The air was thick with the sickly-sweet stench of blood. The sun sank toward the horizon, its dim light filtering through the misty clouds, casting faint rays on the lifeless bodies scattered around. Nothing moved. Not even the leaves of the stunted shrubs struggling to cling to life in the poisoned soil.


    Nita sobbed.


    She sat slumped against a rock, the chill seeping into her back, stiff and aching from being pressed against the rough stone. The sharp pain from the arrow lodged in her thigh throbbed, shoving Flaethrun''s presence to the edges of her consciousness. She pulled aside the torn fabric of her pants and fought a wave of nausea at the sight of blood trickling steadily down her skin, leaving a dark, sticky trail. Taking a deep breath, she gritted her teeth and grabbed the shaft of the arrow, attempting to pull it out. The pain was immediate and paralyzing - she screamed, her trembling hands falling uselessly to her sides. She shut her eyes, a choked sob escaping her lips - a mixture of agony, despair, and something almost hysterical that, with a bit of exaggeration, could have passed for laughter. Such a pity about the trousers; she''d been quite fond of them.


    When Nicholas brought her to the soldiers, they burst out laughing at her dreadful dress with its puffed skirt. And then he just left her there. With that smug smirk of his and a few quiet words of warning that she shouldn''t bother returning alive if she failed. Then he disappeared, leaving her standing there, confused and alone, like a scarecrow in a field.


    Eventually, one of the soldiers - a teenage boy who seemed even younger than her - took pity on her and gave her his old trousers and a shirt. Nita gratefully changed into them immediately. The trousers were far too loose and needed to be cinched tight with a belt to keep them from falling off. Still, she much preferred being back in trousers, even borrowed and worn ones, over struggling with the cumbersome pile of fabric. Over the following days, she silently thanked the boy many times - she would never have made it to the Cerussite Mountains in a dress. Even in the pants, she struggled to keep up, her leg muscles burning with every step. Blisters grew larger on her heels with each mile. There were over thirty soldiers, and every so often, one would glance back to mockingly yell at her to keep up. Their leader, Symer - she’d learned his name from overheard conversations - eventually ordered her to be placed on one of the supply carts. They’d dumped her onto a sack of grain that shifted with every jolt of the cart, forcing her to cling tightly to avoid falling off. She could feel the soldiers’ gazes on her whenever she adjusted her position - half amused, half contemptuous. When one of the younger men made a comment about a spoiled little warlock girl, and Flaethrun laughed inside her, she didn’t even have the strength to protest.


    The journey wore her down, not just physically. After so many years underground, the open landscape terrified her. That first night, she couldn’t sleep at all, and it wasn’t just the open space that frightened her. The soldiers reeked of sweat, grime, and something worse, a mix of old boots and rancid food. Their loud chatter was full of vulgarities Nita had never heard before, and their unpleasant smirks and lingering glances followed her whenever she had to step away. Yet none of them dared lay a hand on her. Aside from a few snide remarks, no one even spoke to her.


    The only exception was Symer, who called her over one evening.


    "Let me make one thing clear," he snapped as soon as she approached. "I didn’t want you here."


    Nita had no response to that, so she simply nodded. Symer studied her for a moment, as if waiting for her to argue, but when she said nothing, he continued.


    "In a few days, we’ll reach a mining village. That’s where you’ll get to prove what you’re worth." He spat the last word with biting disdain.


    She nodded again, lowering her gaze. She felt drained, convinced that the less she spoke, the better. Flaethrun seemed to agree, remaining unusually silent throughout the journey.


    Something in her expression made Symer shake his head, a low mutter escaping his lips that sounded like, "Damn orders." He looked as though he was weighing whether it was worth explaining anything to her or just sending her away outright. Scratching his beard with dirty, broken nails, he let out a tired grunt.


    "Explain this to me - how does a little scrap like you end up among warlocks? Do you even know where you''re going or why?"


    Nita glanced at him uncertainly. "The eastern line?"


    They stared at each other.


    "That''s it? Nothing else?"


    She shook her head.


    "Bloody hell," Symer growled. "We''re not babysitters!"


    She straightened instinctively. "I’m an adult."


    Silence fell for a moment. Symer looked her up and down, then spat on the ground.


    "An adult... We''ll see about that. No one’s going to hold your hand here. Our job is to protect the miners. According to the reports, small groups of Elders have been causing trouble there. Attacking people, collapsing tunnels, wrecking equipment. Sabotage, plain and simple. So… try not to get in the way, and if you come across any Elders, destroy them. Got it?"


    Nita frowned. "Which Elders? Dwarves?" she asked, earning a smirk from him.


    "Dwarves?" he snorted. "They left this place long ago. The Cerussite Mountains have been almost entirely mined out. They found richer veins elsewhere and moved on, leaving this territory to humans."


    "Why would people stay if most of the ore is gone?"


    Symer shrugged, his response almost indifferent. "People have to make a living somehow. The kingdom still needs lead. Merchants will buy whatever scraps the miners can pull out. But…" His voice hardened. "It’s not really about the ore. It’s about principle. The Cerussite Mountains are the last bastion of human territory. Beyond them lies nothing but desert. And that belongs to the Elders. They can do what they like there. But not here."


    "I thought humans lived on the continent, even in more distant places," Nita said, surprised.


    Symer gave her a look that made her feel like a child asking a foolish question. "They do. But those are mixed territories, where humans and some Elders live side by side - or at least try to. Don’t they teach you that among the warlocks?"


    Nita bit her lip. She knew little about the current borders or the kingdom’s state. She was well-versed in dirt on Nicholas’s enemies - intrigues, rumors, and secrets that kept him in power - but she had only a vague idea of how humans and Elders coexisted. Nicholas hated the Elders too passionately to bother discussing anything but their weaknesses or ways to destroy them.


    "Is that all you’ve got?" Symer snapped. "Stop biting your lip and focus on keeping up with the others. At least try not to be useless." His voice carried a note of resignation as he waved her off, dismissing her.


    After that, he didn’t speak to her again for the rest of the journey, ignoring her as if she didn’t exist. Nita couldn’t decide whether to feel insulted or relieved.


    The final days of walking grew increasingly grueling. The path became steeper, the air colder, and everyone moved noticeably slower. The landscape had changed - grassy plains gave way to fields of stone dotted with low, twisted trees. Even the grass here grew sparse, struggling to push through the gleaming black stones. They moved in an ever-deepening silence, so different from the constant shouts and loud chatter of the days before. That silence was why Nita startled and felt a cold shiver run down her spine when she heard the first sharp noises, followed by voices echoing in the distance. She stopped in surprise as the view ahead opened up to reveal a village. She’d seen other settlements along the way, but this... this was different.


    The miners’ village was gray. That was the only word Nita could find—everything was gray. The miners'' skin, their hair, their clothes, the houses… Even the midday sunlight seemed gray, muted as it touched the ground. Walking a few steps behind the soldiers, Nita took in the misery around her. The houses were small, built into the slopes, and pressed tightly together against the rocky cliffs. They were coated in a layer of lead dust that had blackened over time, leaving the walls grimy and dark. The air was heavy and sour, each breath scraping her throat like she was inhaling metal shavings. In front of some houses - if they could even be called that - stood crude sheds and wooden shelters piled with leftover ore. The ground was dark and barren. Villagers glanced briefly at the newcomers before quickly lowering their eyes. Although Nita didn’t see anyone truly old, they all looked aged - hair streaked with gray, faces etched with deep lines, and hollow eyes shadowed with fatigue. Even the children sitting on the steps of houses wore the same haunted expressions. Nita noticed their fingers were often twisted unnaturally, their nails stained as if permanently embedded with ore.


    Women sat on low benches outside their homes, sorting through broken stones, separating ore from worthless rock. Their fingers and wrists were gray and marked with fine lines that looked like scars or burns. They worked in silence.


    At the center of the village stood a smelter - a low, sturdy building with thick stone walls. The space was simple, filled with rocks and grimy furnaces radiating intense heat that Nita could feel even from a distance. A handful of men, dressed in worn linen tunics, shoveled ore into the roaring fires. Sweat streaked their backs, immediately mixing with the black dust to form dark lines on their skin. The air hissed and popped as the lead melted, and the metallic stench burned Nita’s throat.


    "We don’t have time for this!"


    Nita turned at the shout, but the soldiers around her blocked her view. The argument escalated, and she pushed her way forward to see what was happening. Next to the smelter stood Symer, arms crossed, his expression grim. Opposite him was a broad-shouldered man in a miner’s shirt, gesturing wildly. Unlike the other miners, his clothes were clean - and his boots, made of fine leather, were almost spotless.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "If we want to find those men alive, we have to go now!"


    "And I’m telling you," Symer snapped, "we’re not going anywhere right now. My men need rest. We leave in the morning."


    "Rest?!" the miner spat, his voice dripping with fury. "Your men aren’t tired - they’re getting lead poisoning. The water, the air, the food - everything here is toxic to them! They’re not used to lead. If you wait until morning, there won’t be anyone left to send!"


    Symer leaned closer to the man, lowering his voice so much that Nita could barely hear him.


    "I don’t care that you’re the mining master, and I care even less about your concern for my men. I’m the one responsible for their lives, and I’ll decide when and where they go. Got it?!"


    "As you said, I’m the mine master. I’m responsible for keeping this village alive. I write the reports to Rovisk! What do you think I’ll say in them? That mining has stopped because you decided to take a break?!"


    Symer’s face flushed red with anger. For a moment, the only sound was the heavy breathing of both men. Finally, the commander straightened and snapped, "Half will go. Half will stay. Satisfied?"


    Nita thought she heard the mine master grind his teeth. "Fine," he muttered at last. "You’ll head to the northern shaft. It’s on the northeastern slope - where they were working before they vanished. It’s less than an hour away."


    Symer nodded, his gaze briefly sweeping over the soldiers gathered nearby. His eyes stopped on Nita. "You’re coming too. If there’s something up there, you’ll be useful."


    He didn’t wait for her reaction, turning quickly to issue orders to the men who would accompany him.


    Oh, what a brilliant plan, Flaethrun growled sarcastically as Symer addressed the soldiers. The front line with tired troops… and you, my dear.


    "Shut up," Nita whispered under her breath as she followed the soldiers.


    Just saying… That brave commander won’t hesitate to sacrifice you at the first opportunity.


    Nita clenched her fists, saving her breath for the steep climb ahead. The path to the shaft was steep, and she struggled to keep up with the others. Fatigue weighed her down, and the mining master’s warnings about lead poisoning gnawed at her mind. She panted as she lagged behind, relieved when the group stopped at a plateau near the mountain pass, giving her a chance to catch up.


    But Symer wasn’t waiting for her. That became clear as Nita looked around the plateau - everywhere were signs of a fight. Bloodstains, scattered and broken mining tools. The soldiers spread out, their faces grim as they silently searched the area.


    Nita’s heart raced, though she couldn’t tell if it was fear or nervous anticipation.


    Flaethrun?


    She reached out to the demon within her, seeking something familiar to steady her panicked heart. She felt him waiting before he replied, his tone dripping with mockery.


    Calling me for advice or comfort?


    Comfort from a demon? She shook her head slightly, tearing her gaze away from the bloodied tools. Can you sense what happened here?


    What do you think happened? Flaethrun replied with feigned innocence. Someone fought. Someone died.


    Her throat tightened. Stop dodging the question. Are the Elders still here? Can you feel them nearby?


    For a moment, it seemed as though Flaethrun hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was darker, more serious. I feel rage. I feel blood. This was just a game - someone came, played, and left.


    Left-? she repeated in her mind, but Flaethrun cut her off.


    Perhaps remnants of their fun are still here, he added, his tone suddenly light and venomous again. Do you want to play too? Think you can win?


    Nita’s hands clenched into fists. Be silent, she snapped, though her heart was pounding harder than ever. Flaethrun obeyed, but his silence was more menacing than usual.


    Then she saw something.


    Between the boulders at the edge of the plateau, something moved. At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light and shadows - just a rock that looked almost like… a face. A goblin’s face.


    The sight froze her in place. Its large, brown eyes stared straight at her. Memories from her childhood flashed through her mind like distant lightning, too quick to grasp but vivid enough to steal her breath. She wanted to move, wanted to speak, but her body refused to obey.


    The goblin didn’t move, just kept watching her with an unreadable expression. Until more figures emerged from behind the rocks. They were fast - too fast for her to count. And they weren’t just goblins. One of them shouted in the language of the Elders, a harsh, grating sound like stone scraping against metal. Nita understood the words:


    You have crossed the border!


    "Ambush!" Symer’s voice echoed off the cliffs in response.


    The world seemed to accelerate all at once. The soldiers drew their swords, the flash of steel followed immediately by the clash of weapons. The front line collided with the creatures, blood spraying onto the rocks and splattering the gray earth. It was fast, chaotic, terrifying.


    Nita stood frozen behind them, unable to move. Blood. Fresh blood on the soldiers’ swords, on the gray stones, on the ground… This was the first time in years she had seen so much blood. But instead of Symer’s soldiers, her mind conjured the image of a blade glinting in her father’s stomach.


    Panic surged through her. Her chest tightened as if bound by an invisible band, and she couldn’t draw a single breath. She felt like a child again, trembling under her brother’s weight, unable to move. The world blurred, the soldiers’ faces turning into indistinct smudges. Symer was shouting at her, but she couldn’t understand him, as if his words came from a great distance. Sweat dripped into her eyes, though she felt unbearably cold.


    Step aside and let me act! Flaethrun’s urgent roar was filled with fury and malice.


    She surrendered willingly, retreating into the recesses of her soul. Her body was no longer hers. She could still sense what was happening, but Flaethrun had wrapped her consciousness in his like an invisible shroud.


    Shadows danced through the air, lunging at everyone around her. They grabbed and tore apart anyone without distinction, Elders and humans alike.


    One goblin charged at her, and the shadows pierced its body like a phantom blade. The creature slowed, still clawing toward her with a face twisted in rage - face that reminded her of Rem. Until Flaethrun tore him apart.


    Her mind only registered what had happened seconds later.


    Rem!


    The name rang in her head like a deafening crash. That face. That memory, dragging her back to childhood when Rem was the only one who had protected her. A cold dread gripped her entire being, and a new wave of panic pushed Flaethrun aside. The shadows faltered.


    The cacophony of screams and cries reached her ears again, shredding her nerves. She clapped her hands over her ears and stumbled backward. She realized she was screaming only when her throat burned dry. In that moment, she couldn’t see what was happening around her - how those who still survived had realized who the greatest threat truly was.


    Let me lead! LET ME LEAD!


    Flaethrun screamed through their bond, and Nita couldn’t resist the surge of his power that once again overwhelmed her mind. Her consciousness crumbled like a house of cards. A haze enveloped her, and through it, she barely sensed her hands moving on their own, summoning another wave of shadows that lashed out like living tendrils. Another soldier fell, then another, followed by a goblin, a sylph, and other beings she couldn’t name.


    Flaethrun pressed forward relentlessly, guiding her strikes and unleashing the shadows on everyone within reach. The shadows continued to form, now acting without her conscious will, attacking everything around her, killing indiscriminately.The survivors tried to regroup and encircle her, but Flaethrun sensed their movements. With a dark laugh, he sent the shadows spiraling outward, wrapping around their throats and tightening mercilessly.


    You see? It’s a game… and games are meant to be won.


    One of the last Elder beings tried to flee, but the shadows dragged it to the ground, consuming it like a ravenous predator. Flaethrun laughed - softly, but triumphantly. He was savoring his victory, basking in it… until an arrow struck Nita’s thigh.


    Flaethrun shrieked inside her, as though he’d been wounded as well. With one final strike, he impaled the archer with shadows before Nita’s shock gave way to searing pain, abruptly cutting off the demon’s rampage. Nita collapsed, her mind plunging into darkness.


    When she opened her eyes again, she had no sense of how much time had passed - it could have been mere moments or long minutes. The unrelenting pain in her pierced thigh brought tears to her eyes.


    Flaethrun?


    There was no answer. She couldn’t feel him throught all that pain. She was alone. Alone among the dead.


    I have to get out of here. I have to get up.


    She rolled onto her side and inched toward a nearby boulder. Every tiny movement of her injured leg sent fresh waves of agony through her. Her hands trembled as she finally propped herself against the rough surface of the rock.


    She sat there, staring at the steel-gray sky. After her first attempt to remove the arrow, she didn’t dare look at the wound again. The world began to sway, like the ship that had carried her to Rovisk years ago.


    "I thought I’d be stronger…" she whispered into the dead silence around her.


    "Strength is useless if you can’t control it."


    Nita flinched, crying out as the movement sent a new surge of pain through her. She turned her head cautiously toward the voice. Standing just a few steps away was a majestic figure - a tall being with arms covered in glossy feathers that extended into powerful wings. Half-woman, half-raptor. A harpy.


    Her face was almost human, but her eyes were piercing, her features sharp and striking. Dark hair framed her pale skin, curling and twisting restlessly. Instead of hands and feet, she had talons like those of a bird of prey.


    "I saw you," the harpy rasped, her voice slow and gravelly. "I saw your fear and your hesitation."


    The harpy stepped closer to Nita and leaned down, tilting her head as she examined the wound. The movement reminded Nita of a predator studying its prey.


    "I’ll help you."


    Nita’s mouth opened in surprise as she met the harpy’s narrowed, predatory gaze. "Why?"


    "You kill from chaos. From pain. Like us."


    "I didn’t mean to-"


    The harpy’s feathers rustled softly as she raised an arm, cutting Nita off.


    "Run away with me. Join us. You can be free."


    She extended her taloned hand and, with an almost tender touch, brushed Nita’s injured leg. Then, in an instant and without warning, she seized the arrow shaft and snapped it in two.


    Nita screamed and arched in agony. The harpy grabbed her firmly and pressed her back against the boulder.


    "Don’t move."


    Using a claw, the harpy carefully probed the wound, gauging how deep the arrowhead was lodged. Nita whimpered but tried to stay still. Blood flowed faster, but the harpy paid it no mind. She dug deeper into the wound, catching the arrowhead with her talon. With her other hand, she grasped the broken shaft and slowly pulled it free. Once the arrow was out, the harpy tore a strip of fabric from the nearest corpse and used it to bandage Nita’s leg.


    "That will do for now."


    "Thank you," Nita whispered.


    "Don’t thank me. Come with me."


    The pain subsided, and Nita could once again sense Flaethrun’s presence stirring in her mind. But alongside him, she felt something else - something sinister that pulsed with every beat of her heart. Her desperate heart yearned to accept the harpy''s offer and never again see those who had sent her here to die. Yet that something bound her to the king and that something was stronger.


    Flaethrun…


    He was weak. She caught fragments of his emotions - doubt, frustration, regret, and a cynical resignation.


    You’re choosing between freedom and death… or death and servitude. But you’ve already made your choice, haven’t you?


    The harpy waited, her eyes fixed on Nita.


    Do it quickly.


    Flaethrun was silent, but she felt the shadows stir. She closed her eyes.


    There was a rustle of feathers. A sharp, startled gasp. And then, silence again.


    "I’m sorry," she whispered as tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids.