The once vibrant forest at the edge of Terra Neralis now lay silent, suffocating beneath the blood-red sky. What once teemed with chirping birds and rustling wind was now still—too still. Even the leaves seemed afraid to move.
The royal guards combed through the area in full armor, each step careful, each breath calculated. The air was colder here—unnatural, as if some hidden force had stolen the warmth from the sun and buried it beneath the soil.
At the center of this search stood General Ovrek, his dark blue cloak rustling softly behind him as he moved. His eyes swept across the terrain with the sharpness of a hawk, tracing the ground like a cartographer of war and omen alike.
"So… this is where it happened," he muttered, his voice low but heavy with calculation.
The earth bore traces of a struggle—dragged footprints, splatters of blood soaked deep into stone and dirt, clawed vines that had been disturbed, and broken branches snapped violently at odd angles.
The signs were fresh, but whatever had occurred here had left no conclusion. No trail. No final moment. Just… absence.
"Keep searching," Ovrek commanded. "Don't miss a single detail. This entire clearing is suspect."
His men obeyed, fanning out through the thorny undergrowth, brushing aside leaves, sniffing the air for toxins, casting detection spells for spiritual residue.
But there was nothing.
They found Layra's blood, yes. They found the claw marks from her desperate escape. They even discovered the spot where Zerem's boots had scuffed the dirt.
But there was no trace—none—of the man who had stolen both the scroll and Zerem's consciousness.
"It's like he vanished into thin air," one of the guards murmured, unnerved.
"No," Ovrek whispered, mostly to himself. "He didn't vanish."
He turned his gaze toward the sky. Evening had come in Terra Neralis—but the sky remained unchanged. Crimson. Hollow.
And that same black moon still loomed like the eye of a dead god.
To anyone else, this should have been impossible.
Ovrek clenched his fists at his sides, his thoughts racing with venomous clarity.
" On the first day, the kingdom of Richha sends Zerem, a high-ranking advisor and military tactician, along with a suspiciously generous offer—ten million gold coins, more than two hundred handmade jewels, one thousand soldiers, five hundred horses, a hundred elephants, fifty trained women of their royal concubine order, and three ancient swords…"
He grit his teeth.
"The Three Blades of the Fourth Apocalypse… known as the Brothers of Destruction. Weapons sealed in blood. Preserved by Richha for centuries under the pretense of tradition and protection."
"Why bring them here?" he murmured.
He remembered Zerem's smile. A perfect mask of diplomacy. And he remembered the figure that visited him that night. The man draped in black, his eyes reflecting nothing. Not even the flames of the candlelight.
"He called himself 'The Hermit'… no threats, no weapons… just silence. A presence so cold it felt like death brushing my shoulder. He warned me. He told me to refuse Richha's offer. I didn't listen."
Then it all happened.
The Red Eclipse. The seal at Temple Nera was broken. The sacred scroll stolen. Zerem left in a coma, eyes wide and soul missing. And the Tula child—Layra—dragged into it all.
"A Tula girl found the hidden shrine that's been sealed for generations. A room even the Brawns feared to enter. How? Who told her? Who gave her the knowledge? The language of the scroll? The location of the basement?"
His jaw tightened.
"All of this connects to him—that ghost of a man."
A sudden shout pulled Ovrek from his storming mind.
"General!" one of the guards called from across the clearing. "We heard it! The bells—the same sound the Richhan soldiers described!"
Instantly, Ovrek's eyes snapped toward the source.
"Cover your ears!" he shouted. "And your noses—now! Any scent or sound could be a sedative spell!"
His soldiers reacted with practiced precision, plugging their nostrils with incense cotton and sealing their ears with magical wax.
They formed a tight perimeter, encircling the thicket where the sound originated—blades drawn, spells primed.
Ovrek himself moved to the front, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword. The bushes shook faintly.
Then silence.
No chirps. No winds. Only the muffled thrum of the blackened sky.
In one swift motion, Ovrek drew an arrow from his quiver, notched it, and released.
THUNK.
A sound of impact. Something had been hit.
"Hold position!" he barked, then approached with caution.
Removing the plugs from his ears and nostrils, he advanced through the leaves, blade ready.
Then, as he parted the dense foliage, his eyes narrowed.
It was a boar. A wild creature. Dead from his arrow, blood still fresh.
But around its neck—was a pair of small ceremonial bells. Identical to those described by Zerem's soldiers.
The tension shattered into confusion.
A few guards sighed in silent relief.
Ovrek, however, did not relax. His brows furrowed. His gaze burned with rage.
"You bastard," he muttered, snapping the arrow in half and throwing it aside.
"This wasn't an accident…" he whispered, "This was a distraction. A misdirection."
–––
Inside Temple Nera, was The Sacred Vault,
The inner sanctum of Temple Nera was dim and cold. A handful of Brawns stood around the once-sealed chamber, their ceremonial robes heavy with gold thread, their expressions grim.
At the far end of the chamber stood Yama, a tall Brawn with long braided hair and one blind eye. His hand hovered over the ancient doorway. The seal was not shattered—it was cleanly removed.
Like it had never existed.
"This… shouldn't be possible," one of the junior Brawns murmured.
Yama's eyes were dark.
"No force from within our kingdom, not even a Brawn of the highest class, could undo this seal. And yet it is gone. As if unthreaded."
"That means someone with knowledge older than us—older than this place—was involved," another whispered.
"Or…" Yama exhaled slowly. "Someone from beyond these lands. An Outsider."
A silence settled.
Then suddenly—Yama's face shifted.
His eye twitched.
He turned his head sharply, scanning the darkness near the back of the chamber.
"...What is it?" one of the others asked.
"I felt something," Yama whispered.
"Someone?"
"No... I don't know. Just… a presence."
The other Brawns turned to look.
But there was nothing there.
No one.
Yet the air felt slightly cooler.
Almost like breath on their necks.
–––
Back at the Forest,
General Ovrek and his men gathered at the center of the clearing once more.
"Any signs?" he asked.
"Nothing. No magic residue, no footprints, no scent. It's as if the girl and the man were never here."
Ovrek stared at the spot again—the stones marked with blood, the broken roots.
"They were here," he said. "But they are not of this place."
He turned his back on the forest, walking toward his horse.
"Return to the palace.Triple the patrols near the shrine and the southern border. Send word to the Grand Seers—we may be dealing with a phenomenon beyond our realm."
"And the man in black?" a soldier asked.
Ovrek paused, eyes narrowing.
"…I'll handle him myself."