《Mistress of Helena》 Chapter 1 Chapter 1 13 August 149 Third Age At the edge of the world, it only rained. Helena was a fair name for an unfair place. An isolated rock marooned at the edge of the Shattering Sea, officially designated as a coaling station. It served as an oasis in the liquid desert for ships of the Serene Republic of Oren. The official story went that Helena played a vital role for steamships venturing beyond the normal sea lanes. But this was far from the truth to those who knew better. The real motive for its colonization was the relentless game of one-upmanship between Oren and its rival, the merchant republic of Athoas. Oren¡¯s grip on Helena was not about utility¡ªit was about keeping it out of Athoas¡¯s reach. For such an isolated island, Helena harbored nearly twelve thousand souls, a little over a hundred armed soldiers, a solitary fort, and a burgeoning port city that swelled and drained of travelers with each boat. The island offered its residents a level of security and predictability unattainable on the tumultuous mainland. The inhabitants considered the isolation and relentless storms a fair trade-off for peace, although it still exacted its toll. Recently, the war drums on Ambria had led to sparse and costly food supplies on the ships that come less frequently of late. To stave off starvation, the island had resorted to rationing and the aid of a resident sorceress, who endeavored to coax life from the barren soil. Lord Carrack, the garrison commander, spent his days staring blankly at the vast ocean-filled horizon that only made the loneliness weigh heavier on his chest. His jaw was set, his hand gripping a crumpled piece of paper, and sweat trickled down his brow amidst the cold ocean breeze. His steely blue eyes scanned the sea¡¯s expanse, seeking solace. His fatigue was evident; another week had passed without the sight of a ship. His mind filled with questions and thoughts of beyond the horizon. What could be happening out there? Where was everyone? He was warned of tensions across the continent, raids and blockades from Athoas, but the navy always pulled through. ¡°They have to pull through,¡± he murmured to himself. Carrack was an anomaly in the Orenian realm, a society that boasted a distinct form of republicanism, rejecting traditional aristocratic trappings. In the republic, noble titles were mere decorations, and power lay within provinces and districts rather than keeps and fiefs. Aristocracy was earned, not inherited. On Helena, however, Carrack wielded power akin to a true lord. His word was the law; he was the final recourse. He bore a resemblance to a traditional Lord, similar to those from Afonland, a realm infamous for its peasantry and backwardness. Behind closed doors within the island¡¯s fort, Lord Carrack and his advisors held council to discuss what to do about the worsening food crisis. The candlelit room was dank, its stone walls bare of decoration, and a musky stench hung in the air as the rain pounded against the lone stained-glass window. Four sat around a mahogany table with Lord Carrack at the head. His worn dark blue uniform, still wet from the moments he¡¯d been in the rain, sent a chill up his spine. He had a bald head and a thick white beard, a style opposite to what he¡¯d had before he arrived. An exhaustive battle with fleas on his travels to Helena had forced him to shave his head bald. To his dismay, his hair never grew back, and he often found himself running his fingers across his scalp thinking that it was all still there. His second-in-command, Captain Foeham, sat with a worrisome look on his face, rubbing his bald head while reviewing the documents detailing their food situation. Carrack¡¯s appointed mayor of the island, Loreman Weis, was idle, calm, and aware of what the documents would do to the jumpy captain. Finally, there was Alaina the Green, a sorcerer who¡¯d arrived here as a refugee when the wars had started on the mainland. Alaina owed much to the island for taking her in and even more to Lord Carrack for protecting her from the suspicious population that was prone to blame magic-users for the ills of the world. Foeham¡¯s voice wavered as he asked, ¡°Is this all we have left? Two weeks'' worth?¡± ¡°Two weeks, if we don¡¯t start rationing,¡± Loreman Weis added calmly. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°We have been!¡± Foeham snapped back, his face reddening with frustration. ¡°More rationing, then,¡± Weis replied, his voice unyielding. ¡°The physicians say this is the most we can cut while maintaining a healthy populace overall.¡± Carrack, his words controlled and calm, asked, ¡°How long then? How long until the real difficulty starts?¡± Weis leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he gathered his thoughts. ¡°Well, this will buy us a few more weeks, max five, considering we¡¯ll have to account for spoilage. After that, we¡¯d have to start prioritizing.¡± ¡°Prioritizing. Choosing who lives and who dies, essentially?¡± Foeham asked in barely a whisper. ¡°A grim situation, Captain, but it will be catastrophic if we start losing our nerve. The Republic relies on us to operate our fueling station and lighthouse,¡± Weiss said to the collective eye-roll of the others. ¡°Is there still no word from the continent? Or from any ships?¡± Alaina queried. Weis turned to her with a disdainful glare. ¡°No one has uttered a peep on the radio, and our signals have never been powerful enough to reach the mainland. You know that.¡± ¡°Surely someone on Kraidan can hear us? They¡¯re but a few days¡¯ sail away?¡± Alaina continued, unperturbed by Weis¡¯s curt tone. ¡°Silence from there as well. Storms might be causing havoc on their array like last time,¡± Carrack interjected before Weis could retort. ¡°Maybe our array can be strengthened, if you would allow me to¡ª¡± ¡°No magic, dammit!¡± Weis barked. ¡°It¡¯ll fry the circuits, and then we¡¯ll be totally blind.¡± ¡°Calm down, Weis,¡± Carrack commanded. ¡°Alaina, focus on the farming techniques. How have they been going?¡± ¡°The crops are growing, but it¡¯s delicate and slow. The enchantments only help growth outside of natural conditions, but I haven¡¯t found a method to make them grow faster. If our circumstances become as desperate as we fear, I can¡¯t ease the strain for the whole island. I can only hope to keep the garrison fed, barely.¡± ¡°Subpar food¡ªanyway, no taste,¡± Weis scoffed. ¡°Enough! I have enough to worry about without you, my chief civil servant, throwing snide comments like a child at my resident mage. Understood?¡± Carrack¡¯s tone was ice-cold. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Weis mumbled, his gaze dropping to the table. As Carrack rose, the rest of the table followed. ¡°Enact the rations, Captain, and send the herald to announce the news to the town ¡­ under guard.¡± ¡°Before that, sir, the business in the courtyard,¡± Foeham reminded him. Carrack swore under his breath for forgetting the final act of the day. ¡°Is the rain at least letting up?¡± A booming thunderclap in the distance answered him in a cruel twist of fate. ¡°Unlikely, sir,¡± Foeham said. The courtyard was a battlefield of mud, with makeshift wooden planks laid down to form a rudimentary walkway. Soldiers worked to maintain the paths, but the relentless rain transformed their efforts into a futile task. It took merely a few days before the wood was swallowed by the muddy quagmire or decayed beyond use. Five soldiers stood in a line, their bolt-action rifles gripped tightly in hand. Mud clung to their uniforms, heavy and cold, sticking to their bodies like wet cloaks. At the yard¡¯s end, a man stood against the stone wall, blindfolded and defiant, no more than twenty paces from the soldiers. His hands were bound behind his back, his simple clothes soaked and soiled from standing outside in the downpour for over an hour. The courtyard fell silent as Lord Carrack entered, only the steady rhythm of the rain daring to break the hush. Soldiers turned to watch their commander as he ascended to a wooden balcony, the perfect vantage point from which to oversee the dispensation of justice¡ªhis justice. ¡°We are here to ensure that justice is served and that this island remains a beacon of order amidst the chaos of the sea. I, Lord Carrack, being charged by Doge Rodrigo and the Orenian Senate to safeguard the order of Helena, stand here to administer the justice of the republic,¡± Carrack announced, his voice cutting through the rain. ¡°Roger Harrier, you have been charged and found guilty of your fourth act of robbery,¡± Carrack took a deep, measured breath. ¡°For that, you are sentenced to die. May the Luminary guide you to a warm embrace.¡± At a slight nod from Lord Carrack, Captain Foeham issued the fatal command. The soldiers obeyed, their rifles echoing with five unified cracks through the rain-soaked courtyard. Harrier¡¯s body slumped and slid slowly to the ground, his lifeblood seeping into the mud. Blood and mud¡ªthat¡¯s all this place had been for Lord Carrack. ¡°Death after four robberies,¡± a soldier manning the wall murmured to his companion. ¡°The commander¡¯s gone soft. It¡¯s supposed to be after the third.¡± Chapter 2 Chapter 2 16 August 149 Third Age The garrison¡¯s fortress was perched atop an ancient structure buried from the winds of age, its origin lost to the mists of time. Carrack had initially designated it as an underground storage area, and on occasion, a prison. Alaina, however, had transformed the ancient labyrinthine rooms into her own sanctuary since she¡¯d fled the mainland¡¯s turmoil. She¡¯d initially claimed just one room, but as the need for her research, medical space, and collection of varied artifacts and books expanded, so too did her subterranean domain. Alaina had assumed the role of the garrison¡¯s healer, precisely the function Lord Carrack had foreseen when he offered her asylum from the island¡¯s often suspicious and hostile townsfolk. But her responsibilities evolved further with the onset of the food shortage. Despite the restrictions placed on her magic use by a wary Carrack and his magic-leery soldiers, Alaina was now called upon to employ her arcane skills to alleviate the threat of starvation. Her endeavors dominated most of the underground space. Room after room was filled with soil and an assortment of plants engineered to yield a variety of food. But their growth was painstakingly slow. The only plants that seemed to thrive in these conditions were mushrooms, providing enough sustenance to stave off immediate starvation, but insufficient to sustain the island¡¯s stability. Carrack found Alaina immersed in her laboratory, buried deep in collection of texts and meticulously crafting formulas for new ingredients in her unending quest to accelerate food growth. The sharp odor of mint was first to greet him in her quarters, a smell that foretold her coming presence and often lingered as a sign of her being somewhere for a time. As he surveyed the room, his eyes caught a few scraps of paper strewn around¡ªeach one peppered with hand-scribbled notes and complex equations. Carrack shook his head, his eyes roving over the chaos of notes and intricate diagrams. ¡°You know,¡± he said, ¡°I miss the days when magic was about incantations and enchanted objects. Simpler. More ¡­ magical.¡± Alaina, her back to him, chuckled at his sentiment. ¡°Ah, the innocence of youth.¡± He sighed, leaning against a table. ¡°The most fleeting of life¡¯s gifts. Once it¡¯s gone, it¡¯s as if a color has vanished from the world.¡± ¡°Poetic,¡± Alaina replied, her gaze wandering around her frenzied workspace. ¡°If it helps, that old style of magic is still practiced. Likely by reclusive druids in the older forests.¡± His eyes lit up. ¡°I¡¯d love to see that.¡± She shrugged, her eyes returning to her notes. ¡°If you find shuffling husks riddled with tumors appealing, then sure, it¡¯s a sight.¡± Carrack grimaced, his mind briefly picturing the grotesque image she¡¯d painted. ¡°I suppose I¡¯m thankful for the advancement in magic then, or what¡¯s it called ¡­ ?¡± ¡°Fawkian Physics,¡± she supplied, not looking up from her work. ¡°If you want to be precise.¡± He snapped his fingers in recognition. ¡°Right, Professor Fawkes, who developed that scientific approach to magic.¡± She chuckled again, though it sounded wearier this time. ¡°Fawkes was his cat. The actual man was Professor Marcus. He named the method after the cat, a black one. The irony isn¡¯t lost on me.¡± A faint blush colored Carrack¡¯ cheek. He prided himself on his knowledge, but science was a gray area. ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯ve learned something today.¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Alaina turned to look at him, her eyes serious. ¡°You learned that same ¡®something¡¯ last week, Lord Carrack. You¡¯re working too hard, and I know you¡¯ve been refusing your rations.¡± At her words, Carrack sighed heavily, slumping into a nearby chair. The sound of crumpling paper echoed in the room as he sat on some discarded notes. He confessed to sacrificing his food for the garrison¡¯s sake. Alaina¡¯s voice became sharp, a hint of frustration seeping through. ¡°That¡¯s foolish. How can you make sound decisions if you¡¯re exhausted and starved?¡± He looked at her and said, ¡°Leaders eat last. We learned that at the academy.¡± She rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Noble, sure. But there¡¯s nothing noble about starving.¡± He raised his hands in surrender, a faint smile on his lips. ¡°Alright, alright. I get it. I¡¯ll eat more.¡± Her features softened then, and she grimaced, cradling her writing hand that appeared to tremble. ¡°Hopefully, we won¡¯t have to worry about this for much longer.¡± Carrack watched her, concern evident in his eyes. ¡°Alaina, if you¡¯re feeling overwhelmed¡ª¡± ¡°No,¡± she interjected quickly, her voice tight. ¡°It¡¯s not about that. It¡¯s just ¡­¡± The room became quiet, the tension palpable. Her past was a subject rarely broached, but she occasionally let out portions of her story. Alaina had previously recounted her past from Afonland in bits and pieces. The civil unrest, and the starvation that ravaged her home. Carrack listened, his face grave. He knew of Afonland¡¯s political turmoil but hearing it from Alaina¡¯s perspective painted a more vivid, horrifying picture. But today she spoke of her friend, Savoca, a brilliant mage who had tried to fight starvation using her magic. Alaina¡¯s voice wavered slightly as she concluded, ¡°By the end, she was so riddled with tumors I could hardly recognized her.¡± Her eyes were glassy, but she held back her tears, her voice falling to a soft whisper as the memory seemed to consume her. Carrack remained silent and grasped her hand gently, his warmth seeping into her cold fingers. From her fingers came a faint vibration that made his hand feel a sort of numbing euphoria. She withdrew quickly, the faint remnants of her magic crackling between them. ¡°No, I¡¯ve just finished working. Prolonged exposure isn¡¯t good for you,¡± she cautioned, a hint of concern coloring her voice. Carrack simply smiled, trying to alleviate the tension. ¡°It¡¯s like a hum, a low vibration. Not unpleasant.¡± ¡°Not unpleasant, hmm,¡± she echoed, her face stern. ¡°That¡¯s how it starts. Next thing you know, your heart¡¯s seizing up.¡± Carrack rubbed his hands together as though trying to rid them of the sensation. ¡°Well, you have a point. Can¡¯t be too careful. Say, do you think there¡¯s a way to reduce hunger? Maybe slow down the need for food?¡± Alaina shook her head, a pained expression crossing her face. ¡°I would never recommend that. It¡¯s one thing to make a pain reliever, but meddling with a basic function of the body like hunger is dangerous.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not suggesting removing my stomach,¡± Carrack said, chuckling at her seriousness. ¡°Just a small appetite suppressant. Like how coffee can make you feel less hungry.¡± ¡°I see what you mean, but remember, everyone¡¯s different.¡± He laughed again, his warm sound softening the atmosphere. ¡°You always think of the extreme scenarios. That¡¯s my job.¡± She returned his laugh, the tension dissipating further. ¡°I think it¡¯s best if we both keep our heads away from catastrophizing thoughts.¡± Carrack mimed a thinking pose, a playful gleam in his eyes. ¡°Can you create something to help me sleep? In exchange, I promise to accept my rations. Is it a deal?¡± She rolled her eyes at his proposal. ¡°First, you should always take your damn rations!¡± she asserted. Carrack nodded in silent agreement. ¡°Second, I do have a formula that could help with sleep. It¡¯s powerful, though. It¡¯s called ¡®The Dreamings¡¯.¡± ¡°Excellent!¡± he exclaimed, his immediate disappointment tangible when she hesitated. ¡°I can¡¯t give it to you¡ªit¡¯s too potent for regular people. It could lead to hallucinations, paralysis ¡­ even a coma. It was designed for those already in a comatose state, in the hopes it could stimulate dreaming. But there¡¯s no way to know if it works.¡± Carrack sank back into his chair, deflated. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a shame.¡± Her eyes sparkled with a familiar determination. ¡°But you know me, always the tinkerer.¡± His weary face broke into a small smile. ¡°Anything you can do, Alaina, would be greatly appreciated.¡± Chapter 3 Chapter 3 The fortress halls, layered with unyielding brick, stone, and mortar, echoed with the relentless drumming of the rain outside. The damp muskiness was a constant companion, no corner of the structure immune to it. Yet, to men like Carrack, who had made this fortress their home, the dank smell had become part of their lives. Carrack wandered these echoing corridors frequently, attending to his men, hearing their complaints and grievances. Familiar stories of hunger, cold, and discomfort filled his ears, but each conversation invariably ended with a grateful admission that their current situation was preferable to the entanglements of the mainland. A small, cluttered room served as one of Carrack¡¯s sanctuaries¡ªthe radio room. The radio in this room connected him to the lighthouse on the other side of the island, a symbolic link between the isolated fort and the outside world. Tensions with the islanders precluded Carrack from visiting the lighthouse in person. And so, he often found himself filling in for some weary soldier on duty, ignoring the protests of the senior officers who worried about disruptions to the duty roster. After all, this was his fort, his island, and his men. Private Walter Pugh was at the radio when Carrack entered, his eyes heavy with the weariness of listening to hours of static punctuated by the occasional radio checks from the lighthouse. Pugh, lost in his thoughts, jumped in his seat, his breath catching as Carrack laid a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Sir!¡± Pugh greeted, his eyes wide. ¡°Luminary¡¯s Ass! You scared the shit out of me.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not take the Gods¡¯ Messenger name in vain, soldier,¡± Carrack admonished lightly, settling into a chair next to him. ¡°I know this duty can be mind-numbing, but you gotta stay alert. If you had been asleep, well, that would¡¯ve been a different story.¡± Pugh nodded, his attention returning to the static-filled speaker. He knew the consequences of falling asleep on watch all too well. ¡°When did you last check in?¡± Carrack asked, pulling out a flask of strong Orenian whisky. He took a small sip, welcoming the warmth it offered against the chilly dampness. He had to limit himself to just a swig; anything more would dull his senses, especially on an empty stomach. Pugh paused, trying to remember. ¡°Your log should have the details,¡± Carrack reminded him, a note of seriousness creeping into his voice. ¡°We don¡¯t have any paper left, sir,¡± Pugh admitted, casting a worried glance at Carrack. ¡°The last of it was used, both sides, nothing left.¡± Carrack dismissed his statement with a wave of his hand, standing to leave. ¡°There must be some left in storage.¡± ¡°No, sir,¡± Pugh said nervously. ¡°The storage room ceiling ¡­ It leaked, badly, in the rain last night. By the time we discovered it, the paper was ruined.¡± Carrack murmured curses under his breath, his demeanor shifting between frustration and the necessity to remain composed. He sighed deeply before rejoining Pugh at the radio station. ¡°Since I¡¯m here, let¡¯s check in, shall we?¡± ¡°No problem, sir.¡± Pugh nodded, quickly tapping out the familiar radio code. The reply from the other end was just as prompt and formal. ¡°Hm,¡± Carrack murmured. ¡°What is it?¡± Pugh turned to Carrack, curiosity sparking in his tired eyes. ¡°He sounds pretty tired as well,¡± Carrack replied, his brow furrowing in concern. ¡°How can you tell, sir?¡± ¡°His voice carries a tinge of irritation. As if we¡¯d interrupted him mid-nap.¡± Pugh¡¯s eyes widened as he stammered a defense for his counterpart at the lighthouse, but Carrack stopped him with a raised hand. ¡°Ease up, lad. It¡¯s close to the end of his shift. Besides, Weis oversees that station, and trust me, he¡¯s stricter than I am. Once I had to restrain him from tossing a poor guy off the lighthouse just for yawning.¡± ¡°By the Saints,¡± Pugh shook his head, disbelief etched on his face. ¡°What makes him act like that?¡± Carrack propped his boots on the table, his gaze wandering to the ceiling. ¡°Fear, Private. Fear does strange things to people. With the food shortage, persistent storms, and a restless town, it¡¯s no surprise.¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°You ¡­ You¡¯re worried too, aren¡¯t you, sir?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Carrack admitted, his candor catching Pugh off-guard. ¡°Every day brings worsening circumstances. People are scared, angry, hungry ¡­ And there¡¯s still no ship in sight. I worry every single moment.¡± ¡°Sir, that¡¯s not ¡­ comforting to hear.¡± Carrack shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s the truth. When people ask, I tell them what¡¯s really happening. I won¡¯t sugarcoat it. We¡¯re in a dire situation, and it¡¯ll persist as long as the port remains empty. Wouldn¡¯t you rather hear the truth instead of some soothing lie?¡± ¡°Lies can be comforting,¡± Pugh admitted, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°True, but they can also be deadly, like a slow poison,¡± Carrack replied, meeting Pugh¡¯s gaze with a solemn look. ¡°Where were you posted before here?¡± ¡°Burano, sir,¡± Pugh answered. ¡°I was stationed along the highway, keeping watch for smugglers and ensuring the roads stayed safe.¡± ¡°Ah, Burano.¡± Carrack¡¯s face softened with nostalgia. The city was a quiet haven nestled in the heart of Oren, shielded from most external threats. But it bore its own burdens¡ªthe notorious Drifoot Swamps, home to hostile creatures and perilous marshlands. ¡°Compared to Burano, this place should feel like a paradise¡ªno bugs, refreshing sea breeze, and no cryptics.¡± ¡°Indeed, sir!¡± Pugh¡¯s eyes lit up at the comparison. ¡°Damn crypts.¡± ¡°I take it you¡¯ve had your fair share of encounters with them?¡± Carrack offered his flask to Pugh, who accepted it gratefully. ¡°Fair share is one way to put it,¡± Pugh responded, taking a hard swig from the flask that ended in a round of coughing. ¡°I mean, we usually saw them from afar, silhouetted against the bogs. You could always sense their watchful eyes, though.¡± ¡°Ever had a close encounter?¡± Carrack probed. Pugh nodded, his expression hardening as he recalled the experience. ¡°Once.¡± He took another gulp from the flask, seemingly bracing himself for the memory. ¡°It was a Marshfang attack. About half a dozen of them stalked a caravan before pouncing.¡± ¡°A group of Marshfangs that large? It must have been a bloodbath,¡± Carrack observed. ¡°Indeed, it was. Those scaly bastards tore a whole caravan apart. By the time we arrived, there was hardly anything human-looking left,¡± Pugh shared, a grimace tugging at his lips. ¡°Taking down that many Marshfangs is no easy job. How did you manage?¡± Carrack asked. ¡°We didn¡¯t have to deal with all of them, thankfully,¡± Pugh admitted, handing the flask back to Carrack. ¡°When we arrived, there was only one left, engrossed in picking over the remains.¡± His voice quieted and his gaze became distant as if he were seeing something only he could perceive. ¡°It¡¯s uncanny, sir. When they¡¯re walking upright, they almost seem human. But the moment they fix those glossy black eyes on you, they transform into nothing less than rabid beasts. We lost two of our men before we could put it down.¡± ¡°Damn,¡± Carrack muttered under his breath. ¡°Hard to imagine fighting two, let alone six,¡± Pugh said, shaking his head at the thought. ¡°What about you, sir? Ever tussle with any cryptics yourself?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been spared that pleasure,¡± Carrack responded dryly, his mind wandering into more somber recollections. ¡°My enemies have always been men.¡± ¡°That sounds like a blessing,¡± Pugh observed. ¡°It does, doesn¡¯t it,¡± Carrack mused. His voice was laden with irony, and it tasted sour in his mouth, like a long-forgotten memory resurfacing against his will. An uneasy silence hung in the air between them, punctuated only by the static hum of the radio. Carrack¡¯s fingers started to drum nervously against his thigh as he cautiously navigated around the edges of memories that he would much prefer to leave buried. A faint pain throbbed in his head at the thought of those memories, forcing him to stop his dance with that part of his past. Carrack made to rise, ready to take his leave, but was halted by Pugh¡¯s faltering attempt to continue their conversation. ¡°Wh¡ª Wha¡ª Where were you before this, sir?¡± Pugh asked, his voice a mix of caution and nerves, painfully aware that his timing was off and had interrupted his commander¡¯s attempt to leave. ¡°If it¡¯s not too much to ask.¡± ¡°No,¡± Carrack said, settling back into his chair. ¡°It¡¯s no trouble. I¡¯ve been all over, mostly assigned to coastal areas and outposts. Before this, I was stationed in the capital. Administrative work. Nothing too thrilling.¡± ¡°Sounds like a cushy gig.¡± ¡°It was,¡± Carrack conceded. ¡°A nice change of pace.¡± ¡°Must have had a pretty rough assignment beforehand to get transferred to a desk job.¡± Carrack chuckled, amused by Pugh¡¯s simplistic perspective. ¡°You could say that,¡± he agreed. Seeing Pugh¡¯s expectant expression, he decided to reveal a bit more, even though the words seemed to stick in his throat as he struggled to recall certain things. ¡°I was in Vodanar.¡± Pugh¡¯s anticipation morphed into a regretful understanding as he recalled the infamous location. ¡°I see ¡­¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Carrack said, forcing a normal tone into his voice, though he had no intention of saying more on the topic as his head began to throb when he thought back to the memories of before. ¡°But those days are my own to remember ¡­ I¡¯ve distracted you long enough. It¡¯s time I took my leave for the night.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± Pugh called out as Carrack was about to step out. ¡°We all lost something along the way.¡± Pausing in the doorway, Carrack lightly knocked his hand against the wall. ¡°Some of us lost a great deal more, I think.¡± Chapter 4 Chapter 4 It was a long walk down the dreary hall toward Carrack¡¯s room, a journey he had come to know well. Distant echoes of footfalls and muffled conversation reverberated off the stone walls, mingling with the persistent whine of the storm winds. Every so often, the monotonous soundscape would be punctuated by the bone-rattling rumble of thunder, only to give way once again to the hypnotic rhythm of the fort¡¯s typical drudgery. In days past, Carrack often found himself lost in thought during his walks through the fort, especially when not driven by some urgent duty. But lately, he had become acutely aware of this once comforting dullness, in the way one might notice a familiar resource slowly depleting. An undercurrent of dread gripped him; he could sense a storm of a different kind looming on the horizon. Yet the specifics of this impending chaos¡ªthe when, the how¡ªremained frustratingly elusive. A prelude to the impending chaos arrived in that hallway that night. A soldier, still dripping from the evening rain, approached with a subdued briskness, almost a jog. He was likely trying to move as swiftly as possible without slipping on the stone floor, a concern Carrack knew all too well from personal experience. The soldier adjusted his rifle and offered a customary salute to his commander. ¡°Evening, sir,¡± the soldier began, his breath short yet steady. ¡°The captain instructed me to inform you that there are folks at the gate.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Carrack said, ¡°At this hour?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°Do we know who they are?¡± ¡°I believe they¡¯re locals, sir¡ªrelatives of the man who was executed.¡± Carrack blinked in surprise. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect anyone to come this soon.¡± ¡°Neither did Captain Foeham, sir.¡± Swearing under his breath, Carrack redirected his attention to the soldier. ¡°Is the body even prepared?¡± ¡°Captain Foeham sent another man to check.¡± The soldier¡¯s face displayed clear concern. ¡°But, sir, we usually don¡¯t deal with the bodies so swiftly.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Carrack sighed. ¡°I¡¯m aware. Look, I¡¯ll head out there and see what I can do about these visitors. In the meantime, I need you to go find Alaina.¡± ¡°The witch?¡± the soldier blurted out thoughtlessly. ¡°I swear, if I hear another person call her a witch¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir!¡± the soldier said hastily, pleading for mercy. ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking.¡± ¡°Start thinking then. Go find Alaina. Inform her about the situation with the body. She¡¯ll know what to do.¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Yes, sir!¡± The soldier saluted and darted off, disappearing as quickly as he had come. Traversing the familiar hallways now took on a new sense of foreboding. A tight knot of anxiety gathered in Carrack¡¯s gut as he navigated the path toward where he presumed Captain Foeham would be waiting. Transferring the bodies of the deceased to their next-of-kin had always been a task he found deeply unsettling. It was an unbearable duty when it involved the remains of his own fallen comrades, but this case was markedly different. In all the places he had served, this island marked the first time he was tasked with overseeing the transfer of civilian bodies to their families¡ªcivilians whose lives had been extinguished by his direct command. The ordeal was singularly difficult and grotesque. When the families of his fallen comrades stared at him, their gazes were often laced with sorrow, anger, and a begrudging understanding. They might blame him for not doing enough to save their loved ones, and he accepted this¡ªunderstanding that this blame was a component of their grieving process. But since he¡¯d begun ordering executions for minor crimes such as thievery, the scenario had changed. The bereaved relatives of the executed civilians would stare at him with a venomous mix of hatred, anger, and malice. There was no understanding in their eyes, no space for shared grief. Just unadulterated anger directed toward the man who had unjustly ripped their father, husband, child, mother, or grandparent away from them¡ªall for the ¡°crime¡± of trying to feed themselves or their family. The fort boasted only one entryway, a set of sturdy wooden doors wide enough to accommodate ten men crossing the threshold abreast. Above the gate, a walkway stretched along the outer walls, providing the sentries with an uninterrupted view of the fort¡¯s surroundings. Carrack trekked through the main courtyard, heading toward the gate, his shoes sinking into the sloppy mix of mud and water. Any semblance of dryness he had managed to achieve inside was quickly undone. A few men had already congregated above the gate on the stone walls, among them Captain Foeham. Carrack began his ascent up a rickety wooden staircase that led to the top of the walls. A handful of soldiers with prior carpentry experience had constructed the staircase. Judging by the questionable quality of the work and the alarming sway of the structure under his weight, however, their expertise was questionable. Despite its flaws, the staircase served its purpose. Early in his tenure, Carrack had ordered the construction of such stairs around the fort¡¯s walls. The intention was to provide multiple access points for the garrison to swiftly man the walls in emergencies. But as they began to deteriorate, Carrack acknowledged their rapidly evolving status from useful infrastructure to potential death traps. Upon reaching the top of the wall, Carrack was greeted by Foeham and a smattering of sentries. The crisp, cold breeze intermingled with the steady patter of rain, wrapping them in a cloak of the chilling tempest. ¡°Lord Carrack, sir,¡± Foeham began, ¡°we have a slight predicament.¡± ¡°So I¡¯ve heard, Captain.¡± Carrack turned his gaze toward the visitors who had caused this interruption. On the other side of the walls, two figures, cloaked in dark attire, stood waiting next to a cart. ¡°I take it you¡¯ve already sent someone out to speak with them?¡± ¡°Indeed, sir. A two-man team went to investigate. They reported back that the visitors are two females¡ªone elderly, the other middle-aged. They claim to be family of the executed man and want to claim his body.¡± Carrack frowned. ¡°How on earth did they even know the execution took place today?¡± ¡°When I dispatched the heralds earlier, I instructed them to announce the execution, sir,¡± Foeham explained. ¡°I believed it would expedite the process.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Carrack¡¯s brow furrowed further. ¡°We¡¯ll discuss that matter later. For now, we need to prepare the body. I informed your messenger to alert Alaina; she should work quickly, albeit begrudgingly.¡± ¡°And in the interim, sir?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll head down and see what¡¯s what.¡± Chapter 5 Chapter 5 The fort¡¯s gates groaned open through the soup of mud and water, aided by the concerted push of several soldiers. Carrack strode out without hesitation to meet the waiting islanders. Cloaked in sodden, dark attire, the elderly and middle-aged women were as described. The older woman looked frail, her hunched form seeming to crumble under the weight of a drenched cloak that was a few sizes too large. A tender smile twisted the many lines etching her face. As Carrack approached, she bowed slightly, her grey locks falling to obscure her visage. ¡°Greetings,¡± she began in a shaky voice, extending a hand. But the younger woman promptly lowered it. ¡°Enough, Mama,¡± she chided sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t reach for them; they¡¯ll mistake it for a weapon and get us shot.¡± ¡°Oh dear,¡± the older woman mumbled, recoiling slightly. Overhearing the exchange, Carrack motioned for calm. ¡°That¡¯s not how things work here.¡± ¡°Maybe here, maybe with you, but it¡¯s a different story in town, with different people,¡± the younger woman spat back. ¡°My soldiers aren¡¯t trained to behave that way,¡± Carrack retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. ¡°If I hear of such misconduct, those responsible will find themselves facing the firing squad.¡± ¡°Hmph,¡± the younger woman scoffed. ¡°Just like my brother, then? The penalty for murder and theft are one and the same?¡± Carrack found himself in an uncomfortable predicament. He disagreed with her accusation, yet he couldn¡¯t deny its truth. He held his tongue, searching for the right words, then settled on a simple acknowledgement: ¡°Times are hard.¡± ¡°So they are,¡± the elderly woman concurred, her voice laced with an undercurrent of forgiveness and a desire to move forward. ¡°Harder for us. We don¡¯t all have stores of food and the safety of walls, guns, and knives,¡± the younger woman said. Carrack shot her a piercing look and pulled back his cloak. He lifted his shirt to reveal his belt. ¡°See this?¡± He pointed to a series of extra notches he had created. ¡°I¡¯ve had to make these myself with one of those knives you mentioned. I¡¯ve lost so much weight, I can¡¯t even wear my own damn clothes properly.¡± The younger woman scowled, biting back her response. That¡¯s when Carrack noticed the older woman clutching her hand tightly, her knuckles whitened with the strain. A harsh glare was exchanged between the two women. ¡°Let¡¯s continue with why we¡¯re here,¡± the older woman interjected, addressing them both. ¡°We have wounds to heal, not new ones to open.¡± She paused, seeming to lose her train of thought. ¡°Roger,¡± the younger woman filled in the gap. ¡°We¡¯re here for Roger. Your son. My brother.¡± She looked to Carrack, her voice quivering more each time she repeated, ¡°My brother ¡­ My brother ¡­¡± ¡°Yes, Mr. Harrier,¡± Carrack mumbled under his breath. ¡°So, I¡¯m to understand you¡¯re the mother and sister of the deceased.¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°The murdered, yes,¡± the younger woman retorted with a sharp edge to her voice. ¡°Alright,¡± Carrack¡¯s eye twitched at her remark, ¡°I¡¯ll need your names for the process of handing over the body.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Elenore and this is my daughter, Mary,¡± the older woman replied. ¡°How long will this take? We¡¯ve traveled a fair distance in this weather and my feet are aching. Old age, what can one do?¡± ¡°Of course, yes,¡± Carrack acknowledged her, glancing back at the gate, silently praying for the sight of the body being brought out. ¡°Unfortunately, we may not have the body ready at the moment.¡± ¡°Ready?¡± Mary questioned. ¡°What preparations are needed? He¡¯s just going to be buried.¡± ¡°We clean the body and prepare it for funeral rites, in accordance with the law,¡± Carrack explained, a touch of hesitancy in his voice. ¡°We have to ensure that¡ª¡± ¡°That you clean up your dirty work?¡± Mary interrupted, her voice sharp. ¡°Mary!¡± Elenore snapped with surprising anger before addressing Carrack in a calmer tone. ¡°We aren¡¯t particular about how Roger is prepared. I¡¯d prefer to wash him myself, one last time, like when he was a baby. It¡¯s the final thing I wish to do for my son.¡± Her voice wavered toward the end, eyes welling up with tears. Carrack released a heavy sigh, looking back to the gate which remained ominously empty. ¡°I¡¯m not certain they¡¯d have completed the organ removal by now. But¡ª¡± ¡°Please, just leave them in there,¡± Elenore interjected. Her last words cut through Carrack more deeply than he¡¯d anticipated. He had secretly hoped both women would be hostile; the mother¡¯s lamenting plea weighed heavily on him. ¡°Wait here,¡± Carrack glanced back at the gate one last time before heading toward the fort. ¡°Give me a minute.¡± He made his way back to the gate and beckoned a nearby soldier. A few hurried over to him, saluting sharply. ¡°Find Alaina. Tell her to wrap up the body and bring it out here,¡± he instructed. The soldiers saluted again before dashing off into the fort. Carrack turned back to see the two island women still near their cart, engaged in quiet conversation. He gestured toward them and shouted, ¡°Just a few more minutes!¡± Elenore responded with a confirming wave. Each passing minute felt painfully drawn out. A restless energy gripped Carrack, causing him to pace back and forth in front of the gate. The mud, thick and viscous, clung to his boots like quicksand. The effort to lift his feet strained his muscles and at one point, a jarring twinge ran up his hip as he struggled to free his foot. Periodically, he¡¯d glance over at the women, their continued presence stirring an unease within him that grew with each passing moment. Foeham joined Carrack at the gate, breaking the monotonous waiting. ¡°I heard you want the body out now. I don¡¯t think Alaina¡¯s done yet.¡± ¡°No, she¡¯s not. And she¡¯ll likely be pretty pissed for rushing this,¡± Carrack admitted. ¡°You mentioned wanting a word with me?¡± Foeham queried. ¡°I do,¡± Carrack said, ¡°once we¡¯ve settled this matter.¡± A profound silence stretched between the two men as they waited. Finally, the body arrived, borne on a stretcher by two soldiers. It was wrapped in a white sheet that was rapidly soaking up the rain. Carrack signaled the men to follow him to the cart where the women were waiting. They presented the body to Elenore for her inspection. She gave a silent nod of acknowledgment, and the soldiers were instructed to move the body to the cart. Carrack didn¡¯t know what to expect; certainly not gratitude, but perhaps a few words, or even an insult would have felt more fitting. But there was only silence. As soon as the body was secured onto the cart, Mary took the reins and led it away, Elenore trailing closely behind. A thought crossed Carrack¡¯s mind to offer help with transporting the body, but something within him held him back. As the women navigated their cart down the hill and out of view, Carrack turned his attention back to the fort. But before stepping through the gate, he paused to address Foeham. ¡°See me inside.¡± Chapter 6 Chapter 6 Carrack led his second-in-command to the familiar room where they had previously convened to deliberate the escalating food crisis. The same relentless rain continued its assault on the room¡¯s solitary window. As was his habit, Carrack claimed the chair at the head of the table. Noticing Foeham¡¯s eyes drift toward the seat at the opposite end, Carrack gestured for him to sit beside him. Their soaked clothes made a moist, muted sound as they met the hard wooden seats. For a moment, silence reigned. Carrack lost himself in thought, his fingers absently working at the stiffness in his joints and scratching a small irritation that had sprouted on his neck. ¡°Cursed itch,¡± Carrack muttered. ¡°I had a similar problem not long ago, rash and what not, mainly on my hips and lower back,¡± Foeham replied, eager to disrupt the silence regardless of the topic. ¡°I suppose you did the sensible thing¡ªchanged your clothes frequently and used Alaina¡¯s herbal paste?¡± Carrack said and Foeham nodded. ¡°Well, you¡¯re a wiser man than me in that regard. I¡¯ve been neglecting myself, not drying my clothes thoroughly, wearing the same ones too frequently, and so on.¡± ¡°We all have our lapses,¡± Foeham said. ¡°Hmph,¡± Carrack contemplated, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling, the words emerging with an unexpected ease: ¡°You had yourself a lapse today.¡± He turned his attention back to Foeham, who was evidently taken aback. ¡°Telling the public of the execution.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Foeham stammered, struggling to formulate a response. ¡°What exactly was my mistake in doing that?¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you explain what you believe you achieved by doing so?¡± Carrack asked, leaning back in his chair, and clasping his hands across his chest. ¡°What I did right,¡± Foeham murmured, ¡°well, you instructed us to limit our interactions with the town, so I deemed it prudent to convey all our business to the public at once, instead of risking a squad to spread more unpleasant news. Particularly an execution notice, sir¡ªmatters of that sort can instigate a riot instantaneously.¡± Foeham snapped his fingers for emphasis and exhaled lightly. ¡°Just like what transpired in Mystra a few years ago.¡± Carrack raised an eyebrow. ¡°A few years back? If you¡¯re referring to the Mystra Massacre, that was over forty years ago.¡± ¡°Regardless of the date¡ª¡± ¡°Regardless of the date? Captain, you not only muddled the timeline, but you also missed crucial aspects of why that calamity unfolded in the first place. The Archon declared the execution of the entire city council of five hundred and proclaimed himself king. He then unleashed all his mercenaries¡ªpaid for with the city¡¯s treasury¡ªon anyone who didn¡¯t bow down immediately.¡± Carrack halted himself before he spiraled into a history lecture. ¡°Regardless ¡­ there¡¯s little resemblance between what happened here and what occurred back then.¡± ¡°It just felt like the right thing to do at the time,¡± Foeham said quietly. ¡°That¡¯s the answer I was looking for.¡± Carrack pointed his finger at Foeham before softening his tone. ¡°You didn¡¯t do the right thing, captain.¡± Carrack leaned forward and rubbed his tired heavy eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not worried about some riots spawning from outrage over executions. We¡¯ve done enough of them; no one is outraged anymore.¡± ¡°Then what are you worried about, sir?¡± Carrack remained silent, his gaze drifting into an unseen distance. His mouth turned dry as he delved into memories he had long since locked away. It wasn¡¯t the first time he had revisited old wounds; his mind would often take him there without his consent. But he sometimes chose to traverse into the unsettling memories that momentarily paralyzed his mind. The reasons behind this voluntary dive into pain were beyond him, but he once heard that people are irresistibly drawn to their deepest fears. This time, he redirected his focus, making a last-minute pivot from a particularly painful memory to a slightly more bearable one. ¡°I¡¯ve seen my fair share of corpses. And I rather not go into those stories,¡± Carrack said, his eyes blinked and looked to Foeham who silently nodded in agreement. ¡°But I have been on the receiving end of news of the death of many. Battle of the Mirrormere? Heard about that, I¡¯m guessing?¡± Foeham¡¯s spine stiffened, his intake of breath sharp upon hearing the mention of the Mirrormere. The very name was known across the continent as the day the old world died. It was where Masovia, a beacon of ancient traditions and chivalry, met the relentless industrial onslaught of Vinterpol. The conflict wasn¡¯t merely a battle, but a haunting demonstration of the modern era¡¯s power to obliterate. ¡°It¡¯s been only three years,¡± Foeham remarked with a hint of disbelief. ¡°Were you there?¡± Carrack chuckled dryly. ¡°Me, an officer of Oren, in the thick of a war we stayed neutral in? No. But there were enough refugees along the roads to spread the word while I was in Southern Masovia.¡± He paused, collecting his thoughts. ¡°There were enough half stories to piece together what happened.¡± Carrack spread his arms, painting an imaginary landscape with his words. ¡°Visualize vast plains, lined with the amber glow of fresh unharvested grain.¡± The Mirrormere was a lake that was as large as a sea that separated Masovia and Vinterpol. Fed by countless tributaries from the mountains and elsewhere it in turn fed the great Seraphine rivers¡¯ southernly flow to the Cerulean Gulf. Once the marshlands surrounding the water was past, it gave way to vast fertile plains that provided enough grain to become the breadbasket of the world, at least in Masovia. Vinterpol was not blessed with the same privilege. Carrack had once sailed the Mirrormere on a trade mission. He could never forget just how large it was and how deadly it could be when the storms came. The idea of either of the realms crossing it to attack each other just wasn¡¯t a reality he, like anyone, could foresee. But that¡¯s what happened. Vinterpol crossed, their war machine driven by the insurmountable force of coal and combustion that parted the great Mirrormere and trudged them through the Drifoot Boglands and stood at the outskirts of the city of Kolozs. Carrack snapped his fingers sharply. ¡°In an instant,¡± he began with a somber tone, ¡°the serenity was obliterated, replaced with unimaginable devastation. Twenty-seven thousand souls, extinguished in less than an hour. The once-pristine landscape was scarred, transformed into a grotesque display of cracked stone, muck, and gore. The mangled remains of iron machines littered the ground, creating a ghastly, alien graveyard. And the remnants of men, once vibrant and alive, were scattered ¡­¡± His gesture drifted aimlessly, his voice trailing off, ¡°Everywhere ¡­¡± ¡°You ever come across the Trench Tribune?¡± Foeham¡¯s voice was hushed, as if sharing a secret. Carrack raised an eyebrow. ¡°Can¡¯t say I have.¡± Foeham seemed genuinely taken aback. ¡°Really? It started making rounds just before our deployment here.¡± ¡°Well, it must have slipped past me,¡± Carrack admitted. ¡°It¡¯s like a serial or an anthology. A Masovian soldier who made it through the battle went back after the Vinterpol forces pushed ahead. His mission was heart-wrenching¡ªhe wanted to identify every fallen comrade. Though he didn¡¯t succeed entirely, he managed to gather diaries, scraps of paper, even the last whispered words from dying men. He compiled them, creating a haunting collection of personal tales from that day.¡± Foeham paused, lost in thought. ¡°It¡¯s a chilling read.¡± ¡°It must have been like Hell on Earth,¡± Carrack murmured. ¡°All the Hells, I¡¯d wager,¡± Foeham added with a heavy sigh. ¡°That book might be the only justice those fallen soldiers will ever receive. Imagine the sheer magnitude of the horror: last words whispered in terror, the vacant stare of a comrade¡¯s dying eyes. The sheer weight of that single moment is incomprehensible.¡± Foeham looked skeptical. ¡°Where are you going with this?¡± Carrack sighed. ¡°I was in Sudbina, right at the southern tip of Masovia. We had been diverted there from our mission in Vodanar.¡± ¡°They pulled you out of the Vodanar?¡± Foeham interjected, eyebrows raised. Carrack nodded. ¡°After Vinterpol invaded, we were dispatched to assess Masovia¡¯s defenses. Oren was curious about their river defenses, potential threats to trade and what not.¡± He leaned back, lost in thought. ¡°That night, after meeting with the city council, we were at a local tavern when the city¡¯s bells rang out. Initially, it was chaos. Those bells signaled an attack, maybe a raid from the river, and everyone went nuts. A crowd had gathered in the square, some armed, others draped in mismatched militia uniforms. It would¡¯ve been laughable if it wasn¡¯t so tragic.¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. The memories seemed to pierce through Carrack as he continued, ¡°A few of us got to a balcony to escape the chaos. But from that vantage point, we saw a herald step forward, ready to address the crowd.¡± With an ominous tone, he imitated the herald: ¡°Tragedy! Tragedy has befallen Masovia! Our king is dead, our army defeated. Vinterpol advances without resistance.¡± A voice from the crowd had shouted, echoing the collective despair, ¡°What of our boys? Our Sudbinan Legion?¡± Carrack continued, ¡°The herald¡¯s reply was devastating. ¡®All are presumed lost,¡¯ he said. The shock, the shared pain was tangible, and the cries that followed¡ªthat¡¯s a sound that never leaves you.¡± ¡°And then?¡± Carrack looked grim. ¡°The herald knew he had to get out. Not for the bad news he delivered, but for announcing a new conscription notice. The grief turned to rage. You see, those people weren¡¯t just given a devastating blow; they were handed it coldly, without a hint of empathy. Then demanded more sacrifice.¡± Foeham glanced at the tabletop, eyes fixating on his own hands. He flexed his fingers, tapping the wooden surface tentatively. There was a weight behind his voice when he finally spoke. ¡°Did I become as callous as that herald?¡± Carrack¡¯s voice softened, understanding the guilt that plagued Foeham. ¡°There are parallels, but the situations aren¡¯t identical. Here, we have a community on edge¡ªstarving, restless, and looking for any outlet for their frustration. The announcement of an execution alone wouldn¡¯t incite chaos. Even combined with news of rationing, I¡¯m not sure it would push them to riot.¡± Foeham¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°So you were concerned about ¡­¡± ¡°The raw agony someone feels upon hearing of their loved one¡¯s demise from a detached voice,¡± Carrack filled in. ¡°That day in Sudbina still haunts me. Ever since, I¡¯ve made it a personal mission to inform families directly if their kin fell due to my commands or actions. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve visited the families of those executed here.¡± ¡°Well, that does clarify things,¡± Foeham said, clearing his throat slightly. ¡°My intention was merely to spare you potential danger, especially with the rationing news potentially exacerbating tensions.¡± Carrack gave a nod, understanding in his eyes. ¡°I should¡¯ve been clearer about my reasons for personally delivering such news.¡± Reaching across, he placed a reassuring hand on Foeham¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What¡¯s done is done.¡± A knock interrupted their conversation. Alaina, looking both irked and drowsy, stood at the entrance. ¡°There you are,¡± she murmured, her voice a blend of exhaustion and annoyance. Carrack, ever the gentleman, rose as she entered. ¡°Alaina, I apologize for the disruptions tonight.¡± She sighed. ¡°Apologies won¡¯t bring back my sleep. But that¡¯s not why I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here to ask why they¡¯re still here?¡± Carrack¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Who do you mean?¡± ¡°The family of the deceased,¡± Alaina stated. Exchanging a glance of confusion with Foeham, Carrack replied, ¡°They left with the body a while ago. Perhaps you saw townsfolk looking for supplies?¡± Alaina shook her head emphatically. ¡°No, I just came from the gate. The guards are going back and forth with a woman claiming to be the wife of the deceased. You need to get over there before things get out of hand.¡± The fort¡¯s gate had transitioned from a welcoming portal to a point of tension. In bygone days, islanders regularly traversed its threshold, interacting freely with the soldiers. They offered a plethora of services¡ªfrom trade and laundry to food provision. Even some clandestine activities, discreetly labeled as ¡°personal care¡±, flourished until Carrack discovered and promptly outlawed them. But those harmonious times had faded. As desperation gnawed at the islanders, acts of theft and violence surged. Clashes with the soldiers became alarmingly commonplace. Recognizing the escalating peril, Lord Carrack imposed restrictions, barring civilians from entering the fort unless he explicitly permitted it. Now, the once hospitable gate stood as a stark demarcation, separating the simmering unrest of the islanders from the wary soldiers inside. Whenever tempers ignited at this border, the shadow of imminent violence loomed large. With the dissonant clamor of the uproar guiding them, Carrack and Foeham hurried toward the gate. Every shout and cry resonating from the stone walls only intensified their pace. As they approached, they saw the gate slightly ajar, revealing a handful of soldiers standing guard. Each soldier¡¯s stance was tense, weapons poised and ready, the weight of annoyance evident in their postures. Streams of rainwater traced paths down their hoods. One soldier, distinguishable by the glowing ember of his cigarette, stepped forward to brief the officers. Drawing in a deep drag, he began, ¡°Lady out there is demanding the prisoner¡¯s body. We told her it had already been claimed and she¡¯s a bit ¡­ annoyed by that.¡± Before he could finish, a raw, anguished scream from the other side of the gate punctuated his words, underscoring the woman¡¯s rage. With a reassuring touch to the soldier¡¯s shoulder, Carrack stepped through the gate, wanting to assess the scene firsthand. Before him stood a tall, emaciated woman, her simple attire marred by the relentless rain and clinging mire. Her lengthy raven-black hair, plastered to her face and back by the downpour, gave her an almost ghostly appearance. As he neared her, she momentarily shifted her burning gaze from the guards who were attempting to placate her to him. The ferocity in her eyes was piercing; it felt as if she weren¡¯t just looking at him but through him, seeing every inch of his soul, dismissing its worth, and picturing her fury engulfing him. Intending to defuse the tension, he began, ¡°I¡¯m Lord Carrack,¡± and with a calming gesture of his hands added, ¡°Commander of¡ª¡± ¡°I know exactly who you are!¡± Her retort was so swift and sharp it felt like a blade¡¯s edge, taking Carrack by surprise. Momentarily unsettled, Carrack cleared his throat, trying to maintain a semblance of authority. ¡°Very well. Since you¡¯re acquainted with me, might I have the privilege of knowing your name?¡± The woman¡¯s eyes, alight with pain and fury, drilled into Carrack¡¯s. ¡°Elenore Harrier,¡± she declared, her voice raw from the harsh weather and her cries, but the clarity of her words was undeniable. ¡°Third daughter of Ramsey Michi of Celestia. A mother to two beautiful children. The cobbler of Helena everyone goes to. And the bereaved wife of the man you ruthlessly took from this world!¡± A bolt of shock raced through Carrack¡¯s body, causing him to recoil. Elenore¡¯s declaration bore the gravity of sincerity, and each word she uttered was like a sledgehammer to his conscience. He had encountered similar reactions before¡ªthe visceral anger and despair that flowed from grief. ¡°Elenore Harrier?¡± Carrack echoed, seeking confirmation amid his dawning horror. Her reply was a scream of frustration, the vocal strain fraying her words into a ragged shout, ¡°Yes! Over and over, yes! These imbeciles have been refusing to listen. Now tell me, where is he?¡± One of the soldiers tried to clarify, ¡°Sir, we only mentioned that he wasn¡¯t present; we didn¡¯t discuss ¡­ the others.¡± Her eyes narrowed. ¡°Others? What others?¡± Grappling with a sinking feeling, Carrack ventured, ¡°Aside from your children, do you have any other family on this island?¡± She seemed taken aback by his query, her fiery demeanor momentarily breaking. ¡°No!¡± she exclaimed, her tone equal parts confusion and outrage. Under his breath, Carrack cursed softly, ¡°Damn.¡± Catching that, Elenore snapped, ¡°What did you just say? Speak clearly, Lord Carrack.¡± A heaviness settled in Carrack¡¯s chest as he cleared his throat. ¡°Earlier today, the body was released to two women who came here.¡± ¡°Why would you do that?¡± Elenore¡¯s voice carried a tone of disbelief. ¡°One of them introduced herself as Elenore and was accompanied by another who claimed to be her daughter, Mary,¡± Carrack admitted. Elenore¡¯s eyes darkened with realization. ¡°My daughter¡¯s name is Mary. Someone pretended to be me ¡­ and took Roger away?¡± Carrack nodded solemnly, his mistake pressing down on him. ¡°I deeply regret it. I believed I was acting in good faith.¡± The world seemed to collapse around Elenore. Her face contorted with a mixture of shock, grief, and betrayal. She staggered momentarily before her knees gave way, and she crumbled to the ground. Muffled sobs wracked her body, echoing the depth of her anguish. Soldiers exchanged uneasy glances and looked to Carrack for guidance. With a somber gesture, he motioned for them to give Elenore space. Tentatively, Carrack lowered himself next to her, allowing her to grieve while he wrestled with his own guilt. This was his burden to bear, and he could not run from it, not today despite how much he wanted to. He carefully put a hand on her back to console her. The gentle touch was an attempt at solace, but it met with Elenore¡¯s hushed whisper. ¡°Get away.¡± Her body shivered, another deep breath took over her, and she shrieked, louder this time, ¡°Get away!¡± The forcefulness surprised Carrack, pulling his hand back as if he¡¯d been scorched. Elenore¡¯s subsequent whispers, however, were more heart-rending as they merged with her sobs. ¡°Just ¡­ get away.¡± Rising to his feet, Carrack ran a hand across his face, attempting to make sense of the situation. Memories from the past, the face of the deceased, the impostors who came earlier, and finally the searing eyes of Elenore haunted his thoughts. He felt a palpable ache in his chest, his mouth dry with bitterness. ¡°Dammit,¡± he mumbled under his breath. Reaching the gate, he found Foeham, who seemed on edge, waiting. ¡°You, me, and two others. Now.¡± Without hesitation, Carrack pointed to a soldier, indicating for his sidearm. ¡°Have someone bring her inside. Let Alaina try to soothe her.¡± Carrack¡¯s voice held authority. Foeham, picking two soldiers for the task at hand, shot a questioning look. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± Carrack¡¯s resolve hardened. ¡°We¡¯re getting that body.¡± Chapter 7 Chapter 7 The road to Helena¡¯s town center was straightforward, winding down the hill from the fort and toward the distant glimmer of the port. But the weather had made the path treacherous, turning the solid ground into a muddy, shifting mess. Carrack led the group¡ªFoeham, and two soldiers named Adcock and Harper¡ªdown the hill. Both Adcock and Harper were younger soldiers, and they silently cursed their luck for being in the wrong place when Carrack had called for volunteers. Their murmurs about the improbability of their mission reached Carrack¡¯s ears, but Foeham was quick to silence them. ¡°It¡¯s just that the chances of finding those impostors in this weather seem slim,¡± Adcock tried to reason with Foeham, who simply gave a disapproving shake of his head. ¡°And if things take a turn for the worse in town¡ª¡± ¡°Your training will guide us through any unexpected complications,¡± Carrack interjected. ¡°There¡¯s only one road between the fort and everything else on this island. Someone must¡¯ve seen a cart today. We¡¯ll inquire at the first residence we come across to see what¡¯s what.¡± The journey continued as the group moved from one hut to another, seeking any information regarding their elusive targets. Despite the persistence of their questions, the answers remained frustratingly elusive. Each unanswered inquiry seemed to strengthen Adcock and Harper¡¯s hopes of abandoning the quest, and even Foeham was beginning to question the wisdom of advancing with such a small contingent. Carrack, though weighed down by his sodden clothes and the growing discomfort of each step, remained undeterred. They continued from one building to the next until they reached a hut, its walls sagging like it was succumbing to the rain-soaked earth. Adcock¡¯s knocks on the spongy door produced a dull, soft thud. After a moment, a burst of cold air greeted them as the door slowly swung open to reveal a frail old man. His white, scraggly beard flowed down to clothes that seemed a few sizes too large. He held a melting candle directly by the wax, the liquid warmth dripping onto his fingers, which he bore with no sign of discomfort. He looked over the group, his gaze lingering. ¡°Well,¡± the man¡¯s voice was scraggly and harsh, ¡°a few birds have flown from the nest. To what purpose are you blessing me with your visit? Have I committed a crime?¡± ¡°Ah, no, sir.¡± Adcock shook his head. ¡°We¡¯re on the search for a couple of women that may have come by this way. An older woman and younger, middle-aged to be exact. They were pulling a cart with them.¡± Carrack said. The old man stroked his beard. ¡°Fugitives?¡± ¡°That¡¯s one way to put it,¡± Carrack agreed. ¡°Seen or heard anything?¡± ¡°See? No,¡± the old man shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t really like peeping outside, nothing much to see these days that interests me. Plus, my eyes aren¡¯t as good as they used to be. Hearing, though, that¡¯s another matter.¡± ¡°You heard something?¡± Adcock questioned, a hint of skepticism in this tone. ¡°Indeed,¡± the old man sniffed through his clogged sinuses, ¡°I gots the good ears still, always had¡ªthat¡¯s what made me a good hunter back in the day, when the rest of my body was up to snuff. But, yessir, I heard a few hours ago the swashing pounds of footsteps, along with the noticeable grind of a rickety wagon.¡± ¡°Doubtful, all that detail? Nonsense,¡± Foeham dismissed. ¡°Well, they were also talking, more like cursing about the cart getting stuck in the mud. And how far it was to home.¡± ¡°They happen to mention where home was?¡± Carrack asked. ¡°Maybe, I¡¯m not sure, all I heard them going on about in between the cursing was something about a ¡®washroom¡¯. Not sure what they were referencing.¡± ¡°That¡¯s helpful, but tell me, we¡¯re they heading to the city?¡± Carrack asked. The old man nodded. ¡°Oh yeah, no doubt that they headed that direction. Gods knows where else they¡¯d go, especially for a ¡®washroom¡¯.¡± Carrack¡¯s heart sank at the realization that the culprits had made their way into the heart of the city. He gave his thanks to the old man and then turned back to the road. Outside the old man¡¯s hut, the team paused, each silently wrestling with the implications of their next course of action. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Perhaps we should double back for reinforcements. Bit of a delay, but I¡¯d feel far more at ease venturing into town with a few more rifles,¡± Foeham proposed. Carrack sighed heavily. ¡°Time isn¡¯t on our side. We can¡¯t afford the round trip.¡± He looked into the distance, the lights of the town twinkling faintly. ¡°We¡¯ll proceed to the market square and glean what we can.¡± As they ventured into the city, the haphazard sprawl of its outer structures gave way to a more organized core. The irregular outskirts, marked by tightly packed buildings separated by narrow lanes, gradually transitioned into a more structured, grid-like arrangement reminiscent of traditional Orenian design. Red-bricked buildings stood proud and uniform, flanking cobblestoned streets where onlookers, drawn by curiosity, eyed Carrack¡¯s group with a mixture of intrigue and suspicion. Their probing stares added a layer of tension to the air, making Carrack question the wisdom of his decision. With each step deeper into the city, his concerns grew, yet turning back was not an option he was ready to consider. Upon arriving at the square, Carrack felt an inkling of solace. The once-vibrant market of the city now bore a desolate look with only a handful of stands hawking modest wares. The grandeur that once defined this space was a shadow of its former self, but Carrack¡¯s memories of the area remained pristine. His gaze fell upon a familiar storefront, a bookstore where he had once purchased a small booklet. This booklet, now his journal, had become a sanctum for his thoughts, providing him solace during turbulent times. The bookstore was the enterprise of Dr. Mortier, a scholar of distinction. On the mainland, he had been an esteemed history professor, specializing in the intricate tapestry of religious history. He often argued that understanding humanity¡¯s past required peeling back layers of ancestral dogma to reveal hidden truths. His brilliance was renowned, with celebrated treatises unveiling insights into ancient civilizations that left only whispers in the archaeological realm. But his unflinching and unbiased approach to even the most contemporary of religious beliefs had brought him into conflict with powerful religious factions. Seeking sanctuary and a fresh purpose, he¡¯d settled in Helena, intent on disseminating knowledge in a more tranquil environment. A bell tinkled overhead as they entered the dimly lit store, where a musty scent seemed to have set a permanent residence. Carrack observed that the shelves, once teeming with books, now looked barren. It was no secret that books were being used as fuel in these hard times, although Carrack had hoped this desperate act would remain rare. Dr. Mortier emerged from behind the counter. His usually robust frame had slimmed down, evidence of the strain the island¡¯s food scarcity had placed on him. Fatigue lay heavy in his gaze behind his signature thick glasses. ¡°Ah,¡± Dr. Mortier rasped, then cleared his throat, ¡°the tides have brought in a familiar face, my last regular patron.¡± The emptiness around them was unmistakable. Carrack remarked, ¡°Your last good customer? I¡¯m inclined to believe that now.¡± Mortier gave a resigned sigh. ¡°In dire times, one would assume books offer an escape. Yet, they¡¯re reduced to mere kindling. Such a waste.¡± Adcock, with genuine curiosity, asked, ¡°People aren¡¯t actually consuming the books, right?¡± His question earned some derisive glances. Mortier raised an eyebrow. ¡°In fact, just yesterday, a man wanted to return a book. Claimed it didn¡¯t taste the shade of its cover. Said he knew what green tasted like and was disappointed with his purchase. I suspect he was a merchant marine. Not the sharpest bunch. It would be worth a laugh if it wasn¡¯t so unfortunate.¡± Stepping forward, Carrack placed his hand on the counter with gentle authority, capturing Mortier¡¯s attention. ¡°Mortier,¡± he began, his voice weighted with seriousness, ¡°we¡¯re in pursuit of individuals who have stolen a body¡ªone meant to be returned to grieving family members.¡± Carrack locked eyes with Mortier, ensuring the older man understood the urgency of their mission. Mortier slowly nodded. ¡°I see. And you believe they brought it here?¡± Carrack sighed. ¡°We¡¯re not entirely sure. Our only lead is a vague mention of a ¡®washroom¡¯ from a local.¡± ¡°The washroom,¡± Mortier mused, adjusting his glasses, and sinking into deep thought, ¡°could it be a term used by the teamsters?¡± ¡°Unlikely,¡± Carrack replied dismissively. ¡°You certain? Perhaps I¡¯m confusing it with the gossip I¡¯ve heard about their hidden food cache?¡± Mortier probed. ¡°Hidden food cache?¡± Foeham¡¯s interest was piqued. ¡°Yes, there¡¯s a rumor circulating that a warehouse down by the docks holds a stash of food. As to the specifics or the quantity, I can¡¯t be sure, but the whispers persist.¡± ¡°What else have you heard?¡± Foeham leaned in, keen to extract more information. Carrack interjected, ¡°We aren¡¯t here to chase down hearsay.¡± Mortier, caught in the tension between the two, continued, ¡°The chatter is that this stash is used to placate and exert control over certain groups in the¡ª¡± ¡°Enough!¡± Carrack snapped, cutting him off with a sharp gesture. ¡°We didn¡¯t come for baseless rumors.¡± ¡°But, sir,¡± Foeham tried to reason. ¡°Enough,¡± Carrack¡¯s voice was firm, quashing any further debate. He refocused on Mortier. ¡°About the washroom, I¡¯m confident it¡¯s not connected to any teamster scheme.¡± ¡°I hear countless rumors day in and day out. Given all I¡¯ve heard, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the entire cemetery has been emptied and every urn shattered for its ashes.¡± Mortier sighed, a troubled look crossing his face. After a pause, his fingers snapped as a thought struck him. ¡°You haven¡¯t, by chance, consulted Lady Matilda, have you?¡± Carrack¡¯s face twisted in distaste at the mention of her name. ¡°I had hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to that.¡± ¡°Sir, with all due respect, if Mortier has no more information, she could very well be our best lead,¡± Foeham argued with an undertone of urgency, clearly attempting to quell Carrack¡¯s reluctance. ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± Carrack conceded, the weight of the decision evident in his voice. ¡°Thank you, doctor, for your assistance. Do try to keep your nose clean.¡± Mortier offered a half-smile. ¡°I always do.¡± Chapter 8 Chapter 8 In the heart of Helena, a road told a tale of diversity and coexistence that was unparalleled. This was Welton Path, a tribute to a magistrate¡¯s vision, where every faith, from the prominent to the obscure, found a place to call home. Each building, each structure on this path, was a testament to the myriad beliefs that people carried with them across the tumultuous seas to this island. Various statues graced the street depicting various deities from faiths both prominent and obscure. But most were ones depicting the messianic teacher of the dominant faith of Luminarism, the Luminary of Ambria, an ancient teacher sent from the six Gods of Creation who¡¯d bestowed his wisdom before ascending back to the heavens. Then there were the majestic, carved stone pillars, painted in a deep shade of green, standing as proud markers for the even more ancient Faith of the Jade Towers. Nestled amongst these, however, was a sanctuary that had always stood out like a sore thumb: the Chapel. This unassuming place was the abode and worship center for the Whispers of Magia, adhered to solely by Lady Matilda. In an irony that couldn¡¯t be missed, amidst the decline of faith and the decay of the other centers, the Chapel remained the only active place of worship. As the islanders¡¯ desperation grew, the words of other faiths became mere echoes, but Lady Matilda¡¯s chapel stood resilient. The once-vibrant street had transformed into a haunting echo of its past. Every structure, except for the Chapel, stood abandoned, a testament to desolation. Derelict buildings, with their boarded-up windows and doors, lined the road, creating an eerie silhouette against the sky. The majestic statues and intricate decorations, which had once gleamed with pride, now bore the relentless scars of time and weather. Colors that used to illuminate these divine representations had been stripped away, leaving only a faint trace of their former glory. Now, they stood muted, battered by the elements. A defining feature of the street was its noticeable tilt, causing a steady stream of water to trickle downward. This melancholic flow, combined with the street¡¯s desolate appearance, had earned it a new moniker: the Weeping Way. Every step Carrack took toward the Chapel was laden with reluctance, a heavy growl rumbling deep within him. The cold water of the Weeping Way splashed against his boots, his footsteps mirroring the discontent in his heart. His men, sensing their commander¡¯s unease, remained close on his heels. As they pushed through the tall, imposing wooden doors, a cold chill wrapped around them. The dimly lit interior took a moment to come into focus, and as their eyes adjusted, they discerned the soft glow of numerous candles dispersed across the unadorned stone walls. Contrasted against this muted backdrop, wooden tables stood in a somber row. Each table bore the weight of a body, shrouded in a pristine white sheet. The cloth lent a sculptural quality to the deceased, transforming them into eerily lifelike statues, adding to the morose ambiance of the room. Amongst the shadows, Lady Matilda¡¯s acolytes¡ªthe Listeners¡ªpaced methodically. These enigmatic figures, recent additions to the Chapel, stood out in their dark cloaks. Every Listener, irrespective of their gender, had a shaved head. Their ears were covered meticulously, shielding them from the cacophony of the outside world. It was said that in this self-imposed silence, they could truly hear the whispers of their deity, Magia, who imparted her wisdom directly into their minds. The Listeners glanced at the newcomers, eyes brimming with suspicion and disdain. But, recognizing the visitors, one broke away from the group, approaching with a respectful bow. As he did, Adcock¡¯s gaze was drawn to another Listener, who was in the process of unveiling a corpse. The sight was chilling¡ªthe deceased had been relieved of their ears. Adcock began to curse involuntarily but was promptly silenced by Carrack¡¯s sharp nudge and a finger pressed against his lips. It was known to all that speaking¡ªor making any avoidable noise¡ªwas strictly forbidden within the sacred walls of the Chapel. Carrack met the gaze of the Listener standing before him, the air thick with unsaid words and mutual understanding. With deliberation, he silently formed the words, ¡°Lady Matilda.¡± The Listener responded with a bow, her eyes then darting with a hint of warning toward the other men accompanying Carrack. The message in her gaze was clear to Carrack. He motioned for his men to wait outside. Foeham paused for a moment, uncertainty clouding his eyes, but eventually nodded. By the time he decided to move, the other two were already making their swift exit from the Chapel. The Listener guided Carrack to the rear of the Chapel, stopping before a thick door that opened into the sanctuary. As it creaked open, the sound reverberated, dominating the silence of the building. Carrack stepped slowly into the sanctuary, immediately noting the staleness in the air, mingled with the fumes of incense. Behind him, the door closed with a resounding thud, leaving him facing a figure knelt in silent prayer before a simple altar. The figure was Lady Matilda, the mistress of the Chapel and the foremost listener for Magia. Draped in raven-colored robes, she stood, the fabric rustling softly. As she turned to face her visitor, Carrack felt a tight grip in his chest. His unease deepened when he saw the smile that slowly spread across her face. Clasping her hands together, she brought them before her face, immersing herself in a moment of profound meditation. When her eyelids finally lifted, revealing those piercing eyes, she lowered her hands gracefully. ¡°Now,¡± she exhaled, the weight seemingly lifted off her, ¡°we may converse.¡± ¡°I trust this won¡¯t be a lengthy exchange,¡± Carrack remarked, his voice unwavering. ¡°I am here on pressing matters.¡± This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I can see it, you know.¡± She observed him, the gaze of her deep green eyes unyielding. ¡°Your eyes, they¡¯re distant, like you¡¯re already far beyond this place, this moment. Yet, they betray just enough to pierce through this steadfast facade you¡¯ve presented.¡± As she tilted her head, the light stubble from her frequently shaven scalp became evident. ¡°I sense unrest, unease, inquisition, and could it be ¡­ a touch of mistrust, directed at me?¡± Feeling uncomfortably exposed by her observations, Carrack momentarily evaded her penetrating stare. His fingers involuntarily tightened as he sought a place for his thoughts to hide, but there was nowhere he felt he could shield himself from her and that sent a shiver up his spine. Gathering his composure, he met her gaze again. ¡°My meals are scant, my sleep, scarcer. I¡¯ve traversed great distances in relentless rain and gusts to reach this point. Naturally, I am wearied by the search that led me here. And don¡¯t flatter yourself, I¡¯m suspicious of everyone.¡± ¡°Understandable. Protect what¡¯s within¡ªit¡¯s a stance you¡¯ve always favored,¡± she remarked, shrugging as she moved to attend to the incense burners dotted around the sanctuary. ¡°So, what is it that has led you here? You mentioned a search?¡± Clearing his throat to counteract the tickle from the incense, Carrack began, ¡°Indeed. We are on the trail of two women, both masquerading as kin to an executed felon. They¡ª¡± ¡°Took the body with them?¡± Lady Matilda interjected, still busied with the incense. ¡°You haven¡¯t come here under the pretense that I played a part in this, have you?¡± Carrack paused momentarily, choosing his words. ¡°It had crossed my mind, admittedly. But the women we seek don¡¯t fit the mold of your followers. While it¡¯s known you can be ¡­ forceful in your approach to obtaining bodies¡ª¡± I believe,¡± she said, a gleam in her eyes, ¡°¡®persuasive¡¯ is the term I favor.¡± ¡°Very well,¡± Carrack conceded. ¡°Persuasive. Still, deceit and theft aren¡¯t practices I¡¯ve known to be associated with your church.¡± Meeting his eyes, she teased, ¡°My Lord Carrack, that may just be the most generous thing you ever said about this church.¡± Carrack growled with frustration before turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. ¡°In any case, I¡¯m confident that you are not involved in this ¡­ directly.¡± ¡°Directly?¡± Matilda tilted her head. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± ¡°Come on now, your acolytes have beaten to a pulp their fair share of people who mishandle corpses. So¡ª¡± Cutting him off with a nonchalant wave, Lady Matilda finished for him, ¡°You surmise that while I¡¯m not directly implicated, I may be privy to the miscreants responsible. With the city as it is, many are pushed to desperate lengths. Exactly what information have you gathered?¡± Carrack admitted, ¡°Scant details. A mere physical description of the two women and an eavesdropped destination.¡± He proceeded to relay the description of the suspects and the whispered location. On his account, her eyes sharpened with recognition. ¡°The washroom?¡± Lady Matilda repeated, feigning ignorance, but the gleam in her eyes suggested she was all too familiar. ¡°You genuinely haven¡¯t come across it before?¡± Carrack¡¯s brow furrowed, the confusion evident. ¡°Should I have?¡± With a chuckle, Lady Matilda responded, ¡°It¡¯s been a hotbed of illicit activities for years, even before our times grew dire.¡± The realization caught him off-guard, like a sudden shock. The hair on his neck stood on end, and he felt as though he had just spotted a fire that needed immediate extinguishing. How had this slipped through his grasp? His pride in his thoroughness and the security of his town took a hit. ¡°Why am I only hearing about it now? What are they infamous for?¡± ¡°It seems they¡¯re better at discretion than one would think,¡± Lady Matilda mused. ¡°I assumed you had decided to monitor them rather than confront them. You know the usual activities one might want to shield from the authorities¡ªsex, drugs, unreported good, and what have you.¡± A flush of embarrassment-tinged Carrack¡¯s cheeks. His mind raced, trying to piece together the gaps in his knowledge. Was his team complicit? Why hadn¡¯t Lady Matilda shared this earlier? Overwhelmed by the surge of thoughts, one crucial question bubbled to the forefront. ¡°Where is it?¡± ¡°Predictably direct, Lord Carrack. But I¡¯ve always admired your forthrightness,¡± Lady Matilda said, her face impassive as she walked back to the altar. ¡°But information has its price. I want another session.¡± Carrack¡¯s response was swift and vehement: ¡°Never again. That¡¯s final.¡± ¡°But why?¡± Lady Matilda pressed. ¡°The last time, you and I both¡ª¡± ¡°Once,¡± Carrack snapped. ¡°And never again.¡± Lady Matilda¡¯s demeanor turned icy. ¡°What was so repugnant about our last session? The fact that it actually bore fruit?¡± ¡°Fruit?¡± Carrack scoffed. ¡°Do you not recall the endless pilgrimages you made to every sacred place, seeking solace for your torments? None availed you, save for me.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t help,¡± Carrack seethed. ¡°You dissected me.¡± ¡°Yes, I did. How else to find the truth you so skillfully concealed?¡± ¡°Skillfully?¡± Carrack was incredulous. ¡°You call your methods skillful?¡± ¡°Effective,¡± Lady Matilda countered coolly. ¡°You need to face your demons.¡± ¡°With you as my guide?¡± Carrack¡¯s chuckle was mirthless. ¡°I¡¯d rather the demons.¡± Lady Matilda¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°Even in deceit, you betray traces of truth. I sensed the deeper layers of your pain. You¡¯re just too frightened to confront them.¡± ¡°Perhaps because you drugged my senses with your unholy incantations.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t dabble in magic,¡± Lady Matilda snapped. ¡°Every acolyte here undergoes the same rites. They must grapple with their past, seek redemption, and then find their way to righteousness.¡± ¡°You assume I seek your path to righteousness,¡± Carrack said. ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Lady Matilda replied. ¡°But you must complete our journey.¡± ¡°Or?¡± ¡°How have the shadows haunted you since?¡± Carrack¡¯s gaze dropped, and his voice was barely a whisper. ¡°They¡¯ve grown darker.¡± ¡°We unearthed your wound,¡± Lady Matilda¡¯s voice softened. ¡°Now, we must cleanse it before it festers beyond cure.¡± ¡°Why do you even care?¡± Carrack¡¯s voice held a tinge of genuine bewilderment. Lady Matilda¡¯s eyes softened. ¡°It saddens me that you see me as so detached. My concerns for you predate the present troubles on this island. Given the circumstances, I fear for you even more.¡± ¡°Tell me where the washroom is,¡± Carrack said, his jaw tight. Lady Matilda exhaled heavily, her patience seemingly wearing thin. ¡°Just one more session, Carrack. You have the freedom to leave whenever you wish, even immediately. But grant me this one session.¡± The throb in his temple became more pronounced, signaling the onset of a migraine. Still, Carrack¡¯s determination remained unwavering. He was on a mission, and arguing with Lady Matilda was not helping. He finally conceded, ¡°One session. No more.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll keep to that promise?¡± ¡°Yes. But don¡¯t expect me to stay the whole time.¡± Lady Matilda nodded, turning back to her altar, and falling to her knees in reverence. ¡°The washroom is situated off the square. Ponzin Street. It¡¯s the old bathhouse. Sound familiar?¡± Carrack paused, reflecting on the absurdity that he couldn¡¯t connect the dots of those clues. ¡°All too familiar.¡± He began to make his exit when Lady Matilda¡¯s voice halted him. ¡°A deal¡¯s a deal, Lord Carrack. Don¡¯t forget.¡± Chapter 9 Chapter 9 Lord Carrack hurriedly navigated Helena¡¯s labyrinthine streets, urgency evident in each step, the soft patter of rain around them punctuated by the heavy breaths of his men trailing close behind. Every sense was heightened; a tingling sensation spread from the tips of his fingers to his toes, and a cold prickliness touched his cheeks¡ªtelltale signs of adrenaline surging as they ventured toward potential danger. His men, undoubtedly, felt the weight of the situation more profoundly, given their initial reservations about entering a rumored haven of illicit activity. Foeham had been particularly insistent on recruiting more soldiers, but Carrack, resolute in his decision, overruled him. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on Carrack: he was charging ahead on a course he¡¯d usually caution others against. But in this moment, the voices of reason seemed distant, drowned out by the urgency driving him forward. ¡°There was no time to wait for reinforcements!¡± he had barked to end the last confrontation with Foeham. ¡°They¡¯ll slither into the shadows when they see the garrison marching in.¡± Upon reaching the main square, the group paused, offering a brief respite especially to the younger soldiers gasping for air. The square was a hive of activity today, unusually dominated by a large throng gathering around a stand showcasing a rare bounty of fish¡ªa testament to the bravery of those who dared venture into the tempestuous seas recently. But their presence¡ªa group of garrison soldiers panting and dashing¡ªwas distinctly out of place, drawing numerous curious glances. Carrack, however, had no time for distractions. With calculated nonchalance, he began navigating toward the entrance of Ponzin Street. As he gestured for his men to hang back, he became acutely aware of the intense scrutiny from certain members of the crowd. Not just curious locals, but the keen, evaluating eyes of the teamsters, whose responsibility was to maintain order in such crowded situations. One of the teamsters, positioned close to the bustling fish stand, forcibly nudged a few bystanders aside to get a clearer view of Carrack. The scene at the stand itself offered yet another surprise. Besides the displayed fish, two large pots emitted welcoming plumes of steam, with men eagerly scooping out their contents to serve the clamoring crowd. A brief, electric silence hung between Carrack and the teamster, their gazes locked in an unspoken conversation, a challenge. Then, with a grunt of resignation, Carrack broke the contact, signaling his disinterest in whatever transaction the stand had to offer. Not missing a beat, the teamsters directed the crowd¡¯s attention back to the stand, leaving the soldiers be. ¡°Sir?¡± Foeham¡¯s voice cut through the murk of the tense moment, drawing Carrack¡¯s attention back from the teamster. ¡°What on earth is happening over there? Where did they get such a haul of food?¡± Carrack, his thoughts still jumbled from the previous encounter, brushed him off. ¡°Fish.¡± ¡°Yes, but those pots?¡± Foeham pressed, not willing to be deterred by Carrack¡¯s impatience. ¡°Fish!¡± Carrack repeated with a snarl. ¡°Keep your head in the game. We¡¯re nearing the washroom.¡± His sharp glare silenced Foeham, who, after casting an uneasy glance back at the teamsters and the steam-filled pots, beckoned the other soldiers to fall in line. But as they entered Ponzin Street, Carrack couldn¡¯t help but steal one more look at the crowded square, noticing a particular teamster, still fixing them with an intent stare. Beside him, Foeham, too, shot a lingering, curious look. Ponzin Street led them to the former glory of Helena¡ªthe once-revered Moon Drops Bathhouse. Established by retired Orenian merchants who had fancied a dream of recreating the luxurious bathhouses of antiquity, it thrived during their lifetime. But time, being the relentless force it is, took its toll. With the demise of the elderly merchants and no heirs to inherit their legacy, the bathhouse had fallen into decay. It eventually became a refuge for the city¡¯s outcasts. Carrack chastised himself internally¡ªhe should have seen the connection between ¡°washroom¡± and ¡°bathhouse¡±. A lapse that was uncharacteristic, but one he was determined to amend. The bathhouse, even in its decline, stood distinct from the surrounding edifices. Unlike the neighboring brick and stone constructions, this one boasted of plastered limestone, reminiscent of ancient ruins reimagined for a more modern age. Though its size aligned with the conventional structures on the street, its fa?ade showcased intricate moldings and friezes, etched with an artist¡¯s flair, conveying an aura of the exotic. What stood out the most to Carrack was the familiar cart that was parked outside of the building. Ascending a set of stairs brought them to the main entrance. The doorway, once a testament to craftsmanship, bore detailed carvings¡ªvisual stories of age-old fables. Now, however, the wear of time had left its mark. Water stains marred its beauty, while the etchings of the city¡¯s underbelly¡ªpropaganda, professions of love, and the disjointed ramblings of lost souls¡ªdistracted from its former grandeur. With deliberate steps, Carrack approached the door, his pace now measured by caution. His hand rested unwaveringly on the grip of his pistol, while his other hand tenderly traced the door¡¯s worn surface. Beneath the marks of time and countless other hands, the remnants of an ancient tale beckoned him. Deep down, he recognized it. It depicted a revered moment from an age-old epic: the journey of Revan into the underworld, his mission to cast the malevolent demon Kornal into the scalding waters of Sillstrom, a place rumored to hold the power to annihilate the demon. Yet, in a twist of fate, those tumultuous waters did not end Kornal. Instead, they stripped away layers of sin and corruption, revealing underneath not a monster but a fallen angel, tainted by the collective sins of mankind. Emerging renewed, the cleansed angel then soared to the heavens, taking its rightful place amongst the stars. A fitting depiction for a bathhouse. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. With gentle pressure, Carrack tested the door, finding it resistant but not locked. A soft click echoed as the latch yielded. Ever so cautiously, he cracked it open, peering into the inky void. An unexpected rush of cold air stung his eye, carrying with it the scent of stagnation. As his vision adjusted, the contours of the lobby emerged from the obsidian abyss. Whirling around to his comrades, he silently conveyed a message of caution and signaled the upcoming entry. The nods he received in return were resolute. Foeham quickly drew his pistol, while the other two tightened their grasp on their rifles, the sound of their grip almost imperceptible in the thick atmosphere. The earlier uncertainty etched in their faces had been washed away, replaced with a steely resolve, prepared for whatever challenges lay within the depths of the bathhouse. Carrack entered first. As darkness gave way to clearer sight, the dilapidated innards of the once majestic lobby came into focus. A stagnant heaviness saturated the air, a potent blend of decay and sharp, acrid chemicals that immediately assailed their senses. Instinctively, Carrack draped the fabric of his shirt over his nose, a futile attempt to block the overpowering aroma. His men followed suit, their muffled coughs, and stifled grimaces a testament to the overwhelming stench. Their steps were deliberate, navigating the layers of grime and refuse that marred the once-pristine marble floors. Faint remnants of murals, once vibrant, now hung faded, stained, and chipped, bearing silent witness to the bathhouse¡¯s decline. Together, the party tread softly, each step a calculated choice to minimize noise, their ears straining to detect any hint of movement or life within the cavernous space. Yet, in this quiet dance, the only rhythm that prevailed was the distant patter of rain and the mournful drip of the decaying structure. In the inky darkness, Carrack occasionally shut his eyes, trying to recalibrate his night vision as they delved further into the maze-like bathhouse. With two paths obstructed by untouched debris, their route funneled them down a singular corridor. The tight, twisting halls created a claustrophobic march, often forcing the group to pause, senses hyper-alert, bracing for whatever lay beyond the next turn. Single file, they moved, Carrack leading, while the others vigilantly covered the flanks and rear. Soon, distant murmurs broke the stifling silence. Echoes of unintelligible chatter, both male and female, echoed down the hallway. Amongst them, Carrack could discern the familiar sounds of the women from the fort, contrasted with the gruff accents of an unfamiliar man. The occasional clinking of metal and glass hinted at some focused activity in the distance. Their progress became even more deliberate when a light¡¯s fickle dance painted the walls. Every heartbeat felt magnified when an elongated shadow emerged, likely matching the gruff voice, performing gestures in tandem with the echoed discourse. Silently, Carrack formulated an approach, strategizing each movement in his mind. He would spearhead the advance, remain inconspicuous, inching closer to the source. His men would cover the rear, guns trained on the corridor¡¯s bend, ready to respond at a moment''s notice. Depending on the room¡¯s layout, Carrack would then signal them forward. The impending confrontation required swift, aggressive precision¡ªanticipating that their guns would sing first and neutralize any threat. But fate had other plans. Adcock, overwhelmed by the smells, released a sharp cough. Time seemed to freeze. The once animated shadow went rigid, the background chatter silenced instantly. A crushing weight of dread settled in Carrack¡¯s gut, immobilizing him. The element of surprise, their crucial advantage, had been lost. The tension was palpable. As the far-off group conferred in hushed tones, the distinct male voice seemed to seek familiarity in the dark expanse, calling, ¡°James?¡± No one in Carrack¡¯s squad replied. Each member seemed paralyzed, unable to respond or even mimic a possible ¡°James¡± that the man might be expecting. The voice grew more agitated, echoing twice more, each utterance more impatient than the last. Receiving no answer, the man whispered something to his companions before making his way into the adjacent corridor. The shadow gradually sharpened, delineating a figure armed with an object, steps deliberate and resonant. Carrack¡¯s pulse raced. The rhythmic thud amplified in his ears, matched only by the short, sharp intakes of breath from his crew. He felt a communal sense of anxiety, as if their hearts were synchronously drowning in fear. The instant before confrontation dragged on, suffocating the air. From just beyond the bend came the faint but unmistakable sound of a weapon being primed. What followed was an ungodly, sinister declaration: ¡°New threads, new chords, you dare interrupt our symphony!¡± The figure surged forward, discharging two shots in rapid succession. But it was the third shot, originating from behind Carrack, that proved decisive. Adcock, fueled by adrenaline and fear, had managed a direct hit to the man¡¯s chest, dropping him in one swift motion. The corridor then erupted in disarray, the residual voices transitioning from shock to panic, followed by the hasty retreat of footsteps and the clattering of doors in the distance. Carrack¡¯s squad braced themselves, weapons raised, expecting another attack. But it never came. Instead, silence reclaimed the decrepit bathhouse, save for the muted patter of the rain outside. Carrack¡¯s footsteps reverberated sharply as he hastened toward the corner. Swinging into the room beyond, he was met with a chaotic display reminiscent of an era gone by. The space, once a changing room in the bathhouse¡¯s glory days, was now transformed into a makeshift laboratory. Tables stood laden with a mixture of crude and refined apparatuses: beakers, test tubes, and makeshift Bunsen burners. Buckets emanating a vile stench stood amidst tattered clothing and miscellaneous debris. Lanterns dispersed throughout the room threw a warm, jittery illumination, making the myriad shadows seem alive. Foeham¡¯s expression turned to one of distaste as he surveyed the scene. ¡°Drug lab,¡± he remarked. ¡°What are they making? Lumin?¡± Studying a dish containing green-hued crystals, Carrack replied, ¡°Novarin, to be precise.¡± Foeham''s brow furrowed. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the drug rumored to kill hunger?¡± Carrack, while sifting through scattered papers using the tip of his pistol, responded, ¡°That¡¯s one of its many effects. It numbs the senses mostly, like a super pain killer. You¡¯re so numb and out of it that you can drown in a puddle. You¡¯ll stare at a wall contempt with the boredom while your body starves to death.¡± Adcock, rubbing the back of his neck, looked around the grim room. ¡°The folks we ran into seemed too active to be under its influence. They were on edge, not spaced out.¡± Carrack paused, focusing intently on the scribblings of ingredients. ¡°You¡¯ve got a point. If they were smart, they wouldn¡¯t use their own supply. But coming down from a Novarin high? That¡¯s when things get nasty. An addict can get unpredictable, even violent. Likely why our friend outside was so trigger-happy.¡± Harper, who had been quiet, broke his silence, his voice a bit shaky: ¡°That voice we heard earlier, it felt ¡­ fucking haunting.¡± ¡°Yeah ¡­¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes scanned the room¡¯s shadowy corners. ¡°Unsettling.¡± Chapter 10 Chapter 10 At the room¡¯s end, a table drew Carrack¡¯s attention. Draped over it was a dirtied white sheet, roughly covering a humanoid form. As he approached, the grisly details unveiled a grim, albeit expected scene. Several small candles flickered below metal pans, their flames¡¯ dance casting eerie shadows over the body. The unmistakable scent of burning flesh lingered in the air, melding chillingly with a strangely appetizing aroma. The sheet had been crudely cut away to reveal a forearm. The skin had been sliced, seemingly by the blood-streaked knives discarded close by. From what Carrack could see, whoever had started this horrid act hadn¡¯t finished it, perhaps deterred by the body¡¯s state of decomposition. But, amidst the gruesome scene, something else caught his attention. A peculiar scent emanated from the exposed limb. Peering closer, he noticed the blood wasn¡¯t the bright red of life but a thicker, blackish hue. The surrounding tissue under the skin was oddly colored, transformed in inexplicable ways. Recollection gripped him. Carrack whispered, more to himself than anyone else, ¡°Alaina ¡­ what did you do to this man?¡± Their hushed inspection was disrupted by a muffled sound echoing from somewhere deeper within the bathhouse. It was indistinct, but the telltale signs of movement were unmistakable. Quickly, Carrack signaled the team to regroup. ¡°Captain, you and Hunter take the body out. We¡¯ll use the cart to get it back, make sure no one slips out of here, but keep us from having company as well. Adcock and I will see what that noise is about.¡± ¡°We will?¡± Adcock voice cracked slightly at the suggestion. ¡°Yes, soldier, we will.¡± Carrack reiterated. ¡°Extra guns can¡¯t hurt, sir,¡± Foeham suggested. ¡°We can be back in pretty quick.¡± Carrack shook his head firmly. ¡°Leaving the body unguarded isn¡¯t an option. And truthfully, it¡¯s an ambush from behind that concerns me more than whatever¡¯s ahead.¡± He gave Adcock a playful slap on the arm. ¡°Besides, with that sharpshooting of yours, I reckon we could face down an army.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not get too carried away, sir,¡± Adcock said with a gulp. ¡°It was a lucky shot.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Carrack said, smirking, ¡°stay lucky. If things get hairy or we don¡¯t return within ten minutes, come after us.¡± Foeham and Hunter swiftly wrapped their bodies, with the latter shouldering the weight with a grunt before they made their exit. Carrack, turning to Adcock, patted him reassuringly on the back, signaling their departure. Adcock¡¯s anxiety was palpable, a tense nod acknowledging Carrack¡¯s command. The adjacent corridor greeted them with an oppressive darkness, the way littered with waste and fallen debris of their surroundings. Their vision struggled against the blackness; it felt like staring into an abyss. ¡°Fetch a lamp,¡± Carrack whispered to Adcock, the weight of the darkness pressing upon them. Returning with a lamp from the previous room, Adcock handed it to Carrack, who held it aloft, his other hand gripping his pistol with white-knuckled determination. They advanced, the dim halo of light pushing back the shadows. Their steps were measured, every rustle and distant drip amplified in the enveloping silence. An unexpected humidity began to oppress them, and the air grew thick with a stifling warmth. The only visible path seemed to guide them towards the bath chambers. Approaching its entrance, Carrack pressed himself against the wall, using the lantern as bait, extending it into the void beyond. If anyone lay in wait, he hoped they¡¯d reveal themselves by attacking the light source. Yet, silence reigned, the darkness offering no reply. Carrack and Adcock exchanged glances, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Adcock moved opposite the entrance while Carrack held the lantern low. With a silent count of three on Carrack¡¯s fingers, they swept into the chamber in tandem, weapons ready. Yet, the chamber seemed empty, the weak glow of their lantern barely revealing a few steps ahead. As they treaded carefully, the soft tapping of their footsteps echoed across the tiles, which glistened with a thin sheen of water. An unexplained warmth enveloped them, as if a furnace smoldered nearby. Carrack found himself pondering the odd choice of the squatters. Why hole up in the cold rooms when there was warmth here? Adcock¡¯s footsteps made a slight squelching noise on the wet tiles, betraying his nervousness. As they ventured deeper, Carrack detected a stronger scent of chemicals. He followed the scent until it led him to a pool¡¯s edge. The water in the pool was dark and viscous. Curious, Carrack leaned closer, but jerked back with sudden understanding. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Oil,¡± he whispered, catching Adcock¡¯s attention. In the seafaring nation of Oren, oil was a treasure. New ships were being built, powered by this liquid gold rather than coal. And on land, it had myriad uses, from lighting to machinery. Helena had stockpiled a bit of this precious commodity. And there were cases of theft by those that wished to profit from it on the black market, it was rare, but it did happen. And Carrack began to understand that he might have discovered the remnants of a cache of the stolen goods. As Carrack surveyed the area, he found a tipped-over drum¡ªits seal broken, with the dark liquid pooling around it. A sudden clatter disrupted their inspection, pulling their focus to the chamber¡¯s depths. The cacophony was eerie¡ªa mix of metal scraping against stone and muffled, indistinct groans. The acoustics played tricks, suggesting the source of the noises might be closer than it seemed, though darkness veiled the truth. Carrack¡¯s fingers tightened instinctively around both his weapon and the lantern¡ªthe latter he thrust forward, trying to fend off the darkness. As they inched nearer, the noise grew more pronounced. The ground was slick with chemical residue, marked with smeared imprints of hands and signs of dragging. The metallic sounds, louder now, gnawed at their composure. And as the lantern¡¯s feeble light slowly crept forward, it unveiled a grotesque sight. Dragging itself toward them was a figure¡ªa man, or what once was. One elongated arm, skinny, and caked with muck, reached forward, pulling the rest of the maimed body closer. Where the other limbs should have been, only raw, amputated stumps remained. The man¡¯s emaciated form was a stark contrast to the grimy floor, a pallid, sickly thing writhing in the gloom. But it was the face that seized Carrack¡¯s soul¡ªa visage hollowed by despair, eyes devoid of life yet focused intently on him. Most horrifyingly, the man¡¯s lips were stitched shut, silencing his cries, and reducing them to the haunting moans they¡¯d heard. Carrack¡¯s mind reeled, horror arresting his voice. He managed to whisper, ¡°Ever-loving Gods.¡± Adcock, usually composed, erupted. ¡°What in the seven hells?!¡± They recoiled in tandem, the shadows momentarily reclaiming the tortured figure, which, undeterred, inched inexorably closer. ¡°Fuck this!¡± Adcock, wild-eyed, stumbled backward. ¡°Adcock, hold!¡± Carrack¡¯s voice wavered but retained a commanding undertone. Their situation spiraled further out of control when a second entity lunged from the darkness, its grasp snatching at Adcock¡¯s ankle. Reflexively, Adcock fired a hasty shot at his assailant and turned to flee, but his frantic escape was cut short when he plunged into one of the pools. Splashes, interspersed with muffled gasps of panic, echoed hauntingly. ¡°Adcock!¡± Carrack, driven by a mix of duty and fear, turned to his fallen comrade, but the first figure managed to snag his leg, toppling him. As he went down, both his pistol and lantern flew from his grasp. The gun was swallowed by the blackness, but the lantern met a fate far worse. It skidded into the oil-filled pool, and in a blink, the chamber transformed into an infernal landscape. Helplessly grounded, Carrack¡¯s vision was dominated by the ghastly sight of Adcock, a figure aflame, thrashing desperately in the ignited oil, his agonized screams rising above the roaring fire. The blaze¡¯s intensity was such that even after Adcock¡¯s cries ceased, Carrack remained paralyzed by its heat and light. Yet, as the fire¡¯s illumination filled the chamber, an even grimmer scene emerged. Along the walls, mutilated forms, more shadows than people, dangled from rusting chains. Their anguished, incoherent sounds melded with the dissonant rattling of their bonds. Despite the deafening blaze, their collective moans and frantic motions added another layer to the cacophony, leaving Carrack frozen in horrified disbelief. In a frantic frenzy, Carrack fought to his feet, battling the treacherous, slippery ground beneath him. His heart raced as the pulse of adrenaline overrode the paralyzing grip of fear. But the queasiness in his stomach persisted. The room swiftly filled with choking, black smoke, punctuated by the erratic dance of flames that reached hungrily for anything they could devour. As the blaze consumed its surroundings, the ceiling disappeared beneath the thick curtain of smoke. Instinct took over, driving Carrack toward the exit. He strained to block out the desperate cries and tortured sounds from the chained souls he was leaving behind to a fate too horrific to contemplate. As he crossed the threshold, something involuntary compelled him to look back into the blazing chamber. It was a vision of sheer terror, one that would forever haunt him. He had glimpsed hell, yet unlike those trapped within, he had been denied the merciful release of death. Bursting through the hallways and past the lab, Carrack raced to the entrance. Foeham, already on the steps, barely managed to avoid being toppled as Carrack rushed out, his clothes steaming and reeking of smoke. ¡°What happened in there, sir?¡± Foeham demanded a mix of confusion and urgency in his tone. ¡°Go! Now!¡± Carrack wheezed, motioning to the cart, each word punctuated by his labored breathing. Hunter, positioned beside the cart with the body secured, darted anxious glances, unnerved by Carrack¡¯s evident distress. ¡°Fire!¡± was all Carrack managed to explain. ¡°Adcock?¡± Foeham shouted, desperate for answers. ¡°Gone,¡± was Carrack¡¯s breathless reply. Foeham¡¯s eyes widened in shock. ¡°What?¡± But before he could get more answers, disaster struck. Either the fire reached the laboratory¡¯s volatile contents or another hidden cache, setting off a catastrophic explosion. The bathhouse¡¯s walls burst outward, the roof becoming a flaming beacon. The blast hurled Carrack and Foeham onto the street. Carrack¡¯s ears rang, his senses disoriented. A glance downward revealed a shard of wood impaled in his leg. The shock masked any pain. He turned to see Hunter clutching his bleeding abdomen, his face twisted in agony. Carrack¡¯s vision blurred, his mind struggling to stay focused amidst the chaos. Foeham¡¯s muffled voice reached out to him as he moved between Hunter and Carrack, swiftly shifting them onto the cart. Wedged between Hunter and the corpse, Carrack felt the scalding heat from the flames, the rain doing little to quell its fury. The cart jolted; Carrack saw Foeham straining to move it. Mesmerized momentarily by the roaring flames and the memories of what he saw, Carrack was jolted back to reality when Foeham made another effort to push. Driven by adrenaline and desperation, Carrack mustered the strength to push the corpse off, lightening their load. With that, Foeham began to move the cart forward. Chapter 11 Chapter 11 17 August 149 Third Age Many are intrigued by the enigma of medicine, yet few dig deep enough to unravel its mysteries. A mere scratch beneath its surface often reveals layers of complexity, demanding years of dedicated study for even a rudimentary grasp. Carrack, having once explored the vast realm of medicine, found it too intricate for his liking. Yet, his limited knowledge sufficed to understand the workings of the remedy Alaina had given him. While the medication bore a scientific name reserved for scholarly circles, the general populace recognized it by various monikers. To Carrack, it was ¡°cold spice¡±, named both for its cool sensation and its seasoning-like taste. It hadn¡¯t been long since he consumed another dose while resting on a cot in Alaina¡¯s lab. A refreshing chill emanated from his core, coursing rapidly to his limbs. As the trembles ebbed and the pain retreated, he could once again absorb his surroundings. Alaina, Weiss, and Foeham had listened intently as Carrack recounted his harrowing experience, sparing them, however, from the suspicions he harbored about the corpse they found. Alaina¡¯s face betrayed no emotion, her gaze fixed on the floor, seemingly deciphering a pattern on the stones. In stark contrast, Weiss showed agitation, pacing the room, one hand on his hip while the other stroked his mouth, frequently shaking his head in disbelief. Foeham, meanwhile, leaned against a wall, his arms folded, his countenance marred with minor injuries from the explosion. ¡°I¡¯d assumed there¡¯d be instances of cannibalism, that¡¯s hardly shocking.¡± Weiss¡¯s muttering was soft yet audible enough for the room. ¡°Not like this, though,¡± Foeham observed. ¡°What do you think I am?¡± Weiss snapped. ¡°Of course not like this!¡± ¡°Calm yourself, Weiss,¡± Foeham replied, his voice betraying no emotion. Alaina sighed deeply. ¡°We should never underestimate the lengths people will go to when driven to desperation.¡± Weiss looked at her, slightly agitated. ¡°You say that as if you¡¯re not surprised. Eating someone who¡¯s already dead is one thing¡ªand horrid on its own¡ªbut it pales in comparison to what Carrack witnessed. Why would anyone ¡­ ?¡± ¡°Live bodies¡ªthey don¡¯t decay as swiftly,¡± Alaina pointed out methodically. ¡°They last longer than the dead. Those people thought it all out. Chains to immobilize them, removed their ability to scream, and systematically harvested non-vital parts.¡± Weiss stared, mouth agape. But it was Carrack who found his voice first. ¡°You seem almost ¡­ impressed by their methods.¡± Alaina shook her head, sighing. ¡°I¡¯ve always been intrigued by the dark corners of human ingenuity. When you¡¯ve seen enough, disgust gives way to a morbid fascination.¡± Holding Weiss¡¯s gaze without faltering, Alaina responded, ¡°From existing outside the sanctuary of walls, away from moats, and without the luxury of others¡¯ protection. From genuinely knowing the plight of those who grapple with the world¡¯s cruelties, unlike you.¡± ¡°You insolent witch,¡± Weiss hissed, his face reddening with rage. ¡°How dare you speak to me that way!¡± A hint of hurt flashed in Alaina¡¯s eyes, but she remained composed. Carrack could see her biting the inside of her cheek, perhaps trying to prevent an outburst. She was no stranger to Weiss¡¯s disdain, but being branded a ¡°witch¡± was a step too far, even for him. Carrack remembered an earlier confrontation when Weiss had used the term; he¡¯d had to intervene, sensing Alaina¡¯s urge to use her magic in retaliation. While she had since learned to manage her fury, the unpredictability of a provoked sorcerer was always concerning. ¡°Desperation plays a dangerous tune, is it any wonder when evil joins the dance? We¡¯ve heard the music playing this long; we shouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡± ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Foeham said wearily. ¡°Up here, we make grand plans about rations and patrols, but we¡¯re shielded from the real chaos. Even faith, our beacon in the darkness, has crumbled¡ªlook at the Weeping Way.¡± ¡°So, what¡¯s your grand plan?¡± Weiss scoffed. ¡°Dump all the food in the square and declare a free-for-all? Or do we place an armed soldier at every doorstep?¡± Foeham¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Don¡¯t mistake me for naive, Weiss. As Alaina pointed out, you¡¯ve always been behind walls, comfortably distant from any real threat.¡± Weiss¡¯s cheeks reddened. ¡°I traverse this island daily! I won¡¯t be branded a coward by someone barely out of his youth.¡± With a dismissive snort, Foeham retorted, ¡°You scuttle to the lighthouse on backroads with an entourage. Maybe we should strip you of those guards, send you right through the heart of town. Then we¡¯ll see how loudly you boast.¡± Not waiting for a response, Foeham turned to Carrack, urgency in his voice. ¡°Sir, we have to address the horrors from the bathhouse.¡± Carrack sat himself up from the bed and attempted to move as if to get up, but he was stopped by the silent gesture of warning from Alaina not to even try it. There was a short pause before he relented and settled back into bed. ¡°What¡¯s for us to do now? It¡¯s but embers and ash. Unless you mean the culprits we know got away?¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°Not just them,¡± Foeham insisted, pausing for a breath. ¡°Those two women couldn¡¯t have managed such an elaborate scheme with only one accomplice.¡± His eyes darted briefly to Alaina. ¡°No offense intended, but the scale of that operation¡ªit would¡¯ve needed more than just the hands of two women, especially ones seemingly past their prime.¡± Carrack frowned, rubbing his temple. ¡°And you see, that is where I¡¯m still confused. The voices I heard were certainly them, of that I have no doubt. But those two shuffled out of there so fast, it¡¯s hard for me to believe that it was the same people I met earlier.¡± Alaina¡¯s gaze was contemplative. ¡°Maybe they feigned their infirmities. A ruse.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve seen plenty of that act in the rationing lines¡ªmalingerers trolling for extras,¡± Foeham remarked. ¡°But then why risk their operation for just one body?¡± Carrack mused, a hint of frustration in his voice. ¡°As you noted, Alaina, they had ¡­ a supply. Fresh and lasting longer than any corpse.¡± He winced at his own words, the grim reality settling heavy on his shoulders. ¡°Why the unnecessary gamble?¡± Foeham hesitated, his gaze fixed intently on the floor, as though he hoped it might hold the answers. After a drawn-out silence, he finally ventured, ¡°Perhaps it wasn¡¯t theirs.¡± ¡°Then whose?¡± Carrack prompted, breaking the uneasy quiet that had settled over the room. Taking a deliberate breath, Foeham said, ¡°We can¡¯t rule out the teamsters.¡± ¡°I knew it!¡± Carrack slapped the bed. ¡°I knew you were going to say it.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± Foeham tried to interject, but Carrack¡¯s raised hand silenced him. ¡°You have been after the teamsters since we got to this island,¡± Carrack said. ¡°The cause for everything terrible that happens.¡± ¡°Yes, sir. I realize I might have been a bit ¡­ persistent regarding the teamsters, but you must see¡ª¡± Carrack looked ready to interrupt, but Alaina¡¯s voice cut through: ¡°We can¡¯t ignore the possibility.¡± Carrack suddenly felt the desire to keep up a defense diminish when he heard Alaina agree with Foeham. He let out a resigned sigh. ¡°Fine. Well, let¡¯s consider it ¡­¡± ¡°We¡¯re really considering this?¡± Weiss questioned, darting his eyes between Carrack and Foeham. ¡°So, what¡¯s next?¡± ¡°Captain, what do you have in mind?¡± Carrack inquired. ¡°First: We find those women. I propose increased patrols, wanted posters, door-to-door searches, even raids of known areas of interest.¡± Weiss raised an eyebrow. ¡°Sounds an awful lot like the plan I critiqued earlier.¡± ¡°Similar, but different,¡± Foeham corrected. ¡°I¡¯m not suggesting we indefinitely deploy the garrison throughout the city. I envision a swift, focused operation to uncover these culprits and root out any other pockets of terror.¡± Alaina smirked at the audacity, though not entirely dismissive. Weiss was visibly taken aback, while Carrack remained thoughtful, absorbing Foeham¡¯s vision. As Foeham detailed the strategy further¡ªfully deploying the garrison, incentivizing citizens with extra rations for information, and so on¡ªa lively debate erupted. Weiss and Alaina volleyed criticisms and concerns. Carrack¡¯s voice pierced the heated exchange. ¡°And after that? What¡¯s next?¡± ¡°Next?¡± Foeham parroted, caught off-guard. ¡°When you began, you said ¡®first¡¯, implying there¡¯s a subsequent step. What¡¯s the follow-up?¡± ¡°The teamsters,¡± Foeham admitted. ¡°Part two revolves around them.¡± ¡°And if you find concrete evidence, they¡¯re leading this ¡­ monstrous operation?¡± Carrack''s eyes narrowed. ¡°In essence, yes,¡± Foeham started, but Carrack¡¯s lifted brow prompted him to clarify. ¡°Well, even if they aren¡¯t directly involved, we can¡¯t ignore their growing power in the city. The unchecked authority at the docks, the rumored food stashes¡ªit all needs investigation.¡± Carrack rubbed his eyes as his head began to contemplate the suggestion. ¡°You would have us draw the ire of both the people of the city and the teamsters? It¡¯s been a while, but I¡¯m not sure the academies have started advocating the concept of a two-front war.¡± ¡°Why do we tread so cautiously around these teamsters? Why are we afraid?¡± Foeham pressed. ¡°Afraid?¡± Carrack echoed with a hint of irony. ¡°They¡¯re mere thugs,¡± Foeham persisted. ¡°In a direct confrontation, they¡¯d crumble against us.¡± ¡°But that¡¯s just it, Captain!¡± Carrack exclaimed, cutting Foeham off. ¡°They¡¯re savvy. They wouldn¡¯t brazenly confront us head-on. No, they¡¯d disappear, blending seamlessly into the city, abandoning their caches. They¡¯d squirrel away their valuables, destroy what they couldn¡¯t hide, and feign innocence when caught. They¡¯d play the compliant citizens, grinning at our men, all the while scheming to stab them in the back when least expected. Our forces would suffer casualties, first in dribs and drabs, then in greater numbers, with no decisive battles to show for it. And even if we were to withdraw to the safety of the fort, their vendetta wouldn¡¯t end. At that point, it would be a battle for dominion¡ªand frankly, I wouldn¡¯t bet against them.¡± Carrack leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Foeham¡¯s. ¡°You are not some green officer, easily swayed by bravado, as Weiss insinuated. You¡¯re astute, knowledgeable, my second-in-command, responsible for everyone here if I die. We require a strategy marked by precision, prudence, and forethought. Now we need calculated, careful planning. And you¡¯re letting your emotions take control and suggest that we go to war with the entire island and get countless people killed!¡± The tense silence enveloped the room. Carrack¡¯s eyes were ablaze, his breaths shallow and rapid, while the vein on his forehead seemed ready to burst. Across from him, Foeham¡¯s flushed face bore a testament to his own simmering anger and frustration. For a heavy moment, nobody spoke. It was Alaina who finally broke the silence, her voice soft but urgent. ¡°Captain Foeham¡ª¡± But Foeham cut her off, his voice choked with emotion. ¡°Sir,¡± he said, his eyes fixed intently on Carrack¡¯s, ¡°I dragged both you and Specialist Hunter out of a literal hellhole. Are we really going to do nothing?¡± ¡°We aren¡¯t going to do nothing!¡± Carrack shot back, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. ¡°We¡¯re going with the first part of your plan. We¡¯ll find those bastards, but we won¡¯t touch the teamsters¡ªnot until we have irrefutable proof they¡¯re tied to the bathhouse.¡± Weiss, eyebrows furrowing, asked with visible concern, ¡°Lord Carrack, you aren¡¯t seriously suggesting we unleash the entire garrison on the city to hunt down a few drug addicts, are you? There¡¯ll be a riot.¡± The room¡¯s attention shifted to Carrack, awaiting his decision. He paused, looking away for a moment. The memories of what he¡¯d witnessed replayed in his mind¡ªthe cruel, twisted scenes he¡¯d stumbled upon. These scarring images, as vivid as the flames that consumed that horrific room, made his jaw clench. A heat, born of anger, spread from his chest, threatening to overtake his rationality. Gathering himself, he met Foeham¡¯s eyes, voice filled with a mix of fury and determination. ¡°Find those fuckers.¡± Chapter 12 Chapter 12 In the hours following the meeting, the fort erupted into fervent activity. Whistles pierced the stillness, summoning soldiers from their slumber, the scramble of boots and clattering of equipment creating a cacophonous symphony above. From the depths of Alaina¡¯s subterranean dwelling, Carrack could only make out muffled noises¡ªa symphony of chaos that reverberated through layers of earth and stone. Occasionally, a particularly loud disturbance overhead would catch his attention, drawing his eyes to the ceiling. But mostly, he remained engrossed in his own thoughts, surrounded by the soft, earthen aroma of a room where Alaina cultivated her crop of potatoes. She had left earlier, keen to oversee any issues during the troop mobilization. While Carrack had the desire to go above to help in the mustering, his injured leg stifled any such desires, leaving him to his contemplations amidst the roots and soil. Carrack caressed the verdant leaves that sprouted from the soil. Their usual green was tempered by Alaina¡¯s mystical tampering, causing the edges to take on a peculiar purple hue. But the room was noticeably sparse, with vast patches of hand-tilled earth barren of mature vegetation. Seeds sprouted inconsistently, with many succumbing before even pushing through the surface. Alaina had poured immense effort into coaxing life from this unnatural environment, but the right balance remained elusive. Only the Dwarves, secluded and almost mythical in their existence, were believed to have mastered subterranean agriculture. Yet their reclusion from the wider world made them distant legends, with little interest in the affairs of men and a well-known territorial ferocity. Their true nature was still but a guess to the average man. Alaina¡¯s voice pierced the stillness, catching Carrack off-guard. ¡°Honestly, I thought a gaping wound in your leg might convince you to obey when I say to stay in bed,¡± she remarked, standing at the doorway with an arch of her brow. ¡°Just needed to give my muscles a little stretch.¡± ¡°The muscles that were torn apart only a few hours ago?¡± Alaina replied. ¡°Yes, of course, makes sense.¡± ¡°I would apologize, but you know I¡¯m not one to sit idly for long, wounds or no.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have accepted it anyways, your apology. Part of me half-expected to find you trying to climb up those stairs.¡± Alaina approached the plants, brushing a finger over their leaves. ¡°Hurts too much,¡± Carrack admitted, massaging the bandaged area on his leg. ¡°I¡¯m restless, but I know my limits.¡± ¡°Do you?¡± Alaina plucked a frail plant gently, a smirk forming. ¡°Well, let¡¯s hope miracles come in pairs then.¡± ¡°I¡¯m just hoping for this miracle,¡± Carrack said, motioning to the plants. ¡°Any breakthroughs?¡± A cloud of disappointment shadowed Alaina¡¯s expression. ¡°Growing them isn¡¯t the hurdle. The challenge, as I¡¯ve mentioned, isn¡¯t making a magical greenhouse. It¡¯s time.¡± Carrack nodded. ¡°Time.¡± ¡°Yes, time,¡± she echoed. ¡°I can¡¯t expedite their growth to where they¡¯re ready for mass consumption.¡± ¡°I never assumed this would be simple, but¡ª¡± Alaina interrupted, ¡°But it¡¯s a daunting task. It¡¯s akin to concocting a potion that hastens a child¡¯s growth or reverses aging. Manipulating time, even in theory, is a monumental task.¡± Carrack sighed dramatically. ¡°My whimsical notions about magic continue to be shattered by your pragmatic approach.¡± Alaina chuckled before saying, ¡°Such practices aren¡¯t impossible. Yet, they lie beyond what I know or can achieve. I doubt even the most accomplished magicians could muster such a feat.¡± Carrack¡¯s gaze swept across the room. ¡°So, are you hinting that this endeavor may be ¡­ impossible?¡± ¡°No, not impossible,¡± Alaina corrected. ¡°Just ¡­ intricate. The simplicity of plants masks their inherent complexity.¡± Carrack pointed to the thriving plant with a purple tinge. ¡°This one seems promising.¡± ¡°It is ¡­ intriguing,¡± she admitted, inspecting it closely. ¡°Did you apply the same method to others?¡± She shook her head. ¡°This was a solitary experiment.¡± ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time to replicate this success?¡± he suggested. She hesitated. ¡°The process is resource intensive. It drained my supplies, and I can¡¯t confirm its edibility yet.¡± ¡°What supplies are we talking about?¡± Carrack probed. Alaina looked away, discomfort evident in the line of her mouth. ¡°The ingredients are rare. You won¡¯t find them on this island. It¡¯s impractical.¡± ¡°We¡¯re cornered, Alaina. We need solutions, not obstacles.¡± Carrack¡¯s voice grew tense. ¡°If this is our best shot, tell me what you need.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a dead end.¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Alaina¡ª¡± She raised her voice, cutting him off: ¡°It¡¯s not worth it!¡± The echo of Alaina¡¯s voice lingered, casting a hush over the room. The distant, subdued bustle from the fort seeped in, emphasizing the sudden stillness. Carrack, always accustomed to Alaina¡¯s calm demeanor, was taken aback. He had seen her face Weiss¡¯s relentless probing without batting an eyelid. Her uncharacteristic outburst now left Carrack grappling with unease. Recognizing Carrack¡¯s disconcerted expression, Alaina attempted to smooth over the rupture in their conversation. ¡°Please understand, sir,¡± she began, ¡°some of my methods exact a heavy toll. Not just on my resources, but on my very essence. I¡¯d rather not delve into specifics, but believe me when I say it¡¯s not a path we want to tread. The results could render me ¡­ incapacitated, to put it lightly.¡± A sharp pain lanced through Carrack¡¯s injured leg, causing him to clench his fists reflexively. The discomfort, physical and emotional, was palpable. He finally said, ¡°I understand. I need to remember that your craft has its boundaries, and I still have much to learn about it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s intriguing,¡± Alaina said as she rose and began to meander about the room, engaging in assorted tasks, ¡°that someone as well-traveled and experienced as you claims to have met only one mage in their life. Namely, me. Hard to fathom, really.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t deny there might¡¯ve been one or two I¡¯ve crossed paths with without knowing. Brief exchanges, inconspicuous meetings, and the like. But, before you, my understanding of mages was primarily based on what I heard or read. No real personal interactions or conversations,¡± Carrack mused. Alaina quirked a brow. ¡°And I¡¯m rather curious about the picture those tales painted of us.¡± Carrack grinned. ¡°Well, if I went by every bit of hearsay I¡¯ve heard, I¡¯d think that storks are the couriers of babies and Dwarves ate nothing but rocks.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard that one too,¡± Alaina chuckled, recalling a familiar myth about mages. ¡°It¡¯s said we only associate with beautiful people, absorbing their allure like plants do sunlight.¡± Carrack hesitated momentarily, collecting his thoughts. The age-old belief was that mages, irrespective of gender, bore an intrinsic beauty. Alaina, with her striking features, only reinforced that notion for him. ¡°Stories that celebrate beauty always find more eager listeners than tales of the ordinary or grim.¡± ¡°Yet so many are foolish.¡± She rifled through her papers, her tone taking on a touch of scorn. ¡°While I know that I¡¯m not hard on the eyes, the stereotype of all mages being exceptionally comely baffles me. Many haven¡¯t laid eyes on mages who barely hover above the destitute, using modest enchantments to earn a meager meal. You, I¡¯m sure, have unknowingly encountered more mages than you realize. Many prefer anonymity, their talents known only to an inner circle.¡± ¡°The image of them is far removed from the influential court mages of yore, those who counseled kings and nobles,¡± Carrack remarked. ¡°Such an odd period,¡± Alaina mused, shaking her head. ¡°To grant a mage significant political clout without checks and balances never made sense to me. It¡¯s a wonder the subsequent uprisings and purges didn¡¯t wipe us out entirely.¡± Carrack¡¯s thoughts drifted to the infamous Fulcrum War, a dark chapter in the annals of the continent. Centuries earlier, when a plethora of small realms, fiefs, and territories jostled for supremacy, mages often occupied the role of counsel next to every ruler. While forbidden from participating as weapons of war, they excelled in courtly politics, science, and even the orchestration of royal lineages. But such a precarious balance crumbled when a circle of mages plotted to overthrow the established order on a day known as the Veilfall Night. The retaliation was swift and brutal, with wars that razed lands and purges that nearly obliterated magic users. Carrack found himself agreeing with Alaina: it was a wonder any mage had survived that tumultuous era. ¡°With the gift of hindsight, history always seems riddled with missteps. Future generations will undoubtedly critique our actions just as we do our predecessors¡¯,¡± Carrack mused. ¡°For instance, choosing to settle on this island: storm-battered, barely self-sustaining.¡± ¡°Or endorsing today¡¯s particular mission,¡± Alaina added pointedly. Carrack¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Do you believe today¡¯s choices will reverberate through time?¡± ¡°Not in the annals of history, per se,¡± she clarified. ¡°But certainly in the collective memory of those here, especially for you.¡± Carrack sighed. ¡°I was referring to a broader legacy, not the immediate aftermath.¡± ¡°Both perspectives are valid,¡± Alaina argued. ¡°While we analyze the Fulcrum Wars from a distance, we also self-reflect, questioning our own past decisions. That personal retrospection is as significant as any historical account. Someday, we¡¯ll reflect about this very moment, wondering if we made the right call.¡± Carrack pondered her words. ¡°And when you look back on today, reflecting on our circumstances here, how do you anticipate you¡¯ll feel?¡± Alaina paused, seemingly lost in thought. ¡°I believe,¡± she finally said, choosing her words carefully, ¡°that, regardless of the outcome, we¡¯ll remember you as someone who did his best.¡± A chill ran down Carrack¡¯s spine as Alaina¡¯s words settled in. The thought of today¡¯s turmoil being mere footnotes in a distant memory was both comforting and disquieting. ¡°I can only strive for my best, and hope that it¡¯s enough. But there¡¯s this looming fear inside me that suggests I may not live long enough to reflect upon these times.¡± Alaina arched an eyebrow. ¡°Such gloomy premonitions aren¡¯t like you. Cautious, yes, but you speak of dread so casually. Rest assured, I¡¯ll ensure that neither you nor the garrison go hungry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not the thought of starvation that bothers me,¡± Carrack countered, ¡°but the desperation of the people outside. If push comes to shove, they could overrun us. Yes, I could point our guns at them, even unleash our cannon meant for ships, but if they¡¯ve lost all hope ¡­ we¡¯re doomed.¡± The mood was solemn, but Alaina smirked, her eyes dancing with a mischievous glint. ¡°If that day comes, I¡¯ll take as many as I can with me. They¡¯ll remember the fight¡ªit¡¯ll be a tale for the ages.¡± Carrack let out a rueful laugh. ¡°The very fires of hell unleashed.¡± She waved him off. ¡°Perhaps. But knowing my luck, I¡¯d probably implode before setting the world ablaze. Still, it¡¯d be quite the spectacle.¡± ¡°The mood has turned darker than I anticipated with this chat,¡± Carrack observed, chuckling. ¡°Oh, absolutely!¡± Alaina exclaimed, feigning exasperation. ¡°I already live in a basement, Carrack. There¡¯s no need to darken the ambiance any further!¡± Their laughter echoed briefly, a fleeting moment of levity amidst the tension. But Carrack¡¯s thoughts soon clouded over, and he grappled with a question he felt compelled to ask. ¡°You¡¯ve checked in on Harper, haven¡¯t you?¡± Alaina looked taken aback. ¡°No, not yet. Should I?¡± ¡°With what¡¯s on the horizon, I believe it might be wise to settle any pressing matters. To be prepared for any challenges we might face,¡± he suggested. She paused, thoughtful. ¡°Other than the routine procedures, I haven¡¯t done anything extra for him. But it may be prudent, given the looming storm. Should I help you to rest first?¡± Carrack began to rise from his chair, pushing past the pain. ¡°Actually, I¡¯d like to accompany you.¡± Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. ¡°You¡¯ve never shown interest in observing my work before.¡± He hesitated, searching for the right words. ¡°Harper¡¯s dilemma comes from decisions I made. I spoke to him while we were out there. Somehow, it feels ¡­ necessary to be there. Can¡¯t quite explain it, but I hope you understand.¡± Reading the sincerity in his eyes, Alaina nodded slowly. ¡°I understand. Let¡¯s go, then.¡± Chapter 13 Chapter 13 The scene was familiar to him, yet uniquely haunting. Harper lay motionless on the table, his usually flushed skin now an unsettling shade of pallor. Stripped of his regular attire, he was draped only in a tattered cloth that barely shielded his modesty, revealing an array of tattoos on his left arm. One particular design caught Carrack¡¯s attention¡ªa series of interlocking rings resembling chainmail armor. He recognized the emblem: the Nordman¡¯s Ring. It wasn¡¯t just a tattoo; it was a rite of passage. This emblem was the mark of allegiance to a notorious gang in Oren. Each individual circle within the pattern represented an achievement earned in service to the gang. Once the rings connected to form a closed circle, it signified the members¡¯ irrevocable bond to the gang, their loyalty beyond question and their stature elevated. Notably, Harper¡¯s ring was not yet complete, indicating he was just one significant act away from achieving the coveted full circle. Carrack¡¯s thoughts swirled, trying to bridge the gap between Harper¡¯s past as a criminal and his current life as a soldier. What had driven this transformation? More intriguingly, what was the last step Harper had hesitated¡ªor chosen not¡ªto take? Those secrets now seemed destined to remain locked away as Harper¡¯s spirit journeyed into the afterlife. The gravity of his injuries, combined with profound blood loss, made it astonishing that he had even managed the journey back to the fort. Yet he had, and in his final moments, Harper was said to have murmured cryptic words about ¡°stirring¡± and ¡°shadows¡±. Carrack had witnessed enough deathbed confessions to recognize that pain and impending death often rendered a person¡¯s last utterances more a reflection of delirium than clarity. Carrack¡¯s deep contemplation was interrupted as Alaina entered, arms laden with a tray brimming with instruments. She methodically laid them out beside Harper, then proceeded to bring forth a selection of containers, some vacant and others filled with vibrantly colored liquids. As she examined Harper¡¯s body, paying particular attention to the fatal wound on his abdomen, Carrack¡¯s mind began to wander. He knew of Alaina¡¯s ritualistic care for the deceased, a surprising task she had taken upon herself not only for the garrison but for anyone on the island who sought her services. Though many commoners hesitated, wary of entrusting their departed loved ones to a mage, Carrack had grown to rely on Alaina. The trust between them was profound, built in part on the gratitude he felt she owed him for granting her refuge. Further strengthening his trust was the word from their former mortician, who¡¯d vouched for Alaina¡¯s actions, deeming them non-suspicious. Yet, the recent unsettling discovery from the corpse at the bathhouse had nudged Carrack to prudently witness her practices firsthand. Deep within, he harbored no genuine suspicion that Alaina would act nefariously, especially not before his watchful eyes. His presence, he hoped, would serve as a subtle warning. A reminder that he was attentive to her actions and that any deviation from ethical practice wouldn¡¯t go unnoticed. He hoped against hope that this observation wouldn¡¯t unearth anything incriminating. Any such revelation would thrust him into a precarious situation, forcing difficult decisions. With mounting challenges, Carrack realized that he needed Alaina¡¯s aid now more than ever and he didn¡¯t want to have to question her character. Alaina¡¯s poise was undisturbed, revealing no hint of anxiety under Carrack¡¯s watchful gaze. She meticulously examined the body, her lips moving silently, whispering words that Carrack could not discern. Was it a prayer or an arcane incantation? Her faith remained an enigma to him. Positioning a large glass container beneath the table, she affixed a wide funnel atop it. With practiced precision, she dangled Harper¡¯s lifeless arm over the funnel, fingertips just grazing its interior. Retrieving a small scalpel, she made a careful incision in the arm¡¯s central artery. As she held it steady, blood began its descent, lazily tracing the contours of his arm before dripping into the awaiting container. Satisfied that none of the vital fluid missed its mark, Alaina¡¯s attention pivoted to a new ritualistic act. She extracted some leaves from one of her many containers, placing them into her mouth. She chewed and ground them meticulously, transforming them into a pulpy mass. Carrack watched with a mix of intrigue and discomfort as she leaned over Harper, depositing the chewed concoction into the man¡¯s open mouth. With one hand sealing his lips and the other splayed across his chest, she sank into a trance-like state, her visage etched with profound concentration. In the stifling silence, a sudden change disrupted Carrack¡¯s pondering. The steady drip of the blood hastened, and another sound began to permeate the room¡ªan eerie, muffled cadence. It was unmistakably the rhythm of a heartbeat. Harper¡¯s still heart had been rekindled. Carrack¡¯s breath hitched, an involuntary response to the startling sight before him. ¡°His heart,¡± he murmured, eyes never leaving the eerie pulsation of Harper¡¯s chest under Alaina¡¯s hand. ¡°The heart is the body¡¯s most potent engine. It ensures not a single drop remains,¡± Alaina said, her voice low and steady, her attention unwavering from Harper¡¯s body. ¡°He¡¯s ¡­ alive,¡± Carrack said, seeking confirmation, but dreading it. Alaina slowly shook her head, sensing Carrack¡¯s burgeoning unease. ¡°This body no longer harbors a soul. It¡¯s a mere vessel, gradually withering with the contents that remain.¡± Carrack attempted to reconcile his emotions with logic. ¡°It feels so wrong, seeing his heart beat.¡± ¡°Think of the body as machinery. The heart, its central gear. While the natural mechanism to power it is lost, I can still manipulate it temporarily.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯re just manually cranking an engine,¡± Carrack surmised. ¡°Precisely.¡± He hesitated, then broached another concern. ¡°How can you be sure you¡¯re not inadvertently stirring his consciousness? Could you be resurrecting his soul?¡± ¡°Such things are beyond our comprehension, Carrack. Our consciousness, our essence, remains a mystery.¡± ¡°But there are those who dabble in ¡­ necromancy,¡± Carrack pressed, the word slipping uncertainly from his lips. A flicker of distaste shadowed Alaina¡¯s face. ¡°Necromancers have ¡­ different methods. Much of their art is mere illusion, a blend of deception and elaborate puppetry.¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes narrowed, catching her word choice. ¡°You said ¡®much.¡¯ What of the few who are genuine?¡± Alaina paused, her gaze distant. ¡°There are some who tread darker paths. Discussing it leaves a bitter taste. Just know that what I do is nothing like that. Harper is gone, and he isn¡¯t returning.¡± ¡°How long does this process usually take?¡± ¡°Typically? About twenty minutes for an average body. Harper, being slightly malnourished, may take less time. His heart¡¯s weaker than usual. But considering our living conditions, it¡¯s hardly surprising.¡± She shot him a concerned glance. ¡°Speaking of nourishment, have you been eating, sir?¡± Carrack hesitated. ¡°A bite now and then. Things have been ¡­ busy.¡± Without looking away from her task, Alaina inclined her head toward her own form. ¡°There¡¯s a pocket in the back of my dress. Check it.¡± Eyebrows raised, Carrack replied, ¡°A pocket? On a dress like that?¡± She smirked. ¡°It¡¯s a practical modification. This might not be the most fashionable dress, but it¡¯s functional. Front, sides, back¡ªpockets everywhere. And be gentle; I¡¯m still wearing it.¡± Apologizing for his hesitation, Carrack delved into the pocket, producing a cloth-wrapped lump. Unfolding the cloth revealed a chunk of bread. ¡°You stash bread in your dress?¡± ¡°Usually it¡¯s knives¡ªfor emergencies when traveling. But today, it¡¯s bread. Keeping it there keeps it warm, more comforting to eat,¡± Alaina said with a hint of a smile. ¡°Now, do me a favor: eat and remain silent. I need to concentrate.¡± He took a cautious bite, the taste and texture better than expected. As Carrack chewed, he observed Alaina, who seemed lost in her work, the rhythm of Harper¡¯s reanimated heart and her own steady breathing filling the chamber. There was a haunting beauty to the scene, a mix of life and death, motion, and stillness. At some point, he felt a peculiar calmness envelop him, a change in his own heartbeat that mirrored the muffled one from the table. Could it be an unintentional effect of Alaina¡¯s magic? The unpredictability of arcane forces was a known phenomenon, and he pondered whether even Alaina fully grasped the scope of her abilities. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The steady flow of blood gradually became intermittent, punctuating the silence of the room. As minutes passed, Harper¡¯s form appeared gaunt, almost mummified, as if life¡ªor at least its liquid essence¡ªhad been drained away. Carrack¡¯s eyes were drawn to the prominent tattoos, particularly the Nordman¡¯s Ring. In this desiccated state, the once incomplete tattoo seemed ironically completed, the gaps drawn together as the skin tightened. ¡°Is this what we¡¯re all destined to look like in the end?¡± Carrack said as if to himself. ¡°If you¡¯re lucky,¡± Alaina replied, stretching her fingers as if to chase away their stiffness. ¡°It¡¯s a grace compared to decaying alone in some forgotten alley or perishing on a distant battlefield, far from home. In my homeland, many can¡¯t even afford the services of an undertaker, let alone a proper burial. They¡¯ve returned to age-old practices, like cremation. Before I left, the skies seemed to have more smoke from funeral pyres than from city chimneys.¡± ¡°I guess that¡¯s true.¡± There was a slow drain he felt in his body as moments flashed in his mind of the bathhouse that were brief, but strong. ¡°Not everyone is so lucky.¡± Alaina continued her ritual with Harper¡¯s remains. After sealing the container brimming with blood and moving it aside, she incised the chest. With surgical precision, she navigated the visceral labyrinth, eventually isolating the heart. The squelches and snaps of severed tissue filled the room. The heart went into a jar, surrounded by a rosy fluid. She proceeded with the same diligence for the lungs, liver, and intestines. The brain, though, required a delicate touch. Employing a blade, its tip coated with an acidic compound, she opened the skull. As she held the brain, examining its intricacies, Carrack felt hypnotized. It was an organ he¡¯d never observed so pristinely in person. ¡°It looks so ¡­ otherworldly.¡± Carrack¡¯s voice was hushed as he inched closer. ¡°Given everything else in the body, this stands out.¡± Alaina carefully settled the brain into a jar before answering, ¡°It¡¯s a bit strange, isn¡¯t it? Your brain trying to make sense of a brain. While it may look unassuming, it¡¯s the most mysterious thing our bodies possess.¡± ¡°Do you believe we¡¯ll ever fully grasp it? Understand its every intricacy?¡± A wry smile crossed Alaina¡¯s lips. ¡°I think we¡¯ll demystify every chemical interaction within us, predict the weather¡¯s every whim, and perhaps even voyage amongst the stars. But this,¡± she gestured to the jar, ¡°remains an enigma. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll ever truly comprehend it.¡± ¡°Why do you feel that way?¡± Carrack inquired. She paused, eyes distant. ¡°Just a hunch.¡± ¡°What exactly do you do with these organs?¡± Carrack inquired. Hesitation shadowed Alaina¡¯s features. ¡°I study them,¡± she admitted reluctantly. Carrack¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Study?¡± ¡°In this setting, it might seem out of place, but¡ª¡± ¡°What¡¯s truly out of place,¡± Carrack¡¯s voice rose with a mixture of confusion and anger, ¡°is your secret examination of human remains without informing me. How long has this been ongoing?¡± ¡°Ever since I began. Your previous overseer never raised concerns, so I presumed you approved.¡± Alaina¡¯s voice wavered. Carrack wrestled with his emotions. Anger? Betrayal? Perhaps both. He paused, gathering himself. ¡°Elaborate on this ¡®study¡¯.¡± ¡°I explore potential medicines, remedies,¡± Alaina began, her voice trembling under his stern gaze. ¡°I analyze the effects of various compounds on the organs, seeking treatments tailored for specific ailments. In essence, my aim is to better comprehend the human anatomy, which in turn refines my methods of treating injuries or illnesses.¡± ¡°And after your experiments?¡± ¡°I incinerate them,¡± she replied firmly. ¡°Retaining such materials is dangerous. They could harbor diseases.¡± Carrack¡¯s frustration was palpable. ¡°Yet, once again, you omitted informing me of a potential contagion breeding right under our feet?¡± Alaina¡¯s regret was evident. ¡°My apologies, Lord Carrack. If you wish, I¡¯ll cease immediately.¡± He exhaled deeply, pondering. ¡°If your work benefits my people, continue. But I need assurances¡ªfull transparency. Is there anything else you¡¯re hiding?¡± This question was more profound than Alaina realized, as Carrack subtly hinted at Harrier¡¯s grotesque condition. She seemed momentarily lost, gauging Carrack¡¯s expression. ¡°There¡¯s nothing else you need to worry about,¡± she assured. But Carrack¡¯s patience had worn thin. ¡°Then explain Harrier¡¯s corpse!¡± he demanded. ¡°Harrier?¡± Alaina¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°We found him. Thieves tried to consume him. But inside ¡­ everything was blackened, mutated. A repugnant stench. What did you do to him?¡± Alaina¡¯s lips parted, but for a moment, silence reigned. The weight of Carrack¡¯s words seemed to anchor her, pressing the air from her chest. She clutched the table, wrestling with herself internally, while Carrack observed, waiting to discern truth from deception. After an agonizing pause, she murmured, ¡°I was pressed for time. You wanted the body at once. Handing it over intact would¡¯ve been a feast for miscreants. So, I chose to make it ¡­ less palatable.¡± ¡°How so?¡± Carrack pressed. ¡°I introduced a concoction¡ªNecrosa¡ªa substance that initiates decomposition in organic matter.¡± ¡°So, you accelerated his decay?¡± ¡°In essence,¡± she conceded. ¡°Necrosa would¡¯ve gradually rotted him. But I ¡­ enhanced its strength.¡± Carrack¡¯s mind raced, imagining the myriad of disasters narrowly averted. ¡°So, by sheer chance¡ª¡± ¡°What chance?¡± she interrupted. He grimaced. ¡°That only some dope fiends tried it. Had it reached its intended recipients, they might¡¯ve sold it.¡± ¡°Sell a body?¡± Alaina¡¯s disbelief was plain. ¡°To whom?¡± ¡°Likely, the teamsters.¡± She looked horrified. ¡°To consume?¡± Carrack shook his head grimly. ¡°No. They¡¯d mince it, mix it with regular meats, and distribute it as a stew. They boast about how they have a hidden cache of food to explain why they have the ability to make such a stew, but it¡¯s all a over to mask the fact that they¡¯re serving human flesh.¡± Her face paled. ¡°How can you be certain of this?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a well-guarded secret,¡± he replied darkly. ¡°Now, within these walls, only you, Weiss, and I know.¡± ¡°So you feared that¡ª¡± ¡°If that body had entered the food chain, we¡¯d be dealing with catastrophes.¡± ¡°How do you know this?¡± Alaina pressed. ¡°Their agenda? And how can you tolerate it?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± Carrack¡¯s voice thickened with emotion. ¡°They informed me to prevent any confrontations. Their aim? Feed the masses and maintain a semblance of order in our absence.¡± ¡°An alliance, then. You¡¯ve essentially endorsed cannibalism for stability,¡± Alaina observed, her tone neutral. ¡°Pragmatic.¡± ¡°I¡¯d imagined you¡¯d see the logic,¡± Carrack sighed, his eyes weary. ¡°Foeham wouldn¡¯t. While I¡¯m disturbed by the truth, I accept it. The teamsters, with their ¡®stew men¡¯, probably saved us from chaos multiple times. Their enforcers also deter any thoughts of an uprising.¡± Alaina pieced it together. ¡°That¡¯s why you hesitate to act against the teamsters.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Carrack said bitterly. ¡°This accord is fragile, brimming with unspoken terms. In the city, the tension was unmistakable; they served their stew in front of us on the square.¡± ¡°And Foeham?¡± Alaina inquired. Carrack¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°He¡¯s suspicious, especially after witnessing that spectacle. Not of cannibalism. He¡¯s convinced they¡¯re hoarding food in the dock warehouses.¡± Alaina, intrigued, asked, ¡°Are they?¡± Carrack shrugged. ¡°Most likely. Not like there¡¯s anything I can do about it, nor want to.¡± ¡°Because it would be war.¡± ¡°I stay out of their business, they stay out of mine, we all work together, albeit separately,¡± Carrack said as he leaned forward, his hands rubbing his face. ¡°Alright, we avoided disaster, I¡¯ll take small victories whenever they come. As for this organ studying,¡± he gestured at the filled jars, ¡°you should have told me¡ªI¡¯m still annoyed by that¡ªbut I¡¯m not as furious as I was or thought I¡¯d be. Guess it wasn¡¯t as bad as I expected.¡± Alaina looked at him intently. ¡°And what exactly did you expect to discover?¡± Carrack searched for the right words. Finally, he admitted, ¡°Something far worse.¡± Alaina let out a soft, exasperated sigh. ¡°I suppose I should be accustomed to being seen in such a light. Yet, it¡¯s somewhat disheartening hearing it from you.¡± Carrack met her gaze. ¡°It¡¯s not a personal reflection on you,¡± he said gently. ¡°Everyone harbors a shadow, even saints.¡± She turned back to her work, musing aloud. ¡°Quite a worldview¡ªto perceive everyone as a potential monster at their core.¡± He nodded. ¡°Indeed, it¡¯s ¡­ taxing.¡± Pausing for a moment, he then gestured toward the table. ¡°So, what are the next steps?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll restore him, close him up. By the time I¡¯m done, he¡¯ll appear as though he¡¯s merely resting. He¡¯ll be stored until the next boat departs for the mainland, whenever that happens.¡± Alaina returned to her task, meticulously preparing the body. She began filling the vacant spaces, where organs once resided, with a substance that appeared to be mere dirt. In truth, this was no ordinary dirt¡ªit was imbued with enchantments and infused with specific ingredients to fulfill her requirements. Once the cavities were filled, she delicately placed a single seed deep within the mixture and methodically sewed up each incision. With the final touches approaching, Alaina applied a thick paste inside Harper¡¯s mouth. Carrack watched, an involuntary shiver snaking its way down his spine, as she then sewed the mouth shut followed by the eyes. The action invoked a chilling memory: the mutilated victim from the bathhouse, reaching out in sheer desperation. It was a haunting image, one that Carrack swiftly and deliberately suppressed. Pushing it down into the recesses of his mind, hoping fervently it would remain buried there. There remained one final miracle to enact, and Alaina had already set its wheels in motion. In due time, the seed buried within the soil-filled cavities would interact with the paste in Harper¡¯s mouth. This would catalyze the growth of a unique array of plants that would burgeon and weave through the corpse¡¯s circulatory system, giving the body a semblance of inflation as if rejuvenated with life. It was a testament to Alaina¡¯s ingenious capabilities, having gleaned this technique from other nomadic mages who improvised with the resources at hand to offer such services. Contemporary methods leaned more toward chemical and synthetic preservations, ensuring a longer-lasting result. Given their current circumstances, however, Alaina¡¯s method was the pinnacle of what could be achieved. ¡°And that¡¯s that,¡± Alaina declared, wiping her hands on her apron, her fingers leaving faint stains. ¡°Now, he can be transferred to a cooler chamber. I have several to select from and potentially many more if the rest of this place is ever unearthed.¡± Carrack tilted his head thoughtfully. ¡°Slim chance at that. Digging deeper might compromise the fort¡¯s stability. These ancient ruins are already bearing more weight than they were designed to. Perhaps someday when the world no longer needs forts.¡± Alaina covered Harper gently with a cloth, a melancholy look on her face. ¡°It¡¯s a pity. There¡¯s likely a rich history buried beneath our feet.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Carrack¡¯s gaze wandered over the chamber walls, where faded etchings¡ªremnants of forgotten tales or perhaps ancient warnings¡ªwere just barely visible. Though he had passed by them countless times, he¡¯d never given them the attention a piece of him felt they deserved. ¡°I bet there is.¡± Chapter 14 Chapter 14 20 August 149 Third Age Three days had come and gone since the order to hunt the two fugitives was issued. The fort buzzed with relentless activity as Captain Foeham orchestrated continuous patrols. Soldiers came and went in a seemingly never-ending cycle, their faces marked by fatigue. Yet, with each returning patrol, there was no news of the elusive women they sought. Confined to the fort by his injury and Alaina¡¯s incessant persistence on his recovery, Lord Carrack could do little more than watch and wait. But his concern for his men, combined with an insatiable appetite for updates, found him braving the rain, stationed atop the gate. From there, he surveyed the city, eyes ever vigilant for any hint of unexpected happenings. Each report that returned without a trace of success gnawed at him, but what worried him more was the absence of his second-in-command. Captain Foeham had vowed not to return until their mission was complete or deemed an impossible pursuit. Though Carrack¡¯s every instinct screamed at him to summon Foeham back for a much-needed rest, he curbed the impulse. He had placed his trust in Foeham¡¯s judgement and would let him see the task through. The rhythmic drumming of rain on Carrack¡¯s hood was interrupted only by the occasional roll of thunder overhead. Drops cascaded off the brim, yet he remained transfixed by the city below. It was only the sound of a raspy cough that broke his reverie. Loreman Weiss, with his advanced years seeming even more pronounced in the harsh elements, made his way slowly up the stairs. His steps, a mixture of shuffles and hobbles, carried the weight of many years. Clad in an oversized rain cloak, Weiss extended a hand, offering two steaming cups to Carrack. ¡°To what do I owe this pleasure?¡± Carrack mused with a smile, shaking water from his face. ¡°The esteemed Mr. Loreman Weiss, delivering drinks in this downpour. It¡¯s as if I truly am lordly.¡± Weiss merely huffed, thrusting a cup into Carrack¡¯s grasp. ¡°Here.¡± Peering into the cup, Carrack noted its peculiar green hue and the earthy aroma it exuded. ¡°What have we here?¡± ¡°I believe it¡¯s tea,¡± Weiss replied, positioning himself beside Carrack and leaning against the wall¡¯s edge. ¡°The witch insisted you have it. Said something about preventing you from falling ill in this weather.¡± A frown creased Carrack¡¯s brow at Weiss¡¯s deliberate choice of descriptor. ¡°You¡¯d do well to keep such names to yourself, especially around her.¡± Weiss feigned innocence. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You know exactly what,¡± Carrack admonished wearily. ¡°Keep that talk up, she¡¯ll probably turn you into a frog. And if that time comes, don¡¯t expect me to intervene.¡± He paused, scrutinizing Weiss¡¯s cup. ¡°Why did she hand one to you?¡± Weiss took a tentative sip, shrugging. ¡°Not sure. Likely intended it for herself but reconsidered once she saw me headed this way. I would hardly believe it wasn¡¯t out of concern for my well-being.¡± ¡°You sell her short,¡± Carrack mused. ¡°She may not particularly like you, but she¡¯s not one to neglect a person¡¯s welfare. It¡¯s just not in her nature.¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°And perhaps you¡¯re a bit too trusting,¡± Weiss shot back. ¡°¡®Mages¡¯ or ¡®witches¡¯, as I like to call them, they¡¯re not trustworthy.¡± Carrack chuckled, though without much humor. ¡°Weiss, you¡¯ve been distrusting of them for as long as I¡¯ve known you. It¡¯s a miracle you managed to work in the Senate for so long without stumbling upon the bad side of a mage.¡± ¡°Those mages didn¡¯t dare skulk around the Senate,¡± Weiss stated, the pride evident in his tone. Carrack raised an eyebrow. ¡°Truly? You believe none of them were present, mingling right under your vigilant watch?¡± ¡°The laws forbid them from nearing power corridors and influential men,¡± Weiss pointed out. ¡°For good reasons, might I add. Because of the incident with Fulcrum¡ª¡± Carrack waved him off. ¡°I¡¯m well-aware of the history. The Senate might¡¯ve been dull, but their libraries weren¡¯t. Yet, it¡¯s naive to think that some haven¡¯t infiltrated, operating in secrecy.¡± Weiss grunted, changing tack. ¡°If they dare, the risks are on them. But enough about mages.¡¯¡± His face turned stern. ¡°One of Franzen¡¯s contacts came around.¡± Carrack¡¯s hand shot out, gesturing for silence. He glanced around, ensuring they were unobserved before nodding for Weiss to continue. ¡°He¡¯s growing wary of Foeham¡¯s maneuvers. While Foeham¡¯s respected their boundaries, he¡¯s toeing the line.¡± ¡°And? Did you manage to soothe their concerns?¡± Carrack inquired, taking a sip of his tea. ¡°I gave them our usual assurances,¡± Weiss responded. ¡°They¡¯d be more reassured hearing it straight from you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡± Carrack¡¯s tone was firm. ¡°Then perhaps supervise Foeham yourself,¡± Weiss proposed. ¡°I¡¯d be down there in a heartbeat if I could,¡± Carrack sighed, gesturing toward his leg. ¡°But I rather not to infection or a permanent limp.¡± Weiss¡¯s shoulders slumped, a rare sign of vulnerability. ¡°This situation ¡­ It¡¯s just ¡­¡± Words escaped him as he stared out at the rain-soaked city. ¡°I know,¡± Carrack murmured in agreement. Weiss began hesitantly, ¡°What you witnessed out there¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather not discuss it.¡± Taking a deep breath, Weiss tried again, ¡°It¡¯s just ¡­¡± He shuddered involuntarily, not just from the cold. ¡°Unnatural, even for desperate people. I¡¯ve seen my fair share of desperation, at least in my reading of history and news, but never such malicious things.¡± ¡°People have always eaten people,¡± Carrack stated, his voice devoid of emotion. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong there, but this feels different¡ªjust hearing about it carried a different weight to it.¡± Weiss struggled for words, his gaze distant. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re telling me how bad a meal was, but I can smell it on your breath too. A less than apt metaphor, I know, but it¡¯s hard for me to describe.¡± Carrack paused, the weight of his memories pressing down. ¡°When I was there, at the bathhouse, it felt ¡­¡± Another shudder, more profound than before, raced down his spine. ¡°Inherently evil.¡± ¡°You brought up Lady Matilda during your investigation,¡± Weiss said. ¡°Considering recent events, perhaps she¡¯s worth a second visit?¡± Carrack grumbled at the mere mention, though he couldn¡¯t deny the logic. ¡°Lady Matilda does have an uncanny sense of the city¡¯s pulse. True to her God, she always listens.¡± ¡°She¡¯s the island¡¯s last remaining priest,¡± Weiss said, implying more than he voiced. ¡°Or at the very least, still practicing.¡± ¡°You think she had a hand in the horrors at the bathhouse? A cult, you suppose?¡± Carrack¡¯s voice hardened with suspicion. ¡°I won¡¯t deny that the thought of cult activity crossed my mind. But Lady Matilda and her unusual following? No, I don¡¯t see them in that light,¡± Weiss said. Carrack took a thoughtful sip from his tea. ¡°Given your usual mistrust, why are you convinced of her innocence?¡± Weiss shot him an incredulous look. ¡°You, of all people, should know!¡± ¡°Right to the bathhouse,¡± Carrack acknowledged, a shadow crossing his face. ¡°She led you right to the bathhouse, that¡¯s right.¡± Weiss reiterated. ¡°No sense in sending the authorities to the scene of the crime.¡± ¡°No,¡± Carrack inhaled deeply, his next thoughts weighing heavily on him. ¡°No, there isn¡¯t. I suppose I should probably ask her directly about the grisly acts we¡¯ve witnessed. Maybe she knows something about it already. Afterall, she rarely divulges anything without directly asking about it.¡± ¡°I can see the apprehension in your eyes,¡± Weiss noted. ¡°You dread meeting her again.¡± ¡°More than you know,¡± Carrack murmured. Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Within the fort, only a select few, including Carrack, were privileged to have private quarters. Nestled at the zenith of a tower at the heart of the main building complex, his abode stood isolated from the hustle and bustle below. To reach this sanctuary, Carrack had to navigate a winding, spiraled staircase. With each ascent, a sharp sting shot through his injured leg, twisting his face into a grimace of pain. The chamber itself was austere. Bare brick walls contained the room¡¯s expanse, only broken by a handful of quaint paintings. These canvases, each portraying a distinct corner of the island, were remnants from the previous commander¡¯s tenure. Anchoring one side of the room was an old, robust desk, swamped under a sea of town reports¡ªmost of which had lost relevance over time. Amidst this pile was Carrack¡¯s cherished possession: a leather-bound journal that held many of his thoughts and musings since arriving on Helena. For years, Carrack had filled numerous journals with his introspections, choosing to burn each one once its pages bore the weight of memories he wished to release. The recent events had diverted him from his usual practice, making his room seem more distant and unfamiliar. As he picked up his pen, every stroke felt laborious, each word a struggle as he documented the spiraling events. The casual banter, official meetings, the exhaustive search, the enigmatic Lady Matilda, and the chilling scene at the bathhouse¡ªall were jotted down in a chaotic narrative, interspersed with his own reflections on them. These writings were his therapeutic escape: a conduit to channel the shadows of his experiences onto paper, making his spirit feel lighter with every word penned. It was his ritual to exorcise the dark specters that haunted him. This time, however, the usual catharsis eluded him. Those emotions clung to him, stubbornly anchored at his fingertips, refusing to be distilled into mere ink on paper, leaving a residue of unease. After an hour engrossed in his writing, Carrack felt the weight of exhaustion settle upon him, his eyes heavy and his joints aching for respite. Massaging his cramping hand, he peered down at the journal. The words sprawled across more pages than he remembered penning. The inconsistencies stood out starkly: his usually meticulous handwriting was now disjointed and errant, bypassing the hand-drawn lines meant to guide crisp, orderly sentences. At places, he struggled to decipher his own scribbles. His sigh wasn¡¯t just an acknowledgment of his sloppy writing¡ªit was a reflection of a deeper frustration. How had he allowed himself to be so drained? Could exhaustion have muddled his judgment? Were decisions like granting Foeham such sweeping authority misguided by his fatigue? These probing questions began to whirl inside his head. Yet, recognizing the unproductiveness of spiraling into doubt, Carrack forcibly pulled himself from the quagmire of introspection and made his way to get the rest he so direly needed. His modest bed, no grander than those of his men, nestled snugly in a corner, its headboard abutting the wall and its side touching a modest bedside table. The room¡¯s ambiance was dictated by a sparse scattering of candles and a lone window that overlooked the town and its docks. The persistent storm clouds rarely permitted sunlight or moonlight to filter in, so it was often the jagged streaks of lightning that momentarily brightened his quarters. Carrack always found solace in the small fireplace in his room, its warmth giving him an edge of comfort absent in most of the fort. With the fire crackling and quickly taking the room¡¯s chill away, Carrack set about readying himself for a restful sleep. Shedding his clothing until only his undergarments remained, he grimaced as he peeled off wet socks and boots, unveiling sore and chafed feet. Placing them close to the fire to dry, he then hung the remainder of his garments on a taut rope strung across the room near the fireplace. This nightly routine, born from the perpetual damp of the locale, had become a ritual since he began calling this place his refuge, the consistent rains demanding the ritualistic drying of clothing. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. His methodical preparation for sleep paused as he remembered the contents of his pockets. Sifting through the assortment, he found spare bullet rounds, waterlogged notes, and most importantly, his grandfather¡¯s silver pocket watch. Without hesitation, he tossed the illegible notes into the fire and placed the bullets neatly on his desk. Yet, when he grasped the watch, he paused, transfixed. The watch, while seemingly unremarkable, held an immeasurable value for Carrack; it was his tangible bond to a grandfather he¡¯d never known. Holding it was like touching a memory, a brief sensation that seemed to bridge the gap between the here and now, the past, and even the great beyond. But as moments do, it passed, and with a gentle sigh, Carrack laid the watch on his desk, the momentary spell dissolved. The consistent rhythm of raindrops on the window and the fire¡¯s gentle crackle typically combined to lull Carrack into a restful slumber. But the challenge wasn¡¯t falling asleep; it was staying asleep. His subconscious often twisted the comforting sounds of nature into ominous echoes. His dreams, already dark shadows that tormented his rest, grew even more vivid and troubling following his first encounter with Lady Matilda. She had promised a means to untangle the web of his recurring nightmares. But rather than alleviating his terrors, her ¡°therapy¡± seemed to deepen their grip on his psyche, blurring the lines between dream and reality. He resented her for it, but part of him acknowledged that it was his choice to seek her out. He had willingly bared his soul to someone whose intentions were, at best, murky. Her persistent offers for further sessions only added to his confusion. Was she genuinely trying to help, or was there an ulterior motive? He was torn about trusting her further with his fragile mental state. And while Alaina¡¯s concoctions promised temporary relief, he was wary of relying too much on them. Tonight, like so many before, offered no respite from the nightly torments. Hovering on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, the ambient sounds of his surroundings contorted into foreboding omens. Gentle raindrops, once a soothing lullaby, now took on the form of relentless, determined fists battering on a barricaded door. The fire¡¯s reassuring crackle, a symbol of warmth and protection, became the guttural growl of a lurking beast, ever watchful, ever patient. In this surreal limbo, Carrack couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this spectral predator was merely biding its time, choosing the perfect moment when he¡¯d be lost in the depths of slumber to make its move. And if it were to strike, what fate awaited him? Choosing to surrender to the dream¡¯s embrace, Carrack tried to ease his mind, favoring slumber over awareness. Yet the imagined growls became more distinct, louder, and disturbingly nearer. There were muted footsteps now, echoing just beyond his line of sight, resembling the tread of something that did not wish to be seen. While the fire should have warmed the room, a cold crept in, contradicting the bright blaze of the flames. Each soft impact sent shivers down his spine and caused his skin to goosebump. The atmosphere thickened, every inhalation a laborious, frosty task. The footsteps were punctuated by a menacing murmur, eerily reminiscent of someone drawing a sharp inhale through clenched jaws. As Carrack tried to shake off the trance, the siren call of sleep threatened to submerge him further into its depths. A numbing coldness spread from his extremities, inching its way toward his head. A scream welled up in his throat, but his body betrayed him, rigid and immobilized by sheer dread. Each footstep, each chilling exhale, every snarl threatened to drown him in horror. The once-vibrant flame dwindled until shadows consumed the room. And then ¡­ another step. Abruptly, a sharp bang punctuated the thick atmosphere. The familiar glow of firelight rushed back, warming the room, and dispelling the cold void. The chilling, illusory sounds receded, supplanted by the ambient noises of the fort. Carrack jerked awake with a gasp, a stifled scream escaping his lips. Before him, in place of a fearsome creature, stood an out-of-breath soldier, urgency etched on his face. ¡°Sir!¡± The soldier panted, grappling for words. ¡°Foeham ¡­ the town ¡­ Something¡¯s gone terribly wrong.¡± Chapter 16 Chapter 16 Scarcely had a few moments elapsed when Carrack, spurred by urgency, bolted from his chamber, and hurtled down the tower, barely noticing the persistent ache in his leg. Adrenaline proved a potent pain killer, numbing the pain and propelling him into the fort¡¯s shadowy courtyard. A handful of soldiers, already on high alert due to the breathless arrival of the messenger, stood poised and vigilant, their eyes scanning the area for signs of impending danger. As Carrack swiftly equipped himself with the necessary gear and weapons, the messenger wasted no time in briefing him. Captain Foeham had spearheaded a unit to investigate a warehouse near the docks, acting on suspicions of the teamster¡¯s hoarding food. Their suspicions proven correct, the discovery of the cache had unfortunately led the teamsters to rally an angry mob. Now, Captain Foeham and his team found themselves cornered inside that very warehouse. ¡°How many are we up against?¡± Carrack inquired urgently. As he rallied troops for the imminent rescue, he internally chastised Foeham for breaking his orders. ¡°Two, perhaps three dozen were making their way to the docks when I departed,¡± the messenger conveyed, catching his breath. ¡°Captain Foeham is accompanied by merely half a dozen men.¡± ¡°Only six?!¡± Carrack¡¯s voice laced with disbelief. ¡°And what of our patrols? Could they be of assistance?¡± The messenger hesitated momentarily. ¡°No, sir. Captain Foeham ordered their return to minimize the footprint. He believed a smaller unit would operate more discreetly. His primary objective was to ascertain the stockpile, not to claim it.¡± Carrack¡¯s frustration was palpable. ¡°Damn it all! Rally a platoon, immediately! Rouse any resting men; I want them at the ready!¡± Soldiers from all corners of the fort sprang into action, their urgency palpable as word spread of their brethren¡¯s dire situation. In what felt like mere moments, the entirety of the garrison was roused and ready for action. But Carrack, always a tactician, recognized the potential vulnerability of an undermanned fort with a potential revolt on the horizon. With reluctance, he turned the majority away, choosing only a select team for the mission. Once his rescue unit was solidified, they bolted from the fort¡¯s confines, their boots pounding against the storm-swept, muddied earth. The city¡¯s silhouette loomed on the horizon, normally a steady half-hour¡¯s distance. The wind and rain battered them, pulling at their spirits, threatening to curb their drive. But then, a beacon of urgency: a crimson emergency flare burst forth, arcing high over the dockyard. The sight, a stark contrast against the stormy night, steeled their determination, propelling them onward. As they breached the outskirts, the port city of Helena flashed by in a frenetic whirl. Their feet transitioned from the treacherous mire of the fields to the hard, reassuring cobblestones of the city streets, spurring them forward even faster. The storm¡¯s ever-present hum was suddenly punctuated by a distant riotous clamor, signaling the unrest they were racing toward. Suddenly, a deafening crack reverberated through the air, echoing off the city¡¯s stone structures. Instinctively, the soldiers scattered, seeking shelter in any shadowy alcove, behind upturned carts, or against the solid facades of the looming buildings. Carrack¡¯s voice, edged with pain and urgency, cut through the tension: ¡°Where was that shot from?¡± A symphony of hushed, uncertain murmurs replied. No sooner had the question been posed than another gunshot, and then another, punctuated the air. These rapid-fire detonations were interspersed with shrill cries of terror and pain-laden roars, each evoking chilling visions of the brutal confrontation they were hurtling toward. ¡°To the docks!¡± Carrack bellowed, an undercurrent of panic just barely discernible in his otherwise authoritative command. The palpable desperation in his voice galvanized the soldiers, binding them together as they readied themselves for the storm of conflict awaiting them. A lone silhouette in the distance made the regiment halt in their tracks. Its uneven gait seemed eerily out of place amid the charged atmosphere, and even these battle-hardened soldiers found themselves momentarily transfixed. As recognition washed over Carrack, a cold weight settled in his chest, temporarily overshadowing the urgency of their objective. Drawing closer, the figure¡¯s identity became gut-wrenchingly clear: a young boy, fingers futilely clutching a bleeding wound on his abdomen. His clothes were now marred by a spreading darkness, drenched both from the storm and from his own blood. His pallid face, etched with pain and exhaustion, seemed unnaturally old, and his gaze was eerily detached, as if he had already surrendered to his fate. Stolen story; please report. Whispered inquiries circled around Carrack, but he remained rooted in place, a dark foreboding weighing him down. And then, the inevitable: the boy¡¯s faltering steps ceased altogether as he crumpled to the cold cobblestone. The silence that followed his fall was as profound as the boy¡¯s initial appearance. But the cruel hand of time continued to tick, and reality intruded once more into Carrack¡¯s grim contemplation. Shaking off the haunting ghosts of the past that this scene had dredged up, he snapped back into the immediacy of the present. Every moment counted, and they had a mission to accomplish. The docks, once the pulsing heart of the island¡¯s commerce with the outside world, now resonated with an unsettling stillness. Like the skeletal fingers of a long-deceased giant, the wooden and concrete piers jutted into the vast, relentless ocean, conspicuously devoid of the regular ships that once danced around their edges. The usually bustling warehouses and cranes now seemed like abandoned relics, their dormant structures a stark contrast to the dynamic past. As the rescue party approached, the briny bite of the sea wind assailed them, ruffling collars, and tousling hair. Almost magnetically, their gazes were drawn toward dock number seven. A motley group of figures shuffled around in a confusing display, surrounded by what appeared to be dark, lifeless forms scattered across the ground. The looming warehouse at the end of the dock beckoned as their primary objective. Drawing nearer, the indistinct shapes hauntingly transformed into the unmistakable forms of lifeless islanders, victims of the recent conflict. The wandering figures were survivors, dazed and numb, moving aimlessly amidst the fallen loved ones. The grisly scene featured people from every facet of island life: young and old, men and women, all united in death. Carrack felt a cold shiver of horror at the sight. But his tactical mind immediately recognized the vulnerability of his stationary men. ¡°Move, move!¡± Carrack barked, his voice cutting through the shock. ¡°Get out of the open! Secure the warehouse!¡± Carrack¡¯s urgent order jolted most of his men from their horror-induced paralysis. Pushing ahead toward the warehouse, they rallied their slower companions, urging them forward. The ragged relief of the two soldiers stationed at the entrance was unmistakable as they caught sight of the reinforcements. ¡°Back up¡¯s here!¡± one shouted, a flicker of hope rekindling in his eyes. The presence of Carrack and his squad seemed to instill a renewed vigor amidst the harrowing scene. From the murky depths of the warehouse, Captain Foeham emerged. The weight of the ordeal was evident in his distant, haunted eyes and the blood-soaked cloth he pressed against his forehead. He locked eyes with Carrack for a brief, heavy moment, communicating a world of unspoken words before retreating back into the shadows. As Carrack¡¯s team spread out to bolster defenses and secure the perimeter, he took a determined breath and ventured into the dimness after Foeham. Carrack discovered the captain leaning against a barrel, looking so drained that he hardly acknowledged the approaching footsteps. Their quiet presence spoke volumes of the situation¡¯s gravity. After what felt like an eternity, Carrack took a deep breath and voiced the question looming over them. ¡°What in the world happened here, Captain?¡± Carrack¡¯s voice trembled with a mix of anger and disbelief. ¡°We had planned everything, sir. We took every precaution,¡± Foeham replied, his voice a weary whisper. ¡°What did you do?¡± Carrack¡¯s tone was more accusatory, with a sharp edge. Gesturing with a weak nod toward the nightmarish scene outside, Foeham murmured, ¡°The locals believed we were hoarding the discovered food supplies. The teamsters stirred them up. Everything spiraled out of control.¡± ¡°Spiraled? Spiraled!¡± Carrack¡¯s rage was palpable. ¡°People are dead, Foeham! Can you even comprehend what you¡¯ve done?¡± Foeham stared vacantly, blood slowly seeping from beneath the rag pressed to his temple. He gave a slow nod before his voice emerged, barely more than a rasping whisper. ¡°I saw them ¡­ in the crowd.¡± Carrack leaned in closer, eyes narrowing with confusion. ¡°Who did you see?¡± Swallowing hard, Foeham met Carrack¡¯s gaze, his own eyes betraying a stark terror. ¡°Demons.¡± Carrack frowned. ¡°Demons? Foeham, what are you rambling about?¡± ¡°Demons,¡± Foeham repeated, his voice eerily distant, ¡°surrounding them. Their shadows, stirring, writhing.¡± ¡°Shadows ¡­ stirring.¡± Carrack echoed, a shiver of recognition passing through him. Those words¡ªshadows, stirring¡ªthey had been Harper¡¯s enigmatic last words. An uneasy feeling settled in Carrack¡¯s stomach, but he quickly pushed it aside, attributing it to the stress of the situation. He straightened up, gazing down at his wounded captain. ¡°You¡¯re in shock, Captain. We¡¯ll address your breach of my orders once we¡¯re out of this mess.¡± Carrack called forth whomever was second-in-command of Foeham¡¯s party. From the shadows, a familiar silhouette emerged: Crow. Stockier and bearing more years than most of the men present, his military haircut contrasted a well-groomed slick of black hair on top. Although his demeanor was stern, there was an undeniable wisdom in his eyes¡ªa wisdom born of countless battles and skirmishes. Carrack had often heard of Crow during his mainland assignments. While Crow had consistently turned down officer commissions, preferring the grit and grind of enlisted life, he was often in Carrack¡¯s considerations for leadership in crisis situations. After a fleeting glance at Foeham¡¯s condition, Crow¡¯s piercing eyes met Carrack¡¯s. ¡°What¡¯s our next move, sir?¡± ¡°Command falls to me now,¡± Carrack stated firmly. Crow gave a terse nod. ¡°That much is clear. Time to make our exit?¡± ¡°With haste,¡± Carrack concurred, eyeing the warehouse¡¯s entrance warily. ¡°Any wounded amongst us?¡± ¡°Just the captain¡¯s injury¡ªprobably a brick or a piece of debris from the mob,¡± Crow detailed, scanning his men. ¡°We can be ready to move in five.¡± Carrack clapped a reassuring hand on Crow¡¯s shoulder. ¡°See to it.¡± As he assessed their surroundings, his gaze settled on barrels and containers branded with symbols indicating their contents: ale, grain, oil, and more. A curse slipped from his lips. Their cover was blown. Pretending ignorance of the teamsters¡¯ illicit stockpile was no longer an option. As that realization sank in, a shout echoed from one of the sentries, pulling him from his thoughts. ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± the sentry warned. The ominous shuffle of a crowd grew louder. Conflict was no longer a matter of if, but when. Chapter 17 Chapter 17 Sentries reported that there were only a few people on the dock and that there was an eerie silence about the first people who arrived on the docks. Gaunt, they shuffled quietly amidst the remains of the earlier carnage, their shadowy forms barely discernible in the rain, sporadic lightning flashes granting them a ghostly illumination. They combed through the fallen, grasping for anything of value, their examination of each body meticulous and eerily respectful. From the shelter of the warehouse, the sentries told of what they saw. ¡°Poor bastards,¡± one of the watchful soldiers muttered to Carrack when he reported the sightings. But Carrack knew there was nothing pitiable about these figures¡ªthey were the ¡°Stew Men¡±. Lured in by the promise of food and companionship, these unfortunate souls were enlisted by the teamsters. Their task was to collect bodies in reasonable condition and process them into a stew peddled to the desperate as ¡°mystery meat¡±. It was doubtful anyone was truly oblivious to the ¡°mystery¡±, but people could convince themselves of anything if it meant clinging to some shred of their dwindling humanity. Once the Stew Men finished their grim task and disappeared into the storm¡¯s embrace, a new wave of islanders descended upon the dock that Carrack saw before him. Gone was the paralyzing grip of fear; in its place, a steely determination had taken root. As the tempest roared above, mournful wails cut through, echoing the heart-wrenching pain of those who had lost their kin. The once-silent docks soon buzzed with frenzied activity. Islanders, united in grief, assisted one another in the sorrowful endeavor of collecting their dead. In a particularly poignant act of defiance, select bodies were hoisted high, becoming symbolic standards that heralded the crowd¡¯s advance, much like banners leading a battalion into battle. Angry chants rippled through the masses, each word a dagger aimed at the wearied defenders huddled within the warehouse. From behind the barricades, the soldiers kept vigilant watch, their eyes darting around the mob, expecting a charge. Carrack noticed the men¡¯s grips on their rifles tightening, their hands shaking, and feared that their nerves were waning. Carrack rallied his troops, ensuring rifles were primed and positions fortified. From the stronghold of the warehouse, they braced themselves for the inevitable confrontation with the agitated mob outside. The storm, in its relentless fury, seemed to echo the unrest below. Voices, trembling with urgency, bellowed commands for the crowd to stand down. But their cries vanished into the wind, lost against the defiant march of the islanders. ¡°Men, ready to fire a warning shot! Let¡¯s give them something to think about!¡± Carrack¡¯s voice rang out, its sharpness piercing through the cacophony of the storm and the rising din of the crowd. ¡°Aim high! And ¡­ fire!¡± The sudden volley from the warehouse shattered the air with resounding cracks. Bullets hissed overhead, tearing through the rain-soaked curtain of the storm, their trajectories clear against the darkened sky. The immediate vicinity below the shots saw a ripple of hesitation, with some in the crowd instinctively ducking or glancing upward in startled reaction. But the collective momentum of the mob persisted, the swell of bodies pushing forward, undeterred, and seemingly even more determined in the face of displayed firepower. Doubt began its insidious crawl into Carrack¡¯s mind. He felt an acrid taste, like bile, rising in his mouth, and a cold shiver tingled down his spine. As he scanned the crowd, every face he saw was etched with the unmistakable mark of vengeance. Rapid calculations darted through his thoughts: the number of the angry mob versus his own limited forces; the flimsy barrier that the warehouse offered against such overwhelming odds; the firepower at his disposal and the limited reserves of ammunition. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it He turned the scenarios over and over in his mind, assessing each potential outcome of the confrontation. But no matter how he twisted and contorted the possibilities, the grim conclusion was always the same. If they clashed, it would be nothing short of a bloodbath. ¡°Sir,¡± Crow interjected, his voice carrying the stark finality of someone who¡¯d seen it all. He extended a canister¡ªan incendiary grenade¡ªtoward Carrack. ¡°We could set the warehouse aflame and use the chaos to escape into the sea.¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes widened, and his initial reaction was sheer disbelief. ¡°Have you lost your mind?¡± he exclaimed. But then, after a beat, his tone softened, betraying a hint of desperation. ¡°How many of those do you have?¡± ¡°Two,¡± replied Crow, his gaze unwavering. Carrack grabbed the canisters. ¡°The rain is too heavy; the fire won¡¯t spread enough to provide a proper diversion. More likely, we¡¯ll end up suffocating in smoke.¡± He took a rain cloak from a nearby soldier, using it to conceal the incendiaries. ¡°However, the mob doesn¡¯t know that.¡± Crow¡¯s brows knitted in confusion. ¡°So, what¡¯s your plan?¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes darted around before settling on the despondent figure of Captain Foeham, who seemed lost in his own morose world. With a brisk step, he walked up to Foeham and delivered a swift kick to his shin, jolting the captain from his trance. ¡°Pull yourself together! There will be ample time for self-pity later. Now, listen closely.¡± Rubbing his shin, Foeham met Carrack¡¯s intense gaze, the fog of despair lifting slightly from his eyes. ¡°Tell me what to do,¡± he croaked. ¡°Gather up your men, strip your equipment of anything that isn¡¯t your rifles. Start funneling out the back and into the water.¡± ¡°Rough waters out there, sir,¡± Foeham added. ¡°You¡¯re not swimming to open seas. Use the storm as cover, you can only see so far out there if the wind and rain ain¡¯t acting like needles on your eyes. Hug the dock, slow and steady back to the mainland once you¡¯re there you get yourselves back to the fort.¡± ¡°And what about you?¡± Foeham¡¯s voice quivered with a mix of fear and concern. ¡°I¡¯m facing that mob.¡± ¡°To what end? A noble death?¡± Crow¡¯s skepticism was palpable. ¡°Dying isn¡¯t on today¡¯s agenda,¡± Carrack replied, though there was a tiredness to his voice. ¡°My guess is that the crowd¡¯s puppeteer will want to talk. Probably Franzen.¡± ¡°You think he¡¯s orchestrating this madness?¡± Foeham questioned, doubt lacing his words. ¡°It¡¯s chaos out there.¡± ¡°Nothing happens on this dock without the teamsters¡¯ blessing. If that mob¡¯s here, it¡¯s on Franzen¡¯s orders. He¡¯d prefer a conversation over a lynching.¡± Crow frowned, ¡°And if they¡¯re not in a conversational mood?¡± ¡°Crow,¡± Carrack began, sounding almost fond, ¡°Your wisdom comes from years in the shit, I know. But today, I need decisiveness. Our choices are limited, and none are good. If we don¡¯t act, we¡¯re dead.¡± Crow gave a resigned nod. ¡°Once I step out, start moving.¡± ¡°Good luck, sir.¡± Foeham saluted before Carrack left to confront the oncoming crowd. Torrential rain continued its relentless assault, blending with the fury of the crowd as Carrack stepped into the open. Holding his rifle aloft in a universal gesture of non-hostility, he began his tentative approach. The cacophony of the crowd¡¯s anger and hatred felt almost tangible, every shout and scream biting into him more fiercely than the rain itself. It was as though the weight of their collective rage bore down on him, each step growing heavier than the last. Suddenly, a misstep on the slick wood of the dock caused Carrack to falter with a sharp pain rippling up his wounded leg, but he quickly regained his balance. He continued, every step filled with uncertainty, each breath a testament to the tension hanging in the air. He found his thoughts drifting to the legendary Green Blade Knight, Dresden, and his storied last stand against the fearsome dragon, Saria. Facing insurmountable odds, Dresden had met his destiny with the courage for which Carrack now yearned. Drawing from the memory of the knight¡¯s words, Carrack felt a tranquility wash over him. He straightened his posture, determined to meet the oncoming storm¡ªboth literal and metaphorical¡ªhead-on. And then, just as abruptly as they¡¯d come at him, the crowd stilled. The howl of the wind and rain was the only sound, a sharp contrast to the angry shouts of mere moments ago. The cold embrace of his drenched uniform sent shivers down Carrack¡¯s spine, but the uncertainty inside him was far more chilling. This sudden stillness, where every second felt stretched into an eternity, was pierced by hushed murmurs. The crowd began to part, revealing the very man Carrack had anticipated¡ªFranzen. Chapter 18 Chapter 18 ¡°Facing a dragon might have been preferable,¡± Carrack thought ruefully. Franzen¡¯s intimidating figure soon dominated his vision. Every step the man took resonated with power and purpose, his imposing frame seeming almost impervious to the storm¡¯s fury. Stopping just short of Carrack, he regarded him with a piercing gaze that felt nearly tangible in its intensity. A momentary flicker of Franzen¡¯s eyes toward the warehouse betrayed a hint of calculation before they fixated back on Carrack. ¡°It appears we¡¯ve come to a misunderstanding.¡± Carrack stiffened, his voice taking on a frosty edge. ¡°A misunderstanding, indeed. But perhaps one we can still rectify.¡± Franzen¡¯s chuckle was devoid of humor. ¡°Rectify? After all this? People lie dead because of your actions.¡± ¡°We¡¯re alone, Franzen,¡± Carrack countered sharply, sensing Franzen¡¯s ploy for any onlookers. ¡°Save your theatrics. I saw your ghouls carrying off many of these people¡¯s loved ones.¡± A grunt escaped Franzen as he looked back to ensure the crowd was indeed out of earshot. ¡°Point taken. So, we¡¯re merely talking business. About our deals and how you reneged on them.¡± ¡°Slightly oversimplified,¡± Carrack retorted. Franzen raised an eyebrow. ¡°Really? I find it quite clear. Here you are, causing chaos and reneging on¡ª¡± ¡°This was the action of one of my men,¡± Carrack interjected, motioning to himself. ¡°I arrived after hearing about it.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯ve lost control of your men? That¡¯s disconcerting.¡± ¡°No!¡± Carrack denied emphatically. ¡°We¡¯re not there, not yet. One man took the initiative, misguided as it was.¡± ¡°Your second-in-command, Foeham?¡± Franzen inquired, his voice a blend of curiosity and irritation. Carrack nodded. ¡°He likely heard some rumor and felt compelled to investigate.¡± ¡°Hm, a rumor,¡± Franzen mused, stroking his chin. ¡°I¡¯ll need to investigate this myself. Can¡¯t have loose tongues wagging.¡± ¡°Indeed, heaven forbid the truth about your stew surfaces.¡± Franzen¡¯s glare hardened. ¡°And heaven forbid these rumors also include your role in the existence of this warehouse full of food.¡± He gestured toward the storm-darkened dock, where faint traces of the earlier violence were still visible despite the relentless rain. ¡°Regardless, people have died. There must be accountability.¡± ¡°Accountability? To whom?¡± Carrack shot back. ¡°The people, these individuals right here. They¡¯re angry. Angry about the rationing, about the violence.¡± ¡°You orchestrated this! You mobilized this mob!¡± Franzen lifted his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence and shook his head. ¡°I can¡¯t take credit for this. This is a grassroots uprising in its purest form.¡± ¡°Bullshit!¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Carrack, listen to me. I arrived here after hearing about the incident. I sent my people to collect, but they retreated when they saw the mob. Now, I only have influence over this crowd because I promised them justice for the massacre.¡± Carrack wiped the rain off his face, his mind working rapidly to understand the full extent of the situation. Amidst the storm, he heard a faint thud from behind. The sound reminded him of the ominous presence from his dreams. He turned to see the empty warehouse at the end of the dock, devoid of any signs of life. Carrack prayed his people were safe, but the relentless water churning at the side of the dock suggested otherwise. He needed to buy more time. But how much? That was the question. Carrack secured his rifle to his back and reached under his cloak, revealing the incendiary grenade, and keeping his hand on the pin. Franzen stepped back at the sight of it, and Carrack did the same, ready for an attempt to seize it. ¡°One of my men was insightful enough to bring enough of these to destroy a city block. I thought they might be more useful here.¡± ¡°Useful how?¡± Franzen asked, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture. ¡°Suicide? A martyr¡¯s end? What would that accomplish?¡± ¡°For me, I¡¯d finally be warm. But I was considering the impact of a fire on this wooden dock.¡± ¡°Your isolation must be damaging your mind. Look around! The rain has drenched everything. What could you hope to set aflame?¡± ¡°Nothing here, but if I pull this pin, causing a flash, my men inside will light their grenades, and burn the entire warehouse¡ªdestroying the food that gives your teamsters their control over the people.¡± ¡°Are you planning to die in a blaze of glory?¡± ¡°We can swim.¡± Franzen raised an eyebrow. ¡°Then what? The people will be more desperate, angrier. I¡¯ll lose my influence, and the ability to maintain order. What then?¡± Carrack fell silent. ¡°Haven¡¯t considered that, have you?¡± Franzen continued. ¡°Unless you plan to hide in your fortress while the island turns against you. It wouldn¡¯t be long before every able body takes up arms to storm your stronghold.¡± He smirked before saying, ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s your plan. With fewer mouths to feed, your food supplies might last. Or maybe your witch isn¡¯t producing enough food, maybe you¡¯re low on supplies ¡­which is why you sent your men here.¡± Carrack shook his head vehemently. ¡°This was all a colossal misunderstanding, not a¡ª¡± ¡°I find it difficult to believe that you weren¡¯t aware of your second-in-command¡¯s actions. If that¡¯s true, you¡¯re a failure as a leader and have no more control over your men than a drunkard over a slick eel!¡± Another thud reverberated in the distance. Carrack shot a quick glance over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the familiar sight of the warehouse at the end of the dock. ¡°What the hell,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°My lord, I¡¯m still waiting for an answer. What is your end game here?¡± Franzen¡¯s voice grew louder and angrier, stoking the restlessness of the crowd to a simmering frenzy. Another thud echoed ominously, closer this time. Dammit, Carrack cursed internally as the air around him seemed to grow dense and brisk. Breaths became heavier, and his hands began to tremble. Franzen, once just a man, now appeared a looming giant, his silhouette seeming to grow with the mounting hysteria of the crowd. Thud. Carrack¡¯s own voice felt muted to his ears, lost amidst the cacophony of wind, rain, indistinct shouts, and those increasingly insistent thuds. His instincts blared alarm signals, recognizing the aggressive look in Franzen¡¯s eyes. Tension wound tightly within him, bracing for an impending confrontation. Thud. The pounding noise was louder, closer, morphing into something akin to a beast¡¯s footsteps in Carrack¡¯s fear-addled mind. He tried to focus, tried to speak, but he could hardly hear his own voice over the relentless thuds. He felt an unsettling sensation, like someone or something sighed a deep, hot breath onto the back of his neck. In a reflexive fright, he whirled around, yet found nothing behind him. He barely registered Franzen¡¯s iron grip on his forearm until it was too late. Carrack instinctively jerked away, but Franzen¡¯s grip didn¡¯t falter. Instead, the sudden movement triggered the inevitable¡ªthe pin separated from the grenade. Carrack had heard tales of time slowing during critical moments. It was a myth. Catastrophe struck without warning, leaving scant room for reaction. The grenade slipped from his grasp, hitting the wet wood of the dock with a dull thud. It didn¡¯t skitter or roll, simply lay ominously still. A spark of clarity suggested he should run, kick the deadly device into the water. But clarity had no place in this chaos. Acting on pure instinct, Carrack lashed out, kicking it and sent the grenade skidding towards Franzen and the roiling crowd beyond. Heart pounding, he spun and sprinted toward the warehouse, the impending detonation hot on his heels. Chapter 19 Chapter 19 He didn¡¯t hear the explosion, nor any screams. The thunder of his own blood in his ears drowned out everything but the ragged gasps of his own breath. Yet, he knew the grenade had detonated. He could feel it in the increased trembling of the dock beneath him, a frantic, chaotic dance that sent shivers up his spine. He didn¡¯t dare turn back, his world narrowed to the pulsing fear and the desperate race ahead. The warehouse doors were burdensome, but adrenaline lent him the strength to slide them shut with surprising ease. His last glimpse of the world beyond was a scene of chaos, an oncoming storm of bodies. Once latched, the outside world became an ominous rhythm of heavy thuds as bodies and fists assaulted the barricade. The ferocity was such that Carrack retreated behind a crate, half-expecting the walls to crumble under the onslaught. As his adrenaline subsided, Carrack was confronted by the prickling return of sensation. His legs ached from the sprint, his wound throbbed, and a sharp pain lanced up his right ankle¡ªlikely sprained during his mad dash. Muttering curses, he knew there was no time to nurse it; escape was still a pressing imperative. Quickly, his gaze swept the warehouse, ensuring no alternate entry points. The back way, opening to the relentless sea, was crucial for his escape. The sides offered scant space, hardly enough for an intruder to squeeze through. It was only then that he realized the startling absence of his men. In the whirlwind of events, their fate had slipped his mind. Carrack clung to the hope they¡¯d managed to escape¡ªeither making it back to shore or, worst case, still battling the temperamental waves. His mind danced around this uncertainty, focusing instead on the elements he could control. ¡°Damn Franzen,¡± Carrack slumped onto a nearby crate, burying his head in his hands. ¡°Why did he grab me? Why did the grenade just slip from my grasp?¡± His thoughts tumbled like waves during a storm, assuming forms that seemed to reach out with a violent rage. Why did you kick it toward the crowd? His own words tasted bitter in his mouth. ¡°It was instinct, I didn¡¯t have time to think,¡± he replied aloud, the chill of his damp clothes seeping into his bones as he sighed. You could have kicked it into the ocean. ¡°Foeham and the others could have been nearby.¡± No, that¡¯s not why you did it. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°No ¡­ I wasn¡¯t considering the men in the water. The grenade wouldn¡¯t have affected them in the water anyway.¡± You did exactly what you intended. There¡¯s no shame in that. The thoughts took a consoling tone, granting him absolution. ¡°I did what I had to do ¡­ yes,¡± he said, rubbing his head vigorously as if to exorcise the tormenting thoughts. After all, they deserved it. ¡°No!¡± he retorted, his voice echoing in the cavernous warehouse. ¡°They didn¡¯t deserve it. Not a single one of them, not even Franzen. They¡¯re desperate, just trying to survive.¡± They¡¯re out of control, rabid. They needed to be reined in. ¡°That¡¯s absurd! I did nothing wrong!¡± Carrack shouted defiantly, but the echo of his words seemed hollow, an insincere affirmation that fell on his own deaf ears. It marked the end of his self-argument, although he knew there was more to be said. The lingering thoughts quietly retreated into his mind¡¯s shadowy recesses. Grounded again in reality, he knew what he must do. He needed to escape before he fell prey to the mob¡¯s fury. Getting to his feet was more challenging than he¡¯d anticipated. His leg throbbed with sharp, stabbing pain that made him wince. Grasping his rifle, he used it as a makeshift cane, doing his best to avoid putting too much weight on his injuries. The only way out was through the water, he knew, but he also understood that swimming with an injured ankle was a tall order. But in the face of an approaching mob, the unpleasant reality didn¡¯t matter; he had to make a move. As he limped toward the exit, bracing himself against the thrashing wind, a flash of inspiration struck him. Caught in the storm¡¯s gale, several barrels from the other docks had been cast adrift in the water. Observing their buoyancy, he noticed their potential for his escape. ¡°Well, shit,¡± he muttered, pivoting back toward the warehouse. A stack of barrels lay in the corner, their contents varying from grain to wine. Taking the butt of his rifle, he smashed open one of the wine barrels, pouring out its contents. ¡°A damned stupid waste,¡± he berated himself as he realized his mistake. He¡¯d smashed the top cover entirely, leaving no way to prevent water from filling the barrel and sinking it. But there was no time to lament his hasty actions¡ªthe front door was beginning to splinter under the onslaught of axes wielded by the frenzied mob. Another thud reverberated through the space, snapping Carrack¡¯s attention away from his immediate predicament. This time, it came from the sea. A cold dread began to coil in the pit of his stomach as he cautiously turned, clutching the barrel for support. There was nothing, just the thrashing waves and the descending fog. Yet, the thuds persisted, their hypnotic rhythm increasing with an urgency that set his nerves on edge. The rhythm accelerated, the thuds growing louder, echoing ominously like the footsteps of a giant. Confusion reigned in Carrack¡¯s mind. Was this sound real or a figment of his overstrained imagination? Nevertheless, he felt an inexplicable draw toward the source of the noise. Compelled, he began to limp toward the murky distance, oblivious to the splintering door behind him, and the angry mob forcing their way through. The hypnotic pulse of the thuds blurred his vision, each beat seeming to pull him deeper into the unknown. The thuds grew deafening, the pull toward the unseen entity stronger than ever. The fog ahead started to shift, giving way to something enormous, something that seemed to be hurtling toward him. His last coherent thought was the chilling realization that whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t stopping. Chapter 20 Chapter 20 The embrace of darkness was both cold and oddly comforting. It felt like returning to a once-trodden path, its memory wiped clean. Carrack found himself floating in this vast void, his consciousness echoing like a voice in an endless chasm. All around, an unending abyss stretched out, illuminated only by the soft luminescence of an unseen source. A chill, akin to the prickle of goosebumps, ran through him. Time lost all meaning. Yet even in this timeless expanse, emotions¡ªfear, uncertainty, and worry¡ªclung to him. The vast nothingness wasn¡¯t what unsettled him. It was the unnatural pull keeping him intact, preventing him from dissolving like a sugar cube in a warm drink or evaporating like morning dew under the sun. The fact that some unseen force held his essence together in this place of dispersion filled him with dread. Carrack tried to resist the force binding him, his futile efforts echoing in the vast nothingness. He shouted, pleading and cursing, his voice bouncing endlessly without response. But then, he felt a sudden tightness. It felt as though unseen fragments from the void were being drawn into him, filling him like a vessel. His once-clear mind spiraled into a maze of questions. Realities blurred, sensations intensified. Coldness seeped into his core and was swiftly replaced by a drenching wetness. The sensation of lungs, or at least the memory of them, gripped him. The cold air stung, and soon after, the brackish taste of water flooded his mouth, threatening his every breath. As he grappled with the idea of death, a primal fear surged within him. His desire to merge with the void waned, replaced by an urgency to breathe, but the suffocating sensation persisted. Pressure mounted on his chest, vision dancing with stars birthed from the darkness. Amongst them, a shadowy figure circled him, grasping with intent. Suddenly, he was jolted by a nauseating sensation. The bitter mix of saltwater and bile invaded his senses. Vision blurred, he struggled to take in breaths amidst a chaotic background. A figure hovered over him, becoming clearer with each heartbeat. ¡°Sir!¡± the figure shouted, waving a hand before Carrack¡¯s slowly focusing eyes. ¡°My God, he¡¯s back.¡± With a shaky hand, Carrack reached out, his other hand cradling his head as if it could contain the whirlwind inside. Fragments of that abyssal void flashed before him, each memory slipping away like sand through his fingers, growing ever distant. Yet as those memories receded, fresher, more pressing ones surged forward. The dock. The raging mob. That shadowy emergence from the sea. And the cacophony around him¡ªwhat was its source? With a deep breath, he forced his senses to align. His vision sharpened; sounds became distinct. The present moment crystallized before him, and its reality was so stark, he almost yearned for the embrace of the void again. He found himself on a dock far from the one he remembered¡ªpossibly dock three. But the specifics were inconsequential. Before him was a chilling scene, a blurred line between dream and nightmare. What initially emerged from the fog as a potential savior¡ªa ship¡ªnow lay wrecked. The ship¡¯s colossal metal hull had torn through several docks, its relentless advance halted only when half of it was grounded. Twisted remnants of once-mighty cranes dotted the landscape, while debris, large and small, bobbed on the turbulent waters and blanketed the shore. Buildings along the coast had been shattered by the ship¡¯s onslaught. From its design, Carrack identified it as a Sanderson Class Freighter¡ªa modest cargo ship. Its solitary smokestack had been thrown off-course, bisecting a nearby dock, while its masts teetered precariously. The possibility of food aboard sent a rush of adrenaline that forced him upright, but his weakened body rebelled. The soldier before him, one he didn¡¯t recognize from his original party, was quick to support him. Stolen novel; please report. ¡°Soldier, the ship!¡± Carrack rasped. ¡°There must be food aboard!¡± ¡°Yes, sir. It¡¯s being addressed,¡± the soldier reassured him. But another wave of anxiety flooded him. ¡°The others! Foeham, Crow, the rest?¡± ¡°They¡¯re safe, sir. They got clear before the crash.¡± ¡°Franzen? The mob?¡± ¡°Sir, you need to relax¡ª¡± ¡°No! Tell me now!¡± ¡°Most of the garrison is here. Captain Foeham and Sergeant Crow are leading a team to inspect the ship,¡± the soldier said. ¡°Everything is being taken care of.¡± Drawing a deep breath, Carrack regained his composure. ¡°Your name?¡± ¡°Ryan Kramas, sir.¡± ¡°Kramas, the people on the dock?¡± Kramas hesitated, then sighed. ¡°We¡¯ve been pulling bodies from the water since we got here, sir. You were amongst them¡ªonly you were revived. A miracle, to tell ya the truth.¡± Carrack gave a hollow laugh. ¡°A miracle.¡± The dockyard buzzed with frenetic activity. Carrack, though increasingly lucid, felt the weight of his weakened body and an intense pain in his leg. Gingerly touching his wound, he discovered that the stitches had come apart. The warmth of fresh blood smeared his fingers. Swiftly, he unbuckled his belt and fastened it above the injury, hoping to stem the blood flow. Scanning his surroundings, his eyes caught the sight of several lifeless bodies lying nearby, their skins pale and soaked from the rain and seawater. Pushing down his revulsion, he reached for the closest one, intending to rip off a piece of fabric. On his first attempt, he only managed to drag the body closer, its dead weight resisting him. With determination, he looked away from the lifeless face, gathering all his strength, and successfully tore off a cloth strip. He then wrapped it tightly around his wound to staunch the bleeding. While Kramas provided some insight, he couldn¡¯t offer a comprehensive update on the unfolding events. He was, after all, a soldier tasked with the grim duty of retrieving bodies and maintaining security. Carrack didn¡¯t wish to further burden him or make his own survival widely known. In all likelihood, many assumed he was dead or at least missing, and revealing himself now might complicate things. Judging by Foeham¡¯s swift actions in tandem with Crow¡ªmarshaling the men to search the ship and securing the vicinity¡ªit seemed the situation was well in hand. Carrack deduced that, for now, announcing his presence might prove more disruptive than beneficial. Until he regained his strength and could actively contribute, he would remain a silent observer. So, he settled in, leaning against a crate, watching his men work with practiced efficiency. Carrack, still recovering, observed his surroundings with sharp eyes, pressing a hand to his aching body. Kramas reappeared after a short interval, accompanied by soldiers carrying a stretcher. ¡°Sir, we¡¯ve got a litter for you. We need to get you back to the fort,¡± Kramas urged. Carrack dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. ¡°I¡¯m staying. I want to see what comes off that ship.¡± ¡°You¡¯re injured, sir. You need medical attention,¡± Kramas persisted. ¡°Not yet,¡± Carrack responded with finality. Understanding the decision, Kramas nodded and refocused on his duties. As Carrack¡¯s gaze settled on the ship, the flurry of activity seemed both swift and drawn out. His trained eyes detected a shift in the movement on deck¡ªa familiar dance of panic. Men emerged from below, their hurried strides betraying their alarm. Their actions grew even more frantic when thick black smoke began to rise from the deck. The distance muted the sounds, but the sporadic concussive echoes clearly weren¡¯t thunder. Each explosion made the atmosphere tense, until one particularly powerful detonation blew apart the ship¡¯s stern. Liquid fire, unmistakably oil, spilled out, transforming the water into a blazing hellscape. The onlookers were seized by panic, yet Carrack¡¯s demeanor was eerily serene. The flames entranced him, their mesmerizing dance hinting at patterns and images. Within them, he thought he saw the tormented figure of Adcock, his expressionless face fixed on Carrack. The chilling vision made Carrack¡¯s skin tingle. So engrossed was he in the fiery scene that he didn¡¯t register being hoisted onto the stretcher, the soldiers hurrying him away from the advancing inferno. The haunting image of Adcock pursued him, burning brightly until the dock halted its advance and it disintegrated back into the chaotic fire. Chapter 21 Chapter 21 21 August 149 Third Age Twenty-six of his men lay in repose on the frigid, unyielding stone of the fort¡¯s hallway¡ªsilent witnesses to the recently unfolded tragedy. A dozen more, on the brink of death, languished under Alaina¡¯s vigilant care within her secluded, subterranean chambers. These were the most devastating losses Carrack had suffered in his career. Despite the grim scene before him, his thoughts were caught by other, more haunting visions. His eyes, seemingly detached, lazily skimmed over the aligned corpses shrouded in bloodied linens, his mind adrift in other, tormented seas. His pupils wandered, skimming the outlines of lifeless forms but fixating on the unmarred sections of the floor. His thoughts were ensnared by the harrowing image he perceived within the fiery embrace that had consumed the docks. The face of Adcock, twisted in agony yet strikingly placid and void of emotion, haunted him. The vision mirrored the silent torment Adcock must have endured in the bathhouse. Why was he plagued by such a vision? Why did his mind force him to witness such torment? Amongst the remnants of this ghostly vision lingered the murky recollections of his seemingly transcendent experience¡ªhis journey between life and death. The details of this transient existence were rapidly fragmenting, losing their coherence. But the unnerving fear and the sensation of being unceremoniously yanked back into the living realm¡ªcontrary to his desires and the fundamental laws of nature¡ªhaunted him and made him feel like a stranger in his own body. Amidst the chaos, an overwhelming list of priorities tugged at the periphery of Carrack¡¯s mind. The fort needed to bolster its defenses, even as citizens cried out for assistance amidst the city¡¯s flames. The docks, the lifeline to the world, now lay in ruin. The hungry flames, driven by the wind, devoured nearby structures with an insatiable appetite. Even the rain, with its sporadic attempts, could barely quench the raging inferno. All soldiers had been recalled to the fort¡ªperhaps on the commands of Foeham, Crow, or both. The specifics eluded Carrack for the moment. While every instinct in him rebelled against this retreat, reason recognized its inevitability. As much as he hesitated to admit, he knew they were cornered. With the teamsters¡¯ food stockpile eradicated¡ªwhat had once been their bargaining chip with the restless populace¡ªand Alaina¡¯s inability to expedite her crop growth, they were precariously perched on the edge of survival. Their dwindling reserves would have to sustain the fort, all the while hoping for salvation to sail from the horizon. Yet, the most harrowing thought was of the islanders. A dread-filled image took shape in his mind: the beleaguered inhabitants, driven to the brink by hunger and desperation, descending upon the fort. Their sheer numbers and fervor could easily overwhelm the fort¡¯s defenses, unleashing a ferocious wrath, primal, and unchecked. A stool was Carrack¡¯s compromise¡ªor rather, a dictated resolution from the men who had assisted him, positioned there as opposed to his quarters or Alaina¡¯s chambers. He contended that his wound paled in comparison to those being carried in, that Alaina¡¯s focus should be on them. On another layer of his consciousness, he acknowledged a lack of desire for her scrutinizing gaze or her opinions upon discovering his re-aggravated injury. He sat in quiet observation, the hum of the passing soldiers and the echoes of orders being his only company. Eyes flickered his way occasionally, seeking guidance or new directives, but Carrack dismissed them with a wave. Word of his survival had been dispersed upon his arrival at the fort, but the reins of command were still in the hands of either Foeham or Crow¡ªdepending on who had survived. Carrack, swathed in his thoughts, felt an unfamiliar hesitancy to embrace the responsibilities he had long shouldered. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. His self-imposed isolation was eventually shattered by the arrival of Crow, who walked with a measured calm amidst the organized chaos, looking worn and harboring a heavy tiredness that shadowed his usual stern expression. As Crow¡¯s gaze swept over the bodies lying along the hallway, his jaw tightened, hinting at a fleeting remorse before he addressed Carrack. His words reached Carrack as indistinct murmurs. Taking a breath, Carrack shook off the lingering fog encasing his thoughts, nudging his mind back to the present. He shook his head, asking Crow to repeat himself. ¡°I asked how you were, sir,¡± Crow reiterated with emphasized clarity. ¡°Fine,¡± Carrack managed, his reply veiled with unconvincing brevity and accompanied by a nod. ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Crow retorted skeptically, ¡°perhaps convince yourself first before attempting to convince me?¡± Carrack¡¯s glare met Crow¡¯s gaze, his response deliberate and punctuated. ¡°I am fine.¡± ¡°Can you walk?¡± Crow probed. Carrack bit the inside of his lip, suppressing the surge of pain radiating through his leg as he rose, his movements a facade of normalcy. He masked the agony well, revealing little to Crow, but his subtle hesitations were disclosures enough. Crow promptly signaled for a soldier to assist him. ¡°No,¡± Carrack asserted, ¡°I can manage.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not trying to impress anyone, sir,¡± Crow said, shaking his head disapprovingly. Stubbornness clung to Carrack, sometimes more than he cared to admit. He was in the throes of a psychological battle, grappling with enigmatic specters that clouded his thoughts and perceptions. If he was going to wrestle with these phantoms, he refused to let mere physical pain thwart him¡ªeven if it was just a small triumph over his own body. They stared at each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to blink. Crow was the first to succumb, blinked and sighing, and nodding at Carrack¡¯s assertion that he was fine before he moved on with other pressing business. ¡°How much do you know?¡± Crow asked. ¡°Twenty-six dead¡ª¡± ¡°Twenty-eight,¡± corrected Crow. ¡°Thirteen in the infirmary, three of them on death¡¯s door. If Mage Alaina can keep up the pace she¡¯s been running, they might have a chance.¡± ¡°I see ¡­¡± Carrack processed that information. ¡°What happened out there, the ship, the fire?¡± Crow signaled that they should start walking and they did, Carrack doing his best to power through without showing a limp. ¡°A lot happened on that ship,¡± Crow explained. ¡°I¡¯m still trying to piece it all together, but the long and short of it is that it was empty, or at least from what we were able to see.¡± ¡°Empty?¡± questioned Carrack. ¡°Empty, yes. Didn¡¯t make any sense. There were signs people had been there, personal effects and other signs of live ¡­ but not a soul. Save for one.¡± ¡°Wait, one?¡± Carrack stopped, taken aback. ¡°You found someone?¡± ¡°Yes, sir, one. He was locked in his room. Someone thought they heard moaning, so we busted it open, and found him on the ground. He seemed lifeless, but he was just unconscious, I guess. Had all sorts of personal effects, papers, books, stuff all scattered about, but we didn¡¯t get a good look at it. The smoke and the cries of fire came right as we found him. He was literally the only thing we pulled off that boat,¡± Crow explained. ¡°He¡¯s down with the rest of the wounded right now. Still out cold.¡± ¡°I want to see him,¡± said Carrack. ¡°I presumed as much; that¡¯s why we¡¯re en route now,¡± said Crow. He then shifted his tone, the gravity in his voice becoming more palpable. ¡°You¡¯ve heard about Captain Foeham, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°No.¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes widened, his gaze drifting back to the bodies now well out of sight. ¡°He¡¯s not ¡­ Is he?¡± ¡°Not dead, no. But he ¡­ he got caught by the fire while extracting our mystery man from the ship,¡± Crow said with caution. ¡°How bad?¡± Carrack asked. ¡°We need to see him,¡± was Crow¡¯s reply, and they proceeded in contemplative silence, the gravity of their thoughts echoing in their steps. Chapter 22 Chapter 22 The air was saturated with the pungent stench of blood, charred flesh, and sweat. Soldiers unscathed by wounds bustled through the labyrinthine catacombs, their arms laden with soiled bandages, their uniforms stained with the blood of comrades. Carrack trailed behind Crow, the maelstrom swirling around them punctuated by Alaina¡¯s sharp, commanding echoes. At the thought of encountering her, he straightened his walk. Small, partially excavated rooms were pockets of solace along the hallway, each a fragment of its intended size, crammed with makeshift tables and beds nursing the wounded. Crow inspected a few before signaling Carrack to follow him inside one of them. There, Carrack found Foeham, sprawled on his back, eyes closed, his uniform half-burned off by fire, exposing charred fragments of his flesh. The right side of his body, from his chest down to his hip, was a canvas of agony. His wounds simmered, formed blisters, and festooned with pustules, the seared skin crackling with every laborious breath. The inferno had also kissed the lower side of his right jawline, leaving second-degree burns visible to Carrack¡¯s trained eyes. The sight was grim. A pit formed in Carrack¡¯s stomach, a feeling of draining horror washing over him as his eyes scanned Foeham¡¯s mutilated form. ¡°Good lord,¡± Carrack whispered unbelievingly to himself as he shook his head, ¡°he hasn¡¯t a chance.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not good, no,¡± Crow said. ¡°But it¡¯s not hopeless.¡± ¡°Look at him, Crow,¡± Carrack retorted. ¡°You¡¯ve witnessed plenty. What makes you believe he can survive this?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve watched men perish from mere cuts in the blink of an eye, seen men linger, conversing normally, even with half their bodies gone. I¡¯ve seen sturdy men meet their end after a mere head bump, and a man survive an engine explosion with all his limbs blown off. Death is ¡­ unpredictable,¡± Crow elucidated. ¡°Under normal circumstances, I would consider him done for, but I¡¯ve never been accompanied by a mage before. And she believes there¡¯s a glimmer of hope.¡± ¡°Alaina is gifted, but I don¡¯t know how she plans to pull this off.¡± Carrack sighed. ¡°You can ask her yourself,¡± a voice interrupted, revealing Alaina¡¯s entrance through the doorway. She appeared to have weathered a storm. Her hair was a frayed mess, despite being restrained in a bun, her face wore a gaze that seemed to cut through stone, and she was smeared with dried blood. In her grasp was a small vial, containing a luminous blue liquid. ¡°There remains a flicker of hope for your captain, albeit a precarious one.¡± ¡°What have you got there for him?¡± Carrack questioned. Alaina hesitated, her gaze lingering on the liquid before she approached Foeham¡¯s side. ¡°It¡¯s the potion I mentioned previously. The Dreamings.¡± Carrack¡¯s eyebrows lifted in surprise. ¡°You¡¯re administering that? But isn¡¯t that¡ª¡± ¡°Very risky,¡± she interjected. ¡°The chances of him surviving are slim, but they¡¯re nonexistent without it.¡± ¡°I hadn¡¯t imagined its use for something like this,¡± Carrack mused. ¡°And the hallucinations? If he experiences nightmares, won¡¯t he react violently?¡± ¡°That would indeed be bad,¡± Alaina concurred, elevating the potion to scrutinize its consistency against the light. ¡°But this concoction has been altered slightly. It will almost entirely immobilize his body, sparing only the essential functions¡ªheart, brain, lungs, the like. He will be plunged into a comatose state, which is imperative to halt his body from succumbing to panic. ¡°How long,¡± Carrack¡¯s voice faltered as he gestured toward Foeham, ¡°will this entire process take?¡± ¡°To heal?¡± Alaina exhaled deeply, her gaze unwavering. ¡°It¡¯s uncertain. A considerable amount of time, at the very least. There¡¯s a possibility he may remain in this state indefinitely. Unfortunately, I just don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Do you need our help with anything?¡± queried Carrack. ¡°N¡ª¡± Her voice halted, and a frown creased her forehead as she assessed Carrack. ¡°You can go sit down in my room and wait for me to look at the damn leg.¡± Accepting her direction with a resigned inhale, Carrack turned to Crow, directing him to fortify the stronghold, maintain vigilance for any arrivals from the city, and assume command until his return to the surface. With a nod, Crow departed, his voice reverberating through the hall as he issued orders to any lingering idle figures. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Carrack¡¯s gaze returned to Alaina, who was meticulously administering the potion to Foeham. Her eyes, meeting his, silently reiterated her previous directive. With another sigh, he withdrew, limping towards her quarters. In that room, he perched on the very bed he¡¯d been relegated to after his previous brush with calamity. Though only partially seated, as if poised for a hasty escape, he yearned to resume his duties beyond these walls. Yet, there was a distinct shift in his emotions¡ªa sense of disappointment he couldn¡¯t quite articulate. Every inch of his body throbbed, and it wasn¡¯t just the pain from the wound. Am I truly getting old? The question lingered in his thoughts. His tenure on the island hadn¡¯t been extensive enough to mark significant years gone by. But he felt the undeniable weight of age; a sense of fragility he hadn¡¯t carried upon his initial arrival. Moreover, the apparitions, the dreams, the mental disturbances that now plagued him were new, foreign, despite the myriad challenges he¡¯d faced throughout his life on the mainland. The waiting seemed endless, every echo of footsteps heightening his anticipation, hoping it would be her, but it never was. Carrack¡¯s frustration swelled, impatience seizing him as he rose, intending to depart. As though summoned by his movement, Alaina entered, bearing bandages, and wearing the same look of disapproval he¡¯d seen before. Carrack repositioned himself on the bed as she approached, the stern gaze lingering as she addressed his wound. ¡°Aggravated,¡± Alaina noted. ¡°Understandable, you¡¯ve had a long day,¡± Carrack ventured in agreement. ¡°No,¡± she corrected sharply. ¡°Your wound. It¡¯s aggravated. You¡¯ve torn through the stitches.¡± ¡°Well ¡­ It¡¯s been a fairly eventful last few hours,¡± Carrack offered in explanation. ¡°Mm hm, Sergeant Crow filled me in, although there¡¯s a certain level of ambiguity in the account,¡± Alaina responded. Taking a deep breath, Carrack began recounting every detail: the initial rescue, the standoff, the ship, his blurred recollections of a brush with death, and the visions of Adcock in the flames. At first, his words rushed, skipping seemingly unimportant details only to double back to explain them. It was an endeavor, but eventually, he wove a coherent narrative, particularly clarifying the supernatural elements. When he finished, Alaina sat, her eyes seemingly delving into his thoughts, probing for unspoken details, before she reverted her attention to tending his leg. After a thoughtful silence, she spoke again, her voice measured, almost analytical: ¡°That¡¯s ¡­¡± She paused, hands on hips, gaze fixed on the ground. ¡°A lot.¡± ¡°Anything else to add to your boundless wisdom?¡± Carrack¡¯s chuckle came out nervously and involuntarily. ¡°Your near-death experience ¡­¡± ¡°That¡¯s the point, Alaina. I think I did die. Dammit, the memories are slipping away, but I distinctly recall a shadow and a sensation of being pulled from some abyss. It¡¯s all so hazy now,¡± Carrack endeavored to clarify, frustrated by his eroding recollection. ¡°Your thoughts?¡± ¡°Thoughts?¡± Alaina¡¯s voice held a note of incredulity. ¡°I wish I could offer some explanation. The shadow between life and death is not easily comprehensible, particularly when I¡¯ve not experienced such a state. Our minds are capable of conjuring so many illusions in life, I can¡¯t imagine how amplified that is as death encroaches; it¡¯s a puzzle intertwined with our perceptions of life, soul, and perceived realms beyond our own. It could have been your mind crafting illusions while you were submerged in the water.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t just dismiss it as mere illusion. It still lingers like a bad taste,¡± Carrack contended. ¡°Regardless of your unwillingness to accept it as a hallucination, what about your vision of Adcock? How would you categorize that?¡± Alaina asked. Carrack exhaled forcefully, frustrated by her logical correlation. ¡°I ¡­ just can¡¯t.¡± ¡°You may need to discuss it with someone. There¡¯s likely only one person on this island skilled enough to assist you, but ¡­¡± Alaina¡¯s words were chosen with precision, and Carrack discerned her implication immediately. ¡°I did promise her I would return for another session,¡± Carrack acknowledged. ¡°You omitted that particular tidbit earlier,¡± Alaina remarked, her eyebrows arching in surprise. ¡°I did,¡± Carrack confessed, nodding. ¡°It slipped my mind, apparently.¡± ¡°Nonetheless, stepping into the right now seems like a bad idea,¡± Alaina said. ¡°You have a point,¡± Carrack agreed, his tone somber. ¡°Given our current predicament, my needs must be secondary. The fires, food, the people¡ªit¡¯s all unraveling.¡± ¡°No, they absolutely must not!¡± Alaina retorted vehemently. ¡°Now, more than ever, you need rest, food, and moderation. I swear if you aggravate this wound again¡ª¡± ¡°There¡¯s a limit to restraint¡ªlook at your clothes and tell me to relax right now!¡± Carrack said, gesturing to the blood stains marring her attire. ¡°This entire fortress will be submerged in blood if we don¡¯t act swiftly!¡± Alaina¡¯s gaze lingered on her blood-soaked attire, then shifted to her hands, stained with Carrack¡¯s fresh blood. The silence stretched, her thoughts seemingly lost in contemplation. A deep breath accompanied her soft click of the tongue. ¡°I¡¯ll address our food situation, explore some alternatives, can you give me a couple days?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll try. Do what you can, and I¡¯ll be grateful, but don¡¯t turn yourself into a tumor over it,¡± Carrack said. ¡°I¡¯ll make a note of it,¡± Alaina¡¯s laugh bore no mirth. ¡°Managed to catch a glimpse of our newfound guest¡ªthe shipwreck survivor?¡± ¡°Haven¡¯t found the moment yet; what¡¯s his story?¡± queried Carrack. ¡°Well, it¡¯s hard to say. He hasn¡¯t awakened yet. He¡¯s on the older side, lean, with salt-and-pepper hair. But his countenance ¡­ It tells a story of its own. It¡¯s etched with so much weariness. Whatever ordeal he faced out on those waves, it¡¯s marked him deeply,¡± Alaina said. ¡°Do you want to see him?¡± ¡°He¡¯s no good to me unconscious. I want him to tell me why ¡­ why that blasted ship crashed, why it exploded ¡­ I want answers for why all these people had to die.¡± Carrack¡¯s voice was a rumble of restrained fury. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll find no solace from him right now, hard to think you¡¯ll find all the answers you want if he ever awakens.¡± Alaina said, shaking her head. ¡°But I¡¯ll keep tabs on him and see if there is anything I can do to rouse him from his slumber.¡± Chapter 23 Chapter 23 23 August 149 Third Age Two days passed and the city was a solemn silhouette, its uncontrollable infernos subdued by a fortuitous shift in the weather. The winds retreated into a serene whisper, supplanted by a cascade of rain inundating the island with its relentless deluge. The rain descended in formidable sheets, so profound that Carrack found it nearly unbearable to maintain his watch atop the fortress walls, his gaze straining to discern any figures advancing towards them through the aquatic curtain. Sleep remained elusive, his racing mind and surging anxiety turning rest into a forgotten luxury. On the sporadic instances when sleep did envelop him, it was a turbulent respite, the unseen specter still lurking within the peripheries of his vision, its shadow a constant whisper in his mind. Death claimed four more of his comrades, succumbing to their injuries, while another met his fate as a victim of an unfortunate misstep over the fortress wall in the wrathful storm. Carrack¡¯s thoughts often meandered to the populace within the city, pondering their survival amidst the lack of food. The silence emanating from the city¡¯s depths was eerie, no murmurs of unrest permeating the enveloping rain. This tranquility, typically a welcome respite, now seeded tendrils of unease within him. The stillness conveyed a looming confrontation, silent tensions breeding armed and angered shadows. Each passing moment without confrontation intensified his anticipatory anxiety, the calm before the storm becoming a silent tormentor. The anticipated, yet absent, tide of angered souls seemed to intertwine with the relentless rain, creating a symphony of unspoken tensions and silent fears. Carrack, Crow, and Weiss convened in council to manage the affairs of the fort. Crow occupied the seat Foeham had frequently claimed, a transition that induced a fleeting pang of sorrow in Carrack. The guilt for Foeham¡¯s state replayed in his mind like a persistent echo. ¡°With the halt in distributing our reserves to the island, our food situation seems more ¡­ fortuitous,¡± Weiss offered with a trace of restrained hope. ¡°We have supplies for three, maybe four months, accounting for natural spoilage¡ª¡± ¡°But when tens of thousands of hungry, desperate ¡­ incensed individuals come, we¡¯ll be in real trouble. The amount of food won¡¯t matter,¡± Crow interjected sharply. ¡°If they come,¡± Weiss countered, earning a huff from Crow. ¡°You truly believe they¡¯ll wither away without a fight?¡± Crow scoffed. ¡°If they haven¡¯t already¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s only been two days! Two days!¡± Crow emphasized before addressing Carrack. ¡°We¡¯re on borrowed time, sir. It¡¯s not months ¡­ They will come, and they will overpower us if we confront them.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll unleash the cannon; if they want food, we can serve them some grapeshot,¡± Weiss proposed defiantly. ¡°Between a soldier and a scholar, sir, I sincerely hope you weigh the former¡¯s perspective when assessing our capabilities,¡± Crow stated, addressing Carrack directly while disregarding Weiss, who displayed visible irritation. ¡°It¡¯s curious,¡± Carrack said, allowing a pause to diffuse the escalating tension. ¡°There seems to be something about that seat, Sergeant Crow. Anyone who occupies it seems naturally prone to conflict with Weiss.¡± Carrack reclined in his chair, eyes scanning the ceiling as if seeking hidden answers, but finding none. ¡°While we may have a reprieve now with our unexpected surplus, our chances are slim against the mobs if they descend upon us. Weiss, you suggest we turn the cannon on them. I concur¡ªif it comes to combat. They might hesitate momentarily, witnessing their comrades transformed into pink mist, but their motivations will be more potent than fear. They¡¯ll be propelled by anger and desperation. At the docks, I observed a similar defiance¡ªthey scarcely hesitated when we fired warning shots, and readily rushed past the grenade I deployed amongst them. If they decide to approach, they won¡¯t leave until every soul within this fort perishes.¡± ¡°So, what¡¯s our move? Do we just wait for our inevitable demise?¡± Weiss probed. ¡°We could, eh ¡­ Never mind.¡± Crow hesitated. ¡°Speak up,¡± Carrack urged. ¡°There are no bad ideas when the situation is this fucked.¡± ¡°I was thinking we send out a small team¡ªthree to five people at most¡ªto scout out the city. Just to observe,¡± Crow said. ¡°That¡¯s risky,¡± said Carrack. ¡°A hell of a risk,¡± Weiss chimed in. ¡°Indeed,¡± Crow concurred, ¡°but being in the dark about the city¡¯s condition isn¡¯t doing us any favors.¡± ¡°And what good will knowing do, especially when we¡¯re powerless to change anything?¡± Weiss contested. ¡°It¡¯s not like we could thwart an impending attack even if we see it coming. We¡¯d still be here, just waiting.¡± ¡°Knowing when an attack might come is invaluable, especially for the men standing guard. If you¡¯re not the one who has to be constantly on watch, I could see why you wouldn¡¯t value such information,¡± Crow retorted. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°I see the merit in understanding the situation below, but at this moment, it¡¯s just not going to happen,¡± said Carrack. ¡°Well,¡± Crow rubbed his face, ¡°like it or not, we have some of our men already out there.¡± ¡°The lighthouse,¡± Carrack affirmed. ¡°Exactly, sir. We have, what, three men stationed there to man it and the radio?¡± said Crow. ¡°Four,¡± Weiss corrected. ¡°They have provisions, enough for a short while, but not indefinitely. However, starvation is the least of my concerns for them,¡± Crow clarified. The lighthouse, situated on the island¡¯s remote side and beyond the city¡¯s boundaries, sat atop a rocky incline. It represented the highest, most secluded point on the island, accessible only by a narrow pass through the rocky landscape. Its significance was not lost on the leadership; it was their solitary beacon of potential rescue, thanks to its guiding light and the stationed radio array. ¡°The lighthouse might be the only valid reason to dispatch anyone beyond our walls. But we must acknowledge that if the islanders decide to seize it, our options would be severely limited,¡± said Carrack. ¡°An assault on the lighthouse is improbable,¡± Weiss said, his voice dripping in derision. ¡°It lacks incentive. They must realize that any skirmish could jeopardize our only means of communication off this forsaken island. It¡¯s illogical.¡± ¡°You clearly haven¡¯t encountered desperation,¡± Crow retorted. ¡°He¡¯s right, Weiss. Logic won¡¯t satiate their hunger. Emotions will eventually supersede any rational thought,¡± Carrack added. ¡°The teamsters, enraged as they may be, retain some sense. I doubt they would permit such a rash act,¡± Weiss maintained. ¡°We can¡¯t confirm if the teamsters still wield control,¡± Carrack pointed out. ¡°Franzen was with me on the dock during the ship¡¯s collision ¡­ I¡¯m fortunate to have survived. If he didn¡¯t, determining his successor becomes another uncertainty.¡± ¡°So what now? Rely on hope?¡± Crow inquired. ¡°From what I see, that may be our most viable option. Inform them that we¡¯re considering measures for their safety. Yet, be honest¡ªexplain our limitations. We can¡¯t extract them or aid. If the mobs come, they¡¯ll need to lock themselves in and hold their ground as long as possible,¡± Carrack admitted. ¡°I¡¯ll relay the message.¡± Crow rose, pausing to gauge Carrack¡¯s reaction. Carrack nodde, and Crow exited. As Weiss made to follow, Carrack gestured for him to stay. ¡°Weiss, I¡¯ve just informed my second-in-command that under no circumstances can we dispatch anyone outside. Now, I¡¯ll contradict myself,¡± Carrack said. Intrigued, Weiss leaned closer, murmuring, ¡°The back channels?¡± ¡°The door¡¯s closed, Weiss. We can be upfront. Yes, the links to the teamsters,¡± Carrack confirmed. ¡°I pondered on that during our discussion, but I was uncertain about the details you wished to share with Sergeant Crow,¡± Weiss admitted. ¡°It remains as before with Foeham. It¡¯s exclusively between you, me, and Alaina,¡± Carrack specified. Weiss recoiled. ¡°You informed the sorceress? Why?¡± ¡°She¡¯s inherently treacherous, Lord Carrack. Their kind thrives on deception,¡± Weiss contended. ¡°Set aside your biases for a moment. She¡¯s indebted to me, and she hasn¡¯t ¡­ hasn¡¯t betrayed my trust,¡± Carrack retorted. ¡°That you¡¯re aware of,¡± Weiss argued. ¡°I have my reservations for valid reasons. Her actions have been questionable at best. I¡¯ve heard the same rumors you have.¡± ¡°They¡¯re merely whispers and overblown tales,¡± Carrack countered. ¡°Yet, she isolates herself in her chambers, producing bizarre sounds and odors. Men attending the wounded have reported eerie happenings. I sensed an unsettling aura when I went to see for myself. Something¡¯s amiss, and it¡¯s concerning,¡± said Weiss. ¡°Starving minds¡ªthey¡¯re just hallucinating.¡± Carrack countered. ¡°Sir, as we just established, we have food now; we can¡¯t attribute everything to hunger,¡± Weiss asserted. ¡°It could be the overactive imagination of stressed minds. People may not be starving, but they¡¯re not satiated either. They are exhausted, anxious, soaked, ill, cold, and homesick¡ªunder numerous strains. No one is at their optimal state; we are all susceptible to hallucinations, more so if there¡¯s an inherent suspicion toward mages,¡± Carrack reasoned. ¡°Regardless ¡­ I don¡¯t want to talk about Alaina right now. I need to get a message to whoever¡¯s running the teamsters.¡± Weiss hesitated before saying, ¡°It¡¯s a bit trickier now. It was usually them reaching out to me, but there were times I sent someone to a spot where they¡¯d have someone to take our messages. Why do you want to reach them?¡± ¡°Obvious reasons, Weiss. We¡¯re under siege here. Trapped by the most terrifying army, one we can¡¯t even see¡ªfear. I need to understand what¡¯s happening out there, see if there¡¯s any chance for a mutual understanding, d¨¦tente,¡± Carrack laid out. ¡°I can ¡­ I can have one of the men working for me on this go out there,¡± Weiss suggested. ¡°Just one?¡± Carrack raised an eyebrow. ¡°Well, the other two are dead ¡­ So, yes, just one,¡± Weiss said, his words not without bitterness. Carrack rubbed his nose, his face tightening at a thought forming in his mind. ¡°I could go ¡­ I¡¯ll go with him.¡± A fleeting smirk crossed Weiss¡¯s face before he rearranged his features into a more skeptical expression. ¡°You can¡¯t, sir. It¡¯s not possible.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°You and I both understand why,¡± said Weiss, shaking his head at the mere thought. ¡°God forbid, you get killed or worse, leaving this place without a leader.¡± ¡°Crow would assume command, until Foeham recovers,¡± said Carrack. ¡°Recovers ¡­ right. Crow is a reliable soldier¡ªI have no doubts about that¡ªbut he¡¯s strictly a soldier. He excels in the heat of the moment, but strategizing two or three steps ahead? I have serious reservations,¡± Weiss argued, his body language expressing his growing discomfort and self-irritation. He tapped his fingers on the table, each tap echoing his obvious internal turmoil. ¡°Dammit, I¡¯ll go.¡± Carrack, eyes wide, managed to utter, ¡°You?¡± ¡°Yes, me. Who else?¡± Weiss groaned. ¡°I¡¯m practically jobless right now ¡­ So, I suppose this task falls to me.¡± ¡°I must admit, I¡¯m surprised,¡± Carrack confessed. ¡°So am I.¡± Weiss exhaled deeply. ¡°I can leave tonight if necessary.¡± ¡°Are you sure you can? Do you really want to?¡± Carrack probed. ¡°Yes, dammit, stop questioning or I¡¯ll change my mind!¡± Weiss buried his head in his hands, letting out a muffled groan. ¡°Give me a little bit of time and I¡¯ll see about.¡± A spear of lightning lanced the sky, briefly illuminating the room with its intense glow, followed closely by a resonant clap of thunder so forceful it seemed to rattle the very foundations of the building. The symphony of rain against the glass increased, the sheets of water now a relentless barrage. After a lingering moment, Weiss¡¯s gaze shifted to the window, observing the escalating tempest. ¡°Rain¡¯s pickin¡¯ up,¡± he commented with a touch of dryness in his tone. Chapter 24 Chapter 24 Later in the evening there was a faint echo of rhythmic pounding that haunted the stairway leading to Carrack¡¯s room. Should a visitor wander in, they would discover the commander alone, a silhouette against the dim walls, the room bathed only in the flickering light from a few candles on his desk. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting thoughts, numb yet relentlessly confused. The only manifestation of this internal struggle was the constant rhythm of his fist colliding with the hard stone wall. The sting against his knuckles was painful, yet it anchored him, preventing his mind from spiraling into an endless, chaotic trance. He couldn¡¯t recall how long he¡¯d been hitting the wall; time often blurred during these spells. Usually, his instincts pulled him back before causing any significant harm. But tonight, overwhelmed by a maelstrom of worries, he struck once too hard. A sharp pain lanced through his hand, snapping him back to reality. He stared at his knuckle, now smeared with fresh, bright blood. His clenched fist resisted, but with effort, he managed to uncurl it. Muttering a curse at his lapse, Carrack slowly retreated to his desk and sank into the chair. Before him lay his journal, opened to a fresh, untouched page. Carrack gazed at the pages before him, a multitude of thoughts swarming in his mind, each begging to be expelled onto the paper in a literary purging. But each idea seemed to be hidden within a fog, remaining tethered within his mind, continuing its silent torment. He picked up his pen and began to trace the ghosts of unborn words, but as he tightened his grip, a jolt of pain pierced through his hand. In his daze, he hadn¡¯t realized it was his writing hand he had been abusing. ¡°Damn fool,¡± he muttered, slumping into his chair. For a brief moment, he began hastily flipping through the preceding pages of his journal. Each page flew by, too quickly to discern any written words. Then, abruptly, his pace slowed. He methodically turned each page, his eyes scanning the words, but not truly comprehending them. He seldom revisited his past entries, believing that the act of penning his thoughts was a means to free them from his mind. Yet, there was a time when he frequently reflected on his previous writings. As a young officer, fresh from training, the solitary discipline of journaling was his anchor amidst the isolation of his introduction to the Orenian military. He¡¯d kept a compact crate, packed with filled journals, that accompanied him during his assignments. It was a means to converse, indirectly, with his younger self and to gain perspective on the hurdles he faced. It often amused him how, in the past, he would view challenges as insurmountable or dire, only to later realize they were fleeting concerns. These trials, in hindsight, often felt trivial. And that perspective was precisely what he needed to ensure he didn¡¯t exaggerate his present dilemmas. Before arriving in Helena, he had ceased this dialogue with his younger self. During one particularly bleak period in Oren, in a moment of overwhelming despair that was hard to remember clearly, he had set all his memories and reflections ablaze, inaugurating an era where he would destroy each journal upon filling its pages. The journal he possessed now was the lone record of his thoughts since his arrival. Though initially resolved to abandon the habit on Helena, the worn leather cover of this journal beckoned to him from Dr. Mortier¡¯s store during his initial rounds of acquainting himself with the island. It was then that he chose to rekindle his practice of journaling. As he turned through the prior pages, the words seemed distant and failed to resonate. Yet something did catch his eye. It was the very first entry he¡¯d penned nearly ten months prior. He found himself puzzled, having forgotten how sparingly he¡¯d written then. The entry read: 6 November 782 I won¡¯t burn it. To a casual observer, the words might have seemed simple, even devoid of context or significance. But for Carrack, they were neither simple nor vague. They were the culmination of a prolonged inner debate about an item he¡¯d brought to the island. He found himself staring at the words, his eyes traversing the page as though seeking hidden text between the lines. An unconscious nibble on the inside of his cheek preceded his gaze shifting to his bed. He approached and knelt down, gently pulling out a slim wooden chest secured with a basic three-digit combination lock. For a moment, he simply cradled it, letting his good hand trace its smooth surface and the seams of its lid. While he wasn¡¯t particularly compelled to open it, his thumb mindlessly dialed the lock¡¯s combination: 717. The soft click of the lock felt jarringly loud, muting both the relentless rain outside and the fireplace¡¯s intermittent crackle. The sound seemed to weigh heavily on Carrack¡¯s heart, especially when he noticed the chest was not fully closed after the lock disengaged. With trepidation, he lifted the lid, revealing a violin. The instrument¡¯s worn chestnut hue shimmered faintly in the firelight. Carrack¡¯s hands found themselves resting in his lap, his eyes fixed on the violin. A profound melancholy consumed him, a sensation akin to grieving a departed loved one during their wake. The violin had been a constant in Carrack¡¯s life, a cherished gift from his father. Like most in Oren, his father was a merchant and had acquired the instrument almost accidentally. A man eager to part with it had added the violin to a deal at the last minute. Initially, Carrack had neither knowledge of nor passion for musical instruments. But during his formative years, curiosity drew him to it. His early attempts at learning were a torment for those around him, his mother most of all. Consequently, he was banned from practicing at home. When Carrack began accompanying his father on business trips, he was allowed to play while they traveled by land. At sea, however, his father feared that the cacophonous noise might either summon a leviathan or incite a disgruntled sailor to toss Carrack overboard. Practicing an instrument, or mastering any craft for that matter, without guidance often leads to mere mediocrity. Fortunately, during his travels, Carrack encountered a stranger who offered to teach him the intricacies of the violin. The man¡¯s name, if ever known to Carrack, had faded from memory. But his appearance was unforgettable: skin as pale as ivory, seemingly aged by a century, yet possessing the agility of youth, particularly when handling the violin. Despite the kindness and invaluable lessons the old man provided, Carrack¡¯s father and accompanying crew tolerated him only for so long. After roughly a month of tutelage, the stranger was asked to leave. But in that brief span, Carrack¡¯s skill had improved significantly. His melodies transformed from being a mere disturbance to being celebrated and enjoyed, even becoming the highlight of many a tavern gathering. The violin proved to be a godsend after he joined the military. Long voyages, both by sea and on land, and assignments to remote outposts devoid of the comforts of civilization¡ªsuch settings were enough to drive many to the brink of madness. Yet, for Carrack, his instrument was an anchor. It offered both himself and his companions a brief escape from the harshness of their realities. His tunes, often described as magically calming, provided solace during the most trying circumstances. In a moment of drunken jest, an individual at a tavern once dubbed him a ¡°musical mage¡±. His mind drifted as he stared at the violin, and he found himself unable to recall why he stopped playing and also why he was even debating to destroy it. Carefully, Carrack lifted the violin. He positioned it on his shoulder, poised to play, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to do so and left the bow resting in the crate. As he scrutinized the instrument, the firelight revealed layers of dust and grime that marred its surface. A grimace formed on his face. Compelled to clean it, he reached for one of the cushioning rags from the crate. There, by the fireplace, he meticulously wiped away the dirt, all while softly humming snippets of melodies. The rhythmic sound of rain provided an unwitting backdrop, harmonizing with his tune. There in his eye, the faint glimmer of a tear appeared. Carrack was abruptly roused from slumber by an insistent knocking at his door. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he caught his violin just in time, preventing it from tumbling off the bed. Confusion clouded his mind; he recalled cleaning the instrument by the fireside, seemingly mere moments ago. Retrieving his pocket watch, he was startled to find that two hours had elapsed. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Another series of knocks jolted him to his senses. Setting the violin gently on the bed, he moved to answer the door. A fleeting shiver overcame him as he glimpsed the instrument resting there. Shaking off the odd sensation, he opened the door to reveal Alaina, her knuckles raised, ready to knock again. ¡°Lord Carrack,¡± she began, slightly taken aback by his sudden appearance, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did I disturb you? Were you asleep?¡± His gaze unconsciously drifted back to the bed. ¡°I suppose I dozed off for a brief moment. It¡¯s alright; it wasn¡¯t a deep sleep.¡± Alaina hesitated at the threshold, a question in her eyes. ¡°May I come in?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± he replied, stepping aside to grant her entry. He gestured for her to sit at his desk, discreetly shutting his journal in the process. Settling on the edge of the bed, he asked, ¡°What brings you here at this hour?¡± Alaina laced her fingers together, her gaze briefly wandering around the room. ¡°I wanted to check on you, see how you¡¯re holding up.¡± Carrack raised his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. ¡°I¡¯m managing, all things considered.¡± ¡°Your wounds healing well?¡± ¡°As well as they can,¡± Carrack sighed. ¡°Not as resilient as I once was. Age doesn¡¯t make recovery easier.¡± Alaina nodded empathetically. ¡°Understandable.¡± ¡°How about you?¡± Carrack probed. ¡°How are things in your quarters?¡± A half-smile graced Alaina¡¯s lips. ¡°Keeping busy. Experimenting with different mixtures, tending to the wounded when possible.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard you¡¯ve been quite reclusive lately,¡± Carrack mentioned. Alaina paused, choosing her words carefully. ¡°There are certain processes that might be ¡­ misunderstood by those unacquainted with my methods.¡± Leaning in, Carrack recalled Weiss¡¯s hushed whispers and the murmurs of the soldiers. ¡°Can you explain what exactly you¡¯re doing? It¡¯s difficult to allay fears when I¡¯m equally in the dark.¡± She sighed deeply. ¡°Lord Carrack, as the fort¡¯s commander, you have every right to be informed. However, I must respectfully request your understanding. There are things I¡¯m working on that I¡¯m not ready to disclose.¡± Carrack¡¯s nod was thoughtful, but his eyes held a hint of unease. ¡°While I respect your stance, you must realize that such an answer only heightens my own concerns.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± Alaina¡¯s voice was a murmur. ¡°Yet just as you cherish the sanctity of your private quarters, might I not be afforded the same discretion? Can you not understand the value of privacy?¡± Carrack¡¯s gaze held firm. ¡°It¡¯s not about mere privacy. There¡¯s an air of unease because of what you are.¡± Alaina¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Ah, mages¡ªthe crafty lot, masters of deceit and intrigue.¡± ¡°No,¡± Carrack retorted, a touch defensively. ¡°That¡¯s not what I said. Nor do I hold such views about mages.¡± ¡°Regardless of your personal beliefs, Lord Carrack, you allow the unfounded suspicions of others to color your questions,¡± Alaina countered sharply. ¡°Which is worse, harboring prejudices or being swayed by them?¡± ¡°There¡¯s more complexity to my inquiries than merely echoing the groundless fears of others,¡± Carrack replied, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. He wasn¡¯t accustomed to being on the defensive in conversations, and being indirectly accused of intolerance didn¡¯t sit well with him. Alaina recognized Carrack¡¯s growing irritation but chose to provide an answer. ¡°Very well. If you must know, I¡¯m growing your food, or I should say I¡¯m making it.¡± A mix of relief and a sudden troubling realization played across Carrack¡¯s face. Recollecting her known practices with organs and fluids, he hesitated before finally venturing, ¡°Alaina ¡­ you aren¡¯t using ¡­¡± His eyes bore into hers, the question hanging in the air. Alaina looked genuinely shocked. ¡°By the Gods, no! Do you take me for a monster?¡± ¡°No!¡± Carrack responded swiftly. ¡°Then why even suggest such an idea?¡± Alaina said. ¡°Have you so little faith in me?¡± ¡°Alaina,¡± he sighed, the weight of the situation bearing down on him, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean ¡­ Look, I apologize. Just explain to me what¡¯s happening down there.¡± His voice, though apologetic, carried a clear demand for clarity. Alaina hesitated, her expression still somewhat indignant. ¡°It¡¯s soma,¡± she finally conceded. ¡°Soma?¡± Carrack¡¯s brows knitted in thought, recalling a memory. ¡°That¡¯s a dessert from Shar, right?¡± ¡°Yes, in Shar it¡¯s a dessert. But east of the Miastan Range, it¡¯s different. The hamlets and villages there have a unique version, a paste supposedly crafted by druids,¡± Alaina explained, her initial irritation giving way to the enthusiasm of someone passionate about their subject. ¡°The term ¡®soma¡¯ was humorously coined by traders who couldn¡¯t pronounce its actual name.¡± Carrack pondered this, nodding slowly. ¡°So it¡¯s a paste. But why all the secrecy around its creation?¡± ¡°It¡¯s versatile. Think of it as an all-in-one food. It feeds, energizes, aids sleep, hydration, focus, and much more.¡± Carrack considered this. ¡°Like the food supplements hospitals give to patients?¡± ¡°Exactly!¡± Alaina said, excited now. ¡°But unlike those supplements, which are made from real food, this Soma is conjured from ¡­¡± She hesitated, making vague gestures with her hands as if to grasp the intangible. ¡°So, you¡¯re essentially creating this all-purpose paste from the air?¡± Carrack asked, eyebrows raised in intrigue. ¡°Air and other non-food elements, yes. The wonders of the arcane,¡± she stated proudly. Carrack¡¯s face darkened with concern, ¡°Such a powerful spell must be taking a toll on you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s draining, to say the least,¡± she admitted with a weary sigh. ¡°You promised not to overexert yourself,¡± Carrack chided gently. ¡°I did promise, true.¡± Alaina said, her gaze distant. ¡°But as every day passes, I grow more concerned for the people in the city. Their plight ¡­ It¡¯s almost palpable.¡± ¡°You sense their pain?¡± Carrack asked, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s hard to describe,¡± she began. ¡°While I can¡¯t accurately discern individual emotions, I¡¯ve always been attuned to the island¡¯s collective aura. It¡¯s as if I can feel a faint shift when strong emotions resonate together.¡± ¡°And now you sense they¡¯re in distress?¡± said Carrack. ¡°It¡¯s akin to sensing an impending storm¡ªthe change in the air, the faint smell of rain,¡± Alaina tried to explain, her voice quivering slightly. ¡°But recently, what I¡¯ve been feeling is far more intense, and, in a way, more unsettling.¡± ¡°How recent is ¡®recently¡¯?¡± Carrack pressed. ¡°Ever since that derelict appeared on our shores,¡± Alaina responded. ¡°Experiencing this overwhelming sensation of their struggle ¡­ It¡¯s made me less cautious about my own well-being, especially when casting these spells.¡± ¡°Alaina,¡± Carrack shook his head, ¡°you can¡¯t.¡± ¡°Carrack, I need to do this! From the moment I set foot here, I¡¯ve fulfilled every request you made of me, even those that ¡­ troubled me.¡± Carrack frowned, clearly taken aback. ¡°Troubled you? I can¡¯t recall any such request that might have been so unsettling.¡± She hesitated, her eyes momentarily darting away. The brief lapse into silence was punctuated by an uneasy shuffle. ¡°When I first arrived, there were a few things you asked of me that ¡­ felt unfamiliar ¡­ disconcerting. But it wasn¡¯t anything too extreme. It was just ¡­ unexpected.¡± Carrack¡¯s expression softened. ¡°Alaina, if I ever made you uneasy, even inadvertently, I¡¯d want to address it. We should talk it out.¡± She met his gaze, her face a blend of gratitude and lingering discomfort. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Carrack. The past is in the past. Perhaps I was just overly sensitive after first arriving on the island.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Watching her easily dismiss her previous discomfort unnerved Carrack. She waved away his inquiry with a gesture that spoke volumes. ¡°Regardless, I want to see the Soma process firsthand. Just as I observed how you dealt with the body.¡± ¡°Lord Carrack,¡± Alaina said, the disappointment evident in her voice, ¡°have we reverted to our trust issues?¡± ¡°Alaina, you pointed out that I should be aware of what transpires within these walls. It would be negligence on my part if I remained ignorant while ignoring the concerns of my men,¡± Carrack reasoned. Alaina sighed. ¡°I understand, but you can¡¯t approach this ritual.¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Why not?¡± Alaina paused, her gaze drifting to the ceiling as she collected her thoughts. ¡°The rituals I conduct are intense. While they exact a toll on me, well-versed as I am in arcane arts, they could be deadly to someone untrained like you. Picture standing beside a raging inferno. While I might get singed, you¡¯d be consumed by flames. Instead of fire, however, imagine chaotic magical forces. And instead of burns, imagine tumors and other horrendous afflictions.¡± Carrack pondered her words, remembering a trial in Oren. The ¡°Cancer Cook¡± ¨C a mage who, under the guise of a humble cook, had enchanted his dishes and surroundings to self-clean, inadvertently exposing his neighbors to dangerous magic. The memory of the victims, debilitated by tumors and scars, still lingered in his mind when he sat on the jury for that trial. Carrack let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the conversation bearing down on him. ¡°This is maddening,¡± he muttered in frustration. ¡°You think I¡¯m lying?¡± Alaina shot back, her eyes searching his for doubt. ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t believe you,¡± Carrack admitted, running a hand through his hair. ¡°That¡¯s precisely what¡¯s so irritating.¡± Alaina¡¯s tone softened. ¡°Lord Carrack, trust in me this once. I won¡¯t let you down.¡± Carrack felt a tightness constrict his chest, each breath slightly labored. While he couldn¡¯t grant Alaina his full trust, he felt compelled to offer a gesture of understanding. As he gave her a nod, a fleeting expression of relief crossed her face. The room¡¯s atmosphere shifted, the tension subsiding, but in its wake, an uncomfortable silence settled. Restlessness gnawed at Carrack. The lure of sleep tugged at his thoughts, though his body resisted the notion, as it often did. Yet, beyond the immediate concerns, something else lingered in his mind¡ªsomething he wanted to share with Alaina, but not within these walls. Pushing himself up, Carrack stretched. ¡°Care for a walk? I could use some fresh air. And there¡¯s something else I¡¯d like to discuss¡ªnothing grave, so don¡¯t worry.¡± Alaina chuckled a little, ¡°A nice walk in the rain in the middle of the night. What more could a lady ask for. Sure, I¡¯ve got some time to spare while my latest concoctions are still fermenting.¡± Chapter 25 Chapter 25 24 August 149 Third Age The minute hand of Carrack¡¯s pocket watch swept past midnight, heralding the arrival of a new day¡ªa day shrouded in the same familiar dark clouds and persistent rain, with only the muffled promise of sunlight that seemed indistinguishable from the night¡¯s shadows. As he and Alaina strolled along the fort¡¯s ramparts, rain droplets dotted the glass face of his watch. He quickly wiped them away before tucking the watch safely beneath his overcoat. While his overcoat shielded him somewhat from the rain, Alaina was well protected in her dark, hooded cloak. With no hair or hat to guard his head, raindrops effortlessly ran down Carrack¡¯s scalp. But his beard absorbed the moisture, leading to a nagging itch that he tried to ignore. The silence between them was thick, only punctuated by the storm¡¯s rhythm. Carrack had a topic lingering on the tip of his tongue but found it hard to articulate. Alaina broke the quiet first. ¡°You have a violin?¡± she asked, glimpsing toward his quarters. ¡°I noticed it on your bed.¡± Carrack¡¯s face momentarily lit up with a hint of a smile. ¡°Ah, that. I¡¯ve had it for as long as I can remember.¡± He then shared the instrument¡¯s backstory, the nostalgia evident in his voice. ¡°You must have really cherished it,¡± Alaina observed. ¡°But I¡¯ve never heard you play.¡± ¡°I gave it up,¡± Carrack confessed. ¡°Why?¡± A shadow passed over Carrack¡¯s face as he recollected more recent memories tied to the violin, particularly the cryptic journal entry debating whether to burn it. ¡°Honestly, I can¡¯t say. There was a time I deeply enjoyed it, but after a tour in Vodanar, my passion just ¡­ faded. Strange, isn¡¯t it?¡± Alaina seemed lost in thought, murmuring softly. ¡°Alaina?¡± Carrack nudged gently. ¡°What was your tour in Vodanar like?¡± Carrack exhaled slowly, reflecting on his challenging experience there. Vodanar Princedom was a tragic example of a failed state. It had emerged as one of the several territories that broke away from the unstable Afonland, largely due to Orenian influence. Its proximity to the Orenian mainland and the presence of lucrative silver mines meant that the Republic of Oren had a significant stake in Vodanar¡¯s stability. But it soon became evident that the nascent state was plagued by ethnic conflicts and foreign interference. The escalating unrest and outbreaks of violence prompted Oren to deploy peacekeepers to the region, and Carrack had been amongst them. ¡°It¡¯s all a bit fuzzy, like trying to see something through fog,¡± Carrack admitted. ¡°But the one thing that sticks out is this constant feeling of being on edge. It was hard not knowing who was on our side and who wasn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Sounds tough,¡± Alaina said, nodding slowly. There was a softness to her voice, but she seemed to hang on to every word. ¡°So, how¡¯d you get through all that?¡± Carrack shrugged. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know. I guess I just found a routine or something to keep me busy. I usually remember things like that better.¡± ¡°But you can¡¯t remember now?¡± Alaina asked. ¡°No,¡± Carrack sighed. ¡°It¡¯s all a blur.¡± Alaina paused, thinking. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a good thing you don¡¯t remember. I¡¯ve heard tales about the battles there. Horrible stuff. Maybe your mind is trying to protect you.¡± ¡°Do you really think that?¡± Carrack questioned. ¡°Because I¡¯m not so sure. I¡¯ve been having nightmares, and sometimes I hear things even when I¡¯m awake.¡± She looked away, taking a deep breath. ¡°Tell me about it.¡± As they walked, Carrack described the strange noises, the ominous presence he felt, and the unease that had gripped him since arriving on the island. He mentioned his unsuccessful attempts at seeking help from various temples before finally turning to Lady Matilda. ¡°You saw her?¡± Alaina¡¯s tone changed, becoming more guarded. Carrack nodded. ¡°I did.¡± She sighed heavily, her distrust for Lady Matilda clear. While Carrack knew Alaina generally didn¡¯t trust many spiritual figures, her particular distaste for Lady Matilda stood out. He¡¯d never thought to question why. ¡°What did she do?¡± Alaina¡¯s voice was both curious and wary. ¡°It felt like ¡­ it made things worse. But also better? I began recalling bits from Vodanar, but it was all so vague. I couldn¡¯t finish the session with her. I was too terrified,¡± Carrack admitted. ¡°Terrified of what? What did you see?¡± He hesitated, trying to find the right words. ¡°Remember when you talked about the mysteries of our minds? It felt like I was diving into mine. There¡¯s another layer underneath my memories. And she let me glimpse it.¡± ¡°And?¡± Alaina pressed. ¡°I didn¡¯t see anything, not really. But I felt fear, pain, and this weird satisfaction mixed with guilt. I¡¯ve never felt anything like it. It left me sick and angry.¡± Alaina studied him closely, her brow furrowed. ¡°Could she have drugged you? Some incense or something?¡± ¡°I thought of that, but it¡¯s been a while since our meeting. Yet, I¡¯m still seeing things,¡± Carrack replied, frustration evident in his voice. ¡°Some drugs can leave a lasting imprint even after just one use,¡± Alaina said. ¡°You may be right about the drug thing. But there¡¯s something else,¡± Carrack said, hesitating. ¡°When that ship hit the docks ¡­ I was right there. I took the full force of the crash. I think ¡­ I think I died.¡± ¡°Died?¡± Alaina¡¯s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Carrack relayed what little he remembered from that surreal experience, noticing Alaina¡¯s focused attention as he spoke. Yet, her reaction was underwhelming. ¡°That¡¯s ¡­ interesting,¡± was all she said. ¡°Just ¡®interesting¡¯?¡± Carrack echoed. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Alaina replied. ¡°It¡¯s certainly remarkable. But if you¡¯re hoping for me to decode that for you, I¡¯m as baffled as you are.¡± ¡°I guess I was hoping for some wisdom,¡± Carrack sighed. Alaina shrugged. ¡°I may not have sage advice, but I can try something else.¡± Her tone became more assertive. ¡°How about I make something for you? To counter these ¡­ visions?¡± Stolen story; please report. Carrack was silent for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t want to pull you away from your work. I¡¯ve already taken up so much of your time.¡± ¡°It¡¯s no bother,¡± Alaina said. ¡°I might have something that can stabilize your thoughts. I¡¯ll get started now.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re sure ¡­¡± ¡°Completely. Come with me, it won¡¯t take long,¡± Alaina said, motioning for Carrack to follow. He did, silently. The fort lay enveloped in darkness, it being close to one in the morning. Sentries increased their patrols on the ramparts, moving silently as they scanned the horizon toward the distant city. The courtyard echoed with the howls and whispers of swirling winds, making Carrack very aware of nature¡¯s unpredictable temperament. The wooden planks meant to ease their walk had been betrayed by the mire, sinking deep into the mud. As Carrack felt the cold dampness creep into his boots, he couldn¡¯t help but grumble internally about the drying process they¡¯d need later. Meanwhile, Alaina seemed to glide effortlessly across the yard, her feet barely touched by the mud¡¯s grasp. Descending into the catacombs beneath the fort, Carrack was greeted by a sharp scent of incense, which hung in the air like a light, smoky veil. Alaina shared that this was her remedy to neutralize the less pleasant odors resulting from surgeries and treating the injured. Moreover, it had a soothing effect on recovering patients. As they walked down the central corridor flanked by rooms housing patients or her makeshift farms, Alaina paused. Asking Carrack to wait before her quarters, she promised to return shortly with the medicine. Though a brief surge of irritation bubbled up in Carrack, he masked it with a nod and a smile. He watched Alaina¡¯s silhouette vanish in the smoky haze as she continued down the corridor. Initially, Carrack stood with patience, but the discomfort of his tired arches¡ªlegacy of his long military career¡ªprompted him to shift his weight from foot to foot. This only intensified the sensation of water squelching in his boots, aggravating his discomfort. As moments turned into minutes, he decided to search for a place to rest his feet, but stopped when he arrived at Foeham¡¯s chamber. Upon entering, the aching in his feet became an afterthought. A palpable melancholy hung in the air, intensifying as he drew closer to where Foeham lay. The sight of his friend, ensnared in a relentless comatose state, pierced Carrack¡¯s soul. Although Foeham¡¯s injuries bore hints of gradual healing, each ragged breath he took underlined his painful ordeal. Carrack considered speaking, hoping against hope that Foeham might recognize his voice. But every potential word, laden with remorse, retreated before he could voice it. Regret bit at Carrack¡¯s core. If he had accompanied Foeham during the investigation, he might have reined in the man¡¯s recklessness. The decisions clouded by his emotions now seemed rash, especially green lighting such a dangerous operation. But the heaviest shackle weighing him down was the secret deal he had struck with the teamsters. If he had been forthright about it, perhaps they wouldn¡¯t have found themselves trapped on those treacherous docks. While Carrack was no stranger to shouldering responsibility as a leader, the weight of this particular lapse was hard to stomach. After some time spent beside Foeham, Carrack decided to move on. He took a chair from the room, intending to find a clearer spot down the hallway to await Alaina. As he walked past the chamber containing the unidentified survivor from the derelict ship, an inexplicable sensation halted his progress. Carrack had initially dismissed this stranger, believing him incapable of providing the answers he so desperately sought. Yet, as he continued down the hall, an almost ethereal beckoning reached out, whispering with intrigue. The call was gentle but unyielding, though not powerful enough to compel Carrack toward the unknown man immediately. As he continued his exit, something shifted at the edge of his vision. He thought he detected a faint movement from the stranger. Turning reflexively, he realized his mistake¡ªthe man was still unconscious. But the mysterious allure persisted, growing stronger, entwining itself with Carrack¡¯s natural curiosity. Drawn back, he found himself standing over the unconscious man, observing him with fresh intrigue. Upon closer inspection, the stranger seemed frailer than Carrack had previously noted, even more so than how Alaina had described. Lines of age and fatigue mapped his face, leading Carrack to speculate that he was likely in his fifties. Swathed in blankets provided by Alaina, the man rested peacefully. His clothes from arrival, now somewhat cleaner after several washes, were folded in a corner. A few personal items adorned a nearby table, including a ring suspended from a necklace chain. The thin gold band bore an internal inscription, but time had worn away the words to an indecipherable blur. Also amongst the possessions was a compact, brown leather journal, its closure a thin elastic band stretched to its limit, struggling to contain the myriad of loose papers stuffed within. Carrack lifted the journal, examining its well-worn cover and substantial weight. His gaze oscillated between the journal and the mysterious stranger, temptation mingling with speculation. Maybe this is where some answers are hidden. His fingers toyed with the elastic, easing it away from the cover. A moment of reluctance fluttered through him, overshadowed by the vivid memory of the ship plummeting towards the shore. This brief contemplation allowed him to slip the elastic off and open the journal, his quick reflexes stifling the burst of papers. He began to peruse the contents but halted. A peculiar sensation pervaded the air, souring his curiosity, prompting him to spin around, searching for the unseen presence, but found nothing¡ªonly the silent stranger, his breathing the sole whisper in the room. Before Carrack could delve back into the journal, Alaina¡¯s voice echoed down the hall, drawing his attention. She peeked into the room, eyes widening slightly upon seeing him, before stepping in. In her hand, she held a small glass vial filled with a dark green liquid. Her gaze followed him to the journal he was holding. ¡°Ah, I see you¡¯ve taken an interest in our guest,¡± she remarked, a hint of wariness in her eyes. Lifting the journal, Carrack said, ¡°Why wasn¡¯t I informed he had this?¡± Alaina shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not the treasure trove you might hope for. Go on, see for yourself.¡± His brow furrowed, Carrack opened the journal. The moment he saw the familiar script, his heart sank, and a chill ran up his spine. ¡°Vinterpolan? What in the world?¡± ¡°It goes deeper than that,¡± Alaina whispered. ¡°Examine the symbols on those documents.¡± His fingers traced the imprinted symbols: a detailed marble column¡ªthe undeniable emblem of Vinterpol. But what caught his attention was the small flame atop the column. A gnawing feeling of dread settled in, but he couldn¡¯t quite place the symbol¡¯s significance. Taking a deep breath, Alaina revealed, ¡°You¡¯re looking at the journal of an Imperial Inquisitor of Vinterpol.¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes widened, and the journal nearly slipped from his trembling fingers. A chilling realization struck him. He was in the presence of an agent from one of the most feared and zealous factions on the continent. ¡°Without restraints, without any guard,¡± he murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. Swiveling to Alaina, his tone grew sharp, ¡°You knew about this?¡± Alaina met his gaze steadily. ¡°The moment I saw that symbol, I recognized his role. An Inquisitor.¡± Carrack¡¯s frustration boiled over. ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you raise an alarm? Do you understand the danger he represents?¡± ¡°I¡¯m well aware of the Inquisitors¡¯ dark reputation, Lord Carrack,¡± Alaina said. She moved toward the unconscious man and pulled back the cloth, revealing iron shackles binding his wrists and ankles, chains anchored securely beneath the table. ¡°Considering the myriad crises we¡¯ve faced, I deemed it unwise to burden you further.¡± Carrack¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Yet you deemed it wise to leave him unguarded?¡± Before Carrack could say more, Alaina pointed to the room¡¯s entrance. ¡°Observe.¡± He noticed chalk-drawn symbols encircling the doorway. ¡°A protective charm?¡± ¡°Sandman¡¯s Charm,¡± she clarified with a hint of pride. ¡°So, a barrier?¡± Alaina shook her head. ¡°More of a safeguard. If he attempts to breach that threshold, he¡¯ll be incapacitated instantly.¡± Despite her reassurances, unease lingered in Carrack¡¯s eyes. ¡°Your precautions are scant comfort.¡± Alaina¡¯s gaze never wavered. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you, Lord Carrack. You can never be too cautious with someone like this. Believe me, I wouldn¡¯t think twice turning him into pink mist if he wrangled his way out of everything.¡± The weight of the situation pressed heavily on Carrack. Every revelation seemed to add to a spiraling list of concerns. He wanted to trust Alaina¡¯s judgment regarding the security of the inquisitor, but with each passing moment, more questions plagued his mind. Why was an inquisitor aboard an Orenian-class ship? Had he stowed away in secret? Could the vessel have been commandeered? What fate had befallen its crew? And the explosion¡ªthe ship had detonated as though it were a mere powder keg waiting for a spark. The uncertainty of it all was maddening. A sudden wave of lightheadedness washed over Carrack. His persistent battle against exhaustion was faltering, especially under the weight of the inquisitor¡¯s revelation. It was becoming clear that he couldn¡¯t push himself any further. His eyelids felt like they had lead weights attached, threatening to shut at any moment. Without diverting her gaze from Carrack, Alaina lifted the vial she had earlier brought. She offered a comforting smile. ¡°Take this before you lie down,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯ll ensure a sound night¡¯s sleep and might even help push aside those troubling thoughts.¡± With a resigned sigh, Carrack replied, ¡°This is going to taste awful, isn¡¯t it?¡± Alaina raised an eyebrow, her voice tinged with mock amusement. ¡°If medicine tasted pleasant, it wouldn¡¯t be medicine, now would it?¡± Chapter 26 Chapter 26 The Lawtoni River, majestic and wide, stretched its reach across multiple realms, drinking from innumerable tributaries before pouring its vastness into the Shattering Sea. Legends said that when the river¡¯s breadth was at its grandest, spanning nearly two kilometers, its forceful current could move mountains. Yet, as one ventured southward, upstream, they departed the realm of Masovia, ushered into the nascent boundaries of the Vodanar Princedom. Here, the river tightened, its pulse still fervent. Only with the dawn of coal-fired engines did conquering its current become a tangible dream. And Carrack was standing aboard one of these pioneering vessels, beneath the dark blue and gold banner of the Orenian Republic. A dense fog enveloped everything. It clung to the river¡¯s surface like a ghostly veil, transforming the shores into hazy silhouettes. Sound was a rare companion, save for the rhythmic lap of water against the ship¡¯s hull and the steady heartbeat of the engine. Yet, Carrack felt an undercurrent of emotions, unspoken but palpable. His eyes darted incessantly, tracing the obscured banks, ready to pierce through any anomaly in the shifting mists. His pocket watch revealed two hours to Pillaseccumi, the river¡¯s lone bridge and his charge, along with the safeguarding of the treasured silver ore. Every soul aboard mirrored Carrack¡¯s vigilance. Soldiers paced the deck, firearms primed, eyes ceaselessly surveying both the river and the obscured land beyond. As hours dwindled, a mesmerizing sight loomed ahead. On either side of the Lawton stood immense stone pillars. Fashioned into cylinders, these monoliths bore no marks, no tales of their creators. They were the ¡°Pillars of the Eternal Earth¡±, enigmas swathed in layers of legend. For newcomers, their scale was an unparalleled marvel, dwarfing all else. But for Carrack, they bore a foreboding message: they were now deep within enemy lines. One of the men, his lieutenant, approached with a look of concern. ¡°The men are on edge, sir. They could use something to calm their nerves,¡± he hinted. Carrack understood the unspoken request, but something within him resisted. ¡°Now¡¯s not the time,¡± he said firmly. ¡°We need every man alert, not distracted by the sound of my music.¡± The lieutenant gave a nod of acknowledgment, not pressing the matter further. Carrack caught snippets of hushed conversations as the news of his decision spread¡ªwhispers of disappointment and unease. He felt a pang of something, regret perhaps, but stood firm in his decision. Something strange began happening to him, though. A bitter taste flooded his mouth, making him spit involuntarily. He felt a tightening around his neck, almost like a noose, and soon stiffness crept into his joints. As he began to walk, attempting to shake off the discomfort, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Perhaps he was coming down with an illness; the symptoms seemed to be warning signs. His throat became parched, and the riverbank, once so close, now seemed to recede into the distance. As he passed one of his soldiers, they exchanged a brief nod. The soldier¡¯s look, however, held an undertone of disappointment, almost reproach. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Carrack tried to center himself. But midway through the inhalation, a whisper brushed against his ear, causing him to jerk around. Nothing. Then another whisper, ghostly and chilling. Carrack cursed under his breath, feeling the weight of isolation press upon him. The river was eerily still, and the engine¡¯s hum was the only sign the boat still moved. But the riverbanks? Vanished. Engulfed by the all-consuming fog. His unease heightened as he noticed another change. An uncanny silence had befallen the ship. Gone were the familiar footsteps of his soldiers. The deck was deserted, and he was utterly alone. Overwhelmed by the profound isolation, Carrack¡¯s immediate impulse was to shout, to call out to anyone who might still be present. But an inexplicable force sealed his lips, preventing even the faintest whisper from escaping. Silently, he roamed the deck, each tentative step echoing softly against the wooden boards. Descending to the lower deck, he peered into room after room, but found only the lingering evidence of a crew now absent. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it When he eventually reached his quarters, a palpable pull in the air drew his attention. Not to anything out of place or overtly sinister, but to his bed. Kneeling, he retrieved a familiar crate from beneath it and set it atop the mattress. The combination on the lock clicked into place¡ª717¡ªrevealing his cherished violin. The spectral whispers grew louder, urging him to take up the instrument. Emerging back on the deck, an even more profound silence enveloped him. The once-persistent hum of the engine had vanished. The only constants were the ship, the unmoving water, and the all-consuming fog. Even his own breathing seemed eerily muted. An attempt to disrupt the silence with a cough produced no sound. Panic threatened to consume him until a stray movement caused his fingers to brush a chord of his violin. The unexpected note pierced the heavy air, its resonance offering a temporary reprieve from the unsettling quiet. A newfound determination took hold. Carrack located a stool and began to experiment with the strings, delighting in the notes that broke the oppressive silence. Gathering his composure, he readied his bow, and with a deep though silent breath, began to weave a haunting melody into the void. With every chord, it was as if hues began bleeding back into the world, while the once-stagnant air danced anew. He couldn¡¯t place the name of the melody that flowed from his fingers, but it was an old tune¡ªone he¡¯d played countless times since he first picked up the violin. It soothed him, enveloping his senses in the familiar cadence. The harmony, at first dominant, slowly melded with the gentle thrum of the world around. Often lost in his music, Carrack played with closed eyes, but the hum of engines and the murmur of voices prompted them to open. The sight met him with warmth: his men, seated in rapt attention, their faces tinged with subtle relief. The oppressive fog had receded, and the water resumed its rhythm around the boat. The relief was palpable. He continued, allowing the comforting embrace of music to wash over him, not keeping track of time, nor the number of times the same notes poured forth. Part of him wished the moment would stretch endlessly. Yet, eventually, fatigue crept into his fingers and arms. As the final note rang out, resonating into the ether, all felt harmonious. But when he looked up, the serenity shattered. The deck was drenched, not just with water, but also with a thick, ominous shade of crimson. The men around him, though appearing as though they¡¯d just enjoyed a serenade, were smeared with fresh and drying blood, oblivious to the chaos around. The horizon was ablaze, an inferno consuming the banks and replacing the fog with thick plumes of smoke. Worse still, the river, previously a sanctuary of peace, now bore the weight of lifeless bodies, their forms darkened against the lurid backdrop of the fires that raged. Frozen by the gruesome spectacle, Carrack was consumed by shock. When he glanced at one of the men in his audience, the man seemed unfazed, even by the blood droplet that dangled from his nostrils. Noticing Carrack¡¯s gaze, a hint of concern crossed his face. ¡°Play it again, sir?¡± the man¡¯s voice, ghostly and faint, broke through. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Carrack replied, his voice trembling. ¡°Please, sir,¡± the man implored, ¡°play it again.¡± Abyssal blackness, then a sudden surge of consciousness. Carrack¡¯s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the feeble light emanating from the dying embers of a nearby fire. A clammy, cold sweat clung to him, soaking both his body and the bed linens. Breathless, he tried to grasp the tendrils of the nightmare that had tormented him, feeling them slip away like sand through fingers, as dreams often do. Understanding the fleeting nature of his recollections, Carrack leapt from the bed, making a beeline for his desk. He threw open his journal and, pen in hand, scribbled frenziedly, attempting to ensnare any fragment of the dream before it vanished. Images of a boat, blood, flames, and haunting strains of music materialized on the paper. But there was an aching void, a sense of something forgotten, something pivotal. His gaze landed on the open case, revealing his violin. A shiver, uncannily familiar, skittered down his spine. With a sudden urgency, he snapped the case shut. Checking his watch, he realized nearly nine hours had elapsed in restless slumber. Despite the lingering remnants of the nightmare, he felt a touch more revitalized than he had in days. With that meager consolation, Carrack took a deep breath and began preparing himself for the day¡¯s challenges. Chapter 27 Chapter 27 25 August 149 Third Age Outside, sheltered by a wooden awning attached to the fort¡¯s main structure, was the communal kitchen. This is where meals were prepared in large quantities for the garrison. Carrack stood alongside Alaina, who had at last managed to procure the mysterious food source she had spoken of days earlier. The persistent rain drummed against pots, pans, and dishes. An old trough, once used for horses, now collected rainwater, overflowing, and muddled. The air was thick with a rank aroma, punctuated by the occasional bubble from the grey, primordial soup bubbling away in a deep cast iron cauldron. Thankfully, the smoky scent from the fire below offered a slight reprieve from the overwhelming odor. Stifling a gag with a cloth over his nose, Carrack frowned. ¡°This is the Soma you promised? It smells like a swamp.¡± Alaina shrugged. ¡°The scent isn¡¯t the selling point here. It¡¯s meant to fend off starvation, remember?¡± Peeking from behind the cloth, Carrack replied, ¡°If it tastes half as bad as it smells, I fear some might prefer the hunger.¡± ¡°You¡¯re overreacting,¡± she huffed. Carrack gestured to the distant city beyond the walls. ¡°The people here have been through a whole lot. They¡¯re wary of all of this. The idea that they¡¯ll catch a whiff of this and think that we¡¯re trying to poison them isn¡¯t really out of the question.¡± Alaina rolled her eyes at his comment, but after a moment¡¯s reflection, a subtle change softened her expression. She nodded. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll see what I can do about the scent,¡± she conceded with a resigned sigh. ¡°Thank you,¡± Carrack responded, appreciative of her acknowledgment. He replaced the cloth over his mouth and nose and stepped out from the shelter of the communal kitchen. Instantly, the ceaseless downpour enveloped him, the sound of his wet boots squelching in the mud echoing in his ears, blending with the relentless patter of rain. As he surveyed the courtyard, aiming for the main section of the fort, his gaze fell upon the sodden earth, a muddled mixture of water and mud, crisscrossed with half-sunk wooden boards. The sight drained his desire to traverse the direct, yet messy path. With a heavy sigh, he resignedly pulled his boots from the mud¡¯s grasp, turning instead toward the nearest staircase that ascended to the top of the walls to take the longer way back. He was cautious in his steps upon the wall, navigating the slick and uneven surface with deliberate care. Carrack¡¯s boots were heavy, burdened by the thick muck of saturated earth that clung to them. Pausing, he was suddenly overcome by a numbing sensation in his head. His gaze dropped to the ground, losing focus as his mind drifted into a state of thoughtless limbo. These spells of disconnection had become familiar to Carrack on the island, unsettling yet transient. He likened them to a limb falling asleep¡ªuncomfortable but temporary. Sure enough, clarity soon returned, his vision sharpening on the mud-stained stones beneath him. He lifted his feet, noting the stubborn filth, and moved towards the wall¡¯s edge overlooking the fort. There, Carrack found a jagged rock, ideal for scraping the mud from his boots. He balanced himself carefully, flinching as flashes of pain shot through his still-healing leg wound. With each scrape, he felt a measure of the day¡¯s burdens fall away on to ground being further washed away by the cleansing rain. Having cleared his boots, Carrack paused to gaze out at the city¡¯s distant silhouette. The flickering lights, scattered amongst the buildings, shimmered dimly, some powered by the city¡¯s waning electricity, others by candles brave enough to pierce the gloom. Weiss had departed in the early hours, seeking contact with the teamsters and a gauge on the city¡¯s condition. Although his absence was brief, Carrack couldn¡¯t help but feel a deep-seated unease as he looked out at the urban sprawl. Was this disquiet a reflection of the disturbing nightmare that had jolted him from sleep, or the remnants of his haunting near-death vision? Carrack wrestled with these thoughts, convincing himself that his concern for Weiss was separate from his personal tumult. Yet, an unsettling aura seemed to emanate from the cityscape, a spectral echo of the horror he had encountered in the Bathhouse. Despite his mind¡¯s tendency to prepare for the worst, the fear that the same chaos might be unfolding in the city, exacerbated by the destruction of their food supplies, clung to him like a persistent shadow. Before him, the barren expanse surrounding the fort stretched out¡ªa desolate landscape of rocks and dirt, giving way to the sparse tree line. The scene was typically uneventful, its monotony a challenge to the alertness of any sentry, the temptation of sleep ever-looming despite recent events heightening their vigilance. Yet, amongst the rain-shrouded trees, a disturbance caught Carrack¡¯s eye: a dark silhouette, motionless, almost blending into the gloom. It had the shape of a person, standing eerily still, as if locked in a silent gaze. A ripple of shock coursed through Carrack when he first noticed the figure. He froze, careful not to reveal his awareness of the interloper. His fingers clenched tightly against the rock wall, knuckles whitening under the strain, as his eyes strained to discern the figure¡¯s identity. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. For a fleeting moment, Carrack doubted his senses, wondering if it was merely an illusion or a trick of light and shadow. But as he continued to watch, the stark realization dawned on him: it was no trick of the mind. There, amidst the rain and shadows, stood a very real, enigmatic figure. Carrack¡¯s patience thinned as the standoff continued. The initial shock had faded, leaving him acutely aware of his cold, wet state in the relentless rain. His feet ached, and his injury nagged persistently at him, swaying his focus. With a determined effort, Carrack straightened up from his lean against the wall, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the distant figure. But as he watched, an unsettling flutter stirred in his stomach. The figure abruptly darted away, disappearing over the horizon towards the city. Something about the figure¡¯s retreat struck Carrack as deeply disconcerting. It moved with a peculiar haste, not unlike a child caught spying and dashing off. Yet, this was no child¡ªthe size of the figure and its movements were all wrong. Instead of a child¡¯s playful scampering, there was an eerie, disjointed quality to its retreat, a disturbingly frantic scramble that left Carrack with an uneasy sense of foreboding. Carrack lingered for a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the spot where the shadowy figure had stood. When he finally snapped into action, it was with a decisive clarity. He quietly ordered a small group of sentries to patrol the tree line, reporting his sighting of someone surveilling them from that vantage point. Three soldiers promptly banded together, leaving the fort to check the surrounding perimeter for any signs of the mysterious observer or other disturbances. Carrack chose to contain knowledge of the incident within a tight circle, informing only the current sentries on duty. He directed them to maintain a vigilant overwatch on the party venturing outside the gates. Carrack¡¯s gaze followed the trio as they set out, rifles in hand, their path illuminated by the flicker of lanterns. They moved cautiously along the edge of the open area that bordered half of the fort, the side opposite the seaside cliffs. To Carrack, they resembled fireflies against the night sky, sticking close together, opting for safety in numbers rather than efficiency in coverage. Despite his orders, Carrack harbored no real expectation of them finding anyone; it was more a precautionary measure. Yet, his attention sharpened as the lanterns neared the very spot where he had spotted the mysterious figure. The lights paused there, lingering longer than elsewhere. Carrack wondered if it was because he had mentioned seeing the watcher there, or if the patrol had discovered something. The time they spent investigating that area stretched longer than he anticipated, igniting a flicker of curiosity within him. However, it was the abrupt return of the patrol, their lantern lights retreating to the fort without completing their full route, that quickened Carrack¡¯s heartbeat. A mix of concern and puzzlement washed over him as he watched the lights disappear into the fort¡¯s embrace below him, leaving unanswered questions hanging. Without hesitation, Carrack hastened down the nearest staircase, his steps quickened by curiosity and concern. As he approached, he saw the soldiers gathered in a tight cluster, their whispers sharp and laden with tension. They only disbanded their huddle upon noticing Carrack¡¯s approach, parting to reveal one of their own holding something unexpected. ¡°An apple?¡± Carrack exclaimed, his voice tinged with astonishment. He instinctively reached out, prompting the soldier to reflexively draw back, clutching the fruit protectively. Realizing his overreaction, the soldier sheepishly extended the apple toward Carrack, who accepted it with an almost reverent care, as if it were a delicate artifact rather than a simple piece of fruit. The apple¡¯s rich green skin and bulbous, ripe form seemed almost out of place in his hands. Carrack turned it over, marveling at its lushness. Apples were a rarity on the island¡ªnot native and never part of their supplies. Carrack¡¯s eyes narrowed in perplexity as he pondered aloud, ¡°What in the hell is this doing here?¡± The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their faces mirroring the bewilderment that Carrack felt. The apple, with its vibrant color, stood out starkly against the grey, sparse backdrop of their surroundings, its inexplicable presence sparking a silent flurry of questions. They lingered in a collective pause, each man processing the surreal nature of their find. One soldier, skepticism etched on his face, questioned aloud whether the fruit was even real. To answer, Carrack deftly pressed a fingernail into the apple¡¯s skin, piercing through to the flesh. The vibrant hue of the inside, along with a trickle of sweet-smelling juice, confirmed its authenticity. He brought the fruit closer, inhaling the fresh, tantalizing aroma, which only deepened the enigma. Despite a sudden, unfamiliar craving for the fruit, Carrack restrained himself from taking a bite. His appetite, usually indifferent to apples, now strangely yearned for it. Yet, he held back, his instincts warning him against indulging in this out-of-place temptation. The other soldiers watched him, their curiosity mixed with a hint of apprehension. Carrack¡¯s eyes met each of the soldiers in turn, his gaze piercing and unwavering as he held the apple aloft for all to see. The seriousness etched on his face left no room for doubt or misinterpretation. ¡°Not a word,¡± he commanded, his voice low but resonant. ¡°Not a word to anyone.¡± The soldiers responded with a silent, collective nod, their expressions a mix of understanding and lingering curiosity. The gravity of Carrack¡¯s words hung in the air, as tangible as the chill that enveloped them. In that moment, under the dim light of the lanterns and the ever-present rain, the apple took on an even greater significance, its mystery deepened by their commander¡¯s emphatic order. Carrack pondered its impossibility. Even if the apple had arrived on the last ship, it would have withered by now. An orchard on the island? Unthinkable¡ªthe soil was inhospitable, and no such secret could be kept hidden. Trees don¡¯t thrive in disguise, he mused. But then, a realization struck him: the underground. It was the only place where unconventional growth could occur. He knew of one person capable of nurturing life in such conditions, yet if there had been a breakthrough of this magnitude, surely he would have been informed. ¡°Could there be another?¡± he whispered to himself. Chapter 28 Chapter 28 In the annals of history, there is a tale of a corporal, whose name had faded with time but whose deeds lived on through the fragmented pages of a booklet, found amongst the relics of a long-forgotten battlefield. This unnamed corporal had been part of an Orenian naval invasion aimed at the island of Moltra¡ªthe largest under the dominion of the Serene Republic. Moltra had fallen into chaos due to an incursion by foreign agents, sparking a widespread revolt amongst its people. In response, the Republic unleashed the full might of its navy. The skies above Moltra thundered with the roar of bombardments, as relentless as they were devastating. The island was set ablaze, with most of its landscape charred to cinders, earth turned black with the remnants of embers and ash. It was a brutal show of force, a stark warning to any foreign power that dared to challenge the maritime supremacy of Oren. As the first to storm the tempest-tossed beaches of Moltra, the corporal faced not only the wrath of Mother Nature but also the infernal onslaught of war. His boat, struck by an enemy bomb, shattered beneath him, casting him into the churning, unforgiving waters. Laden with gear too heavy for swimming, he found himself fighting desperately against the pull of the depths. In a battle for survival, he shed his gear, gasping for air as he struggled toward the shore. When he finally waded onto the beach, he stepped into a nightmarish scene: the tide, now a foam-capped crimson, lapped quietly against a shoreline muted by the chaos around him. The air was filled with the cacophony of battle¡ªthe screams that echoed the darkest depths of the human heart. The corporal survived that day. Later, deep within Moltra¡¯s dense forests, the corporal found himself guarding from a makeshift trench, carved with his own hands. As night enveloped the woods, their encampment was suddenly charged by the enemy. The fight quickly spiraled from distant rifle exchanges to a savagely intimate melee. Amidst the frenzied blur of hand-to-hand combat, the corporal stood resolute, battling with every ounce of his strength. But the blast from a nearby grenade sent him reeling, hurling him back into his hole. When the tumult subsided, he was the only one left alive¡ªburied beneath the fallen, emerging as a solitary figure, his right eye bloodied and sightless, his leg shredded by shrapnel, bleeding profusely. Facing the cold embrace of death, the corporal rebelled against the notion of succumbing to the void. Fueled by an indomitable will, he limped onward through the forest, half-blind, bloodied, but unyielding. He chose to continue the fight, leaving his fate in the capricious hands of war, determined to stand until he could no more. At least that¡¯s what was perceived from the notes he left. Carrack, though not blinded like the corporal from the story that ran through his mind, felt the nagging pain of his unhealed wound with each step as he made his way down the hill toward the city. In a semblance of disguise, he wore a long, weather-beaten rain cloak and ordinary clothes borrowed from a soldier aware of his solitary mission. His boots, standard-issue and caked with dirt, bore no gleam to betray his identity. Tucked in his belt was his pistol¡ªhis sole means of protection. In the cloak¡¯s pocket, the apple¡¯s presence was a constant reminder of his quest. It bobbed with each step, a tangible symbol of the mystery he sought to unravel. Carrack¡¯s mind grappled with an incessant urge to turn back, to retreat to the safety of the fort and abandon this foolhardy venture. Yet, his resolve held firm. His stubbornness kept the doubts at bay as he pressed on alone. Determined to uncover the origin of the apple and perhaps also ascertain Weiss¡¯s progress, he ventured toward the city. As Carrack stepped into the city, the chilling wind seemed to intensify, the sprawling streets transforming into wind tunnels that whipped the rain into sharp, stinging assaults on his eyes. To avoid both the harsh elements and prying eyes, he opted for the shelter of the alleyways. Navigating these narrow passages offered some respite from the wind and rain, but they came with their own set of challenges. The alleys were a maze to Carrack, their twists, and turns unfamiliar and often deceptive. More than once, he found his path abruptly halted by a dead end¡ªeither a looming wall or a passage too constricted for him to squeeze through. With each dead end encountered, Carrack felt a mix of frustration and wariness, but there was a strange sensation in the air that helped him begin to guide his way farther into the city. Carrack¡¯s objective was clear: reach the city square. From there, he could navigate his way to Lady Matilda. Despite his reservations about seeing her again, he acknowledged that she remained his most likely source for unraveling the mystery of the apple. His journey through the alleys ended sooner than expected, but not in the location he had hoped. A heavy sense of dread washed over him as he stepped into the remnants of the bathhouse. The place, once a scene of chilling horror and now reduced to ashes, lay before him in ruin. To anyone unaware of its past, the extent of the destruction would leave no clue as to what had once stood here. Piles of brick, fragmented slabs of stone, and the blackened skeletons of timber were all that marked the site of the once-grand establishment. As Carrack¡¯s gaze lingered on the desolation, his steps took on a careful, weighted quality, each movement imbued with a silent homage to the unseen victims resting beneath. The tragedy of the bathhouse, now reduced to rubble and memories, weighed heavily on him. Navigating the uneven terrain with reverence, Carrack¡¯s foot suddenly slipped, sending him tumbling down a slab into a shallow pool formed by the rainfall. Though the water was not deep, its presence unnerved him, triggering vivid, unwelcome memories of the ghastly pools that had once marred the bathhouse¡¯s interior. Panic clenched his chest as he felt the water seep through his clothing, a stark reminder of the horrors that had occurred here. His breaths came in short, sharp bursts, heart pounding against his ribs as he scrambled to escape the pool. Frantic and unsteady, he struggled to regain his footing, slipping on the slick, rain-slicked debris in his haste to distance himself from the chilling reminder of the past. Regaining his composure, Carrack pressed on, his back to the haunting puddle, yet unable to shake off the chilling emotions it had stirred. With each step, he carried the weight of those unsettling memories, their presence a ghostly echo in his mind. The explosion that had ravaged the bathhouse left its mark on the surrounding area. Buildings bore the scars of fire, their windows shattered, some pocked with massive stone debris from the blast. The street itself was a testament to the devastation, a stark, desolate landscape. Carrack noted the ruins offered ample cover for discreet travel, a small favor in the midst of such destruction. As he contemplated his route, a rhythmic series of thuds emanating from the city square halted him mid-step. Turning toward the sound, he saw a dense crowd gathered, their bodies pressed close together. Above them loomed a singular, towering figure, its details obscured by distance but undeniably commanding attention. Carrack¡¯s gaze fixed on the scene, a mix of curiosity and wariness taking hold as he considered his next move. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. In Carrack¡¯s mind, the wisest course would have been to use the distraction of the crowd to slip unnoticed to his destination. Yet, an inexplicable pull drew him toward the unfolding event. The possibilities that could amass such a gathering were numerous and uncertain, and it was this enigma that propelled him toward investigation. He dashed across the street, staying close to the charred remnants of buildings as he advanced toward the square. His eyes scanned for any possible entry into the buildings, but each option seemed perilous, teetering on collapse. Absorbed in his search, he barely noticed how close he had gotten to the crowd until he was spotted and approached. Carrack tensed, ready to draw his weapon, as hands clasped his shoulder. But the sight of the strangers¡¯ smiling faces, their grip more amicable than threatening, stayed his hand. ¡°Hey there, stranger! Trying to get yourself a better view of the vigil?¡± one of them joked. Carrack eased his hand away from his hidden sidearm, relaxing his stance. Unsure of their reference, he remembered the old lesson of flowing with the unfamiliar. Disguising his voice with a raspy undertone, he played along. ¡°Well, can ya blame me?¡± ¡°Hah!¡± the man laughed heartily. ¡°No, I can¡¯t, that¡¯s for sure. But don¡¯t bother with those buildings; they¡¯re all death traps. Had a few guys try the same thing. Fell right through the floor, messy, messy, messy.¡± ¡°Well, shit,¡± Carrack muttered, glancing back at the building, only to feel a hearty slap on his back. ¡°Snap out of that temptation, brother! C¡¯mon now, Lady Matilda¡¯s voice can be heard through a damn hurricane, let alone a crowd. You won¡¯t miss a thing,¡± the man said, guiding Carrack toward the crowd. Lady Matilda, Carrack echoed internally, a new piece of the puzzle falling into place in his mind. The crowd was densely packed, shoulder to shoulder, yet curiously not occupying the entire square. Instead, they formed a tight cluster, all eyes fixed on something commanding attention at the center. Carrack tried to weave through for a better view, but the crowd¡¯s outer shell proved impenetrable. The strangers who had led him there melted into the mass, leaving him to fend for himself. Amidst the din of hushed whispers, Carrack struggled to discern what was unfolding. Spotting a hunched woman between two taller figures, he tapped her shoulder. She turned, revealing a face etched with wrinkles, her hood dripping from the rain. A warm smile lit up her face as she extended a hand in greeting. ¡°Hello there, young man,¡± she greeted warmly. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Carrack replied softly, taking her hand with a respectful shake. ¡°I¡¯m Netty,¡± she introduced herself. ¡°Alex,¡± Carrack responded, slightly hesitating to maintain his guise. ¡°Alexander, but most call me Alex.¡± ¡°Well, Mr. Alex, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. First time at our vigil?¡± Netty inquired. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve heard about it through a friend. Curiosity got the better of me,¡± Carrack admitted, playing along. ¡°What¡¯s the vigil for?¡± Netty chuckled. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re really out of the loop. Lady Matilda has been leading a ceremony for the fallen these past few days.¡± ¡°Fallen?¡± Carrack echoed, before realization dawned. ¡°Oh, the incident at the docks?¡± Netty nodded. ¡°Yes, that tragedy, and also for those lost on the ship that sailed beyond the Great Horizon. And, of course, to give thanks to them!¡± Carrack¡¯s eyebrow arched. ¡°Thank them for what?¡± ¡°For bringing Her to us, the beacon of hope in these accursed times,¡± Netty said, her voice a blend of solemnity and excitement. ¡°But good luck seeing her now. You¡¯ll need to wait until the vigil ends. No one gets close to Her without Lady Matilda¡¯s approval.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll certainly try to catch a glimpse,¡± Carrack replied, tactfully steering the conversation to a close as his mind shifted to navigating away from the crowd. The risk of recognition, especially by a teamster, loomed large in his thoughts. Netty, sensing Carrack¡¯s attention drifting, returned her focus to the center of the vigil, whispering prayers to herself. Carrack, while easing out of the conversation, couldn¡¯t help but feel a mix of unease and intrigue at the spectacle. The knowledge that Lady Matilda was orchestrating these events brought a measure of understanding, yet his wariness of her intentions remained. He began to edge away from the crowd, his mind already plotting his next moves. Carrack methodically circled the periphery of the crowd, his eyes scanning for any gap that might allow him a closer view of the vigil¡¯s focal point, particularly the enigmatic ¡°beacon of hope¡± Netty had mentioned. Despite his keen observation, no clear opportunity presented itself. With a subtle sigh of resignation, he began to retreat, accepting that he might remain on the fringes for now. As Carrack scanned the area, an idea sparked. Spotting Dr. Mortier¡¯s bookstore, with its charming facade nestled amongst the neighboring structures, he realized the second story would offer an ideal vantage point. Stepping away from the crowd, he entered the store, the door¡¯s bell chiming his arrival into a surprisingly empty space. The usual presence of Dr. Mortier was absent; only the silent company of weathered books greeted him. ¡°Hello?¡± Carrack called out, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness, met only by silence. A quick search through the aisles and behind the counter revealed no trace of Dr. Mortier. Carrack entertained the possibility of something untoward having befallen the doctor but quickly tempered his thoughts with less alarming possibilities. His attention then turned to finding access to the upper levels. After navigating through a cluttered back office and a toilet room pungent with the overburdened sewer system, Carrack finally discovered a door, partially obscured by teetering stacks of books. He maneuvered the heavy piles aside, managing to pry the door open just enough to slip through. That¡¯s when he felt the unexpected chill of metal against the back of his skull. ¡°I told you folk to stay out of here with your nonsense,¡± grumbled Dr. Mortier¡¯s from behind. ¡°Mortier, Mortier!¡± Carrack exclaimed, his tone clear and authoritative. ¡°It¡¯s me, Carrack!¡± ¡°Lord Carrack?¡± came the response, tinged with both relief and surprise. The pressure of the gun eased off, and Carrack slowly turned to face the doctor, confirming his identity. ¡°It is you ¡­ What in the world are you doing here? God, I nearly shot you.¡± Carrack¡¯s gaze remained fixed on the pistol that had just been withdrawn from his skull, the tension between them gradually subsiding. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me. And you¡¯ve got a gun, I see.¡± ¡°Yeah, picked up the habit of carrying one after some break-ins back on the mainland,¡± Dr. Mortier explained, inspecting the pistol. ¡°Kept it up even after coming here. Carrack¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Firearms are meant to be surrendered upon arrival on Helena.¡± ¡°I remember the guards going through my stuff when I came,¡± Dr. Mortier chuckled, ¡°but your men weren¡¯t in the mood to go through all my books, especially the one that housed this little beauty. But I imagine you have bigger concerns than my minor contraband, right?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± Carrack conceded with a brief chuckle, then grew more serious. ¡°But still, drawing on a visitor? Any particular troubles prompting that?¡± Dr. Mortier sighed, gesturing toward the crowd outside. ¡°These people ¡­ they¡¯re a troublesome lot.¡± ¡°Are they threatening you?¡± Carrack inquired, a note of concern in his voice. ¡°The few I¡¯ve encountered seemed considerate, albeit a bit unnerving.¡± ¡°Hmph,¡± Dr. Mortier grunted, his tone laced with caution. ¡°Don¡¯t be fooled by their smiles and kind words, Lord Carrack. They first came here seeking shelter from the rain for their worship. My refusal to let them linger without purpose drew their ire and suspicious glances whenever they¡¯re near my shop.¡± Carrack raised an eyebrow. ¡°A bit harsh to keep them out, don¡¯t you think?¡± Dr. Mortier¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°There¡¯s a disingenuous quality behind those smiles, a trait I¡¯ve seen too often amongst the overly devout,¡± he explained, catching a skeptical look from Carrack. ¡°And I don¡¯t paint all believers with the same brush. I¡¯m just cautious, not bigoted.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Carrack replied neutrally, his interest firmly on the task at hand. He glanced toward the stairs. ¡°I¡¯m here to see what¡¯s drawing such a crowd. Can¡¯t get a clear view from the ground.¡± ¡°Well then,¡± Dr. Mortier said, following Carrack¡¯s gaze to the staircase, ¡°let¡¯s get you a view of what Lady Matilda has brought to the island, shall we?¡± Chapter 29 Chapter 29 Peering out from Dr. Mortier¡¯s second-story window, Carrack found his view obscured by a film of grime and relentless rain. He wiped away a patch on the glass with his sleeve, pressing his face close to gain a clearer perspective of the square. Through the smeared window, blurred by rain beads, he could barely make out the crowd clustered around a towering, monolithic figure. It seemed to be crafted from a dark, coal-like material, possibly obsidian, standing stark against the gray backdrop of the square. Its details were frustratingly vague, masked by the distortion of the weathered glass. Despite the limited visibility, Carrack discerned a few individuals standing sentinel around the figure. The muffled, rhythmic thuds of two drums echoed from the center, their slow, deliberate beats resonating with a deep, unsettling cadence. Carrack felt a chill run down his spine as he watched, the thumping of the drums weaving an eerie atmosphere over the gathering. The scene below, shrouded in mystery and rain, left Carrack with more questions than answers. The nature of the figure and the purpose of the vigil remained elusive, the obscured details only adding to the sense of unease that gripped him. ¡°This strange devilry, what is all this?¡± Carrack asked, his focus unwavering from the scene unfolding below. Dr. Mortier, clearing off a chair of books, settled himself in front of the second window. ¡°It¡¯s the machinations of Lady Matilda¡¯s dreams coming to fruition. She calls it the next Great Awakening. Those whispers she claims to hear from her God led to that monolith down there.¡± ¡°Brought forth? It just appeared one day out of nowhere?¡± Carrack questioned, still peering through the window. ¡°Heavens no,¡± Dr. Mortier responded, sitting back in his chair. ¡°I saw them start this a few days ago, right after the dock fires. Lady Matilda and her acolytes, they spoke of a dream or vision of her God. They claimed deliverance was on that derelict ship.¡± Carrack gestured toward the window. ¡°That thing came from the ship?¡± ¡°Indeed, it seems so. I watched from here as they hauled that massive structure into the square. They had ropes, logs, and even set up a pulley across the street. They thought about using my shop as a support, but I was having none of it. Would¡¯ve risked the whole structure,¡± Dr. Mortier explained. ¡°Pulled it from that inferno ¡­ Surprised it survived. Well, ¡®survived¡¯ is a light way to put it, considering it looks charred black,¡± Carrack observed. ¡°Burnt or not, it¡¯s become quite the center of attention,¡± Dr. Mortier remarked, gazing out the window. Carrack, lost in thought, murmured more to himself than to Dr. Mortier, ¡°It¡¯s only been four days since we withdrew, and a damn cult has already gained this much traction ¡­ How?¡± ¡°The desperate are ripe fruit for the devout,¡± Dr. Mortier sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. ¡°Times have been hard here since the dock incident. With you all shuttered in your fortress, the rations stopped ¡­ Four days may not seem long, but here it¡¯s felt like an eternity.¡± ¡°How bad has it gotten?¡± Carrack asked, his forehead resting against the cool glass, bracing himself for the answer. ¡°It takes time for starvation to kill, but not everyone knows that. The fear of uncertainty, especially after the rations ceased, that¡¯s enough to make people think the hunger they feel is death¡¯s approach,¡± Dr. Mortier said solemnly. Carrack¡¯s voice was low. ¡°Cannibalism.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t say for sure. I¡¯ve stayed mostly within these walls. But, it¡¯s been four days, and who knows how well people were fed even when rations were distributed. Sometimes, in the quiet, I hear sounds carried by the rain ¡­ sounds that speak to the worst in us,¡± Dr. Mortier said, his tone laden with the weight of his words. Carrack remained silent, the gravity of Dr. Mortier¡¯s words weighing heavily upon him. He knew not all the blame was his, but as a leader, the burden felt immense. His gaze dropped to the floor, his mind swirling with ¡°what-ifs¡±, though he knew most were never viable options. Shaking off the grip of these thoughts, he refocused on the present situation. ¡°So what does Lady Matilda and her ¡­ gift do for these people to warrant such reverence?¡± Carrack inquired, looking back towards the window. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Dr. Mortier gazed out at the towering figure. ¡°That thing?¡± he said, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and begrudging respect. ¡°You¡¯ll see soon enough.¡± The two men watched, their eyes affixed on the ceremony that continued in the howling rain. The rain hammered against the glass, punctuating the rhythmic drumbeats and the chant that echoed from the square. It was a mesmerizing mix of sounds, blending with the howling wind. Amidst the cacophony, a central figure emerged, commanding the crowd¡¯s attention. They circled the dark monolith, their movements deliberate and purposeful. Carrack narrowed his eyes, straining to make out the figure amidst the blurred glass and rain. The voice, though muffled, carried a familiar cadence¡ªit was unmistakably Lady Matilda. Her lead in the chant was clear, and when the others fell silent, her solitary voice continued, resonant and firm. Even from a distance, Carrack felt the impact of her presence. Her words may have been inaudible, but their weight was evident, reverberating through the walls and air that separated them from the ceremony. The crowd, visibly entranced, seemed to hang on with every gesture and inflection, even as the rain obscured the finer details of the scene. Dr. Mortier murmured, ¡°Her influence is intoxicating ¡­ I¡¯ll give the Lady that.¡± Carrack could only nod in response, his gaze fixed on the surreal scene unfolding below. At Lady Matilda¡¯s command, the drums fell silent, and the crowd hushed in anticipation. She uttered a few cryptic words before positioning herself in front of the monolith and lying down on the damp earth. For a moment, she lay still on her back, then something extraordinary happened. Carrack watched, his eyes widening in disbelief, as the ground beneath her shimmered. The mud seemed to come alive, undulating gently, and then, incredibly, Lady Matilda began to sink into the earth. It was as if the ground itself were swallowing her, pulling her into its embrace. A wave of shock and discomfort washed over Carrack as he witnessed this impossible scene. He felt a tightening in his chest, a mix of awe and apprehension, as Lady Matilda disappeared into the ground. The crowd remained eerily silent, captivated by the spectacle. A moment, stretching into what felt like eternity, passed in silence. Carrack felt an urge to break it, but Dr. Mortier quickly raised his hand, signaling for quiet. He let out a low whistle, his eyes fixed on the scene below. ¡°And here comes the finale,¡± he murmured. Carrack¡¯s eyes remained on the spot where Lady Matilda had vanished. The earth where she had lain began to shift and transform, blossoming into a lush meadow of green and gold right before their eyes. Flowers sprouted faintly among the new growth, but most striking was the sudden emergence of fast-growing plants. Carrack felt the weight of the apple in his pocket, a tangible reminder of the surrealism of the moment. ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡± Carrack wondered aloud, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. ¡°Pumpkins, apples, corn, wheat,¡± Dr. Mortier listed. ¡°A regular cornucopia, same as yesterday and the day before that.¡± Carrack and Dr. Mortier continued to watch intently as the followers around the verdant patch began harvesting the bounty it offered. Initially, a few overzealous individuals dashed forward to grab what they could, their excitement palpable. But they were soon guided by calmer members of the group, who demonstrated a more respectful and restrained manner of collecting the gifts. Carrack¡¯s thoughts churned as he observed the scene. This was the kind of miracle he had hoped Alaina could achieve¡ªsomething even greater, perhaps. But the lingering question of Lady Matilda¡¯s fate and the cost of these gifts nagged at him. Magic¡ªas he knew all too well and as Alaina often reminded him¡ªalways came with a price. As the crowd picked over the food, they lined up to pay homage to the monolith, either placing a hand upon its surface or bowing their heads in reverence, their arms laden with food. Gradually, the square emptied, the followers dispersing into the city, leaving behind the lush greenery surrounding the monolith. Then, as though responding to an invisible summons, the once-vibrant grass retreated, withering into rapid decay, and leaving the ground as barren as before. It was in this desolate scene that Lady Matilda reemerged from the earth as abruptly and mysteriously as if she had vanished. She rose to her feet, covered in mud, wiping herself off as best as she could, and then she left the square back toward where her chapel was, stopping only briefly in a moment of hesitation before continuing onward. Carrack remained motionless, his mind grappling with the surreal spectacle, questioning the reality of what unfolded before him. It was indeed real, as the surreal event was anchored in reality by Dr. Mortier¡¯s confirmation. The same ritual had been practiced every day since the monolith was pulled from the shipwreck. Each day, he told, the crowds grew as more people grew curious at the miraculous claims no doubt circling the city. Despite the miraculous display, skepticism lingered, manifesting in the hesitation of some to join this burgeoning congregation, based on Dr. Mortier¡¯s witnessing of scattered gatherers running away from the area when seeing the ritual bear its fruit. ¡°That object ¡­ It¡¯s a powerful thing,¡± Dr. Mortier began, breaking the long silence that had settled between them. ¡°Ancient, I¡¯d venture to guess.¡± ¡°Countless tales could fill volumes about artifacts like this,¡± Carrack mused, his thoughts scattered yet weaving into precarious sentences. ¡°Arcane sources of power, miracles ¡­ perhaps even evidence of divine existence. Legends abound of cities, even entire societies, built around such objects.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a curious thing,¡± Dr. Mortier observed dryly, ¡°those stories that revere such objects ¡­ The people who worshipped them, they seem to have vanished, haven¡¯t they?¡± Carrack turned toward Dr. Mortier, a grave expression etching his features as he peered out the window. ¡°Nothing ever gives without taking something in return ¡­¡± Dr. Mortier remarked. Chapter 30 Chapter 30 There it stood before him, casting a shadow on a sunless day. The enigmatic artifact drew Lord Carrack into the square, compelling him to ignore Dr. Mortier¡¯s caution and his own instincts. It was the same artifact that had captivated the city with its miraculous event. The monolithic statue, sculpted from dark stone, bore intricate designs that spoke of ancient craftsmanship. Its form was humanoid yet abstract, with a featureless head and a body adorned with cryptic symbols and carvings in an unfamiliar language. Its surface was weathered, hinting at countless years enduring the elements. The figure towered above, arms resting at its sides, head slightly tilted as if gazing upon anyone who dared approach its base. Undoubtedly, it commanded attention, standing as tall as two, perhaps three men, ensuring that all who gathered beneath it were dwarfed by its formidable stature. An omnipresent aura enveloped him, emanating from the statue, both engulfing and elusively distant. As Carrack¡¯s gaze locked with the head of the statue, a maelstrom of familiarity and amnesia swirled within him, as if met with an otherworldly gaze. Turning his gaze to the ground, Carrack noted the stark contrast¡ªlifeless mud and scattered rocks where a fertile cornucopia once stood only moments before. Around the statue, the rain seemed to transform¡ªlighter, less condensed, descending in a graceful dance. The air he breathed felt hollow, as even the deepest breath seemed to fall short of fulfillment. Carrack lingered, pacing around the statue with slow, deliberate steps, tracing the abstract and probing the obscure. Rain droplets traced the smooth curves and accentuated the harsh edges. After several laps, Lord Carrack paused, his gaze drawn irresistibly back to the statue¡¯s enigmatic face. Though its features were elegantly carved, there was an allure that transcended mere aesthetics. He felt an inexplicable connection, as if peering through the stone into something far deeper and more profound. As Carrack¡¯s eyes remained locked with the statue, an inky blackness began to seep into the edges of his vision. This darkness swirled mysteriously, yet it brought with it an unexpected, comforting warmth that coursed through his veins. Carried on a gentle breeze, a whisper emerged, speaking in hushed tones of an unknown language. While the words were foreign, they resonated within him, as if speaking directly to his soul. The tone grew more intimate, more intoxicating, weaving images into his mind¡ªethereal visions that danced around the objects in his periphery. Astonished, Carrack lifted his hand, watching in wonder as the spectral darkness defied gravity, rising in wisps around his fingers. The sight was mesmerizing, both eerie and beautiful. Lord Carrack¡¯s gaze was irresistibly drawn back to the statue, as the world around him morphed into an otherworldly, indistinct display. The ground beneath his feet remained unchanged, yet the air around him felt unfamiliar, charged with a foreign essence that made even the gentlest breeze feel surreal. He experienced an uncanny duality, as though existing simultaneously in two realms. An unsettling sense of dread began to gnaw at his stomach, intensifying with each passing moment of stillness. Initially hesitant to move in this bizarre, ethereal reality, it was the growing unease that spurred him to action. His first step was tentative and faltering, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground. The stumble jolted him, and for a moment, he struggled to regain his balance. When he finally steadied himself, the sense of weariness momentarily dissipated, only to creep back in whenever he remained motionless. ¡°What was all of this?¡± Carrack thought, startled to hear his thoughts echo as if spoken aloud. The sound of his words strangely drifted through the air, then abruptly ceased, as if swallowed up. He tried speaking again, softly calling out, curious if the echo would respond. It did, but not in the way he expected. Instead of echoing everywhere, the sound seemed to pull towards the statue, then absorbed into it. Whenever Carrack spoke or even thought, he felt as if parts of himself were leaving his body, drawn and absorbed by the statue. This enigmatic figure seemed to pull light toward itself, leaving the surrounding world a mere hollow silhouette, cast in a strange, unsettling glow. The source of this glow was a mystery to Carrack until an invisible force pulled his gaze upward to the sky, where four orbs of light hovered. These ethereal spheres radiated an otherworldly light, shifting slowly through colors unknown and indescribable to him. It felt like each color he saw was just one of many hidden shades and he felt them call for him. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. The orb¡¯s ghostly dance was unaffected by the passing clouds. Though static, there was an energy emanating from them, casting an eerie spell over the entire city. Each breath Carrack took was cold and sharp, a sting that trailed from his throat down to his chest. It felt as if his very soul were being siphoned away, drawn to the enigmatic lights overhead. Mesmerized and confounded, a deep-rooted dread began to surge within him, rising to the fore. The spectacle before him felt intrinsically wrong, something completely beyond his grasp and comprehension. Before he could surrender to the draw of the orbs, he turned away, breaking the hold that nearly overtook him. Surrounded by the otherworldly landscape, Carrack¡¯s hands clenched, and his toes curled within his damp boots, overwhelmed by the sense that these sights were forbidden. Yet, an inexplicable pull nudged him forward, step by step, toward the statue. With each stride, his initial urgency faded, replaced by an increasing sense of comfort as he neared the enigmatic figure. Standing beneath the shadow of the monolith, he looked up to find the statue¡¯s form resembling an embrace, its gesture welcoming, enhanced by the six lights above that formed a celestial halo. Carrack¡¯s gaze then fell to the statue¡¯s base, and he tentatively raised his hand. With cautious reverence, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the stone. The moment contact was made, a surge of raw, intense emotions engulfed him, racing through his body like wildfire. Simultaneously, a vivid image seared into his vision: a vast river bathed in a flickering crimson light. Shrill, haunting shrieks pierced the air, resonating within him, causing his heart to falter and his breath to shorten. An overwhelming shock and unseen forces hurled Carrack backward, his body crashing into the mud with a distinct splash and a squelching sound as he sank into the soft earth. The strange world he had been immersed in vanished abruptly; the celestial lights disappeared, the eerie murmurs in the air silenced, and the shadowy veil that had shrouded everything lifted. Yet, the terror lingered. Carrack lay there, immobilized by the haunting visions he had witnessed, the sensations he had felt, and the shrieks he had heard. Staring up at the statue, now returned to his stoic, indifferent state, he found himself unable to move, gripped by the aftermath of the experience. Lying there in shock, Carrack¡¯s arms and legs felt tight and heavy, as though bound by invisible restraints. His mind replayed the haunting image of Lady Matilda sinking into the ground, igniting a deep fear of sharing her fate. Desperate thoughts of escape consumed him, his heart racing in a futile struggle against paralysis. The cold, watery soil began creeping along his skin, a chilling realization setting in¡ªhe was sinking. Frantically, he writhed, his torso shaking as he screamed into the howling tempest, a vain plea for rescue. His only hope lay in Mortier, perhaps witnessing and rushing to his aid. But the mud was relentless, swallowing his arms and legs, climbing over his chest and toward his head. Another scream tore from his throat, drowned out by the wind¡¯s fury and the suffocating taste of muddy water invading his mouth. In this moment, drowning and suffocation seemed indistinguishable. He remembered Matilda¡¯s poised descent and return, but Carrack¡¯s experience was a terrifying dance with death, its shadow looming, ready to claim him. Darkness enveloped Carrack, his vision fading with one last glimpse of the shimmering muddy water before the thick blackness of the mud sealed him from the world above. Buried and half-choked by the earth, he felt his breaths become shallow and stale. Though immobile, a sensation of perpetual sinking haunted him, the earth around feeling like a vast abyss. In this moment of despair, fate intervened unexpectedly. Amidst his panicked breaths and the pounding of his heart, a muffled, familiar voice pierced through the earth, uttering unfamiliar words. Suddenly, he felt an upward force, as if being lifted from his earthen grave. The mud above him receded, revealing the sight of Lady Matilda standing over him. She appeared exhausted, panting heavily, her expression etched with urgency and concern. Carrack propped himself up, the initial relief of movement quickly overshadowed by a desperate gasp for air and the urge to expel the mud he had swallowed. His limbs were numb and cold, responding to his commands with a painful shiver at every slight movement. As he regained his bearings, he noticed Lady Matilda standing still, seemingly frozen mid-action, as if caught in frenetic haste. As his vision cleared, Carrack saw something astonishing about her. A violet aura enveloped her, emanating from her skin in a soft, shimmering glow. Stunned and speechless, he could only stare in awe. Lady Matilda¡¯s posture relaxed as she looked over him, her expression shifting from worry to a melancholic disappointment. Carrack, with a trembling hand, slowly raised a finger toward Lady Matilda, managing only a faint mutter, ¡°Purple?¡± He was taken aback to see his own finger faintly glowing. Lady Matilda sighed, giving a slow nod in silent acknowledgment of the strange occurrence. As Carrack turned to inspect himself, he realized the subtle glow had enveloped his entire body. He looked up, his mouth opening to unleash a torrent of questions, but Lady Matilda preemptively silenced him with a gentle wave of her hand. Meanwhile, the sound of Mortier, panicked and approaching, echoed from behind Carrack. Chapter 31 Chapter 31 Carrack sat in the dimly lit confines of Dr. Mortier¡¯s shop, the space cluttered with stacks of disorganized books. The haunting memories of his recent ordeal lingered, each heartbeat sending tremors through his body, igniting internal alarms of panic. Clutching a blanket tightly around him, he sought warmth from the fireplace¡¯s flickering flames, which fought in vain against the persistent chill that gripped him. Despite being dry now, the icy discomfort still clung to him like a stubborn shadow. The steam from a cup of tea curled lazily into the air, its quiet ascent punctuated only by the fire¡¯s crackling as it consumed the latest sacrificial books thrown regretfully by Dr. Mortier into its hungry inferno. Carrack uttered only muffled, meek words of gratitude, his mind ensnared by thoughts of the enigmatic statue and Lady Matilda. Dr. Mortier had little to say to Carrack, perhaps sensing there was little worth discussing at the moment or preferring to let him find some calm, a state Carrack was clearly far from. The steam from the tea began to swirl more rapidly, disrupted by a change in the air, followed by the distinctive ring of the shop¡¯s bell. Footsteps approached as the bell sounded again, altering the atmosphere of the room. Dr. Mortier¡¯s muffled grumbles preceded his words to the visitor: ¡°What makes you think you¡¯re welcome in here?¡± Lady Matilda¡¯s voice, calm yet tinged with urgency, responded, ¡°You know why I¡¯m here. I need to talk to him.¡± ¡°He¡¯s hardly in a state to talk,¡± Dr. Mortier retorted with a sneer, ¡°especially not to you ¡­ after what that thing did to him. It nearly killed him!¡± ¡°But he is alive because of me,¡± Lady Matilda countered firmly. Carrack, gathering his strength, called out shakily, ¡°Let her in!¡± His voice cut through the tension, bringing a sudden silence. Dr. Mortier¡¯s footsteps, heavy with anger, echoed as he retreated to the other end of the shop, immersing himself in his work. In contrast, Lady Matilda¡¯s approach was marked by careful, measured steps. Her arrival was heralded by a violet shimmering glow that rounded the corner before she did, casting a subtle yet unmistakable radiance. Under his blanket, Carrack glimpsed his own body still faintly aglow. But the luminous aura surrounding Lady Matilda quickly faded from Carrack¡¯s focus as he observed her face. It lacked the usual confidence and stoicism he had seen during his last visit to her chapel. Instead, her features were etched with fatigue, weariness, and a deep sense of concern. As she drew nearer, Lady Matilda leaned in, her hesitation to speak apparent, yet her expression conveyed genuine concern for his wellbeing. It was Carrack, however, who broke the silence first. His voice, shaky at first, gained a sudden clarity as he blurted out, ¡°What the fuck happened to me?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve been ¡­¡± Lady Matilda began, her voice faltering as she searched for the right words, ¡°¡­ blessed.¡± Carrack¡¯s body trembled, not with fear, cold, or discomfort, but with a surge of anger in response to her words. ¡°Cut the shit! Just cut all that shit out!¡± he exploded. ¡°Carrack¡ª¡± she attempted to soothe. ¡°Lord Carrack!¡± he snapped, demanding the formality. Acknowledging his correction, she continued with caution. ¡°Lord Carrack, sometimes our encounters with the divine are ¡­ terrifying. You shouldn¡¯t have been there; none of this was supposed to happen.¡± ¡°If my pistol wasn¡¯t waterlogged and caked with mud ¡­¡± Carrack muttered through clenched teeth, his thoughts briefly wandering to the idea of shooting Lady Matilda. He knew it wouldn¡¯t resolve anything, yet the thought brought him a grim sense of comfort, nonetheless. ¡°Okay, okay,¡± Lady Matilda sighed deeply, relenting. She found a stack of books to sit on near Carrack. As she started to reach out to him, she hesitated, abruptly pulling back. Instead, she clasped her own hands in her lap, rubbing them together¡ªher nervousness evident. ¡°You¡¯ve had an experience. A harrowing, harrowing experience, I know; it happened to me too.¡± Carrack remained silent, still shivering, yet his gaze was unyielding, scrutinizing every word she spoke¡ªand those she left unsaid. Lady Matilda¡¯s attempts at explanation were fraught with starts and stops, her words weaving through topics of God, faith, and her own experiences. Carrack gleaned a few useful tidbits amongst her words, but mostly, he found her speech to be wandering and uncertain. What struck him most was not the content of her words but the conspicuous lack of coherence and confidence she displayed. Carrack raised his hand, noticing the faint glow surrounding his body. His eyes lingered on it for a moment before he shifted his focus back to Lady Matilda, who fell silent at his gesture. ¡°The statue, what is it?¡± Carrack said. Lady Matilda sighed deeply, choosing her words with caution. ¡°It¡¯s what called to me,¡± she revealed. ¡°After the shipwreck, I kept hearing its call. When that ship arrived, I sensed not just the chaos at the docks but also its ¡­ arrival. It was like feeling the resonance of a colossal bell, yet without the actual sound. I heard it without hearing it; I felt its vibration.¡± This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°And after the fires at the docks were extinguished?¡± Carrack prompted, steering her to the next chapter of her tale. ¡°The ship ¡­ I felt an irresistible pull toward it,¡± she recounted. ¡°Despite the hull still steaming from the fires, the force drawing me was overwhelming, and I braved the heat.¡± ¡°What else was inside the ship?¡± Carrack probed further. ¡°Nothing that I could discern,¡± she confessed. ¡°Much of it was scorched beyond recognition, reduced to a black, ashy paste by the rain seeping into the vessel.¡± ¡°And the statue?¡± he inquired. ¡°It was hidden deep within the ship¡¯s bowels, half-submerged in seawater due to a gaping hole in the hull. But the urge to touch it was overpowering ¡­ When I did, I didn¡¯t just touch it; I saw something.¡± ¡°Saw what?¡± Carrack urged. Lady Matilda¡¯s gaze drifted into the distance, her eyes widening. ¡°I just ¡­ saw.¡± Carrack found himself feeling an unexpected pity for Lady Matilda. Amidst his own confusion and anger, accentuated by the relentless shivering and discomfort from his ordeal, he noticed a certain quality in her voice when she trailed off after saying she ¡°just saw¡±. He recalled his own harrowing experience, the vividness still fresh in his memory. Yet, when he tried to rationalize it, to find words to describe what he had seen, a wave of discomfort washed over him. He felt a nauseating inability to articulate it, a loss for words that pushed his mind toward an unsettling abyss he was reluctant to explore. It must have been just as bad for her to explain what she saw, for all he knew she could have dealt with the same terrifying experience. Carrack pressed her beyond the previous topic. ¡°Where did the food come from? How did you know how to make it happen?¡± ¡°The idea simply emerged in my mind, as if it had always been there,¡± she replied solemnly. ¡°So, when I lay down in front of the statue, I somehow knew what would unfold, what it would yield.¡± Her voice wavered slightly. ¡°And then, seeing the food grow ¡­ It felt like a miracle, despite my anticipation.¡± Carrack¡¯s tone grew colder as he summarized, ¡°So, you spread the word, gathered a following around this object, a symbol of divinity ¡­ your divinity, that terrifies you.¡± ¡°Of course it terrifies me,¡± she confessed. ¡°I¡¯ve always been terrified of Magia. She embodies a power beyond explanation, a force that overshadows all. She demands our attention, our listening ears. That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been striving for, what I¡¯ve dedicated myself to since embracing this faith. And now, I¡¯ve not only heard her but seen her. She is everything and more, overwhelmingly so. And it¡¯s terrifying.¡±She placed her hand on Carrack¡¯s thigh, meeting his gaze with an intensity that conveyed deep concern. ¡°Wasn¡¯t it?¡± she asked, her eyes searching his for affirmation or understanding. Her hand was warm, the only source of warmth on his otherwise cold body. The touch was so soothing that it momentarily quelled the anxious shivers that had afflicted him since his encounter with the statue. Yet, this comfort also stirred an unsettling disquiet within him. Seeing her hand, bathed in its own glowing aura, touching him, and intertwining with his glow felt too personal, too intimate¡ªa closeness he was not prepared to accept. Despite the initial relief her touch brought, an instinctive reaction made him jerk his leg away, leaving her hand suspended in mid-air. The fleeting comfort her touch had provided swiftly evaporated. ¡°I didn¡¯t see your God, I didn¡¯t see any God ¡­ I don¡¯t know what I saw!¡± Carrack grunted in frustration. ¡°But what I do see now is this sickening glow, a lingering infection from whatever I went through.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a sign of our blessed nature, of being touched by her,¡± Lady Matilda replied, only to be met with a humorless snort from Carrack. ¡°Oh, so this is our ¡®blessing¡¯?¡± he asked. ¡°What about the rest of your followers? I haven¡¯t seen any other members of your congregation convulsing, half drown in mud, and starting to glow after they touched that damned statue.¡± Lady Matilda sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the ground. The only sound accompanying the crackle of the fire was the nervous tapping of her finger against her lap. Her expression turned pensive, the bite on the inside of her cheek creating a noticeable indentation. ¡°What makes you so special?¡± Carrack demanded, his voice rising as he pointed a finger directly at her. ¡°What makes us special!¡± she retorted with a flash of frustration, quickly softening her voice. ¡°What makes me ¡®special¡¯, as you say, might be because ¡­ I¡¯ve had dealings with the arcane.¡± Carrack¡¯s mind raced, recalling the faint echoes of her shouting what now seemed like incantations. ¡°You¡¯re a fucking mage?¡± he blurted out in disbelief. The revelation was startling; he had always thought Alaina was the island¡¯s sole mage. While he had considered the possibility of another hidden mage among them, being directly confronted with this reality was another matter entirely. A surge of anger flashed through him as he remembered their last personal encounter, particularly her denial of using magic on him. This new information cast that interaction, and her in general, in a drastically different light. ¡°So much for your faith not practicing magic,¡± Carrack grumbled, recalling her offense at his previous accusation of using magic. ¡°I should put you in chains. How do I know you haven¡¯t been using your abilities to manipulate others on this island? To draw them into your fold, or keep them under your influence against their will?¡± ¡°Never!¡± Lady Matilda stood up, incensed. ¡°My followers, my listeners, they are there of their own free will. There¡¯s no force or magical influence involved. They choose to be part of the faith!¡± ¡°Never!¡± Carrack echoed back mockingly. ¡°And why exactly would they willingly sit in that dreary chapel of yours, straining their ears for whispers from an absent God?¡± ¡°Because they¡¯re mages too,¡± she retorted impulsively, then paused, softening her tone as she noticed Carrack¡¯s widened eyes. ¡°Or at least, they used to be. We all were.¡± The revelation left Carrack momentarily breathless, his lungs failing to draw in air as shock overtook him. His eyes remained wide, his mind racing with countless questions, yet he found himself speechless, unable to articulate a single word. In the background, the crackling of the fireplace and Dr. Mortier¡¯s cautious footsteps approaching to check on them filled the silence. Slowly, Carrack motioned toward the pile of books Lady Matilda had vacated, silently inviting her to sit back down. Once she was seated again, Carrack fixed his gaze on her with a newfound intensity. ¡°Talk,¡± he commanded. Chapter 32 Chapter 32 Lady Matilda revealed a past marked by captivity and exploitation. She recounted her time as a slave of the Rusted Shackles gang, a notorious group involved in human trafficking and narcotics along the southern coast, skirting the Miastan Mountain range that divided the continent. Forced to use her abilities to cast illusions, she helped conceal their illicit activities while confined to the dismal interior of a ship. Her liberation came unexpectedly, through the fortune of a storm that wrecked her floating prison. ¡°As I floated in that icy abyss, the encroaching darkness began to seize my heart. I surrendered to it, ready to slip into the void beyond space and time,¡± she narrated. ¡°But there, in that inky blackness, I lingered formlessly. I yearned to dissipate, to embrace oblivion from every direction, yet something held me intact. It was both agonizing and terrifying. When I finally reassembled, I heard Magia. A whisper that scarred my very being called out to me, speaking of ¡®Helena¡¯. The next thing I knew, I was on the rocky shores of the continent. In time, I found my way here, to this island.¡± Carrack listened with a skeptical ear, his past experiences making him wary of being manipulated once more. Yet, it was her description of the abyss that unexpectedly resonated with him, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat. A vague, elusive memory in his mind seemed to reach out with icy fingers, intensifying the shivers that wracked his body. This haunting sensation subdued the anger that had been simmering within him. ¡°That darkness,¡± he pondered silently, instinctively trying to grasp at the icy tendrils of memory invading his thoughts yet recoiling subconsciously as they drew too close. The memory would not be denied, evoking the harrowing sense of suspension he had felt in his own shadowy limbo between life and death. Was she manipulating him? Could she read his thoughts, implanting these reflections in his mind? Such powers were beyond his comprehension; while anything might seem possible, a part of Carrack resisted such beliefs. Nonetheless, he found himself increasingly unsettled, beginning to entertain the possibility that there was indeed something beyond their understanding at play. Carrack¡¯s gaze drifted toward the bookstore¡¯s windows, where the shadowy silhouette of the statue loomed in the distance, barely discernible through the darkening air and the cascading sheets of rain. Turning back to Lady Matilda, he posed his question with a newfound intensity. ¡°Tell me,¡± he began, ¡°do you truly believe that statue out there is your God?¡± Lady Matilda briefly glanced toward the window but quickly redirected her gaze to the floor. Her jaw clenched tightly, and her knuckles turned white as she gripped her hands together. ¡°I¡¯ve listened ¡­ and I heard. That¡¯s all I can be sure of,¡± she said. Carrack hummed thoughtfully, sifting through the myriad of mysteries still surrounding him. ¡°You mentioned that your encounter was influenced by your history with the arcane. How then would you explain someone like me having such a harrowing experience? I¡¯m no mage.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± she conceded, leaning back with a hint of skepticism in her expression. ¡°But you¡¯ve had dealings with it, as you¡¯re well aware.¡± ¡°Alaina?¡± Carrack queried, tilting his head. ¡°Yes,¡± she said with a nod, suggesting that the connection was obvious. ¡°Well, sure, she¡¯s been working in the fort, trying to grow food in a basement. But I haven¡¯t been around her spells, just seen a few minor ones here and there.¡± Lady Matilda¡¯s expression shifted, her face contorting slightly as she absorbed his words. ¡°Growing food? No, Lord Carrack ¡­¡± Her voice trailed off as she rubbed her face wearily. ¡°You¡¯ve been infected by her. She infected you.¡± ¡°What the hell do you mean ¡®infected¡¯?¡± Carrack demanded, his voice tinged with both confusion and concern. He began to rub his chest nervously. ¡°You mean ¡­ like cancer?¡± ¡°No, not cancer,¡± Lady Matilda replied with a nervous laugh, her expression oscillating between bewilderment and seriousness. ¡°Lord Carrack, from the moment you first entered my chapel seeking solace, I could sense it¡ªthe corruption. It was all around you. You were shrouded in the shadows of blood magic, the Scarlet Sorcery.¡± The shivers that had wracked Carrack¡¯s body halted abruptly, as if drained from his extremities and converging in his stomach. There, the sensation intensified, growing until it felt as though his insides were dissolving under a wave of anxiety, like acid corroding his core. A hollow void formed within him, seemingly drawing away all sensations of cold and warmth. Leaning to one side, his breathing became shallow, his head light. He managed to rouse himself from the overwhelming rush of emotions, though the shock of Lady Matilda¡¯s words still skirted the edges of his consciousness. He resisted letting the realization fully penetrate his thoughts, yet he couldn¡¯t pinpoint why he was so reluctant to accept or understand it. ¡°Nonsense, that¡¯s just bullshit!¡± Carrack vehemently dismissed, shaking his head as he mustered the strength to respond, his words less coherent than he intended. Rising to leave in a burst of indignation, he was suddenly halted by a crippling weakness in his knees and an inexplicable internal force urging him to stay. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Torn between the desire to flee and an unspoken wish to remain, he found himself caught in a tumultuous internal battle. This struggle left him shifting in his seat, unable to settle as he wrestled with his conflicting emotions. Eventually, he managed to suppress the rising tide of anxiety, reducing his agitation to merely fidgeting feet, tapping impatiently. ¡°Ever since you first entered the chapel ¡­¡± she reiterated, ¡°I tried, very carefully, to dispel the shadow I saw enveloping you, to see it for what it truly was.¡± ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you say anything about it?¡± Carrack demanded sharply. ¡°Why not warn me that I¡¯ve been ¡®infected¡¯, as you put it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s hardly comforting to tell someone they¡¯ve been hexed, especially right as they just walk in; any street fortune-teller can make such claims,¡± she responded. ¡°That¡¯s why I chose a different approach¡ªkindness and a welcoming demeanor. Why else do you think I embraced you so readily? I hoped, perhaps, that I could gently unveil the nature of your affliction once I started to carefully unravel the shadow.¡± ¡°Gently?¡± Carrack let out a hollow chuckle, his expression grave. ¡°It felt like my skin was being flayed, my bones scraped with a dull blade. Gently ¡­ bah!¡± ¡°Your reaction was as much a surprise to me, if you can believe that,¡± Lady Matilda continued. ¡°Lord Carrack, the spell, the hex, whatever curse you¡¯re entangled with, it resisted my efforts fiercely. Before I could progress further or gather any concrete evidence for you, you left, dealing with the repercussions of that exposed wound. Suffering, no doubt.¡± Absorbing the gravity of Lady Matilda¡¯s words, Carrack found his thoughts drifting back to the sleepless nights that had tormented him following his initial encounter with her. He was now acutely aware of the wound she spoke of¡ªa wound in some intangible form. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed his chest, as though trying to feel a wound that sometimes felt all too real. His eyes closed, and he concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing, each inhale and exhale a deliberate effort to find calm. The only respite he could recall, the briefest moment of tranquility, was tied to the rediscovery of his violin and the dreamless sleep that passed him by. It was a fleeting memory, yet one that offered a glimmer of peace. But his reflection was abruptly interrupted by a distant thud, that haunting sound jolted him back to the present moment. ¡°I have been suffering,¡± Carrack conceded, his voice tinged with resentment. ¡°But for all I know, this hex you speak of could have been cast by you. You¡¯ve concealed your identity as a mage; how can I trust your words now? They might be nothing but lies, a part of your deceit. Perhaps you are the source of all my suffering!¡± ¡°Please, Lord Carrack¡ª¡± Lady Matilda began, only to be cut off as Carrack stood and began to storm past her. In a swift motion, she reached out and grasped his arm. Her touch was light, yet it held him as firmly as a vice. Instantly, Carrack felt a wave of calm wash over him; the shivers that had plagued him ceased, replaced by a soothing warmth that permeated his entire being, from skin to bone. He could feel her urgency seeping into his consciousness, compelling him to turn and meet her gaze, to listen to what she had to say. ¡°Let me prove it to you,¡± she urged, her voice carrying a surprising conviction. For a moment, Carrack thought he heard her speak without her lips moving, only to see her mouth repeat the same words moments later. Carrack blinked hard, attempting to shake off what he suspected was either a hallucination or an illusion cast by Lady Matilda. With a sharp movement, he jerked his arm away from her grasp, instantly feeling the return of the unsettling sensations that her touch had momentarily quelled. ¡°And how exactly would you prove it?¡± he demanded. ¡°You do owe me another session,¡± she replied simply. Upon hearing her suggestion, Carrack erupted into laughter. It was more of a reflex than a genuine amusement, devoid of any real humor. Instead, simmering anger surged through him, carrying biting words that threatened to spill out. He restrained himself, though, holding back from uttering anything too harsh or ambiguous that might prolong their conversation. His reply came out terse and pointed: ¡°If you ever see me at your chapel again, I¡¯ll be bringing handcuffs.¡± With that, Carrack turned and left the store briskly, not lingering long enough to hear any response she might have had, grabbing his still-filthy rain cloak before heading back out into the square. The rain felt more intense as Carrack stepped outside, its droplets like tiny knives piercing through his cloak and chilling his skin. Gritting his teeth, he shouldered the discomfort and strode into the square. His initial burst of anger began to ebb as he caught sight of the statue still there, its ominous presence and silent stillness overwhelming. Staring at the statue brought Carrack no comfort, akin to the terror of being buried alive. A vengeful idea started to take shape in his mind. He scrutinized the statue¡ªits size, material, apparent strength¡ªand began making rough estimates. How much dynamite would it take, he wondered, not just to topple the statue but to utterly obliterate it into dust? His thoughts of revenge were interrupted by another eerie thud echoing from beyond the square, followed by another. His attention shifted toward the road he had come from, but instinctively his gaze flickered back to the statue, then toward the fort in the opposite direction. Yet another thud drew his attention back to the road. Unlike before, this sound didn¡¯t bring a sense of impending doom. It felt almost inviting, subtly pulling at him, gently coaxing him to follow its source. Carrack resisted the urge, yet he noticed that gazing in the direction of the sound eased his shivers and anxiety, replacing them with the same strange comfort he had felt under Lady Matilda¡¯s touch. When his gaze returned to the statue, the sense of dread crept back, intensifying as he looked towards the fort. Turning back to face the statue, Carrack felt a surge of anger boiling within him, fueled by annoyance and a growing sense of defiance. His eyes hardened into a glare, challenging the statue in a silent battle of wills. As he stared it down, the uncertainty and anxiety that had gripped him began to wither, replaced by a burgeoning strength born of sheer spite. His jaw clenched tightly, every muscle in his body taut with tension, he emitted a low, ¡°Fuck you.¡± It was more than a curse; it was a declaration of resistance against the overwhelming dread the statue invoked. With that, he turned sharply and stormed off, heading back toward the fort. Chapter 33 Chapter 33 For Lord Carrack, few things were more humbling than attempting to articulate the indescribable. He returned to the fort with a speed he believed lost to his years, urgently summoning Alaina, and Crow, who were visibly alarmed by his uncharacteristically frantic demeanor. Gathered in the conference room, Carrack found himself wrestling with the ineffable. He recounted what he could, his words painting the broad strokes of his ordeal, but the visceral fear that the statue¡¯s oppressive aura evoked remained frustratingly beyond the reach of language. Crow and Alaina, tempered by harsh times, maintained stoic expressions, revealing no hint of emotion. Their alertness and suspicion were evident as they absorbed the details of Carrack¡¯s tale. The room fell silent upon the completion of his account, the quiet hanging heavy with unspoken thoughts and questions. Crow eventually pierced the stillness, releasing a drawn-out sigh that seemed to carry the weight of their shared uncertainty. He glanced downward, contemplative, before meeting Alaina¡¯s eyes. She offered a subtle, inquisitive look in return, her gaze laden with unspoken questions. ¡°Well,¡± Crow began, leaning forward with a hint of deference in his voice, ¡°you¡¯re the expert in these matters, aren¡¯t you?¡± Alaina¡¯s arms folded across her chest in an almost protective gesture. ¡°Expert in what, exactly?¡± she challenged, her eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°Arcane, magic, that sort of thing,¡± Crow replied with an offhand shrug, as if the weight of such matters were beyond his care. Alaina¡¯s response carried a mix of resignation and mild irritation. ¡°In the realm of magic, the vast sea of unknowns drowns out the islands of the known, even for those of us who have dedicated our lives to its study. I¡¯m hardly what you¡¯d call an expert,¡± she said, her gaze drifting to Carrack. ¡°The phenomena you¡¯ve described, the visions you¡¯ve witnessed ¡­ in our world, the boundary of possibility is far broader than we can fathom, yet some occurrences are so exceptionally rare they might as well be myths¡ªoften for good reason.¡± Carrack leaned in, his eyes reflecting a turmoil of hope and skepticism. ¡°What¡¯s your take on all this, then? What does your intuition tell you?¡± he pressed, his voice carrying an undercurrent of desperation for answers. Alaina¡¯s posture shifted as she leaned forward, her hands cradling her head as if to squeeze insight from her own mind. A deep furrow formed between her brows as she considered the implications of Carrack¡¯s account. Moments passed, punctuated by a frustrated groan, before she straightened up. ¡°Nothing given is given freely, especially in magic. A price must always be paid. If what you¡¯re saying is true, and I believe it is, I fear Lady Matilda may be tampering with forces beyond her comprehension. My worry is that she¡¯s offering herself to something masquerading as her deity.¡± Carrack, his expression pensive, ventured a thought. ¡°Could it truly be her God, or perhaps even God itself?¡± ¡°No,¡± Alaina¡¯s response was immediate, her voice ringing with conviction. ¡°Gods, or a God, are beyond lingering in an idle cast of rock.¡± ¡°Do you believe it could be a spirit? Perhaps a malevolent one?¡± Carrack¡¯s question hung in the air, tinged with the gravity of his own experiences. Alaina exhaled slowly, the weight of uncertainty heavy in her breath. ¡°Within the vast expanse of the arcane, like I said before, what we do not know vastly eclipses what we do. The fear you felt¡ªwhile profound¡ªdoes not inherently mark the presence of malevolence. Fear is often a reflex to the mysterious, the unexplained. Think of the ancient reactions to celestial events¡ªthe stars, eclipses, comets like the great Broom Star. These once invoked dread, yet they are merely facets of our natural world.¡± ¡°And such fears persist even now,¡± Crow interjected, his voice a grounding echo to Alaina¡¯s rationale. ¡°Indeed,¡± Alaina affirmed. ¡°What you¡¯ve faced is the embodiment of the unknown, and fear, in such cases, is an instinctual companion.¡± Carrack¡¯s thumbs circled each other, a physical manifestation of his ruminations. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re correct,¡± he conceded, the seeds of doubt finding fertile ground in his thoughts. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Alaina¡¯s disdain for the notion of a hex was palpable. She shook her head, her gesture dismissing the very idea. ¡°The very notion is absurd. Scarlet Sorcery? Please. It¡¯s a bold claim to make, particularly coming from someone who has been less than truthful about their own nature.¡± ¡°Agreed,¡± Crow said with a nod. ¡°We¡¯ve already pegged her as a liar, as far as I¡¯m concerned we have to take what she says as nothing other than just more lies.¡± ¡°Which leads me to her sudden evangelism,¡± Alaina said, ¡°the nature of this statue is unknown to me, more troubling since I haven¡¯t sensed anything from it.¡± ¡°Can certain forms of the arcane be undetectable to someone like you?¡± Carrack wondered. Alaina scrunched her face as her eyes drifted into thought briefly. ¡°Not naturally, at least to my knowledge. It would have to be hidden deliberately. I would think I¡¯d be able to sense its presence along with this supposed colorful aura that you see surrounding yourself and Lady Matilda, but I can neither see nor sense anything amiss.¡± ¡°Perhaps if you got close to it? Would you be able to sense it? Figure out what it is?¡± Carrack suggested. ¡°That would do it ¡­¡± Alaina agreed hesitantly. ¡°I¡¯d see right through whatever shroud is hiding it.¡± ¡°Well, what if we did do that?¡± Crow, cutting to the chase, asked, ¡°Let¡¯s say you got close and then found it to be a threat?¡± Alaina brushed her hands across her lap, a gesture of resolve. ¡°If it¡¯s a threat, then we neutralize it. It¡¯s as simple as that.¡± ¡°Destroy it,¡± Carrack stated, voicing the inevitable conclusion. Crow leaned forward, his mind already mapping out the logistics. ¡°And how do we do that? Exorcism or something?¡± Alaina laughed off the suggestion. ¡°No, nothing so dramatic as an exorcism. We use dynamite. We have some here, don¡¯t we?¡± Crow raised his eyebrows in mild astonishment. ¡°Well, that¡¯s straightforward.¡± ¡°But what if this statue, or whatever¡¯s inside it,¡± said Carrack, ¡°doesn¡¯t take kindly to being blown up? What if it fights back?¡± Alaina met his gaze with firm determination. ¡°Then it¡¯ll have me to contend with,¡± she said, her tone laced with both confidence and a hint of reluctance at the prospect of confrontation. ¡°Unpleasant, but necessary.¡± As Alaina detailed her potential confrontation with the statue and its followers, a chilling shiver traced its way up Carrack¡¯s spine. Her voice seemed distant, muffled by a high-pitched ringing that escalated to an unbearable crescendo in his ears. A wave of nausea swept over him, his mouth filling with the taste of sour saliva as beads of sweat dotted his brow. His heart thudded in his chest, his vision swimming in and out of focus. What truly gripped his attention, however, was the eerie shadow that hovered around Alaina. It moved in sync with her, a grotesque mimicry, its low, distorted echo of her voice sending waves of unease through him. His fingers and toes curled involuntarily as he fixated on the shadow. At the peak of the ringing, the shadow turned its scarlet-glowing eyes toward him. The intensity of its gaze forced Carrack to shift uncomfortably, ultimately propelling him to his feet. His sudden movement arrested the conversation, leaving Alaina and Crow in stunned silence, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. As he stood, the ringing ceased abruptly, the feeling of dread dissipated, and the shadow vanished as if it had never been. ¡°Uh, sir?¡± Crow¡¯s voice held a note of concern, his face etched with confusion and a hint of worry. Carrack, now acutely aware of the eyes fixed upon him, felt a rush of embarrassment. He hastily attempted to cover up his unusual behavior, loosening his joints and stretching his limbs in an exaggerated manner. ¡°Sorry about that, just needed to stand up for a sec,¡± he said, his voice a blend of casual dismissal and discomfort. ¡°Everything feels so tight, you know? And sore too, after ¡­ well, you know.¡± Alaina¡¯s eyes softened with empathy, her head nodding in understanding. ¡°Yes, I can imagine,¡± she said gently. ¡°Being trapped as you were, it¡¯s bound to take a toll on the body.¡± ¡°Yes, indeed it has,¡± Carrack replied with a nervous chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. ¡°Listen, I¡¯m going to leave this in your capable hands. I need some time to clear my head, maybe even catch some elusive sleep.¡± Crow and Alaina exchanged a glance, their eyes communicating a shared concern, before they refocused on Carrack. They nodded in unison, signaling their understanding and willingness to shoulder the responsibility. ¡°We¡¯ll work out a plan and get back to you, sir. No worries on that front,¡± Crow assured him, his tone blending respect with a touch of formality. ¡°But just so I¡¯m clear, what¡¯s the goal here? What¡¯s the ideal outcome for you?¡± ¡°I¡¯d love nothing more than to see a ship laden with food and news sail over the horizon,¡± Carrack said, a nervous chuckle escaping him as he glanced down at his slightly trembling hands. ¡°But realistically, I want that statue dealt with¡ªrendered harmless. And this ¡­ this church Lady Matilda¡¯s been building; we need to dismantle it since it¡¯s apparently an illegal conclave of sorcery. Plus, anyone who¡¯s eaten that so-called miraculous food needs to be checked for any ¡­ unfortunate side effects.¡± ¡°Understood, sir. We¡¯ll start planning and have something for you later today,¡± Crow affirmed, his tone exuding a calm professionalism. ¡°You should rest, get your strength back.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the plan,¡± Carrack agreed, his voice trailing off. Alaina, ever the caretaker, chimed in, ¡°I can prepare a soothing concoction to help settle your nerves, sir.¡± Carrack¡¯s initial response was sharp, almost reflexive. ¡°No,¡± he snapped, then, catching himself, softened his tone. ¡°No, thank you, Alaina. I think I¡¯ll try for some natural rest. Less ¡­ complicated that way.¡± Chapter 34 Chapter 34 The sky above seldom offered anything intriguing to the observer¡¯s eye. A relentless deluge rendered the heavens a monochrome tapestry, the overcast sky as listless and lifeless as a sea shrouded in mist. Occasionally, the sun would muster the strength to pierce the cloud cover, offering a fleeting glimmer of warmth that would momentarily fracture the pervasive gloom. For Carrack, these ephemeral flashes of light were as enigmatic as they were elusive, never fully revealing the brilliance that others might bask in for a season. On this day, he found himself striving more than usual to catch a glimpse of that elusive light, peering through the rain¡¯s veil and the briny mist carried by robust sea winds, all from the solitude of his lone window. But his efforts proved futile; dusk had already claimed the sky, draping the world in a deeper cloak of darkness. Aware that the sun had retreated, Carrack¡¯s gaze yet sought the elusive light, or rather, the lights. His thoughts had become increasingly preoccupied with the enigmatic glow of those ethereal lights that had once pierced the heavens above when the statue had so distorted his reality. Brief though his encounter was, the intensity of the lights had etched themselves into his memory, and in his quiet reflection, he could feel their oppressive weight upon him once more and seemingly clinging to his skin like tiny hooks. He peered into the darkness, searching the empty sky for any sign of them, seeing nothing, but harbored the unshakable feeling that they were still out there¡ªlingering, observing, waiting. A low knock at the door broke Carrack from his deepening trance. ¡°Enter!¡± he called out, as a cool draft tinged with mint wafted into the room, causing him to shiver. Alaina appeared in the doorway, a small cup of steaming brew in hand, her expression etched with worry. Carrack quickly adjusted his attire, the loose garments meant for sleep, to ensure he presented himself decently. He gestured toward the desk, offering her a seat as he made his way to the bed. ¡°Please, come in,¡± Carrack invited, with a welcoming nod. ¡°I was wondering if you were actually asleep¡ªI was hoping so. But I guess that was a fool¡¯s hope,¡± Alaina said, her smile tinged with warmth. ¡°Regardless, I¡¯ve brought a small tea that might help soothe the nerves that seem to be troubling you.¡± Carrack¡¯s fingers twitched involuntarily as he accepted the cup, inhaling the earthy scent of the brew. Ordinarily, he would have welcomed such a concoction and savored it by now, seeking its promised relief. Yet, he found himself pausing, an uncharacteristic hesitation taking hold. With a grateful smile, he acknowledged her gesture, placing the tea on the bedpost beside him. ¡°Your concern is heartening, Alaina. I¡¯ll enjoy the tea as I wind down. But something tells me there¡¯s more on your mind than just tea service.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re not wrong,¡± Alaina conceded, her posture shifting to indicate a change in the conversation¡¯s direction. ¡°Sergeant Crow and I have come up with a plan that we¡¯re ready for you to review.¡± Carrack raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m surprised Crow isn¡¯t here to lay it out himself.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not, and there¡¯s good reason,¡± Alaina said, a note of assurance in her voice. ¡°He believes, and I agree, that the plan is solid enough that it likely only needs your final touch. Meanwhile, he¡¯s already mobilizing the garrison, getting the men ready. Although I¡¯m no soldier, I¡¯m confident I can walk you through what we¡¯ve devised.¡± Carrack, with a knowing smirk, acknowledged Crow¡¯s soldierly foresight. He nodded for Alaina to proceed, intrigued by the tactical balance of caution and decisive action outlined in their plan. The timing was set to coincide with Lady Matilda¡¯s daily gathering. Alaina¡¯s concern was that the statue¡¯s entity or power might lie dormant, eluding a true reading of its intent. The assembly provided the perfect backdrop not only for investigation but also to address the illegal conclave of sorcery and to scrutinize those who partook of the mystically cultivated food. Alaina would prepare enchanted shackles, imbued with enough nullifying magic to detain any mage who defied their authority. Additionally, they planned to pivot the fort¡¯s cannon¡ªusually reserved for maritime defense¡ªtoward the city square, a contingency against potential escalations. And, as a final measure, a detachment armed with dynamite would be on standby, ready to reduce the statue to rubble should the need arise. ¡°I want to bring the Soma with us as well,¡± Alaina declared with a sense of purpose, ¡°as a means to provide for those from whom we¡¯re about to strip a source of sustenance.¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°That¡¯s a prudent measure,¡± Carrack responded, nodding in agreement. He then leaned in, his voice taking on a tone of earnest concern. ¡°But what if we¡¯re wrong about the statue? What if it¡¯s harmless? What if it poses no threat?¡± Alaina reclined slightly, her expression reflecting a brief consideration of Carrack¡¯s query, yet her stance remained firm. ¡°Even if the statue were benign, it¡¯s the perception of power and the resulting turmoil that concerns me. Caution would still dictate we proceed with its destruction.¡± ¡°Are we so resolved to destroy it? Could its power not be harnessed to aid in your efforts to grow food?¡± Carrack proposed, seeking alternative solutions. Alaina paused, weighing each word with deliberate caution. ¡°I ¡­ I simply cannot place my trust in it. But if indeed the statue is harmless and you¡¯re inclined to spare it, I would then suggest we remove it from the square. It should be secured in a place where its influence is nullified, out of reach for all.¡± All except for yourself, he thought to himself, but decided not to say. ¡°And you would endorse its removal, even from those who might seek comfort in its presence?¡± Carrack pressed, probing her conviction. Alaina met his gaze squarely, her tone underscored by the seriousness of her belief. ¡°The essence of the arcane, whether ensouled or inert, is inherently potent. Without its own agenda, others may impose one, particularly Lady Matilda,¡± she elucidated. ¡°Such a source can become a weapon. We¡¯d confiscate any armament discovered on the island for safety¡¯s sake, wouldn¡¯t we? This situation bears no exception.¡± ¡°So it seems,¡± Carrack said with a nod. ¡°The plan appears comprehensive. I have no major concerns, and I trust your capabilities in the confrontation ahead. Crow is adept at improvising, so he¡¯ll fine-tune the details as needed.¡± Alaina¡¯s question then came unexpectedly. ¡°And what role do you envision for yourself in this undertaking, sir?¡± Carrack¡¯s response was immediate, as though the answer was self-evident. ¡°Alongside you, naturally. I intend to be involved at every juncture.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Alaina rubbed the back of her neck nervously, ¡°I guess this is where the sticking point is going to be.¡± ¡°You ¡­ both of you wanted me to stay back? Stay out of it?¡± Carrack¡¯s voice carried a mixture of disbelief and rising irritation. ¡°The absolute gall of such a suggestion, I¡¯m the commander of this island!¡± Alaina extended her hands in a placating motion. ¡°We understand that, truly,¡± she asserted, her voice a soothing counterpoint to his indignation. ¡°It¡¯s just that you seem ¡­ wearied. The toll of these events, the relentless pressure since our isolation began¡ªit¡¯s been immense.¡± Carrack¡¯s reply was laced with a stubborn resolve. ¡°I¡¯m well within my capacities,¡± he retorted, his tone dripping with frustration. ¡°I¡¯ve weathered far harsher ordeals than this.¡± There was a measured pause before Alaina spoke again, her words floating through the tension like a specter. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m well aware you have.¡± Alaina¡¯s words hung oddly in the air, simultaneously quelling his frustration and kindling a disquiet within him. As their eyes locked in what felt like a silent battle of determination, Carrack¡¯s attention was drawn to a faint luminescence that seeped into the room, filtering through the window behind her. There, in the night sky, he was sure of it¡ªthe lights, those elusive beacons, were slicing through the dark veil overhead with their otherworldly gleam. A shiver ran through Carrack¡¯s hand, his restlessness growing palpable as he felt his breaths quicken. With sudden urgency, he leapt up, his hand jutting towards the window, gesturing wildly to the spectacle outside. In his haste, he brushed past Alaina, nearly toppling her in his eagerness to get a clearer view of the celestial phenomenon that beckoned him once more. ¡°There! There!¡± Carrack¡¯s voice boomed as he pressed his face against the window, his finger tapping urgently on the glass. ¡°The lights!¡± Alaina, caught off-guard, steadied herself. ¡°What lights?¡± she asked, her voice a mix of concern and confusion. ¡°The ones I mentioned before¡ªthe ones revealed by the statue!¡± Carrack spun around, intent on making her understand, but as he returned his gaze to the sky, a cold dread washed over him. The vast expanse before him was void of any light, an abyss of darkness that swallowed his hope. ¡°But they were just there,¡± he stammered, disbelief etching his features. ¡°Carrack?¡± Alaina¡¯s voice was a gentle anchor in the tumult of his thoughts as she reached out to him by the window. Rooted in place, Carrack¡¯s gaze remained fixed outside, futilely searching for the celestial light that had plunged him into a vortex of anxiety and obsession. As the realization set in that the lights were no longer there, a wave of self-doubt crashed over him, casting shadows on the very reliability of his perceptions. Why, he pondered, would he even yearn to witness such a troubling phenomenon again? The internal conflict tightened his throat, flushed his skin with heat, and stirred an unease that blurred his vision with the onset of tears. In that solitary moment, his breaths became sobs, each one barely more than a whisper, as he murmured to himself, ¡°I saw them, I saw them.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± Alaina attempted once more, her hand tentatively reaching toward him. He dismissed the gesture with a determined shrug, signaling his desire for space. Carrack¡¯s words came through clenched teeth as he struggled to regain control, his resolution firm. ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± he declared. ¡°I¡¯m going tomorrow, goddammit, and that¡¯s final. Now get out.¡± Chapter 35 Chapter 35 26 August 149 Third Age Carrack awoke with a jolt, the chill of cold sweat clinging to him as if he had been rudely dismounted from a horse in full gallop. The room lay shrouded in darkness, lit faintly by the last embers of a dying fire, the air dense with an unwelcome chill. He gasped and clutched at his chest, his heart pounding against his ribs as if threatening to escape. Closing his eyes, he attempted to steady the whirlwind of waking thoughts, still tainted by the dissipating echoes of dreams. Though the dreams themselves had vanished, they left a lingering discomfort in his mind. Gradually, his breathing slowed, a fragile calm reclaiming him until a sudden knock at the door shattered the quiet. ¡°What!¡± his voice erupted, more a shriek of alarm than inquiry. A brief silence ensued, followed by a timid reply from the other side. ¡°Uh, shit, sorry sir, didn''t mean to wake you.¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes narrowed, recognition dawning without a name to anchor it. ¡°Who is that?¡± ¡°Pugh, sir. Uh, Private Walter Pugh, we talked when I was on radio duty a few days ago. Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to disturb you, I''ll leave you be.¡± Carrack¡¯s memory cleared with a brisk shake of his head, recalling the young private. He tossed aside the sheets, the cold air biting at his damp skin as he silently cursed the interruption. ¡°Wait a moment, Pugh,¡± he called out, opening the door to find Pugh standing there, his face etched with nervous regret. ¡°Pugh,¡± Carrack¡¯s voice softened slightly, recognizing the familiar face, ¡°what¡¯s going on? Anything wrong?¡± ¡°No, sir,¡± Pugh replied hesitantly. ¡°Just finished my shift, that¡¯s all.¡± Carrack¡¯s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ¡°And you decided to stop by my quarters?¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s just that¡ª¡± ¡°You do realize just how many people you just jumped over to come talk to me right?¡± Carrack asked in surprise, almost shock at the break in protocol, ¡°Especially at my own quarters, I mean good God, I do like coming around and talkin¡¯ with you all, but this is ¡­ If Crow found out you came up here just on you own accord ¡­¡± ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Pugh nodded vigorously, ¡°I¡¯ll be mopping the top of the walls until the sun rises.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Carrack replied, his irritation subsiding into curiosity. He softened his tone and offered a more approachable demeanor. ¡°Private, what¡¯s going on, what can I do for you?¡± ¡°You¡¯re right, sir, this is very ¡­ very out of line of me to be here. But I just got off my shift and I¡¯ve been hearing a lot about tomorrow.¡± Pugh shifted uneasily, his arm rubbing its counterpart. ¡°It¡¯s just been all been a lot to deal with.¡± Carrack leaned casually against the doorframe, nodding in understanding. ¡°It¡¯s a heavy load for everyone. Are the men feeling the same?¡± ¡°Many are anxious, sir. Most had never encountered a mage until Alaina arrived. And now, the prospect of detaining several tomorrow has some on edge. One of my buddies is worried about being turned inside out with a snap of a finger. Bit extreme, but still, something to consider I guess.¡± Carrack let out a small chuckle. ¡°Yeah, that is a little extreme, but sorcerers are not to be trifled with lightly. That¡¯s why we have Alaina though, she¡¯ll keep us all safe from the worst of the arcane.¡± Pugh¡¯s eyes searched Carrack¡¯s face, seeking assurance. ¡°She¡¯ll really be able to keep us all safe?¡± Carrack understood the gravity of the situation; he harbored no illusions about the peril they faced. Yet, in that moment, he chose reassurance over grim realities. With a nod and a wry smile, he affirmed, ¡°You bet your ass she will. She''s more than capable¡ªmight even turn a few of them inside out before they can touch a single one of us.¡± Pugh¡¯s gaze lingered on Carrack, carrying a mix of acceptance and skepticism. It was a look that hinted at understanding beyond the words spoken. Over the years, Carrack had become accustomed to the veil of half-truths and outright fabrications used to mask the harshness of reality. Sometimes, he found solace in the gentle fiction of reassurance, even when the weight of truth loomed large. He hoped Pugh would find a measure of comfort in his assurance, grasping the necessity of hope in their grim circumstances. ¡°Yeah,¡± Pugh murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. ¡°Spread the word if it¡¯ll help others rest easier,¡± Carrack advised, offering a reassuring pat on Pugh¡¯s shoulder as a sign of conclusion. Yet, Pugh lingered, seemingly rooted to the spot. Carrack, sensing the hesitation, inquired further, ¡°Is there something else on your mind, Private?¡± Pugh exhaled, a hint of resolve firming his voice. ¡°Well, yes, sir. Your reassurances are appreciated, truly, but that¡¯s not the real reason I came to see you.¡± The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Carrack¡¯s eyebrow lifted in a mix of surprise and intrigue. ¡°And what might that reason be?¡± ¡°As I was making my way off my shift, wandering through the halls lost in thoughts about tomorrow,¡± Pugh began, his voice a blend of nostalgia and unease, ¡°I heard something ¡­ It took me back to my childhood. A soft melody of a violin wafted through the air, seeming to come from up here.¡± Carrack¡¯s reaction was subtle, a slight twitch of the eye and curling of his fingers betraying his composure. Internally, however, he was in turmoil. The mention of a violin playing nearby sent a chill through him, his heart racing anew and a tightness clamping around his chest, making it hard to breathe. ¡°You must be mistaken,¡± Carrack managed to say, his words edged with an involuntary sharpness as he attempted a reassuring smile, ¡°It was probably just the wind.¡± But Pugh was insistent, his certainty unshaken. ¡°No, sir, I know what I heard. It was a violin. I used to play; that sound is unmistakable.¡± The faint smile vanished from Carrack¡¯s face, supplanted by a stern, almost foreboding expression that visibly unsettled Pugh. ¡°You¡¯re mistaken. It was the wind.¡± ¡°But sir¡ª¡± Carrack¡¯s patience snapped, his voice rising in a rare outburst of anger, ¡°It was the fucking wind, Private!¡± The sudden ferocity shocked both of them, the air thick with tension. ¡°Now leave, before I have Sergeant Crow up here!¡± Pugh recoiled, the shock and fear evident in his eyes as he quickly saluted and retreated, his footsteps hastening down the stairs. Carrack stood frozen, his breaths coming in heavy gasps, his eyes wide with a mix of rage and fear. His body quaked slightly, betraying the terror that lay beneath the furious facade. His hands, trembling, tapped against the wall in an erratic rhythm as he pivoted back into his room, the door closing with a definitive thud behind him. Alone now, surrounded by the chill and silence, he found his gaze drifting involuntarily towards his bed, his mind desperately trying to shut out the creeping dread. But resistance faltered, and as his eyes unwillingly shifted to the corner of the room, the stark reality hit him. There, on the desk, lay a small chest, its lid agape. Beside it rested the violin, as if silently accusing him with its mere presence. He was certain he hadn¡¯t touched it, hadn¡¯t even remembered it was on the desk until now. Yet, unmistakably, there it lay. His gaze shifted next to the overturned teacup on the floor next to his bed that war filled with the brew Alaina had brought him earlier. He strained to recall whether he¡¯d consumed it or accidentally knocked it over. Doubt gnawed at him, his memory a frustrating blur, and as uncertainty swelled, a pounding headache began to build. ¡°What the hell is happening?¡± he murmured, the question echoing silently in the room. Though his eyes were heavy with fatigue, the urge for sleep clawing insistently, Carrack resisted. Seized by a surge of frustration, he grasped the violin, his intention clear as he aimed it towards the fireplace, ready to cast it into the flames. Yet, in the midst of his resolve, a flicker of hesitation, like lightning splitting the sky, pierced his determination. It stilled his hand, halting the impending act of destruction. His resolve dissolved into further anger at his own hesitation. With a resentful motion, he returned the violin to its chest, slamming the lid closed with a definitive thud and shoving it out of sight under his bed. Then, moving almost mechanically, he gathered a few logs, feeding them to the fireplace to breathe life back into the waning embers. There, he sat, silently stoking the flames, waiting for the inevitable moment when he would have to confront the day ahead. *** Each blink Carrack took grew longer and more laborious, each one a battle against the enticing pull of sleep. Yet, he resisted, jerking his head up to let the raindrops splash against his face, a cold reminder to stay vigilant. Around him, the courtyard buzzed with a subdued energy; members of the garrison assigned to today¡¯s mission assembled in silent determination. The air was thick with anticipation, each soldier moving through the mud in quiet contemplation, no doubt lost in their last-minute checks and the what ifs about what was coming. Many of the men surrounding him were part of Captain Foeham¡¯s ill-fated mission just a few days prior, their faces familiar to Carrack. He suspected Crow had chosen them for this very reason, perhaps as a testament to their resilience or experience. Carrack harbored doubts, wondering if it might have been wiser to select those not recently shaken by trauma. Yet, despite his reservations, he placed his trust in Crow¡¯s judgment. As the soldiers formed up, Carrack¡¯s gaze landed on Pugh, who was undergoing an inspection. The young man¡¯s anxiety was palpable, his eyes betraying the fragile veneer of calm with underlying fear. Such is the way of soldierly at times, Carrack thought. Crow assembled the men, issuing last-minute instructions and ensuring a unified understanding of the plan. Once briefed, they formed a line in front of the gate, each soldier either staring ahead with determination or down at the mud in quiet reflection. The mood shifted subtly as Alaina emerged from the fort. As the sole woman amongst them, her presence invariably drew glances. Yet, while her appearance commanded attention, it was her arcane nature that stirred a deeper mix of curiosity, suspicion, and unease among the ranks. Her presence this time was particularly commanding. Alaina was clad in a long, deep jade jacket, complemented by a black cloak that bore the marks of wear and tear, its edges trailing through the mud. A hood shrouded her head, casting her face into shadow and sheltering it from the rain. To those watching, she bore the ethereal aura of a wraith, her figure a stark contrast against the dreary backdrop. Alaina stood to the side, her gaze fixed on the soldiers as they secured the cauldron of Soma onto a cart, her hands nonchalantly tucked into her pockets. The concoction¡¯s weight necessitated the use of a portable wheeled engine, disdainfully referred to as a ¡°Thomas¡± amongst the men. Its presence was met with collective disapproval; the engine was notoriously difficult to operate, frequently malfunctioned, poorly suited to the muddy terrain, and emanated a perpetual threat of malfunction or worse¡ªexplosion. Carrack positioned himself towards the rear of the line, his eyes fixed on Crow for the commencement signal. A series of muted thuds resonated down the ranks, the men¡¯s soft pats against their gear serving as a wordless readiness confirmation. Crow¡¯s head then emerged from the front, his eyes searching until they locked with Carrack¡¯s. A subtle nod from Carrack set everything in motion. The gates groaned open, peeling back layers of mud as they scraped against the uneven terrain. The soldiers began their march, each step a heavy splash in the mire. Amidst the movement, the Thomas engine sputtered to life, its grind and pops piercing the air as it trudged forward. As the line ahead surged forward, Carrack remained momentarily rooted, the muscles in his legs tensing with the urge to proceed yet hesitating. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he overcame the momentary stillness and took his determined first step into the fray. Chapter 36 Chapter 36 Drums echoed in the distance, their rhythmic booms a chorus of many, greeting the men¡¯s ears as they reached the city¡¯s outskirts. Carrack recognized the source of the sounds, yet he hadn¡¯t anticipated their volume; the drums were surprisingly loud, their cadence reverberating through the streets and carrying far beyond their origin. Carrack observed some men falter, their hands tightening around their rifles or casting wary glances through the dim light. Anxiety was etched on their faces, visible in the quick puffs of breath that fogged the air, a silent signal of their unease. A few were noticeably on edge, their bodies tensing and muted curses escaping them whenever the Thomas sputtered and backfired. Yet, they marched on without pause, driven by a deep-rooted discipline or perhaps a simple reluctance to face the shadows alone. An unease twisted inside Carrack as his gaze swept over the familiar buildings, buildings that now seemed alien to him. Their facades, never truly a vibrant sight as they were worn by nature¡¯s relentless forces, now appeared to be swallowed by a more sinister shadow. They stood taller somehow, their forms more gnarled, and the hollow blackness of their windows reached out with spectral fingers, challenging any brave soul to peer into the darkness within. At least that¡¯s how he saw them. Yet, it was the streets¡¯ utter desolation that unsettled him the most. The occasional lights that once dotted the facades of homes and flickered in windows were now extinguished, leaving the city shrouded in darkness akin to a coastal town evading naval bombardment. A palpable weight seemed to press against his skin from unseen angles, fostering the chilling sense of being watched. It could have been from a darkened window, a shadow-laden alley, or, most disconcertingly, from the roiling mass of clouds churning ominously above. The fragile tension shattered abruptly with a jarring bang from the Thomas, its loudest yet, which devolved into a cacophony of sputtering and grinding gears before coming to a screeching halt. Plumes of smoke rose from the now-stilled machine as the formation came to an abrupt stop, eyes turning toward the mechanics who hastened to the engine, their profanities echoing louder than the storm that enveloped them. Carrack and Crow joined the huddle around the mechanics, their faces falling as they watched the disheartened shakes of the engineers¡¯ heads while they surveyed the engine¡¯s innards. ¡°The damn thing¡¯s a goner, sir,¡± the mechanic grumbled, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. ¡°Been leaking oil since we rolled out. The gears have been eating themselves alive.¡± Carrack exhaled deeply, fatigue etched into his face. He glanced at Crow, resolution settling in his weary eyes. ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll leave it and set a guard. When it¡¯s time, we can converge here for the Soma distribution.¡± Crow acknowledged with a nod, detailing a few guards to secure the area. Yet, as he faced Carrack, a ripple of concern passed over his features. ¡°Those drums.¡± Carrack¡¯s response was terse, affirming the looming start of an unseen event. ¡°Yes, they¡¯re beginning.¡± Alaina¡¯s voice cut through the tension. ¡°We need to move then.¡± The command from Crow was sharp, cutting through the air. ¡°Move out!¡± His voice carried the weight of urgency, prompting the formation to lurch into motion, each soldier moving with deliberate speed. They navigated the twists and turns of the city¡¯s avenues until they rounded the final bend, coming face to face with the statue¡ªand an unsettling stillness. The drumming had stopped abruptly as they entered the square. The men hesitated, their confusion palpable in the tense atmosphere, eyes scanning for something amiss. Carrack made his way to the forefront, his unease mounting as he encountered the empty square, the stillness causing a prickle along his skin. Crow¡¯s expression mirrored the collective doubt, his gaze sharp and searching. Alaina, however, maintained a composed demeanor, stepping beside Carrack with an intent look at the statue. ¡°Well ¡­¡± she murmured as she stepped into the empty space. ¡°Isn¡¯t this interesting.¡± ¡°Interesting?¡± Crow echoed. ¡°Where is everyone? And those drums ¡­ ¡­ ¡± ¡°I noticed their absence as well,¡± Alaina responded with a measured calm, venturing deeper into the square. She moved her hand through the air as though sensing an unseen presence, her fingers splayed and probing the stillness. ¡°It seems we may be contending with some trickery.¡± Unease rippled through the ranks, a low tide of murmurs washing over the men as they exchanged nervous glances, pondering the silence and their missing welcome. Crow stepped up, his voice booming over the whispers, instilling a sense of command. ¡°Steady, men!¡± he announced, a note of reassurance in his call. ¡°Seems like we¡¯ve been duped by some illusion. Stay sharp. Section leaders, spread out and secure all access points to the square.¡± Despite a moment¡¯s hesitation that tempered their swiftness, the formation began to disperse, a wary diligence taking over as they fanned out to secure the perimeter. Yet, they remained acutely aware of the statue, keeping it within their peripheral vision as if expecting it to stir. Carrack and Crow moved to join Alaina, who advanced toward the statue with deliberate steps, her eyes locked onto the silent effigy as if in a silent confrontation. As they drew nearer to the statue, Carrack felt a constriction in his throat, a visceral response to his mounting nerves, making him jumpy to even the smallest sounds like Crow¡¯s audible sniff. The haunting memories of his past encounter with the statue lingered sharply in his mind, and he couldn¡¯t help but feel that Alaina and Crow were also replaying his account in their heads as they stepped into its looming shadow. ¡°Alaina,¡± Carrack called out, his voice a hushed whisper, an attempt to mask his anxiety, ¡°what do you make of it?¡± Alaina remained fixated on the statue, her contemplation almost tangible in the air. ¡°Nothing,¡± she finally uttered. ¡°I think nothing yet. You mentioned it was a ¡®pull¡¯ that you felt?¡± she said, her gaze still unbroken. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Carrack confirmed, his eyes also locked on the enigmatic figure. ¡°Hmm,¡± Alaina mused, her voice tinged with a mix of skepticism and intrigue. ¡°And it was after this pull that you witnessed the changes? The shifting shadows, the spectral lights above?¡± she continued, trying to piece together the puzzle before them. ¡°Yes, do you feel it?¡± Carrack asked, his unease now evident in the tightness of his voice, a reflection of the strange recollections that stirred within him. Alaina¡¯s silence hung heavily before she finally spoke, her lips parting in a silent expression of surprise. ¡°Not exactly,¡± she began, her eyes not leaving the statue. ¡°There¡¯s something ¡­ unusual about the air here.¡± ¡°Unusual? In what way?¡± Crow pressed. ¡°It¡¯s akin to the trace left by smoke long after a fire has been extinguished. Whatever transpired here wasn¡¯t recent¡ªlikely from last night. The remnants are elusive, almost like grasping at mist,¡± Alaina said as she circled the statue, her movements deliberate, tracing the unseen traces of past events. ¡°And you said the drums were ¡­ an illusion? Another remnant of what happened before?¡± Carrack probed. ¡°Potentially,¡± Alaina responded with caution. ¡°If this artifact manipulated your senses once, it¡¯s not unreasonable to suspect it could affect us all.¡± Crow¡¯s frustration was apparent. ¡°But where is everyone? You said they¡¯d be here for their ritual.¡± Carrack considered for a moment. ¡°Maybe they called it off. My last encounter with Lady Matilda didn¡¯t exactly end on a note of assurance.¡± Crow nodded, looking around the desolate square. ¡°She must¡¯ve warned her followers. Holed up in her chapel, I¡¯d bet.¡± Alaina¡¯s voice faded into silence, her thoughts apparent in her hesitance. ¡°Yet, if this was sacred to her ¡­¡± ¡°Then she wouldn¡¯t just abandon it,¡± said Carrack firmly. ¡°Not if she believed it could be destroyed.¡± ¡°Precisely,¡± Alaina concurred, her affirmation hanging in the air. ¡°Precisely,¡± echoed a voice, eerily serene, that of Lady Matilda. The sound of her voice had Carrack spinning around instantly, only for him to find her standing a mere few feet behind them, a wry smile playing on her lips. The sight of it sent a jolt through him, his jaw tensing involuntarily. ¡°How in hellfire¡¯s blazes!¡± Carrack exclaimed, his outburst drawing the others¡¯ attention. ¡°How did she slip past us?¡± ¡°How did who slip past?¡± asked Alaina. Carrack whirled back to point out Lady Matilda, but as his gaze returned to where she stood, there was nothing. She had disappeared. ¡°What?¡± he stammered, his voice laced with disbelief. ¡°Sir?¡± Crow interjected, his eyes scanning the vicinity for any sign of the figure Carrack mentioned. ¡°No, she was right there,¡± Carrack insisted, his voice faltering. ¡°Matilda, I heard her, saw her ¡­ just now.¡± Alaina moved beyond Carrack, her steps measured as she reached the spot where he had seen Lady Matilda. Standing still, she closed her eyes, immersing herself in a moment of quiet contemplation. After a few moments, her features contorted with concentration, she finally opened her eyes and slowly shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s nothing, Lord Carrack. No remnants of a specter or any ethereal trace.¡± Carrack¡¯s frustration bubbled over. ¡°Dammit,¡± he muttered, his annoyance directed inward, but his gaze turned back to the statue, ¡°I know what I saw ¡­¡± ¡°I know you do,¡± came the chilling reverberation of Lady Matilda¡¯s voice. Carrack¡¯s head snapped to the side, only to see her standing nearby, that unnerving smile once again gracing her features. ¡°What the fuck,¡± he murmured under his breath, his eyes wide, rooted to the spot as he stared at Lady Matilda. ¡°How? How?¡± Lady Matilda¡¯s expression held a hint of amusement at his astonishment. ¡°Oh, is this the most shocking thing you¡¯ve encountered? You, speechless?¡± She tutted softly. ¡°Lord Carrack, you¡¯ve barely scratched the surface.¡± As her words lingered, Carrack felt an ominous and familiar sensation pressing down on him, the same daunting pull he had experienced before. He fought against it, his eyes darting around in desperate search for assistance, only to realize with a sinking feeling that Alaina, Crow, and the soldiers were nowhere to be seen. ¡°You left our last meeting under such grave implications, threats born from what was merely a misunderstanding,¡± Lady Matilda continued, her expression shifting to one of feigned sympathy. Carrack couldn¡¯t discern whether her concern was genuine or merely a facade, adding another layer to his unease. ¡°It left me with few alternatives,¡± she continued, her voice a mix of resignation and veiled threat. ¡°What have you done?¡± Carrack demanded, his voice quivering as panic surged within him, his heart pounding against his chest. ¡°Where am I? Where is everyone?¡± Lady Matilda¡¯s reply was dismissive. ¡°You stand exactly where you are, Lord Carrack, and they are where they are. Your questions miss the mark.¡± Anger flushed Carrack¡¯s face red, his frustration boiling over. Reaching for his sidearm, he began, ¡°I swear by all the gods¡ª¡± ¡°There is but one God who matters now,¡± Lady Matilda interrupted, her voice sharp with conviction. ¡°And you stand in their presence! Look above, and witness.¡± The unseen force above pressed down harder, its compelling pull intensifying with every moment. Carrack¡¯s resolve wavered as the urge to look skyward grew stronger. Gasping for breath, he desperately sought a shred of self-control, but anger and disorientation clouded his mind. Frantically, he stomped around, shouting for anyone, any assistance, but the more he resisted, the more intense his discomfort became. Then, to his horror, shadowy figures began to materialize in the edges of his vision, creeping ever closer. Overwhelmed by panic, Carrack spun toward Lady Matilda, his movements erratic, and drew his pistol, aiming it squarely at her. ¡°Let me out,¡± Carrack¡¯s voice cracked, the pistol quivering in his unsteady hands. ¡°Let me out!¡± Lady Matilda raised her palms in a gesture of appeasement. ¡°Lord Carrack, I am here to help you. Please, try to calm yourself.¡± ¡°No!¡± He jabbed the pistol forward, his whole body shaking. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me to fucking calm down! Let me out of here, Matilda! Right now!¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying to free you, but you aren¡¯t listening.¡± Lady Matilda replied, taking a cautious step toward him. ¡°Just let me have one more session with you and you¡¯ll see clearly.¡± With each step she took, a heavy thud resonated, sending a chill through Carrack, his terror palpable. He cocked the pistol, his voice rising in desperation. ¡°Stay back! Let me out!¡± Thud. ¡°I¡¯m warning you!¡± Thud. ¡°Matilda!¡± Thud. A resounding crack shattered the tense silence as Carrack¡¯s finger squeezed the trigger. In the briefest moment, a flash illuminated his face, and smoke wisped from the pistol¡¯s barrel. A wave of relief momentarily washed over him as the oppressive force and its menacing pull dissipated, the encroaching shadows melting away into nothingness. He inhaled deeply, savoring the sudden ease in breathing. But as the smoke drifted away, a horrifying realization took hold. There, in front of him, stood a staggered Alaina, her hands clutched at her abdomen where blood blossomed across her coat. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, wide with shock and tinged with a sense of betrayal, locked onto Carrack, silently conveying the depth of her pain. Cries from Crow seemed to fade into a distant hum as Carrack¡¯s ears rang with a piercing, disorienting tone, the aftermath of his own action reverberating through his consciousness. Paralyzed with horror, he watched, helpless, as Alaina slowly collapsed into the mud. Her hands reached out, grasping at empty air, her body convulsing in agony as she struggled for breath. But just as clarity began to seep back into Carrack¡¯s shocked senses and he lurched forward to help, the ground beneath Alaina churned. In a moment that defied belief, she was drawn down into the earth, vanishing beneath the muddy surface without a trace. Chapter 37 Chapter 37 The men¡¯s stunned silence was pierced only by the chill wind driving the rain across the square. Carrack¡¯s eyes remained wide open, unblinking, as he struggled to comprehend the surreal disappearance, his hand loosening its hold on the pistol until it clattered into the mud below. Crow approached cautiously, each step weighted with disbelief, his gaze fixed on the spot where Alaina had vanished into the earth. ¡°You shot her,¡± Crow uttered, his voice hollow with shock. Carrack¡¯s words stumbled out in a frantic defense. ¡°I thought it was her ¡­ I swear I saw Matilda.¡± ¡°You shot her,¡± Crow repeated, barely holding together. ¡°And then ¡­ she was just swallowed by the earth. What in the world ¡­ was that? Was it ¡­ Was it because of that?¡± Slowly, his gaze shifted toward the statue, his earlier resolve crumbling as he confronted the silent, imposing figure. Crow continued speaking, but Carrack¡¯s ears rang with his own repeating assertions, drowning out any other sound. He was fixated, his voice breaking as he repeatedly insisted that he had seen Matilda, not Alaina. A maelstrom of unanswered questions swirled in his mind until Crow¡¯s firm grip on his back jolted him back to the present. ¡°Sir!¡± Crow shouted. ¡°Snap out of it!¡± ¡°I¡¯m here, I¡¯m here!¡± Carrack responded shakily, as much a declaration to himself as to Crow. ¡°It must have been the statue; it has to be. We need ¡­ We need¡ª¡± ¡°To leave, now,¡± Crow interjected. ¡°This place is a damn trap!¡± ¡°No!¡± Carrack¡¯s voice cut through the uncertainty. Despite every instinct screaming for retreat, he refused to flee from the statue again. ¡°We¡¯re going to put an end to this now, before it spirals further out of control.¡± But as he steeled himself, the relentless rain that had been a constant backdrop to their plight slowed to a mere drizzle and then ceased altogether. The once-howling wind subsided into an unnerving stillness, leaving nothing but heavy, stale air to caress their skin, raising chills that had nothing to do with the cold. Carrack scanned the restless soldiers, noting their jittery movements and whispered conversations, a collective tension bristling through the ranks. Amidst the unease, one figure stood out: Pugh, detached from the rest, his gaze fixed upward, seemingly entranced by the sky above the statue. Quickly others began to take notice. One by one, soldiers halted their murmurs and movements, their attention drawn skyward, faces etched with a mix of curiosity and dread. The oppressive sensation from above slowly enveloped Carrack once more, an invisible weight pressing down, demanding his attention be cast upwards. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Crow,¡± Carrack hissed urgently, ¡°get the dynamite, now.¡± But when he turned to his second-in-command, Crow was unresponsive, his eyes locked onto the heavens, entranced by whatever spectacle loomed above. Carrack grabbed him, shaking him with force until the daze broke. ¡°Move, get the damn dynamite!¡± Crow¡¯s response came with a tremor, his face pale with shock, but he nodded, summoning a deep, almost primal resolve. He hurriedly moved amongst the soldiers, snapping them out of their own stupors and rallying them to prepare for action. Carrack forced himself to keep his gaze downward, enduring the relentless pressure and resisting the compulsion to look up. He felt every muscle tense in defiance, sweat beading on his brow from the exertion of his will. The intermittent thuds seemed designed to break him, to lure his eyes away, but he steadfastly refused to succumb. Yet, the environment itself betrayed him. The ground, littered with puddles from the earlier rain, acted as nature¡¯s mirrors, unwittingly reflecting the haunting luminescence from above. The moment he caught sight of the eerie glow in the water, his resolve crumbled. The tension drained from his body, and almost as if drawn by a string, his head tilted upward in a smooth, inevitable motion, his eyes finally locking onto the spectral orbs that hovered in the sky. The night sky, previously shrouded in darkness, now played host to four radiant orbs, each emitting a ghostly light in varied colors. They floated aloft, seemingly indifferent to the cloud cover that failed to dim their eerie brilliance. Every soldier, their gaze lifted as if compelled by an unseen force, stood transfixed by the celestial display. A profound, unsettling silence engulfed the square. Carrack¡¯s mouth opened slightly, a wordless attempt at speech or perhaps a gasp of fright, but no sound emerged. Nature itself seemed to pause in reverence to the spectacle: the rain had ceased, the once-vigorous wind reduced to a mere whisper, and the surrounding sea¡¯s continuous roar quieted to a distant murmur. The world around them, it seemed, held its collective breath in the face of the inexplicable. The allure of the orbs was irresistible, their serene light searing into Carrack¡¯s very being as he found himself drawn deeper into their gaze. It was as if he peered through a window to another realm or bore witness to an event that transcended his understanding, overwhelming every sense. The solidity of the world around him seemed to dissolve under their influence, everything bending to their will. Carrack felt an ethereal lightness taking over; his breaths came more easily, and the weight of his thoughts lifted. A sensation of purification washed over him as the occasional distant thuds once again punctuated the silence, now sounding like echoes of a departing entity. This time, Carrack felt no instinct to turn away from the mesmerizing light. Any resistance had evaporated; his body relaxed into surrender, his mind succumbed to numbness, and his gaze remained locked on the orbs. Whispering voices began to encircle him, their origins unknown, speaking in tongues beyond his understanding. As the murmurs swelled into sharp, accusatory tones, a deep, visceral fear surged within him, yet he found himself unable to move or respond. The whispers escalated into loud, haunting echoes, filling his ears and mind. The periphery of his vision started to fade to black, his heart thudding painfully against his chest as his breaths seemed drawn out toward the heavens. A tingling numbness spread throughout him, consuming all sensation until the encroaching darkness claimed his sight completely. With one final, labored breath, Carrack¡¯s consciousness slipped away, leaving him adrift in the void. Chapter 38 Chapter 38 Elsewhere He was nothing. He was nowhere. Until he opened his eyes. The sky above was dark, dotted with faint stars that were strangers to him. He had spent his life learning the stars while aboard ships, yet these ones were new, their patterns strange and unsettling. The air, thick with a stale yet calming scent, filled his lungs and left a lingering unease as it was an aroma he could not place¡ªa scent he had never encountered. As he lay on his back, he noticed the soft splash of water against his ear and felt it around him with his fingers. He expected the sea to be deep, but it was shallow, only reaching his ankles. Rising to his feet, Carrack looked around. The water stretched out to the horizon, with no end in sight. The whole of it was illuminated by a lingering twilight from an unseen source beyond the horizon. Carrack wobbled as he found his footing, his mind grappling with the reality of solid ground beneath him, even as water stretched endlessly around. He slid his foot across the surface, searching for dips that might betray deeper waters, but found none. Taking a hesitant step forward, he braced for a fall that never came, his mind dominated by the fear of sinking. Carrack¡¯s thoughts turned to his whereabouts, the last memory before awakening here being a vivid recollection of lights. Could they have been responsible for his transport to this place? Doubts of his location surfaced¡ªwas this an afterlife, or some realm in between? A sharp pain clenched his head as he dwelled on his arrival, a sensation that eased when he ceased to chase these thoughts. But returned when he started to think about it again, and then receded when he stopped. With a sigh of resignation, Carrack released his pent-up frustration in a single gesture, his hands flinging wide as if to cast away his confusion. ¡°All right,¡± he muttered, a wry twist to his voice acknowledging the absurdity of his predicament, ¡°just don¡¯t dwell on it. Focus on what¡¯s next.¡± He glanced around the barren world. ¡°Well, what is next?¡± Staying still wasn¡¯t what he wanted to do, so he picked a direction and started walking. Slow to start with careful steps soon turned into a normal pace, wading his way as best as he could through the water toward the horizon. As time stretched on, Carrack¡¯s steps through the shallow waters became the sole sound in the stillness, each splash resonating in the quiet. Doubt shadowed his mind, while fatigue weighed on his limbs, slowing his pace to a laborious shuffle. Breathing in the odd air made him ever more conscious of his disconnection from this place. He also noticed something else¡ªa peculiar sensation in the air, like the touch of a breeze where no wind blew. This invisible presence flowed gently around him, ebbing, and weaving with a subtle force. At times, Carrack found himself halting when it intensified, though it was never painful or uncomfortable. What could this be?, he wondered in silent contemplation. The passage of time felt elusive to Carrack, its measure lost in this place. In search of answers, he drew out his pocket watch. But the sight that met his eyes defied all reason¡ªthe minute hand was retreating in its journey, dragging the other hands in its wake. Was time itself reversing? The thought unsettled him, but before he could ponder further, the invisible current began to stir, intensifying around him and with it, the watch hands whirled forward. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. His eyes widened, fixed on the watch, as he tuned into the ebb and flow of the unseen force. It seemed, impossibly, that with every shift of the current, the watch responded, its hands swaying like a flag in the breeze. ¡°Am I ¡­ touching time?¡± Carrack whispered, fingers tentatively reaching into the air. ¡°What is this place?¡± His question hung unanswered, soon overtaken by a soft tune that drifted to him, the clear notes of a violin. The sound tugged at his attention, leading his gaze to a hazy outline in the distance, shimmering like a heat mirage but shaped like an island. The wet squelch in his boots and the raw sensation on his waterlogged feet gave him all the reason he needed to head toward the promise of solid ground. Carrack stepped onto the island, which felt land beneath his feet, a welcome change from the water. The ground was spongy, a marshland with soft earth and tall reeds waving gently. Ahead, lush trees in full leaf formed a gateway to a dark, ancient forest. Though the landscape seemed known to him, doubt lingered. This doubt vanished as he spun around to find that the endless sea had transformed into a wide, dark green river, its banks clear on either side. The air was alive with the usual sounds of nature¡ªbirds calling and water rushing¡ªyet the violin melody threaded through the cacophony. It carried a tune Carrack knew well¡ª¡°The Saints of Evermore¡±, a piece he had often played himself. But the melody twisted into something grotesque, the notes slowing, warping off-key into a screech that grated on his ears. He scanned the shoreline for the musician behind this disturbing rendition. His search abruptly ceased when a dark shape appeared at the edge of his vision on the river. Then, a sickeningly familiar smell hit him, and he turned to face the riverside strewn with blackened figures. They were bodies¡ªswollen, disfigured, bloodied, their faces obliterated by decay. Struck dumb, Carrack couldn¡¯t muster a word as a scream swelled within him, pressure mounting behind his eyes and skull. He stood frozen, witnessing more horrors unfold, the dissonant melody now burrowing mercilessly into his mind. The putrid stench of decay mingled with the acrid bite of smoke, stinging his nostrils. Then, a riverboat carcass drifted into view, its frame consumed by flames. As he watched, the fire seemed to intensify, its glow searing into his retinas. Yet, he couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away. Amidst the blaze, haunting silhouettes stood aboard the vessel, eerily still and unaffected by the inferno that enveloped them. The figures¡¯ stares were like daggers, their piercing gazes locking onto Carrack with an intensity that felt almost physical. He shuddered, the weight of their eyes compelling him to avert his own. Turning to the land for escape, he was instead met with the ghastly sight of wraith-like forms, distorted echoes of people enacting scenes of unspeakable horror upon one another. Screams mingled with the sound of slashing, the echo of gunshots, and the indescribable noise of other atrocities, all underscored by the relentless, discordant screeching of the violin. The melody continued, undisturbed by the chaos it accompanied. Carrack tried to flee, but the earth held fast, sucking him down like quicksand. Panic seized him, logic lost in the futile struggle for freedom. His cries for help were strangely dampened, as if the very air swallowed the sound. The ground claimed him to his waist, a sensation of countless hands dragging him further into its grasp. A specter emerged, its presence ominous, in its hand a long, blade-like object. It towered over him, postured in an eerie stance that sent a wave of cold dread through Carrack. A twisted smile seemed to play across the specter¡¯s face. With a swift arc, the figure brought the blade down towardsCarrack¡¯s head. As the edge met its mark, a scream tore from Carrack¡¯s throat, a scream that pierced the silence before darkness consumed everything. Chapter 39 Chapter 39 The subtle scent of incense lingered in the air, gently pulling Carrack¡¯s consciousness from the depths of sleep. The rush of waking was muted by a strange serenity, guiding him to rise with measured calm. As he sat up, a crust of dried mud flaked from his clothing. Blinking away the remnants of his stupor, the familiarity of his surroundings quickly returned. He was in Lady Matilda¡¯s sanctuary, sprawled across the very altar she would kneel before in prayer. As he stretched his joints and spread his hands to touch the comforting solidness of the earth, he felt something in his hand. It jingled slightly, feeling like a thin chain with an object attached to it. When he looked at it, he found it to be a necklace chain with a ring as its pendant. Only a moment passed before the memory of what it was found him¡ªit was the Inquisitor¡¯s necklace. ¡°Why the hell ¡­ ?¡± Carrack asked himself as its presence opened countless questions he couldn¡¯t possibly hope to answer. At least not yet. Not here anyway. He examined it for any clues or hints as to why it was there but found nothing. Storing it away in his pocket, he decided that there may be an answer back at the fort. Or at least he hoped there would be. The sanctuary was still, lit only by the sliver of light slicing through the slightly open door that led to the rest of the chapel. Around him, the remains of candles had burned down to nothingness. With care, Carrack planted his feet on the ground, steadying himself. A momentary sense of dislocation washed over him; he half-expected the endless waters from that bewildering realm to lap at his ankles. But as he took in the quiet reality of the sanctuary, memories of what he had seen and endured cascaded through his mind¡ªthe clarity of them was undeniable, striking him with the force of a newly remembered dream or, more accurately, the visceral remnants of a nightmare. What was that? A memory? Not mine, that¡¯s for sure, Carrack wondered as he rubbed his head as if he was trying to squeeze out the memory. But he soon was drawn to the present by the subtle creaks he heard from outside the sanctuary. With each step, Carrack moved cautiously, eyes scanning every shadow and corner for any sign of disorder. Instinctively, his right hand drifted to his hip, searching for the reassuring presence of his sidearm¡ªonly to find the holster empty, the weapon absent. Defenseless and fresh from the grips of a nightmare that still clawed at his mind, he stood in the last place he wished to be. The impulse to flee was checked by the chapel¡¯s eerie stillness. Roaming through the hallowed halls, he found them deserted. No Listeners busied themselves with daily rituals; no silent figures lay in repose for the rites of death. It was as if life had abruptly departed, leaving behind only spent candles, lifeless incense burners, and holy texts scattered amidst a thin veil of dust. Reaching the door, Carrack hesitated, his hand on the latch. He cast a final glance over his shoulder, the lingering sensation of a presence urging him to double-check the chapel¡¯s emptiness. With no one in sight, he pushed the door open, stepping out to the relief of recognizing Helena, yet a nervous tension clung to him. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. The familiar rain was absent, leaving an unsettling calm in its stead, a day still and silent, lacking both wind and sun. Walking to the road¡¯s center, Carrack lifted his eyes to the sky, drawn toward the square. There, amidst the overcast expanse, hung four orbs of light, their ghostly luminescence painting the world in unreal shades. The sight rooted him to the spot, the last shreds of belief in a return to normalcy slipping away with their otherworldly glow. Carrack averted his gaze, wary of falling under the spell of those lights and the nightmares they might bring. He steeled himself for an unseen force to grasp at him, but there was only the quiet around him. No pull, no invisible pressure¡ªnothing. His eyes drifted back to the orbs reluctantly, and he found no malice in their glow, only a serene light that masked the fear they stirred in him. Yet, their very innocence was disquieting, unsettling him in a way he couldn¡¯t quite explain¡ªas it would for anyone who beheld such an out-of-place wonder. A whisper in an unfamiliar language brushed past Carrack¡¯s ear, fleeting as a breeze, spurring him to spin around. The street behind him was deserted, lifeless. The ground, dry and parched of moisture, was a tapestry of hardened footprints, all converging toward the square where the otherworldly lights¡ªand likely the statue¡ªremained. Carrack felt a cold twinge of fear; the last thing he wanted was to be ensnared by more visions of terror. Determined to steer clear of the square, he set his sights on the lighthouse, the site of the radio array, and ventured in the opposite direction. A few blocks on, his resolve wobbled as he beheld the fate of the lighthouse: the upper section had collapsed, tumbling down the cliff into the churning sea below, leaving behind only fragments teetering on the brink. Carrack couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this was all too surreal. ¡°Another damn nightmare,¡± he muttered, scanning his surroundings for anything out of place, though he couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint what he expected to find. Then it struck him¡ªhis watch. With a sense of urgency, he whispered, ¡°The watch!¡±, as if it held all the answers. Fumbling for it, the familiar chill of the timepiece¡¯s metal was strangely comforting. He drew it out, hoping his suspicions would be confirmed. But as he watched the second hand sweep its regular rhythm, a wave of disappointment washed over him. No backward movement, no bizarre anomalies¡ªit was just a watch, functioning as intended. For a long moment, Carrack stared, half-expecting the spectral breeze to twist its hands once more. But reality held firm. There was no dream to wake from, no alternative existence¡ªhe was indeed on Helena, grounded in the life he knew, but twisted into something he couldn¡¯t quite understand. Carrack found little comfort in the situation, his options limited. He considered detouring to the fort and avoiding the square altogether but quickly discarded the thought with a sense of resignation. The best way there for certain was the way he least wanted to go. There was also the possibility that the fort had suffered a similar fate to the lighthouse since that was symbol of the garrison¡¯s authority. The footprints that marred the ground, seemingly leading everyone to the square, burdened his mind. What mass exodus had occurred here, and to what end? The purpose remained just out of reach, elusive, yet he felt the answer was intertwined with the persistent lights above. As his eyes lifted to meet them again, a sense of understanding teased at the edge of his perception, as if the truth lay just beyond the horizon of his awareness. Carrack¡¯s foot tapped a restless rhythm on the ground, his impatience clouding his judgment. It was the knowledge of what must be done¡ªand his own vexing reluctance¡ªthat gnawed at him. With a frustrated bite of his lip and a dismissive shake of his head, he acknowledged the inevitable. The square held the keys to the enigma surrounding him. Resigned, he began his march toward it, a chill tracing its way up his spine with each determined step he took. Chapter 40 Chapter 40 Stepping into the square, Carrack kept his gaze low, reluctant to confront the statue¡¯s oppressive form or the lights¡¯ eerie presence above. The ground was a mosaic of footwear impressions¡ªshoes, boots, even the curves of bare soles¡ªuntil they reached an inexplicable halt. Beyond this line, the earth was undisturbed, smooth, and untouched. As he surveyed the square, a clear boundary became apparent, a ring where the footprints dared not tread. Carrack¡¯s breath caught as he finally allowed his gaze to rise to the statue dominating the square. A dark addition marred its familiar silhouette, drawing him in with a terrifying fascination, like a moth compelled toward a devastating blaze. He approached, seemingly crossing the boundary where the footprints ended without a moment¡¯s hesitation, his steps silent on the undisturbed ground. As Carrack drew closer, the grisly scene before him sharpened into gruesome clarity, though comprehension remained just beyond his grasp. Draped across the statue¡¯s base was a figure, its form mutilated, unnaturally fused to the stone as if it had sprouted from the very material. The body was contorted in an eerie semblance of grace, a ghastly marriage of flesh and sculpture. The head of the victim was bowed, resigned, as if in defeat, accepting the grim bond with its inanimate captor. Carrack instinctively raised his hand to shield his nose as he leaned in, trying to decipher who the victim of this atrocity was. Recognition dawned as he peered closer; the disfigured face, even marred by gruesome injuries, was unmistakably that of the Inquisitor. ¡°God ¡­ all of them, any of them,¡± Carrack gasped out, the words barely a whisper. He stared, horrified, at the Inquisitor¡¯s remains. ¡°What happened to you, you poor fucker?¡± Carrack murmured. Carrack¡¯s gaze was suddenly drawn to a faint glow emanating from within the corpse. Nestled amidst the grotesque display was an object enshrouded in blood vessels that wrapped around it like clinging vines, the surface emitting a dim purple light that reminded him of the mysterious energy shared between himself and Lady Matilda. It was the Inquisitor¡¯s journal, the same one discovered on the ship. His hand paused momentarily, hovering over the gruesome cavity that once housed the Inquisitor¡¯s heart. Despite his revulsion and the knowledge that the journal was filled with cryptic text, a compelling urge to retrieve it overtook him. With a grimace, he steeled himself and reached in, flinching as his fingers met the macabre mix of moist and hardened matter. The blood vessels crunched ominously under his touch, yet the journal remained stubbornly in place. ¡°Stubborn son of a bitch,¡± Carrack grunted, abandoning his attempts. Disgust etched on his face, he wiped his hands along his clothes, attempting to rid himself of the ghastly residue. He paused, a shudder coursing through him as he muttered, ¡°Apologies for disturbing the dead, Inquisitor. Of course, it¡¯s probably more than you deserve, knowing your kind.¡± His voice trailed off before hardening again. ¡°Shit, I can think of all the ways folks have probably wished death upon you ¡­ but this ¡­ this fate seems too abominable, even for you.¡± Carrack examined the Inquisitor¡¯s corpse, an unexpected surge of pity welling in his heart for the man who was no more. His gaze lingered on the bowed head, surprisingly intact amidst the ruin of the body. As Carrack recalled the necklace he¡¯d discovered upon awakening, his hand instinctively clutched it in his pocket, feeling its cool, knotted chain. Perhaps it was a sense of honor or an unspoken connection to his past that moved him, but he felt compelled to return it to its rightful place. Carefully, he approached the body, disentangling the necklace with gentle, almost reverent motions. He leaned over the corpse, placing it around the Inquisitor¡¯s neck, ensuring it lay flat against what was left of the Inquisitor¡¯s garb. Stepping back, he bowed his head in a moment of respect. ¡°Hope you find your way to solace,¡± he whispered, the words more for himself than the departed. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Carrack turned, his steps leading him back toward the road that would return him to the fort. He mulled over various scenarios of what awaited him there, his mind a whirl of plans and contingencies. Yet, as he began to move away, a chilling, wet crunch halted him mid-stride. He scanned the ground, finding no apparent source for the disturbing noise. Then, a series of more crunches, gushes, and snaps echoed, each one causing his skin to crawl and his muscles to tense. With a sense of dread mounting, he slowly turned back. The statue, once inert, was now the epicenter of an abomination. A ghastly mixture of flesh and tissue seeped from the earth, slithering up like malignant sludge. It enveloped the Inquisitor¡¯s corpse, filling cavities and reconfiguring limbs in a grotesque parody of healing. The once-dead flesh began to twist and contort as if it were a puppet controlled by some unseen force, each movement a blasphemy against nature itself. Carrack¡¯s breath caught in his throat as he witnessed the profane spectacle, the sight searing itself into his memory. As the foul sorcery continued its work, the Inquisitor¡¯s eyes snapped open, drawing a sharp, gasping breath that echoed ominously. Carrack recoiled in shock, his heart hammering as he witnessed the impossible. The Inquisitor convulsed in a violent coughing fit, each spasm seeming to reconnect him with the living world, though his body remained grotesquely fused to the statue. Gradually, the coughing subsided, and the Inquisitor¡¯s head lifted, his gaze sweeping the surroundings in bewildered horror. It lingered on the sky, the town, and finally the ground, before settling on the necklace he once wore. A semblance of peace washed over his features as he touched the familiar object, his breathing steadying. Turning his gaze to Carrack, the Inquisitor¡¯s eyes¡ªone green, one blue¡ªbore into him with an intensity that was nearly palpable. He murmured incoherently, his voice a hoarse whisper. Amidst the ramblings, Carrack caught a few chilling words: ¡°The seal ¡­ broken.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that now?¡± Carrack urged, attempting to break through the Inquisitor¡¯s frenzied mutterings. ¡°I¡¯m thinking!¡± the Inquisitor roared back, agony and frustration warping his voice. ¡°Who needs to think? I do! Not you, me! Please.¡± His words cascaded in a torrent of madness, each sentence battling the next. ¡°Stop! Stop! Cut it, clean it! Tie the knots well, not too tight, don¡¯t burn the meat on that!¡± His voice peaked in a symphony of pain and anger, echoing around the silent, desolate landscape until it ceased. His head drooped, an eerie silence enveloping him. Then, a slow, deep sigh escaped his lips, and he lifted his head once more, a semblance of composure etching his features. ¡°There ¡­ Now it¡¯s just us.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Carrack murmured, trying to hide the nervous edge in his voice. ¡°We ¡­ We were not alone?¡± ¡°Right now, that¡¯s not the question you need to concern yourself with. You and I have far more pressing matters to discuss and unravel, Lord Carrack,¡± the Inquisitor said, his voice carrying an undeniable authority despite his condition. ¡°You know my name,¡± Carrack observed, his tone steady. ¡°Oh, there are many things I know, willing and unwillingly these days,¡± the Inquisitor replied, his voice a low murmur laden with a mix of regret and a haunting sense of burden. ¡°You have my thanks, by the way. The necklace ¡­ It means more to me than you might imagine. I wasn¡¯t certain if you¡¯d harbor enough sympathy for a wretch like me to extend such kindness. I tried to tell her that we¡¯re not the most likable of people, but she insisted that¡ª¡± He abruptly silenced himself, his eyes narrowing as if suddenly aware he¡¯d revealed too much. ¡°Her?¡± Carrack¡¯s voice cut through the tension, his curiosity piqued by the mention of a mysterious woman. ¡°Dismiss any thoughts of her!¡± the Inquisitor interjected. ¡°All will be revealed in due time.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not so certain ¡®time¡¯ holds the same meaning for me anymore,¡± Carrack countered, earning a puzzled tilt of the Inquisitor¡¯s head. ¡°I¡¯ve just come from a place where time seemed ¡­ more fluid.¡± ¡°Ah!¡± the Inquisitor¡¯s eyes lit up with a flicker of understanding. ¡°You refer to the Elsewhere. That does clarify matters.¡± ¡°Elsewhere?¡± Carrack echoed, his brow furrowing in confusion. ¡°Yes, the liminal space between consciousness and oblivion. It¡¯s a complex and elusive concept,¡± the Inquisitor sighed. ¡°And can you shed more light on it?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°No?¡± Carrack repeated, his curiosity turning to bewilderment. ¡°Exactly, no. Even if I wished to, I am not allowed to divulge such secrets.¡± ¡°Allowed to?¡± Carrack latched on to the word, his interest sharpening. ¡°Precisely, allowed to. My presence here is tied to a distinct purpose¡ªone that involves you more than you realize,¡± the Inquisitor revealed, his tone grave. ¡°And what purpose could be so important to bring you back from the dead?¡± A pause hung in the air as Carrack awaited the response. Then, a sly smirk twisted the Inquisitor¡¯s features, a chilling prelude to his ominous words: ¡°To execute my final inquisition.¡±