The wind gently blew as Oreon stood face to face with the corrupted dark elf woman in front of him. He fixed her with a hostile stare, the dagger he held still aimed at her.

  “I’m only going to ask you one more time,” Oreon growled. “What did you do to Silas?”

  A smile spread across the dark elf's face, her sharp teeth peeking out. “The old tailor of this town.” She teased Oreon playfully with her gentle tone, mocking his question. “The old man with the kind smile and the gentle hands? The man who could thread anything and make wonders.” A soft yet cruel laugh echoed throughout the square. “Such a caring soul, wasn’t he? Always helping where he could. He had earned quite the respect in this little town." She put her arms across her chest and calmly surveyed the square, as if she were just now taking it all in.

  Oreon's grip on his daggers intensified. She was toying with him, and he knew it. Drawing out the moment, savoring his fear. “Answer the damn question,” he said through his teeth, his breathing picking up slowly.

  The dark elf let out a theatrical sigh, placing a hand against her cheek. “So impatient…You humans really don’t know how to enjoy anything, do you?” She brought her gaze back towards Oreon and sighed. “Very well, since you asked so nicely…If you want to know if the old man is alive. Then yes, for now at least…However, his mind.” Her clawed finger drummed lightly on her temple. "That's an entirely different conversation."

  Oreon’s eyes narrowed. “Where. Is. He."

  “Right here, boy.” She kept smiling at him, opening her arms wide in a theatrical gesture. “You’ve been looking at him this whole time. Or rather—” She pointed at her head with her clawed finger. “The memories of him.” She chuckled. “The memories he has, his mannerisms, his little quirks—” Suddenly her voice changed. “—Even down to his voice.” Her chuckling grew louder as Oreon’s eyes widened in horror.

  A sense of dread washed over Oreon. That voice was unmistakable. The warm, slightly raspy tone that had greeted him countless times in the tailor’s shop. The same voice that he heard argue with his fabrics, give advice, joke, and laugh with Meara during the time Oreon spent in this town.

  “No…” The word escaped him before he could stop it. His daggers trembled slightly in his hands.

  The dark elf—no, the thing wearing Silas’s memories—laughed with delight at his reaction. “Oh, that expression! You should see the look on your face!” She clapped her hands together like a child receiving a gift. “This is why I love this part. Watching someone's hope crumble into despair, ugh…It’s so delicious.” She switched her voice again. “Come now, boy. Don’t look so pale. You’ll worry this old man.”

  “Stop it.” Oreon’s voice grew deeper with frustration as he glared hatefully at the elf in front of him, breathing heavily, trying to control his emotions.

  “Stop what?” She laughed, switching back to her voice—that silky, venomous purr. “I’m simply…wearing him. Memories are quite the delicacy, you know. All those years of kindness, hope, believing the best in people.” She pressed her hand to her chest dramatically. “It’s almost sickening how pure he was. How much he cared about this miserable little town. Even more so of how he tries to live day by day, living with the haunting memories of when the Order came and stomped out his quaint little village.” Her smirk turned devilish.

  Oreon’s breath caught in his throat.

  The words hit him like a freight train. Silas had never spoken of his past. Not once. The old tailor had always deflected questions with a gentle smile and a change of subject.

  “Some stories are better left untold,” He’d say, patting Oreon’s shoulder before returning to his needlework.

  “Oh?” The dark elf responded, clearly enjoying the thousands of expressions Oreon was going through right now. “He never told you, did he? About the village he came from? About the family he lost?” She let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing her clawed fingers to her lips. “How tragic…the boy didn’t even know.”

  “Watch it,” Oreon growled, but his voice wavered.

  “The screams of his wife as they dragged her away. The faces of his children—” She paused, tilting her head as if listening to something only she could hear. “Ah, yes. Two of them. A boy and a girl. Burned alive in their own home while he watched, helpless, bleeding in the dirt. Such a…Sad, lowly man.”

  “That's enough!” Oreon lunged forward, his body moving on its own before his mind had the chance to catch up. "Your dead..." He threatened as he got within range of the dark elf.

  His daggers cut through the air in a furious arc, aimed straight at the dark elf’s throat. But she was faster—impossibly so. She sidestepped his attack with ease, her clawed hand catching his wrist mid-swing.

  “Ah-ah-ah…” She tutted. “Temper, temper.” With a casual flick, she sent him stumbling backward. However, Oreon caught himself, boots scraping against the cobblestone street, his chest heaving as he lunged again, this time deploying a series of swipes against his opponent.

  His blades sang through the air—left, right, diagonal, thrust—each strike precise despite the fury. The dark elf danced backward, dodging and sidestepping Oreon with minimal effort. Weaving between his attacks as if this was simply another walk in the park for her.

  “Such passion!” She laughed, deflecting one of his attacks with her clawed fingers. Sparks flew where the metal met her nails. “But so sloppy!” She interjected while skillfully dodging another of Oreon's assaults, then executed a forceful roundhouse kick to his midsection, launching him into several nearby crates.

  The wood splintered around him as he crashed through, the impact driving the air from his lungs. For a moment, Oreon lay there—gasping, staring up at the sky through the debris.

  “Get up.” His body screamed in protest. His ribs ached. His wrist throbbed where she’d grabbed him. “Come on, it was just one kick.” He breathed as he slowly sat up. Finally, he forced himself onto one knee, coughing. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, warm and sticky as it dripped past his eye.

  The dark elf hadn’t moved from her spot. With arms crossed, she watched him, her gaze holding the same detached amusement as a cat playing with a trapped mouse. “Still alive? Good.” She tilted her head. “I was worried I’d broken my new toy already.”

  Oreon spat blood onto the ground. His grip found his daggers again as he slowly stood up, ready to face her once again. “You’re…not…getting…that shard,” he managed between ragged breaths. “And you’re damn sure…going to return everything you stole from Silas.” He gritted his teeth, preparing for another round.

  The dark elf’s laughter echoed throughout the square. “Oh, how adorable.” She uncrossed her arms, letting them hang loosely at her sides. “You can barely stand. Your ribs are cracked just from that one kick.” She took a step forward. “And yet, you still want to fight?”

  His hands were shaking. He knew it. She knew it. But he planted his feet anyway, widening his stance despite the screaming protest of his ribs.

  “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” The dark elf sighed, almost disappointed. “Very well. If you insist on making this difficult…” She moved.

  One moment, she was ten feet away. Next, her face was inches from his—close enough that he could feel her breath.

  Oreon gritted his teeth, trying to move for an attack. “Damn it, she’s too fast.”

  “—Then I’ll simply have to…beat that stubbornness out of you.” Her knee drove into Oreon’s stomach hard, causing him to gasp in pain before he could even react. Oreon doubled over, gagging as she grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat.

  “The shard,” She whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “Where is it?”

  “Go to hell,” Oreon rasped.

  “Wrong answer.” She threw him. Not gently—threw him, like he weighed nothing at all. His body skidded and bounced against the hard surface as she ran towards him, not giving him a chance to even think about regaining control of his body, and delivered another hard kick to his stomach, driving his body into another plethora of crates and debris that resided at the corner of a building.

  Pain exploded through Oreon’s body as wood splintered around him. Something cracked—another rib, maybe two. His vision swam, the world tilting sideways as he lay crumpled among the wreckage.

  “Pathetic.” The dark elf’s voice drifted toward him. Her footsteps were unhurried. Click. Click. Click. “Is this really all that you have to offer? The troublesome human who managed to steal the dragon shard right from under the Order’s noses?”

  Oreon’s vision blurred. He tried to push himself up—his arms gave out as he collapsed back into the debris, coughing up blood. “…Damn…she hits hard…harder than rot.” Oreon’s mind raced as he tried to find some way to catch his breath.

  “Honestly…” The dark elf crouched beside him, her eyes staring down at him with disappointment. “I expected more. The reports said you were clever. Resourceful.” She reached down, grabbing his chin with her clawed fingers, forcing him to look at her. “But all I see is a broken boy, A useless…Broken…Human.”

  Oreon could only barely manage a glare at the dark elf as he tried with what little strength he had and forced his body up, not fast, but fast enough to catch the dark elf by surprise as he tried to slash upward in a wide arc, time slowed down as she looked at him with surprise for a split second, but it quickly turned into a smirk.

  Oreon's eyes could only widen as the two stared at each other with two completely different expressions on their faces, but both for completely different reasons.

  Oreon had missed.

  The blade whistled past her cheek—close enough to disturb a strand of silver hair, but nothing more. She hadn’t even moved. Just …tilted her head—barely an inch.

  “Oh, what a shame…” Her smirk stretched. “...You missed.” Her fist connected with his jaw before he could even register the movement. The world spun. Oreon’s body twisted midair, crashing into the ground with a sickening thud. His dagger clattered away, spinning out of reach. The other remained clutched in his fingers, which had gone numb.

  Grog and his men watched on, hiding behind some barrels at the far end of the market, scared stiff at what they were seeing as Oreon’s body lay on the ground, barely breathing.

  The dark elf straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulders. “Tch, you got dirt on my clothes.” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head slowly. “How rude.” She stated as she looked down at Oreon, who lay face down on the ground, his head turned to the side, eyes almost blank.

  “Hmm…” She hummed as she placed her boot on his head. “Maybe I overdid it a bit.” She said as she saw his body twitch beneath her. “Oh, you’re still conscious.” The weight of her boot pressed down on his skull. “Hello! Are you awake in there?” Her voice drifted down as the pressure on his skull increased.

  “…Ngh…” A sound escaped him. Not quite a word or groan, but something in between.

  “There we go.” Her boot lifted slightly, only to tap against his head, mocking him. “For a moment, I thought I’d actually killed you. That would’ve been…inconvenient.” She took her boot off his head. “Now then.” The dark elf crouched beside him again, her silver hair spilling over her shoulder like a curtain. She reached down, brushing bloodied strands of hair from his face with an almost tender gesture. “Let’s try this again, shall we? The Dragon Shard. Where. Is. It.”

  Oreon looked up at her out of the eye that he could see out of, his vision still blurry as he tried to focus on her face. He caught her expression. The way she looked at him was like he was nothing more than an insect pinned to a board.

  “I already…told you…” His voice came out, barely audible. “Go…to hell…”

  The dark elf sighed. “You know, I’m beginning to think you want me to hurt you.” She stood, her boot finding his hand—the one holding the dagger—and pressing down. Hard. “Is that it? Some kind of…human thing? Pain as pleasure? Or are you just stupid?”

  Oreon bit back a scream as the bones in his ground together. “No?” She tilted her head, watching his face contort. “Then perhaps it is the ladder. Or maybe—”

  “—Get away from the human.” The dark elf's eyes widened with surprise as Sylvanie's voice registered in her hearing. Her head turned in the nick of time to see Sylvanie's scythe slicing towards her abdomen. The weapon hit with a solid impact, propelling the dark elf through multiple structures.

  Sylvanie stood over Oreon, her eyes focused as dust and debris settled around them. Her scythe extended from the follow-through as she slowly relaxed herself, looking down at the fallen Oreon. “Tch—You look like shit.”

  “Yeah…because you took…so long.” Oreon breathed.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Sylvanie rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “Oh, I’m sorry—did you want me to teleport? Or maybe sprout wings like I’m some Harpysylph.”

  Oreon managed a faint chuckle that soon turned into a bout of coughing. “Wings would’ve been an improvement.”

  Sylvanie sighing dramatically, kneeled beside him. She scanned his wounds, taking in all the bruises and gashes on him. “You’re a mess.” Her voice softened, though only a little. “Can you stand?”

  “Give me…a minute.” Oreon tried to push himself up. His arms shook violently before he collapsed back to the ground with a grunt.

  “That’s a no, then.” Sylvanie’s hand found his shoulder as she looked up at Silas’s shop. “Celestia!” She called. “Get over here! He needs healing!”

  Soon after, Celestia appeared, with Silas's arm resting on her shoulder, guiding him out of the structure. Her eyes widen at the sight of Oreon’s battered form. “By the light…” She carefully lowered Silas against a nearby wall—who groaned but was more or less alive. “Rest easy, I’ll be back.” She told him as she made her way towards Oreon.

  Kneeling swiftly next to Oreon, she began assessing the damage, her hands already emitting a gentle golden luminescence. “Three broken ribs…internal bleeding…fractured wrist…a concussion, you’re lucky she didn't kill you.” She whispered, her gaze falling on Oreon as his form started to emanate the same light that enveloped her hands.

  “Don’t… fuss,” Oreon managed, flinching as Celestia’s warmth surged through his chest. As his ribs gradually healed, the pain started to subside.

  His bones were reconnecting, which was a bit uncomfortable for him as he gritted his teeth a bit. “Breathe through it. You’re lucky I regained my magic after those few days of rest, or we would be having a different problem right now.” She continued healing him.

  “Nngh…” He bit down on his bottom lip, forcing himself to breathe through the discomfort.

  “Stay still,” Celestia murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration. Steady golden light emanated from her hands, bathing his injured body. “

  Oreon’s breathing began to sound normal as the cuts and bruises began to close and disappear as if they were never there at all. “How's…Silas?” He asked, even while gritting his teeth.

  Celestia continued her healing as she glanced back over at Silas before returning her gaze to Oreon. “Alive. Weak, but alive. His energy was siphoned from his body, but I stabilized him for now. He’ll live, but he’ll need rest.”

  “Good…” Oreon breathed slowly as the worst of the pain began to fade, finishing up his body as Oreon's eyes shot open, and he slowly began lifting himself up, grabbing his daggers.

  He felt the firm pressure of Celestia's hand on his shoulder. “Easy. I just healed you. Your body needs some time to adjust.”

  "Unfortunately," Oreon declared, getting to his feet with his daggers now perfectly mended, albeit with a touch of dizziness as he steadied himself. “We have bigger problems to worry about. That elf she can—”

  “—Shapeshift?” Sylvanie interrupted him, looking back at him over her shoulder before shifting her focus to the rubble where the elf was. “Yeah, we know. There was only one elf in Vel’Andria that could do that.” She gritted her teeth.

  Celestia, now facing the wreckage, narrowed her gaze. “...Divia…” Her voice was low, but there was a hint of anger laced in it.

  The rubble shifted. The figure gracefully rose from the destruction, a composed demeanor evident as she dusted off her shoulders amidst falling debris. As the fog cleared, Divia's crimson eyes gleamed, and a chilling smile spread across her face.

  “Well…Well…” Her voice carried across the square, smooth as poisoned honey. “The Valyrian sisters. What an honor it is to see you again.” She advanced, her grace undiminished by the blow she'd just received. “How long has it been since we last saw each other?” She stopped, facing the three as she mildly thought about the question. “What? Like three months, since the fall of…” She chuckled.

  Sylvanie clutched her scythe firmly. “Of all the traitorous scum the Order could’ve sent…” Furious, she clenched her jaw, her eyes blazing. “It had to be her.”

  “Aww, did you miss me, Sylvanie?” Divia tilted her head, her smile widening. “I certainly missed you. Both of you, actually.” Her gaze drifted to Celestia. “Especially you, princess. You always were my favorite.”

  Celestia’s expression remained composed, though her hands trembled slightly at her sides. “Divia.” With a firm, unhurried cadence, her voice conveyed the resolve of a queen who would not display any weakness. “You were one of our most trusted advisors. You served my father for decades. Saw to the house of Valyrian…Served to protect our people like the rest of us. So why?”

  Divia let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Why?” She repeated, as if the question itself amused her. “Oh, Celestia…Some things never change. You’re still just as na?ve as ever. So, trusting, still clinging to that foolish idealism of yours.” With a shake of her head, she rested one hand on her hip and subtly shifted her weight onto her right leg. “And then you used the term ‘served’ like it’s an accomplishment.” She spat, her tone slightly changing. “I, like so many others, was nothing but a tool. A weapon to be pointed at your enemies and discarded when convenient. I’ve even killed my own kind in the name of your father, a delusional elven king, who had lost his way and remained docile, when we could have done what the Order did.”

  Celestia's jaw tensed. Like smoke, the accusation filled the air, heavy and hard to bear. “My father was a ruler who wanted peace, don’t you dare—”

  “—Your mother wanted peace.” Divia cut her off, crossing her arms as she locked eyes with Celestia. “Your father was a weak warmonger, using manipulation tactics to put on a good show. However, that old fool had passed his prime and was too weak to understand what wielding real power is.”

  Celestia's calm facade faltered a bit, and her fingers clenched into fists. “You know nothing of my father—”

  “—You’d be surprised, princess.” Divia cocked her head over to Sylvanie. “Both of you would. But I’ll keep it simple and leave it at that since it's clear that you two were sheltered in that gilded cage you call home. Meanwhile, the order came and offered me a way out. A purpose beyond being a shadow lurking behind a throne that I’ll never sit on.”

  Anger was evident on Sylvanie’s face. “A purpose? You call betraying your own people a purpose? I always knew you were a sick, twisted elf.” She pointed her scythe at Divia. “You’re no different from that trash, Rot. Helping the order slaughter kids and elders who couldn’t even lift a blade!”

  “Casualties of war.” Divia waved her hand dismissively. “But don’t act so righteous, Sylvanie. Your hands aren’t exactly clean either. How many lives have you snuffed out in your father’s name? Hmm…how many lives have you taken without a second thought?”

  Sylvanie flinched. Just barely—but enough for Divia to notice.

  “Ah…there it is.” The dark elf's grin became menacing. “That guilt you try so hard to bury. We’re not so different, you and I. The only difference is…I stopped pretending.”

  “We are nothing alike,” Sylvanie growled.

  “Keep telling yourself that, dear.”

  Celestia positioned herself to shield her sister from Divia. “Enough.” Her voice cut through the tension. “Whatever grievances you have with our father—with our kingdom—it doesn’t justify what you’ve done. Regardless of what the Order has promised you, surely you must know that the purpose they gifted you comes with chains, bound to their oath.”

  Divia let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, how poetic. Did you rehearse that?” She advanced, her boots striking the cobblestone with a click. “You speak of chains as if you understand them. But you’ve never truly known what it means to be bound, princess. To watch everything you’ve worked for be credited to someone else. To be invisible even when standing in plain sight.”

  “Then talk to us!” Celestia’s composure swayed again. “If you felt unheard, if you felt wronged—we could have—”

  “Could have what?” Divia stopped; her eyes bore into Celestia’s. “Listened? Changed things?” A mocking smile played on her lips. “Your father’s court was built on tradition and hierarchy. Nothing changes in Vel’Andria. Nothing ever changed.” She paused, her gaze drifting momentarily. “The Order…They saw me…No, that’s not right. They gave me an opportunity.” She shifted her gaze back towards the trio. “An opportunity to be valued by what I can do, not by whose shadow I stood in.”

  Oreon caught Celestia’s composure wither little by little with each accusation, causing him to step forward. “You know what I’m hearing?” Oreon’s voice cut through the tension, rough but steady. He stepped beside Celestia, pointing his dagger at Divia. “A whole lot of excuses.”

  Divia’s eyes slid toward him, narrowing slightly. “Ah, the human speaks.” She tilted her head as if slightly surprised by the sight of him. “I’m surprised you can even stand after what I did to you. Celestia’s healing was always impressive. More so than the top healers in Vel’Andria…However…Seeing that you’re up on your feet again, I think it’s time I put you back down where you were…” She snickered. “Besides, you looked so much better down there.” With that, she launched herself upward, her body in a crouched position while airborne. Her clawed fingers were slightly sharper than they were previously. Her body quickly vanished and reappeared in front of Oreon before he could even blink, as he could do nothing but look at Divia’s form above him, with her clawed hand coming towards his face.

  “Dammit!” He quickly tried to move his daggers to block.

  “Keep up, human!” Divia laughed as she brought her claws down.

  Time seemed to slow as Divia’s claws descended. Oreon’s daggers barely managed to rise—too slow, far too slow. The world narrowed to a single point; those gleaming talons aimed at his face.

  Then—

  CLANG!’

  Sylvanie’s scythe intercepted the blow. The force of the impact creates shockwaves in the air, making Oreon stumble backward.

  “Tch--!” Sylvanie grunted, her arms straining against Divia’s strength. “You really think I’d stand here and let you touch him twice?”

  Divia’s eyes widened momentarily before that cold smile returned. “My, my…protective, aren’t we?” She pushed off, flipping backward to create distance between them, landing gracefully, and placing her right hand back on her hip. “Since when did the proud Sylvanie start playing bodyguard for a human? Or I guess a better question would be, since when did a ‘human hater’ change her mind?” Her red eyes locked on Sylvanie.

  Sylvanie gritted her teeth as she glared at Divia. “Shut up.” Her tone was threatening.

  “Oh? Did I strike a nerve?” Divia’s grin widened. “You know, I remember how you used to talk about humans back in Vel’Andria. ‘Inferior.’ ‘Short-lived vermin.’ Beneath our notice.” She let out another laugh. “And now look at you—risking your life for one. My, how the mighty have fallen.”

  “I said shut up!” Sylvanie lunged, her scythe slicing through the air in a lethal sweep. Divia's movements were exceptionally fluid as she dodged, her body twisting in a way that defied natural limits while the blade sliced through the air near her face.

  “So fiesty—” Divia taunted, dancing backward. “You’re still the same impulsive little princess. No wonder your father always favored Celestia.”

  The words hit their mark. Sylvanie’s next swing was wild—uncontrolled. Divia exploited the opening immediately, ducking under the blade and driving her palm into Sylvanie’s stomach.

  “Gah--!” The impact sent Sylvanie skidding back, her feet scraping against the ground as she dropped to one knee.

  “Sylvanie!” Celestia's voice echoed while Oreon entered, now determined to achieve a better outcome than his initial bout with Divia.

  Oreon's daggers sliced through the air quickly, with each blow accurate even though his newly healed body still ached. Divia effortlessly avoided his strikes, a playful glint in her eyes.

  “Persistent little thing, aren’t you?” She caught his wrist mid-swing. “I admire that. Truly.”

  Oreon grunted, twisting his body to break free while slashing with his other blade, but she leaned her head back and evaded the attack altogether. “Oh, you’re actually serious this time around.” She dodged another strike as she delivered a kick of her own, but Oreon sidestepped it and tried a backhand slash toward her throat.

  Divia twisted away, the blade whistling past her neck by mere inches. “Not bad,” She admitted, genuine surprise flickering across her features. “You’re faster than before. Did almost dying piss you off or something?”

  Oreon didn’t respond. Instead, he pressed forward, his movements sharper and more deliberate. Each strike flowed into the next, a deadly rhythm born from years of survival in places far darker than people knew. But Divia matched him. Every trust met empty air. Every slash served only as a tease, hinting at how close he was to cutting her.

  “You’re good,” She purred, ducking beneath a horizontal sweep. “For a human.” Her knee shot upward toward his ribs.

  Oreon caught it with his forearm—barely. The impact rattled through his bones, but he used the momentum, spinning and driving his elbow toward her temple.

  She caught it. Her fingers wrapped around his arm like an iron vice. “But good isn’t enough.” Her other hand came up, claws gleaming—

  --A burst of golden light slammed into Divia’s side.

  The dark elf hissed, releasing Oreon as she was forced to leap away. Celestia stood with her palm outstretched, wisps of radiant energy still curling around her fingers.

  “Stand down, Divia.” She spoke, her eyes narrowed at her as Divia jumped back, distancing herself from the trio.

  “Ah…There she is.” Divia flexed her burned hand, watching the wound slowly knit itself back together. “The radiant princess finally joins the fray. I was wondering when you’d stop watching from the sidelines.”

  Celestia stepped forward, her presence commanding despite the tension in the air. “I won’t ask again. Stand down.”

  “Stand down?” A hollow, bitter sound escaped Divia as she laughed. “After everything I just told you?” Her laughter echoed as she remained in a crouched position on the ground where she had landed. "Princess, I've made it clear that I'm finished living in the Velyrian family's shadow. Consequently, I won't be taking orders from you anymore." She smiled.

  Oreon moved to Celestia’s side, daggers at the ready. His breathing was heavier now, the exertion catching up despite the healing. “She’s not gonna listen to you, you know.”

  “I know.” Celestia’s voice was quiet. “But I had to try.”

  Sylvanie rose to her feet, one hand pressed against her stomach where Divia had struck her. “Enough talking.” She spat blood onto the ground. “Let’s finish this.”

  Divia’s smile continued to spread like a disease. “Three against one? How…Unsporting.” She slowly began to stand up. “I do believe I’m outnumbered and that’s just not fair…Maybe…It’s about time…I even up the odds.” Suddenly, a wave of corrupted shadow magic burst from behind her.

  The air itself seemed to recoil from the dark energy that pulsed outward. Oreon felt it—a wrongness that crawled beneath his skin, making his stomach turn.

  “What the—” He stepped back instinctively.

  From the swirling shadows behind Divia, four figures began to emerge. It was almost as if they were stepping out of a portal. All the beings, regardless of their size, were attired in the same cloak Divia had previously shed.

  “No—” Celestia's eyes widen in shock, along with her sister.

  “It can’t be—” Sylvanie responded in the same manner. “Not you to…”

  The tallest, but leaner figure stepped forward, walking past Divia, who took a step back as it made its way forward, but stopped in front of her.

  “Good work, Divia.” Its raspy voice complemented. “You brought the shard to us.”

  “Well, I can’t take all the credit.” She turned her head towards the trio. “After all, you did find them first…Vexes.” She spoke his name as the tall figure reached up slowly, pulling back his hood to reveal sharp elven features on ashen skin. His red eyes are similar to Divia’s, with the holy insignia as his pupils. He was adorned in black religious garments and black boots, with his black hair reaching slightly below his neck.

  Suddenly, the figure who was the shortest out of the group slowly removed their hood. A different dark elf, with skin that remained ebony, was revealed. Her red hair, pulled back into a ponytail, was complemented by the same attire as her comrades. Her eyes mirrored them, and a cunning grin played on her lips.

  A sturdier-looking individual came next and pulled down their hood. A different dark elf, distinguished by ashen skin and pupils reflecting the holy Order, made their presence known. His bald head gleamed under the sunlight, and a jagged scar ran from his left temple down to his jaw. Unlike the others, his build spoke of raw physical power—a warrior, not just a mage. His thick arms crossed over his chest as he regarded the trio with cold indifference.

  And the last elf on the far end, beside Divia, removed their hood as well. Showcasing another male dark elf with the same skin as the others, but with glasses on his face, his pupils glowing through them. His hair was short and blue, his ashen white hand holding onto a staff that looked as if it were made by the Order itself.

  Sylvanie gritted her teeth, her grip tightening around her scythe as she stared at the group, unable to believe what she was seeing. “All—All of you.”

  Celestia couldn’t believe her eyes either. The group that stood before them was definitely well known in her eyes. Each individual who revealed themselves to them in Order garbs was nothing short of shocking.

  “Um, guys, you both are kind of staring with your jaws to the ground,” Oreon said, nervously getting in a fighting stance, preparing for the worst. “Mind telling me who these guys are?”

  Celestia’s voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “They’re…They were Vel’Andria’s assassination unit.” Her eyes glistened, pain etched across her features. “Father’s most trusted warriors. The ones who were sent to eliminate any threat that would cause a political shift amongst our kind.”

  “Jaegers,” Sylvanie finished, saying the name as if it hurt, as she specifically kept her eyes on the red-haired elf who just gave her a knowing smirk in response.

  The five corrupted elves stood across the square from the trio. Each of their stares was filled with nothing short of malice as they prepared themselves to take what they were ordered to retrieve…The Dragon Shard.