“Place your hand here,” Elise ordered, voice choppy.
Finn obeyed immediately. He pressed both palms down on the folded cloth she shoved at him, holding it against the viscount’s stomach. Heat and wetness seeped through the fabric almost all at once.
Blood. Way too much of it.
His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, but he held fast, just like she told him.
Around them, the chamber was chaos. Furniture was overturned, papers scattered, and the floor smeared in dark stains.
Near the wall, a window was broken, but there were barely any shards inside the room. It looked like someone had broken out, instead of in.
The viscount lay pale and trembling beneath Finn’s hands, eyes closed, breath shallow. Beside him, the Baron sat propped against the wall, his chest rising raggedly as two guards knelt at his side, binding wounds of their own. The Baron was hurt badly—but he would live.
The viscount… Finn wasn’t so sure.
“Elise?” His voice cracked. “He—he’s not going to—”
“Hold it steady!” she snapped, ripping a strip of linen from a medical kit at her side. “The Baron will survive. The viscount is worse off, so we focus on him first.”
Finn clenched his jaw and nodded, tightening his grip. The blood beneath his fingers pulsed warm and slick, as if life itself was spilling out into his hands. He swallowed hard, his throat unbelievably dry. The urge to throw up was heavy in his stomach. He tried his best to ignore it.
Don’t let go. Don’t let go.
“Move,” Elise commanded a moment later, nudging him aside. She slid in smoothly, wrapping the fresh bandage tight around the viscount’s side, her fingers careful but agile, despite the tremors in her jaw. The wound was deep—way deeper than Finn wanted to think about—but she kept working, panicked yet calm.
Next to him, on the Viscount’s hand, was a ring. It glimmered with a green glow.
Even right now, Finn felt at ease, much more than he should’ve. It was a pleasant feeling, almost… rejuvenating in a way. Whatever the ring was—Finn assumed it was the only thing keeping the Viscount alive. Some type of defensive artifact. It wouldn’t be rare for nobles to carry things like that.
Finally, Elise tied the last strip off and pressed down firmly, her own hands taking over. Her gaze flicked to Finn, sharp and urgent.
“You need to run. Find Steward Hadrian. Tell him assassins have attacked the Baron and the Viscount, and that Claire is missing. He must alert every guard and call up the militia. And inform him to find Sir Nolhan. He took his break from rotation several minutes ago. He couldn’t have gone far. Whoever did this must have known about the Viscount’s servant’s rotations.”
Finn scrambled upright, blood still sticky on his palms. “O-okay! I’ll tell him!” He hesitated only a second, then blurted, “Also! Veronica said the town might be attacked by cultists too! So be careful here.”
He knew that Elise was a mage, so she should be fine even if they did attack.
Elise froze mid-motion, her eyes narrowing. “Cultists…? You were speaking about demons before. How do you two know this?”
But Finn was already backing toward the door. “Just—just trust me! Trust her!”
He bolted out of the chamber, lungs heaving, his palms still tacky and moist with the viscount’s blood. The hall blurred past him as he charged down the steps two at a time, boots echoing across the marble.
Behind him, Elise stared after the boy, brow creased. Then she turned back to her work, pressing her palms down on the viscount’s wound as the faint hiss of his labored breathing filled the silence. She couldn’t afford time in worrying about needless things. Not right now.
The mansion courtyard stretched before Finn, lanterns casting dim, pale glows across the hedges. In front, the large iron gate loomed at the far end. He sprinted straight for it—only to slam to a halt.
It was locked.
“Elise didn’t—ugh!” He kicked the bars once, teeth clenched. She had left the gate locked and not given him the key.
He backed up a step, then sprinted forward and vaulted. His fingers caught the bars, shoes scrambling for purchase as he scrambled up the black iron. For a moment his chest caught on the top rail, sharp points scraping his side, then he twisted and dropped down hard on the other side. His knees jolted from the impact, stumbling, but he immediately moved into a sprint.
The air was cooler outside, brisk and welcoming against his sweating face. He raced across the cobblestone streets toward the town square. Lanterns still hung from the festival, paper shades glowing muted orange. The square itself, so crowded just hours ago, was thinner now. A few drunkards lingered near taverns, laughing and idly engaged in small conversation.
The clamor of the day had dimmed into the harsh stress of the night. Everyone else was winding down, yet, a few minutes from now, that would change entirely.
Finn tore past them all. He knew exactly where to go. Everyone knew where the Hadrian spent most of his time.
The steward’s building loomed ahead at the far side of the square. He hammered on the door with both fists, shouting, “Open up! Please! It’s urgent!”
A few moments later, the door opened. The clerk stared down at him.
“What is it? Do you know the hour, boy?”
“There’s no time!” Finn gasped. “Assassins attacked the Baron and the Viscount! They’re hurt—badly! And Veronica—she’s fighting a demon right now in the forest—”
The man blinked at him, overwhelmed by the shouting. A moment later, did he notice the blood on the kid's hands. “Slow down, slow down. You’re just spouting gibberish at me. Who are you, anyway?”
“I don’t matter!” Finn snapped, both fists balled. “What matters is Veronica needs help! The whole town might be attacked!”
At that name, the man’s brows knitted upward. “Veronica… the mage?” Of course this man knew her. He worked with the steward—he was one of the few that directly knew that Veronica slew the ogre a few days ago.
The man exhaled sharply and pulled the door open. “Alright, inside. Quickly. Hadrian’s office is that door, in the back.” He pointed toward the far right. “You best not be lying about this. Hadrian’s fine with putting even children in jail.”
Finn bolted past him without another word.
The steward’s office was cramped, lit by a single standing lamp. Steward Hadrian sat behind his desk, spectacles perched on his nose as he scribbled something over a ledger. He looked up in surprise as Finn burst in.
“What is the meaning of—”
“The viscount’s daughter has been kidnapped!” Finn blurted. “Assassins stabbed the Baron and Viscount—Elise is with them now—but they’re in critical condition! And Veronica—she’s in the forest, fighting a demon!”
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The words hit like hammer blows. One by one, each one like calamities stacked on top of each other. The boy's urgent panicked face, combined with the mess of blood on his palms, left no room for jokes. Hadrian’s face drained of color at once. He shot to his feet, knocking over his chair.
“Repeat that. A demon?”
The rumors of people dressed in robes and lurking around town wasn’t new to him. However, none of his guards ever caught sight of such people. Despite this, villagers have gone missing left and right—but there wasn’t anything he could do besides tell people to be more on alert.
Steward Hadrian of course, had suspicions that there were some people taking bribes, or corrupt guardsmen—but there was no solid proof. Old Thom had been hounding him, but there simply wasn’t anything he could do besides interrogate every single person in Greystone.
“Yes!” Finn replied, breathless. “Elise told me to tell you to get the town guards ready. She might also need a medical team with her, too. The lord’s injuries—both of them—they looked very bad. And Veronica said that the town may be under attack soon, and just in case you need to prepare everyone to fight!”
Hadrian didn’t waste another heartbeat. He strode across the office, lifted some type of object, an object with a slight curve to it. On the stand, he pressed his finger onto its surface. A blue light shone, forming a misty haze. Finn noticed that it was some type of magical artifact. A sharp buzz rang as some type of connection formed.
“Captain Luthen,” he barked the moment the line clicked, “mobilize all guards immediately. Sound the bells, arm the registered militia, and distribute weapons at once. I want a detachment sent straight to the Baron’s mansion. They’ve been attacked. Yes—assassins. I don’t care if it’ll take ten minutes! Stop asking questions. Move!”
Finn stood frozen and huffing, listening to Hadrian’s orders crackle across the device. Relief washed through him. He had done it. He had delivered the warning. The town would be ready.
But even as the steward spoke, Finn’s thoughts began to drift. His pulse still raced, but not from running.
The cultists. They needed a sacrifice. Claire—she was the one they wanted. According to Elise’s words, she must’ve been in that room with them.
That meant they had kidnapped her.
Finn didn’t know who Nolhan was that Elise mentioned. But if that person took their break only a few minutes ago, then that meant the cultists waited until he was gone. The attack must have happened recently. Which meant the cultists couldn’t have gone far.
They’d be moving toward the ruins. Toward the ritual.
Finn clenched his fists. He remembered Veronica’s words: save those who can save others. He had done that. The guards and militia would rally now—the town would be safe.
But Claire…
He turned and ran from the office before the steward had even hung up.
“Where are you going?!” the balding clerk shouted after him as he darted through the front door.
“I’m headed toward the old ruins to to save Claire!”
There wasn’t much time to explain everything else. He couldn’t wait for them to prepare a team and search for her.
Ten minutes, according to what Hadrian said over that magic device?
By then, it might be too late. Veronica was already fighting a demon on her own. Elise was too busy helping both lords. Captain Luthen had to call up the guards and militia and direct orders.
There was no time. No one else to or help.
That meant only he was fast enough to hike through the woods right now.
His feet slammed hard against the dirt as he bolted down the street, past glowing lanterns and shuttered windows.
I warned the town. That was my promise. His chest burned, but his stride never faltered. Now I just have one thing left to do.
Save Claire.
Greystone was a poor mining town, too far from the Kingdom’s heart to benefit from most magitech advances. Annesheim—and most other cities—relied little on manual labor when magitech handled the hardest work. For Greystone, that meant no automated wagons. No mana-driven constructs hauling people where they needed to go.
Just old solutions. Manual ones that required labor.
Finn’s legs burned as he pedaled, the old bike rattling beneath him with every turn.
It was barely more than a frame and two wheels—thick wooden beams lashed together, mounted with iron brackets dark with age and rust. The pedals resisted every push; the chains ground together as if they might snap loose at any moment.
Finn had heard of better bikes in other cities. Full iron frames. Enchanted ones that were lightened, reinforced, and sometimes mana-assisted. Constructs shaped like vehicles, built to glide forward with ease. Some could even fly, thanks to the capital’s scholars and inventors.
Greystone couldn’t afford things like that.
This bike was one of the last archaic contraptions left to have survived—barely.
He’d hidden it there in the dump, keeping it out of reach of other children. It was smaller now, the frame tight beneath him, but it was still faster than running.
And right now, that was enough.
He pedaled hard, weaving out of the edge of town and into the forest path that led toward the old ruins. His lungs and legs burned, but he pressed on.
Veronica should’ve been fighting further west, he thought, glancing through the trees. If anyone could kill that monster, it’s her. Please let it be dead.
Branches whipped against his arms and face as the forest thickened, shadows long beneath the lantern's lights spilling faintly from the town behind him.
Soon, it became dark, and he relied on the moonlight to distinguish the open space in front of him. He took a shortcut, a small, worn path—a path only he traveled. As long as there wasn’t a tree in the way, he’d make it without much problem.
Finn pushed harder, but as he rounded a bend, something moved ahead. A light that broke through the leaves.
His stomach lurched. He slammed both feet down, skidding to a halt as the bike jolted beneath him. Without thinking, he dropped low, dragging the bike down with him. He pulled it across his body, pressing himself against the dirt. His hands scrambled for leaves and twigs, covering himself in a thin layer of forest brush. He forced his breathing to halt.
Bootsteps.
A pair of cultists emerged from the trees with a small light. Their robes were covered in dirt, hoods drawn low. From where he was, he could only see two, but there were sounds of more. One carried a longsword slung casually across his shoulder. Another had a belt of knives that clinked against each other with every step.
Finn didn’t move. Not a single muscle. If he was caught here, he’d die—he knew that.
If there was anything he was confident in, then it was erasing his presence and hiding. He was the greatest spy in Greystone, after all. He could even sneak up on Veronica.
Their voices carried through the trees.
“…the little bitch was faking the whole time,” one of the robed figures grunted, sword strapped across his back.
“Who’d have thought the viscount gave her a magic ring?” another spat, knives glinting faintly at his hip. “Body’s still sore from being tossed like that.”
“Probably should have expected it after that bastard shielded his own body after we stabbed him. She probably ran back to town,” another voice said.
“Doesn’t matter,” the swordsman replied. “We gutted the both of them anyway. Even if they live, they’ll be useless. All we need to do now is grab her again and haul her to the mines.”
Another voice spoke, older and raspier. “Do we even still have time? Leader’s already at the last steps of the ritual. The mines are also further away from the ruins.”
“The circle takes hours,” someone else replied. “He had to redraw it with the last of that demon’s blood. If those guys had actually killed that mage back then, things would’ve been done by now. But now we have to wait for it to be drawn again. And knowing that beast—he won’t give us more for free.”
The group chuckled darkly. It was a nervous laugh. One mixed with fear.
“So this is our last shot then, unless we’re willing to offer our own souls up.”
“Heh. If we can’t get the girl, we’ll just use the townsfolk. Blood is blood remember? Claire’s blood is unique, but it isn’t required. It just saves us time for a stronger demon summoning. With most of the town sleeping away, we’ll get the girl, and enough blood for two summons.”
Finn pressed himself flatter, every nerve in his body screaming for him to move, to run. But he stayed frozen, heart hammering against the dirt.
Seconds stretched. Their boots grew fainter. Then, finally, silence.
He waited three more breaths before daring to move. Slowly, he lifted his head.
There was no one in sight.
Finn exhaled hard, his whole body trembling. He shoved the bike upright and brushed leaves from his arms.
So Claire had escaped somehow. Something about a ring. Whatever the case, that worked in their favor. Claire was safe.
But the cultists weren’t giving up. Not yet.
His stomach knotted hard as the words played back in his mind.
Blood is blood.
If they couldn’t have Claire, they’d sacrifice anyone they could drag into their circle. The festival-goers. Families. Children.
He could only hope that Veronica had killed the demon by now. But if he knew anything about demons from the stories—they were tough. If the cultists were considering assaulting the entirety of Greystone, that meant they had the numbers—or the firepower—to do so.
He saw what that goat-like demon could do. If they summoned another one, let alone two, he doubted Veronica could take them on immediately. And that was considering if she could even kill the goat-demon first.
Finn gulped and hopped on his bike.
Thoughts like that weren’t helpful. He just had to believe Veronica could kill it. That left only one surefire way to end this nightmare: the ritual.
His fists clenched around the handlebars. His heart raced and body trembled, yet there was little fear. Instead, he was filled with conviction. Determination. A sense of resolve to stop the cultists from hurting others. Veronica had saved him. That meant he had to prove his worth. The only way to do that—was by saving others.
If Veronica can fight a demon, then I can at least stop a stupid circle.
He steeled himself, kicked off, and pedaled hard. The wheels rattled and groaned, carrying him deeper toward the ruins.
discord server setup! Come in and say hi, or lurk around like a cultist!
https://discord.gg/9bqk4dHD2w
Path of Veils and Path of Imbuement.
Path of Veils and the Path of Imbuement specialize in thieving, or deceptive tools. Rather than casting illusions directly, they enchant items with the essence of misdirection. Popular items include masks that alter appearance, cloaks that mask and erase presences, or artifacts that mute sound. These mages are very popular with assassin and bounty-hunter guilds, while some prefer working with the more underground crowd. These mages boast the highest rate of conviction, due to misuse and mismanagement, allowing black-market weapons to fall in the hands of unregistered users.
Pieces are falling fast, and time is narrowing. With Veronica fighting a demon, Elise concerned with the Lord's wounds, and the guards needing time to arm themselves against the approaching cultist attack—do you think Finn made the right choice to go off alone to stop the ritual?
