The journey to Oakhaven is a frantic blur. The young guard doesn't say much, entirely focused on returning as fast as possible. As we approach Oakhaven, the city's usual bustling night sounds are replaced by an unsettling quiet, punctuated by distant, anxious shouts. The torchlight seems dimmer, casting longer, more nervous shadows. The gates, instead of feeling welcoming, feel foreboding.
The guards at the gate, their faces already pale with worry, visibly flinch as they watch us approach. Even though they likely saw the bears and me on my last visit. The sight of Charlie and Grizz still seems to both awe and unnerve them. The confident, though nervous, presence of the kid leading the way appears to be my ticket in. The gatekeepers allow us to pass without trouble.
The city within the gates is not the Oakhaven I left. The usual night bustle is replaced by an eerie stillness. Few lanterns burn, and the streets are largely deserted, save for a few hushed figures scurrying from shadow to shadow. A pervasive sense of dread hangs heavy in the air. There is a cold, unnatural quiet that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. Our young guide leads us deeper into the unnerving silence, his hurried pace suggesting an urgency far beyond mere exhaustion.
"What happened here? I ask.
The young guard shakes his head, his voice tight, words tumbling out fast. "Master Arion says it's not just enemies outside—it's something inside us, messing with our heads. It's not about being strong; it's about these thoughts that creep in and infect your mind. Even the most faithful can get messed up when the fight's in their own mind. People are trying, but it's like they're swinging at shadows, scared of something they can't even name.
Master Arion's holed up in his study, buried in books, trying to figure out how to fix this… whatever it is that is making the city sick. Master Arion has tried to share your hymns, but folks laugh and turn away from the light. They deny the sickness. Whatever it is, it… it makes you think you're fine when you're actually breaking.
He sent me to find you because he thinks you being here can cut through the lies and reach the ones who still matter. His place isn't far."
I ponder how much use I can actually be here. "Unfortunately, I can't save the unwilling. Blessed are you for your ability to recognize this darkness."
The young guard's eyes widen slightly at my words, a flicker of gratitude mingling with the fear. "Thank you, sir," he murmurs, then shakes his head, as if to clear it. "But even the willing are struggling. And Master Arion... he is not just willing, he is trying to fight it in his own way, but he needs the strength that you possess against this." He then gestures down a narrow, winding street, urgency returning to his voice. "This way. Master Arion's home is just around this bend."
We reach a sturdy, unassuming house nestled between two larger structures. A single, dim lantern flickers by the oak door. The guard knocks quickly, a nervous rap, and after a moment, the door creaks open. Master Arion stands in the threshold, his face etched with a fresh weariness that seems to have aged him years since our last meeting. His eyes, though still sharp, hold a profound sadness. He looks past the young guard, his gaze finding mine, and a flicker of desperate hope ignites within them. "Tormack! You've come," he breathes, his voice a hoarse whisper of relief, as he ushers me and my bears inside. "My friend, the shadows deepen, and the whispers grow stronger. Praise be to God that you are here. My memories, now fully restored, have unveiled the true horror of the Master's design."
I scrunch my nose, "Master? Who is this Master you are talking about?"
"He is the one who turned me into that… monster that I was… He seeks not merely to corrupt, but to *consume* Oakhaven with a ritual of 'ascension.' It has already begun to manifest. It preys on despair, turning the city's own citizens into unwitting conduits for its power. And Shineah..." he pauses, a deep concern clouding his eyes. "She ventured into the Outer Ward, investigating strange disappearances. She suspected a link to this burgeoning darkness. She has not returned. I fear she has become ensnared, and time is running out. We must act quickly, Tormack, before Oakhaven becomes irrevocably lost to the Master's grasp."
Without a word, I turn and stride purposefully towards the door, my bears instinctively falling into step beside me. Arion, despite his frailty, moves with a renewed sense of purpose, while the young guard, though clearly terrified, steels himself and leads the way. The hurried pace takes us deeper into Oakhaven's twisting streets, the disquiet growing with every step.
As we reach the Outer Ward, the oppressive atmosphere thickens. The air itself feels colder, heavier, laden with an almost tangible sense of despair. Shadows seem to writhe in the periphery of my vision, and the few buildings we pass appear abandoned, their windows like hollow, dead eyes. The silence here is profound, an unnatural void broken only by the rhythmic padding of our steps and our strained breathing. An insidious presence whispers at the edges of my perception, a chilling confirmation of Arion's dire warnings. This is no longer merely a city at night; it is a place under siege by an unseen, malevolent force.
As we round a crumbling corner, a faint glow catches my eye. In the center of an empty courtyard, bathed in the sickly green light of several dark crystals, lies Shineah. She's not bound, but rather slumped against a broken stone fountain, her eyes wide and unfocused, her sword lying uselessly beside her. Dark tendrils of what looks like pure shadow writhe around her wrists and ankles, slowly tightening their grip. Her face is pale, a sheen of sweat on her brow, and her breath comes in shallow gasps. She looks up as we approach, a flicker of recognition, then desperation, in her eyes. "Tormack... the darkness... it's everywhere," she whispers, her voice weak, struggling against the encroaching shadows.
I look at her, my heart a complex mix of concern and lingering hurt. "Do you want my help?" I ask, my tone carrying the weight of our previous conversation.
Shineah's gaze, though clouded by the shadow tendrils, sharpens with a desperate clarity as your question hangs in the air. A faint flush rises on her pale cheeks, a struggle between pride and her current plight. Her lips part, a hesitant breath escaping. "Tormack… please. Yes. I… I need your help. This… this is beyond me. It's draining my will. The crystals… they're anchoring something. You must… stop them." Her voice is a mere whisper, laced with an undeniable plea.
With a fierce growl, I hastily swing my axe to smash the crystals. They hiss and crackle, their dark tendrils recoiling. With splintering pop, they shatter, their malevolent energy dissipating into wisps of some kind of smoke or vapor. The shadows binding Shineah release her, and she collapses, gasping for breath. "You are free," I state, my voice rough.
I cough as I turn my gaze back to Shineah; it has gotten into my lungs. I now feel I am bound and fall to my knees. My heart aches. "Your presence, this is too much for me to bear," I tell Shineah.
Now unbound, she pushes herself up, her eyes wide, a complex mix of relief, confusion, and a dawning understanding washing over her face. Arion hurries to her side, offering support, while the young guard looks on, bewildered by the emotional intensity of the moment.
Shineah's expression is a swirl of raw emotion. The desperate relief of freedom, the lingering fear of the shadows, and something else– a flicker of hurt, perhaps, or a deep understanding of my pain. She reaches out a hand, not to touch me, but as if to bridge the distance between us. "Tormack... I... I am grateful. More than words can say. You saved me." Her voice gains a fragile strength. "We need your strength, your light, now more than ever. Can you not put aside this personal ache for a moment longer, for the sake of Oakhaven? For the sake of those who cannot fight for themselves?"
Unquenchable tears stream down my face; I feel only heartache. It is as if all of my insecurities are being magnified in a moment. When I look at Shineah, the wound in my heart rips open *She only wants to use me. She sees me as no more than an animal, a monster. No one could ever love me. I am doomed to forever be alone!* It becomes apparent I have only taken her place in this snare.
Shineah's expression softens, a flicker of genuine empathy crossing her face as she truly sees the depth of my anguish. "Tormack... I do understand. More than you know. The Master feeds on despair, twists it into a weapon. And yes, my refusal... I know it wounds you. But if you truly feel snared, feel zapped of strength, then you are falling prey to the very darkness we fight. That ache... it is a vulnerability the Master will exploit." She takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper, filled with conviction. "But I ask you to look beyond it. Look at Arion, at this young guard. Look at Oakhaven, slowly suffocating under this blight. Your strength isn't just physical, Tormack. It is your unwavering spirit, your pure heart, your defiance against the corrupting influence of evil. Will you let your pain consume you, or will you use it to fuel the fire that banishes this darkness?" Arion steps forward, his hand gently on my arm, his eyes echoing Shineah's plea.
I tremble as the words break out of my chest, "YOU THINK I AM AN ANIMAL, A MONSTER! I am alone, no one could ever love me…"
Shineah's eyes blaze with a fierce, almost desperate conviction. "No, Tormack, you cannot think such a thing! That is the Master's victory, his ultimate triumph! He feeds on such despair, cultivates it. Your heart, your spirit—that is the very light he seeks to extinguish!"
Arion, his grip firm on your arm, pulls you gently, his voice a low, urgent murmur. "Tormack, listen to her. This pervasive gloom, this feeling of utter defeat... it is not your own. It is the insidious touch of the Master, whispering promises of oblivion. Do not let him turn you into a conduit for his darkness. You *are* the shield, the light." Around you, the oppressive quiet seems to press in even closer, the distant, anxious sounds of the city fading into an unnatural hush.
I writhe on the ground, shivering, coughing, crying and gasping for breath. My arms and legs feel freezing. The vibrant energy that usually courses through my muscular form flickers, then gutters, leaving behind a profound emptiness. A holy stone slips from my grasp to lie forgotten beside me. My breath catches in my throat, shallow and ragged, and a desperate fear, foreign to my normally resolute spirit, begins to bloom in my chest. The weight of Oakhaven's despair, coupled with my own profound heartache, presses down, threatening to snuff out my very life.
Shineah cries out, a sharp, guttural sound of pure anguish, and drops to her knees beside me, her hands immediately going to my cold shoulders. Her earlier frustration vanishes, replaced by stark terror. "Tormack! No! Fight it! This is not you! This is the Master's doing, feeding on your pain!" Her voice is thick with desperation, her eyes wide with fear as she shakes me gently.
Arion, too, kneels, his face a mask of horror. "He's succumbing to the despair, Shineah! The spiritual blight, it's taking him!" he exclaims, his voice strained. Even Charlie and Grizz let out low, anxious whimpers, nudging my unresponsive form with their massive heads, sensing my sudden, profound weakness.
Master Arion's gaze, filled with a desperate urgency, snaps to Shineah. "Shineah, don't you see? The spiritual rot Tormack warned us of. It is manifesting through his own heartache! You... you are its focal point for him. He is literally dying before our eyes, not from a blade, but from despair." He gestures wildly towards my prone form. "I have felt the very shadow of the Master recoil from his righteous fury! His light is Oakhaven's greatest defense, and it flickers now because…"
Shineah looks from Arion's desperate face to my pale, lifeless one. Her jaw clenches, her eyes burning with a desperate, new resolve. All traces of hesitation or pride vanish, replaced by a raw, unvarnished emotion. She leans over me, her hands gently cupping my face, her voice choked with emotion, but clear and resolute. "Tormack! No! You hear me? You cannot die! Master Arion is right! This... this is the Master's snare, preying on the truest part of you! Do not mistake duty for an absence of care! I... I need you, Tormack! Oakhaven needs you! This is not the time for doubts. *Live*, Tormack! Her words are a desperate, fierce incantation, a plea ripped from the depths of her soul, yet her words don't appear to have any effect.
My last words hang in the air, "Animal, monster, no one could ever love me…"
Shineah's gaze locks with Arion's, and for a long moment, a fierce battle of emotions plays out on her face. She then turns back to me, her voice raw, imbued with an undeniable sincerity. "Tormack... my heart *does* ache at your pain. My love for Oakhaven is real, but it is not the *only* love I hold. For you... for you, it is not the careless infatuation of a young girl, but the deep, abiding connection of two souls who stand against the storm. I need you, Tormack. Not just for the city, but for *me*. You are not a monster, and I don't think of you as an animal... Please. *Live*." She leans closer, her forehead resting against mine, a silent, desperate prayer.
Breath enters my lungs, and my face begins to receive strength. My heart beats a little more quickly, but it is still faint. Shineah's eyes flutter open, her forehead still pressed against mine, her breath mingling with mine. The thought of my marriage proposal, so abruptly dismissed before, now surfaces in her mind like a desperate beacon. Her heart thumps against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that mirrors the faint stirrings in my chest.
The peril of Oakhaven, the encroaching darkness, the weight of her duty—all are still present, but now, watching me teeter on the brink, she understands. She understands that for me, this proposal is not a mere formality, but a source of power, a promise of light against the consuming dark. A profound realization dawns on her: denying this strength now, when I am so vulnerable, is to play into the Master's hands. Her hand reaches up, tracing the rough lines of my cheek up to caress my long, pointed ears. "Tormack," she whispers, her voice barely audible, yet resonating with conviction. "Yes. If it is the strength you need... if it is the light that pulls you back from this abyss... then yes. I would. We will face this peril together. As partners. As... husband and wife. Just live, my love. Live."
My eyes grow wide, disbelief warring with a flicker of hope. A ragged gasp escapes my lips as breath floods my lungs, feeling like an icy torrent after the suffocating cold. But then, as Shineah's words echo in my mind, a fresh wave of pain, sharper than any wound, grips my chest. My hand instinctively clutches at my heart, and tears, hot and thick, stream down my face. The thought of even a sliver of insincerity, of these desperate words being merely a ploy to save the city, shatters the fragile hope that had just begun to bloom. I search her eyes for sincerity.
Shineah lets out a choked cry, her arms wrapping around me in a fierce, unyielding embrace that pulls me against her. Her body trembles slightly, but her grip is solid, anchoring me. Her voice, thick with genuine emotion, whispers against your ear, "Do you truly believe I would risk your very soul with a lie? This is real, Tormack." She pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, her own eyes glistening. "If I hesitated before, it was out of fear for my duty, for Oakhaven, not out of a lack of feeling for you. Forgive me for my foolishness. Forgive me for not seeing what was truly important until now. We will fight this darkness together, my love, as one."
Over her shoulder, I see Arion's face, now devoid of doubt, his eyes gleaming with profound relief. Even the young guard wipes a tear from his eye, caught up in the moment.
Shineah's eyes, still shining with unshed tears, meet mine with an unwavering intensity. There is no hesitation, no doubt, only a deep, profound acceptance reflected in their depths. My hand reaches for Shineah's cheek and gently touches it. She leans into it, her hand coming up to cup mine against her cheek, her skin warm and soft beneath my calloused fingers. My face draws near hers. My lips tremble, longing to kiss hers, but I stop and hover before doing so, waiting to see how Shineah responds.
As my face draws near, her eyes slowly close, and she parts her lips slightly, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her. She doesn't pull away; instead, she subtly closes the final distance, inviting my kiss. The air between us hums with an unspoken promise, a shared vulnerability and a powerful, burgeoning connection that feels more potent than any darkness.
Still in shock of it all, I feel shy and very vulnerable, especially after nearly dying and being seen in this state. I don't know what to say or what to do. I look away in embarrassment.
Shineah senses my withdrawal instantly, a faint flush rising on her cheeks at my shyness, but she doesn't press. Instead, her grip tightens on my hand, her thumb gently stroking my knuckles, a silent promise. "Tormack," she says softly, her voice infused with a quiet strength that acknowledges my vulnerability without dwelling on it. "We have time for us later. Now... now we have to save Oakhaven. We have to stop the Master. You are a light that shines in this darkness, and we must not let it be extinguished."
She turns to Arion, her gaze sharp once more, the leader reasserting herself. "Master Arion, what do you know of this 'ascension' ritual? Where would the Master strike next, and how do we sever his roots from this city? Where do we begin to fight this insidious blight?" Her voice is firm, decisive, and even in her concern for me, her focus snaps back to the dire peril that surrounds us.
My gaze, still a little unfocused, rests on Arion, a silent plea for clarity, for a path forward that doesn't involve the raw emotional turmoil I've just endured. I welcome the shift, clinging to the hope of a quick and decisive victory.
Arion, sensing my readiness, takes a deep, fortifying breath. "The 'ascension' ritual," he begins, his voice grim, "is not a single event, but a parasitic growth. It feeds on fear, on division, on the turning of Oakhaven's heart against itself. The Master doesn't just want power; he wants to be *worshipped*. His next target, where the ritual will culminate, is the old Grand Market. It is the heart of the city's commerce, its pride, its very pulse. He plans to perform a grand act, a 'unveiling' of his true power during the coming dawn, at the hour when the city usually awakens with hope. We must stop him before sunrise, before the market awakens."
I nod, my resolve hardening, and follow Shineah and Arion through the desolate streets, Charlie and Grizz padding silently at our heels. The city feels less like a home and more like a tomb as we venture deeper. The Grand Market, usually a riot of noise and light, is eerily silent, its stalls cloaked in unnatural shadows. A cold wind whistles through the empty avenues, carrying with it faint, discordant whispers that seem to cling to the very stones. In the central plaza, where merchants would soon hawk their wares, we see figures silhouetted against the dim pre-dawn sky. They move with an unsettling, almost ritualistic purpose around a makeshift platform draped in dark cloths. A faint, pulsating violet glow emanates from beneath the coverings, casting grotesque shadows that dance and writhe on the surrounding buildings. The Master's performance is indeed being prepared.
"Easy, anyone with a dark cloak at this hour is an identifiable bad guy; it is like they are all wearing uniforms." I smile at my bears. I ignite my axe in excitement for this to be over. "LET'S GO GET EM!"
The cloaked figures snap their heads toward me, startled, as my charge tears apart the eerie calm of the market square. The violet glow of their ritual platform flickers across the stones, painting everything in sickly light. I don't hesitate. My axe blazes with holy fire as I hurl myself forward.
I bellow and recklessly swing with all the force I can muster. My axe crashes into the nearest cultist, the force of the blow splitting cloak and bone alike. The impact reverberates through my arms, and the figure crumples lifeless at my feet. The smell of charred fabric and blood fills the air, and for a heartbeat, the square is nothing but the echo of my roar.
Charlie surges past me, his massive frame a force to be reckoned with. His roar is a thunderclap, primal and wild, as he slams into the second cultist. Claws rip through robes, tearing flesh. The man shrieks—a sound that curdles the air.
Grizz follows, heavier and more deliberate, but no less savage. His growl is a low, terrifying promise of ruin. He barrels into the last figure, his claws raking across the cultist's chest, tearing through defences as if they were paper. The man reels, blood spraying, his footing lost beneath the bear's relentless assault.
The square is chaos now—violet light flickering, screams dying in the air, the ritual halted. One cultist lies dead, the other two on the brink. My chest heaves with my pounding heart, the blood on my axe crackles in the flames. Charlie's breath is hot and ragged, Grizz's claws drip red, and together we stand over the wreckage. The path is clear. The ritual platform is ours.
My axe blazes as I approach the platform and strike. A brilliant, searing white-gold light that erupts on impact. The dark cloths shrivel and burn away with a high, sizzling sound of corruption being purged. The violet glow from beneath the platform screams as it recoils from the holy fire, twisting and dissipating like smoke before a strong wind. However, the destruction of the platform triggers a violent release. With a deafening crack, the ground beneath where the platform stood ruptures, and a dark, putrid mist billows forth, carrying with it a tangible wave of despair and fear that washes over the market square. The distant murmurs of the townsfolk instantly turn into cries of alarm and terror, their fear now palpable and raw, directly exposed to the Master's unleashed influence.
I plant my feet firmly on the consecrated ground, holding my flaming axe aloft, my voice rings out with every bit of authority I can muster, "SHOW YOURSELF!"
The putrid mist that billows from the ruptured ground seems to recoil momentarily, swirling thicker, darker, but it does not coalesce into a visible form. Instead, it expands rapidly, a cold, cloying shroud that presses down on the market square, extinguishing distant street lamps and intensifying the pervasive sense of dread. The alarmed cries of the townsfolk crescendo into screams of pure terror as the creeping darkness swallows more of the city. Shineah instinctively draws her sword, a grim look on her face, while Arion clutches his staff, his eyes darting nervously into the encroaching gloom. The Master's influence, unseen but tangible, seems to mock my command.
Undeterred by the mist's defiance, I raise my flaming axe skyward, my voice booming through the encroaching gloom. "I am a child of God, and He has sent me here!" My hymn, raw and powerful, filled with the Holy Spirit, cuts through the despair like a physical force. The putrid mist recoils, hissing faintly as if burned, and a ripple of golden light emanates from me, pushing back the oppressive shadows in a tangible wave.
From the market's distant edges, the terrified screams of the townsfolk falter, replaced by a tentative, almost imperceptible murmur of hope. Some figures, previously cowering, now peek from alleys, their eyes drawn to my radiant form. Arion closes his eyes, a look of profound relief washing over his face, while Shineah, momentarily stunned by the sheer power being displayed, is awestruck and doesn't take her eyes off me. She had never witnessed my fire before; this is new to her.
Amidst the receding gloom, I notice faint, hunched forms at the very periphery of the market, shrouded in darker cloaks than those we just dispatched, attempting to melt away into the deepest shadows. "SICK 'EM!" I roar,
With a roar, Charlie and Grizz surge forward, their powerful forms disappearing into the dissipating mist. Their massive paws pound the cobbled market square, their growls echoing through the lingering gloom. The hunched figures in the distance, previously attempting to melt away, now scramble in desperate fear. With a burst of surprising speed, Charlie intercepts one cultist, knocking him to the ground with a powerful swipe of his paw. A choked cry is quickly silenced as the bear pins him. Moments later, Grizz corners another against a collapsed market stall, his dark cloak tearing under the bear's snarling maw. The market, still shrouded in pockets of shadow, fills with the sounds of predatory snarls and the cultists' desperate, muffled pleas. Arion and Shineah look on, grim-faced, as they ready themselves for the inevitable confrontation.
As Charlie and Grizz hold their terrified prey motionless, I approach the pinned cultists. With practiced ease, I relieve them of their crude daggers and strip them of their dark, tattered cloaks. Their eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and fanatical devotion, follow my every move. My tone changes to one of mercy. "Forsake the darkness", I command, my voice echoing with the authority of my earlier hymn. "Denounce your master and embrace the light!"
One cultist, his face contorted in a sneer of defiance despite Charlie's massive paw pressing him down, spits weakly, "Never! The Master's glory will consume this weak city! You cannot stop the true ascension!" The other, pinned by Grizz, remains silent, but his jaw is set, his gaze burning with an unyielding, disturbing zeal. No fear of the bears or my imposing presence seems capable of breaking their indoctrination.
I give a sharp nod towards Charlie and Grizz. With grim understanding, the great bears tighten their grip. Charlie's massive paw, previously pinning the cultist, now delivers a swift, brutal blow to the man's head, silencing his defiance instantly. Grizz, with an equally efficient and chilling display of primal force, ends the other cultist's unyielding zeal. The sounds of their struggle abruptly cease, leaving only the heavy breathing of the bears and the unsettling quiet of the market. Arion looks away, visibly disturbed, while Shineah maintains her steely gaze, her hand still on her sword, scanning the shadows for any further threats.
I turn to Shineah, her face etched with grim determination. "Is it over?" I ask.
She glances at the motionless forms, then sweeps her gaze across the still-shrouded market square. "For now," she replies, her voice low and tight. "But the Master's influence... it still seeps through Oakhaven. This was but a skirmish, Tormack. The ritual, the ascension, hasn't happened yet. We stopped the immediate outpouring, but the root remains." She gestures towards the ruptured ground with the tip of her sword. "It is far from over."
I kneel at the edge of the ruptured ground, a sigh escaping my lips at the thought of this public space being so desecrated. I gently retrieve a glowing stone from my pouch and press it firmly into the earth at the lip of the chasm. As I begin my prayer, a warm, golden light pulses from the stone, slowly spreading across the dark, fractured ground. The putrid stench diminishes, replaced by a faint scent of clean rain, and the faint violet glow that lingered within the fissure recedes completely.
Rising, I turn to face the hushed, terrified faces now emerging from the shadows of the market stalls. "This is your land," I declare, my voice ringing with conviction. "I have cleansed this evil for now, but remember, it was you who allowed it to enter. What has been made clean can be made dirty again if you are not careful. The rest is on the people of Oakhaven. If you don't stop your evil practices, this darkness will surely return." A murmur ripples through the crowd, some nodding solemnly, others looking away, chastised. Shineah's expression remains unreadable, while Arion bows his head in silent agreement.
The moment the last lingering trace of the Master's influence recedes, my adrenaline drains away, leaving me exhausted. My vision blurs, the market square spins as my exhaustion claims me. I fall forward, but strong arms catch me before I hit the ground. Shineah, her face a mask of concern, lowers me gently. She barks orders to the young guard, who rushes to procure a stretcher and blankets. "He saved us, Arion," she murmurs, checking my pulse with urgent, tender hands.