Chapter 76

  A flicker. At first only at the edge of my perception, then everywhere. It was as if someone had simultaneously turned off the light and switched on my senses. My thoughts scattered, my eyes flickered—and then came the jolt. Like someone violently yanking me out of sleep. Except I wasn’t really asleep. I fell. Not gently. Not dreamlike. I crashed back into reality. The floor beneath me was hard—damn hard—and the first thing I saw was Vin leaning over me, barely catching me before I faceplanted into the table or the floor or my own shame. “Luken! Hey, stay with me!” I heard her shout, her tone somewhere between worry, anger, and—yeah, well—genuine horror. I lifted my head, but my eyes rolled back halfway, and then… the wave hit. Nausea. Not normal nausea, not the kind you get from overeating. No—this was the kind that felt like someone was ripping memories out of me. I lurched forward and threw up. Not pretty. Not heroic. Just... human. Or demonic. Hard to tell.

  And of course, I turned to the only one who always got me. My best, worst, inescapable friend. “Gravor… you alright? What the hell was that?” I mumbled into my own head, still hoping this was all just a very bad fever dream. And he answered. Oh, how he answered. “Goddammit, Luken,” he growled—not angrily, more like he was… drunk? I swear, he sounded like he'd had three glasses of demonwine too many. And then—brace yourself—he threw up. In my mind. I felt my own demon vomit inside my head, which—surprise—made me puke again. Outstanding teamwork.

  Maira, bless her soul, was instantly there and pushed a chair toward me. I almost made it, but the table was closer. And comfier. So I collapsed onto it. Face-down, half-laughing, half-gagging. I swear, it felt like those nights long ago when I passed out on a tavern bench with too much beer and too little dignity. Only now I had more power—and less control. It was... well, kind of nice. That dizzy, spinning feeling, still sensing the world but not having to take it seriously anymore. I think I laughed. Softly, stupidly, genuinely.

  The rebel leader—that old mountain in human form—just stood there… and grinned. A grin! I didn’t even know he could do that. “No one’s ever reacted quite like that,” he muttered—not judgmental, not concerned. Just amused. And me? I could only slur: “Well, I’m special, I guess.” If I’d known how cringe that would feel later, I would’ve sewn my own mouth shut.

  Then—because clearly this whole thing wasn’t ridiculous enough—Gravor chimed in again. Still slurring. “Just had sex with the dryad from the bar,” he said. In my head. “In a bathtub. Glorious. Really. And then you barge in and flood me with the damn future!” I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. So I just said, half aloud, half mentally: “Not my fault.” Stupid. Very stupid. Because everyone heard it.

  Four heads turned toward me. Four pairs of eyes stared. I slowly raised a hand, grinned wide, and said—seriously!—“Just talking to my inner demon.” Pause. Silence. And then that soft, idiotic giggle that came out of my own throat. I sounded like the punchline to a bad joke. Which, frankly, I was.

  But hey… three out of four people in the room already knew. And the fourth—the sage—well, I had a feeling he knew everything anyway. That, by the way, was my last thought before I drifted off to sleep. With a fake smile that hadn’t felt this real in a long, long time.

  -

  The room smelled of sweat, vomit, and old wood—a mix Vin was familiar with but never welcomed. Luken slumped over the table, his head tilted to the side, a trail of drool slowly making its way toward the edge. His armor was splattered with reddish stains—traces of the violence that had shaken his mind. And now: just ragged breathing, a strange peace across his pale face.

  “I think… he’s free now,” Maira said, almost like a sigh of relief. Her voice sounded more honest than Vin had expected. Even though Luken looked like anything but free.

  Vin stood with arms crossed a bit off to the side, weight shifted to one leg, eyes fixed on the drooling, filthy figure at the table.

  Free. Sure.

  Free from Reyn’s control. Free from most of his rage. Free from probably much more. Thoughts bubbled up inside her that she hadn’t invited.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  She wanted him to be okay. She wanted him on their side. She wanted to slee—

  “Damn it, Vin… not now,” she muttered barely audibly, shaking her head slightly, as if she could swat the thought away like a fly. That was a thought for later. One that belonged to the silence after the revolution—not before it.

  What mattered now was that he was ready.

  “When he thinks clearly again, everything is ready,” came Axos’ voice, calm, almost cheerful.

  He leaned against the wall, his gaze wise and razor-sharp. His face bore the marks of those who had seen too much and shed too little of it. Vin had only met him a few days ago, but the name had stuck: Axos. Just a name. No title, no origin. A shadow of a past in human form.

  Arik, on the other hand, said nothing. The ash-born sat motionless in a corner, his face carved from stone. No reaction, no questions—only silence. He waited. Like all of them.

  The minutes dripped by like thick honey. Then—Maira.

  “My patron, Erebos, instructed me to bring Luken here,” she said, shrugging as if she were talking about groceries.

  “That’s done.”

  Axos nodded.

  “And now we strike. Finally.”

  It sounded like a sober statement, but Vin had seen it.

  A twitch. Not much. Barely longer than a blink—but she noticed it. When Maira said Erebos, something flickered across Axos’ face. Not fear. Not anger. But something like… memory. Deep, sorrowful, dark.

  Vin knew that look. She had seen it countless times—in taverns, on marketplaces, in the eyes of broken men with crazy ideas and even crazier debts. In warriors’ eyes after battle.

  When people lived in the past, it sometimes flickered in their gaze—and Vin was a master at recognizing that flame.

  After he got banned from her home to find her inner strength she had learned early that the world of Tirros had little room for outsiders. So she had forced her place.

  Her first steps south led her to Pyria—the city of rivers and blades. There, she learned the art of lying without words. Smiles became weapons. Promises became shackles.

  She had sold herself to many men—for what they wanted to see.

  And as she moved through the beds and balconies of the powerful, she learned what really mattered: desire. Everyone had it. And those who saw it, could guide it. Now she saw it everywhere. Greed in the eyes.

  Power in the voice. Desire in body language. And she saw it in Axos too—when Maira spoke the name Erebos.

  It was like the flare of an old fire that should’ve been long buried under ash. He remembered. What, Vin didn’t know. But it mattered. And she would find out.

  As the fog of the Ice Wastes darkened outside, cold creeping in through small windows, and Luken drifted into a low moan-filled sleep, Vin stepped closer to Axos. Her eyes shimmered—not with curiosity, but with intention.

  Because if Erebos played a role in his story, then Axos was more than just some ultra-wise rebel leader.

  -

  Axos was more. Much more. More than the Great Four – as the High Ones called Luken’s group – could ever grasp. They didn’t know him. Not really. And they wouldn’t see through him in the coming days either. But the reverse was different. Axos knew them. Even Luken and Maira. Not through words, not through shared experience – but through observation.

  He had studied them. Ever since they arrived in the North. And when they entered this place today – for the first time in person – his image of them had only been confirmed. Every step, every gesture, every glance was a confirmation of what he already knew.

  Luken was almost ready. And yet crucial. A paladin who was not one. A bearer with a void in his heart and a presence in his mind that did not entirely belong to him. Axos had felt Gravor. A presence that twitched the moment he entered the room. And Luken? Of course he saw him as an enemy. An enemy whose wisdom makes you want to trust him.

  Maira was more predictable – but only to a point. She too was more than she seemed at first glance. A cleric, certainly. But no ordinary one. The way she spoke – sober, pragmatic, never reverent – was telling. Her faith was not a light that warmed. Rather a coal that still burned from ancient times. The shard of the Plaguefather could be felt, even if she never mentioned it. A mix of calm and decay.

  Axos had met them in person for the first time today. And yet: he knew them better than they knew themselves. That had been part of his preparation. You don’t fight alongside strangers without knowing who they are. And you certainly don’t fight with them against someone like Reyn without being sure how they’ll react when things get serious.

  Gravor already knew too much. Maira sensed something – but she pushed it aside. For now.

  But none of that mattered. Not now. Axos focused. Three parts of his mission were complete. The fourth lay ahead. The final one. And then?

  Reyn. Battle. Decision. Perhaps even an end. The thought that everything might be okay afterward was as na?ve as it was comforting. Axos had seen that thought often – in others. In their faces. In the voices of those who believed the worst was behind them.

  But hope was a tool. Not a goal. Mortals believed they saw images. Visions of the future. Possibilities.

  But what they saw – what spoke through them, acted through him – was something else entirely.

  Something that had already begun.