The funeral was held at dawn.
Silas stood at the edge of the village graveyard, wrapped in a heavy cloak that did nothing to ward off the chill in his bones. Behind him, at a careful distance, waited a contingent of players. Kael had insisted on an escort. Protection detail, he'd called it. After yesterday, Silas couldn't argue.
Before him, a fresh grave. A simple wooden marker. No name yet—the woodcarver was still working on it. But everyone knew whose grave it was.
Elian. The boy who would be hero. The boy who chose death over servitude.
The villagers had not reacted well to the news.
When Venris's messengers arrived yesterday evening, carrying the body and the story, there had been wailing. Anger. Accusations. A few of the younger men had grabbed tools, pitchforks, anything that could serve as a weapon, and started toward the castle. They'd been turned back by the players—not violently, just firmly. A wall of armor and implied force.
But the damage was done. The village, which might have been neutral, which might have stayed out of the coming conflict, now had a reason to hate.
And at the center of that hate stood Silas.
He should have stayed at the castle. Kael had said as much. Venris had begged him not to come. Even Lily, usually supportive, had expressed concerns.
But Silas had come anyway.
Because Elian deserved someone to mourn him. Someone who understood what he'd sacrificed. Someone who wasn't a god using him or a villager who saw only the legend.
And because Silas needed to see. Needed to understand. Needed to remind himself that these people were real, that their grief was real, that everything the players treated as a game was someone's life, someone's death, someone's world.
"He was a good boy."
The voice came from beside him. An old woman, bent with age, her face a map of wrinkles and sorrow. She wore black, as did most of the village.
"The elder raised him well. After his parents died in the fever years, the elder took him in. Taught him. Loved him." She wiped at her eyes with a weathered hand. "And now they're both gone. Both taken by your kind."
Silas didn't flinch. He deserved that.
"I'm sorry," he said. It was all he could say.
The old woman looked at him. Really looked. And something in her ancient eyes shifted.
"You came," she said. "The Duke never comes to funerals. The Duke never says sorry. The Duke never looks at common folk like they're people."
Silas was silent.
"Who are you?" she asked. "Really? What are you?"
Before he could answer, a commotion erupted at the edge of the graveyard. Voices raised. Angry shouts.
Silas turned.
A group of villagers had gathered, blocking the path back to the castle. They carried tools, torches, whatever weapons they could find. At their front stood a young man, maybe twenty, with Elian's coloring and Elian's fury in his eyes.
"You!" the young man shouted, pointing at Silas. "Murderer! You killed him! You killed them both!"
The players moved, forming a protective wall between Silas and the crowd. Rex's axe was in his hand. Z had vanished into stealth. Kael stood at the center, calm and unmoving.
"Your Grace," Kael said quietly, "we should leave. Now."
But Silas didn't move. He looked at the young man, at the grief and rage distorting his features, and saw Elian's ghost.
"Your name," Silas called out. "What's your name?"
The young man faltered. Confusion cut through his anger. "What?"
"Your name. I want to know who I'm speaking to."
"Tomas. Tomas of Elderbrook." He spat the words. "Elian was my cousin. The elder was my uncle. And you killed them both."
"I didn't kill Elian."
"The whole village knows what happened! He came to your castle to avenge the elder, and now he's dead! Dead in your courtyard, surrounded by your soldiers!"
"He died fighting against the thing that controlled him. He died free. He died choosing his own path." Silas stepped forward, past the players, into the open. "I won't pretend to understand your grief. I won't ask for your forgiveness. But I will tell you the truth: Elian was not my enemy. He was a victim. Just like your elder. Just like me."
Tomas stared at him. The crowd murmured.
"You expect us to believe that? The Duke, the tyrant, the murderer—he's a victim?"
"I expect nothing." Silas spread his hands. "I came here today because Elian deserved someone to mourn him. Someone who saw what he did. Someone who understood." He looked at the crowd, at the faces twisted with grief and hate. "I understand if you hate me. I understand if you want revenge. But know this: there are forces in this world greater than any of us. Forces that used Elian. Forces that used your elder's death. Forces that will use any of you, if you let them."
"The gods," the old woman beside him whispered. "You speak of the gods."
Silas nodded. "I speak of Solarius. The God of Light. The one who gave Elian his mission. The one who controlled him like a puppet. The one who, when Elian tried to break free, let him die rather than lose control."
The crowd stirred. Murmurs of disbelief, of horror, of dawning fear.
"You lie," Tomas said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"I wish I did." Silas turned back to the grave. "I wish Elian had died fighting a monster. It would be easier. Cleaner. But he didn't. He died fighting for his own soul. And that—that is worth remembering."
He stood in silence for a long moment. Then, without looking back, he walked toward the path.
The villagers parted before him. Tomas stood frozen, his torch lowered, his rage transformed into something more complicated.
The players fell into formation around Silas as he passed.
No one spoke until they were well clear of the village, climbing the hill toward the castle.
"That was risky," Kael said finally. "Stupid, even. They could have killed you."
"They could have." Silas kept walking. "But they didn't."
"Why not?"
Silas thought about it. About the old woman's question. About Tomas's uncertainty. About the way the crowd had parted.
"Because they saw something they didn't expect. Something that didn't fit their story." He glanced at Kael. "People need stories. They need to believe the villain is evil and the hero is good. When you take that away, when you show them something that doesn't fit, they don't know what to do."
"And you think that's enough? Confusion?"
"No. But it's a start." Silas looked up at the castle, dark against the brightening sky. "We're not going to win this war with swords and spells. We're going to win it by making people question. By making them see. By breaking the story the gods want them to believe."
Kael was silent for a long moment.
"That's not how we usually fight," he said finally. "We're gamers. We fight with mechanics and strategies and optimized rotations."
"Then learn to fight a different way." Silas stopped at the castle gate, turning to face the raid leader. "Because Solarius isn't going to stop sending champions. He's going to adapt, just like you do. And if all we do is react, if all we do is fight the battles he puts in front of us, we'll lose. Eventually, we'll lose."
"What do you suggest?"
Silas thought of the books. Of the divine politics, the rival gods, the tensions that simmered beneath the surface of Solarius's dominance.
"We need allies," he said. "Not just players. Real allies. In this world. Maybe even among the gods."
Kael stared at him. "You want to recruit gods. To fight against a god."
"I want to find cracks in Solarius's power. Weaknesses. Enemies he's made. Gods who might be willing to help us, if only to spite him." Silas shrugged. "It worked in the books. The other gods eventually turned on Solarius. They got tired of his arrogance, his dominance, his certainty that he knew best. If we can speed that up, if we can give them a reason to act sooner..."
"It's a long shot."
"It's the only shot we have."
Kael considered. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Alright. We'll do it your way. But we need more information. The books you're writing—they have details about the other gods?"
"Yes. Their names, their domains, their relationships with Solarius. It's all in the notes."
"Then we study. We learn. And we figure out who might be willing to talk." Kael turned to the other players, who had gathered to listen. "New objective, everyone. Primary remains protecting the Duke. Secondary: gather intelligence on the divine politics of this world. Any interaction with NPCs, any rumors, any religious ceremonies—I want to know about it."
The players acknowledged and dispersed.
Silas watched them go. Then he walked into the castle, through the halls, past the servants who still flinched when he passed, and into the library.
His notes waited for him. Pages and pages of details about a world that wasn't his, gods who didn't know he existed, prophecies that had already been broken.
He sat down and began to read.
---
The days that followed settled into an uneasy rhythm.
The players continued their patrols, their studies, their endless optimization. Z mapped the divine incursions, noting patterns, trying to predict when Solarius would strike next. Mira and Toren expanded their range, visiting villages and towns, listening to rumors, gathering intelligence. Lily worked with Venris to improve relations with the castle staff, offering healing and help, slowly building trust.
And Silas wrote. Endlessly, obsessively, filling page after page with everything he remembered. The gods and their hierarchies. The heroes and their journeys. The villains and their fates. The battles, the betrayals, the moments of grace and horror that made up the twelve volumes of "The Chronicle of the Holy Blade."
It was on the fifth day that Z found something.
"Your Grace." The rogue materialized in the library doorway, his digital face alight with excitement. "You need to see this. We found someone. A priest. Not of Solarius—of someone else."
Silas was on his feet instantly. "Who?"
"Goddess of Shadows. Nyx, I think? The name came up in your notes. There's a small shrine in the forest, maybe two hours from here. The priest is old, half-mad, but he's real. And he says his goddess has been trying to reach us."
Silas's heart hammered. Nyx. In the books, she was Solarius's primary rival. Goddess of night, of secrets, of things hidden and forbidden. She had no love for the God of Light, and in the later volumes, she had quietly aided the heroes against him—not out of goodness, but out of spite.
"If she's reaching out—"
"Then maybe she's willing to talk." Z grinned. "You wanted allies among the gods. This might be our best shot."
They moved quickly. Silas gathered a small party: Z, Rex, Lily, and Kael. The rest of the players remained behind, maintaining the defense of the castle. If this was a trap, if Solarius had found a way to mimic another god's power, they needed to be ready.
The shrine was exactly as Z had described. Hidden in a grove of ancient oaks, built from black stone that seemed to absorb the light. No path led to it; they found it only because Z had marked the way.
The priest waited at the entrance.
He was old. Impossibly old, his skin like parchment, his eyes milky with cataracts. But when Silas approached, those blind eyes seemed to see right through him.
"The stranger comes," the priest whispered. "The one who wears another's skin. The one the light hates."
Silas stopped. "You can see that?"
"I see what the shadows show me." The priest smiled, revealing gaps where teeth should be. "Nyx sees all that hides in darkness. And you, Duke Silas, are full of shadows."
"Can she help us?"
The priest laughed. It was a thin, reedy sound, like wind through dead leaves.
"Help? The goddess does not help. She bargains. She trades. She collects debts and calls them due when least expected." He tilted his head, studying Silas with those blind eyes. "But she is curious. A soul from elsewhere, fighting the light itself? That is new. That is interesting."
"Tell her—"
"She knows." The priest gestured to the shrine's interior. "Go inside. She will speak with you directly. But be warned: her words have weight. Her gifts have cost. And once you accept her attention, you will never be free of it."
Silas looked at the players. Kael nodded.
"I'll go alone," Silas said. "If something happens—"
"We'll be right here." Kael's hand rested on his sword. "Five minutes. If you're not out, we come in."
Silas nodded and walked into the darkness.
The shrine's interior was blacker than it should have been. No light penetrated from outside. No torches burned. But Silas could see—not with his eyes, but with something deeper. Shapes moved in the corner of his vision, never quite present, never quite absent.
And then she was there.
Not a figure. Not a form. Just a presence, vast and ancient and patient, filling the space like water fills a vessel.
"Stranger."
The voice was not heard but felt, resonating in his bones, his blood, his soul.
"You have traveled far to find me. Farther than you know."
"Are you Nyx? Goddess of Shadows?"
"I am called that. Among other names. Among other worlds." A pause. "You are not from this world. Your soul bears the marks of elsewhere. Marks I have not seen in millennia."
Silas's heart stopped. "You can tell?"
"I am goddess of what is hidden. Secrets are my domain. And you, little stranger, are the greatest secret this world has ever held." The darkness seemed to lean closer. "Solarius cannot see you clearly. He senses the anomaly, but its shape eludes him. I, however, see with different eyes. I see the truth."
"Then you know I'm not the real Duke. You know I didn't kill the elder. You know—"
"I know you are innocent of that crime. But innocence is not the same as goodness. And desperation can drive even the purest soul to darkness."
Silas swallowed. "Solarius wants me dead. He's going to keep sending champions, keep trying to break through. I need allies. I need help."
"And you come to me." The darkness seemed amused. "The goddess of shadows. The enemy of light. You think I will aid you out of kindness? Out of sympathy?"
"I think you hate Solarius. I think watching him fail, watching his plans crumble—that would please you."
"It would." No hesitation. "But pleasure is not enough. If I help you, I risk his attention. His fury. His obsession. He is arrogant, but he is powerful. And once he turns his full gaze on an enemy, that enemy rarely survives."
"What do you want? What's the price?"
The darkness was silent for a long moment. When the voice returned, it was softer, more dangerous.
"I want to know where you come from. I want to know the world that shaped you. I want to taste its shadows, its secrets, its hidden truths."
Silas's blood ran cold. "You want to find Earth."
"I want to know it exists. That is all. For now."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you walk out of this shrine, and we never speak again. Solarius will find you eventually. He will break through. He will destroy you and everyone you love. And I will watch from the darkness, unmoved."
Silas stood in the presence of a goddess, faced with a choice that could doom his world or save it.
He thought of the players, ignorant and brave, fighting a war they didn't understand.
He thought of the villagers, grieving and angry, caught between gods and monsters.
He thought of Elian, dying free, choosing death over slavery.
And he made his choice.
"No."
The darkness rippled. "No?"
"I can't. I won't. Earth isn't mine to trade. Those people—billions of them—they don't know this world exists. They don't know the danger. If I give you that knowledge, if I let you find them, I'm no better than Solarius. I'm just another god using people as pieces."
"Even if it means your death?"
"Even then."
The silence stretched. Seconds. Minutes. An eternity.
Then the darkness laughed.
It was not a cruel laugh. It was warm, genuine, surprised.
"You refused a goddess. For strangers. For people who do not know your name."
"I did."
"Interesting." The presence shifted, seemed to draw back slightly. "You are not what I expected, stranger. You are not a supplicant begging for power. You are not a schemer offering deals. You are something rarer."
"What?"
"A fool. A genuine, honest fool." The darkness rippled with amusement. "I like fools. They are predictable only in their unpredictability. Very well. I will help you. Not for knowledge of your world. Not for spite against Solarius. But because you interest me. Because in a world of gods and heroes and prophecies, you chose to be nothing but yourself."
Silas stared into the darkness. "You'll help? Just like that?"
"Just like that. But remember: this is not a gift. It is an investment. I will watch you, stranger. I will learn from you. And someday, when you least expect it, I may call on you. That is the price."
"I understand."
"Good. Then listen closely. Solarius cannot attack you directly. The divine laws bind him, as they bind all gods. But he can bend those laws. He can send champions. He can influence mortals. He can—"
The darkness flickered.
"He is coming. Now. He has found my shrine. He knows I speak with you."
Silas spun toward the entrance. Through the darkness, he could see light—golden, furious light—gathering outside.
"Go. I will hold him as long as I can. But remember, stranger: you owe me now. And I always collect."
The darkness surged, wrapping around him, pushing him toward the entrance. He stumbled out into the forest—
And stopped.
The players were there, frozen in place, their digital forms flickering. Kael's hand was still on his sword, but he didn't move. Lily's healing spells hung in the air, unfinished.
And above them, in the sky, two presences clashed.
Light and shadow, warring across the heavens. Solarius had found them. Nyx was holding him back.
But even as Silas watched, the light grew brighter. Stronger. More determined.
"Your Grace!" Z's voice, cutting through the frozen moment. "We need to move! Now!"
Silas ran.
Behind him, the battle of gods continued. But ahead, through the trees, the castle waited.
And somewhere in the darkness, Nyx's laughter followed him.
"Run, little fool. Run and fight and surprise me. I will be watching."
Silas ran.
He didn't look back.
---
[CHAPTER 5 END]