Volume 2:
Chapter 2: Whispered Warnings
The tavern smelled of old wood, bitter ale, and smoke. Its lanterns flickered with amber light, casting tall shadows on the warped stone walls. Outside, the town of Verrindal was quiet—but not the peaceful kind. The streets were empty, the windows shuttered. Even the wind seemed to creep instead of howl.
We sat at the far end of the bar, tucked into a corner table beneath a crooked beam. Cilia held her staff loosely in one hand, her other resting on the table. Lina leaned back in her seat, arms folded, eyes alert. I watched the bartender as he approached us, his footsteps slow, heavy.
He set three cups down—nothing fancy. Just water. "No charge," he muttered.
"Thanks," I said.
The man glanced toward the door, then back at us. His voice dropped. "You're not from here."
"No," Cilia replied softly. "We just arrived. From the east."
He studied us for a long moment, his eyes sharp under tired lids. Then he said, "Then leave."
The silence that followed was thick.
"Excuse me?" Lina asked.
"Get back on whatever road brought you here. Walk until the mist swallows this place again. And don't look back."
I leaned forward. "Tell us why."
The bartender stared at me, then at each of us in turn, like weighing whether we could handle what he was about to say. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and leaned against the counter.
"This kingdom…" he began, voice barely above a whisper, "used to be a place of wonder. Virelia was light and learning, skyships and spellcraft, harmony between mage and soldier. People came here to seek knowledge, not power. Peace, not war. It was the last sanctuary when the world still had kings worth kneeling to."
He paused, eyes distant.
"That all changed five years ago."
Cilia's brow furrowed. "What happened?"
He looked at her. "The new king. Arveth. He wasn't born of noble blood. Wasn't even from Virelia. He just… appeared. No records. No history. No origin anyone could confirm. One night, the old king and his entire family were alive. The next, their palace was ash. Their blood soaked the marble."
"Wait," Lina said, voice low, "he killed them all?"
"Every one. Even the children. And no one knows how. There were no signs of battle. No witnesses. Just silence, followed by screams."
He poured himself a drink and downed it in one gulp.
"By the time anyone reacted, Arveth had already taken the throne. The nobles bent the knee. The military saluted him. It was like their memories had been altered—or their wills taken. The entire kingdom bowed without a single word of protest."
Lina sat forward, tense. "And then?"
"The disappearances began. First children. Then women. Then anyone who asked questions. People vanish at night. From homes, inns, temples, even guard posts. Sometimes there's blood. Sometimes not even that. Just an empty bed."
He looked at the door again. "I shouldn't be telling you this. There are eyes in this town. Ears. Even the walls speak to him, some say. You came here smiling. If you stay… you'll end up screaming."
Cilia lowered her gaze. Her hands trembled slightly.
"Thank you for telling us," I said.
The bartender grunted. "Thank me by leaving."
We stood and made our way toward the door. Outside, the town looked the same—but it felt different. Like the story had peeled away the surface and shown us the raw skin beneath.
We hadn't said anything yet. But I knew what we were all thinking.
"I agree with him," I said, once we reached the edge of the square. "We should leave."
"Maybe…" Lina murmured. "But someone has to stay. Someone has to stop this."
Cilia, who had been quiet, finally looked up. "We're not leaving."
I turned to her. "You sure?"
She nodded. "People are hurting. Vanishing. Someone has to try. Even if it's just us."
Lina smiled faintly. "Couldn't have said it better."
And just like that, the decision was made.
We rented two rooms at the local inn, paying extra in coin and silence. The innkeeper didn't smile. He only handed us rusted keys and pointed us upstairs. The hallway smelled of dust and long-abandoned hope. Cilia took one room. Lina and I took the other.
The night passed slowly.
Creaking boards. Wind against shutters. Once, I thought I heard footsteps outside our door. But when I opened it, the hall was empty.
The next morning, we gathered in the square again. The fog had returned, curling between buildings like smoke from some unseen fire.
"We start small," I said. "Ask questions. Watch. Listen. We find out where the rot begins."
"And then we cut it out," Lina replied.
Cilia tightened the grip on her staff. "Let's find the truth. Even if it hurts."
We didn't know what lay ahead. But the kingdom's heart was bleeding.
And we had chosen to walk straight into its wound.