I hate nights. They are cold, dark and lonely.

  Each night, I hear whispers in my ears, voices that I don't recognize, names I have forgotten and memories that evade me. Their cold embrace numbs my body — the joys I feel, the horrors, I fear. And as I curl up in the corner of my room, all of it fades away. Slowly, like a predator approaching its prey, darkness of night closes in on me, swallowing me in a vortex of the past, as echoes of pain paint the canvas of my heart.

  I know what those whispers want. They want to drag me into the abyss of the past. To remind me of the scars and sorrow I have forgotten. No, made to forget. Each day, each night they torment me. At one point, I, too wished to know of the echoes they echoed, but now, I have become numb to the pain, to the torture and to the dreadful bites of my old self. It was as if an external force stopped me from remembering.

  That’s why, at nights when the world sleeps in peace, I gaze at the stars. They are the only comfort that has preserved my sense of self in these battles at night. Seeing them twinkle in the vast darkness fills me with a strange warm emotion. It makes me want to hold on, that it would be fine, that one day I too will be able to twinkle. Is it hope? I wonder.

  …

  Long time ago, a man born into slavery dared to dream of freedom. Defying his fate, desiring the taboo, he rose above the prison of slavery. That moment marked the rise of a conqueror, one that would come to be known as “Conqueror of mountains of corpses and rivers of blood.”

  Jiyūmaru — he who drowned suns in blood — ruled over the six kingdoms in the vampire continent. His name alone struck fear in the hearts of the twelve great races.

  Yet, none of his accomplishments or what the Elven people would call crimes — could compare to his invasion of Alfheim.

  Alfheim, the sacred abode of high elves, was said to be the only piece of land in the vampire continent capable of resisting the asuras and devas. They whispered that wisdom that didn't exist in all hundred realms existed on Alfheim alone. It was the last kingdom that had survived the prior wars in vampire continent.

  But all of it changed that day, when Mukō Ryūji — as Jiyūmaru’s followers called him — raided Alfheim.

  From the poets to historians, whoever you ask, the story remains same: blood, everywhere

  A conquest that lasted fifteen days, wiped out eighty percent of the population.

  They say no man was left in Alfheim after that war.

  Thousands of children became fatherless.

  Thousands of women became widows.

  Women were raped, the children sold into slavery, and the elders fed to the beasts. All hell broke loose on Alfheim. In the future, the world would call it the Dark ages. The Elves named it the era of Der D?mon der Weisheitvernichtung — the Age of the demon who devoured wisdom.

  Yet, as the saying goes, time heals, and all things return to how they once were. So, it did. When the wheel of time turned, even the mightiest conqueror crumbled beneath its march. Peace returned to Alfheim. The scars of war and sorrow hid under the declarations and cries of freedom.

  During the two hundred years of rule of Jiyumaru and his bloodline, Alfheim changed. Mlecchians — some his followers, some brought in chains, others by promise — made Alfheim their home. Overtime, the line’s blurred: children were born who no longer remembered which side of their blood, had once stood on.

  But silence does not always mean peace. Beneath the surface, a new spark caught flame. After nearly two centuries, revolution rose not with a roar, but a whisper and — from that whisper, a new utopia was born.

  A promised land, forged by both Elf and Mlecchian hands — for both the Elves and Mlecchians.

  When words were forbidden and songs were silenced, only one voice echoed through the land of wisdom:

  “Let there be equality. Let there be peace. Let there be freedom.

  The poets described it like a mirage in the vast desert of barbarism. A fleeting fantasy, a hopeless dream of sapients. A haven where every man is equal, where every man is free and every wish comes true.

  A true utopia.

  And so, they called it, “Eden.”

  ….

  “Gates...” the word poured from my lips unbidden.

  As a brisk mountain wind whipped past me, the frosty air of early dawn stung my skin – a stark contrast to the scorching winds of the south that now felt oddly nostalgic to me. The lumbering steps of the majestic diplodocus, pulling our carriage, made the earth beneath tremble. It dawned on me; we had finally reached our destination.

  Nestled in a lush valley, the mythical city bathed in crisp, cool air of mountains. Cradled by the snow-capped mountains, the city seemed to be hidden from the rest of the continent. A river sliced through mountains, its waters roaring, as if piercing through the very heart of the range. The city gates towered over the landscape like a colossus monument, their grandeur guiding weary travels toward the promised city.

  Butas we neared the city gates., a thick tension hung in the air, more palpable than the brisk mountain wind that whispered through trees. Loud voices filled the surroundings —a storm of frantic voices, stifled sobs and clattering footsteps. The once- serene atmosphere was replaced by a cacophony of sound, where confusion and worry clashed like an untuned orchestra.

  The carriage slowed to an uneasy halt, revealing the source of the frenzy. A massive cloud, dark as if someone had spilled ink across the sky, hung low over the city. It moved as though alive, swallowing the once-flawless view of the city. Yet, this was no mere fog or mist – it was a smothering darkness that devoured the sky line. The air thickened, reeking of charred metal and every breath felt like swallowing ash. I gagged as the stench hit me, burnt hair and sulfur. So strong that it prickled like needles in my nose.

  The revelation of looming clouds and shifting atmosphere proved to be only a disquieting prelude to the chaos that awaited us at the gates. As we moved closer, the city gates stood barricaded — blocked with wooden beams, iron bars, and piles of rubbles.

  A large crowd of people had gathered, clamoring at the men, dressed in red and black uniforms. The mob was a blend of different ages, gender and races but all wore the same expression: desperation and fury.

  A hundred voices tore through the air, shouting, demanding, begging to be heard.

  The uniformed men, seemingly guards, held spears and shields, using them to push and restrain the mob.

  “Let us in! We have families inside!” the crowd yelled in unison.

  “What’s going on? Why have you closed the gates? I need to meet my children” a father pitched.

  The frantic crowd screamed and pleaded for answers, but the guards were firm and unmoved. They were indifferent to the people’s anguish. It was an unusual situation, not what we had expected. With wonder and apprehension, we watched the scene unfold before us. Ludwig and I dismounted from the nightshades, our shadowy stallion, as we sought to know what was happening. It was then that one of the guards noticed our presence and approached us.

  He met our gaze with a weary and grim expression, his face pale and drawn. Slowly, he shook his head, as though burdened by a truth he could scarcely admit and then murmured in a low voice, “I’m sorry, you can’t enter. The city is in crisis.”

  The words struck me like a physical blow. After months of travel, of clinging to hope of entering the fabled city, the gates were before me – only to slam shut. My breath hitched, fingers tightening around the reigns of my nightshade. The voices around us blurred into the white noise and I felt my hopes collapsing, fragile as a sandcastle swept away by the tide. I felt sick. I wanted to run away. It couldn’t end like this.

  Then, cutting through the numbness, a voice calm and stern like the frosty winds of Kusherk, snapped me out of it. I turned. A man stood beside me.

  He was tall, and handsome, his silver hair falling in soft waves over his forehead. Serene blue eyes sparkled with intelligence yet radiated composure, while long bangs veiled his left eye, adding to his mysterious charm. His lips curved into a faint smile as he began to speak.

  “Crisis? What crisis?” Izel asked.

  His voice was clear and crisp, slicing through the air like a razor blade. The guard flinched at its abrupt edge, gasping before dropping his gaze. “I- I’m sorry, I can’t tell you more... But trust me, it’s better to turn back and leave,” he said, his eyes filled with pity and sorrow as he looked at us.

  “I see,” Izel’s reply was glacial, devoid of disappointment. Had this been a Saint Marie book, he’d be the sort of man women scribbled over its margins — cool and untouchable. His charming smile and mysterious air made him utterly irresistible.

  “What?” a crass, unfiltered voice interjected. “We have come so far. I have got a sick mother waiting behind those gates, you know. What If her health gets worse. Hey, can’t you do something about it, Mr. guard?”

  The voice helpless, yet firm, carried just enough emotion to stir pity. I didn't even have to turn to look who it was — the moment he opened his mouth. I knew. Ludwig. And knowing full well that he was lying through his teeth. I could only force a smile in admiration and disbelief. Once again, Ludwig had concurred another of his lazy excuses to charm his way through.

  And it was… effective.

  The guard, deceived by his white lie, softened. His once calm expression faltered as his eyes darted around nervously. Audible sighs and visible hesitations confirmed my suspicion as he struggled to resist Ludwig's emotional manipulation. Truth to be told, it was surprising. I had expected him (the guard) to crush Ludwig’s plea without mercy. At least that’s what I would have done.

  “Uh-uh,” he stuttered, words tumbling over each other, unable to form a proper reply. His eyes flicked at Ludwig with a blend of pity and guilt, clearly debating whether to bend the rules.

  Sensing weakness, Ludwig pounced, like a cat creeping upon a feeble mouse.

  "Please, I beg you. I'm willing to pay — goods, coins. Anything," He pleaded, voice steeped in the same insincere, helpless, perfectly feigned.

  In the memoirs of the Duke of Albarine, The Duke's reflections,

  A straightforward lesson. Cheating, manipulation, lying – or underhanded tricks, whatever they may be, he had succeeded in his attempts. As they say, the end justifies the means.

  Meanwhile, we stood still, patiently awaiting the guard's response. His eyes wandered and his head lowered, perhaps in shame, perhaps in frustration. The silence cracked under the weight of the unspoken, a decision lingered in the air.

  Then, the guard straightened and bowed. His voice rang out, clear and loud yet kind and warm. He clenched his hand into a fist, staring straight into Ludwig’s eyes. Those dim and hazy eyes now blazed with an unspeakable and undefined fire, a sudden strength and resolve.

  “I am sorry………”

  “I understand. Y-ou all must be in haste. You have someone you love waiting inside, right? A wife, who makes the most delicious food. A darling daughter who runs into your arms the moment you walk through the door. Or maybe a mother – who nags endlessly, but treats you like you were still her precious child. The thought of never seeing them. It fills me with dread. The pain...it trembles through me.”

  He paused, trembling slightly, but then his voice steadied

  “But do not fret. This is Eden. Justice and dreams truly exist here. It's a beautiful city. That's why I beg you — please do not wish to enter. Not now. Not like this. I’m sure your mother is safe and well. And once this harsh time passes on, I will personally escort you to her. So, I… am sorry I cannot accept your request.”

  …

  Long ago, someone shared something with me. An enigmatic whisper- an utterance so profound, etching its imprint on my soul. A fleeting memory I long to recall. It lives within me, an indelible part of who I am, yet it teeters on a precipice of forgetfulness.

  Yet, for just a moment, maybe a mere heartbeat – no, perhaps for a breath. I glimpsed at a shimmering shard of that memory.

  The guard's heartfelt confession stirred something in me. It reached deep, into the quiet dormant embers of my heart that I once believed indifferent. Emotions I had thought extinct, long buried beneath the shell of apathy awakened by the sincerity he excluded.

  And I felt the thirst.

  A thirst for the same burning passion he so ardently displayed

  It wasn't just me. Even Izel, the master of wry grins and effortless deceit, fell into silence, surrendering to the solemnity of that moment. Even the perpetually disinterested Ludwig spared the guard an inscrutable glance.

  A veil of silence enveloped us. Not one of us dared to break its sanctity, fearing that our unruly words might destroy the ephemeral yet radiant colors of these nascent emotions. In this cryptic world, where sentiments assumed hues and emanated brilliance, the guard shone like a distant sun illuminating the vast expanse of our souls.

  The silence lingered, like a fragile web spun in the stillness of shared emotions, until Boss, the enigmatic lizard-man shattered it.

  “YY-ouu th-hreee do-o love wasting time.”

  His words, raw and unpolished, cut through that profound silence like an uncut gem. A pang of sadness welled up within me as if the fragile threads of emotions had been abruptly torn apart. The ephemeral hues and emanated radiance now fractured and crushed under the weight of Boss’s casual words. His rasping voice, usually pragmatic and concise, now echoed through the air.

  “ Whaatt’s with those faceesss” Boss drawled, his word carrying the reptilian accent as thick as the southern winds we had left behind. Eyes, typically dulled by cynicism, now gleamed with surprise and amusement. He locked gazes with the guard and then flicked a claw in his direction.

  “ Yo-uu, Come here”.

  The guard jerked his hide side to side, his face a canvas of bewilderment. Yet, he obeyed, steps tentative, a cocktail of fear and confusion in his gaze. A relatable first experience, I would say.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Boss handed the guard an envelope with not a trace of warmth. His voice dropped to gravely murmur: “Take this to your Captain. Tell him, Chaukkukoushka, commander of the Rakshasa 3rd division, has come.”

  The guard’s hand trembled as he accepted the letter. Recognition flashes his face at Boss’s name and title. Without a word, he spun on his heel and sprinted towards the barracks.

  Minutes later, the superior arrived – not to greet us, but to pay homage to Chaukkukoushka.

  The military captain, an elf of striking presence, stood with an air of authority that commanded immediate respect. Though lithe, yet well-built frame and ageless demeanor suggested he was no ordinary man. His light brown hair cascaded gracefully, framing his noble visage, while his piercing light blue eyes mirrored the tranquil depths of a calm lake. Draped in a resplendent uniform, adorned with intricate embroidery, he proudly displayed the elven crest- a depiction of an elegant woman holding a delicate lily flower. The Elven symbol of purity and nature.

  The elf inclined his head towards Chaukkukoushka in a formal gesture. “Greetings, General, I’m Thelian, the Captain of Eden’s elite force.” His fingers twitched – just once, before he continued with polished formality.

  “We received word from high command that you would be gracing Eden. …Though, we never anticipated it would be at this..dire hour.” A shadow of strain passed behind his light eyes as he added, “Please excuse our rudeness for such reception.”

  Chaukkukoushka, exhaled through his nostrils – a sound like grinding stone. “No need for such formality, Captain.” His tongue flicked out, tasting the thick air. “And don’t call me that. I’ve forsaken that title.” Then, a clawed hand gestured toward the ashen sky. “That aside…tell me, Captain. What calamity has dragged Eden into such affairs?

  A weighted silence lingered. Thelian face flickered with uncharacteristic hesitation. When he finally spoke, his lips moved with his characteristic elegance. “ General” A stiff nod. “You are right. A calamity has fallen.” His light eyes glancing at the mob and trembling guards, then moving back to Boss. “If it’s… acceptable, follow me to the barracks.” The title slipped out despite the warning, like a habit, but the boss didn’t mind it as if used to it.

  As he motioned us to follow him, we walked through the rowdy army corridor; the urgency in the air became more palpable with each step. The disarray at the gates seemed to intensify. The air was thick with worry and frenzied conversations of the city’s inhabitants created a sense of unease and chaos. It was clear that we were walking straight into a disaster.

  Captain Thelian leads us to a makeshift camp hastily erected near the colossal gates. The place buzzed chaotic activity; tents were scattered in haste, forming a disorganized array amid the rising tension. Clusters of guards huddled together, engaged in animated discussion, their voices carrying snippets of fragmented information. The air itself pulsed with anxiety as camp was engulfed, a storm of confusion and worry swirling through the camp like a relentless whirlwind.

  Captain Thelian, then gestured toward a tent sent apart from the others. Its flaps were drawn, veiling its interior from prying eyes. As we stepped inside, the outside clamor lost into the silence, as though we had entered a different world.

  Maps lay scattered across a table, detailing the city and its environment with meticulous precision - every street, alley, and hidden corner laid bare.

  He motioned towards the seats. It was clear. He was about to unveil the truth behind the chaos.

  “Captain! You’ve returned,” a gate guard called out, rushing forward. His face bore an expression that was a mixture of desperation and urgency. “ I have unfortunate news. The Elven square is in flames. Rebels have taken over the area.”

  “Rebels?” the boss echoed, his voice low and heavy, the words hanging in the air like a thundercloud. The guard’s eyes darted between the four of us, his brows furrowed in confusion.He seemed at loss for words his concern through hesitant glances as he cast around the tent.

  Captain Thelian, reading the room with a sharp instinct, gave the guard a curt nod and spoke in a firm, measured tone. “Sergeant, you and other guards are dismissed. I need a private word with my friend here.”

  Without protest, the guard and the rest of the officers exited.The tent flaps fell shut behind them, muting the chaos outside. Inside the tent, a lantern’s light danced, casting shadows on the map laid before us.

  Thelian gave the boss a searching glance, then cast a cautious glance toward the three of us, his eyes betraying a moment of internal debate. Sensing the silent message, the boss nodded, slowly, offering a quiet reassurance: “Don’t worry, Captain. They are a reliable lot. You can speak your mind.”

  Captain Thelian motioned us toward the war table, his polished cryalume armor catching the lamplight as he took his seat. Outside the tent, the symphony of chaos continued – shouts, clanging steel – but inside the tent, the air weighed with the impending revelation. Captain Thelian’s hand spread across the map as he spoke.

  “General. It began on the night of Drachenfeurm the 12th,” His voice, nothing but a whisper. “Around South gate, a local guard station reported two masked individuals holding an elven family hostage in the Elven quarters. Our response team went iin and with flawless execution, we saved the family and apprehended the attackers. It all went flawless. Too flawless.”

  He set a beverage cup aside, probably tea with deliberate care as he continued. “Later, they were taken up for interrogation at the local station. Following protocol, the officers kept them in separate cells, Then, mid questioning, one of the attackers started…acting strange. His pupils dilated, and he started mumbling nonsense. Then,” Thelian throat bobbed “the bleeding started. From all holes of his body. Blood gushed out and abruptly he detonated like a bomb. Not just flesh – every bone became shrapnel. And where he’d stood a magick circle, a gateway appeared.”

  “ And from it, hundreds poured through, General. Hundreds. By the time the station could contact reinforcements, the masked rebels had taken control of the surrounding area. And this wasn’t an isolated attack. From the night of the 12th to the early morning of the 13th, we had four such incidents at four locations around the city.”

  Captain Thelain took a deep breath, steadying himself. His eyes flickered overs the map, tracing the ominous red circles scattered throughout the map of Eden.

  “ The red circles, General,” he began in a hushed tone, voice laced with somber gravity, “mark the areas that rebels have attacked. They have spared no one— men, women, the elderly and not even children. Home, temples, markets –all were set ablaze. The fires are spreading faster than we can contain them. Our forces are stretched thin. The situation is dire.”

  Boss absorbed the grim details in silence. The enigmatic Lizardman’s face remained unreadable, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes. As Thelian finished laying the bare truth, his words painted a vivid and harrowing picture of what had happened in Eden. Boss broke through the tension and spoke with a voice unsettlingly calm.

  “A coordinated, well-planned attack using space-time arcanography…How could…” He paused, lost in thought. His face twisted with an expression that revealed how much he detested the words forming in his mind. Finally, with a hesitant resolve, he said, “Excuse, my rudeness, captain, and correct me if I'm wrong, but by any chance, are all those rebels…. Mlecchians? Because, from your account, the magick style used was mlechha type.”

  The question hung in the air like a loaded weapon. The captain hesitated, his silence betraying a truth he was afraid to confess. His fingers drummed against his holster as seconds turned into minutes, the soft tapping amplified the unnaturally silent room. As the room braced for a revelation, breaking the uneasy stillness, Izel interjected abruptly with his stern and cold voice, addressing Boss directly.

  “Boss, I don't think the captain can answer that and it makes no difference. To the state, all terrorists are the same; their race hardly matters. Isn’t it, Captain?”

  The captain, taken aback by the unanticipated response, looked back and forth between Boss and Izel and with a half-hearted yes, he reluctantly agreed. Boss shot a serious glance at Izel, conveying his dissatisfaction with his interruption. The fiery tension in the room escalated, as Ludwig and I shared a look of mutual bafflement.

  Boss, unfazed by the diversion, ended the silence as he stood from his chair with a grunt. He leaned in, placing a finger to the map’s center. “Elven sanctuary in the central plaza. Have Eden forces taken control of it? The movements of terrorists say that they aim to control it.”

  Thelian gaze fell like a heavy curtain, his posture folding inward, as if bearing the weight of Eden’s chaos. The words he spoke seemed to bleed from the wounds of failure. “My apologies, general...but we have already lost that area. We’ve faced them in countless confrontations across Eden. Though we’ve eliminated many of their ranks, yet our attempts to take back our strongholds have shattered like glass upon stone." Then, as he glanced down at the maps, the flickering light of lantern casted an eerie glow at the detailed description Of Eden.

  “We apprehended a few of them” he continued, walking up to the board where sketches of a few individuals were pinned, each of them depicting a face of the enemy. The other thing I noticed was what Boss had hinted at, the five of them seemed to be mlecchians. “We tried everything to extract information out of them, but it seems they anticipated our line of thought and had gone through a ritual of magical oaths. Since, the instant we extract even a syllable of their secret plan or leader, their bodies turn into bombs and they explode. To prevent that, we have halted the interrogation.”

  Izel studied the map, his sharp eyes scanning the Captain and his subtle movement before he spoke. His voice, laced with an air of intellectual authority. “How about the casualties on each side?”

  “As of the moment” he continued, as he pulled out a few other maps and photos and handed them around, then sat back. “ We have lost more than 200 people. About 75% of it has been civilian life, lost to fires, destruction, and also the hands of rebels. At the same time, the remaining 25% casualties have been the brave warriors of Eden”. While he explained all of it, our eyes uneasily shifted between the maps and photos and, like an uninvited guest, the horror descended. Their photos were silent screams, each image dagger twisting in the gut, revealing the raw, unfiltered brutality on innocent lives. The faces of elves stared back at me, hollow and haunted, eyes that said I will not forgive you.

  “Captain…” Boss murmured.

  The captain’s face etched with hopeless frustration. “General..Hm… These are photos of mutilated bodies we found in an abandoned inn on the west side of Eden. These victims differ from the other casualties in two aspects. One, all of them were missing for weeks, long before the attack on Eden. Our research also indicates that they have been dead since then. The other terrifying aspect is that they all are missing various organs such as liver, intestine and the heart. We are yet to figure out the reason behind this or whether this is related to the rebels or not, but we couldn't ignore it.

  As the enormity of the information sank into our minds, a whisper slipped from my lips – what I assumed to be just a thought confined to my head unexpectedly escaped as a quiet mumble. “But how did this many enter the city?” The murmur echoed in that stillness. It was the captain, with a confused face, who interjected and said “I explained, didn’t I? They used bodies as magickal circle.”

  “Uh!..” caught in a web of stares and confusion, anxiety washed over me,but continuing, I explained my reasoning. “What I meant is that Eden is surrounded by mountains and thick vegetation with no nearby cities. The nearest habitable city is Irene, but that is ruled by the Low Elves. And the distance is more than 150 kms. The amount of space needed to draw that circle would scale with the number of people that would traverse through it. And as per report there were two hundred of them, and that’s a lot of them. So it doesn’t make any sense how these many terrorists entered Eden. It defies the principles of logicas.

  The question pulled the room into a bottomless pit of silence. One where the truth hung in the air yet everyone looked away, as if refusing to acknowledge it. Thelian’s eyes wavered, his hesitation expressed through his downcasted eyes, crumbling under the weight of truth and his values.

  “Hu-hu. Brat, if you don’t get that much, you got a tough road ahead of you, Kid,” a deep voice interjected, drawing our attention as it shattered through the facade of glass.

  “They didn’t enter or infiltrate. They have been living here in Eden for years. The terrorists, or as the captain used the word ‘rebels’. They must have had sleeper members of the faction acting in Eden. Not to forget, they purposely chose an area where Eden forces had low connectivity and planned an all out attack to control it. Just like pesky durants that eat away the place where they live. The rebels are none other mlecchian citizens of this city.” the man finished, his red eyes glimmering with beastly rage or perhaps excitement. His wolf ears perked up, and the massive scar stretching from his left eye to edge of his lips added a rugged edge to his demeanor.

  “Isn’t that right, Thelian Estentoniem?” He spoke, ruffling his hands through his silky gray hair as he leaned back in his chair grinning.

  “ You.. have quite harsh words for me, Beastman.I have no obligation to partake in such foolery of a statement. Do not forget that, I am the Captain. That tone might end up bringing your end right here and now.”

  “Harsh words? spare me with that lip service ? It’s spelled TRUTH in my tongue” the beastman responded.

  “ That is enough, Fenris!” Boss began, slamming his fist on the table, and silencing the bickering between Thelian and Fenris. “This is not the hour to have such childish talks. We came here with purpose.” He glared at the two men.

  “For the present, Fenris, Izel, Gurit and Ludwig, we are all bound by a sacred duty. Sworn to the solemn oath of my liege, we must lend a hand to the Captain. It appears the rebels have ambitions far greater than mere guerrilla attacks. We can't just let it happen.Such machinations cannot go unchecked.The pattern, especially the pattern of red circles suggests that all onslaughts we have witnessed are but a ruse.”

  “ A ruse!” Thelian exclaimed, his voice tinged with incredulity at Boss’s abrupt deduction.” What led to such a deduction, General?” Thelian finished.

  “ The Esoteric art. Are you familiar with it, Captain?” inquired Boss, his voice a low murmur that carried the weight of the impending doom.

  “ Eso-teric?” Thelian echoed, the syllables foreign on his tongue, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.

  “It’s a clandestine branch of magick.” Izel interjected, elucidating as his features contorted, a furrow etched between his brows as he surveyed the map, a chilling realization dawned in his eyes. With a short breath he continued. “The art involves magickal geometries, captain. But..”

  “But?” Thelian prompted.

  “Human sacrifice.” Boss intoned apathetically. “Esotericism wields unimaginable might. But the cost for such incredible power has a macabre toll. Human flesh and blood is offered at the altar of power. Captain, observe the sites of the onslaughts.. If you connect these red circles, you get a pentagon- an esoteric sigil, a rune of conjuration and a gateway to void. When you add those mutilated bodies and organs in the picture, it makes even more sense. The rebels ultimate aim is a ritual of esoteric summoning.”

  “ How can this be? But that implies we must thwart their ritual before its culmination. I must relay this information posthaste. General, if you will excuse me?”

  “Stay your haste, Captain. I fear we are too late, the hour is already upon us. As we speak, the rebels are likely enmeshed in their dark incantations, teetering on the brink of mass suicide. No, perhaps they may have already commenced. My apologies captain, but we are powerless. The clock ticks inevitably towards chaos.

  “ General… No,this cannot be….There has to be a path, we must….”

  FLASH!!!

  ….

  Suddenly, a deafening blast ripped through the silence. The air quivered with the reverberation of a thunderous blast, accompanied by a blinding flash of light that penetrated the fabric walls of shelter. The tent trembled with the force of explosion. In the wake of the blast, a heavy silence settled over us. Each of us, momentarily stunned, exchanged glances that spoke volumes more than words ever could. The last conversation echoed in our minds, rendering questions of ‘what’, ‘why’, and ‘how’ redundant. We knew- it was the , the one which we feared. Yet, not a single word escaped our lips.

  Thelian, overcome by a sense of duty that outweighed the shock, inhaled deeply, his breaths heavy. With a resolve born of desperation, reflected by the deep lines etched on his face, mirroring the tumult of emotions raging within. He rushed out through the tent’s entrance, the fabric flaps falling limply behind him, a silent testament to the urgency of his departure.

  Even then, we remained frozen,our body refusing to budge, as if tethered to ground by an invisible force. I couldn't help but wonder why. Was it the certainty of calamity looming over us, casting a shadow so dark that even movement seemed futile? Or was it the unbearable weight of facing Thelian, knowing the burden of his gaze? The thought gnawed at me, paralyzing in its intensity.

  As we stood there, grappling with our inertia, the chaos outside intruded upon our sanctuary, its murmurs penetrating the fabric of our tent like haunting whispers of unfolding tragedy.

  …

  “Captain..”

  “ That sound and the flash of light? What was it?”

  “ There in the sky, captain.”

  The guard’s finger quivered as it pointed skyward, where a malignant glow teared through sky like clawed hands reaching from the depths of the abyss. Its ghastly glow cast ominous shadows that danced menacingly across the landscape. It was as though the very specter of death had unfurled its cloak, a tapestry woven from the darkest fears of man. Thelian, witnessing the celestial omen, felt his resolve crumble; his legs gave away and his knees buckled beneath him as he collapsed to the ground. His fist pounding the earth in a futile protest against fate. Tears blurred his vision, as he grappled with the crushing weight of failure and loss. “ How could this happen.” he gasped, the words mere whisper against the cacophony of destiny.

  Fenris, his voice a low murmur amidst the chaos, intoned, “So, this is the esoterica of death.” His words hung heavy in the air, a grim acknowledgement of dire circumstances.

  In that moment of despair, the boss approached, his presence a comforting anchor in a storm of despair. He crouched before Thelian, placing a reassuring hand upon his downcasted head.

  “Captain..I cannot hope to understand your despair. We may be powerless but surrender is a luxury we cannot afford.” He said, his voice was iron wrapped in fire. “The cursed conjuration may break our bodies. Death may march upon us, inevitable and unyielding. But hear this – we are not yet defeated! If we can save even one life, we stand and fight. Even if this world would crumble to dust, we fight. Not with hopes,not with prayers but with teeth bared and blade screaming. Let the blood paint the earth before we yield our hopes and dreams.

  This is not the end. It is the hour in which great men are forged. So rise, Captain – not as just a soldier, but a light that pierces darkness. I know, you are a man that does not beg salvation, but forges one. Now wage war – let the heavens remember the name of Eden and its mighty force.

  …..

  “What is that you fear?” Boss inquired once.

  At that time, I was lost in a sea of uncertainty, unable to anchor my thoughts to a response.

  But, then that day, with a smile so uncharacteristic, it seemed to warp his very image, he revealed his own. “For me,” he confided, “it is the day I fall to despair. To not fall until every ounce of my essence is crippled, to wage war against the inevitable until my breath wanes. To face death with a smirk, and to mock it with the audacity of hope.”

  “A classic cliche…” The words slipped from me before I could catch them.

  His stare, intense and unsettling bore into me. “Hmm?” he intoned.

  “ Nothing” I replied hastily, my head oscillating in a silent bid to the gravity of our exchange.

  Yet, in the quiet that followed, I thought to myself, could he truly smile in the face of death, and greet the end with a grin?

  A beacon of hope, strong enough to shatter the darkness, what if it was a tainted chalice, its content leading only to greater tragedy? What if the truth we sought was grotesque revelation, better left shrouded in mystery?

  The musings haunted me. But with those words of Boss to thelian, a flicker of defiance sparked within my eyes. As I glanced towards Thelian, as he rose not just in stature but spirit, ready to confront the looming chaos with the valor of a thousand suns.