The stone walls didn’t shake anymore.
The screams outside had faded, muffled by the castle’s thick gates and the protective barrier woven from thorn and rock. Inside, the great hall had settled into a grim sort of order—healers moving between groups of wounded, whispered sobs replacing cries, the occasional clink of armor echoing through the gloom.
Alden sat with his back to a cracked pillar, arms wrapped around his knees. His fingers twitched against his sleeves, like they still wanted to grip something—anything. A carving. A handle. A friend.
He let his eyes wander.
Dozens of people huddled in clusters—families curled together on benches or sprawled across the stone floor. Some stared blankly ahead. Others whispered prayers. One child clung to a wooden spoon like it was a sword.
It was calm now.
Not peaceful.
But calm.
Then:
“Alden!”
He barely had time to lift his head before he was wrapped in a tight hug.
His mother’s arms closed around him, shaking, desperate. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay—you’re okay…”
Alden’s arms closed around her waist slowly. “Mom…”
She pulled back and looked him over, eyes darting across his dirt-covered face and scratched arms. “You scared me half to death,” she said. “I thought—” She stopped, voice catching.
“I’m sorry,” Alden whispered.
She just held him again.
George looked up at the two of them and gave a small, exhausted nod. “Glad you made it, Clara.”
“I came as soon as I heard,” she said. “I—” Her eyes found Lyn, and the words froze on her lips.
Clara gently released Alden and crossed the room.
Lyn didn’t move at first, even when Clara sat beside her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Clara said, barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
Lyn didn’t respond right away. But she didn’t pull away either. Her head dropped slightly against Clara’s side, and her eyes finally closed.
From across the room, a shadow stepped closer—quiet, small.
Louie.
He approached Alden and nodded once, hands tucked behind his back.
“You came back,” Alden said, voice rough.
Louie gave a faint shrug.
They shared a small, tired smile.
And then—
soft footsteps echoed from the hallway.
A boy around their age emerged, his head tilted slightly under the weight of a bulky pack stuffed with scrolls, jars, and bundles of cloth. His face was hidden behind a smooth white porcelain mask painted with a smiling fox.
Not creepy.
Just odd.
His eyes (wherever they were behind the mask) landed on George.
The boy approached, tugging down the high collar of his traveling cloak. “Are you George?” he asked. His voice was light. Casual. Like none of this was strange at all.
George blinked. “I am.”
The boy nodded. “The King sent me. He’s asked for you and the boy—Alden—to attend a meeting immediately.”
Alden’s eyebrows shot up. “Me?”
The masked boy turned toward him, tilting his head curiously. “Yeah. You.”
The castle’s inner chambers were cooler than the great hall. The walls pulsed faintly with enchanted glyphs—old Terra runes woven into the stone itself, flickering with a slow, green heartbeat. Despite the magic, the air felt heavy. Almost still.
Alden followed George in silence. The courier trailed beside him, still weighed down by his absurdly large backpack. The mask—white porcelain, painted with a sly, smiling fox—tilted as the boy glanced at every detail of the stone halls, as if he knew everything about this place. At the corridor’s end, two guards stood to either side. One stepped forward.
“His Majesty is expecting you.”
George nodded, and the group stepped inside.
The King’s council room was circular and sparse—no banners, no thrones. Just rough-carved stone and a long curved table. Above, a skylight let the moon pour down cold and silver, catching on the glowing green veins carved into the map of Terra embedded in the tabletop.
The King stood alone at the far end, both hands resting on the edge of the stone table, his eyes scanning the silent map. Most of the districts—dark.
Two others stood nearby.
Mary, the kingdom’s chief healer, leaned against the wall beside an unlit torch bracket. Her white hair was tied back tightly. Her robe bore the mark of the Terra elite, but her staff was old and gnarled, like driftwood pulled from the deep. Her satchel of herbs looked nearly empty.
Ruben stood tall and polished, his posture rigid. His plate armor shimmered with freshly oiled green-tinted steel, but the long scar that cut across his jaw had not dulled. His expression—flat. Sharp. He watched Alden enter like a hawk might watch a loose animal.
Neither greeted them.
The King didn’t turn right away.
George cleared his throat. “Reporting, Your Majesty.”
“Good,” the King said. “Come closer.”
They obeyed. The courier stayed near the door, tilting his head, listening like it was all a game.
“We’ve secured the central wards,” Ruben said first, blunt and dry. “No monsters since the last sweep. But they’re gathering.”
Mary sighed. “We’re running out of herbs. What we have left isn’t enough for another wave of wounded. Balm is gone. Stones are unstable. The healers are working with little more than thread and boiled water.”
George’s face darkened. “Same with our people. The ones still standing aren’t soldiers. They’re blacksmiths. Farmers. They’ve got no business holding a line.”
Mary nodded. “Samantha was one of the best. She could’ve led the medical corps years ago. I tried to recruit her several times.”
She didn’t look at George when she said it. But the grief behind her voice still found him.
“She said she didn’t want rank,” Mary continued. “Said she liked helping common folk. Never cared for castles.”
George didn’t reply. He just nodded once.
“She chose her place,” Mary whispered. “And it saved lives. More than I could count.”
The silence hung heavy.
Then George spoke. “What about the others?”
The King lifted his eyes to the map. “Garret, Jackson, and Margaret were sent northeast last night to retrieve survivors. No word since.”
George frowned. “And the rest?”
“Confirmed a new monster sighting in the eastern ruin fields. Large. Ambiguous movement. Could be another mutation.”
Mary’s fingers clenched. “A new variant.”
The King didn’t confirm. He didn’t have to.
Ruben said it instead. “If something like that makes it to the gates, we won’t survive it.”
“And yet,” the King said, voice even, “you two are the only ones still here.”
George gave a humorless snort. “We’re cracked, not dead.”
Mary raised her staff slightly. “I’m still here too, even if I don’t get the fancy sword.”
“You’re not combat,” Ruben muttered, barely hiding his disdain.
“No,” Mary snapped. “But I’m still one of the Ten.”
Alden’s hand twitched by his side. The tension in the room was rising.
He stepped forward without really meaning to.
“Sorry—uh—if I could just…” He swallowed. “If the King is so powerful… couldn’t you just go outside and destroy them all?”
Silence fell.
The air itself seemed to pause.
Even George turned, a frown tugging at his brow.
But the King didn’t get angry. He didn’t raise his voice.
Instead, he looked at Alden for the first time.
And the room… bent.
The weight of the King’s gaze wasn’t just visual—it was physical. The stone beneath Alden’s boots suddenly felt deeper. Older. Vines twitched in the cracks near the walls.
“I am the barrier,” the King said simply. “The vines. The walls. The roots that keep them out. They draw from me.”
“If I go to war,” he said, “the walls fall.”
Alden opened his mouth, then shut it. His throat was dry.
Ruben scoffed. “And why is he here, exactly?”
Mary turned to Alden. “You have the ring, don’t you?”
Alden’s hand instinctively reached for his pocket. “I didn’t know what it was. I just… found it.”
“Where?” the King asked, tone sharper now.
“Outside the city. Near the ruins.”
“You left the walls?” Mary asked, her voice rising.
“He’s a child,” George said, stepping between them slightly. “He didn’t know what he was walking into.”
“Disasters start with a single step,” Mary muttered.
The King stepped closer.
And Alden felt it again. That pull. Like the stone wanted to open. Like the vines wanted to bloom.
His breath caught.
“Did it do anything?” the King asked.
Alden hesitated. “I think… I heard something. When I put it on. A noise.”
“You don’t know what it is?”
He shook his head. “No, sir.”
A pause.
Then:
“What is your dream?”
Alden blinked, confused. “What?”
“Your dream,” the King repeated, voice quiet but commanding. “What drives you? What would you give everything for?”
The room fell still.
Even the courier stopped fidgeting near the door.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Alden fumbled for words. “I—uh—I want to be the world’s greatest merchant.”
The silence that followed was… dense.
Ruben laughed. Just once. “Stars help us.”
The King didn’t smile.
He turned away and returned to the map.
“The ring responded to me,” he said. “It pulsed with Terra’s rhythm. That makes it dangerous. Or valuable. Or both.”
George crossed his arms. “You think it’s connected?”
“I don’t know,” the King said. “That’s what I need to find out.”
Mary frowned. “So what, you want to keep it locked away?”
“No.” The King turned back. “I want him to wear it. Be near Terra energy…”
“You want to use him,” George said.
“I want to observe,” the King answered. “If he’s a threat, I’ll act. But if he’s something else, something that can help us… we need to understand.”
That’s when the doors burst open.
A guard sprinted in, breath ragged.
“Your Majesty—urgent. The girl. Lyn. She’s missing.”
George went stiff.
The guard continued. “Last seen near the east gate. Alone. Heading toward the old church.”
“She slipped past during guard shift,” he added.
Mary looked furious. “Why would she—”
“She’s going to look for Samantha,” George said hoarsely. “My king please can I go…”
He didn’t finish.
The King nodded. “Take Ruben. Four guards. Retrieve her.”
George was already moving.
“And him,” the King added, pointing to Alden. “You go too.”
Alden flinched. “I—yes, sir.”
The King turned to the courier. “You too. Watch him.”
The boy straightened with a confused look.
The group began to file out.
But behind the door—
just beyond the green-lit threshold,
Louie stood still, one hand pressed lightly to the wall.
Listening.
Watching.
Unseen.
Unmoving.
Like the earth itself.
The church doors creaked open on rusted hinges, moaning into the night.
Lyn slipped through the gap.
The sanctuary—once full of candlelight, prayers, and warmth—was now a husk. The pews were scattered, broken into splinters. The stained glass was gone, shards crunching beneath her boots. Blood was dried into black smears across the stone floor.
Her breath caught as she stepped deeper.
She already knew what she was looking for.
The body was near the front. Slumped behind a collapsed bench, half-covered by a shredded healer’s cloak.
Her mother’s hand stuck out at an angle that felt wrong. Her torso was mangled. Her clothes soaked through. What was left of her head was—
Lyn turned away, choking down a sob.
She almost collapsed right then and there.
But something else moved.
A slurping noise. Wet. Repetitive.
She blinked through tears and looked up.
Something hunched over her mother’s corpse.
Small. Misshapen. Pale skin stretched over a wiry frame. Its arms were too long, elbows bent backward, fingers ending in soft, glistening digits that pulsed and twitched. The thing leaned down and tore a chunk from Samantha’s shoulder with its teeth—then chewed, mouth flapping, meat dangling from its lips like strings of wet cloth.
The sound was worse than the sight. A steady rhythm of slurp, chew, slurp.
Then a gurgle.
The creature hiccupped and vomited black fluid onto the body.
Lyn froze.
A scream built in her chest but didn’t come out. Her legs moved on their own.
She stumbled forward, hands shaking. “No… No, no, no…”
The creature didn’t notice her at first.
Then it did.
It turned.
Its face was wrong. More like skin pulled over a skull with no room for eyes—just dents where they should be, a slit of a nose, and a round, lipless mouth filled with teeth.
Lyn backed up.
Her heel hit the edge of a bench.
She looked around for something—anything—to grab.
Nothing.
Her eyes darted back to her mother’s corpse.
The creature leaned back down.
“No!”
She lunged.
Tackled it with all the force in her body.
They hit the ground hard. Her elbow cracked against the stone. The monster squirmed underneath her, hissing and clicking, long arms flailing—
She slammed her fist into its head.
Again.
And again.
The flesh gave way like wet fruit. But the thing kept twitching.
She punched harder. Fingers curled tight. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her vision blurred—but not from tears. From rage.
It screamed.
She grabbed its jaw and pulled.
Her nails tore skin.
Its mouth split.
She slammed its head into the stone.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Bones crunched.
It stopped moving.
She kept going.
Blood—dark, sticky—splashed across her chest. Across her face. She wasn’t thinking anymore.
Just feeling.
Her mother was dead.
This thing had touched her.
This thing had eaten her.
By the time her fists slowed, the creature was no longer recognizable. Just red pulp, twitching faintly. Lyn sat on top of it, breathing like an animal, knuckles torn and bleeding.
Her hands trembled. She looked down at them—slick with blood, torn skin hanging.
She didn’t feel pain.
Not yet.
Only the pounding in her skull.
Her gaze drifted toward her mom’s body again.
Still. Violated.
Gone.
Lyn let out a sound.
A horrible, broken thing.
Not a cry.
Not a scream.
Just noise—raw, guttural, rising from a place deeper than words.
Above, unseen in the broken rafters, the swordsman crouched in silence.
Watching.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t interfere.
Only observed.
And when Lyn finally rose—shoulders trembling, eyes deadened, fists dripping—
He vanished back into the shadows.
The streets near the central castle were quieter now.
Still broken. Still dark. But the worst of the chaos had been pushed beyond the barrier—at least for now.
The search party moved quickly through the half-collapsed districts. George led at the front, his steps slower than usual, a limp in his right leg. Ruben walked nearby, posture stiff, eyes scanning every alley like he was just waiting for something to go wrong.
Four guards flanked them—tired, armor scratched, weapons drawn.
Alden walked somewhere in the middle.
And beside him… the courier.
His ridiculous backpack bounced with every step, making little thud-thud sounds that didn’t match the tense atmosphere at all. The fox mask—painted white with a lopsided smile—swayed slightly as the boy walked like he was on a hike, not a rescue mission.
Alden finally broke the silence.
“You always wear that thing?” He gestured at the mask.
The boy turned his head, the smile of the mask never changing. “What, this? It’s fashion.”
“It’s weird.”
“It’s mysterious.”
“It’s creepy.”
“That's just your opinion”
Alden made a face. “Okay, but what about the backpack? Are you running away forever, or did you just overpack for a twenty-minute trip?”
“Preparedness is a virtue,” the courier replied. “I’ve got rations, rope, a compass, two backup compasses, five knives, two masks, one emergency fishing kit, and some bread.”
Alden raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to move in with the monsters?”
“Listen, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be stuck with you.”
Alden smirked. “You’re stuck with me?
They walked a few more steps in silence, passing cracked buildings and shattered stone. A torn banner flapped limply from a broken post.
“…I’m Alden, by the way,” Alden said finally.
The courier glanced over. “I know.”
“Wait—how do you know?”
“I asked around. Also, you’re not exactly subtle. The yelling in the council room kinda gave it away.”
“Oh. Right.”
A beat.
Then: “Kaeden.”
The buildings grew more damaged as they approached the old district—the remains of what used to be a merchant hub, now half-swallowed by debris and vines. Crumbled signs swayed in the wind. Burnt parchment fluttered across cracked stone.
The church came into view and the group walked in.
And then, they stopped.
Dead monsters littered the floor. Small ones. The same kind from the first night.
Their bodies were crushed. Torn. One was impaled on a broken torch bracket. Another had its jaw completely ripped off.
Blood painted the stone steps in long, sweeping arcs.
In the center of it all—Lyn.
Panting.
Kneeling.
A short dagger clutched in her hand.
Her hair was matted with blood and ash. Her eyes were wide, unfocused. Her arm was still bandaged—but stained through with red.
George broke from the group first.
“Lyn!” he shouted, running forward.
She didn’t react at first.
Then her head snapped up.
“Dad—?”
He dropped to one knee and pulled her into his arms, his hands shaking for the first time all day. “Stars above… what were you thinking?”
“I—I didn’t…” she began, but no words followed.
George just held her.
Alden stood a few paces back, frozen.
The blood. The corpses. The look in her eyes.
He’d never seen her like this.
She wasn’t crying.
That scared him more than anything.
Kaeden took a slow step beside him. “Remind me not to make her angry.”
Alden didn’t say anything.
Not this time.
The group left the church right away. The skies were beginning to pale, but the air still clung to the scent of ash and blood.
Lyn hadn’t spoken since they found her.
George stayed close beside her, a protective hand on her shoulder. The guards took formation again—two up front, two trailing behind.
They didn’t head back to the castle.
“Where are we going?” Alden asked, glancing between the trees and crumbling buildings.
“There’s an old alchemist’s quarter just beyond the east rise,” Ruben said. “We may find herbs, supplies—anything we can salvage.”
George frowned. “That wasn’t the plan. The King said—”
“The King said keep the kid around Terra energy,” Ruben cut in, not looking back. “Might as well try to find resources while we are out here”
Kaeden leaned toward Alden, whispering behind his mask, “I don’t like this guy.”
“Yeah,” Alden muttered. “He talks like a stuck-up turnip.”
The terrain shifted quickly as they walked—cobblestone paths broken by creeping roots, buildings cracked open like eggs. Some were completely hollowed out, their wooden roofs long rotted away. Strange vines curled up the walls, thriving where no gardener had ever reached.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Kaeden said. “Smells like mold and regret.”
Alden was about to reply when a harsh clang rang out from up ahead.
Everyone turned.
Ruben had knocked over an old pillar—one of the collapsed archways that had lined the apothecary street. It crashed to the stone, loud as thunder in the early morning silence.
George spun around. “Ruben!”
“Relax,” Ruben said coolly. “It was already falling.”
But even as he said it, a low chittering echoed from the shadows.
Louie, still lingering at the rear—though no one had seen when he joined them—tensed.
Too late.
Monsters poured out of the broken alleys and cracked windows. Not the towering variants—but still twisted and violent. Sharp-limbed, jittering creatures with dripping maws and too many knees.
George barked, “Form up! Defend the civilians!”
The guards scrambled into position—but there were more monsters than expected.
Too many.
One of them leapt toward the front line, landing on a guard and tearing into his arm. Another skittered across the side wall, knocking Kaeden off his feet.
Alden reached for him—but a creature cut between them, forcing him back.
The group was breaking apart.
"Regroup!" George shouted, vines erupting from the ground to form a barrier. “Stay together!”
A larger monster screeched and charged in, leaving the group separated.
Kaeden scrambled up beside Alden. “Okay, okay, we’re—definitely not good!”
They turned to run—darting through a broken side alley.
Behind them, claws scraped stone.
They ran.
Alden’s breath came in short bursts, heart pounding in his ears. Kaeden sprinted beside him, surprisingly fast for someone carrying such a ridiculous backpack.
The alley twisted sharply, then narrowed. Cracked bricks jutted from the walls like broken teeth. Vines crawled over shattered windows and the remains of door frames.
Behind them, something screeched—sharp and high, like metal tearing.
Then came the thudding steps.
One monster. Fast. Close.
Alden looked back just in time to see a dark blur scrambling over the wall.
“Left!” Kaeden shouted.
They skidded around a corner. A dead end.
Crumbled stone blocked the way. A collapsed structure—too high to climb fast, too thick to squeeze through.
The monster screeched again.
Kaeden pulled out a short throwing knife and tossed it with all his strength.
It bounced off the thing’s hide.
Alden fumbled at his belt. Nothing. Just a coil of rope, his satchel… and the extra carvings he hadn’t sold.
He backed up against the wall, heart pounding. The monster slithered forward—limbs bending the wrong way, eyes twitching in too many directions.
The carvings clinked in Alden’s pouch.
His fingers brushed them—and the ring slipped onto his finger.
A surge.
A hot, twisting pull like someone had grabbed his heartbeat and yanked it sideways. The ring pulsed—once, then again—green light bleeding from the cracks in its surface.
Then instinct took over.
Alden raised his hand with the ring.
And swiped it through the air.
Everything broke.
The alley shattered into silence.
Not darkness. Not light. Just—absence.
Color drained from the world. Sound vanished. The monster, the stone walls, even Kaeden—all gone in a blink, like they’d never been there.
Then the air thickened, as if time was waiting to see what came next.
And the world changed.
Beneath Alden’s boots, smooth white stone unfolded—cold and perfectly still. A path? A floor? He couldn’t tell. There was no texture. No pattern. Just solid whiteness.
The space around him stretched infinitely in every direction. Skyless. Wall-less. Featureless. Empty.
There was no echo when he stepped forward. No warmth from the blank light that lit everything without casting a single shadow.
Nothing moved.
Except one thing.
Far ahead, standing alone in the vast nothingness—
was a single wooden merchant stall.
