Tekla’s jaw tightened, a faint grinding sound escaping her closed lips.
“Speak,” she muttered, her voice tense with restrained fury.
Eralon tilted his head, as if trying to pinpoint Tekla’s exact position from the sound alone. His chains rattled as he attempted to scratch the chafed skin on his neck with his broken fingernails, but the iron tensed before he could reach it. He chuckled, then finally spoke.
“The day when the protection upon the forest disappears, our Lord will strike, ” he said, grinning. Though he had no sight, Tekla’s tone alone had revealed her anger and Eralon seemed to enjoy it. “Your settlement will fall, the tree you call divine will burn, and the statue carved on its trunk will remain as a reminder of what awaits those who dare stand in our Lord’s way.”
Eralon’s grin widened. His half-open mouth revealed the torture he had endured in Velmoryn hands. Tekla stared at him, considering her response. Lucas, however, was guided by a single thought.
“Priestess,” he hissed, hand drifting toward the hilt of his blade. His muscles tensed, ready to sever the prisoner’s neck the moment she allowed it. But the permission never came.
“Is that all you wished to say? A threat?” Tekla asked, her anger shifting into amusement. She tilted her head slightly, watching him.
“No, I wouldn’t have mentioned our God’s name for such things,” Eralon replied calmly, the grin fading from his face. “My Lord is kind and magnanimous. He visited me in my dream and said that even inferior creatures like yourselves must be given a chance at survival - he will show mercy if the daughter of Sylvan you are harboring is handed to us.”
Tekla and Lucas both frowned, confused. Neither spoke. For two young Velmoryns, the term Sylvan race meant nothing. They had grown up in an environment where even the word Elf invoked anger, so whatever Eralon was hinting at slipped past them entirely.
But unlike them, I understood exactly what he meant. My gaze drifted toward Karla, who hovered in my realm, surrounded by the crimson energy that coiled around her like a cocoon.
Yet even knowing what he meant didn’t remove my confusion. How did the Night God know where Karla was? Was he able to observe the forest even before the protective spell placed by the Goddess weakened?
Until now, I thought he needed someone to invite him in, like when Joriel’s prayer connected him to the Night God, or when Eralon and later that mage summoned his power. But now I’m not so sure. Joriel had nothing to do with Karla, and none of his apostles were in the forest, or even near her, when she visited my tribe. So how did he know?
I had no answer to that question. But that wasn’t what troubled me most - why did he even need Karla?
Even if she was the last living Elf, or at least one of the very few, the Velmoryns also carried Elven blood. The system message had said that those Velmoryns who sided with the Night God had abandoned one of the races that shaped them. Since no one held the Elven Authority, I suspected they had accepted the demon side, giving up on their Sylvan heritage. If that was true, then experimenting on Elven blood wasn’t what motivated the Night God. He wanted a pure Elf. But why?
Could it be that he is the one who holds the Elven Authority? Is that why the Goddess warned me? She must have known he hunted the Elves but still had to cooperate with him. Perhaps Karla holds the key to unlocking Elven Authority…
Pieces began to fall into place. I still couldn’t be certain my conclusion was correct, but the direction felt solid. And strangely, that brought relief. I disliked nothing more than uncertainty, and now I had almost confirmed not only the identity of the God who possessed the Elven Authority, but the reason the Night God was coming for me as well.
“Is that all?” Tekla asked. She drew her gaze away from Eralon and took a half step toward the exit.
But Eralon didn’t answer. He had already turned toward the wall, facing a crude drawing he had smeared onto the surface with his own blood. It was likely meant to resemble a half-moon, though it looked more like a misshapen pear.
“Oh, Father of all who dwell in night,” he proclaimed proudly. “I have carried your will to the sinful, yet they refuse to recognize your mercy. Oh Father of justice and oathkeeping, I have fulfilled my purpose. Take me to you, and do not allow the sinful to enjoy the pleasure of tormenting your faithful servant.”
“Priestess, must we entertain such blasphemy?” Lucas asked. His tone wasn’t measured or pleading this time. He pushed her to be decisive, to accept her position and be bolder when faced with difficult choices.
Tekla hesitated. She opened her mouth twice, but no word came out.
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“What would you have me do?” she whispered to Lucas.
“I dare not order the Priestess of my Lord,” Lucas said, dropping to his knees and turning toward her.
“I am not asking as a Priestess, but as a… friend,” she insisted, reaching out to pull him up.
Halfway through the motion, just as her fingers were about to touch his cheek, Tekla’s eyes widened. A sharp yelp escaped her as her hand darted instinctively toward the staff she had leaned against the wall to help Lucas up.
Eralon had surged upright in an instant. The metal collars linking his chains to his wrists and ankles shattered like brittle glass, scattering across the floor. He lunged forward, both hands stretched toward Lucas as the skin of his palms began to shimmer with darkness, swallowing what little light the cell had.
“Luc…!” Tekla screamed, her left hand snatching at Lucas’s neck to pull him toward her while her right hand reached blindly for the staff that would ensure any spell aimed at them would fail.
But her hesitation, whether to save Lucas first or secure the means of victory, gave Eralon the time he needed.
His hands reached Lucas first. A twisted grin warped his face as his fingertips brushed against the fabric of Lucas’s clothes.
Or so he believed.
Eralon’s hands passed straight through Lucas’s figure, his body stumbling forward when the man he tried to grab turned out to be nothing more than an afterimage.
The moment Eralon’s restraints snapped, Lucas had already moved. He now stood right beside him. His blades remained in their sheaths, yet his stare carried a sharpness that no metal could match.
He seized Eralon’s wrists and pulled him toward himself, stripping away what little balance the man had left before releasing him. Eralon lurched forward under his own weight, face dropping toward the floor. He would have hit the ground on his own, but Lucas grabbed him by the hair mid-fall and planted his head into the ground with such force that the stone trembled. Even Tekla felt the vibration through her feet.
She stood only a step away, staff already in hand, her eyes wide with a strange mix of shock and relief. She watched as Lucas flipped Eralon onto his back and mounted him, legs locking tightly around his waist. His knees pinned the man’s hands in place, and then the beating began.
Lucas hammered Eralon’s face without mercy. Fist after fist fell relentlessly, flattening the man’s features and soaking his nose in blood. But Lucas’s fury did not ease.
His bloodied hand slipped toward one of the blades strapped to his back. He drew it just as swiftly, the steel shimmering red as he brought the edge to Eralon’s neck. A thin line of blood already appeared beneath the blade when Tekla’s voice stopped him.
“Not yet,” she ordered.
Lucas looked up, frowning, but he quickly forced the emotion from his face and steadied himself.
Tekla didn’t meet his gaze. Her attention was already on the guard who had rushed in after hearing the commotion.
“Wha…” the guard started, but Tekla’s stare silenced him. He lowered his head at once.
“Bring Aria,” Tekla commanded. Her voice was no longer soft nor warm. Then she turned to Lucas. “Are you hurt?”
“No, Priestess.”
Tekla’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before she pulled it away.
“Keep him immobilized until Aria arrives. I will inspect the restraints.” She stepped deeper into the cell, toward the place where Eralon had been before. She knelt and lifted one of the broken pieces with two fingers, her other hand covering her nose. The stench was overwhelming, something she hadn’t noticed while standing closer to the entrance where the breeze kept the air clear - a small trick Gundir had designed to spare the guards.
“He broke the collars, not the chains,” Tekla said, examining the metal. “I do not know what these are, but there are strange symbols drawn on them in blood.” She placed the piece back on the ground and moved toward the exit with quick steps as she heard the footsteps.
“I brought her, Priestess,” the guard reported, slightly out of breath.
Aria entered the cell at once, immediately forming a small silver diagram that transformed into an orb of light. It floated upward, brightening every corner of the room.
“Aria, put him to sleep,” Tekla said calmly. “A very deep sleep.”
“Pfft,” Eralon spat, or rather tried to. The thick, dark red liquid in his mouth was too heavy for his weakened body; instead of flying outward, it splashed across his face. He tried to speak, likely to curse, but his voice broke into harsh coughing that drowned out whatever words he had prepared.
And then even that stopped as the red mana wrapped around his head and dragged him into sleep almost instantly.
“Turn him over, or he’ll drown in his own blood,” Aria said coldly as she noticed Eralon’s condition.
“We can’t let him die peacefully in his sleep,” Lucas nodded, hissing. He turned the man over and shot a quick glance at Tekla, but she showed no reaction. He rose to his feet, then approached her with his head hung low. “Priestess, my earlier mistake put you in danger. I accept any punishm…”
“Mistake was made by both of us,” Tekla interrupted, shaking her head as she stepped past him. “Aria, there are strange symbols on the collar. He used some kind of magic to…”
Her words stopped as Aria rushed past her toward the broken shackles. She didn’t bother covering her nose or showing the slightest disgust as she picked up the metal.
“...free himself. Could you study them?” Tekla finished.
“I will,” Aria answered immediately, almost by instinct. She turned the blood-stained metal in her hands, muttering under her breath. “There is no trace of a god’s magic. I should be able to learn this if I can understand the symbols…”
Tekla watched her for a moment, a faint smile gracing her face. Then her gaze sharpened.
“Lucas,” she called out. “Bring Nelya from the Silver Tribe. We must try to break into his mind using blood magic, even if it kills him.”