The morning light streamed through the small window of Lucian’s room, casting a golden glow over the wooden floorboards. He blinked his eyes open, groaning softly as he tried to shift. His entire body ached, the remnants of last night’s battle lingering in every muscle. It wasn’t as bad as before—he could move now without feeling like his limbs were weighed down by stone—but the soreness reminded him of just how much he had pushed himself.

  He inhaled deeply, letting the crisp morning air fill his lungs. As he turned his head slightly, his gaze landed on the small window across the room. The sunlight poured in, warm and inviting, illuminating the dust motes drifting in the air. He stared at it for a moment, lost in thought.

  When was the last time he had taken a proper bath?

  The question came unbidden, and his lips curled slightly in amusement. Between the long journey, the relentless training, and the battle from the night before, he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be truly clean. His clothes were stiff with dried sweat and dust, and his hair felt tangled from the rough night’s sleep.

  Pushing through the lingering soreness, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and forced himself to stand. He staggered slightly but steadied himself with a deep breath. Across the room, a modest wooden door led to a small bathing area. Without hesitation, he made his way toward it, his body already craving the warmth of the water.

  Inside, the bathroom was simple but functional. A wooden tub sat against the wall, filled with fresh water that had been prepared sometime that morning. Steam still curled faintly from its surface, and the sight alone was enough to make Lucian sigh in relief. Shedding his worn clothes, he stepped into the bath, shivering slightly as the warmth seeped into his skin.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, Lucian allowed himself to relax. The heat worked through his sore muscles, dulling the ache in his limbs. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment, letting his thoughts drift. His mind replayed the events of the night before—the fight, the man’s words, the way his body had moved with newfound precision. He had fought well. But he still wasn’t strong enough.

  He exhaled slowly, pushing those thoughts aside for now.

  By the time he emerged from the bath, he felt marginally better. His clothes, though still worn from travel, felt more comfortable against his now-clean skin. Running a hand through his damp hair, he took one last glance at his reflection in the water before stepping out into the main room. His stomach growled faintly, and as if on cue, the scent of warm food drifted through the air.

  Descending the wooden stairs, Lucian found the inn’s common room bustling with the usual morning activity. Mercenaries, travelers, and locals alike filled the space, sharing stories over steaming plates of food. He made his way toward the counter, where the burly innkeeper was already waiting for him.

  “Good timing, lad,” the innkeeper said gruffly, setting a plate of food in front of him. “That man who brought you in last night—he came by earlier. Left a message for you.”

  Lucian’s brow furrowed as he picked up the warm bread from the plate, listening intently.

  “Said to meet him at the marketplace once you’re done eating,” the innkeeper continued, wiping his hands on a rag. “Paid for your meal, too. Seems like he’s got some business with you.”

  Lucian nodded slowly, taking a bite of the food. The warm, savory flavors were a welcome change from the dried rations he had been living on. As he ate, he turned the words over in his mind. The man—Darius, he recalled—had paid for his meal and left instructions. That meant he hadn’t abandoned him. He was still willing to take him to Orin Kael.

  Finishing the last of his meal, Lucian stood, stretching his sore limbs once more. Whatever awaited him at the marketplace, he would be ready.

  With one final nod to the innkeeper, he stepped out into the bustling morning streets, the sun warm on his face, and made his way to the marketplace.

  ---------------------------------

  Lucian walked slowly, his muscles still aching from the battle the night before. Each step reminded him of the strain his body had endured, but compared to last night, he felt much better. The streets of the village were bustling with life—merchants shouting their prices, townsfolk chatting and laughing, children running between stalls. It was a stark contrast to the quiet halls of the church where he had spent most of his life under Father Aldric’s care. The noise, the movement, the sheer presence of so many people—it was overwhelming.

  Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t realize he had reached the marketplace. Darius was already there, standing with his arms crossed, his expression far different from last night. The warmth and humor were gone, replaced by something unreadable—doubt, perhaps. It was clear he was deep in thought.

  Darius noticed Lucian’s approach and greeted him with a nod. “You’re here. Good.” His voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it. “We’re leaving immediately. I have a lot of questions for you on the road.”

  Before they could take another step, Darius gave Lucian a once-over, his gaze settling on the young man’s worn-out clothes. The fabric was old, showing signs of wear from years of use and training. With a small sigh, Darius shook his head. “First things first,” he said, turning towards the nearby stalls. “You need new clothes.”

  Lucian hesitated. He had never really thought about what he wore before. The church provided simple robes and tunics, and practicality had always been the priority. Darius, however, had already made the decision for him.

  They wove through the market until Darius stopped at a vendor selling garments suited for travelers and warriors. Without giving Lucian a chance to protest, he picked out a set of clothes and handed them over. “Here, put these on.”

  Lucian took the set and examined them. The outfit was a dark, fitted tunic reinforced with light leather padding around the shoulders and chest—sturdy but not restrictive. The sleeves were long but could be rolled up if needed. The pants were of a durable fabric, secured with leather straps at the thighs for carrying small pouches or weapons. A dark cloak was included, useful for travel and keeping a low profile. To complete the ensemble, there were new boots—sturdy, built for long journeys.

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  Darius smirked slightly. “Can’t have you walking around looking like a lost priest. You’re on a journey now. You should dress like it.”

  Lucian nodded slowly, taking the clothes and stepping behind a stall to change. When he emerged, he felt… different. The outfit fit well, allowing for movement while offering some protection. He wasn’t a warrior yet, but for the first time, he looked like someone preparing for the road ahead.

  Darius gave a nod of approval. “Much better.” Then, without another word, he turned and started walking. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time. We need to move.”

  Lucian followed Darius through the bustling marketplace, still adjusting to the lively atmosphere around him. The noise, the scents, the sheer movement—it was all so different from the quiet halls of the church where he had spent most of his life. Lost in thought, he barely noticed when they left the market behind, the village gradually giving way to a quieter path leading toward the stables.

  A covered wagon stood waiting, horses already hitched and ready to go. Lucian’s steps slowed as he noticed a familiar figure leaning casually against the wagon, arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips.

  "Garrin?"

  The merchant turned, grinning widely. "Ah, if it isn’t my favorite stray! Still breathing, I see."

  Darius glanced at Lucian. "I take it you two have already met."

  Garrin chuckled. "Oh, we go way back. Helped him deal with some bandits on the road. Good lad, this one." He clapped Lucian on the shoulder before adding, "And now we cross paths again. Coincidence? Fate? Or just the road having a sense of humor?"

  Lucian frowned, still surprised. "But what are you doing here?"

  "Business, of course," Garrin said with a shrug. "Your destination happens to be on my route, and I figured, why not? Plus—" he shot a glance at Darius "—I owe this one a favor or two. Thought I’d pay him back while making a little profit along the way."

  Darius let out a quiet sigh. "You never change."

  "And why would I?" Garrin said, grinning. Then, gesturing to the wagon, he added, "Well? You both getting in, or do you fancy walking?"

  Lucian climbed into the wagon, still processing the unexpected reunion. Darius followed, settling across from him as the wagon lurched forward.

  For a while, the only sounds were the steady clatter of hooves and the creak of wooden wheels. Then, Darius finally spoke, his tone serious.

  "Now, Lucian. We’ve got a long road ahead." His sharp eyes met Lucian’s. "And I have a lot of questions."

  Lucian nodded, bracing himself. The village faded into the distance behind them. The journey ahead was uncertain, but at least, for now, he wasn’t alone.

  The wagon rolled forward with a steady rhythm, the creaking of wood and the clatter of hooves filling the morning air. The road stretched before them, winding through patches of trees and open fields where the golden light of dawn painted everything in a soft glow. A cool breeze carried the scent of earth and distant woodsmoke, a stark contrast to the blood and steel Lucian had faced the night before.

  Lucian sat in the back of the wagon, his body still sore from the battle, but the pain was manageable now. Darius sat across from him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Garrin, in his usual easygoing manner, handled the reins, occasionally humming a tune under his breath as he guided the horses.

  For a time, no one spoke. Only the sounds of the road filled the silence. Then, finally, Darius shifted his gaze to Lucian.

  “So,” Darius said, his voice calm but firm. “I gave you time to rest, but now I need to know the truth.”

  Lucian met his gaze, already expecting this.

  Darius leaned forward slightly. “What really happened to Father Aldric? And what does his death have to do with you being here?”

  Garrin glanced back, curiosity flickering in his eyes, though he said nothing.

  Lucian exhaled slowly, thinking of where to begin.

  Lucian hesitated, his gaze fixed on the wooden floor of the wagon as it rocked gently with the road. He took a slow breath before speaking.

  "I don't know his name… but before I ran, Father Aldric called him 'the 12th Scion.' I—I didn’t see much of the battle, but I felt it. The power in the air, the sheer force of it… It was unlike anything I’ve ever known. Father Aldric fought him alone, and I—" Lucian clenched his fists, his voice tightening. "I ran, just as he told me to. That’s all I remember."

  The wagon jolted slightly as Garrin guided the horses over a bump in the road. Darius, sitting across from Lucian, suddenly stiffened. His expression shifted from curiosity to shock, his brows furrowing deeply.

  "The 12th Scion?" Darius repeated, his voice quieter but heavy with disbelief. He leaned forward, searching Lucian’s face. "Are you certain that’s what Aldric said?"

  Lucian nodded. "Yes. It was the last thing I heard him say before I ran."

  Darius exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, his usual steady demeanor cracking. He muttered a curse under his breath.

  Garrin, who had been quietly listening while steering the wagon, glanced over his shoulder. "That’s a name I wish I hadn’t heard again," he murmured, his usual jovial tone absent.

  Darius rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "If that’s true… then Aldric wasn’t just fighting some powerful foe. He was up against something far worse." He looked at Lucian, his eyes searching. "And you saw him? Even for a moment?"

  Lucian shook his head. "No… I only felt it. The power, the weight of his presence… It was overwhelming."

  Darius sat back, letting out a slow breath. His fingers drummed anxiously against his knee. "Damn it…" he muttered. "This changes everything."

  Lucian let the silence stretch between them before finally speaking.

  "You know something about them, don’t you?" His voice was quiet but unwavering.

  Darius met his gaze, hesitating. His fingers curled slightly, as if weighing whether to say what he knew. Finally, he exhaled and leaned forward, lowering his voice.

  "There’s a name," he said carefully. "A name most mortals dare not speak. A name that should have been erased from history long ago."

  Lucian watched him intently, waiting.

  Darius clenched his jaw before finally saying it. "Voidaris."

  The air inside the wagon felt heavier, as if the very act of speaking the word had drawn unseen eyes upon them. Even Garrin, who had been quietly listening while steering the wagon, stiffened slightly at the sound of it.

  "What is that?" Lucian asked, feeling the weight of the name settle in his chest.

  Darius hesitated again but then sighed, shaking his head. "You have the right to know. Your mentor died fighting one of them."

  Lucian leaned in. "Tell me everything."

  Darius kept his voice low, as if he feared someone—or something—might be listening. "Voidaris is no mere legend, no drunken fable told in mercenary halls. It is real. And it is feared." He glanced at Lucian, gauging his reaction before continuing.

  "They are a forgotten order, bound to something ancient… something that should not exist. They serve a being known only as the Hollow Lord. No one knows what it is. No one dares to seek it out. It has no face, no true name, only a presence that lingers in the dark corners of history. Even the mention of it is enough to bring misfortune."

  Lucian’s grip tightened. "And the Scions?"

  Darius exhaled sharply. "The Hollow Lord does not act alone. It has twelve enforcers, twelve beings who serve as its will in the mortal realm. The Scions. No one knows where they come from—some say they were once men, others say they were never human to begin with. But what is certain is that they are powerful. And they do not leave survivors."

  He shook his head. "I never thought they were real. I never wanted to believe it. But if Aldric fought one…" His voice trailed off, and for the first time since Lucian met him, there was something in his expression that looked close to fear.

  Lucian sat back, processing everything. He had run from that battle, from the overwhelming power that had crushed his mentor. And now he knew the name of what Aldric had faced.

  Garrin finally broke the silence. "You know, lad," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "If that’s true, if these Voidaris are real, and if your mentor really fought one of their Scions…" He let out a low whistle. "Then we’re all tangled up in something far bigger than we realized."

  The wagon continued down the road, but the world around them felt different—heavier. As if speaking the name Voidaris had left a mark that could not be undone.