Chapter 1: The Return
The campfire crackled in the quiet night, casting flickering shadows across the small circle of children. An old man sat among them, his lined face warm in the firelight. Every kid stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking.
"Do you want to hear a story?" he asked, voice rough like old gravel.
They nodded fast, leaning in.
"About who?" they blurted all at once.
"About the god of rebellion," came the eager chorus.
The old man chuckled low, leaning forward. "Aaah! About Zebek, the god of rebellion and destruction." He let the name settle, watching their faces. "He started as just a man, long ago. But his name grew so terrifying that even the gods feared to speak it. He stormed heaven with an army behind him, unleashing pure havoc—slaughtering gods, shattering every sacred law in his way. The more he killed, the stronger he became. Eventually the supreme gods had no choice. They stepped in, sealed him away somewhere on this earth."
He scanned the circle. "Any of you know why he rebelled?"
A small hand shot up. "Because he wanted to take control of heaven!"
The old man shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "No. That's the lie the world spreads. Zebek fought for us—the ones crushed under the heels of the very gods we used to worship. That's why we, the Tribe of Zebek, still exist. Our whole purpose is to find him, break the seal, and bring him back to his glory."
He kept talking, voice rising with passion as the legend unfolded. Tucked among the children, one quiet girl listened harder than anyone. A spark of pure joy lit up her eyes, warm and fierce, like the fire itself had settled inside her.
Fifteen years later, that girl had become a young woman of about twenty. She moved through the noisy marketplace with her hood pulled low, the thorn-patched cloth hiding most of her face. She bought a handful of fruits from a vendor, stuffed them into a heavy sack over her left shoulder, and slipped away toward a rundown hotel on the edge of town.
The place was loud and dangerous inside—scarred mercenaries and rough types laughing over meals, dangerous weapons leaning against tables while beautiful women kept them company. Lilith ignored the stares and headed straight upstairs.
In the room, four young men around her age hunched over a worn map of the country. Red X's covered almost every inch, with one hopeful circle marked on a mountain. They looked up when she entered. Lilith tugged her hood back, letting her long black hair fall to her neck and revealing her strikingly beautiful face.
Luck spoke first, voice steady but urgent. "Lilith, did you get everything on the list?"
She nodded.
"Hope you weren't followed," he added, eyes sharp.
"Come on, I'm not some rookie," she replied with a small, confident smile. "I checked everything twice. No tails."
Berth rose from the creaky wooden floor and took the sack from her. He tossed the fruits to the others, then dumped the rest onto the bed. Five weapons spilled out, glowing faintly with intricate enchanted runes: a sword, two daggers, axes, a bow with six arrows, and nunchucks.
Verth leaned closer, impressed. "Wow, Lilith… this is seriously impressive."
Perth grinned from where he sat. "She's not the tribe's best enchantress for nothing."
Lilith shrugged, cheeks warming a little. "It was nothing. I did it for the tribe." She glanced at their tense faces. "Did you guys have to look so grim about it?"
Luck cut in with a short laugh. "It's necessary. We're all that's left of the tribe now." He bit into a fruit, juice dripping down his chin.
"Did you really have to do that?" Lilith asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Do what?" Luck said, playing innocent.
"Never mind." She sighed. "Shouldn't we move before they catch up?"
Berth shook his head. "Rest first. We don't even know for sure if he's there."
"Fine," Lilith said. "I need a bath anyway."
Luck's face flushed. The others suddenly looked way too interested. "You're not… changing here, are you?" he asked, flustered.
"You wish!" Lilith shot back, pulling a silly face before ducking into the tiny bathroom. Inside, she let out a quiet breath, the weight of the day pressing on her shoulders. Just a little longer, she thought. For the tribe. For everything we've lost.
Downstairs, a scarred man pushed through the door. A deep cut marked his forehead, and a crescent moon symbol stood out clearly on the back of his right hand. He strode to the receptionist, pulled out a detailed sketch of Luck and the others, and asked questions. The second the man spotted the crescent, he paled and pointed upstairs without hesitation.
Up in the room, Lilith had changed into sleek assassin's gear—dark, practical, and deadly. The boys had packed everything and stood ready. Then the knock came.
They all froze, eyes snapping to Luck.
"Who is it?" he called.
"Oh, Luck… don't you remember my voice? It's me, Cain."
The crescent on Cain's hand flared with light. Luck cursed under his breath. "Fuck…"
The explosion tore the door apart in a roar of wood and smoke. Berth, Verth, and Perth charged with weapons raised. Axes and nunchucks swung, but Cain caught them bare-handed like they were toys. Perth's arrow burst into thick smoke. In the chaos, the five smashed through the shattered window and dropped into the night.
Cain stepped out unharmed, descended the stairs, and surveyed the carnage—his men had slaughtered everyone downstairs. Blood slicked the floors. Outside, a woman bowed low to him. He spotted Luck and the others shoving through the streets.
"Camilla," he said coldly, "go after them. Bring Luck back alive."
She nodded, swung onto a horse, and galloped off with several riders behind her.
As they ran, Verth gasped, "How the hell did they find us so fast?"
"Doesn't matter right now," Luck replied, glancing back. He saw Camilla closing in and flashed a grim smile. "Change of plans. We split. Lilith and I head for the tomb. Meet at the next town."
"But—" Berth started.
"It's an order," Luck said, eyes hard as steel.
The three broke off in different directions. Luck grabbed Lilith's hand, pulling her forward. Camilla's group split too, with her and a handful chasing the pair.
They ducked down an alley and hit a dead end. Luck boosted Lilith up the wall, muscles straining. "Take this," he said, pressing two tiny daggers—small enough to hide in her palm—into her hand along with the folded map. "Follow the circle. You'll find his tomb… and you'll know what to do when you get there."
"What about you?" Her voice cracked with worry, heart pounding.
"I'll catch up."
"Promise?"
"Yeah. I do."
Lilith nodded, throat tight, then took off, leaping rooftop to rooftop. The pursuers swarmed Luck. He drew his sword. They charged. He hurled the blade like a spear, burying it in the first man's neck. Punches landed, steel flashed, and he cut down the rest with precise, brutal strikes.
Camilla arrived in a rush, leaping from her horse and flinging daggers. Most missed, but one grazed his cheek, stinging hot. She jumped high, sword drawn mid-air. He blocked, then kicked her hard in the ribs, slamming her into the wall.
"Sorry," he muttered, already sprinting away, chest burning.
Lilith kept jumping rooftops until she spotted a horse tied beside a shop. She dropped down, sliced the rope clean, mounted up, and rode hard into the night. The wind whipped her hair, and for a moment she allowed herself a small, fierce smile. Almost there.
Cain reached the bloody alley to find his men dead and Camilla unconscious. He called her name—no response. He crushed a small orb from his pocket. The mark on her neck flared, wrenching her awake with agony. He grabbed her collar roughly.
"You useless piece of shit. Want me to drag you back to the slave market?"
"I'm sorry, Master," she gasped, eyes wide with fear. "I won't disappoint you again. Please…"
"You'd better not." He let go. "Let's move."
"Where?"
"The tomb of Zebek."
At the mountain's base, Luck waited, nerves tight. When Lilith rode up, relief flooded her face. She slid off the horse and ran to him, gently touching the fresh scratch on his cheek.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah… just a scratch, Lily," he said softly, trying to sound lighter than he felt.
"Lily!" she exclaimed, cheeks heating.
"Is it okay if I call you that?"
"It's fine," she mumbled, looking down, a shy flutter in her chest. Luck smiled and patted her head gently.
"Good job with the horse. Makes the climb easier." He mounted first, then helped her up behind him, careful and steady. They rode up the trail, but soon spotted fresh tracks. Caution tightened in their guts as they pressed on.
At the tomb entrance, their stomachs dropped. Cain's men patrolled the area, and Cain and Camilla waited right at the door.
"Well… this just got tricky," Luck muttered.
"We're not stopping now, right?" Lilith whispered, voice fierce despite the fear. "We're too close."
"Lily, I never said we were stopping," Luck replied, a dangerous grin spreading as he eyed Camilla. "And I've got an idea."
He leaned in and whispered the plan quickly. Her eyes widened, but she nodded.
Luck stepped into the open. Enemies swarmed him. He drew his sword. The enchantments ignited, flames roaring along the blade. One swing sent a wave of fire exploding outward, incinerating guards in screams and heat. Even Luck froze for a second, stunned.
"I knew she was good… but this?" He shook it off. "Five minutes. Make them count."
He charged the terrified survivors, every swing trailing merciless fire. Bodies fell until only Camilla stood, sent forward by Cain. She threw a dagger—he melted it mid-air.
"This won't be like last time," she snarled, opening her coat to reveal rows of hidden blades.
She hurled four. He sliced most, but the last created choking smoke. His sword drank it in. Camilla vanished, then reappeared behind him, slashing his leg. Pain flared hot. He spun with a roundhouse kick—she dodged. He countered with a fiery arc; she barely escaped.
Her next two daggers flew. The enchanted one punched into his stomach, burning like acid. He twisted away from the second, which only grazed his hand.
"Well… this sure isn't like before," he grunted, breathing ragged, blood warm on his skin.
"Master wants you alive," Camilla said, cold and steady, "even if you're a traitor."
"You see… I was never the traitor," Luck replied. The crescent mark on his neck flared. His sword blazed brighter. He unleashed a massive fire slash.
Cain stepped in, shattering it and filling the air with smoke.
"Well, look who showed up," Luck said as it cleared. "So you do care about your slave."
"Don't be stupid," Cain growled. "I'm here to kill the traitor and settle the score for this scar."
"They say forgive and forget."
"Only fools say that. I still see your karma hanging on you."
"Seems your god hasn't abandoned me yet," Luck shot back.
Both marks glowed. Luck rushed him. His sword's power suddenly died, crumbling away. He tossed it aside. Fists flew—Luck landed one on Cain's face, but Cain yanked him close and drove an explosive punch into his gut, hurling him down hard.
"Have you forgotten? You can't beat me. Your karma means nothing here," Cain sneered.
Luck pushed up, charged again. Cain ducked and delivered a brutal uppercut that exploded against his chin, dropping him flat.
"Blade," Cain ordered Camilla.
She handed one over and walked toward Luck. Then blood sprayed—C ain's blood. Camilla had driven the blade straight into his heart.
In his dying confusion, Luck held up the small orb that had bound her. Camilla leaned close. "You were never my master." She pulled the blade free.
"You okay?" she asked, helping him up, her hands surprisingly steady.
"Yeah… guess I'm pretty lucky after all," Luck said with a weak grin. "Especially for planting you in the Church of the Moon before everything went to hell."
"Where's the woman you were with?"
"Probably already inside. I hope she unseals him."
A sudden chill crawled down their spines. They turned. A man with long black hair to his neck and sharp brown eyes stood there in simple robes, looking puzzled.
"I was never told you two were working together," he said.
"What are you doing here, Abel?" Luck asked, fear tightening his voice.
Abel smiled thinly. "Funny question. You were supposed to beg, 'Please spare us.'"
Deep in the tomb, Lilith had already silenced the guards at the entrance with quick, silent cuts from her tiny daggers. She moved deeper, heart hammering. Three massive statues loomed around a smaller chained one. A glowing barrier blocked her.
She searched frantically and found matching holes on the left legs of the big statues. The daggers fit perfectly. The barrier dissolved.
Inside the circle, ancient words were carved on one statue:
"The key does not survive the door it opens."
Lilith stared, stomach twisting. "Fuck… what does that even mean?"
Her eyes caught the last dagger—the one with the diamond hilt. A matching slot waited on the small statue's chest. "Luck said I'd know what to do…"
She slid it in and stepped back, pulse racing.
Nothing.
"What a bummer," a voice drawled behind her.
She spun. Abel stood there, disappointed. "All those old stories were lies after all. I was actually looking forward to meeting him."
Then she saw what he carried—two severed heads. Luck's and Camilla's. Horror slammed into her chest.
"Don't look so shocked. Just souvenirs," he said.
She yanked her daggers free, but Abel was faster. His hand shot forward, piercing clean through her heart. Pain exploded, white-hot and final. "Don't worry," he whispered in her ear as he withdrew, "you're not worth keeping as one."
He turned and walked away. Lilith crumpled, blood pooling across the stone and flowing toward the small statue. As it touched, the statue's eyes ignited with a silver-yellow glow. The whole cave—and the mountain above—shook violently for a few terrifying seconds.
Abel paused and glanced back.
Lilith stirred. She pushed herself up, the fatal wound already closing, skin knitting together. The small statue had vanished. In its place, a diamond mark now glowed on her chest, warm and pulsing with strange power.
Behind Abel, a tall young man emerged from the shadows. Long hair reached down his back, partially covering intense eyes. He drove a powerful strike into Abel's ribs, slamming him into the cave wall and forcing him to drop the heads.
"How long has it been since I last stretched?" the young man said casually. He looked early twenties, completely naked, his body lean and powerfully sculpted—like someone who had trained through nothing but raw movement and will.