Page 23

23

ROLFO

I slide off the zarryn's back, my hand lingering briefly on its silver coat. The beast snorts, tossing its shaggy head as if it knows what's coming. Smart animal. I secure it to a thorny brimbark tree at the forest's edge, far enough from Shadowfall estate that no patrolling guards will spot it.

"Stay," I mutter, more to myself than the zarryn. Every muscle in my body screams to charge forward, to tear through Kaelith's walls with my bare hands. But that won't save her.

The forest surrounding Kaelith's estate is unnaturally dense. Branches twist together like arthritic fingers, creating a canopy so thick the perpetual red sky of Ikoth barely seeps through. I know these woods. Dark magic pulses through the soil here, a deterrent for those who might wander too close to Shadowfall's domain.

I move forward, ducking under a low-hanging branch. The terrain shifts beneath my feet—an illusion designed to disorient. One step feels like walking uphill, the next like sinking into mud. I focus on my breathing, on the steady rhythm that's kept me alive through countless missions.

"Not today," I growl as the path ahead seems to vanish entirely. I've dealt with these tricks before. Closing my eyes, I trust my other senses—the smell of sulfur growing stronger to the east, the faint hum of protective wards ahead.

When I open my eyes again, I see it. The illusion peels away like a scab, revealing what lies beneath: Shadowfall estate. Ivy strangles dark stone walls, and spires pierce the crimson sky like accusatory fingers. Windows glow with sickly amber light, and the gates bear the emblem I've come to hate more than almost anything in this world.

My hand moves to the blade at my hip. Cold, reassuring weight. Custom-forged from metals that can cut through demon flesh more efficiently than standard steel. I didn't come unprepared.

I circle the perimeter, staying low in the undergrowth. Two guards at the main gate, three patrolling the walls. Predictable. Kaelith's arrogance extends to his security—he doesn't expect anyone would dare breach his sanctuary.

A gap in the patrol. I scale the wall in seconds, muscle memory from years of similar maneuvers. Over the top, drop silently to the other side. I land in a crouch, scanning for movement. Nothing.

The first sentry rounds the corner moments later, whistling some old demon war tune. He doesn't even have time to register surprise before my hand clamps over his mouth, blade sliding between his ribs. I lower him silently to the ground, continuing forward.

Inside the servant's entrance, the smell hits me—spice and sulfur, Kaelith's signature scent. My nostrils flare, and something primal rises in my chest. The mercury in my eyes shifts, pupils narrowing to slits in the dimness.

A demon guard looks up as I enter the hallway. "Hey, you're not?—"

I'm across the space before he can finish, my blade opening his throat mid-sentence. His body drops with a dull thud. I step over it without a second glance.

Two more at the end of the corridor. One reaches for an alarm bell. I throw my dagger, pinning his hand to the wall. His partner turns, eyes widening, mouth opening to shout a warning. I'm on him in an instant, snapping his neck with a clean twist. The sound—like breaking a dry branch—echoes in the empty hallway.

The one pinned to the wall struggles, tries to free himself. "Lord Kaelith will?—"

His words end in a gurgle as I drive my blade up under his chin.

I retrieve my dagger, wiping the black ichor on the dead guard's uniform. Every moment that passes is another moment Aurelie suffers at Kaelith's hands. The thought sends fresh heat coursing through my veins.

I move deeper into the estate, navigating by instinct and fragments of intelligence I've gathered over the years. Servants scatter at my approach—they know better than to challenge a demon with blood in his eyes.

A guard captain emerges from a side room, flanked by two of his men. He doesn't hesitate, instantly recognizing the threat.

"Intruder! To arms!"

His call ends abruptly as I drive forward, shouldering him into the wall. His subordinates draw weapons. Too slow. I break the first one's arm at the elbow, the bone cracking audibly, before slashing across the second's hamstring. The captain struggles against my grip, clawing at my face.

"Where is she?" I growl, pressing my forearm against his throat.

"Who—" he chokes out.

"The human. Kaelith's captive."

Recognition flickers in his eyes. "He'll never let you liv?—"

I snap his neck before the last word fully leaves his mouth. No witnesses. No mercy. Not today.

Every guard I encounter meets the same fate—swift, silent death. I don't speak. Don't think beyond the next kill, the next corridor, the next step toward her. Blood spatters my clothes, none of it mine. I barely notice.

I follow the direction of where all the guards are stationed, knowing they will lead me to her. I climb up into darkness, air heavy with the stench of rot and something else—old magic, the kind that festers like an infected wound. My boots barely make a sound as I climb, one hand trailing along the damp stone wall, the other gripping my blade.

Guards should be stationed here, but the corridor is empty—a detail that sets my teeth on edge. Either Kaelith is arrogant enough to think no one would get this far, or it's a trap. Neither option improves my mood.

As I reach the top, a faint glow illuminates the passageway. Not torchlight—something colder. I recognize the signature immediately: shadow magic, Kaelith's specialty. The hair on my arms stands on end.

Four doors line the corridor, black iron doors sealed with arcane locks. Three stand empty, their doors ajar. The fourth pulses with sickly light that seeps from beneath the door.

I approach cautiously, pressing my ear against the cold metal. A whimper, so faint I almost miss it, freezes the blood in my veins. Aurelie .

The door's enchantment is complex—a multilayered spell designed to keep the prisoner in and everyone else out. I pull Dezoth's talisman from my pocket, a small obsidian triangle etched with counterspell runes. The artifact thrums in my palm, recognizing the magic it was created to dismantle.

"Hold on," I whisper, pressing the talisman against the lock. The stone flares hot, nearly scorching my skin, but I don't pull away. The enchantment resists, clinging to the door like a living thing.

I press harder, channeling my rage, my desperation into the stone. "Open, damn you."

The lock gives way with a sound like ice cracking, and the door swings inward.

The room is circular, stone walls covered in ritual markings that pulse with malevolent light. I take in some of the symbols—binding runes, strength-dampeners, pain enhancers. This isn't just a prison cell; it's a torture chamber designed specifically for her.

And there, in the center of it all, is Aurelie.

She's curled on the cold stone floor, her auburn hair matted with blood, face bruised, lip split. Her wrists are bound by shadow-chains anchored to the floor, magical restraints that burn the flesh they touch. The sight knocks the air from my lungs.

"Aurelie." My voice breaks on her name, a sound more animal than demon.

She lifts her head slowly, disbelieving. Eyes that once sparkled like sunlight through amber now dull with pain and fear. Her gaze finds mine, and something flickers behind the haze.

"Rolfo?" Her voice is sandpaper, barely audible. "You're not real."

I cross to her in three strides, dropping to my knees beside her. "I'm real. I'm here." My hands hover over her restraints, afraid to cause more pain. "Hold on. I'll get these off."

I press Dezoth's talisman to the shadow-chains, my hand shaking with rage so intense I can barely focus. The runes flare, fighting against Kaelith's magic.

"He said—" she swallows hard, winces. "He said you wouldn't come. That nobody would."

"He lied." The chains finally shatter under the talisman's power, dissolving into wisps of dark smoke. The moment her cuffs fall away, she slumps forward, and I catch her, cradling her as if holding something sacred. My arms wrap around her trembling form, careful of injuries I can't yet see. "I'm here," I murmur against her hair. "I'm here."

Her fingers curl weakly into my shirt. "Sephy?"

"Safe. With Dezoth." I brush hair from her face, cataloging every bruise, every cut, stoking the fire of vengeance building in my chest. "No one will touch her."

Aurelie exhales, tension bleeding from her body. "He was going to kill me. After he—" Her voice breaks.

"Don't," I whisper. "Don't think about it now. You're safe."

She looks up at me, eyes clearing slightly. "How did you find me?"

"I would have torn apart all of Ikoth." The words come out rougher than intended, raw with feeling I don't bother to hide. "There was never any other option."