It took two more days for Leo and his companions to finally reach the border of the Kingdom of Light. There, traveling under his second name, Victor Black, he made use of the teleportation towers. Step by step, the shimmering circles carried them farther until they arrived just beyond the reach of the Kingdom of the North.
For a fleeting moment, Leo was tempted to detour toward Raiwood. He longed to see the city again, to check on the friends he had left behind. But time was against him. The borderlands offered no welcoming towns—only a fortress-like castle, vast and imposing, its walls bristling with watchful sentinels and seasoned rankers. To attempt entry there would have been dangerous.
So instead, from the last tower they emerged from, Leo and his group began the final stretch of their journey. One more day of travel, and they would set foot in the north.
…
Deep in the Shadowlands, Alina readied herself for another day of their expedition. She tightened the straps of her medium armor until they bit against her shoulders and ran her fingers across the hilt of her sword—a blade blessed by the Creator, its surface faintly warm to the touch. Without it, she would have felt naked in this cursed land. With a steadying breath, she left the ruined house and walked toward the others waiting at the edge of the abandoned city.
Five minutes later, the group was set to march. Ten of them in all, including Alina and their captain, Arlasan.
The next city they reached was a place none of them had ever set foot here before. The place was vast, its streets sprawling and silent, buildings hunched like corpses of stone. Windows yawned like empty eye sockets, and the air was heavy—thick with the stench of damp rot and something sour beneath it, like old blood.
"Stay close," Arlasan ordered, his voice low but sharp.
Weapons gleamed in nervous hands as they moved deeper. In these forgotten places, silence never promised safety. Too often, things lurked in the dark—patient, waiting.
Alina kept near Arlasan, her eyes fixed on the looming keep that rose over the broken rooftops. Its jagged towers were black silhouettes even against the dark sky. "The road climbs toward that castle," she said quietly.
"This was no small city," Arlasan muttered, scanning the path. He glanced back to count his soldiers—then stopped cold. His voice hardened. "Where is Lamas?"
The others turned. Only eight member were there.
Silence. Then, from the deeper streets, a scream ripped through the air. It was a woman's scream—long, shrill, and close enough to raise the hairs on their necks—before it warped and bled into something inhuman.
The company froze, fear naked in their eyes. From the surrounding houses came new sounds: doors creaking on their hinges, shutters rattling though there was no wind, and low moans that seemed to seep from the walls themselves.
"Back to back!" Arlasan barked.
The soldiers snapped into formation, shoulder to shoulder, forming a circle. Their blades trembled in their grips as the darkness seemed to come alive. Shapes stirred in the corners of their vision—shadows slithering along the walls, creeping closer, each movement accompanied by a faint scrape, like nails dragging against stone.
The air turned icy, their breath misting before their faces. The silence between the noises was worse than the noises themselves, like the city itself was holding its breath.
Then—light.
A sudden golden glow flared from Alina's sword, burning back the dark. Radiance washed over the streets, and the shades shrieked as the light seared them. They recoiled instantly, writhing like smoke driven from fire.
Every eye turned to her. Alina stood tall, sword raised high, the Creator's blessing blazing against the endless night.
"Keep that sword burning," Arlasan commanded, his expression grim. He looked to the others. "We continue."
"Sir, is that a wise choice? We don't know what we're dealing with here," one of the soldiers whispered, his voice shaking.
Arlasan's gaze didn't waver. "We are in the Land of Darkness. We never know what we're dealing with. But this city holds answers—clues—and we will find them."
They pressed on. The streets narrowed as they advanced, shadows closing in around the group like walls. The shades still lingered at the edges of Alina's golden light, circling like predators just beyond a campfire's reach. Their movement was constant—sliding, flickering, watching—but they never crossed the glow.
When the group passed through the ruined gates of the castle grounds, the shadows stopped following. The air beyond was even heavier, thick with mana that prickled at their skin.
Tannar, the youngest of them, swallowed hard. "Whatever's here… even they're afraid of it."
The castle loomed ahead, its towers jagged and broken, its windows gaping black. The air grew colder with every step, the silence pressing down until even their own breathing seemed too loud. Then it came—a wave of raw mana and wind that blasted across the courtyard. The weaker members staggered, trembling as a voice—not quite a voice, but a shout—rolled over them. It wasn't words. It was a command. Leave.
The ground beneath them stirred. Dust lifted and began to swirl together in unnatural patterns. Before their eyes, bones surfaced from the earth, rattling as if dragged from some unseen grave. One by one, skeleton soldiers took form—ten in all—swords and rusted shields clutched in their bony hands.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, from the great door of the keep, came footsteps. Slow, deliberate, echoing across the courtyard. Each step made their hearts hammer faster.
And then it appeared. A towering skeleton in tarnished armor stepped into the light, a massive two-handed sword strapped across its back. Twin green flames burned inside its hollow sockets, flickering with unnatural hunger. It stood still, staring at them, as if weighing their worth.
Then its jaw creaked open. What came out was no human sound—a piercing, soul-scraping wail that clawed at the edges of their minds. Several of the soldiers cried out and clutched their ears. Only Arlasan stood firm, his eyes locked on the monster's gaze.
"Get ready," he growled.
A ripple of power burst from him, washing over the company. Their fear melted, replaced by resolve. Arlasan's shout, from his warrior path—courage forged into mana—settled in their chests like iron.
Alina's sword flared, the Creator's blessing burning brighter. Flames curled around its blade, heat driving back the cold air.
The armored skeleton raised its head and howled again, raising its hand. Its ten skeletal soldiers screeched in answer, charging forward in a storm of bones and steel.
The expedition braced, fighting shoulder to shoulder to block the tide. And at the center of it all, Arlasan broke from the formation, sprinting to meet the armored skeleton.
The clash between captain and monster was inevitable.
Arlasan was more Assassin than Warrior, and his chosen weapons showed it. Twin daggers, long enough to be mistaken for short swords, gleamed in his hands. They moved like extensions of his body, flashing faster than the eye could follow.
For half an hour the courtyard became a storm of steel and mana. Blades clashed, spells detonated, and bones shattered into dust. One by one, the skeletal soldiers were cut down, until the ground was littered with cracked ribcages and skull fragments. By the time the last of them crumbled, the group was staggering—wounded, breath ragged, mana nearly spent.
Alina pressed a hand against her side, blood seeping through torn armor, though already her body was knitting itself back together. Her healing had grown unnaturally fast, a gift of her changing power.
Only the leader remained. Arlasan was everywhere at once, striking from every angle, his daggers raining down like a dozen blades. But the skeletal knight met him blow for blow, its massive greatsword whistling through the air with terrifying speed. Despite its size, the monster's defense was flawless, each strike parried, each feint anticipated. Sparks rained each time steel clashed against bone-forged armor.
Alina steadied her breathing, calling on the new strength surging inside her. Veins stood out across her skin, glowing faintly as if lit from within. Her body tensed—and then she blurred forward, moving far faster than any ordinary elf.
The skeleton was still locked against one of Arlasan's dagger strikes when it sensed her coming. With a roar, it twisted, swinging its greatsword in a brutal arc. The force of the blow hurled Arlasan backward and caught Alina mid-charge, smashing her away and sending her spinning through the air.
Before she could recover, the knight's jaw unhinged, green fire flaring as it prepared another soul-shattering scream.
But Alina was ready.
Her nails slicing her own flesh. Blood welled and, with a flash of will, twisted into a crimson whip. It cracked through the air and coiled around the skeleton's spine. With a snarl, she yanked, dragging the monster forward. Instead of a scream, only a warped, gurgling growl escaped its mouth as it stumbled.
Using the whip as leverage, Alina hurled herself toward it, her flaming sword raised. She brought it down with all her strength—but the knight caught the blow, locking her blade against its own.
And then, suddenly, another balde punched through the back of its skull. A dagger, driven with perfect precision. The fire in its eyes flickered, sputtered, then died. The armored body collapsed into dust, leaving only silence…and Arlasan standing behind it, his blades dripping with fragments of green fire.
Alina landed hard, her sword still burning. She exhaled, chest heaving, then managed a faint grin.
"That was… good coordination."
Arlasan wiped bone dust from his dagger and gave her a curt nod. "Well done." He glanced toward the weary survivors, most of them barely standing. "Let's search inside. Then we make this place secure enough to rest."
The ruined castle loomed above them, darker and quieter than before—yet every step forward promised only deeper shadows.
They walked deeper into the ruined castle, the sound of their boots echoing off the hollow stone halls. Alina and the other diviner of the group moved at the front, each castin the same spell. The circle of magic pulsed with runes that shimmered, spells designed to probe for danger ahead. The magic hummed softly in the air, brushing against unseen forces. Sometimes the light flickered—sometimes it dimmed for no reason at all. Each time it did, unease ran through the group like a shiver.
An hour of searching passed, each step weighed down by the oppressive silence of the place. Broken windows let in no light—the sky outside was swallowed by eternal black. Dust clung to everything, the air stale and heavy, as if even time had stopped breathing here. Eventually, they found a chamber lined with shelves, its walls crumbling but still intact. The smell of ancient parchment filled the room. Books—hundreds of them—were stacked in crooked rows.
"This will do," Arlasan said.
The group set about layering the room with protective spells carved into the very floor, their glow spreading like faint veins across the stone. Only when the last sigil flared to life did the exhaustion hit them. One by one, the expedition members sank to the floor, too drained to even speak.
Alina, however, couldn't rest. Her eyes lingered on the shelves, drawn to one particular tome. Its leather was cracked with age, the title faint but legible: The History of Revendel.
She opened it carefully. Dust swirled into the air like ash.
The words told the story of the city they stood in—Revendel, once the Emerald Crown of the elves, a city of light and beauty before the darkness came. Alina read of the day the skies were swallowed, and of the lord of the city who had tried to defend the sacred Orb of the Goddess. How he and his council resisted the whispers of the Mad God, who came to them cloaked in shadows, promising salvation.
The Mad God spoke of renewal, of making Revendel bloom again as it once had. At first, the elves refused. But as the beasts of shadow grew bolder, devouring families in the streets, despair set in. He returned years later, offering safety from the horrors outside. Families, broken by grief, began to give in.
The Mad God kept his promise—but twisted it. He wove a curse over the city, making Revendel a place no beast of shadow dared approach. Yet the price was cruel. The minds of its people began to fracture, splintering like glass under pressure. Madness spread through the streets like a plague, until the city that once shone with laughter was filled only with broken whispers and hollow screams.
Those who succumbed completely were devoured by the Maze of Madness—a prison of endless illusions from which no soul ever returned. The few who resisted the pull of the maze fared no better. Their bodies withered, their voices silenced, until all that remained were wandering ghosts, forever searching for the lives they had lost.
The book's final pages described the last act of the city's lord. Broken by failure, he and his loyal soldiers enacted a sacrifice—offering their lives to bind themselves to the Orb and repel the Mad God once and for all. The ritual forced out the mad god's presence from the city, but at the cost of their mortality. Bound in bone and oath, they would guard the Orb until eternity's end.
Alina slowly closed the book, her fingers trembling slightly. Her thoughts flashed to the skeletal knight they had faced.
'He must have been the king.'
She rose and crossed the room to Arlasan, who was sharpening one of his long daggers. His eyes lifted as she approached.
She explained what she had read.
When she finished, his jaw tightened. "So you're telling me… there's something of the Goddess still here? In this castle?"
Alina nodded. "Yes. The Orb."
Arlasan was silent for a moment, his gaze narrowing. "Then we should find it."
Alina's expression grew grim. "Not yet. There's a seal on the final door. The Mad God may be waiting—waiting for someone foolish enough to break it, so he can touch the Orb. If that's the case, rushing in could doom us all. Let me bring this to the meeting tonight. We must be certain before we act."
Arlasan studied her for a long while before nodding once. "Very well. We wait."
Alina allowed herself a faint smile. For the first time in years, hope stirred in her chest. If the Orb could be awakened—even a fragment of its power—perhaps this cursed land might change. Perhaps there was still a chance to push back the shadows.