The small grove they had found on a low hill served perfectly as a traveler’s shelter. They had marched for almost two days without rest, and it was time to stop. Throughout the entire journey, they had felt watched. Even though they hadn’t seen anyone nearby, the Brotherhood’s way of operating—from the shadows—kept them permanently tense, and that was exhausting.

  Night had fallen with heavy cloud cover, dancing in tune with the prelude to a storm.

  “Won’t be long before it starts raining,” said Kalen, looking up at the sky and feeling a breeze strike his face.

  “Just our luck. This season is always rainy. Autumn is clearly reluctant to give way to that damned winter. Can’t say I blame it.” Galfrido had managed to light a fire and was now warming some water in a small travel pot. His bearskin cloak rested on his back. “At least we won’t be short on water for cooking.”

  The knight covered the sleeping child with his cloak and placed him on an improvised bed of leaves near the fire. The little one seemed perfectly content.

  Galfrido added some legumes to the boiling water, and after a few minutes, he served the meal into two small wooden bowls. They began to eat eagerly. Nothing like a hot stew on a cold night at the start of winter.

  When Kalen woke Drako to feed him, the child whimpered a little, but was soon soothed by a few spoonfuls and drifted off to sleep again without a fuss.

  “What do you make of all this?” Kalen asked suddenly.

  “What do I make of it? Hmm… well… I didn’t mention it earlier, but I’ve heard a lot of stories about that Brotherhood. They say their leader, known as the Soul Whisperer, can travel between realities and torment you in your dreams. They also say he’s the guardian of the gates of the Abyss…”

  “I hadn’t heard of this Soul Whisperer before.”

  “It’s all just legends. Crap from the most superstitious folk. But still… the Brotherhood of the Black Flame is already here.” He paused to chew for a moment but continued speaking with food still in his mouth. “We’ve faced tough challenges before, Kalen. I trust we’re up to this one too.”

  “Sure, but this isn’t a band of rebel smugglers, some greedy troglodytes, or a pissed-off ogre. I think the scale of this is way beyond anything we’ve seen. The consequences of this mission are on a different level.”

  “Take my advice, mate. Don’t think about that. We just need to get this kid to Volrath. Go to Trabarioth, and that’s it. Simple.”

  The paladin smiled, remembering the cynical yet somehow optimistic nature of his old adventuring partner. The simplicity of his thoughts untangled the web of his own thoughts.

  He also remembered Volrath. The mage, despite his gruff nature, had earned everyone’s heart—his and Galfrido’s included. In recent times, through tireless study and practice, he had developed immense power and become the personal mage of Trabarioth′s queen, Audarin the Immortal. This was a historic precedent for the kingdom, especially for an elf.

  “How did your latest ventures go?” asked the warrior.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Some unruly smugglers, a corrupt village lord… the usual.”

  “These lands are fucked, Kalen. I’m telling you… They’re not going to get better. There’s no hope of that. Which is why we need to celebrate and be happy!”

  “There’s always hope, my friend. Leiorus will shine his wisdom on us all in the end… It’s just a matter of faith.”

  “Bah… hope. Remember when we met? It was in that little village near Conea…”

  “Yes, I remember. That’s where I did my final training as an initiate before taking the knight’s trial. It was a beautiful village…”

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  “A village full of life and hope, right? When I arrived there looking to sell my sword, I thought I’d found my place in the world. Cheerful people, festivals, life…”

  Galfrido’s dreamy expression shifted into something much darker.

  “And then what happened? Faradax came with his damned orcs… not a soul left, Kalen. So much for your hope. That’s why, my friend, the only real hope is enjoying the present. That’s true optimism.”

  “You don’t have to remind me. I still carry the marks of Faradax’s sword on my chest. And I still hear the screams of the villagers… the children, echoing in my mind.”

  Kalen clenched his jaw as he recalled Faradax—the black knight—swinging his sword in the air, red eyes full of fury and evil, his ominous mouth twisted in a grin of pointed teeth. His black armor gleaming against the backdrop of fire and the spectral music of screams.

  “I had to write the report for the Order of Reidos and Doknar, and I had to do it in excruciating detail. It was like living it all over again.” He paused to take a sip from his waterskin, more to swallow the bitter memory than out of thirst. “Even so, hope must be kept alive, even against all odds. The day will come when evil no longer plagues these lands, and peace will finally reign in Dorlan. I wouldn’t be much of a knight if I believed otherwise.”

  “Well, if you ask me, you need to open your eyes. You’re one of the few ‘holy warriors’ who still think that way. No offense, friend, but I’ve seen many knights abuse villagers, demand protection taxes, and flaunt their nobility to humble folk. Not everything is so bright and shiny.”

  “Nor is it all so dark…”

  Galfrido clenched his jaw. Kalen always had the last word. Beyond his flawless logic, his charisma had a way of silencing anyone.

  “Besides… that’s where we met Begryn.” He blushed just from saying her name.

  “Ha! That’s true… the healer-assassin…”

  Galfrido’s thunderous laugh startled the baby, who opened his eyes wide and, suddenly aware of the strange situation—near the fire and nearly in the dark—began to cry.

  The two companions looked at each other, unsure what to do. Galfrido gestured to Kalen to pick him up. The knight huffed and picked the baby up, rocking him gently in his arms. The infant’s cries broke the silence of the night, already intensified by the darkness around them. Phantasmal shapes danced across the tree trunks, most of them no doubt illusions born from the fire’s flickering light, and once more, that nagging feeling of being watched crept over them.

  “It’s bad to disturb the silence in the dark, Kalen,” said Galfrido, running a hand along the hilt of his greatsword.

  “Well, your laugh woke the baby. The least you can do is help calm him down.”

  Galfrido stood reluctantly and began making exaggerated faces to distract Drako. Almost instantly, the baby stopped crying and stared wide-eyed at the huge warrior. Kalen couldn’t help but smile as his friend puffed out his cheeks, crossed his eyes, and raised one brow.

  The baby burst into laughter.

  “That’s it, little Drako. Go with Galfrido now,” Kalen said, extending him forward.

  “No… I never… wait… oh, fine.”

  In the end, it was the warrior who ended up cradling Drako, staring into the glowing embers while still feeling watched. It was likely nothing more than his imagination—and the nature of their mission—but they preferred caution. That’s why Galfrido kept his greatsword close at hand, and Kalen had Eldora resting on the ground, her hilt leaning on his shoulder.

  They took turns sleeping. Galfrido took the first watch with Drako in his arms. The next morning, Kalen, who had taken the last shift, woke the groggy warrior. Despite his many years of adventuring, Galfrido still couldn't stand waking up early or sleeping little. It was a flaw he should’ve worked on—if only it weren’t an impossible task due to his unyielding nature.

  “I made tea so you’d have energy,” said the paladin with a smile, handing him a steaming cup of herb-infused brew.

  “Thanks,” was all his companion could muster as he stared blankly into the distance.

  They resumed their journey and, after several days, neared the mountains. What had once looked like distant silhouettes on the horizon now loomed over them like a massive, untamed, and impenetrable wall, threatening to swallow them whole—and possibly deliver them to a certain death. And if they didn’t find a way through, that might very well be their fate.

  The soft green terrain gave way to rocky, yellowish ground dotted with jagged formations, sparse vegetation, and clusters of pine and thorny shrubs. A few kilometers from the mountain’s edge, they veered south, keeping the rocky mass to their left. They followed one of the Orein River’s branches, which flowed from the mountains, knowing they’d need to cross it at some point.

  The plan was to find a southern pass, knowing that contraband routes and, more importantly, the dwarven tunnels of Minas Mangur were hidden in that region. Though they didn’t know the exact location, they hoped to stumble across some trace or clue as they neared the mountains.

  Soon, they came across what looked like a path—or rather, a faint trail—going in the same direction. It didn’t appear to be well-used, barely visible between the tall grasses.

  That night, they decided to rest in a sheltered rock formation flanked by two pine trees. The rain hadn’t started yet, but lightning was already flashing on the distant horizon.