The inn's common room had grown quiet as the afternoon stretched into evening, the usual bustle of travellers and merchants fading into an uneasy silence.

Mera sat at the table near the window with her pack beside her, one hand resting on it protectively. She'd barely moved in hours, just watching the street outside and waiting. The leather of her pack had grown warm under her palm, and every so often her fingers would trace the buckles, checking them for the hundredth time.

Gilbert paced back and forth across the worn floorboards, his boots making the same pattern they'd made for the last three days. Twelve steps one way, turn, twelve steps back. The rhythm had become almost meditative, though his expression showed nothing but frustration. His hand kept drifting to his sword hilt, gripping it, releasing it, gripping it again.

"He's not coming," Gilbert said, not for the first time.

"He said Kelmar." Mera's voice was steady despite the knot of worry in her chest. "We wait."

"We felt it." Adan spoke from his position by the door, where he'd remained since dawn. His shoulders were squared, his posture that of a soldier on watch. "Three days ago, that burst of power from the mountains. Like the world itself was screaming."

Ennu sat in the corner with her blade across her knees, methodically checking the edge with her thumb. "It could have killed him."

"Or changed him," Gilbert added, stopping mid-pace to look at Mera. "Into something worse. You heard the stories about what happened to the others who went into those mountains."

Mera's hand tightened on her pack, her knuckles going white. "Gabriel said to meet in Kelmar, so we wait."

"For how long?" Gilbert's voice rose, frustration bleeding through. "Until whatever comes looking for us finds us first? We're exposed here, Mera. Sitting targets."

"As long as it takes."

Gilbert opened his mouth to argue, then stopped and looked at Adan by the door.

The soldier had gone rigid, every muscle in his body tensing. His hand moved to his sword with the speed of someone who'd survived countless battles.

"What is it?" Mera stood, her chair scraping against the floor.

Adan didn't answer immediately, his eyes scanning the street outside through the gap in the door. His jaw worked as he processed what he was seeing, years of military experience reading the tactical situation in seconds.

"Movement," he said quietly, his voice dropping to the tone soldiers used when death was close. "Organised, multiple positions. They're setting up a perimeter."

Gilbert crossed to the window and looked out, his face pressed against the glass.

His face went pale, the colour draining from his cheeks. "Fuck."

Mera joined him and followed his gaze, her heart sinking at what she saw.

Soldiers moved through the street with professional precision, dozens of them. They weren't running or rushing, just advancing with the certainty of men who knew their target couldn't escape. Each movement was coordinated. They flowed through the streets like water, finding every crack, every exit, every possible escape route.

They wore dark armour without religious markings or Church insignia. The metal was black as midnight, reflecting nothing, absorbing the fading sunlight.

And they weren't all human.

"Fucking Orcs?" Gilbert's voice cracked slightly, disbelief mixing with fear.

Mera saw them moving alongside humans and elves, with a giant at the back towering over the rest like a mobile siege tower. The giant's footsteps shook the ground with each stride, sending tremors through the floorboards of the inn.

Multi-racial forces working together. That shouldn't be possible. The races had been at each other's throats for generations. The fact that they were cooperating meant something had changed, something fundamental.

"Not Church," Adan said, his sword already drawn, the steel whispering against leather. "Something else. Something new."

The soldiers spread out, surrounding the inn from all sides with silent efficiency. They moved like they'd done this a thousand times before, each one knowing exactly where to position themselves. No shouted orders, no confusion. Just perfect tactical execution.

"We need to leave," Ennu said, standing with her blade in hand. "Now."

Too late.

The front door burst inward with a crash that echoed through the common room, splinters flying. Soldiers flooded through in a practiced entry formation, three, four, five of them. More came through the kitchen entrance and the side door, their boots hammering against wood. Every exit was blocked within seconds.

The group drew weapons and moved instinctively to the center of the room, back to back. Years of fighting together had taught them how to form a defensive position without words.

The inn's other patrons screamed and fled, overturning tables and chairs in their panic to escape. The innkeeper disappeared behind the bar with a terrified yelp, probably crawling toward whatever bolt-hole he kept for situations like this.

Within seconds, the common room filled with armed soldiers who formed a tight circle around the group, weapons drawn but not striking.

Gilbert counted, then stopped counting at twenty. There were too many.

"Outside," one of the soldiers said. His voice was flat and emotionless, the tone of someone following orders without question or hesitation. "Now."

They had no choice, not with this many soldiers and more outside.

The group moved toward the door, surrounded on all sides by soldiers who kept their weapons drawn but didn't strike. The restraint was almost more frightening than violence would have been. These weren't bandits or thugs. These were professionals.

They stepped into the street where more soldiers waited in perfect formation.

Mera's breath caught in her throat.

Forty at least, maybe fifty. All armed, all watching them with the same flat professional detachment. Their faces showed nothing, no anger or excitement or fear. Just the blank expression of soldiers waiting for orders.

The group was pushed to the center of the street while the soldiers formed a perfect circle around them, each one standing exactly the same distance from their neighbor. It was like being in the center of a lethal geometric pattern.

No one attacked. No one spoke.

They just waited, still as statues.

Gilbert's grip on his sword was white-knuckled, his breathing coming faster. "What are they waiting for?"

Adan scanned the circle of soldiers, his jaw tight as he analyzed their positioning and formation. "Orders."

The soldiers to the north began to part, moving in perfect unison to create a gap in the circle. A path opened through their ranks, wide enough for a single person.

Something was coming.

The street had gone silent with every door closed and every window shuttered. The citizens of Kelmar knew when to hide, when to make themselves invisible and hope the storm passed them by.

A figure appeared at the end of the path, small and moving with graceful slowness. Long black hair caught the late afternoon light, shimmering like silk. Each step was deliberate, unhurried.

She walked down the center of the path while the soldiers stood at attention as she passed, not moving or speaking, just watching her with something that might have been reverence or fear or both. Their eyes tracked her with absolute focus.

The group couldn't see her face yet, but the air changed as she approached. It became heavy and oppressive, like the pressure before a thunderstorm. Something radiated from her that made Mera's skin crawl, raising goosebumps along her arms.

The figure stopped ten meters away and raised her head, revealing her face for the first time.

Mera's breath caught in her throat, recognition and dread flooding through her in equal measure.

The face was young and beautiful with an innocent look and a gentle smile. She appeared barely older than a teenager, with delicate features that would have been lovely in any other context.

But her eyes were red, not the warm brown Mera remembered from years ago. Deep crimson glowed softly in the fading daylight, like embers in a dying fire. The color was wrong, unnatural.

The same gentle smile and soft features, but everything about her screamed wrongness. It was like looking at a beautiful painting and realizing all the proportions were subtly incorrect, that something fundamental had been twisted.

"Ariya," Mera whispered, the name escaping her lips unbidden.

Gilbert heard the name and went rigid, his sword trembling in his grip. He'd heard Gabriel's stories, knew who this was.

Before anyone could speak, red smoke began to curl from Ariya's body with controlled deliberation. It emerged from her skin like steam, but thicker and more substantial. The smoke spread across the ground like morning fog, flowing around boots and cobblestones with purposeful movement.

The smoke reached the soldiers and coiled around their legs like living serpents, wrapping and binding them in place. The red tendrils climbed upward, immobilizing them where they stood.

None of them fought it. They let it happen, standing still as the smoke held them. Not one soldier struggled or cried out. They simply accepted it.

This wasn't an attack. This was a display, a demonstration of power meant to show exactly who was in control.

The soldiers remained frozen, watching their commander with absolute stillness while the red smoke held them in place like insects in amber.

Ariya walked forward while the red smoke parted for her like water, flowing around her feet but never touching her. She had complete mastery over it, directing it with unconscious ease.

Five meters away now.

The group raised their weapons, though the gesture felt futile.

Ariya didn't react and just kept walking with that gentle smile. She moved like she had all the time in the world, like nothing they could do would matter. She stopped when she was close enough that Mera could see every detail of her face, the soft curve of her cheek and the innocent set of her eyes, along with the absolute wrongness that lurked beneath it all.

Ariya studied each of them with the curiosity of someone examining interesting specimens. Her gaze moved from Gilbert to Adan to Ennu before lingering on Mera, and something flickered in those red eyes. Recognition, perhaps. Or memory.

She didn't speak, just looked at them with those glowing red eyes while the smile never faded. The silence stretched, becoming oppressive.

The group stood frozen, not by smoke but by the sheer presence of her. The power radiating from such a small frame was overwhelming, crushing.

The soldiers remained bound and silent, watching. The city around them was empty, with everyone fled or hiding. Just Ariya, the group, and forty soldiers held in place by red smoke.

Ariya's attention fixed on Mera and she took another step closer. The red smoke pulsed gently with the movement, responding to her like an extension of her body.

Mera's hand tightened on her sword, though she knew it would be useless. Her heart hammered in her chest as memories flooded back, memories of a different time when those eyes had been brown and warm, when that smile had held genuine kindness.

Ariya's expression shifted slightly, something that might have been curiosity or amusement crossing her features. She tilted her head as if trying to recall something distant, something buried beneath whatever she'd become.

Another step brought her within arm's length.

The height difference was stark since Ariya was tiny, barely taller than a child. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall. But the power radiating from her made her seem massive, as if she filled the entire street with her presence.

Mera tried to step back and found she couldn't, not frozen by smoke but simply unable to move under that gentle smiling gaze. Her legs refused to obey, her body locked in place by pure force of will.

Ariya continued to study Mera with that tilted head, her red eyes glowing softly. The look was almost wistful, as if she were seeing something from long ago through a distorted lens.

"Mera," Ariya said softly, testing the name on her tongue like she was remembering how to speak it. The recognition was there, buried beneath layers of whatever transformation had taken place.

The use of her name sent a chill down Mera's spine. This thing wearing Ariya's face remembered her, remembered their past together.

Ariya's smile widened slightly, becoming something almost fond. Her red eyes glowed softly while the smile remained gentle and innocent and terrifying all at once.

She spoke again, her voice soft and warm like honey, almost musical in its quality.

"Where's Gabriel?"

The question hung in the air, simple and direct with no threat or violence in the tone. Just a question asked with genuine curiosity, as if she were asking about an old friend.

But the weight behind it was immense, the implication clear. She wanted Gabriel, and she would do whatever was necessary to find him. The fact that she'd come here with an army, that she'd tracked them down and surrounded them, spoke volumes about her determination.

Mera's throat was dry. She wanted to answer, wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come. How could she explain that Gabriel was gone, that he'd left them to face whatever came from the mountains alone?

Ariya waited patiently, her red eyes never leaving Mera's face. The smile remained fixed, gentle and terrible.

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