Orist found Adam in one of the manor’s quiet corridors, his usual easy grin replaced by a sharp, unyielding gaze. Without a word, Orist grabbed Adam’s arm and led him into a secluded, dimly lit room. The space was bare and cold—save for a single wooden chair at its center. With a curt nod, Orist gestured for Adam to sit, his eyes heavy with unspoken questions.

  Adam settled into the chair, raising an eyebrow in guarded amusement. “What’s this about?” he asked, his tone light yet edged with caution.

  Orist crossed his arms, his voice a low rumble. “Why did you lie?”

  “Lie? About what?” Adam replied, confusion mingling with a hint of irritation. “I’ve been honest, Orist.”

  “Don’t play coy,” Orist said, his tone sharpening. “You claimed you retired to be with your family. But I know the truth—you don’t have to hide it from me, not after everything we’ve been through.”

  Adam’s casual demeanor faltered, revealing a flash of raw pain before he masked it with bitter humor. “And what truth is that, exactly?”

  Orist leaned forward, his expression softening just a fraction. “I know about the kidnapping. I know about your wife and child. You didn’t have to pretend.”

  Adam’s hands clenched until his knuckles went white. His voice dropped, trembling with regret, “What was I supposed to say, Orist? ‘Hey, everyone, my family was taken from me, and instead of looking for them, I left to help an old friend?’”

  “Don’t pretend everything’s fine,” Orist urged, his tone gentler now, “We’re friends, Adam. Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

  Adam’s eyes dropped, haunted and tense. “My wife… she’s already gone,” he whispered, the admission heavy in the silence. “I found her body myself. And my daughter—at least, what they’re saying—is still alive. I’ve been working for a man I wouldn’t trust as far as I can throw him. He promised me that if I completed his task, I’d get her back.”

  Orist’s brow furrowed with concern. “How far are you being asked to go?”

  Adam’s voice was barely audible, laced with shame. “I swore I’d never kill. All I have to do is act as a bodyguard during an exchange. But what he’s trading… I can’t even finish that thought.”

  Placing a steady hand on Adam’s shoulder, Orist said softly, “You don’t have to shoulder this alone. If it all falls apart, I’m here—always.”

  Adam looked up, a brief flicker of relief in his eyes. “Thank you, Orist. Thank you… more than you know.”

  The next day, under a pale, awakening sky, a solitary rider approached town. Long shadows stretched across the cobblestones as a lone knight in battered silver armor passed—armor etched with scars from innumerable battles. A tattered yet regal crimson cape billowed behind, and a massive sword, nearly as tall as the knight, rested at their side, its blade catching the fleeting light with hints of old conflicts.

  But what truly stopped the townsfolk in their tracks was the eerie jack o’lantern perched atop the knight’s shoulders. Its carved, grinning face—filled with flickering embers—projected an otherworldly glow as if tracking every wary movement. Villagers fell silent, eyes fixed on the spectral light, as the knight rode steadily toward the manor.

  At the manor’s weathered fa?ade, a familiar silhouette appeared in a window. “Hey Lucy, thanks for joining us. I’m really grateful!” Cyrus called out brightly.

  In that instant, the pumpkin head began to crumble, dissolving away to reveal a lively face. Lucy’s unkempt dirty green hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and her bright emerald eyes, framed by circular glasses and accented with two small moles beneath her right eye, lit up with genuine delight as she waved.

  Stepping through the manor’s grand entrance, she found Cyrus waiting in the entryway—his posture a mix of tense determination and warm welcome.

  “Cyrus, do you think Jasper will be alright? I can’t shake this awful feeling,” she murmured, her calm tone softening with worry.

  “If we succeed in this mission, Lucy, we can save him. That much I promise,” Cyrus replied steadily, his voice offering reassurance.

  Together, they descended the echoing corridors into the meeting room, where the rest of the group was assembled around a long, worn table. As Lucy entered, all eyes turned toward her.

  “This is my ally, Lucy,” Cyrus announced. “Her skills will be invaluable to our cause.”

  Lucy stepped forward, her resolve clear. “I’ll do whatever it takes to save my friend. My ability, Decay, causes any plant life I touch to wither and die. And as a dryad, I can command nature to my will.”

  A ripple of quiet understanding passed among the gathered heroes as they shared snippets of their own powers and personal missions. Lucy’s inquisitive gaze swept over each of them before she asked softly, “I understand why I’m here… but what drives all of you?”

  Ava’s eyes flashed with fierce determination. “I’m here to protect Noah—there’s nothing I won’t do for him.”

  Adam offered a short, knowing nod. “I was just passing through when an old friend—” he gestured briefly toward Orist, “—asked me to lend a hand. I never turn my back on friends.”

  Noah added, with steady conviction, “The God of Monsters himself tasked me with this mission.”

  “I would like to mention that I plan to force him to make you his apostle once this mission is over,” Lux said.

  Cyrus folded his arms, his face hardening into a serious mask. “I see, then I shall offer you the same thing, young Noah.”

  Startled, Noah’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  Cyrus’s tone dropped, laden with quiet authority. “I, too, am a god. I bear the title of the God of Time.”

  Noah’s jaw slackened in disbelief. Before he could voice his surprise, Lux stepped in with a lazy shrug. “Besides the Primordials like me, gods earn their titles by achieving the impossible. Cyrus accomplished a feat so profound that the world itself crowned him in godhood.”

  With deliberate calm, Cyrus raised his hand. A glowing azure halo materialized above his head—a flawless circle adorned with two slowly ticking clock hands that pulsed like a distant heartbeat. The room fell silent as the gentle tick echoed, a reminder of the vast power contained in this seemingly ordinary man.

  “Though the memory of that feat eludes me,” Cyrus continued, his gaze sweeping over each listener and lingering on Noah, “I was deemed worthy of the mantle. And now, Noah, I offer you an opportunity. Prove yourself on this mission, and I will make you my apostle.”

  Noah swallowed hard—a mix of overwhelming inspiration and quiet resolve stirring within him. “I won’t let you down.”

  Lux’s smirk softened into something almost reverent as he crossed his arms. “Becoming an apostle to three gods within a week isn’t something many achieve. You might want to check your arm—I think you’ll find a little surprise.”

  Curious, Noah rolled up his sleeve. His eyes widened at the intricate tattoo newly etched onto his skin: angelic wings rendered in exquisite detail, each feather shimmering with a faint yet potent glow. The markings pulsed with energy, mirroring his heartbeat.

  “That mark declares you my apostle,” Lux explained quietly. “Each apostle’s gift is unique—whatever yours becomes, it will be formidable.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Drawing a deep breath, Noah’s determination solidified. “Thank you, Lux. I promise not to squander this gift.” Turning to the assembled team, his gaze sharpened. “Now, let’s plan our raid against the Black Witch.”

  Cyrus stepped forward, his voice steady and commanding. “Her power lies in the Black Mist. Noah and I will lead the offensive; the rest of you, be ready in support unless we confront threats worthy of your strength.”

  Noah frowned slightly. “Why me? I know that ice can counter the mist, but what of my own abilities?”

  A dark sadness flickered in Cyrus’s eyes as he explained, “The mist was born of a curse—of resentment. When mankind tore the skin from my father to fashion a relic, they seeded a curse. That relic absorbed hate until, over time, it spawned the Black Mist itself.”

  Noah’s grip on his sword tightened. “So my powers might cut through those negative emotions…”

  Cyrus inclined his head gravely. “We must move swiftly. Tomorrow is our best chance—I’m not sure how much longer my brother can withstand the mist’s corruption.”

  Lucy’s soft, urgent voice broke in. “I checked on him; he’s stable for now. But every moment we delay allows the mist to spread further. Our clock is ticking.”

  Noah squared his shoulders, determination blazing in his eyes. “Then tomorrow, we face the Black Witch together. We end this once and for all.”

  That night, the manor lay shrouded in silence as each soul retired to their own darkened sanctuary, steeling themselves for the coming trials. While the others slept, Adam remained alone in his sparse chamber, the dim lamplight casting long, wavering shadows as his heart grew heavy with inner conflict.

  A subtle shimmer rippled through the gloom, and before Adam could blink, a dark portal materialized at the far end of the room. Out stepped a tall figure draped in shifting shadows—Blank, the enigmatic and feared leader of the Crows. His masked face offered no hint of emotion as he produced a small crystal from his pocket, crushing it between calloused fingers. The fragments dissolved into the air like dust on the wind.

  “Just in case,” Blank murmured, his voice silky and ominous. “I wouldn’t want anyone overhearing our little conversation, my dear friend.”

  Adam’s shoulders tensed, though he strove to keep his voice even. “I know you wanted me as a bodyguard tomorrow, but… that might be a problem.”

  Blank waved a gloved hand dismissively. “Not at all. I planned for this. Stay with the group; help weaken the Black Witch. I’ll intercept the fight before it turns deadly. I need only for her to be sufficiently softened up—after which, I will keep my promise.” His tone dropped to a cold certainty. “You’ll have your daughter back.”

  Adam’s throat constricted. “Can I… see her?”

  Blank’s dark gaze narrowed beneath his mask. “I wouldn’t recommend it. When we found her, she was… damaged. Her eyes had been removed—the raw material for death potions, it seems. But her condition is stable. If you do as I ask, I’ll restore them for you.”

  A single tear glinted in the low light as Adam’s composure finally faltered. “Thank you. Please… just help her.”

  Blank inclined his head, his tone softening with a grudging empathy. “I’m a father, Adam. What’s been done to her—what these black markets do daily—is a travesty. I want you with us, permanently. Your task will be as such, rid that rotten continent of the vermin cloaked in righteousness, and bring their spoils to me.”

  Adam’s fists clenched as he struggled with the weight of his decision. “I…I’m not sure your organization is the right place for her to grow up.”

  Blank’s gaze sharpened, as though he were reading every doubt in Adam’s soul. “Are you certain? She’ll have companions her own age, in total four, including a new arrival, a girl named Isabelle, I believe.”

  After a long, tense pause, Adam’s eyes kindled with quiet resolve. “I’ll consider it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for tomorrow.”

  Blank lingered in the doorway, his dark silhouette merging with the unyielding night. A low chuckle escaped him. “Do not mistake me for a villain, Adam. I’m simply doing what is necessary for this world.”

  With that, he stepped back into the portal, swallowed whole by the darkness.

  Alone once more, Adam sank into silence as the burden of his choices pressed down upon him. His gaze fell to the worn floor, and in a barely audible whisper he choked, “Orist… I’m so sorry. So sorry,” as if his murmured regrets could somehow mend the past.

  Noah sat alone in his room, its stillness pressing in on him as he mentally steeled himself for tomorrow. The quiet was abruptly shattered by a soft scuffle outside his door, followed by the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor. Before Noah could react, the door creaked open, and Ava slipped inside, her eyes alight with a blend of irritation and affection. Behind her, several guards lay unconscious.

  “My father is so overprotective,” she huffed, folding her arms. “Honestly, what harm is there in visiting my fiancé? He acts like I’m sneaking into enemy territory.”

  Noah sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the underlying tension. “He’s definitely not thrilled that you knocked out all his guards, Ava.”

  Rolling her eyes, Ava chuckled. “Oh, please. Adam did the same thing. If they're so easily taken down, they're hardly any protection at all.”

  Her playful tone faded as she looked at him, worry cutting through her mirth. “Noah… are you really sure about this? Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with it?”

  Noah drew a deep, steadying breath. “I can’t turn back now, Ava. It’s my duty as the hero. This is what I’m meant to do.”

  Stepping closer, her voice dropped to a tender whisper. “I don’t care about duty, Noah. I’m asking if you want this. Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear. Be honest—with me and with yourself.”

  He hesitated, then forced a smile. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  Ava’s lips tightened, her hands clenching into fists. “You always say that! Every time you dash off on those reckless hunts—bruised, battered—you flash that same smile when you return. And every time, I’m left patching you up, praying the next hunt isn’t the last.”

  “Ava, that was different,” he murmured, his voice softening. “I’m stronger now. I can handle this.”

  Her eyes flashed with both fear and anger. “We’re up against the Black Witch—someone who could crush armies single-handedly. How could I not be worried?”

  Reaching for her hand, Noah murmured, “Ava, trust me. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

  But Ava stepped in close, her gaze fierce as it searched his face. “Trust you? I want to, but you’re always so focused on being strong for everyone else that you forget to look after yourself.” Her voice broke as she whispered, “I can’t bear the thought of losing you, Noah.”

  Before he could answer, she pressed him back onto the bed. A surge of her power cascaded over him, and he felt his limbs stiffen—a gentle paralysis overtaking his body. His eyes grew wide, the words catching in his throat.

  “A-Ava… please… I swear I won’t let anything happen to you tomorrow.”

  She looked down at him, frustration and heartbreak mingling in her eyes. “You idiot. I don’t care what happens to me—it’s you I’m terrified of losing. Just once, could you care about yourself, too?”

  Tears welled as her trembling fingers clutched his shoulder, each drop a silent plea. In that raw, vulnerable moment, her tear-streaked face hovered over him, and Noah’s heart ached with unspoken promises. He managed a shaky smile, his voice soft yet resolute. “Please, Ava… I promise I'll be careful. I’ll come back to you, no matter what.”

  Her grip eased slightly, though she didn’t let go entirely. Instead, she collapsed onto him, her breath heavy and her power still holding him in place. “Ava,” he murmured, “could you… turn off your ability?”

  She nestled closer, her tone half-muffled. “Shut up, you dummy. Just let me stay like this—just for a little while.”

  Noah’s eyes closed as he surrendered to the fragile comfort of her embrace; her steady breathing washed away some of his fear. Eventually, as the night deepened and her power waned, Ava drifted to sleep, leaving Noah to its quiet, bittersweet solace.

  Across the manor, in a dimly lit room far removed from Noah’s chamber, Cyrus sat alone. He reached deep into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a small, glimmering purple crystal. Bringing it to his mouth, he spoke softly into the device.

  “Hey, sister… can you hear me?” he asked, his voice low yet steady.

  The crystal’s light flickered, and a familiar voice resonated back—calm and tinged with amusement. “Cyrus, what’s going on? It’s rare for you to call out of the blue.”

  “Are you still keeping an eye on the Black Witch?” he pressed, his tone darkening with urgency.

  “Always. But why—” Cynthia’s voice cut off, sharpening with concern as she sensed his purpose.

  “We’re storming her castle tomorrow. I need every bit of information you have on her,” Cyrus replied, the hard edge of his words revealing a simmering rage.

  After a long pause, Cynthia’s voice returned, heavy with warning. “Are you insane, brother? Even you know this is reckless. She’s not only powerful—she’s dangerous in ways I can’t fully comprehend.”

  “Cynthia,” he urged, “if you know anything that could help, now is the time. What can you tell me?”

  With a resigned sigh, she said, “She possesses a Demonic Eye… the Alchemist’s Eye. She’s had it since the day Father died.”

  Cyrus’s grip tightened on the crystal as his eyes darkened with fury. “That means she was there—tangled in Father’s death. She must have been one of the heroes in that accursed fight.”

  “I think you're right,” Cynthia replied softly. “She's more than just a target, isn’t she?”

  Cyrus’s voice simmered with determination as he vowed, “I’m going to end her. For Father. For everything she took from us.”

  A pause, then a low sigh drifted through the crystal. “I’ll back you up when you arrive. Good luck.”

  “Thank you, Cynthia. I’ll see you soon.” As the crystal’s glow dimmed, Cyrus was left alone with the quiet hum of his simmering rage and unwavering resolve. The thought of avenging his father sharpened his focus until he closed his eyes.