Markus’s thoughts wandered as he waited, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on the table. The sound was subtle yet persistent, like a clock marking time.

  When Barto and Breon entered the room, Markus’s mind returned to the present. Barto moved with a deliberate, almost sinister grace, his gait a silent proclamation of his confidence.

  The man was a serpent, and Markus knew better than to trust him. But trust was irrelevant. Their fates were entwined, and Barto’s treachery clung to Markus like the stink of rot, threatening to drag him deeper into the abyss.

  Breon stood with his hands clasped behind his back like a soldier awaiting orders. Markus studied him. Breon was efficient, dependable, and obedient—a man who never questioned his tasks and carried them out with meticulous precision.

  Markus signaled for him to speak.

  Breon cleared his throat.

  “We have eyes on Rugr in Ilimar. He moves openly, suggesting he isn’t concerned about being seen or followed.”

  Markus allowed himself a faint smirk. Rugr was clever, never careless. If he was moving openly, it was by design. Breon, sharp as he was, was a pawn in Rugr’s game—something he likely understood but wouldn’t dare voice.

  “And my daughter?” Markus asked, his tone deceptively casual.

  The question hung in the air like a knife waiting to drop.

  Breon hesitated.

  “We haven’t seen her. It’s likely she’s concealed somewhere in the city. At one of Rugr’s known locations, though we can’t confirm which. Following your orders to avoid direct engagement, we’ve maintained careful distance in our surveillance.”

  Markus’s gaze lingered on Breon as he weighed the man’s words.

  He gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Breon. That will be all for now. Step outside and await instructions.”

  Breon gave a slight bow and left the room.

  The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Markus alone with Barto.

  “More like Rugr has eyes on us,” Markus said, his voice dry.

  Barto offered neither confirmation nor dissent.

  Markus focused on the man, searching for cracks in his carefully composed mask. Barto, as always, revealed nothing. His expression was calm, his posture at ease, yet Markus knew there was always more simmering beneath the surface.

  “The girl isn’t in Ilimar,” Markus continued. “Rugr is baiting us, buying time.”

  “Yes,” Barto replied. “But Rugr could have her hidden anywhere. Locating her won’t be simple.”

  Markus narrowed his eyes.

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Barto. Kleo isn’t some na?ve child. She may follow Rugr’s guidance, but she’s just as likely to act on her instincts, especially if—”

  He stopped himself, letting the unfinished thought hang in the air.

  Barto’s silence confirmed his understanding.

  “We could only suppress her Kadas Shadoom for so long. It was easier in Astiria, but once we let her leave, we lost what little control we had.”

  “We delayed it longer than expected, but it was inevitable.”

  “And the ship’s captain in Balta confirmed Rugr was alone?”

  “Yes. He was alone. Your daughter wasn’t with him.”

  “And the remains?”

  Barto hesitated. “Rugr claimed there was an incident and promised to return by nightfall. He paid the captain in full but never returned.”

  Markus’s jaw tightened. The prepayment was intentional. It was evidence of Rugr’s intent. He had no intention of delivering the remains.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “How long can the body survive in its current state?” Markus asked, his voice low.

  Barto was prepared for the question.

  “Six months, perhaps a year at most. Beyond that, the degradation will accelerate. The longer it remains suspended, the harder it will be for her to recover—if at all. Eventually, she’ll cease to be, trapped forever in whatever spirit realm she occupies.”

  Markus didn’t hide his worry. Although the timeline was short, the risks were immense. Too much could happen in a year, and so little was within his control. If they could find the remains, they could be destroyed—or sunk to the ocean’s depths as initially planned.

  “Have Breon return to the capital,” Markus ordered. “Let Rugr play his games. Send a small contingent to Midena—if she’s heading for Ilimar, it’s a logical stop on the way. If she’s experiencing Kasad Shadoom, she’ll leave signs. Events that bear her mark.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Barto said, rising. He hesitated. “And the remains? Should we focus on locating them?”

  “Of course,” Markus snapped, his patience thinning.

  “Send a team. Include Thespis. Assign him as the leader, but pair him with someone capable of keeping him in check. Someone calculated.”

  Barto nodded, his face betraying a flicker of thought. “I know just the man. Thespis respects him, and he’ll ensure the mission remains on track.”

  Markus waved him away, and Barto left without further comment.

  Alone again, Markus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. He didn’t regret his alliance with Barto, though the man deserved every torment the hells could offer. Barto’s pact with the dark lords of the Sa Kamal had doomed Demana, and Markus’s complicity in that betrayal was an unshakable burden.

  Yet Markus had acted with the best intentions, or so he told himself. He had seen no other way to save his people, no other path to survival. Demana's fate was sealed long before his hand was forced—but that did little to ease the weight on his soul.

  Calman Visser strode confidently toward the meeting room, his boots clicking against the stone floor with purpose. Barto had made his orders clear: Thespis would appear to lead the mission, but Calman was in charge. No further explanation was needed.

  Thespis, Markus's son, was young, brash, and entitled—a combination that grated on Calman’s patience. Having trained the boy for fifteen years in riding, hunting, and combat, Calman knew him better than most.

  He had been present during Thespis’s Kadas Shadoom trials, which had proven embarrassingly mundane. The transformation, expected to unleash greatness, revealed an ordinary man. Thespis had taken the slight to heart, compensating with exaggerated arrogance and posturing.

  For this mission, Calman had handpicked the team. First was Junas Folds, a seasoned fighter and trusted ally who had fought beside Calman for centuries. The other choice was Sela Roce, one of Calman’s most promising students. Proficient in Demana magic, Sela excelled in melee and ranged combat, her short bow and blade making her a versatile asset. She was also a reluctant friend of Thespis. The fool had designs on her, misinterpreting her tolerance for romantic interest. Calman suspected her presence might temper Thespis’s recklessness, as he often curbed his more impulsive tendencies to impress her.

  Sela’s connection to Kleo, Markus’s daughter, was another consideration. While the two women were not close, their shared history offered an additional layer of familiarity within the group.

  When Calman entered the room, Junas and Sela stood to greet him. Thespis, seated at the head of the table, made no such gesture. One boot rested on the table, a display of nonchalant arrogance that made Calman suppress a sigh.

  "Calman," Thespis smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I’ve been expecting you. Take a seat, and we’ll review my plan."

  Calman nodded and took a seat nearby. He was already familiar with the plan—it was his, after all, handed to Thespis earlier that morning.

  Thespis rose, adjusting his tunic in what he thought was an elegant motion. He shot Sela a glance, hoping she’d notice the fine craftsmanship of his clothing. She didn’t so much as blink, and Thespis pressed on.

  "About a month ago, Rugr and my sister were tasked with delivering a box to a ship’s captain in Balta. The delivery didn’t happen, and Rugr and Kleo have since vanished. The box’s contents are critical to Astiria’s security, so I’ve assembled this team to retrieve it."

  He paused as though expecting applause. None came.

  "Our mission is straightforward," he continued. "We’ll begin in Balta, gathering information from the seaport. Since the captain and his ship are already at sea, this leg may yield little, but it’s a necessary step. From there, we’ll trace Rugr’s path backward to the box’s origin. Should we encounter Rugr or Kleo, we’ll treat them as allies—unless they give us reason to believe otherwise. Questions?"

  Sela raised a hand, her tone direct. "What’s in the box?"

  Calman couldn’t hide a flicker of amusement at her boldness.

  Thespis bristled, recovering with a practiced air of authority.

  "That’s classified. If that becomes relevant to our mission, you'll be informed about the box’s contents."

  Calman bit the inside of his cheek. Thespis didn’t know what was in the box—none of them did. Their orders were explicit: recover the box and return it to Astiria. Only Calman had additional instructions from Barto—if circumstances demanded it, destroying the contents would take precedence.

  "Any other questions?" Thespis asked, his voice sharpening.

  When no one responded, he concluded the meeting.

  "Good. We leave for the portal in two hours. Be ready. The sooner we recover the box, the sooner we can return to civilization. The outside world is... dreary."

  He waved a hand dismissively as though erasing the thought itself.

  Calman rose, nodding to Junas and Sela as they filed out. Lingering for a moment, he studied Thespis.

  The boy’s arrogance was bound to cause complications, but Calman had chosen his team with care. Junas’s steady hand, Sela’s sharp mind, and Calman’s own experience would see the mission through, no matter the obstacles ahead.

  Stepping into the corridor, Calman’s thoughts turned to the box. Barto and Markus were hiding something. They knew what was in the box, and he was sure the content’s significance extended beyond Astiria’s security. Otherwise, why would Barto have entrusted him with such a critical task: ensuring that if Astiria couldn’t have the box, neither would anyone else?