the guards. My High Priest… he saw there was no hope. He grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and told me to run. I was the youngest, the fastest… I had to let the Order know what had happened here. That something was stirring in the dark."
Thaddeus lowered his head, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "I hesitated. For a heartbeat, I stayed. And in that heartbeat, I watched them slaughtered. Everyone. The Shaman saw me flee… he laughed and sent his hunters to pick up my trail. They've been playing with me for miles, like a cat with a mouse, until I ran into that tree."
Gabriel watched the priest's facial micro-expressions. No signs of deception. The trauma was authentic.
"A Shaman implies a centralized command structure," Gabriel analyzed, his voice a cool, resonant bass. "Which means the 'random' attack on Genevieve's hunting party and the slaughter of your caravan are likely linked variables. We are looking at a coordinated clearing of the pass."
Gabriel leaned back, the "stars" in his midnight scales flickering with a subtle, rhythmic pulse. He didn't know the geography, and he certainly didn't know the politics of this "Silver Noon," but his logic dictated that a priest with a destination was his best source of topographical data.
"Thaddeus," Gabriel said, his eyes locking onto the priest's. "You want to honor your Priest's last wish? You're going to need to get to that monastery. And I need to know exactly what kind of 'Stirring in the Dark' could command a Shaman to butcher a holy caravan."
He looked at Genevieve, then back to the priest, his devilish grin returning. "It seems we have a mutual interest. You provide the map and the direction, and I ensure that no grey-skinned devil with a bone staff touches you again. I need to get my bearings in this world, and your Monastery sounds like a high-density information hub."
Thaddeus looked at Gabriel—at the star-flecked black scales and the predatory calm of his gaze. "You speak of the Monastery as a source of 'information.' It is a house of God. But… if the Shaman is truly moving, perhaps the heavens sent a protector I don't yet understand."
"I prefer the term 'Analyst,'" Gabriel replied, standing up and stretching his ropey, muscled frame. "Get some sleep, Priest. Tomorrow, we start the optimization of this forest."