Now it was Begryn and Galfrido’s turn, as they sat contemplating the glow of the fire, drinking a hot tea that Kalen had prepared for their watch. It was those small details that made the elf look at the knight in a different way. At one point, Begryn noticed that the warrior couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Is something wrong?” asked the elf.

  “Nothing… It’s just that… I always knew you were a half-elf… but that whole mix of races among elves seems rather strange to me. Strange, in fact.” Begryn couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

  “What? What’s so funny?”

  “After all these years, and now you suddenly bring this up?”

  “Not all of us deal with time the same way, my friend. Besides, we’ve barely spent that much time together on a mission. And I remembered how odd it seemed to me, that thing about hybrid elf races, when you mentioned it to Anthos while we were still in the lands of Doknar.”

  “Well… what do you want to know? I should tell you I don’t usually share this kind of thing with anyone.”

  “You don’t say… all I know is that you’re from that order of lunatics… ahem… the Sharpshooters of Mistilanya and all that… But how did you become a hybrid?”

  “I didn’t become one. We’re born this way. My mother was a wood elf, the village apothecary, my father an aquatic elf, a prince. During a diplomatic mission to the heart of Nuvodas, my mother was part of the delegation that accompanied my father. There they fell deeply in love… although their love was forbidden,” she paused briefly. “You must understand that, at least in the region of Nuvodas, marriages between elves are arranged according to the stars above at the time of birth of those to be married, and they must align in favor of the union. In this way, we know that Mistilanya wishes for two souls to be bound forever.”

  “How do they know what stars were in the sky at the moment of birth?”

  “All births are marked by the stars in a book called The Book of Fireflies.”

  “And what if they’re born during the day?”

  “Forest elves aren’t born during the day,” she clarified, “but aquatic elves are. So you’ll understand it was a love that could not be allowed. They saw each other in secret for many years until they were discovered. My father was banished to the dark waters south of Bloodmere, and my mother… well, my mother was offered asylum in the Order of the Sharpshooters, on the condition that the fruit of that love be given to the order. And so it was… my sister Zamora and I, when we turned sixty, were summoned to become members of the order.”

  “And that was it?”

  “I tried to return one day to my roots, to the forest elves, but I was rejected for not being a ‘child of the stars,’ so I dedicated myself to wandering the world in search of adventure. My sister, on the other hand, chose to become a Priestess of Mistilanya within the order, and thanks to that, she was able to integrate into elven society.”

  “Shit… I wouldn’t want to live in a society like that.”

  “Elves have endured well for millennia with those laws and universal orders. They’ve made their world a stable place.”

  “And what about your world? They cast you aside, forced you to become a killer, even though you wanted to be a healer. Maybe they made their world better, but they screwed yours.”

  “I had never seen it that way.” The elf nodded, clarifying her thoughts on a matter she had already considered settled.

  There was a brief silence, during which Begryn caressed little Drako’s face, who had now woken up and was showering her with smiles, his rosy cheeks glowing in the firelight. She took a piece of dried meat from her bag and handed it to the child, who immediately began to suck and play with it.

  “What I’d give for a few good days of peace,” Galfrido finally said. “To go to a quiet brothel, get the love I deserve, fill myself with beer, and end the next day at a banquet with a good boar. Yes, that’s it.” As he spoke, he stroked the greatsword he never parted from.

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  “You’ve no idea how hard it was to carry your weapon…You’re very fond of that sword, aren’t you?”

  “This one?” He looked at it with surprise. “Well, yes, to tell the truth. It has saved my life countless times. It may not be as sophisticated as a knight’s blade or as swift as an elf’s dagger… or that crap of Anthos’s, but when it starts to dance, the dance of death begins. In fact, it wasn’t my favorite weapon when I started with combat… when I was nine or ten. I preferred the shortsword.”

  “And why the change?”

  “A heavy weapon with a good edge was all it took to split in half a lycanthrope that attacked my caravan. I was working as a guard for a caravan, along with some other warriors. At night, one of my companions went off to take care of his needs… Fine, fine, to take a shit, all right? We noticed he wasn’t coming back and went to look for him. We found him in pieces, his parts scattered all over the damned ground. The saddest part was that the creature had caught him while he was shitting—can you believe it?”

  Begryn saw him smile bitterly.

  “What a horrible way to die… Anyway. When we returned, we noticed a huge, hairy creature eating the head of one of the merchants who had hired us as escorts. ‘We’re screwed, goodbye pay,’ I thought. With my shortsword, I didn’t even scratch it, but I saw that Alaris, one of my companions, was keeping it at bay with his greatsword, even though he wasn’t the strongest among us. When it tore open Alaris’s chest, I had the idea to grab his greatsword, and it was love at first sight… I swung it again and again, hacking the bastard to pieces. It tried to slither away like a snake, because it no longer had legs or hands, but I didn’t stop until I saw it cut to shreds. It was pretty exhausting. All that flesh…”

  “Shit!” exclaimed the elf, surprised.

  “Yes, my friend,” he said with a smile. “Later, I found out it was a werewolf and that it could have been killed much more easily with something… some silver crap. But I didn’t care, because by then I already had my greatsword. Look, it left me this souvenir.” He exposed his shoulder, and Begryn could see the well-marked scar of three claws.

  “Well, it’s obvious I didn’t know much about you either…” said the elf, turning her gaze back to Drako and bringing him closer to the fire. “A lycanthrope. Those creatures are almost extinct. The knights of Reidos drove them out of Dorlan many years ago… them and the vampires.”

  “I’ve never seen a vampire.”

  “I don’t recommend it. To see one means death.” She paused briefly to finish wrapping the baby. “But don’t worry. They haven’t been seen in this region for a long time. Many even consider them legends.”

  Minutes turned into hours, and sooner rather than later, they began to see the pink glow of dawn through the mountains surrounding the remains of Fort Askarg and the pines around it. Fortunately for those present, the shelter they had there protected them from the cold morning breeze that usually rose in that part of the world.

  Anthos was walking without being able to control his feet. The place was a vast gray cemetery, full of tombstones that stretched as far as the eye could see. Every so often, grotesque leafless trees appeared, twisted and blackened by the ashes that seemed to drift endlessly through the air. The ground was gray, cracked, and dry. The sky was pitch black, with gray and reddish clouds dancing chaotically without any pattern, for there was no wind. In fact, even the air itself felt heavy in that place of death.

  He turned to his right and found a door. There was nothing strange about it, aside from the sheer incoherence of a door standing alone in the middle of that cursed graveyard. A simple wooden door in the middle of a gray desert, in stark contrast to the black, dusty sky.

  He opened the door. A massive staircase stretched down into the depths. A bloodcurdling scream rang out. He looked back and saw a bald giant emerging from the earth. Its disproportionate features gave it a macabre air. Its head was almost the same size as its torso. Its bony limbs jutted out like the legs of a spider. Its fingers writhed like tentacles, and on its face, he could see an expression of horror and dread. It must have been at least five hundred meters away, but because of its size, he could see it clearly.

  “Nooooo!” the giant bellowed, and began lurching toward Anthos with a deformed gait that made the earth tremble.

  Without thinking and seized by panic, the guide began to descend the stairs, and suddenly, the door slammed shut. Darkness. He went down blindly until he reached… somewhere. He couldn’t see a thing; it was still pitch black. Suddenly, a pair of red eyes began to illuminate the chamber. He strained his sight but couldn’t make out the silhouette that was now drawing closer. However, when the voice in the darkness spoke, he had no trouble recognizing who it was.

  “I’ve been waiting eagerly, boy.” It was Ertai. “Thank you for crossing the door.”

  “Son of a bitch… even in death you won’t stop tormenting me,” Anthos said, his voice trembling with terror.

  “Death is a concept and, as such, it is not permanent. It is permeable.” The dark druid came closer, and now Anthos could see him more clearly thanks to the glow of his eyes. “You made a great mistake with me, boy.”

  Suddenly, the ceiling began to disintegrate, and Anthos saw the enormous hand of the giant reaching in to crush him. He managed to dodge to the side, but he couldn’t avoid the second blow. The hand seized him by the waist and began to squeeze with brutal force.

  “Looks like the gods have abandoned Dorlan, my friend!” Ertai shouted as he watched the giant bring Anthos toward its gaping jaws.

  “SHIT!”