With sweat dripping down their faces and breaths ragged, Nathaniel and Iris struggle to drag the makeshift rescue sleds over the uneven ground. The sleds, crafted from cloth and firm branches, were a design Nathaniel had come up with for transporting the wounded. It was always his hope that he would never have to use them, but fate had other plans.

  "Please tell me we're almost there," Iris pants, her voice strained from exhaustion as she glances at Nathaniel.

  "Almost," Nathaniel reassures her, gritting his teeth and focusing on the path ahead. "It’s just a bit further."

  "You’ve been saying that for the past day now…"

  They trudge on, muscles burning and hearts heavy with worry for Gabriel and Sarah.

  As they push through a thicket of bushes, Nathaniel catches sight of something familiar. "There it is," he whispers, relief flooding his voice.

  Nathaniel steps forward, clearing away the vegetation to reveal a secret door hidden against the earth. His eyes narrow as he notices that the lock has been tampered with.

  "Iris, stay here and watch over them," he instructs in a hushed tone. "I'm going to make sure that it's safe first. It's possible the Conclave knows about this place too."

  "P-Please be careful…"

  Nathaniel nods and disappears into the darkness beyond the doorway. As he descends an ancient set of stairs, his fingers flex, and five wires made of pure mana hang from each digit. With methodical precision, he searches each room, every corner, and especially every shadow.

  As he rounds the corner into the pantry, his heart skips a beat at the sound of something hitting the ground. Instantly, the wires tighten, ready to strangle anyone who dares to confront him. He holds his breath, waiting for the enemy's face to appear from the shadows.

  But the figure that emerges is no enemy.

  "Nathaniel? I'm sorry, I wasn't eatin’ nothin’! I was just makin’ sure that we had plenty of rations in case of an emergency!"

  Nathaniel's jaw nearly hits the floor as he watches a tall, slender man emerge from the darkness, his eyes wide with surprise.

  "You... How are you here?"

  David, kind as can be, and just as weak in comparison. He was well into his 20’s, and hadn’t even reached his First Requiem yet. By far, he was the weakest Crowsong to have ever been born.

  "Uh, well," David stammers. "I-I uhm…There were an awful lot o’ people at the house you see, and to destress I thought that maybe, just maybe it would be best to go on a walk. When I got back from my walk, I saw an awfully big explosion, and I thought I’d just come here instead. I met a scary lookin’ guy at the front gate though who was askin’ me if I was a Crowsong. Told em’ I was a courier and he lemme go."

  "And this man just believed that?" Before David can answer, Nathaniel shakes his head, urgency returning to his voice. "Forget that, come with me, quickly."

  Together, they ascend the stairs, where Iris waits anxiously. She gasps at the sight of David, rushing forward to embrace him as relief washes over her face. "David, I’m so glad you're alright," she whispers, tears welling in her eyes.

  David awkwardly hugs her back to the best of his ability and replies. "Well gosh, I’m glad you’re safe too, I guess."

  "Let's get them inside," Nathaniel says, lifting Gabriel's limp body onto his shoulder. Together, they carry the unconscious pair down into the safehouse, laying them gently on the cots in the Western wing.

  "Will they make it?" Iris asks quietly, her voice trembling with fear.

  Nathaniel looks at her just for a moment, taking in the fear in her eyes. "I guarantee that they will not die while in my care."

  Nathaniel removes his glasses as he leans in close, examining Gabriel’s wound. It had reopened and blood was seeping out slowly. With deft movements, Nathaniel weaves his soulthreads through the raw flesh, sealing it shut once more with greater precision, and much more care this time. The faint glow of his magic melds with the glistening red of Gabriel’s life force. Sweat runs down his brow, and into his eye as he works. Nathaniel simply squints through it, and continues, despite the burning sensation.

  "David," Iris breathes. "How did you even know to come here?..."

  "Ah, well... My pa showed me this place when I was just a boy," David admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "He told me I could come here whenever I was feeling anxious. So I come ere’ sometimes. Nobody usually notices I'm missin’ anyways."

  Iris lets out a soft laugh, her eyes filled with bittersweet relief. "Well, it's a good thing you're such an anxious soul then. You…wouldn't have wanted to be there anyways."

  As the two share a brief moment of peace, Nathaniel can’t go through the scenario in his head once more. They had survived, yes, but at what cost? The unspoken question hangs in the air, suffocating in its silence: Just how many of them had been lost? How many were left? Was anyone else left? Nathaniel needed more information, but more than that…

  "Both of them need a blood transfusion," Nathaniel announces abruptly, cutting through David and Iris’s small talk.

  "You can have some of mine! I wasn’t hurt that bad, so I-"

  But Nathaniel shakes his head at her. "Iris, I'm sorry, but we need blood from someone of relation… If we give them the wrong blood then it could kill them, and we don’t have time to test yours right now. David, come here."

  "O-Oh, right…that makes sense," Iris says, and backs away as David steps forward.

  David extends his arm on command. Though his face grows pale at the sight of the thin wire sliding into his skin, he is very brave about it, and stays still. As the wire connects David's arm to Sarah's, a similar one is attached between Nathaniel’s and Gabriel’s.

  Nathaniel watches the slow drip of blood from his arm to Gabriel's, his mind racing. Just why would the Conclave want to attack them? What had they done to incur their wrath? Nathaniel thinks back to the bodies hanging from the trees, and he grimaces. He had killed countless men and women just so that he could survive.

  But what had Gabriel gone through?... Just what is it that he saw in there? What kind of fight could have left Gabriel of all people in such a state? Nathaniel could only imagine.

  As dawn breaks on the second day, Nathaniel emerges from the dimly lit bedroom, his face gaunt and pale from giving excessive amounts of blood. He pauses for a moment, gathering himself, before continuing to the dining area where Iris was preparing a meager meal for them. The scent of bland soup wafts through the air as she stirs the pot, the vegetables floating lifelessly to the surface. It was hardly an appetizing sight, but it was all they had, and Nathaniel welcomed it.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "Gabriel and Sarah haven't woken up yet," Iris whispers anxiously, her eyes darting back to the door of the bedroom. "I've been checking on them, but... do you think they'll be okay?"

  Nathaniel offers a weary smile, though it barely reaches his eyes. "I told you that they will not die under my care," he announces, sinking into a chair at the table. His limbs feel heavy, drained of strength, as if the transfusion had taken more than just his blood. David, equally exhausted, slumps down next to him.

  "Thank you for the meal, Iris," Nathaniel says gratefully, taking a spoonful of the unappealing soup. Its taste is as dull as its appearance, yet it fills his stomach with warmth, providing some small amount of comfort.

  "Thank you, Iris! It's real good!" David lies, earning a laugh and a playful glare from Iris.

  "You quit," she retorts, smiling as she looks down at the soup. "If I had some better ingredients then maybe I could make something better."

  The question keeps replaying in Nathaniel’s head. Was there anyone else left? He had to know, and it was time to take action.

  "We need to perform a Soul Divination," Nathaniel declares, rising from his seat. "We're cut off from the rest of the world, and what we need now more than anything is information. We need to find out if there are any other survivors."

  Together, Nathaniel and Iris draw a large circle on the floor, infusing it with their magic and will. The air around them shimmers with power as they concentrate.

  It was a spell as old as time itself. Draw the ritual circle, and you can make contact with a spirit of your choosing, no matter the distance.

  "The final ingredient: blood of a Crowsong. We wish to see anyone of relation to a Crowsong, please," Nathaniel murmurs, pricking his finger and letting a few droplets of blood fall into the circle. David follows suit, but the resulting puddle is still too small to provide any meaningful insight.

  That's when Gabriel appears in the doorway, shirtless and bandaged, with his arm in a sling.

  Nathaniel stands up, alarmed. "Gabe, you need to be resting!"

  But Gabriel ignores him, determination etched onto his face as he approaches the summoning circle.

  "Iris, I don’t see Marcus anywhere."

  "He told me that he was tired, and he…"

  "I understand."

  "Gabe, you can’t be up yet," Nathaniel tries to stop the larger man, but Gabriel’s gaze meets his own.

  "I need to see this," Gabriel insists, slicing his hand open and holding it over the small pool of blood. As it grows, shapes begin to form within it, accompanied by distant, indistinct noises. They can make out four figures, but the image is blurry and difficult to discern.

  "Whose spirit is this?" Nathaniel whispers, leaning closer as though proximity would answer this question. As Gabriel does the same, the vision suddenly explodes into fire and smoke, leaving two figures in the center and two more in the distance.

  "Could it be Ethel? She was going to check up on your sister before everything began, right? It would explain why the image is so blurry, Ethel is an old soul after all."

  "No, Ethel is gone. Whoever this is, it’s someone else," Gabriel states.

  "Isn't that the Veilwood Periphery?" Iris asks, her voice filled with confusion. "It has to be! The trees look the same!"

  "I think you’re right…" Gabriel agrees.

  Nathaniel watches as two of the figures walk away, and leave two behind. "It looks like they're heading for the Withered Dreads. But who would want to go there at a time like this?... Unless they're still trying to escape the Conclave."

  "Why didn’t they all go then? Is it possible they’re Stygian’s that are just torturing an old soul?" Nathaniel asks.

  "Maybe… The two that are leaving are going to the Withered Dreads to reach their next Requiem? They might believe their comrade to be too weak to go with them, so they left them with that spirit," Iris says, leaning in close to examine the scene as best she can.

  "That can’t be right. They’re fighting," Gabriel growls, clenching his fist tight.

  "No, I think Iris may be on to something. Look here, Gabe. They’re stopping at frequent intervals and speaking. I think it’s possible they’re sparing, or at the very least, training."

  "A pyromancer that’s too weak to enter the Withered Dreads… The only one who fits that description would be… Clarence! It has to be!" Iris announces, and smiles down at the puddle

  Frustration and desperation boils over, and Gabriel shouts, "Then who are the other two?... I saw Elias when I was in the house, I saw him, and I couldn’t help him. Elias, Clara!" He leans over the puddle of blood, only to cough up more of his own blood. His strength finally gives out, and the vision vanishes as he collapses into the ritual circle.

  "That's enough, Gabe! We'll find out who they are…"

  Together, Nathaniel and David lift Gabriel, and carry him back to his bed.

  *

  "Never allow yourself to be disarmed! Your weapon is your lifeline. If you lose that, you’re one step closer to meeting Lord Death."

  "This things way too heavy! Clara made it look so easy," Clarence whines, trying to pull the rapier up once more.

  "It can’t be more than a couple of pounds, what do you mean it’s ‘too heavy’? Get some meat on your bones! Also why do you keep talking about that girl? Wasn’t that boy your leader?"

  Clarence simply shakes his head. "No, Clara’s the one that’s kept us alive all this time, but…"

  "But…?"

  "I don’t know, she’s just scary sometimes."

  "That is so informative. Plenty of people are scary, now pick up your blade."

  "No, this is different. Clara is usually normal, but sometimes she just… it’s like she’s somewhere else. She sees things that aren’t there, and she says strange things."

  "You mean when the Whispers attack in numbers? Yes, that’ll happen to anyone who’s weak-minded. It happened to you too if you remember."

  "Yeah, I know, but it happens to Clara even when there aren’t Whispers around."

  "I see…" This causes Seraphine to stop for a moment, her fists lowering to her side. She approaches Clarence, and sits down. "I think I understand. Please, have a seat."

  Clarence sits down too, crossing his legs just like Seraphine does. She appears to be deep in thought, and finally her eyes lock on to Clarence’s.

  "As you may already be aware of, I am not a Crowsong by birth, but via the rite of marriage. I was born in the Ashenveil Sisterhood, and only became a Crowsong later in life. I had a brother who was around your age. He was bright, full of life, a kind soul. When Astrovia went to war with the East lands all those years ago, my brother was drafted, and had to go. For King and Country they say, but no one wants to actually die for their country. My brother was strong, stronger than anyone I’d ever met, so I knew he would be alright."

  "And was he? Your brother I mean, was he alright?"

  "Yes, my brother returned home whole, and safe. An esteemed war-hero. Except…he would have violent outbursts. As if he were reliving his days on the battlefield. It was seemingly random at times, but there were triggers for it too. Too much stimuli, a certain word, a sight, it would cause all those memories to come rushing back at once, as if someone had opened the floodgates of his mind, and he was drowning. He would hurt others even though he didn’t mean to. He would say the strangest things… I tried to perform exorcisms on him, but the ghosts were not those that I could touch. Physically, my brother had survived, but mentally, that war of his never ended."

  "What happened to your brother?..."

  "He ended up taking his own life to escape those ghosts. It was only after my brother's death that what he had was recognized as a disease of the mind. My brother used to be able to stand against the world, but he became extremely susceptible to attacks on the mind. If he had ever encountered a Whisper, I knew he would have met his end sooner."

  "Seraphine, I’m so sorry…"

  "It’s fine. I don’t know what that girl has been through to have attracted so many Whispers, but I do know one thing for certain. Her eyes were not that of a girl, but those of the dead. It’s like she died, and just forgot to stop breathing…"

  "Wow, that’s really poignant, Seraphine. I didn’t know you could talk like that."

  Overhead, the sky cracks, and whoever had been watching them, is no longer.

  "Looks like the Soul Divination is over, and so is your break. Come now, on your feet. By the time those two get back, you’re going to be strong enough to be of use!"

  Clarence rises to his feet, and grips Trinity’s Thorn in his hand once more. Then he thrusts at his sparring partner.