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Thane returns to Arbelon and is forced to face the ruins of Asmenson, where Lirien accuses him of killing her people before recognizing the meaning of his red blood. With nowhere else to go, he agrees to follow her to the Elders, even as the weight of what he’s done starts to feel far too real.
Chapter 6 - Hidden Places
The road away from Asmenson was eerily silent. No wind. No birds. Just the crunch of boots on hardened dirt, the faint scrape of dead leaves shifting underfoot. Smoke still clung to the air, though the fires had long since died, the scent curling through the ruins like a ghost that refused to move on.
The devastation stretched farther than Thane expected. Not just the village—gone, erased as if it had never been—but the forest around it, flattened as though something had reached out and crushed it in one sweeping fist. The trees weren’t burned. They were just… dead. Splintered trunks lay in heaps, brittle and gray, stripped of their leaves. Like they’d lost the will to stand.
They walked in silence.
Lirien led, keeping her pace even, controlled. Too controlled. She never glanced back. Never hesitated. Just kept moving.
Thane followed a few steps behind, his breath misting in the crisp air. The cold didn’t bother him—Arbelon always felt sharper than Earth, like it wasn’t just a place but a presence pressing in around him. He exhaled, watching the white plume dissolve into nothing.
The forest gradually reclaimed the land, brittle devastation giving way to trees still standing. But the silence remained. Even the birds, normally so quick to reclaim what had been lost, kept their distance for now.
Thane finally spoke, voice rough from disuse. “So, these Elders of yours. Am I getting a hero’s welcome, or should I be bracing for the torch-and-pitchfork treatment?”
Lirien didn’t slow. Didn’t react. Didn’t so much as twitch at his sarcasm.
“You mock what you don’t understand,” she said.
“I understand more than you can imagine,” Thane shot back. “You think I’m some savior sent from another world to rescue your broken land. That’s a classic, for sure, but a bit tired—don’t you think?”
At that, she finally stopped, turning back. Her expression was fire and brimstone.
“You can hide behind your petty snarks, but I see through it. You’re scared. Alone. But you killed them. You destroyed everything I had. So if you’re not the Chosen One, then all of this—everything—was for nothing.”
She held his gaze, her voice a knife’s edge. “And that would make you just another monster.”
She stood before him, trembling, her eyes glossing over, but he didn’t reply. He wasn’t in the mood to debate prophecies or destinies, and certainly not his place in them. He’d struck a nerve—not surprising, given everything that had happened. She lingered a moment, like she expected him to say something. Then she huffed and turned, striding ahead.
A whisper curled through Thane’s mind.
They don’t trust you. They never will.
His jaw clenched. That voice. It never spoke when he was strong. Only when he was fraying at the edges. Like it was waiting. Watching. Knowing exactly when to twist the knife. He forced the thought aside, eyes trailing up to the shifting light filtering through the branches.
“What? You’ve nothing to say to that? No response?” Lirien said, her voice laced with venom. “You’ve been so quick with the tongue to belittle us and our beliefs—so willing to mock us. But now silence?”
Thane shrugged. He could’ve told her that he couldn’t control the magic—when it came or what it did—but she was clearly beyond reasoning. Instead, he fell back to what was comfortable.
“Figured I’d let you stew in your thoughts. You seem to enjoy that.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she slowed her pace, letting the tension between them stretch.
“You don’t believe in any of this, do you?” she finally asked. “The prophecy. The Heart. That Arbelon is worth saving.”
He exhaled sharply. “I believe that I loaded into Arbelon and was assigned a task that I didn’t ask for. And every time I get a little comfortable, something tries to kill me or a flash of crazy magic wrecks me. So you tell me—what exactly am I supposed to believe in?”
Lirien turned to him, green eyes sharp. “You could believe in the people who’ve bled for this world. Who lost everything trying to protect it. Even if you don’t care, you could at least try to understand what it means to those who do.”
For a moment, his anger building, Thane considered snapping back, but something in her expression stopped him. There was no blind faith there, no naive conviction. Only a quiet, desperate need for something to make sense.
A heat like static lightning crawled up his arms before he could react. He glanced down—thin, jagged cracks flickered across his skin, pulsing erratically, shifting like broken glass trying to reassemble itself. Then, in a blink, they were gone.
Lirien’s eyes widened. “What was that?”
“What was what?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.
She tilted her head, eyes flicking to his arms. Then, without a word, she turned and kept walking.
Thane was fine with the silence. But he took his hands from his pockets, looking for the jagged lines, but none remained. If not for Lirien’s response, he might have thought they were just another weird glitch or hallucination.
Lirien was a good distance up the path, and he hastened his pace to catch up. The path wound through skeletal trees, their branches clawing at the sky. Arbelon’s wilderness felt old, untouched—and subtly aware of their presence.
When she spoke again, her voice had lost its edge from before—it was measured, thoughtful. “The prophecy says the Chosen One will wield the magic of the old world. Magic born of chaos, unchained and raw. They will rise when Arbelon is on the brink, and through them, the fate of all will be decided.”
Thane scoffed. “Yeah, well, if that’s the case, you all are screwed.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “The Wild Magic is proof enough,” she murmured. “That was the first sign.”
Then she hesitated, glancing at him, as if measuring whether she truly believed what she was about to say.
“And then there is the blood. Your blood.”
Thane frowned, running a hand over his face. “What about it?”
Lirien didn’t answer immediately. She had been thinking about this ever since Asmenson, turning it over in her mind, questioning whether she had really seen what she thought she had seen. The red blood. The ancient writings—disregarded or forgotten.
“It wasn’t part of the Codex or part of the prophecy we were taught,” she said, voice quiet. “But I remembered something—just a fragment, buried in dust, dismissed as nonsense. It spoke of red blood. A trait that didn’t exist in Arbelon.”
Thane raised an eyebrow. “And?”
She looked away, unsettled. “And I think the Elders disregarded it because it didn’t fit their vision of the prophecy. But if the words were true, then…” She hesitated, gripping the strap of her satchel. “Then maybe you were meant to be here more than any of us realized.”
Thane let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Or maybe you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“Maybe.” She glanced at him, eyes sharp. “But no Arbelonean has ever bled red.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Better to let the silence win this time.
So they walked along for quite some time.
The path had narrowed, sloping upward into a stretch of dense forest before a rocky outcropping. The skeletal branches overhead had begun to shift, taking on more life the farther they walked from the ruins. Yet, the silence remained.
Lirien halted abruptly, looking at the valley below.
Thane nearly ran into her before catching himself. “What?”
Her posture had stiffened, head slightly tilted, and her head turned as she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. Then she whispered, “How could they…”
He followed her gaze down the slope. Through the trees, half-shrouded in mist, figures on horseback moved along the forest road below. Clad in dark crimson cloaks, their armor barely visible beneath, they rode with eerie stillness. Their mounts—sleek, smoke-colored stallions—stepped lightly, their hooves making no sound on the packed earth.
Two ravens circled overhead, their sharp cries cutting through the stillness.
Lirien exhaled, barely a breath. “The Riders.”
Thane frowned. “Okay. And? They’re just guys on horses.”
Her fingers twitched at her side, her voice rising, tinged with desperation. “You don’t understand. The Riders of the Rings, they hunt magic users. If they sensed what happened back there—if they sensed you—”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.
Thane’s gut tightened. He glanced down at his hands, as if expecting to see those jagged cracks flicker across his skin again. They were gone, but the memory of them wasn’t.
“They see everything with those Ravens. We have to get off the road,” Lirien said, already moving toward the trees.
He hesitated, still watching the Riders below. They didn’t look particularly terrifying. They weren’t monsters. They weren’t glitching out of reality. Just men on horseback. But something about the way they moved—too fluid, too quiet—itched at the back of his mind.
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to move. “Fine. Let’s go hide in the bushes like cowards. Solid plan.”
Lirien shot him a look but said nothing as she led them deeper into the undergrowth.
Thane trailed after her, pushing some branches aside. It wasn’t like he actually believed in any of this—the Riders, the magic, the Prophecies she kept talking about. But Lirien did. And something about the way she had stiffened, the way her voice had tightened—that was real.
Maybe that was why he followed. Or maybe he just didn’t want to watch her get deleted over some stupid glitch. Either way, he wasn’t ready to dwell on it. Instead, he focused on the terrain ahead, following her step by step.
They crouched low behind the twisted roots of an ancient oak, its gnarled limbs stretching like skeletal fingers. Just beyond, a jagged rocky outcropping jutted from the hillside, partially concealed by dense underbrush. It was a good hiding place that still allowed them to see the Riders.
Below them, the Riders moved steadily, their cloaks rippling in some unseen current. The lead Rider turned his head slightly, and for a brief, terrible moment, Thane swore the man was looking directly at them. He wore a different cloak than the others, his with a ribbed halo of black around the neckline.
A chill ran through him. He barely breathed.
The ravens gave another piercing cry, and the Rider looked away, guiding his horse forward. One by one, the others followed, their passage as smooth and soundless as before.
Lirien remained still until the last Rider had vanished over the distant hill.
Only then did she let out a slow breath and turn to Thane. “That was too close.”
Thane scoffed, rolling his shoulders as he stood. “Right. Terrifying.”
She ignored him, scanning the trees. “We shouldn’t linger. The ravens—”
“—see everything. Yeah, I gathered.” He dusted off his knees. “So what now?”
“We stay off the road as much as possible. Keep moving. Trosten isn’t far.”
She started walking again, and this time, Thane didn’t argue.
As they moved past the outcropping, a voice—calm, steady—broke the silence.
“A wise choice, these days.”
Thane tensed, his body pivoting toward the sound.
A man stepped from the shadows—or maybe the rock itself—as if he had always been there, waiting. His cloak, once deep blue, had faded to something duller, its edges frayed and stitched where time or battle had torn through it. A jagged scar cut along his jawline, half-hidden beneath a few days’ worth of stubble. In his hands, he carried a quarterstaff, its surface carved with old runes, dulled by use. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—dark and searching—held the weight of someone who had seen too much and trusted too little.
He moved with practiced ease, his sharp gaze flicking between them, assessing, measuring.
Lirien froze beside Thane. “Cael,” she breathed.
Cael nodded toward the road below, where the distant Riders had passed. His sharp gaze flicked upward as ravens still circled overhead. “We should move. The eyes of the Riders are watching, and night is coming fast.”
Lirien hesitated only a moment before she moved toward him, stepping past the underbrush. Thane, however, lingered, suspicion curling tight in his gut.
Cael gestured toward the rock wall. “We can speak inside. Quickly now.” Without waiting for a response, he walked directly to the outcropping—and vanished into the stone.
Lirien exhaled sharply. “They’re real…”
Thane arched a brow. “What, the disappearing act?”
“No, it’s a Sanctum, a hidden place,” she said turning to him, her voice urgent as the ravens shrieked again, this time closer. “We have to go. Now.”
He glanced at the sky, the ravens still circling above. With a sigh, he muttered, “This game just keeps getting weirder,” and followed her in, through the rock wall.
The rock was solid. Or it should have been solid. But the moment Thane followed Lirien through the outcropping, the world shifted.
A shiver ran through him, something deeper than the cold—something threaded into his bones. A pulse, faint and fleeting, like stepping across an unseen threshold. For an instant, he thought he saw cracks flicker across his skin, like before. But then it was gone. Only Cael, watching him too closely.
Thane clenched his jaw and stepped inside.
The Sanctum was smaller than he expected, its ceiling low and gently curved, the walls shaped by careful hands rather than raw stone. It felt less like a cavern and more like a refuge—a place built not just to protect, but to comfort. The air was warm, carrying the scent of aged wood, dried herbs, and something faintly metallic, like old magic still lingering in the walls.
Soft lantern light pooled in alcoves carved into the rock, their glow steady and welcoming. A hearth sat at the far end of the room, its embers banked but still warm, as if someone had been here not long ago. Wooden benches lined the walls, their surfaces smooth from years of use, and in one corner, a heavy table bore a waiting meal—fresh bread, dried fruit, steaming broth. Not remnants. A meal prepared for them.
Someone still kept this place ready.
Lirien’s fingers brushed against the aged wood of the table, a quiet reverence in her touch. “I never thought I’d see one.”
Thane exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “It doesn’t feel like the rest of this place.”
Lirien turned toward him, her expression unreadable. “No. It doesn’t.” A beat of silence, then: “Strange that you recognize that.”
Cael stepped past them, his movements sure and unhurried, as if he had walked these halls a hundred times. “The Sanctums were not meant to be known by all. After the Rending, the Druids saved the Alumata from extinction. In gratitude, the Alumata built these places—not for warriors or kings, but for all who travel the wilds of Arbelon. Hidden havens, meant for the weary, the hunted, and those who have lost their way.” As he said it, he looked at Thane.
Lirien drifted toward the nearest wall, fingers brushing over a tapestry woven with intricate patterns. Though dulled by time, the threads still held faint traces of their original color—deep reds and golds. At its center, barely visible through the fading threads, was a sigil of something now long forgotten.
“This place is still holding,” Lirien murmured.
Cael’s jaw tightened. “For now. But the fractures are growing. The protections fade a little more each day.”
Thane frowned. “Fractures? You mean like—” He gestured vaguely. “—glitches?”
Cael regarded him carefully. “You see them, then.”
Thane hesitated. He could still feel the echo of something beneath his skin, something unsettled. Before he could answer, a whisper curled at the edge of his thoughts.
This place will fall, just like the others.
His jaw clenched, pushing it away. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
Cael took in the information without reacting, but his gaze lingered on Thane for a beat too long, as if calculating something. Weighing it. Then he simply nodded. “Then eat. We have much to discuss.”
They settled at the table, the warmth of the hearth at their backs. The food was simple but rich—spiced broth, dense bread, dried fruits soaked in honey. It was more than enough.
“So these Alumata,” Thane said, preferring to talk of the Alumata than continue with Cael’s weird interest in the glitches, and Cael was more than happy to oblige.
“Yes, the Alumata,” Cael said, picking up where he’d left off earlier. “Not many remain. But those that do still tend to these places. Though few ever see them. They are older than most races, their bodies like living plants—flesh interwoven with root and vine, their breath scented like the forests that bore them. They do not ask for thanks. They simply fulfill their promises to the Druids.”
Thane swallowed his bite of bread. “And how many of these hidden way stations are left?”
Cael’s expression darkened. “Fewer than we need. And none that are whole.”
Lirien sat back, her expression cooling, and there was a tautness to her voice. “And yet, you seem to know where to find them. Just like the other places you shouldn’t be.”
Cael met her gaze evenly. “You should hold your tongue about things you know little about.”
Thane looked between them. “Alright. Clearly, I’m missing something.”
Lirien exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You’re not missing anything. Cael likes to play riddles and act like he’s already decided where all the pieces belong. But he only knows the edges of things. He doesn’t know what’s inside.”
Cael’s expression didn’t change, but something about the way he studied her—calm, measured—made Thane uneasy.
After an awkward silence, Cael turned his gaze to Thane. “You were near Asmenson. Strange timing, given what’s happened there. Did you see anything unusual?”
“Have you been following us?” Lirien said, inching forward in her seat, eyes flaring.
Thane started to answer. “No, it’s okay, I can—”
“He’s just a traveler,” Lirien cut in, her voice firm, deliberate.
Cael’s gaze flicked between them, measuring. “A traveler, you say? One who seems to have been at the heart of quite the disturbance—and looking to avoid the Riders.”
His eyes landed on Thane again, as though waiting for an answer. Thane shifted under the weight of his gaze. But for some reason, it was clear that Lirien and Cael had history. That, and she really didn’t want him to share anything about their whereabouts with Cael. Perhaps not all was as it seemed, so for once, he opted to be cautious.
“Just passing through,” Thane muttered, keeping his voice vague. “Headed to Trosten.”
Lirien ignored Thane’s words and the tension remained. She leaned in toward Cael, her posture challenging. “You speak of disturbances, yet you forget the ones you caused, Cael. Or do you expect us to forget?”
Cael’s face was unreadable, but his voice was calm. “We all carry our burdens, Lirien. Some heavier than others.”
Lirien’s gaze didn’t waver, her jaw tight. But she didn’t press further.
The fire crackled in the silence, and then Cael exhaled, pushing his chair back. He turned toward the hearth, the glow flickering against his face, but he spoke no more words.
Thane kept his focus on the table, the weight between Cael and Lirien pressing into the space like something unspoken, something waiting to be broken.
As Cael shifted slightly to stoke the fire, his sleeve pulled back, revealing a mark on his forearm. A jagged, circular tattoo—incomplete and broken.
Thane froze, his breath catching.
For a brief moment, the tattoo shimmered with a faint blue glow—the exact shade as the logo on his VR game system. His pulse hammered. Then he blinked, and it was gone. Just dark ink pressed into skin.
He didn’t say anything, but his mind raced. The game’s telling me something… This guy must be important. He made a mental note, filing the observation away, even as doubt nagged at him.
Cael broke the lingering silence. “Power’s a funny thing. Sometimes it chooses us. And sometimes, it destroys us. Be careful which way you lean.”
A faint itch bloomed at the back of Thane’s mind, curling, spreading. Then the whisper came, low and insidious.
He knows what you are.
Thane’s stomach twisted, but he forced the voice down, fixing his eyes on the fire.
The meal finished in silence. The final words lingering much too long, and the weight of the Sanctum pressed in around them, but not like before. It was not the weight of decaying magic. It was the weight of something kept, something preserved despite the world forgetting it. And though Thane still didn’t know what to make of it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this place—this moment—was something rare. Something that should not have existed, and yet did.
He thought of the broken circle. Of Cael’s knowing eyes. Of the faint whispers in his mind. A game should have rules. But this one rewrote them as it went.
He had assumed he was here to play a role in this story, but the deeper he went, the more it felt like something else had already written the script. And somewhere in the margins, he could feel his name etched in ink.
Sleep came slowly, and with it, unease.
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