“Was taking the kids out for a bite to celebrate their win. Couldn’t help but overhear the yelling and rumbling buildings,” Henry said, slowing as he reached them. “Figured I’d stop by. And from the sounds of it, seems like you all need a ride.”

  Josier frowned. “Didn’t Shelmi and Eldan secure the perimeter?”

  “I went under the tape,” Henry replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  Lorrin scratched the back of his head and sighed. “You heard right. We’ll most likely need some fast transport if we’re to undergo a rescue operation. Nakrin’s strong, but slow. Josier can track but his specialty is short range movement. Stamina isn’t his strong suit.”

  Both Nakrin and Josier said nothing, though they weren’t overly thrilled by their evaluation from Lorrin.

  Henry broke eye contact with Lorrin and turned toward the skeleton, locking eyes with the violet flames burning behind his sockets.

  “You… you’re the skeleton companion of a girl named Enya, right?”

  Pell’s eye flames narrowed. “Yeah? What of it?” He didn’t recognize the man—no uniform, no insignia, not one of the city’s.

  A warm, easy smile curved across Henry’s face. “Name’s Henry Merrick. I run a caravan business—mercenaries and traders stationed here in Talo. Your daughter might know my kids. Berry and Manny.”

  “She’s not my daughter,” Pell said quickly. “She’s my... it’s complicated.”

  Henry chuckled at the stiff reply, clearly amused by the flustered defensiveness coming from a skeleton. “Well, complicated or not, my kids seem to think the world of her. Berry’s especially upset she hasn’t been able to see her the past few days—something happened recently, not my story to tell. But they’ve asked about her more than once.”

  He turned back to Lorrin. “That aside, I couldn’t help overhearing that something happened to the girl... and that you’re in need of fast transport?”

  Lorrin eyed him. “You offering?”

  Henry’s smile didn’t falter. “Of course. Part of it’s to cheer up my daughter—but mostly, it sounds like you’ve got a serious situation on your hands. And a father always wants to protect his children, right?”

  As he said it, Pell could’ve sworn Henry’s eyes flicked sideways. Just for a second. Just long enough.

  Henry clapped his hands once. “That said... there might be one tiny condition.”

  Pell leaned forward slightly. “What is it?”

  Henry just smiled.

  Thirty minutes later, a caravan set off and was thundering through the forest trails.

  Pell sat inside the main compartment, arms crossed, soul flames steady as trees blurred past the window in streaks of green. He’d ridden caravans before—but never one this fast. Nakrin was at the reins, surprisingly capable with the bicorns. The muscular beasts galloped in near silence, horns lowered, hooves barely grazing the dirt as the enchanted wheels pulsed with enchanted reinforcement magic.

  Josier sat silently near the front of the caravan, eyes closed, in some meditative state. Tracking Enya’s position was Josier’s responsibility, and he was likely using a skill to do so.

  Beside Pell, standing upright with uncanny stillness, was Shadow Enya. At first, everyone assumed this spell of Enya's could track her location, but it seemed Josier had the task handled. Aside from the two War Paragons, however, were a few more occupants riding along.

  The ‘stipulation’ Henry mentioned had become very clear.

  Berry and Manny. Henry’s kids. They sat across from him, their expressions complicated.

  Apparently, their match in the tournament had already finished. They won; the crowd rejoiced; their future was bright and they were ready for whatever it was to come. But the moment word of a demon attack reached Lord Clament, the festivities had ended. The tournament was suspended. The city entered high alert, with only certain nobility learning of what truly had occurred.

  Henry had seized the moment after overhearing what had happened. With Lorrin’s approval, he made one request in exchange for a fast transport: let his children come.

  “For experience,” he’d said. “If they’re going to become War Paragons, they need to act like it. I can't exactly coddle them forever, even if I want to.”

  Pell thought it was insane.

  Bringing two kids on a rescue mission—one that might end in blood, facing down a demon that had nearly torn Gold-Tier War Paragons apart? Madness. Plain and simple.

  But Henry hadn’t flinched. He’d spoken of autonomy. Of trust. Of letting his children grow. And he’d said it all with that same calm certainty that made it hard to argue.

  Risha had come too.

  She hadn’t said much at first, just that she had to come. That she let Enya get taken. That she’d stood there—frozen—while Celeste led her away. Now, she wanted to make it right. She wanted to fight for the friend she failed to protect. Pell protested, but even Henry stood up for the girl—someone he had met just minutes prior.

  The man was practically sending children, one being a literal child, into a death trap. But he made the argument that War Paragons need to have a heart of obsidian to grow, to not cower in fear.

  That is utter bullshit, Pell thought. Though, he wasn’t their parents. He could do nothing. After all, he wasn’t the one who owned the transport caravan.

  As for Celeste…

  She hadn’t been executed. Not yet.

  For now, the city had locked her away—deep inside Talo’s prison hold, awaiting judgment. Her fate would be decided later. Maybe she’d walk free. Maybe she'd hang. It would all depend on what happened next. On whether Enya was found. On whether she was still alive.

  Pell didn’t argue with any of it.

  He wasn’t in charge or the guardian of any of them. Not Berry’s. Not Manny’s. Not even Risha’s.

  They made their choices. They boarded this caravan knowing what it meant. And Celeste? Whatever punishment the city came up with would be their decision to make, not his.

  Her actions hadn’t just affected him. She’d crossed a line she couldn’t uncross. But there were people more fitting to dish out the punishment than a grumpy merchant like him.

  The only one he was the guardian of—was Enya. And he was doing a damn shit job at it.

  Another half-hour passed in a blur as Josier conversed with Nakrin every so often. Josier’s tracking ability was quite helpful in a matter like this. Pell didn’t know how it worked, but as long as it did—it didn’t really matter the explanation. He had a faint lock on Enya’s general direction; he led the caravan in the most accurate path possible.

  Pell let them do what was needed. There wasn’t much he could provide in the current situation. And so, he sat. Arms crossed. Head low. Watching the trees blur past like green smoke through glass. The coach bumped and rattled beneath him, but he barely felt it. His mind was somewhere else.

  Then—he felt it.

  A light tap against his knee.

  Pell blinked and looked over.

  Shadow Enya stood quietly at his side, her pale eyes looking up at him with no expression at all. “What is it?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her hands.

  And summoned the book.

  The Grim Pullet—Enya’s soul-bound grimoire—formed in her hands, glowing faintly with that strange, internal light. This revelation shocked him. A clone, the Inner Darkness Apparition spell—it was capable of summoning soul-bound items?

  She opened it, slowly. Then held it out in front of him.

  Pell leaned in.

  There, etched in quiet magic across the parchment, glowing without ink or pen; Pell’s face darkened the moment he read the words.

  HELP.

  All she felt was motion. Unsteady, relentless. The world rocked beneath her, jolting and swaying, urging her to wake up—but her body resisted. Sleep clung to her like chains, thick and heavy, refusing to let go.

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  Still, something bled through. Sensations. Sounds. The blurred edge where dream and reality met. It all swirled together—half memory, half fleeting phantom.

  Almost an hour passed before consciousness finally won.

  Enya stirred with a weak groan, her eyelids fluttering as if pried open by force. Her vision blurred, then slowly adjusted to a sea of green—leaves, branches, towering trees swaying gently in the wind. The rustle filled her ears, quiet and constant, like the forest itself was breathing.

  Then it hit her. The last thing she remembered—the room, the desk, Celeste. Her body tensed, a tremor rippling down her spine as the memory rose like bile.

  She pushed herself upright, breath shallow, limbs aching from sleep. She turned.

  Someone sat nearby, still as stone. Cloaked in shadow, dark fabric draped over their body like a curtain drawn tight.

  Enya didn’t recognize them. Her brows knitted together, confusion laced with unease. “Wh-who are you…?” Her voice was faint, cracked with sleep. “W-where am I?”

  The figure shifted, turning slowly toward her.

  They raised a hand—gloved fingers brushed the edge of their hood.

  And then the cloak fell away.

  The sight left Enya breathless.

  A woman. Pale beyond human. Her skin held no warmth, no color—an unnatural white that gleamed beneath the canopy light. Her eyes locked with Enya’s—slitted, glowing red, burning with something inhuman. Her hands… were wrong. The fingers tipped with sharpened claws, thick and unnatural, threaded through with gleaming metal. The same metal laced up her arms, meshed with skin in a grotesque harmony.

  Dark markings crawled along her flesh, curling beneath her eyes like inked tears etched into bone.

  The woman tilted her head slightly, crimson eyes unblinking. Then, with a voice low and sharp, like a blade held just beneath the skin, she spoke with small, sharp cuts.

  “Do not scream,” she said. “Do not run. Do not call for help.”

  The words weren’t loud, but they carved straight through the delicate atmosphere.

  “I’ve been ordered to bring you back. Dead, or alive,” the woman continued. “As long as you don’t resist, I won’t harm you.”

  There was no threat in her voice. Just certainty. As if it were not a choice, but a rule carved into her being, one she was warning her of, right now.

  Enya swallowed hard, hands curling slightly into the grass. “W-why…? What’s going on?” Her voice wavered, as much from confusion as fear. “Who are you? Why—why am I here?”

  The woman didn’t answer right away. Her eyes remained fixed on Enya’s face, as if analyzing every flicker of thought. The silence stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the soft whisper of the trees.

  Then finally—without emotion, without warmth—she spoke again. “You were unconscious. Being carried through an alley. I attacked.”

  She said nothing of the fight. Nothing of blood or spells or collapsing stone—no murder, no injury—nothing.

  “I brought you here.”

  Silence stretched out from the answer.

  That was it. No elaboration, and no context. Just those simple truths, offered like puzzle pieces without a picture.

  Enya turned her head slowly, finally taking in the world around her. Trees loomed high on all sides, dense and ancient. There were no paths beneath her, no tracks in the dirt. No city lights. No murmur of voices. Just wind and wilderness.

  They were deep in the forest.

  Far, far from home, or at least, the city she could have called a temporary home.

  Then—something else. Faint. Almost hidden beneath the mossy, earthy scent of the woods.

  Blood.

  She knew the smell too well. It clung to her memories like rot. Sable’s dungeon had been drenched in it—walls, floors, the air with every breath. You didn’t forget a scent like that.

  Her nose twitched. It was here. Coming from the woman.

  She couldn’t see the wounds, but she could sense it—the way one might feel heat from a flame just out of reach. The blood wasn’t pouring anymore, but it was there. Beneath the metal. Beneath the skin.

  Fresh. And if it was fresh, then something… had happened. Something violent.

  Something recent.

  Enya’s fingers released their tension, and she let go of the damp and cool grass. She sat upright now, legs bent, knees to her chin as she wrapped her arms around them.

  “Why… was I taken?” she asked quietly. “Why would anyone tell you to do that?”

  The woman said nothing. Her gaze didn’t waver. Her claws flexed once, slowly, then stilled.

  Enya waited. The silence dragged on, as thick and unmoving as the trees around them.

  No answer came.

  So she tried again. A different question this time. “What’s your name?”

  Stillness.

  Then, after several seconds—the faintest twitch of the woman’s pale throat. A response that she was allowed to say.

  “…Zerus.”

  Enya exhaled slowly. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “Who are you, Zerus?” she asked gently. “What are you?”

  There was no hesitation this time. The answer came quiet, direct, and blunt.

  “A slave. An experiment.”

  Then, colder still, after a moment: “I am what you would know as a demon.”

  Enya’s lips parted slightly. A demon? She had read about demons, how they were monsters that preyed on human lives, causing destruction everywhere they went—an enemy of humanity.

  It was very similar to the apt description given to necromancers.

  But given Zerus’ answers, maybe there was a bit more to see from her than just rumors from stories. And she learned something from the responses, a theory.

  This… made sense. Not entirely. Not enough to understand everything, but enough to know where the boundaries were. Zerus could answer questions—as long as they didn’t touch whatever mission she was on. That part was locked away.

  But the rest? She could speak. Probably.

  Enya leaned forward just a little. Her voice was soft, uncertain. “Then… what happened back in the city?”

  Zerus didn’t flinch or react.

  “Where is… everyone?” Enya asked next, her tone tinged with guilt she didn’t fully understand. “Where’s Lady Celeste? She… she was with me before everything went dark.”

  Zerus shifted slightly, her eyes narrowing—not out of malice, but as if recalling the exact moment.

  “You were taken,” she said. “Unconscious. The woman had you. She was dragging you through an alley. Then, two guards appeared. They seemed to be interrogating her about something.”

  A pause.

  “She is no longer a problem. The guards either.”

  The words were sharp and final, devoid of emotion, yet… there was something that lingered beneath her voice.

  Enya focused on her. “Did you…?”

  “No,” Zerus said flatly, before Enya could finish. “The damage was minimal. I did not kill her or the guards.”

  There was something mechanical in the way she spoke. Clean and detached. A report, not a confession.

  Enya stared down at the forest floor for a moment. Something twisted in her gut. This wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t safe. But… she wasn’t hurt. Not yet.

  And as long as she kept her questions careful—maybe she could keep it that way.

  “Where are you taking me?” Enya asked, voice quiet but steady. “I want to see Pell.”

  A pause stretched, long enough for the trees to rustle, for the wind to slip between them like a whisper with a melody.

  “I am taking you very far away,” Zerus said at last. “You will not be seeing anyone else for a long time.”

  The words crawled out slowly, like spiderlings spilling from a cracked shell. Each syllable was wrapped in inevitability, and yet, it wasn’t what shook Enya the most.

  What came next did.

  “I am sorry,” Zerus murmured.

  Her eyes dropped. Not out of calculation or deception, but something quieter. Shame. Embarrassment. Regret. Whatever it was, she didn’t meet Enya’s gaze when she said it.

  Enya swallowed hard. She hadn’t expected that. Not from a demon. Not from someone who was supposed to be the villain in every story.

  But there wasn’t time to dwell. She needed more. More information. More understanding. Where was Pell? Was he looking for her? Did he even know she was gone?

  If Zerus truly was as dangerous as she seemed, Enya couldn’t afford to wait. She needed a plan—and fast.

  Absolute Focus, she thought, the idea coming to her like en epiphany.

  An evolved form of her original skill; an additional effect had been added that allowed her to hone in on a target from great distances with minimal strain. It proved to work considerably well back during the tournament. It simply mimicked what she had done before, but with much greater efficiency. The only issue was, was she close enough to Pell for it to work?

  She opened her status screen.

  Only one name—hers. Pell wasn’t within range.

  Still, she had to try. With the reduced strain, surely her skill could still reach him. Surely they weren’t too far.

  She closed her eyes. Focus.

  Her eyes illuminated with yellow for a split second. But before the thought could fully form, her vision was filled with five sharp claws.

  One tapped gently against her throat. A small, slight touch. It didn’t break the skin, but the pressure was unmistakable—like a reminder that breaking glass was only ever one tremble away.

  Her breath stopped.

  The yellow glow of her eyes flickered out. Extinguished.

  She lifted her eyes slowly, shakily—meeting Zerus’ slitted crimson gaze.

  There was no fury in them. No emotion at all. Just a terrifying, predatory stillness.

  “Do not activate any skills or spells,” Zerus said, voice low and mechanical. “If you do… I will assume you are trying to escape.”

  Her tone was flat. Not cruel. Not even angry. Just the detached weight of something repeating what it had been programmed to say. A warning born not of choice, but of command.

  “I—I’m sorry,” Enya whispered, the words trembling from her lips.

  She kept her gaze low, unmoving, waiting for the slightest twitch in those claws to decide her fate.

  Zerus didn’t answer right away. For a moment, the silence between them felt like a held breath stretching into eternity.

  Then the pressure eased.

  The claws slowly retracted, leaving behind only the phantom sensation of danger. Enya’s shoulders sagged with quiet relief, though she didn’t dare move too fast.

  Zerus leaned back. She resumed her seated posture, cloak drawn loosely around her like she hadn’t just threatened to tear someone’s throat out.

  Enya sat in silence. Thinking. Listening to the wind hum between the branches. There were no voices here. No people. Only the mild ambiance of forest sounds to fill the uneasiness.

  But then… she felt it.

  A stirring.

  Something inside her chest—not painful, not frightening, but familiar. A warmth. A pulse. Her eyes widened slightly.

  The Grim Pullet.

  It wasn’t visible, not summoned. But she could feel its presence awaken, tethered to her soul. Pages were turning. She could feel them. Ink was writing itself across parchment, though she hadn’t cast a single spell.

  Something—or someone—was reaching out.

  Custodian?

  She didn’t know. But she hoped.

  If it was him—then maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought. Maybe, just maybe, she could still find a way out. But she couldn’t risk another warning from Zerus. No more sudden skills. No more reflexive magic.

  She took a breath. Then looked up again, her voice quiet but clear. “Can I… summon a diary?”

  Zerus didn’t respond. She only watched her, unmoving.

  “It’s just a blank book,” Enya continued. “I write in it sometimes. When I’m scared. Or overwhelmed. It helps me calm down. That’s all.”

  Her hands stayed on her lap, visible and still.

  “It’s not a skill. It’s not a spell. It’s just… a personal thing. You can check it if you want, too.”

  She wasn’t sure if the demon believed her. But it was what she needed. A chance to communicate. She just had to trick her into thinking it was a regular book.

  She waited.

  Zerus’s red eyes narrowed slightly, considering.

  Then—just barely—she gave the faintest nod.

  Enya gulped once more, and then summoned the Grim Pullet, pages sprawled out, Enya willing the contents to appear completely blank. Her previous diary entries were in there, minuscule in content, but at least some evidence of their existence was proven.

  Zerus stared down at the book. It looked simple enough in common eyes; it was a book with blank pages, no traces of magic brewing about them.

  Luckily, Enya had already used the Inner Darkness Apparition Spell—otherwise, if Zerus had the capability to sense magic, she might have caught on.

  Seeing that Zerus had no further reaction, Enya continued her plan. “I—I also have a pen I use to write. It’s just a normal pen, okay?” Enya calmly opened her palm and summoned the Bonecarver’s Quill. Zerus twitched momentarily, but did nothing more. Seeing that the two items were extremely ordinary, she closed her eyes and looked away, like she was trying to regain energy and meditate.

  Enya took this chance and pulled the book up close to her. The pages reverted back to normal, showing her what message had appeared—what had stirred her senses.

  Enya. I am Enya. Where is Enya?

  The message was cryptic, but something about the casual statement ‘I am Enya,’ made it clear who this was. After all, who else could claim to be her, besides her herself?

  Immediately, Enya wrote back into the book with her quill. If this was who she thought it was, then perhaps she had a way to be saved after all.

  She wrote one, simple entry. Just enough to test the waters.

  HELP.