"So..." Norvin rubbed his temples, trying to process the flood of information echoing in his mind. "If you hadn't taken over... I would be dead?"
"Obliterated," the Red Ghost corrected gently. Her voice was faint inside his head, tired.
Norvin leaned back against the cold, damp stone of the cell wall. He was alive, but only just. The weight of his own weakness pressed down on him. He was a spy, a Serpent, yet he had been tossed aside like a ragdoll.
"We cannot stay here," the Red Ghost whispered, her voice echoing inside Norvin's skull. "The higher officials won't let you go easily."
Norvin huddled in the corner of the damp cell, his knees pulled to his chest. The adrenaline of the battle had faded, leaving him trembling. "They don't care about me," Norvin muttered. "They cared about... it. The thing Cahir wanted."
"The Astarey," the Ghost corrected.
"What is that?" Norvin asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Cahir called it a demon. But he also called those villagers sinners for letting Giants live with them."
"You must understand the world you live in, Norvin," the Ghost said, her tone sounding like a teacher lecturing a student. "In this world, humans are not the only ones who live here. There are other creatures here—such as the Rockmen, the Giants, the Eaglemen, and the Lizardmen. They are mostly similar to humans in terms of intelligence. They build, they speak, they feel."
"But Cahir..."
"Cahir is from a tribe called the Wanderers," she interrupted, her tone hardening. "They believe the world belongs solely to humans. To them, coexistence is a sin. They hunt anything that isn't human."
"So the Bronze Falchion are protecting this creature?"
"Protecting? No," the Ghost scoffed. "They are weaponizing it. The creature below is an Astarey. It is an abomination which comes from the Land of Foul Souls. There are three Great Demon Races that reside there: the Astarey, the Cienmuerte, and the Lechuza. The Bronze Falchion are using an Astarey demon—a creature of immense power—for their own war."
Norvin's eyes widened. This was the information. 'If the enemy had a functional demon of that caliber, the Captain had to know. I have got special information that I must relay to the Serpents', he thought.
The Chief's office on the highest floor of the Obsidian Tower was a sanctuary of luxury, smelling of lavender and old money.
Chief Riven sat behind a massive desk of black oak. He was a man of sharp, aristocratic beauty, with hair the colour of spun gold. By the window, looking out over the fortified city, stood his younger brother, Dion. He shared the same golden hair, though his was tied back in a loose, arrogant ponytail.
"A Titan..." Riven murmured, looking at the report. "Messy."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a heavy, crystalline object. It pulsed with a faint blue light.
This was a Comms Crystal Relic.
In this world, Relics were in a league of their own. These artifacts fell into three distinct categories: some were the remnants of a lost civilization that modern techniques could never replicate; others hailed from the Age of Gods, designs which modern scholars had learned to reproduce using their own Awen; and finally, there were the new creations—innovations purely born from the minds of modern Scholars and Ciphers. The Comms Crystal Relic was a modern innovation.
Riven placed his hand on the crystal. "Captain. We have a situation."
The crystal hummed, and a voice—distorted and deep—filled the room. "I saw the report, Riven. A Titan Anchor... The Disciple of the Wind-Walker."
"We need reinforcements," Riven stated flatly. "If he returns for the demon, my local garrison will not hold."
"Impossible," the Captain's voice crackled. "The main forces are occupied with other battles and missions. Our resources are stretched thin. You already have the special weapon and also the Astarey."
"So you expect us to fight a Titan and the assault of the Serpents' Maw with standard knights?" Riven asked, his voice cool.
"I can spare two," the Captain replied. "Two Primes are en route to your location. That is all I can give you. Do not lose the Astarey, Riven. If you do, don't bother coming back."
The light in the crystal faded. The connection was cut.
Riven sat back, tapping his fingers on the desk.
Dion turned from the window, a lazy grin on his face. "Two Primes? I think we can handle it pretty well."
"It will have to do," Riven said, standing up and smoothing his coat.
Dion shrugged, checking the dagger at his hip. "Well, Two Primes... that's good enough. Let's go greet our men."
Miles away from the tower, the sun beat down mercilessly on the Marsh Forest. It was daytime, but beneath the canopy, the light was sickly and green.
Remus ran.
His breath came in ragged, wet gasps. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, stinging his eyes. He wasn't just running from an enemy; he was running from the forest itself.
The Marsh Forest was undergoing Metamorphosis.
The trees weren't swaying in the wind; they were hunting. The branches elongated like seeking fingers, the bark twisting and cracking with the sound of breaking bones. Roots erupted from the mud, snapping at his ankles like vipers.
"Move..." Remus wheezed, stumbling over a root that tried to grab his calf. "Just... move."
He tried to summon Awen, to blast the path clear, but his mana sparked and died in his palm. He clutched his chest, feeling the hollow ache where his power should be. He was a Broken Vessel—a Cipher whose internal circuits had been shattered. He had the knowledge of a wizard but the capacity of a child. He was no longer blessed by Awen.
A branch whipped out, slicing his cheek. Remus didn't stop. He scrambled through the mud, the forest groaning around him, closing in to swallow him whole.
The Metamorphosis period was accelerating. In a matter of days, the critical mass would be reached. This man-eating forest, having finally collected enough nutrients, would shed its leaves completely. Its branches would turn corpse-pale, and the trees would slumber, entering a deep hibernation that could last for years. When it eventually woke, it would not be a marsh anymore. It would emerge as a new kind of biome—or perhaps a single, colossal beast—that the world had never seen.
This was the cycle. For the last fifteen years, it had existed as a Marsh Forest. Every few hours, it would shift and modify itself to hunt better, but those were small changes. The True Metamorphosis was different. The last time it happened, the landscape changed entirely. Now, as the leaves began to wither, no one knew what horror would rise from the soil next.
But for Remus, the future didn't matter. The present was trying to kill him. Right now, the forest was hungry.
Whoosh!
A massive wall of roots surged from the sludge. Remus sprinted, his body screaming in protest as he dodged the attack. The forest was turbulent, shifting and snapping at his heels.
He gritted his teeth, forcing his legs to move faster. His thoughts drifted to the boy he was trying to save.
"Your grief will be over soon, Norvin," he promised silently, sliding under a deadly branch. "Just hold on. The rain... I will freeze it all."
####
"Look alive!" Dion's voice boomed down the spiral staircase of the Obsidian Tower.
Riven and Dion descended the stone steps, the sound of their boots echoing in rhythm. Knights and guards, many bandaged from the earlier shockwave, snapped to attention as the brothers passed.
"Gareth is down," Riven said, not looking at the soldiers, his eyes fixed forward. "The Titan has retreated, but he promised to return. We are locking down the facility."
"Reinforcements are inbound," Dion added, flashing a charming, dangerous smile. "The Captain is sending two Primes. They will be here by nightfall."
A wave of relief washed over the soldiers. Primes were S-Tier threats just like any other Phantoms and Titans, and also the most common among the three. Walking armies. Two of them meant safety.
"Secure the perimeter," Riven ordered, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Double the guard. No one goes in or out of the Demon's containment cell."
Riven paused on the landing, looking at his brother. "Nowadays," he sighed, adjusting his cuffs, "there are just too many criminals we have to deal with."
Suddenly, a knight burst into the stairwell, his chest heaving with exertion. "Chief Riven! Urgent report! Our scouts have located a large group—dozens of men—closing in just beyond the Marsh Forest."
Riven and Dion exchanged a look of pure shock. A third party? Now? An unknown force had managed to get close enough to the deadly marsh without tripping the outer alarms.
The brothers sped up their pace, descending the stairs two at a time. Riven began barking orders to every officer they passed.
"Quick! Mobilize the reserve units! Prepare combat formation!" Riven shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Dion, use your powers! Amplify the Metamorphosis! Make that forest so turbulent that nothing can walk through it alive!"
Dion was already raising his hand, Awen gathering in his palm to twist the roots, when the messenger knight stepped frantically in front of them.
"Lord Chief, pardon my intrusion, but—you don't understand. Those men are not trying to cross the forest."
Dion, who was halfway to the exit to unleash his spell, skidded to a halt. He looked back at Riven.
Riven stopped, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
The knight swallowed hard, looking pale. "They are setting up a perimeter facing away from the tower, sir. We think... we think that they aren't here for us."