Indura, Sabrel, and Vespera walked deeper into the dimmed heart of the valley.
The silence here was not mere absence of sound — it was something alive, something that consumed. No wind stirred the pale gray grass. No distant cries of beasts echoed from the ridges. Even their own footsteps produced no noise, as if the land itself had reached out and stolen every vibration before it could exist.
The air felt thick, stagnant, pressing against the skin like invisible hands. The red sky above seemed muted and far away, its usual oppressive hue dulled to a lifeless maroon, as though the valley had severed them from the rest of Chaos.
Indura reached a large boulder half-buried in the pale sand and sat down casually, resting his cheek on his palm. His crimson hair fell slightly over his golden eyes as he gazed out at the vast, empty expanse.
Sabrel stopped a few steps ahead, scanning the surroundings with sharp white eyes.
"Why didn't you go after that figure?" she asked. "It could have led us straight to where we need to go."
Indura smiled, closing his eyes for a moment.
"I prefer it this way," he replied lightly. "Chasing after that one would surely have been quicker…, but I'm not in a rush."
He opened his eyes again, golden gaze calm and thoughtful.
"Besides… whoever we're looking for will come to us right here. It's much more interesting this way."
Sabrel studied him for a long moment, unable to read his intentions. She could only sigh softly, turning her gaze back to the silent valley.
Vespera remained a short distance behind them, her golden eyes watchful beneath her cloth mask. She said nothing.
The silence deepened.
It became so complete that it felt as if they had ceased to exist. No rustle of fabric, no breathing, no heartbeat — only an endless, devouring quiet that pressed against their minds. Even the smooth wind that had accompanied them earlier had died completely, leaving the air stagnant and still.
Indura turned his head toward Sabrel.
She wasn't there.
He turned toward Vespera.
She wasn't there either.
Indura sat upright slowly, golden eyes narrowing as he scanned the empty surroundings.
…I clearly didn't hear them leave. No… this place… is too quiet. Hard enough to even hear my own thoughts.
Suddenly, from the suffocating silence, three figures materialized a short distance away, surrounding him.
Indura looked at them with a mild, casual expression. Then his lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
He murmured softly to himself:
"I knew it."
Indura rose to his feet slowly, dusting off his clothes with casual motions as if the oppressive silence around him was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
He looked at the central figure — a warrior clad in sleek black tactical gear that seemed to absorb what little light existed in the valley. A featureless silver mask covered its face, etched with faint, glowing runes that pulsed like watchful eyes. The other two figures stood silently on either side, similarly dressed, their postures alert but unnaturally still.
Indura glanced around at all three, then focused back on the one in front.
"Where are the other two?" he asked calmly.
The masked warrior remained completely silent.
The silence grew heavier, pressing down like an invisible weight on the air itself. Indura sighed.
"You're lucky I don't have to worry about them right now."
He continued, tilting his head slightly with genuine curiosity.
"Are you the Silent Hand? You look much more… suited for a leader than I expected."
Still, the warrior stayed silent.
Indura looked at it, then back at the other two, and nodded to himself, as if confirming something.
As he took a single step forward, the central warrior finally spoke — but in their harsh, guttural language:
"Veyn'thar drak'ul nar'esh? Keth shul'vok? Thal'vok veyn nar'keth?"
Indura froze mid-step.
What was that? I've never heard anything like that before.
The warrior spoke again, the words rolling out in a low, commanding tone:
"Vrak thul'nar kesh. Veyn drak'ul? Veyn'thar veyn nar'esh veyn?"
Indura remained quiet. He scratched his chin, narrowing his golden eyes in concentration.
I can't understand them. Their language is like no other I've encountered… and yet…
He seemed to sink deeper into thought.
It seems… strangely familiar.
The masked warrior continued speaking, the words coming faster now, almost questioning:
"Thal'vok nar'esh drak'ul? Veyn shul'keth veyn'thar? Vrak nar'vok keth? Veyn'thar veyn nar'esh veyn?"
Indura still couldn't understand a single word, but something in the cadence, the rhythm, tugged at the back of his mind like a half-remembered dream.
The three masked warriors stood perfectly still, waiting.
The silence between each sentence felt heavier than before.
"Veyn'thar drak'ul nar'esh keth? Vrak shul'vok thal'nar? Veyn drak'ul veyn'thar? Keth nar'vok veyn shul'keth drak'ul? Vrak thul'nar veyn nar'esh?"
The one on the left added, voice low and suspicious:
"Thal'vok nar'esh veyn drak'ul? Veyn'thar veyn nar'keth? Vrak shul'vok keth drak'ul veyn?"
The rightmost warrior finished the exchange:
"Veyn shul'keth veyn'thar nar'esh? Vrak nar'vok keth drak'ul?"
Indura's golden eyes narrowed slightly. His head tilted as something clicked deep inside his mind. A bright, almost childlike smile slowly spread across his face.
"Ah… Yes... I see now."
He spoke suddenly, the words flowing out in the same harsh, guttural language — but perfectly articulated, with natural rhythm and confidence:
"Veyn'thar drak'ul nar'esh keth? Thal'vok veyn nar'esh veyn'thar. Vrak shul'vok keth drak'ul Indura veyn nar'vok."
The three warriors visibly stiffened, their masked heads snapping toward him in clear surprise.
Indura's smile widened into a grin. He continued excitedly, the words tumbling out faster, almost laughing between sentences:
"Veyn drak'ul veyn'thar? Keth nar'vok veyn shul'keth drak'ul! Vrak thul'nar veyn nar'esh — thal'vok nar'esh veyn drak'ul veyn'thar keth shul'vok! Veyn'thar veyn nar'keth veyn drak'ul? Ahaha — veyn shul'keth veyn'thar nar'esh keth drak'ul veyn nar'vok!"
The three masked warriors stood completely still, staring at him in visible confusion. Their heads tilted slightly, masks reflecting the dim red light as they exchanged quick, uncertain glances. The one in the center even took a small half-step back, as if unsure whether to attack or retreat.
Indura kept going, thoroughly entertained now, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement as he spoke more of the language, expanding on his thoughts with growing enthusiasm:
"Veyn'thar veyn nar'esh keth drak'ul veyn'thar — thal'vok nar'esh veyn drak'ul veyn'thar keth shul'vok! Vrak thul'nar veyn nar'esh... I think that's enough."
He laughed — a low, genuine sound that seemed to echo unnaturally in the oppressive silence of the valley.
He took a slow, deep breath, calming himself as the amusement faded into a thoughtful smile. His golden eyes sparkled with sincere curiosity as he looked at the three masked warriors.
"How interesting this world keeps getting," he said softly. "There is so much I don't know yet. So much left to discover. I understood you just now… and I find myself quite curious to know more."
He sighed, then spoke again in their harsh, guttural language, the words flowing naturally from his tongue:
"Veyn'thar drak'ul nar'esh. Take me to your master."
The central warrior's hand moved instantly to the hilt of its sword. It unsheathed the blade in one smooth motion, the steel singing coldly in the dead air.
"Who are you?" the warrior demanded. The voice behind the silver mask was sharp and wary.
The second warrior stepped forward slightly, its masked face reflecting faint red light from the sky.
"That language belongs only to the Silent Hands," it said as well, tone cold. "So who are you? And how do you know it?"
Indura smiled, regarding them with calm, unhurried interest.
"I wish to ask you something first."
The three warriors exchanged glances. The tension in the air thickened, the silence growing even heavier.
Indura's smile remained soft.
"Do you know who I am?"
The masked warriors stared at him. Confusion was visible even through the featureless silver masks — a slight tilt of heads, a hesitant shift in posture.
Indura noticed it and smiled wider.
"Really not familiar?" He paused, then added lightly, "Maybe your master would know who I am."
The central warrior snapped.
It blurred forward with terrifying speed, sword flashing in a deadly horizontal arc aimed straight for Indura's neck.
Indura didn't move his feet.
He simply tilted his head by a single inch at an impossible speed. The blade whistled past his cheek, missing by a hair's breadth. The wind of the swing brushed his crimson hair.
Indura turned his golden eyes to the sword, then back to the warrior. His expression dimmed slightly, but a soft, almost gentle smile remained on his face.
"No... no no no... You just had to ruin the mood," he said quietly, voice carrying absolute certainty, "It would do you good to put that sword away."
The warrior visibly trembled behind the mask, the blade shaking slightly in its grip.
Indura continued, calm and polite.
"I really just wish to see your master."
The silence that followed was absolute. The three masked figures stood frozen, the weight of Indura's presence pressing down on them like an invisible mountain.
-----------------------
Far from the dark valley, the land had transformed once more.
A vast, endless desert stretched beneath the blood-red sky. The sand was pale gray, almost white, shifting silently with every faint breeze. There were no sounds — no wind howling, no grains whispering against each other, no distant cries of beasts.
The silence here was absolute, almost sacred, as if the desert itself refused to acknowledge the existence of anything that dared to disturb it. The air was dry and still, carrying only the faint, sterile scent of ancient dust and forgotten time. Dunes rose and fell like frozen waves, their surfaces smooth and unmarked.
In the middle of this silent expanse stood Sabrel and Vespera.
Neither showed any sign of urgency or panic. They stood side by side with calm composure, as if being suddenly separated from Indura and transported to an unknown location was merely another minor inconvenience on their journey.
Sabrel broke the silence first, her voice soft but steady.
"This must be the work of the Silent Hand. It's not strange at all. This is one of their favorite tactics — separating the head from the body. Isolate the strongest, confuse the rest. But the issue is… the head right now is not a force to be reckoned with."
Vespera let out a soft, almost amused chuckle, her golden eyes scanning the endless dunes.
Sabrel continued, a faint smile touching her lips.
"I hope Indura doesn't go too far."
Vespera turned her head slightly toward her.
"How do you know this place? And the Silent Hand? You were only young when you were sealed away."
Sabrel smiled gently, her white hair swaying in the barely-there breeze.
"I never came here directly. But during my younger days, everyone knew who I was — and who I was related to. Every unit under the Dragon King knew my name. I was given knowledge of such areas as part of my training. It wasn't new to me even then."
She turned to Vespera, her expression softening.
"And your dominion? Will it be alright without you?"
Vespera looked down at the pale sand beneath her feet, her golden eyes distant.
"It feels unsettling… leaving my people behind for this. But my daughter, Seraphine… she was raised to carry the legacy if the worst ever came. She's capable. Strong-willed. She has my blood and resilience. If anyone can hold the remnants of Bloodveil together, it's her."
The silence returned, deep and complete.
Then, from the silence itself, three armored figures stepped forward.
They appeared without warning — materializing from the dunes as if the desert had birthed them. Tall, cloaked in dark, flowing garments that blended with the pale sand, their faces hidden behind smooth silver masks etched with glowing runes. Each carried a long, curved blade at their side, and an aura of quiet lethality radiated from them.
Sabrel and Vespera turned toward them slowly, calm and unhurried.
The three warriors stopped a short distance away, silent and watchful.
The desert held its breath.
One of the warriors stepped forward, silver mask catching the dim red light of the sky. He spoke, voice low and demanding:
"Veyn'thar drak'ul nar'esh? Keth shul'vok veyn nar'esh? Vrak thul'nar kesh?"
Sabrel gave Vespera a brief, knowing look, then turned to the warrior and responded fluently in the same tongue:
"Veyn drak'ul veyn'thar. Thal'vok nar'esh veyn drak'ul."
The warrior visibly startled, taking a half-step back. His masked companions shifted uneasily, hands tightening on their weapons.
Sabrel switched, her voice calm but carrying quiet authority.
"I know who you are.
She paused
I am Sabrel. We are here to seek the Silent Hand."
The three warriors exchanged glances. One of them spoke, suspicion clear even through the mask:
"How do you know our language? It belongs to the Silent Hands alone."
Sabrel's expression turned serious, her white eyes steady.
"I was born into this legacy long before most of you existed."
The warriors studied her carefully. One stepped forward again.
"...How do you know of the Silent Hand?"
Sabrel smiled faintly, then let out a soft chuckle.
"You, silent forces, do not have the long lifespans of your masters, but even you should still carry the old stories. Do you truly not realize who I am?"
The lead warrior stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head.
"We do not know who you are. Why should we know of you?"
Sabrel chuckled again, placing one hand over her face in mild exasperation.
"Be grateful that I am who I am… unlike my brother."
Her voice grew firmer, carrying the weight of ancient authority.
"I am Sabrel. Sister of Indura, the Dragon King. Blood of the one who once ruled these lands and beyond. I have come to speak with the Silent Hand."
The silence that followed was crushing.
The three warriors looked at each other, then, in perfect unison, drew their curved swords. The blades hummed with faint, dangerous energy.
One of them spoke coldly:
"We do not know of you, or the one you call Indura, or your relation to the Dragon King. The Dragon King has no blood kin."
Sabrel's eyes widened slightly.
"What...?!"
Another warrior stepped forward.
"You will come with us for now. Any more talk will lead nowhere."
Vespera took a slow, deliberate step forward, positioning herself slightly in front of Sabrel. Her golden eyes gleamed coldly behind her cloth mask.
"There is no need for that."
One of the warriors tilted his head.
"Who are you?"
Vespera remained quiet for a moment, then smiled — a cold, dangerous smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"No."
In the next instant, the three warriors lunged forward with blinding speed, swords flashing in deadly arcs.
And then… they froze mid-air.
Sabrel's white eyes widened slightly as she watched the three warriors frozen mid-lunge, swords inches from their targets.
"What have you done to them?" she asked, voice low but laced with surprise.
Vespera didn't turn around. Her golden eyes remained calm behind the cloth mask.
"Oh them... You won't have to worry about them."
She stepped forward gracefully until she stood directly before the lead warrior. With deliberate slowness, she raised her hand and touched the silver mask.
The moment her fingers made contact, faint cracks spread across the metal like frost on glass. With a light press, the mask shattered completely, pieces falling away to reveal the warrior's face — dark gray skin stretched tight over sharp features, yellow eyes wide with terror, and two short, broken horns where proud ones had once been.
Vespera brushed her fingers gently across the warrior's cheek. A single drop of her blood welled from her fingertip. She pressed it firmly into the center of the warrior's forehead.
The blood spread instantly.
Dark red veins bloomed across the gray skin like living roots, crawling over the face, down the neck, and disappearing beneath the armor. The warrior's body seized, muscles locking, eyes bulging in silent agony, but it could not move — not even a twitch.
Vespera closed her eyes.
She plunged into the warrior's mind.
Memories flooded her — fragmented, brutal, and cold. Years of training in shadow-filled halls. Silent patrols across the gray plains. The taste of fear when facing intruders. She moved deeper, past loyalty and pain, until she reached the heart of it.
A tower so tall it pierced the clouds. Floor after floor of disciplined warriors, training grounds, armories, and silent halls. Then a particular floor — grand and oppressive, with violet lights and heavy curtains. At the far end, a raised dais. A silhouette seated upon it, features completely obscured, radiating overwhelming authority. The warrior had never been allowed to see the Master's face.
Vespera opened her eyes and withdrew her finger. The veins of blood receded, leaving the warrior slumped and unconscious.
She turned to Sabrel.
"I know where to find the Silent Hand."
Sabrel stood stunned, white eyes wide with disbelief. She had never seen Vespera wield power like this — so precise, so invasive, so effortless.
Vespera noticed her reaction and smiled faintly behind her mask.
"I'm curious about something. It is strange that they did not know of the dragon king's name... yet speak like one exists," she said softly. "There are many more like these warriors. Hundreds in a single tower. We should hurry."
Sabrel blinked, still processing.
Like one exists?! How did they forget about me?!
"What will happen to these ones?"
Vespera glanced at the frozen figures, her golden eyes cold.
"They are already dead. They do not matter for now. We have what we need for now"
She waved her hand low to the ground. A single drop of blood fell from her fingertip and touched the pale sand.
A dark red magic circle materialized instantly — intricate, swirling runes pulsing with malevolent energy, black aura rising like smoke from the edges. The circle expanded rapidly, the ground trembling beneath it.
From within the circle, a monstrous beast emerged.
It was massive, easily the size of a warhorse, with two powerful, leathery wings folded against its sides and two snarling heads atop thick, scaled necks. Each head had glowing crimson eyes and rows of serrated teeth dripping with dark saliva.
Obsidian-black scales covered its body, shifting with faint red energy that made the air around it shimmer with heat and menace. Long, spiked tails lashed behind it, and claws like curved blades dug into the sand. An aura of pure intimidation radiated from the creature — primal, ancient, and utterly loyal to Vespera.
Vespera looked at the beast, then turned to Sabrel.
"We must use this if we wish to find the Servant quickly."
Sabrel stared at the two-headed monster, then back at Vespera, a mix of awe and unease on her face.
But we could fly there ourselves!
----------------------------
The Valley of Silence had changed.
Deep, vicious slashes carved brutal wounds across the pale gray ground, as if the earth itself had been punished for daring to exist. Dark blood stained the sand in wide, glistening pools that refused to soak in.
Two corpses lay broken and discarded — one split cleanly in half from shoulder to hip, entrails spilled across the dirt like grotesque offerings; the other missing a massive chunk of its torso, ribs shattered and exposed to the red sky.
Nearby, one surviving warrior knelt in the dirt.
Its left arm was gone, severed cleanly at the shoulder. It pressed its remaining hand desperately against the ragged stump, blood pouring between its fingers in thick, rhythmic pulses. Its silver mask had been shattered and discarded. The black armor was sliced open in multiple places, revealing dark gray skin beneath. The warrior's yellow eyes were wide with raw, animal terror as its body shook uncontrollably.
Before it, sitting calmly on the half-buried boulder like a king on a makeshift throne, was Indura.
He held the severed head of one of the warriors casually in his right hand, fingers wrapped loosely around the broken horn. His golden eyes were cold, utterly devoid of warmth or mercy.
Indura's voice cut through the unnatural silence like a blade pressed against bone.
"I warned you."
He tossed the head forward with a casual flick. It rolled across the bloodied ground and stopped at the feet of the trembling warrior with a dull, wet thud.
The warrior flinched violently, a choked, broken sound escaping its throat.
Indura continued, voice flat and merciless.
"I warned you. And you did not listen."
He studied the broken warrior with those piercing golden eyes, the intensity in his gaze enough to make the air feel heavier. The surviving warrior's body shook harder, blood continuing to pour from the severed stump in steady streams.
"Stand up."
The warrior didn't move at first, frozen in terror. Then, slowly, painfully, it lifted its head, yellow eyes filled with dread as it struggled to its feet, swaying unsteadily.
Indura's expression didn't change.
"Go. Return to where you came from and bring your master here."
The warrior remained frozen, legs shaking violently, unable to move.
Indura's voice dropped even lower, cold and final.
"Get out of my sight and do what you're told. Or next time… it won't be just your arm."
He waved his fingers dismissively, as if shooing away an insect.
"Go. I will be here. Waiting."
The warrior stumbled backward, nearly collapsing, then turned and fled into the darkness of the valley, leaving a wide trail of blood behind it. Its footsteps faded quickly into the unnatural silence.
Indura remained seated on the boulder, golden eyes staring calmly into the depths of the valley with terrifying patience.
The silence returned, deeper and heavier than before.