As Bethryl of the Shen Clan was dragged through the forest by her captor, she began to reflect on the confused journey that had led her here.
Where had it begun?
Had it started the day her father disappeared? No, she could not be certain. It had been this way from the beginning.
The one thing Bethryl remembered about life in the Shen Clan was that nothing was ever certain. The Faceless Mentors who taught them made sure to let them know that the days when Clans had their own gods, their own people, their own identities, were long gone. There was nothing left to prove such times had ever existed. Any distinct culture was reduced to an idea discussed in the Academies. Any belief, any idea at all, was treated the same way: something to be argued against, dismantled, and ultimately disproven. Faith itself was considered a liability. And sometimes the Mentors did not need to say, because it was something they did, something in the air, that made you feel that this was true.
Some girls at the Academies said this was for the best. They had heard that if one wished to be promoted to the Faceless, it was better to hold no strong beliefs when the examination came. Bethryl did not question this, because there was no alternative framework from which questioning could even arise.
In the Academies, the one thing Bethryl truly learned from the Mentors was how to think, but not how to question. Mentors could stare through you with spiralling glances and let you know that you were not to ask why, but to criticise. Everything was "problematic." This was why the old books and teachings had been erased, and why that erasure was celebrated.
She could have lived her whole life that way, with the questions, and the criticisms, and the way that the Mentors seemed to change something about her day after day.
But her father was Jinvar.
Jinvar did not get along with the Clan, or with her family, or with anyone at all. He made sure to stay away from the Faceless Mentors, and the Soldiers, and with anyone connected to their group. It made no sense to Bethryl why her father was disliked, because he was the only person she could listen to for hours without growing tired. He spoke as though he carried something necessary, something meant to be passed on.
"Why are you always so sad, father?" she once asked.
"Don't worry about me," he replied. "Focus on school. Do your best."
He could tell he had disappointed her with his answer.
"But if you really want," he added after a pause, "one day, when you're older, I'll tell you the truth."
"About what, father?"
"About the Faceless Conjurers."
A few years later, he vanished.
Bethryl had heard rumours about the Conjurers, told in the form of jokes. Children would gather around and for a laugh they would start that familiar discussion where one of them asked:
"Hey, what all of this is an illusion and the Conjurers created all of it?"
"Okay, then I'm the Chosen One. I'm going to break free from the illusion."
So what was the truth?
Outside of these days of endless criticism and dismantling, did truth even exist? The longer Bethryl thought about it, the more she felt the Academies were hiding something. The Mentors taught countless concepts, thinkers, and traditions, but at the centre of it all was the same message: there was no truth, and therefore nothing. The eyes of the Mentors alone seemed to convey that meaning.
Even identity itself could be questioned, altered, erased. At the core, she was no one.
Who was right, her father, or the Academies?
As a teenager, Bethryl changed. She began to read what she was never meant to see. She searched for the forbidden, the underworld, the hidden darkness beneath it all, but found only the same disdain her father had endured.
"You ask too much and do too little," her mother once told her. "You're waiting for some grand harmony, some moment where everything makes sense. It doesn't work that way. There will never be a moment when you're truly certain of anything."
"What about Dad?" Bethryl asked. "You said he left us. Can I be certain of that?"
Her mother rolled her eyes, as if the question itself were foolish.
In this Clan, there was no truth.
But there had to be.
When news arrived, it came as conflicting accounts until consensus formed, and then everyone agreed on what the Lords were planning next. Was that truth, or merely agreement?
When her father disappeared, her grandparents said he was dead. Her mother, aunt, uncle, and cousins said he had abandoned them. The majority decided which version became truth.
But Bethryl knew her father had died. It was only a feeling, but it was stronger than any argument. And the more she observed the people around her, the more she sensed an overwhelming weakness beneath their endless debates. That was when she remembered what her father said about the Conjurers.
She felt the truth her father wanted to pass on was that this weakness existed for a reason. What if the illusion of the Conjurers was not a false reality but a subjective one?
There was something waiting for her, something she had to find.
That was why, several days later, in a moment of madness, Bethryl made her choice. And now, as Vaelor dragged her through the forest, he was struck by the calm in her expression.
"It may disappoint you to learn that the Shadow Clans are nothing like the stories," he said. "There was never a network. No Shadow Web across the Realms."
"I never believed those stories," Bethryl replied.
"Oh?"
"It wouldn't surprise me if they were fractured into factions and sub-factions."
"Then do you regret leaving your home?"
"No. It's different here. Even you seem to understand something they didn't."
"I'm not sure I agree."
Sounds echoed ahead. Vaelor adjusted his direction.
"I left my Clan years ago, thinking it would be different out here," he said. "But what's changed? Who knows anything about anything? Even this Axiom nonsense. Yes, there's an Axiom system, but there was once a Logos system, and a Continuum system. Each worked. Each explained the world in its own way. The idea that Axiom is divine law is just another lie planted by those in power."
"So there's nothing?" Bethryl asked.
"No, there's energy. Control. A source. But who knows what any of it truly is? It's just our words shaping the limits of what we can't comprehend."
The sounds grew louder.
"You came looking for truth," Vaelor said. "Thinking you were leaving shadows for light. But all you'll find here is more shadow."
He glanced back at her.
"You care too much about the truth."
"I've heard that before."
"Maybe there is truth, and maybe the Conjurers have already destroyed my mind with doubt," he said. "But if there is, it would take everything from you."
They emerged onto the battlefield.
"Are you ready to die now?" Rovick asked. "I can see you're exhausted."
Ashar smiled.
He was close to collapse, but panic never crossed his mind. There was always a way.
From now on, he reduced his movements. No Water. No Air. Only sharp counters.
Ashar made the first move.
He locked eyes with one bandit and smiled.
"What the hell are you doing?" the man snapped.
Ashar focused energy into his gaze, just enough to unsettle the mind.
"Don't mock me, you piece of garbage!" the bandit screamed, rushing forward.
He caught his timing immediately, but he did not kill him. Instead, he cut off the bandit's hand and pushed him into the crowd.
"What the hell?" the bandit screamed. "No! Someone help me! Please!"
It had worked, because the screams of their comrade now caused the group to stiffen up, even if only slightly.
Because of this, their next few attacks, with the Axiom blade and Axiom spear, just missed him, although he was too tired to successfully counter. He missed and fell down and as they towered over him he lashed out with Axiom Fire. Ashar figured out that if you mixed Fire with Air you could spread the flames around into the eys to create a blinding attack.
This gave him another few moments to dodge.
In the next few instances, Ashar grabbed the bandit who had lost his hand, and turned him around just in time to use as a shield against another blow. He did not drop the body straight away. He made sure to hold the body in front of them, as a shield, and also a means of placing pressure on their minds. As they watched one of their own die, they would start to hesitate from a mixture of fear, and rage, and despair.
This was the way. He was a demon after all.
When Ashar felt his back touch the wall of the cave, he dropped the body and threw it into them. In that time, he had taken deep breaths, and had managed to recover some Axiom energy.
And so, once more, Ashar withdrew his blade and he took up his fighting stance
Another bandit moved forward with two Flame fists. The exchange was instantaneous. It appeared that they had both hit each other, but at a closer look, it was clear that Ashar had moved out of the way, while the other's throat had been cut.
Ashar stayed with his back against the rock and increased his focus, putting the adrenaline of fear into his eyes. This slowed them down. They could feel that if they took even one small step into his range then they would be killed. And so each one now feared for his life.
Minutes later, Vaelor and Bethryl watched from afar.
"How is he still alive?" Vaelor muttered.
"Who is he?" Bethryl whispered.
Vaelor fled with her.
Ashar faced Rovick.
"It's over." said Rovick. "You're finished now. You've got nothing left."
Rovick started his Energy Charge.
He was perfectly countered with an Axiom Flame
In his moments, Rovick realised that Ashar's exhaustion, his crawling, his gasping, all of it... had been a fake.
He had used that time to recover at least one third of his energy.
Now five remained, without their leader. Ashar surveyed their stances, and the aura of their energy. They were finished. He did not even need to watch, as they turned around and chose to run away.
"Looks like it's just you now, Vaelor," Ashar said.
Vaelor laughed as he fled.
"Incredible…"
Bethryl looked back, eyes searching for that divine judgement that was coming after Vaelor without hesitation, like a harsh wind that dared to sweep the clouds, with a certainty that she had searching for throughout all her life.
There was still so much for her to find.