Criston's streets buzzed with the noise of a port city at midday. Vendors shouted from stalls stacked with fruit and crates of silk, while fishermen argued over their hauls, nets dripping seawater onto the stones.

The Church patrols moved through it all in tight formation, armour bright beneath the summer sun, their attention fixed on the crowds rather than the road ahead.

Gabriel navigated the press with care. His hood stayed low, keeping the faint red glow of his eyes hidden, and the sword at his hip rested softly against his leg with each step. The weight of it was a reminder of how little margin he had left.

He carried no map, only the captain's rough directions. "Follow the inland trade road. Avoid the main checkpoints. Reach Bridgedon in three days if nothing goes wrong."

Adaranthe lay beyond that, another hard day's travel deeper into Vaelmir. Supplies came first. His remaining coins would not last long.

He slipped into a side market, where the crowds thinned and voices dropped. Carts stood close together, merchants watching passersby with guarded eyes. One stall drew his attention, stocked with dried provisions, and bundles of simple herbs.

The vendor, an older woman with skin weathered by sun and wind, studied him as he stopped in front of her.

"Jerky and bread," Gabriel said, keeping his voice flat. "How much?"

She named a price higher than fair. Gabriel did not argue. He set the coins down without haggling, knowing it was better to blend in than draw attention. As she passed him the bundle, her eyes lingered on his hands, on the faint scars.

"Heading inland?" she asked. "Wilds are thick with trouble these days. Vorath pushing in from the borders. Church says it's heretics stirring them up."

Gabriel paused as he folded the food into his cloak. "Vorath?"

"Big ones," she said. "Insects, but wrong somehow. Shells hard as steel, jaws strong enough to crush stone. They spit acid that eats through flesh, then burrow up from below. Whole swarms in the forests. People vanish." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Church patrols are hunting them, but they're not keeping up. Stick to the road, stranger. And pray."

He nodded once and moved on.

The information settled heavily. Monsters in the wilds were one more obstacle between him and Lucius, another danger waiting beyond the walls.

The city gates rose ahead, stone arches carved with Church sigils that tightened his jaw as he passed beneath them. Guards inspected wagons and travellers, but Gabriel slipped through with a merchant caravan, hood lowered and posture unremarkable.

Beyond the walls, the land changed quickly. Coastal dunes faded into rolling hills dotted with scrub, then into thicker forest where the air grew heavy and damp.

The trade road narrowed beneath spreading branches, ancient oaks pressing close while undergrowth crowded the edges, thick enough to hide anything patient enough to wait.

Gabriel travelled light, his boots crunching over sun-baked gravel as he kept a steady, unhurried pace. His attention never drifted. Every sound was weighed, every movement at the edge of his vision measured for threat or pursuit.

The first day passed without incident. A few travellers moved the opposite way, heads down and eager to put distance between themselves and the road behind. A lone rider passed him near noon, offering a brief nod before riding on.

At dusk, Gabriel left the road and made camp in a shallow clearing sheltered by scattered boulders. He lit no fire. The risk was not worth the comfort. He ate sparingly, the jerky tough but sustaining, and rested with his back to the stone and his sword within reach.

Sleep came in fragments. Lucius's face surfaced again and again, followed by the vision of Hanitz falling at the gate.

Gabriel woke before dawn, breath steady but alert. The crimson fog curled briefly around his fingers before he forced it back into stillness and rose to continue on.

By midday of the second day, the forest closed in around the road. Trees rose higher, their branches weaving together overhead and breaking the sunlight into shifting patterns across the ground.

The air grew thick with moisture, carrying the smell of damp earth and the scent of decay.

Gabriel slowed slightly, his hand resting near the hilt of his sword as his instincts stirred. The road curved around a low hill ahead, and before he saw anything, he heard it.

Voices.

Shouts, sharp and desperate, cutting through the forest air.

Gabriel quickened his pace. Below him, a wagon lay tilted in the mud, one wheel shattered beyond repair. A family crouched beside it. A farmer in rough wool stood protectively in front, his wife clutching a bundled child while two others pressed against her skirts, eyes wide with fear.

A Vorath loomed over the wreckage, its bulk half-emerged from the earth. Its shell resembled that of a massive beetle, layered and armoured, catching the filtered light in dull, iridescent hues.

Powerful legs churned the ground as it forced itself higher, soil breaking apart around its body. Its jaws snapped with crushing force, acid dripping from them and hissing where it struck the dirt.

The creature slammed forward, clamping onto the wagon's side. Wood splintered under the pressure.

Gabriel moved.

Crimson fog surged from his core, not wild but tightly held, coiling around his arm as he drew the stolen sword in one smooth motion. The blade hummed as the fog settled into it, sharpening its edge without excess.

He closed the distance in a blink, a thin tendril snapping out to deflect a spray of acid before it could reach him.

The vorath hissed, a deep, grinding sound that carried through the clearing as it turned toward him. Its small, gleaming eyes fixed on his approach, jaws spreading wide.

Gabriel twisted aside and brought the sword down in a precise swing. The fog-reinforced edge bit into the armoured shell with a sound like stone breaking apart.

The blade punched through, sinking deep into the softer flesh beneath. Black ichor sprayed free, thick and viscous, as the creature convulsed.

Its legs thrashed wildly, tearing up mud and roots while acid bubbled from the wound.

Gabriel wrenched the sword free and drove it forward again, this time through the head carapace. The resistance gave way, and the Vorath collapsed in a heavy heap, its limbs stiffening as the life bled out of it and pooled across the ground.

Silence settled over the clearing, broken only by the family's ragged breathing. The farmer lowered his pitchfork slowly, staring first at the fallen creature and then at Gabriel.

"By the Creator," he said, his voice unsteady. "You saved us. That thing came up from the ground and shattered the wheel like it was nothing."

The woman stepped forward, shifting the bundle in her arms enough to reveal a swaddled infant. "Thank you," she said quickly. "We owe you our lives. Please, take some food, some coin. Anything we have."

The children peeked out from behind her, their fear mixed with open awe.

Gabriel slid the sword back into its sheath as the last traces of crimson fog faded into the air. He reached up and lowered his hood just enough to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"There's no need," he said.

The light caught his face.

The faint red of his irises showed through.

The farmer's gratitude faltered and twisted into something else. He took a step back, one hand pulling his wife with him. "Your eyes," he whispered. "Red like fire. Demon."

The woman gasped and turned, shielding the children with her body. "The Church warned us," she said, panic rising in her voice. "Creatures like you. Cursed things wearing human skin." Her gaze flicked to the dead Vorath. "You brought it here, didn't you? To trick us."

Gabriel's jaw tightened.

The words cut deeper than he expected, echoing the fear he had heard in Eldenreach and the whispers that had followed him across the sea. He had saved them. He had ended the threat in moments. Still, it changed nothing.

The distance between them widened, familiar and cold.

"No," he said.

"Liar," the farmer shouted, snatching up a stone from the ground. "Get away. Monster."

Gabriel did not answer.

He turned and walked on, leaving them behind as their voices rose in panic, accusations tangled with hurried prayers to the Church. The sounds faded quickly, swallowed by distance and trees. The road ahead lay empty.

He kept moving.

The encounter hardened something already cold in his chest. People saw what they feared, not what stood before them. He accepted that. Lucius would not have the luxury of fear. He would only see what was coming.

The forest thickened as the afternoon wore on. Gabriel gathered what he could as he travelled, berries from bushes he recognised, water from a shallow stream where the current ran clear.

His shoulder throbbed from the fight with the Vorath, but he ignored it and maintained his pace. Bridgedon lay close now, no more than a day's march. There, he could resupply properly and look for better steel. The stolen sword had been useful, but it would not carry him through Adaranthe.

Dusk came early beneath the canopy. He left the road and settled into a shallow depression screened by ferns and low brush. No fire. He sat with his back against a tree, the sword laid across his knees, and practised control as the fog moved in small, deliberate coils around his fingers.

Each repetition sharpened his focus.

The voice did not return that night.

The memories did.

Sleep never truly came.

When dawn arrived, it did so bright and heavy, humidity already clinging to the air. Gabriel rose without hesitation and shouldered his bundle, muscles stiff but responsive.

The road waited.

Bridgedon lay ahead, and beyond it, Adaranthe. The distance between them would be measured in miles, danger, and blood, but it no longer mattered.

He stepped back onto the road and moved on, one deliberate step at a time.

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