Chapter 49

  The tension was tangible, as if one could grasp it with bare hands. An oppressive, charged silence hung over the square, as if the whole city had frozen in breathless anticipation. Even the animals—horses, dogs, even a six-legged mount that had been twitching nervously—had fallen silent. Every gaze was turned skyward, where the sky continued to darken, as though someone were draping a shroud over the world.

  The barbarians of Silverthorn, who only moments before had seemed so confident and threatening, had unconsciously drawn closer together. Their hands now gripped their weapons more tightly. The leader took a step back, his eyes narrowed, his braid beginning to dance in the steadily rising wind.

  I felt it too—that faint tremor in the air. No ordinary weather phenomenon. It was as if the world itself had paused. As if something ancient and immense was awakening.

  I clenched my teeth, reaching out inwardly toward him.

  “Gravor,” I whispered, with a calm I didn’t truly feel. “Get ready. I might need wings in a moment.”

  His voice echoed through my mind with a grin, like a casual afterthought:

  “Alright, boss. But I’ve got a feeling... you won’t need them.”

  What did he mean by that? Did he know something I didn’t? I wanted to ask—but there was no time left.

  The wind rose sharply. Not an ordinary gust, but a vortex that swept across the square with unnatural intent. The merchants held down their awnings, loose leaves and dust swirled through the air like dancing shadows, and then—

  —then it happened.

  A sound like tearing silk echoed through the world.

  The sky... opened. As if torn by a divine hand, the clouds split in two. The dark canopy burst with golden glowing cracks, from which light poured forth—so bright, so pure, it outshone everything.

  Golden sunlight spilled over the city. Not warm. Not gentle. But... majestic.

  The air shimmered with brilliance. It was as if the light itself were singing—a deep, resonant hum in my bones, vibrating through every fiber of my being.

  Instinctively, I raised my arm to shield my eyes.

  Vin blinked into the light and muttered, “What... what is that?”

  Maira stood still. Her lips moved, but I heard no sound.

  Even the barbarians were frozen. No more threats. No more grins. Their eyes widened—many even crouched slightly, as if about to kneel.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen sunlight. Not like this. Not in such clarity, in such purity. Not in the icy grey of the North. Not after the long dark months behind me.

  This was no weather. This was a miracle. A light that didn’t belong to this world.

  I drew in a sharp breath. “Where… where the hell have we ended up?” I whispered inwardly, shocked, awestruck, and full of disbelief.

  Then he came. In the center of the beam of light, a figure appeared. At first just a silhouette—then, as it descended, a radiant, living presence. He floated slowly down from the rift in the sky, as if the air itself were carrying him. No fluttering, no swirl of magic. Only pure, soundless elegance.

  A man. Or at least... that’s what he looked like.

  He wore a robe of golden fabric so finely woven it appeared liquid—shimmering sunlight flowing over his shoulders. Intricate black patterns were woven into the gold—spiral-shaped runes that seemed alive. His face was calm, symmetrical, unnaturally perfect. His skin a light bronze, his eyes... pitch-black, yet piercing. His hair was jet black, smooth and neatly combed back, like that of a nobleman.

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  But he wasn’t human. I felt it immediately. His gaze... was too old. Too deep. Like that of a being who had seen far more than anyone else in this square. He descended without a sound.

  And in that very moment—precisely when his feet touched the cobblestone—cheers broke out. Not loud, not overdone—but reverent.

  Many in the crowd fell to their knees. Some whispered his name. Others simply bowed their heads in silence.

  I didn’t need to guess. This was Reyn. The ruler of shadow and storm. Even though he looked more like the ruler of light and sun.

  He calmly looked around, studying the gathered townsfolk, the barbarians, us. Then he smiled. A polite, quiet, almost warm smile.

  And at the same time—at the exact same moment—I felt an invisible veil settle over my thoughts. Not to control them—but to examine them.

  Reyn’s gaze rested on the leader of the barbarians. The man was about to speak—when Reyn raised his hand ever so slightly.

  A gust of wind whipped through the Silverthorn warriors, hurling dust and light into their faces, as if it were a warning.

  Reyn’s voice was calm. Almost gentle. But it rang out like a bell:

  “Silverthorn... today, you have gone too far.”

  The barbarians flinched.

  "Just like several times before... regrettably."

  Reyn’s voice was calm, almost bored, as if he were discussing the weather instead of the fate of a city. Then he let out a heavy sigh — long, burdened, almost theatrical — as though he had imagined this scene exactly like this and was now disappointed to see it actually unfold.

  The leader of the Silverthorn barbarians stepped forward. The heavy wolf pelt over his shoulders fluttered slightly in the rising wind, but he stood upright, as tall as his fear would allow. Every muscle in his body was tense. His gaze was fixed on Reyn, his jaw clenched.

  He summoned all his courage, straightened, raised his chin a fraction. The fa?ade worked — it was even impressive — but those who looked closely could see the tremble in his fingers, the subtle twitch of his left eye.

  "Where’s the old crew?" he asked harshly. His voice was firm, but the echo didn’t vibrate with strength — rather with anger and uncertainty. "What did you do to them?"

  Then, quieter, and all the more dangerous:

  "My brother was among them."

  For a moment, it felt like the world stood still. No rustling, no hoofbeat, no whisper.

  Reyn didn’t move. His posture remained unchanged: relaxed, elegant, as if standing at a courtly reception. The slight smile on his lips didn’t falter. His eyes, however... they now glimmered darker, more focused.

  "Yes," he said after a pause, "I suspected as much. You two do share a resemblance."

  And then he did something that squeezed the breath from my throat. With a casual flick of his hand, as if conjuring a coin from his sleeve, he made a severed human head appear in his palm.

  The barbarian leader froze.

  Without a second’s hesitation, Reyn tossed the head to the ground — right at the man’s heavy boots.

  It hit the cobblestones with a dull thud. The dead man’s long, dark hair clung to the sticky wound, his eyes half-open, empty. The tension didn’t release. It only grew thicker.

  The leader stared at the face, recognized it instantly. His lips trembled, his fingers clenched around his axe so tightly his knuckles turned white. But he said nothing about his brother. No prayer, no tear. Only the voice of a man who put everything on one final card:

  "Get out of my way," he growled. "Now. Or I’ll call the rest of my tribe, and this city will burn."

  Reyn’s response?

  A single step. Light. Elegant. Like a whispered answer before the blow.

  "Nope," he said.

  Just that one word. Almost friendly. Almost playful.

  Then no command was needed.

  One of the younger ones in the group — barely twenty, lean but with wild eyes — broke formation. Without hesitation, he charged at a family standing at the edge of the square: a father, a mother, and a child, wrapped in old but clean clothes. The woman didn’t scream. She just clung tightly to her son.

  I moved before I consciously decided to. A brief nod to Vin and Maira — the only signal they needed.

  "Now," I whispered. To them... and to him.

  Gravor responded instantly. Wings unfolded from my back with a metallic, gentle creak. White. Not demonic. Pure.

  In Thulegard, I wasn’t allowed to reveal myself. Not for what I really was.

  And yet… in that moment, it didn’t matter.

  With an unnatural sprint — more like a flash of light than movement — I shot across the square. The wind tugged at me, the cold tried to hold me back — but nothing could stop me.

  The barbarian raised his axes to strike. I rushed in between.

  Steel screamed against steel as I caught the blades with my weapon. The impact rang out like thunder through the street. The family behind me gasped. The attacker gasped. I didn’t.

  With a powerful shove, I pushed him back, made him stagger — just for a moment — and used that breath. A swing. A clean, perfect swing. My sword sliced through his neck like paper. The head rolled across the stone ground, the axes clattered beside the body.

  I stood still. Blood on my shoulder. On my sword. On the stone. The eagle symbol on my hilt was now fully visible. No longer hidden.

  A sign. Not of pride. But of clarity. Behind me: the family, unharmed. Before me: the first dead barbarian.

  Vin leapt over a market stand, pushing back another attacker with vines, while Maira — quiet and deadly like a dagger in the dark — slipped into the barbarians’ line from the side.

  As all this unfolded, I looked at Reyn.

  He hadn’t moved. Not yet. But his gaze was fixed on the leader. And his lips? They formed a single, silent word.

  "You."