General Valerius entered the King's chambers, the sound of his footsteps echoing loudly through the vast, empty room. As he reached the center of the chamber, he found it deserted. Suddenly, the rhythmic thud of multiple boots caught his attention. Knights were approaching. Valerius quickly stepped outside the chamber and stood tall. The passing knights bowed their heads in respect and, without asking a single question, continued on their way.
Seizing the opportunity, Valerius slipped back inside. He began a desperate search for the scroll King Argus had been hiding. After what felt like an eternity, he discovered a wooden box. It was locked. The General knew instantly that the scroll was inside, and he realized the key would likely never leave the King's person.
The scene shifts. The rhythmic gallop of a horse broke the silence of the night. General Valerius was riding hard, exiting the castle gates with the locked box tucked under his arm. He rode to a locksmith named Mess. "Mess, my friend," the General urged, "I need your help with something urgent."
Mess was startled to see the General at such an hour. Before he could speak, Valerius grabbed him and pulled him inside the shop. "Listen to me, my friend. Time is a luxury I do not have."
"General, why are you so agitated?" Mess asked, bewildered.
"I don't have a moment to explain! Open this box, now!" Valerius hissed. Mess smiled faintly. "Is that all? Give it here." He tried to pick the lock, but it wouldn't budge. "General, I've tried everything, but this mechanism is stubborn. If you give me a little time, I can forge a key for it."
Valerius nodded frantically. Mess took a blank key shape and repeatedly pressed it into the lock to take the impression. As the marks appeared on the metal, he began filing and grinding the key. Minutes later, the key was ready. Mess turned it in the lock, and the box clicked open. Inside lay the scroll. Valerius handed a small pouch of silver coins to Mess, snatched the scroll, and vanished into the night.
The General stopped in the middle of the market beneath a nondescript house. Wrapped in a heavy shawl, he glanced around cautiously before entering. It was a meat shop. The moment he stepped inside, a bone-chilling cold hit him. He covered his face with his cloth and looked around at the carcasses of dead animals and massive slabs of ice. A shopkeeper appeared and led him through a secret trapdoor into a subterranean chamber.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of chemicals. The room was filled with the preserved bodies of strange, mutilated creatures—some so terrifying they hardly seemed real. This was the den of the Alchemists. Among them was Taro, a childhood friend of Valerius.
Taro turned around, a wide grin breaking on his face. "Valerius! It's been a long time, my friend."
"Too long, Taro," Valerius replied, offering a quick smile.
"What brings a General to this dark hole?" Taro asked.
Valerius pulled the scroll from beneath his shawl. "You are an Alchemist, Taro. No one can do this better than you. Take this scroll. Study it with your colleagues and tell me: what is this ink? And why is this paper so unnaturally warm? I need answers as fast as possible."
"This could take time, Valerius," Taro warned. "But you're in luck. Our Grand Master—the one who taught us everything—is visiting for a few days. We can ask him."
"Taro, I only have this night," Valerius urged.
A voice from the shadows interrupted them. "It shall be done." An elderly man stepped forward.
"High Magus!" Taro exclaimed.
"Yes," the old man said, looking at Valerius. "Taro, this man is not just your friend; he is a General and our guest. His task takes priority." He summoned his disciples. "My children, stop whatever you are doing. We have a special guest with a very specific task. Everyone, focus on the General's scroll."
The High Magus took the scroll from Valerius and began his investigation. Hours passed. Finally, Valerius could wait no longer. "High Magus, what have you found?"
"I have found much," the old man replied gravely, "but I wish to hold my tongue for a little longer. Wait just a bit more."
Valerius sat at a table, his anxiety growing. He stepped outside briefly and saw the first faint light of dawn on the horizon. He rushed back in. Soon, the High Magus approached him. "General, what you have found is a thing of absolute horror."
The sun began to rise. On one side, the world was waking up; on the other, the High Magus was about to reveal a terrifying truth.
The scene shifts to the Arena. Women dressed in funeral white stood upon the high walls. At a signal from the King, they began a rhythmic, haunting wailing. A massive crowd had gathered in the Arena by morning. The sound of the white-clad women crying and screaming sent shivers through the soul of every citizen; their voices could be heard in every corner of the city.
Back in the chamber, the Alchemists gathered in a circle. "General," the High Magus whispered, "this ink... it is not ink at all. It is blood. The thumbprint at the bottom is from a human hand, but it too is made of blood. There are two types of blood here: the human blood of the print, and this deep, thick green substance—the color of stagnant moss. It looks black, but it is actually green blood."
"And the paper, General," the Magus continued, "it is not paper."
"Then what is it?" Valerius asked, his voice trembling.
"It is skin," the High Magus answered. "The skin of something that can be cut, but cannot be burned. It is a thin layer of hide. And whoever it belonged to... it was no ordinary demon. It was something else."
The Magus leaned in closer. "Ancient Alchemists mentioned a creature in their journals that matches this perfectly. They called the species the 'Karatha'. They were described as slightly larger than humans, with upright, pitch-black hair. Their bodies were human-like, but their faces were a mix of man and hound. They had six arms. Legends say their lower jaw could split open like a spider's, and they could spit webs from their mouths. But General, these accounts are 700 years old. Even if they existed, they must be extinct. This was from a time before the Wells even existed."
"Perhaps not here," Valerius whispered, "but what about the No Man's Land?"
"I doubt it," the Magus sighed. "Even No Man's Land has far more dangerous predators. And as you know, the Wells of Justice are mostly attacked by demons. I don't think any of this species survived."
"Perhaps you are right," Valerius said. "But if they are extinct... then where did this scroll come from?"
The High Magus stared at the General with a look of pure shock, unable to answer. Suddenly, a deafening noise erupted from outside. They all rushed out of the shop. The streets were eerily empty. Everyone had gone to the Arena. The sound of the mourning women reached Valerius's ears, chilling him to the bone. His hair stood on end. Without wasting another second, he grabbed the scroll, mounted his horse, and rode like the wind toward the Arena.
"Follow him!" the High Magus shouted to his disciples. Taro quickly brought the horses, and the group galloped after the General.
Chapter End