"Gah… what the fuck are you!?" the dying man choked out.
"I'm the weapon of the Gods," Rhenvar replied coldly, then struck him down with Souleater, eating his soul.
The man crumbled to dust.
"You're sooo laaaame, Rhen," Viir drawled, floating above the dust. "That guy wasn't even strong."
"Guess not all Worldeaters are," Rhenvar muttered with a sigh. "What did he say his name was?"
"I don't know," Viir waved dust away.
Then a flash.
A wave of gold soul-light engulfed them both.
"Hm?" Viir blinked. "That felt… familiar."
"Yeah. It does," Rhenvar admitted, uneasy.
(Who cares.)
He looked up. "Alright Urithax, bring us back."
White fire exploded around them.
****
The ruined cavern.
"Fucking shit, that burns," Rhenvar hissed, stepping out of the fire.
"It tickled~" Viir mocked, twirling midair.
"You've done well for your first hunt," Urithax rumbled. The gold dragon's scales shimmered in the moonlit cave, his presence towering and calm.
"Well, duh. The Gods literally dropped me at the Worldheart," Rhenvar grumbled, taking a seat on a cracked slab of stone.
"The Gods are beginning to notice the rise in Worldeaters," Urithax said. "This is good for our war."
"Have you found anyone else?"
"Yes," the dragon growled. "They're cautious of you, but… they understand your purpose."
"Cool, cool. So, what is the next world?"
Urithax's tail swished. "An unsolved murder. Whoever finds the killer gets the Worldheart."
Rhenvar sighed. "A murder mystery… Really?"
Urithax shrugged his wings. "That's the world. The Gods agreed to feed you some intel. One of the suspects is a Worldeater."
"Why not just tell me who?"
The dragon's eyes narrowed with amusement. "Entertainment."
(Of course. Typical bored Gods.)
"Pfft, whatever. Send us."
White fire once again roared to life.
****
The Creepy Manor.
Reality split in half as white flames dropped Rhenvar and Viir into an old, dust-laden manor. Smoke clung to his armor. The chandeliers above groaned, and every wall whispered with the echo of creaks.
Only fog waited beyond the windowpanes.
Viir hovered beside Rhenvar, peering down the hall. "Okay, this is way cooler than the last one."
"No ghosts," Rhenvar muttered. "Damn."
A woman screamed. Then.
Footsteps.
Voices.
A wooden door creaked. Seven figures emerged from adjoining rooms, each staring at them like demons had just crawled out of the fireplace.
The Seven Suspects.
Detective Martin: A tall, trench-coated man with sharp eyes and a dry voice. "You're not part of our group. Who the hell are you?"
Delphina: A noblewoman in black silk, clutching a cracked wine glass. "They appeared in fire! They must be demons?!"
Joe: Bald, scarred, soldier type. "The little one's floatin'. That ain't right."
Nancy: A pale girl with hollow eyes and a sketchpad. She was already sketching Rhenvar. "The sword talks," she whispered. "It hums."
Mother Cristine: A priestess with trembling hands. "This house is cursed. You… might be part of it."
Robby and Bobby: Identical twins in matching suits. "Double the truth / double the lies / new guests arrive / as someone dies."
Doctor Harrow: A pale surgeon with unsettling gloves and too-wide eyes. "Curious blade. Curious man. Where did you come from, I wonder?"
Viir blinked. "Oookay…"
Rhenvar did not react. He simply walked forward.
"Which one of you is the Worldeater?" He asked flatly.
Detective Martin stiffened. "Excuse me? Someone already died. No one's leaving until we catch the killer."
"I didn't ask that," Rhenvar said. "I asked who's planning on destroying the Worldheart."
Delphina gasped. "World… what?"
Joe reached for a dagger.
Viir smirked. "Please pull that out. I'm soooo bored."
Knock.
A sharp sound echoed from deeper in the house.
Everyone froze except for Rhenvar and Viir.
"Not again," Doctor Harrow muttered.
Martin stepped forward. "I don't know who you are, but this house is sealed. Doors are locked. Windows won't budge. No escape until the curse breaks."
"Curse?" Rhenvar looked around. "I don't feel a curse."
Knock-knock!
Then the sound of a slow scraping echoed from the stairs.
Martin drew a revolver. "Upstairs."
Nancy trembled. "The voices told me… one of us is next."
Rhenvar exhaled. "Yeeeah… Viir, this one's yours. I'm going home."
"You got it, boss!" She saluted.
Rhenvar vanished in crimson light.
****
Chaos Temple.
He sat in silence. The souls were quiet.
"I never really get time to think… now that I'm alone," he said softly.
(So… Sylvia could be revived.)
He had not let Willow see how happy that made him.
The transformation had left him numb, a familiar feeling. But deep down, the joy had been real.
(We could be together again. Like the old days. Then everyday will be a good day.)
He looked at his hand. The ring was gone.
(Willow has it now.)
But he remembered the day he gave it to Sylvia.
****
Flashback: The Elven Festival.
The day was bright, too bright for Rhenvar's usual taste. Golden leaves shimmered across the treetops, just small coins in the wind, and the elven village echoed with laughter, music, and dancing flame-lanterns strung between black barked trees. The festival was loud, full of life. It had always been hard for Rhenvar to get used to how beautiful this place was.
He wasn't wearing his armor today. Souleater was sealed in the Chaos Temple. He was wearing a red tunic with a black elven cloak. Viir had teased him for dressing like a "wandering mercenary dad," but it didn't matter. This wasn't an adventure. It was… peace.
"Hey Rhen! Today's a good day, isn't it?" Willow leaned in, face glowing, eyes practically red stars.
Rhenvar smirked. "Hell, yeah it is. Every day is a good day when we're together."
"Pfft, so then every day is a good day to you…" Sylvia muttered, arms crossed. "Or maybe you are fond of that Zerva girl you saved."
(Ah, Sylvia. Always annoyed, always electric. The spark in our trio.)
"Don't sour our day," Rhenvar shot back. "We don't want you to be too happy."
She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if you're even human. Or just… a mimic."
"That's rude," he said. "I'm a hero of your people, remember?"
"All three of us are," Sylvia snapped. "We earned that title."
"I don't knooow… let's see, who saved you from the slime monster?"
"A tactical misstep."
"The Gorgon?"
"Heyyy!" Willow joined. "You agreed that wasn't our fault. We didn't want to be turned into stone!"
Rhenvar shrugged. "Still only I could fight it, if anything that makes me your hero."
"What did the ancient text say again?" Sylvia looked at Willow.
Willow twirled in front and stopped, thinking. His tone was goofy. "I think it said: 'Any soul who gazes into my eyes shall be turned to stone.'"
Then Sylvia stepped in front of Rhenvar and squinted. "Come to think of it, you never taught us how to fight with our eyes closed."
Rhenvar stretched lazily. "Could. But what's the rush? We've got eternity."
Sylvia's voice darkened. "Some of us can be killed, Rhen. That's why the elves adore you. Even if you're a human."
"Yeah!" Willow puffed out his chest. "Just send us three and nobody dies."
(They were right. In this world, we were legends. Loved. Untouchable. Elves respected life, avoided most wars, and with their low birthrate, every death was a tragedy. So, they relied on us three. A cursed human and two eternal royal twins. We're killers, but adored ones.)
"Well since we did such a good job," Rhenvar started.
"Let's get drunk!" Willow interrupted.
"Willow, you know me too well." Rhenvar slung an arm over Willow, pulling him close.
Willow flushed pink.
Sylvia noticed.
Rhenvar didn't care. This was normal. Comfortable. This was his life. This was all he needed.
****
The Elven Tavern.
"To our heroes, all drinks are free!" The tavern maid called.
"And we will enjoy every drop," Rhenvar grinned.
"Don't drink us dry again, please…" she begged.
"No promises."
They drank. The elves let them be, respecting their personal space.
"So, Rhen," Willow said, uncharacteristically quiet. "You've lived over a thousand years, we've known you for about five hundred… You've got history. Before us. Before everything."
"I told ya. Ask, I'll answer. And I'll try not to lie."
Willow hesitated. "Have you ever… fallen in love?"
Sylvia shot him a sharp look. Willow avoided it.
Rhenvar leaned back, quiet for a rare moment.
(Love. That old word. I don't remember her name. I don't remember anything about her besides the way she died. The day the God of Order shattered everything.)
He remembered parts after the aftermath. Laughter. Blood. Chaos. Destruction.
(Love…")
He couldn't feel it. Not truly. Not anymore.
His soul was sealed. Viir was watching it.
"I… don't think so," he said with honesty. "I just don't remember much."
(Think, you can. Willow asked.)
(Viir, Sylvia, Willow-)
(Val-)
Crack.
A silent pulse in his chest. A hairline fracture in the seal.
(Consume.)
(Thirst.)
Rhenvar's eyes twitched, his pupils flashed red.
(Kill them all-)
Sylvia's eyes flicked to him.
"Please, little brother," she interrupted. "He's still a human. He… probably forgot how we met."
"Just because you were born first doesn't make me the little brother!" Willow stood up. "And I doubt Rhen would forget how he met us. Right?"
"Haha, yeah… the uh… shadow fortress, riiiight?" Rhenvar said cautiously.
"Correct," Sylvia said, watching him too closely, taking a sip of her drink.
Willow looked hopeful. "So… how do you feel about love now?"
Rhenvar hesitated again. "Well, um…"
"Oh, for the Goddess' sake," Sylvia muttered. "He's a thousand-year-old human. It's a miracle he isn't insane."
(Both of them were acting weird today. Maybe twin stuff. I don't get it.)
Rhenvar raised his mug. "Look. I love both of you, alright? Now enough about lovely feelings. Let's get drunk."
Willow wilted for half a second, then bounced back. "Alright!"
They drank. Laughed. Competed. Sylvia barely touched her drink. She was always watching. Always thinking.
****
The Red-Lit Forest.
The festival wound down. Elven magic lit the skies with fireworks. Rhenvar was buzzed. Willow was asleep, head on Sylvia's lap.
"Rhen," Sylvia said, brushing Willow's hair aside. "Can I talk to you, in private?"
"Sure." He stood.
She set Willow down and led him into the quiet, red moonlit woods.
"Rhen…" she hesitated, then took a breath. "I'm in love with you."
"I love you and Willow too."
"No, I mean," she tensed. "I do really love- no, Rhen, would you do anything for us? If we were endangered? Killed?"
"I'd burn the world and laugh," he said. "Other than Viir, you're all I have."
Sylvia felt those words and accepted them as real. Because deep inside, she knew he'd do exactly that.
"Then I have a request." She spoke suddenly.
"I accept."
Sylvia laughed a little. "Pfft! No, listen. Rhen, will you perform a sacred binding with me?"
He blinked. "You mean that elven marriage crap?"
"Yes. Rhen… can you do this for me, and for Willow?"
That caught him.
"Pfft, you two can be so weird," he said. "But sure. Whatever."
She flinched.
"We're supposed to exchange gifts, right?" He asked.
"Pretty sure that's just a human thing."
Rhenvar checked pockets then his hand. Pulled off his ring.
"Then since I'm the only human…" He handed it over. "Here. Now we're engaged."
She took it.
And Rhenvar dropped to one knee.
His voice lost all warmth. Empty. Hollow.
"Your orders, my master?"
She looked at the ring.
"No… no no NO!" Her breath caught. "So, it's true. You're not human, and you have no soul?" She cracked with grief.
"Yes."
"Have you been pretending this whole time?" She shouted. "Was this all just an act?"
"Yes."
"Do you truly feel nothing for Willow and me?" Sylvia flared with anger.
"No, but I wish I could."
Sylvia's face broke, like something sacred had shattered behind her eyes.
She fell to her knees. She cupped his face like she was searching for warmth… and found nothing.
"Just don't tell Willow anything, reject him if he gets too close," she whispered. Tears ran down her cheeks. "As long as us three are together… every day will be a good day."
"As you wish, my master."
****
Back to the present.
Rhenvar lay there. Tears blinding his sight of the endless black sky. "If only Darkness told me that damn ring held a leash around my neck, Sylvia wouldn't have burdened herself…"
Rhenvar felt his emotions bottled up. "Then everyday would have been good."
He laughed and the red stars laughed with him as he broke his hands punching the ground. His blood magic healed him, yet he still slammed his fists.
"I'm cursed!"
His arm broke then healed.
"I did not ask for this! I did not kill myself!"
Now he slammed his forehead repeatedly.
"What am I doing?" He said delirious. "I- I'm strong! I can just- kill everyone!"
(What the fuck am I saying?)
He shook his head.
Now he slammed his face into the black stone.
"Fucking shit, Willow… I'm so sorry."
He looked up. Face bleeding.
(Sylvia… I'll make sure Willow sees your cold bitch face again. Even if it costs me everything. Even my soul.)
Then he was engulfed in white flames.