The ruins of the fishing town lay in the darkness of night, their black shapes crooked and fallen. Some buildings were still half-standing, their broken walls somehow still challenging the skies themselves. Even as their foundations groan and their charred wood crackles bit by bit.

It was among these buildings that a shadow moved, unnoticeable in the near pitch darkness. It wiggled and slinked through the night, slipping through cobbles and fallen beams. It eventually reached the remnants of the forest, which emitted no sounds and no echoes. Nothing alive lurked here anymore.

The shadow passed through without a single sound. It would eventually reach a small hut near the mountain, its residents vacant from its barren interior. The Shaman and the Jarl had left for Vindis earlier that day, taking with them their belongings and all they owned. However, past the hut and closer to the base of this mountain, lay a camp with a snuffed fire and a low tent. The shadow slowed and approached the tent, its dimensions forming into a lump that stretched into an unnatural height.

The darkness parted like lips, revealing a grinning face with beady little eyes. It neared the tent with its spindly hands, its fingertips brushing against the opening.

A long blade was rammed into Thien's back, its tip coming out the other end in a shower of black blood. The eldritch demigod stopped where he was, looked down at his impaled torso, and twisted his head around to look at his perpetrator.

"A backstab, that one is new," he said with that grin of his. Naomi scowled at him and pulled her blade out.

"I thought you were someone else," she said.

"Oh?" Thien's body twisted around to match his head's orientation. "So you weren't thinking of me? Ah, my heart."

"What is it you want?" Naomi asked. "I thought our business was concluded when you sent me on this deathtrap of a quest."

"Well, what kind of quest would it be if there were no danger at all?" Thien asked as his body hunched over, his face becoming level with Naomi's.

"I nearly died," Naomi growled. "Came face to face with someone bearing Beholder Eyes. She was stronger than the one I killed in Kasan."

"Well, you did want to find the person responsible for Tyok's fall. Not my fault you'd run into stronger foes," Thien said with a shrug. "But, judging from your tone… this wasn't just any Beholder Eye, was it?"

Naomi shifted uncomfortably, her free hand going over her left eye. "Xenithu inferred their magic to be from Hasshyk. Supposedly the same as the man I faced back then. But it was different this time. I can't explain it."

"Well, that's a little foreboding," Thien said.

"Ugh, can you stop with the cryptic crap? Even with the boundaries of Holy Law, you already know the answer to all this."

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't?" Thien asked with narrowed eyes.

Naomi froze in place. "What?"

"Deities are wonderful concepts. All-powerful, all-knowing, and certainly all-handsome," Thien said with raised hands. "Key word being concept, Naomi. In reality, gods are limited similarly to the way humans are. We can't see everything. We can't know everything. What we can do, however, is send plucky heroes to do all that annoying stuff for us. Freyja uses Shamans. Bartholomew has those Oracles. Delphine uses worshipers and apostles. Even Myr has those Followers of his and people like you who accept our quests and become honorary apostles in their own right."

"So, the quest you sent me on was just to gather intel for your father?" Naomi asked slowly, her grip visibly tightening on that blade of hers.

"And to make sure you get your revenge too," Thien said. "Myr feels a little bad for what happened in Kasan. He's willing to give you the chance to kill the man responsible for your unnecessary suffering."

"Spare me the bullshit," Naomi growled. "What is this all about? Why are you here?"

Thien raised his hands in defense, still smiling that wax face of his. The bristles on his beard shifted as the grin grew a couple of inches.

"I've come to deliver a message. For James."

Naomi gave a frustrated sigh. "And you couldn't talk to him yourself?"

"I'm not allowed to anymore," Thien said. "He hasn't exactly taken kindly to my intrusion from last time, and Iendis promised to respect his privacy."

Naomi stared at the demigod, who just stared back with beady eyes, oozing with innocence.

"Anyway," Thien continued after the brief silence. "Let James know that Iendis thanks him for completing her quest, even if it wasn't done in a timely manner."

"Quest? What are you…?"

"Killing Jarl Ivan," Thien said. "Iendis gave him the quest weeks ago in hopes that he'd do the deed when the two met. I suppose he got cold feet, because you and I both know what went down that day."

Naomi blinked, speechless. Thien continued.

"Regardless, Iendis promised him a reward of great power. As such, he is entitled to it, despite not wanting anything to do with us."

"Great power?" Naomi asked with a scoff. Thien nodded at that, grin still there. It seemed to piss her off even more.

"Your definition of 'great power' is usually a riddle," she pointed out. "So what is it this time? Are you going to ask James what gets wetter as it dries?"

"First of all, this is no mere riddle, just some information he might find useful," Thien said. "And second, it's a towel."

"What?"

"Towel."

"Not that," Naomi said. Her frustration seemed to lace her words like venom, her jaw clenching as she waved away Thien's response. "What's the information?"

Thien leaned in a little closer, his hands raising in theatrical motions. "Dragon's Graveyard. He must participate."

Naomi watched him, eyebrow raised. "That's it? You know he's already agreed to go, right?"

"Yes, but that's for petty political reasons," Thien said. He said the word 'political' with the same reproach someone might use for describing shit. "There's bigger fish to fry, Naomi. Dare I say it, it might be key to saving Azura itself."

"Dragon's Graveyard?" Naomi asked. "It's just a tournament set up by assholes as an excuse to just fight and kill shit. And it's been around for decades. There's nothing more to it. If anything, the upcoming war is a much more vital thing to worry about."

"The war is just a backdrop for the real conflict," Thien said. His eyes narrowed into slits. "There is something strange happening, Naomi. Even the gods are realizing it. Did you know that Delphine hasn't spoken directly to her consorts since James' little stunt last year? Or that none of Caelus' priests have communed with the god for centuries?"

"Thien, just what are you talking about?"

"The words of prophecy are being fulfilled," Thien muttered. "Beings of unspeakable origins are moving, creatures of myths are stirring, and even the gods are making moves. You and James are going to be caught in the middle of it, and Dragon's Graveyard will be your only chance to stand even a smidgen of a chance against it."

Naomi's expression paled, her single eye watching Thien with a realization that confirmed she understood the importance of this message. And for that, the demigod's grin grew.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"So let me pass on these words of wisdom," Thien whispered. "When James embarks on this endeavor in the near future, he must find the resting place of the Last Dragonslayer. For only then will he find what he so desperately needs. The secret to end Nyrkl's influence and to save Valenfrost from his grasp."

"How will he find it?" Naomi asked.

"He will find that out on his own time. Trust me." Thien pulled back slowly, his beady little eyes glinting underneath the shadows of his hood. His shifting figure waned a bit, the shadows of the night slowly consuming the demigod. "And Naomi?"

"What?" Naomi said through gritted teeth. She watched the demigod carefully, as if expecting him to do something out of the ordinary.

"This will be our last meeting together," Thien revealed, a touch of regret in his words. "I'm taking a leave of absence, considering everything. So don't expect me to come back to dump useful info or to wish you luck. Not that you needed it." he laughed hoarsely, the air filled with what sounded like someone choking. It stopped suddenly, planting an uncomfortable silence between the two. "I would advise you to be careful regardless. Fate sometimes has a way of being ironic. Especially toward those it deems a threat. Anyway, I'll see you when I see you. And I hope I don't."

With that, the Boatman disappeared, leaving Naomi there. Alone and much more aware of the cold that seeped through her clothes.

"I don't either," she whispered simply before turning away and walking off back to her lone tent.

Gwenyth found purpose in meditation. It stilled her mind, silenced the rampant thoughts, and kept her sane. Throughout her centuries of existence, the silver-haired elf had gone through war after war, desolations after desolations, her attempts to prevent unnecessary death proving futile. Such a life can burden one's mind to near insanity.

Which was why she meditated, her sitting form absolutely still as she cleared her mind. Or at least, tried to. Gwenyth shifted and stirred in her cell, the stench of refuse filling the dungeons that lay beneath the Lumen Palace. She scrunched her nose and opened her eyes, the low light making it hard for her to see. Still, she could see the empty tray of food from this morning lying neatly by the cell door. The guard still hadn't come by to give her the evening meal.

Despite the smell of shit and the distant moans of other prisoners, this section of the dungeons was the nicest of the floors. Here, the prisoners got two daily trays of gruel and drink, all of it filled with the nutrition needed to live properly. They also had baths available to them. Sure, they were ice cold, and the water was no better than drained rainwater, but it did clean nicely.

Gwenyth sighed as she rested her head against the stone of her confinement. She raised her left hand, the bandages from earlier now fully gone. Her prosthetic was in full view, porcelain-like material making up most of it. The joints creaked with age, and the fingers were stiff. Yet it moved around almost like a real arm. While the elf had little to no knowledge of the workings of the thing, she knew that it was an Artifact-level item.

Runes glowed and shimmered around the forearm and joints, their complex nature stumping even the best of Wizards. Gwenyth had taken it to many artificers and sorcerers, none ever figuring out its origin and magical complexity. The thing was, that not even Gwenyth knew how it worked. Only that it had something to do with the person who once made her life a living hel.

She shifted the arm and looked at the small printed symbol on the wrist. A small black mark in the shape of a three-pointed star. Hard to notice, no one would even know it was there unless she told them. Gwenyth mused that it must've been some magical curse, one that would direct a person's attention away from the little mark unless the user pointed it out.

Many who saw it immediately associated it with Beholders, despite the fact that the demons held a four-pointed star, not three. Still, it got the point across that this was something dark, its magic forbidden and taboo.

'Perhaps that's one of the reasons why I'm here.'

Gwenyth had been thrown into this cell not long after reaching Lumen, her possessions stripped and her word considered blasphemy for what she had reported. Apparently, the church did not like the idea of her calling out Delphine and her Heralds for doing something reprehensibly immoral. Even if their precious 'Chosen' had tried to burn an entire city to the ground.

It bothered her how insistent they were about Arthur's choice. The way they claimed that it was their only chance to stop 'It'. That bothered Gwenyth the most. The fact that they had specifically used the term, It. They did not say him. No person. Not Holter. It.

'They know something. But what?'

Gwenyth remembered the conversation she had with that… thing in the jails. She recalled its spoken words, its strange questions, and phrasing. The way those crystals grew around its frostbitten skin. She shuddered at that memory, her eyes closing as she willed it away. Whatever it was, she had a faint idea that Holter's survival was possibly the worst thing that could've happened to them.

Still, was there anything they could've done? According to Alfred and the scribes she knew, the church's own council was scrambling around in panic, speaking of the end times and the impending doom. Alfred had even mentioned that the church was keeping a secret hidden from the rest of the nobility and the inner circle. The secret?

Apparently, Arthur did succeed in killing Holter. He had even run him through with a fragment of Lightbringer itself. The blessed golden blade had sealed Holter's soul and was to keep him dead for good. At least, that was what was supposed to happen. Instead, Delphine's blessing had shattered. Her holy sigils at the church's altar had broken, their golden embroideries becoming tainted with ash and frost. Something happened the night Holter killed Arthur, and every cleric was losing their damn minds over it.

Alfred wasn't sure the exact details, but words like 'oblivion' and 'fracture' were thrown around in those ramblings. This entire situation had turned into a shitshow, and the church had decided to pin it on a scapegoat to save face. Which was why the elf was currently imprisoned.

She almost didn't mind. It was technically her own fault that Holter was still alive and Arthur was dead in the black waters of Valenfrost. If she hadn't hesitated back in that town hall, perhaps maybe… maybe the world would've been a better place.

'I trusted him like a fool. After he gave that big show just to allow me and the men to escape.'

Had she learned nothing? Even after centuries of dealing with betrayals, liars, and thieves?

"Immortality is a pain…" Gwenyth groaned as she rested her head against the stone wall. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind once more.

"I suppose it is, eh?" a voice called out. Gwenyth opened her eyes and squinted in the low light, where the distinct silhouette wavered near the torchlight. She focused on the pointed hat as it waved around, the golden pins on its base glinting with pride.

"Alfred?" the elf asked.

"The one and only," the Wizard said as he gave a friendly wave. A guard appeared right next to him, hands fiddling awkwardly with the keys, the wrinkled officer insignia barely visible in the torchlight.

"What… What are you doing here?" Gwenyth finally asked, a cold chill running down her spine as her cell door creaked to the side.

"It's obvious, isn't it? You're being released, on behalf of the King," Alfred said.

"What? How? Why?"

"I called in a few favors and got Alistair to convince the King to release you," Alfred explained as Gwenyth stood and staggered to the door. She stepped out, her lungs taking in a deep breath. The air somehow tasted… different. And rancid. She gagged a little and forced herself to stand straight before the two.

"Why did you free me? Won't you two get into controversy for this?" Gwenyth asked the Wizard.

"Things have changed, Gwen," Alfred said. She noted how he used her shortened name with such casualness and confidence. Then again, there had once been a time when they were close. The elf shook that away and focused on the Wizard.

"What do you mean, changed?" she asked. "Something with Holter?"

"Gods no," Alfred chuckled. "Azlene has chosen a Herald for the first time in years!"

"Wait, she chose? No duels or passdowns?" Gwenyth had heard of the heraldry passing on to different people throughout the years through passing of torches. It was common with some gods, like Raijin and Horus. Others, like Delphine, chose every once in a century or so. Azlene was one who rarely ever chose. The last Herald that was chosen by her hand had been…

'Gods, it's been that long?'

Gwenyth frowned at the thought, her memories going back to that day over a century ago. She shuddered at the recollection.

"Are you alright?" Alfred broke her concentration with a question, snapping the elf out of her thoughts.

"I'm fine, just… who did Azlene choose?" Gwenyth asked, her hand waving away the Wizard's concerns.

"Someone who has the entirety of Lumen in chaos," Alfred said. "Some propose it as a sign from the goddess. Others think it's fate."

"What do Delphine's Clerics call it?"

"They haven't commented," Alfred revealed with a grin. "They're basically on edge and fighting with the nobility about it. Hel, I heard that there's talk of calling the choice blasphemous."

"Just who did she choose?" Gwenyth asked with concern.

"Someone the Ember Clerics have been hiding for years," Alfred said as he turned, his steps leading him to the exit. Gwenyth followed behind in stride. "Come quick. We can perhaps meet him before Azlene's Church restricts entry."

"Hiding? Why?" Gwenyth asked as she tried to keep up with Alfred. Her muscles had not fared well in the cramped dungeon. "Did they know he'd be a Herald?"

Alfred slowed his walking for a little while, his head turning to her. He looked like a young boy, bouncing up and down in anticipation. "Oh they definitely did. This is no mere man, Gwenyth."

"Who is he?" the elf asked, tense. She had a faint idea of who it might be. She almost wished for that suspicion to be wrong.

"It's not exactly confirmed, but I put all of my auriuses on it," Alfred said, his excitement showing in his grin. "The Herald is a direct descendant of Matthew Kord, the King of Restoration and Ender of the Desolations. He is our Chosen One."

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