Page 80 of Darkness Births the Stars #1

CHAPTER

Noctis

T he Sommerhalt farm was a stark contrast to Rada’s little sanctuary.

My gaze swept over the cluster of buildings huddled around a large courtyard, dominated by an imposing two-story farmhouse painted dark red.

Despite the relentless sun beating down from above, the space between the buildings was eerily silent and deserted, devoid of the usual bustle one would expect on a farm of this size.

Nacin snorted and sidestepped nervously in response to my tense grip on the reins.

An all-too-familiar heaviness lingered in the air, sizzling on my skin in an unwelcome greeting.

Chaos magic had been unleashed here not long ago—a large amount of it.

Tristan Sommerhalt rode up beside me, his voice a low murmur as if he instinctively knew not to draw attention to us.

“We went into the house this morning,” he said, a mixture of confusion and dread in his tone.

“It was exactly as we had left it. Nothing taken, no signs of a struggle. But Khendrik, our farm workers… They’re all gone. ”

I should probably have felt compassion for the young farmer’s plight; his soulful brown eyes were brimming with quiet despair.

Yet I had quickly deduced who he was when he knocked on the farmhouse door this morning.

Answering the door, clad only in my breeches, I couldn’t help but notice the way Tristan’s gaze lingered on my bare chest, his eyes narrowing with something akin to disapproval.

Clearly, he was as thrilled to make my acquaintance as I was his.

I had taken my time slipping on a tunic while an anxious Rada had hurried out of the bedroom.

Farm Boy had clasped my hand as she introduced us, his polite smile failing to reach his eyes—though it might have been the worry over his missing brother and the state of his family’s farm that dampened his mood.

He and his mother had found the farm empty upon their return from a short trip to Dalath, the Chaos storm that had raged through a day ago forcing them to stay the night.

Tristan had decided to fetch Rada while his mother sought help in the village.

Of course, Rada had insisted on investigating, disregarding my angry whisper that this was sheer madness as she trailed after Farm Boy, barely giving me enough time to discreetly grab our lyr -stones.

We rode past endless fields, where the first green stalks of wheat and corn peeked out from the dark, fertile soil.

Rada’s mortal was wealthy—at least for a peasant.

This realization did little to improve my already foul mood.

We should not have come here.

I knew exactly which of the Chiasma was responsible for this. I had known who was after me the moment Rada had shown me the blackened little object from the burned-down farm.

Deira. If not the most dangerous, then definitely the most ruthless of my former servants.

The Dryad had been an invaluable asset in quelling opposition within the territories I conquered.

With her seemingly benign demeanor, she could infiltrate minds, only to slowly strangle them like a creeping vine, using every piece of insight she gathered against her victims. A tactic she had learned to perfection from me. And I feared she was not alone.

“We should still start in the house. See if we find something unusual,” Rada suggested. She had stopped the wagon drawn by her small brown mare beside us. We had decided to bring it along as a precaution in case we found anyone wounded and in need of aid.

I tried to suppress the ominous feeling gnawing at me and guided Nacin toward the main building, coming to a halt at the foot of the wooden stairs leading up to the door.

All three of us dismounted, drawing our weapons in unison.

Tristan’s broadsword was old but well cared for, I noticed. Perhaps a hand-me-down from the war.

Unlike in Rada’s smaller house, a spacious foyer separated the entrance from the living room.

Sturdy wooden furniture and a colorful rug, handwoven in Ammar, by the looks of it, hinted at the same modest wealth the entire property exuded.

Tristan moved to the left, heading toward the main room, while Rada and I cautiously stepped into the kitchen.

All my senses were alert, every creaking floorboard sounding much too loud in the oppressive silence, broken only by our quickened breaths. This reeked of a trap.

The kitchen held nothing suspicious; even the stores in the cupboards remained undisturbed. As I turned back toward the door, a sudden gleam on the floor caught my eye. I bent down to pick up the object.

A finger-long curved tooth, likely from a boar, with rough runes etched into its surface. The good luck charm of a warrior from the tribes.

“Rakash,” I murmured, lifting the trinket to show it to Rada.

“Do you think they have taken them captive? That they are still close by?” Tristan asked from the doorway, joining us after checking the main room.

His expressive face twitched with barely contained emotions.

The man reminded me of an overeager puppy—a sad, guilty puppy right now.

“By the stars, Rada, I did not want to lead you into danger.”

The tilt of my lip held no amusement. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have asked her to come and help you, despite knowing it could be dangerous.”

“Bele!” Rada snapped. “I can protect myself. As you well know.”

I acknowledged her words with a curt nod, but kept my gaze on Tristan. The lines of his face hardened; he understood my message. Good.

Nacin neighed a warning, shattering the sudden tension between us. My hand instinctively closed around the hilt of my sword.

“Someone is coming,” I hissed as I moved toward the door. My heartbeat thundered in my chest.

None of us should be here. I should have thrown Rada over my shoulder as I had threatened and gotten her out of here the moment I had realized who was after us.

Yes, she would have been fucking furious with me.

But at least she would have been alive. Who could say that Deira was not watching us right this moment, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike?

She had always preferred to operate from the shadows, to make absolutely sure she had the upper hand before she made a move. Patient and ruthless, like a spider.

Rada and I exchanged a relieved glance at the sound of voices drifting in through the front door.

At least it was no unwelcome company. My eyes swept over the newcomers as we stepped outside to greet them, quickly assessing them.

Four soldiers in the dark burgundy tunics of the local militia, the sharp-eyed redhead at their front surely their leader.

The tall Northern woman at his right side seemed as if nothing could shake her calm demeanor, a stark contrast to the petite brunette next to her.

Her brown eyes darted around, her fingers nervously thrumming her bowstring .

The dark-haired young Human on the left was even more agitated, his voice shaking as he cried out, “This feels exactly like the last time. Fucking Rakash.” He spat on the dusty ground of the courtyard.

The last rider was an Aerieth, his wings folded on his back.

That must be Kyree. His muscular build seemed more suited to a warrior than a healer.

My gaze lingered on his left wing. Mangled and broken, it contrasted starkly with the sleek lines and shining feathers of his right.

Rada had mentioned his war injury, but omitted that dragon fire had caused it.

“Good. You are already here,” the redhead exclaimed when he caught sight of Rada and Tristan. “Have you found anything?”

I listened with only half an ear as introductions were made, giving everyone an absentminded nod. A faint whisper on my skin had caught my attention, beckoning me closer with the incessant hiss of Chaos magic.

“We should check the barn,” I said aloud, striding toward the large wooden building at the edge of the courtyard without waiting to see if anyone else followed me.

The oppressive sense of magic in the air grew stronger with every step.

My hand slid into the pocket of my tunic, fingers closing around the Fire stone I kept there.

Rada, who had fallen into step behind me, did the same, her spear gripped tightly in her other hand.

After exchanging a terse look with her, I reached for the big double doors. No sense in prolonging this.

The metallic scent of spilled blood greeted us as I wrenched open the door.

The first victim lay in the stall directly behind the door.

Brown eyes rolled back in its head, red-tinged foam dripping from its muzzle, a cloud of flies stirring up from the deep gashes in the horse’s flank at our entry. Dead.

“By the Ten!” one of the soldiers cursed violently behind me as I made my way along the row of stalls leading deeper into the barn, the same gruesome sight greeting me in every single one.

Two dead horses, a few pigs, and half a dozen sheep, their white wool coats drenched a dark red.

They had not been killed for their meat but for the sheer dark pleasure found in destruction, in ending lives.

It seemed Deira had let her Rakash indulge in the basest parts of their nature.

I could sense Rada’s presence on my left as I pressed on, instinctually guarding my weaker side. She remained silent after an initial gasp. It was Tristan who tried to overtake me as we reached the big, open space at the other end of the barn.

I stretched out my arm to stop him. “Slowly. We don’t know if they are really gone.”

His face twitched in displeasure, but he gave me a curt nod, obeying my order. A dark circular stain on the barn floor caught my attention. I went to my knees next to it, touching my fingers to the liquid. My skin was painted a vivid crimson as I lifted my hand to the light.