The supply corps camped a few hundred meters behind the regular army’s lines, tucked away enough to avoid the noise and chaos of the main encampment. It was separated by a narrow strip of forest and a shallow creek, naturally secluded to minimize the risk of supplies—or secrets—going missing. Sentries paced the perimeter, eyes sharp, though their vigilance seemed more routine than urgent.

  Only merchants, a scattering of soldiers, and the usual company of whores called this place home. They lingered in the dimly lit corners and near the scattered campfires, ready to melt away should the army move into battle formation. The supply corps wasn’t meant to be a frontline, so safety had been their unspoken promise.

  Carts upon carts were parked in loose clusters around the open space—wagon wheels caked in mud and canvas covers flapping lightly in the breeze. Oddly, none were guarded. Not a single soldier stood watch by the piles of food, weapons, or crates of unknown contents. It struck me as careless, almost na?ve. But then I reminded myself that every person passing in or out was checked thoroughly. At least, that’s what they wanted us to believe.

  Markus and I were the exception. His reputation and rank afforded him liberties, and I followed silently beside him, invisible enough to go unnoticed.

  “What exactly are we searching for here?” Markus muttered, scanning the perimeter with narrowed eyes.

  I grinned, amusement slipping into my voice. “The headquarters of an evil organization—two stories tall, painted entirely black, with screaming humans locked in the cellar.”

  Markus stared at me as though I’d lost my mind.

  “I don’t know either,” I admitted with a shrug, “just keep your eyes open.”

  After a few more minutes of walking, we came upon a large field that served as a makeshift marketplace. The stalls were sparse and not very lively, but a handful of merchants haggled quietly over their wares, their voices low and measured. Some carted goods here and there, the wheels creaking softly under the weight.

  The scene should have been mundane, but something gnawed at the back of my mind.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” I murmured, eyes darting over the quiet crowd, looking for the invisible thread that would unravel the whole thing.

  Markus followed my gaze, frowning. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “It’s like we’re staring at a picture with a missing piece.”

  We spent the next few hours wandering through the camp, scanning tents, scrutinizing faces, searching for something—anything—that might crack the case wide open. Yet the more I looked, the more the quiet unease grew inside me.

  Markus, already visibly worn, began yawning at irregular intervals, his movements sluggish. I caught him rubbing the corner of his eye as I stopped in an open field near a group of merchants swaying drunkenly, their laughter loud and out of place in the otherwise subdued atmosphere.

  Something was wrong here. I just hadn’t found the answer yet.

  “How are we not finding anything?” I muttered aloud, my voice sharp with disbelief. “Where are the thugs, the thieves, and most importantly, the whores? Shouldn’t this be where the common soldiers, sharing tents, spend their nights in lustful adventure? Where is the moaning? The shouting? The orgies spilling across tents for fuck’s sake?”

  It hit me then why my nerves were frayed—not because of what I saw, but because of what was missing. The expected chaos and raw humanity were nowhere to be found.

  Markus rubbed the sleep from his eyes, blinking as if waking from a fog. “Hmm… now that you mention it,” he admitted, shaking off his tiredness in seconds.

  “And why isn’t anyone openly staring at us?” I continued, voice rising slightly with frustration. “We should be quite the anomaly—a girl and an officer who could be her father in a place like this. Humans would be staring, whispering. But all I see are glances stolen from behind hands and hastily averted eyes. Like everyone here is trying so hard not to be suspicious that they’ve become downright suspicious.”

  I stomped toward a cluster of merchants nearby, hand resting on the hilt of my sword dangling at my hip. They hadn’t moved a muscle until I was halfway there. Then, one by one, their heads snapped around, faces painted with surprise and guarded caution.

  Too late to turn back now.

  I closed the distance, stepping close enough to invade one man’s space. I stared directly into his eyes.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, voice steady but eyes flickering away.

  I didn’t relent. “You!” I snapped, grabbing his chin and forcing his gaze back to mine. His eyes darted nervously, but I held him fast for a heartbeat longer before releasing him.

  One after another, I met the eyes of the merchants—only to find nothing. No flicker of truth, no soul to grasp onto. They were all locked away behind invisible walls, just like that suicidal soldier I’d encountered. It was as if some unseen force blanketed the entire supply corps, hiding the very essence of those who lived here.

  “How are you lot doing that?” I muttered, bewildered and unnerved. This wasn’t normal. In addition to the murders and the strange illness, there was now a third, unfathomable mystery gripping this place.

  I sighed deeply and sheathed my sword with a harsh clink, turning away from the empty stares and back toward Markus.

  “Don’t ask questions I can’t answer,” I warned, my voice low but sharp. I stormed past him, prepared to silence any inquiries with force if needed.

  He followed quietly behind me, and this time, I led. My path was erratic—I didn’t know where we were headed, or even if we’d passed this way before—but maybe that was for the best. Unpredictability was a weapon in itself.

  We moved silently between rows of white tents, the night thick around us. Markus bumped into me as I suddenly stopped.

  The clock read three o’clock in the morning. The camp was mostly deserted, save for the occasional muffled footsteps echoing softly across the ground.

  But the west wind carried something pungent, something wrong. I inhaled sharply and without hesitation changed course.

  I dashed between the tents, sword drawn and humming with tense energy. Only when I reached a medium-sized clearing did my alarm bells ring out loud enough to shake my calm.

  Eight sentries stood clustered around several wagons, all turning in unison to face me as I stepped into the open.

  Markus caught up and stopped beside me, eyes narrowed, lips parting with the question I already felt burning in the air.

  “Why are sentries here?” I muttered, eyes narrowing at the unusually heavy guard presence. No place we’d been in the supply area had this many men posted—and judging by Markus’s puzzled expression, he didn’t know either.

  “Let’s find out,” I said, stepping forward toward the seven sentries standing rigidly, their gazes sharp and alert.

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  The first guard approached, his jaw tight. “Hey, what are you guarding here?” I asked, voice steady but commanding.

  “We cannot tell you that,” he replied flatly, his eyes flickering with something beneath the surface.

  Markus stepped up beside me, pointing at the rank insignia on his shirt. “You can tell us,” he said firmly.

  The soldier hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face before he began to speak, his voice low but convincing. “We were ordered by Arthur White himself to guard the explosives he secretly gathered.”

  His explanation sounded almost plausible—even to Markus, who was usually in the loop on Arthur’s covert plans. But there were two glaring problems.

  First, the guard’s soul was completely hidden, an empty void where I expected flickers of life. But that wasn’t what made me act.

  I turned to Markus, a sly smile creeping onto my lips. “Markus, do you trust me?”

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “No, not at all.”

  I chuckled softly. “Thanks.”

  Before Markus could react further, the guard suddenly dropped a head shorter. His body slumped, and the headless corpse collapsed forward, landing with a sickening thud right at Markus’s feet.

  Markus froze, wide-eyed and speechless.

  I didn’t waste a second. Sprinting toward the carriages, I barreled into two sentries who moved to block me.

  Quick as a flash, I threw my sword straight through the chest of the first. The second came at me with a thrust; I leapt aside and, with full force, kicked him square in the face.

  “I hate fighting small fries,” I muttered, snatching the sword from my fallen enemy’s grasp.

  Five more guards circled me, blades gleaming under the moonlight. I glanced back at Markus, standing frozen at a distance, neither stepping forward nor stopping me. Exactly the reaction I hoped for.

  Ignoring the circle of men, I darted toward the carts again.

  Two of the sentries intercepted me with wide swings, but I slipped through their attacks like water, weaving low through the grass. I didn’t even glance back—no need to waste time. I didn’t bother hacking at their heels, choosing instead to keep my momentum.

  The sentries, though skilled, couldn’t keep up.

  I was the first to reach the carts, which smelled strongly of blood—both fresh and old. Cautiously, I pressed my ear against the rough wooden side, trying to catch any sound.

  But what I heard only deepened the mystery.

  There weren’t any explosives inside those carts—that much was clear the moment I pressed my ear to the wood. No ticking timers, no chemical scents, nothing to suggest danger of that kind. Instead, I heard squealing, low and desperate, like a pig trapped and terrified. But why would they guard a pig so fiercely? The question twisted in my mind, especially as I caught the unmistakable metallic tang of human blood mixed with the musk of sweat and fear.

  Before I could piece it together, a blade sliced through the air just where my neck had been a fraction of a second earlier. I barely ducked, the razor-thin edge grazing my skin and leaving a fiery trail of pain. Without hesitation, I retaliated, plunging my sword deep into the attacker’s abdomen.

  “Die,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

  Everything accelerated in a blur—one moment I was locked in combat with the guards, their voices overlapping in frantic shouts, the next, a violent pressure wave slammed into my back like a battering ram.

  Fire exploded in my vision, a monstrous inferno blooming from the carts, swallowing the night in a hellish glow. The air burned, thick and choking, as searing heat engulfed me. My skin blistered and scorched within seconds, agony radiating through every nerve ending as the explosion hurled me like a ragdoll across the grass.

  For a fleeting instant, I welcomed death—any escape from this living nightmare would be mercy. But death refused to come.

  I crashed hard onto the cold grass, burning debris raining around me like a fiery storm. Nearby tents erupted in flames, their screams of collapsing canvas and panicked shouts filling the night, distracting the soldiers and buying me precious seconds I didn’t deserve.

  Minutes crawled by in unbearable pain, my body raw and broken, lungs burning as I struggled to move. Then, sudden footsteps pounded nearby, sharp and deliberate.

  “Filthy vampires are quite hard to kill,” a cruel voice sneered above me. “No matter. You will die today.”

  A man’s weight pressed down on my chest, pinning me to the ground as he brandished a dagger inches from my eyes. My wounds were far from healed, and the scorching air burned my lungs raw, robbing me of any strength to curse loudly.

  His face twisted into a grimace of madness, wild eyes gleaming with savage delight as he grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

  His eyes were utterly devoid of soul—empty, hollow voids—but the raw emotion carved deeply into his face was undeniable. Pure, unfiltered hatred twisted every muscle as he pressed the dagger slowly, deliberately, inch by inch toward my eyeball. In defiance, I kept staring at him and his hand. That hateful dagger hovered, a dark specter inching closer, closer, until it finally plunged through my iris.

  Pain exploded like wildfire across my skull, a searing, piercing agony that shattered my senses. I tried to curse with every ounce of my will, but all that escaped was a weak, rasping rattle. Helpless, I could only watch the dagger sink deeper, stabbing mercilessly through the fragile globe of my eye.

  They say you see your entire life flash before your eyes moments before death, but I saw none of that. Instead, a single memory surfaced, vivid and strange amid the chaos.

  * * *

  Aska and I were experimenting on the Devourer again. That worm-like creature had haunted my dreams lately, a creeping menace in my subconscious. After we’d thrown the supposedly immortal’s severed hand into her prison, the Devourer had birthed offspring—tiny, writhing worm-creatures we studied for a short while. Around ten minutes, until boredom set in and we decided to separate them.

  Armed with two jars full of those tiny wrigglers, we left the prison—only to find the worms fighting inside their glass prisons. The victor spawned new offspring, and the cycle repeated for days. The name "Devourer" didn’t come from its ability to consume everything—it came from the terrifying danger those worms posed to the entire world, especially when separated from their mother’s calming influence. But these worms had a fault. While viciously aggressive apart from their mother, they also died after a few days without her. The mother was the heart of this swarm – and its fatal weakness.

  * * *

  A strange, heavy acceptance washed over me as the dagger sank deeper still, and for the first time, I understood why this worm kept haunting my thoughts. That vile creature was here on Solaris, dangerously close. I didn’t know how she had arrived or by what dark magic she’d taken control, but she had infiltrated the people around me—most notably, the strange mage Reruoved.

  Thinking of her name made my blood boil. I’d made a catastrophic mistake. She hadn’t hidden her identity at all—she’d simply spelled her name backward when she first introduced herself. The audacity, the cruelty.

  Darkness crept in, swallowing me whole as the pain faded into nothingness with the loss of my vision. My hearing lingered a moment longer, perfectly timed to catch the sound of a sword slicing through flesh—a muffled thud as something collapsed onto the ground.

  Above me, a man fell silent.

  This witch had toyed with me, but she had miscalculated in targeting me so soon. Her foothold on this world might be strong, but Arthur’s army still had fight left in them. This war was far from over.