Silence came first.
Heavy.
As if the forest itself had held its breath.
A few meters ahead—
an opening.
The cave opened between the trees like a black fissure, irregular, carved into the earth.
The walls, rough, carried ancient moss.
Veins of crystal ran through the rock, reflecting a faint greenish light… unstable.
The silence held.
Even with him there.
Karna kept his body aligned, the bow still low, but ready. His gaze fixed on the cave's opening… until it shifted.
Behind.
The presence was already there.
Motionless.
Black hair, straight, disordered by the wind that did not move.
Pale skin marked by luminous fissures — blue and gold — like cracks opened in something that should not contain light.
The eyes did not align.
One blue.
The other golden.
Both attentive.
Karna narrowed his gaze, assessing, the weight of his body distributed without losing mobility.
"So that's it. I go in, descend… and stop whatever is happening down there."
The breath came out controlled, almost a light humorless laugh.
"Simple enough… coming from her."
His gaze did not leave the figure.
"But since you showed up — for me and for Telvaris — something doesn't fit."
The head tilted a minimal degree.
"If this matters that much… why didn't she come in person?"
The silence did not answer immediately.
The figure did not move.
When it spoke, there was no hurry.
No effort.
"Because her path does not cross this place."
The light in the fissures did not increase.
But it did not diminish either.
"There are encounters that cannot be avoided."
The heterochromatic gaze remained fixed on him.
"And those that must occur… do not wait."
The air did not change.
The pause came short.
Enough.
"If you wish to stop the Wanderer that rose in the western marquisate…"
The voice remained steady.
"this is the path you must walk."
The figure moved its hand.
There was no force in the gesture.
Even so, space yielded.
Behind him—
a fissure opened.
Silent.
Deep.
As if the world itself had been pulled aside to reveal something that had always been there.
The greenish light did not touch it.
The figure stepped back.
Making space.
"Karna Suruya…"
The name came clean.
Without effort.
"As the last guardian who sees the crossroads of paths…"
The gaze did not waver.
"there is something I must tell you… before you go on."
The pause came precise.
"You were the deviation in the path of Salem's daughter."
The voice did not rise.
But it gained weight.
"By following this path…"
"you will fall."
There was no threat.
Only certainty.
"And it is only through it… that Salem's daughter will find the way."
The air remained still.
Heavy.
"But not every fall… means the end."
The figure did not wait for an answer.
It simply moved.
And crossed the fissure.
The space closed right after.
Without sound.
Without a trace.
The forest remained.
Untouched.
Karna did not move immediately.
His gaze remained where the fissure had been.
In silence.
Then the hood rose.
Covered his face.
The body turned.
His attention returned to the cave.
To the entrance—
ten knights.
Motionless.
Guarding.
Karna closed his eyes.
Three seconds.
The breath slowed, aligned.
The sound of the forest opened around him — leaves touching leaves, the light weight of something moving between the trees, air passing through narrow spaces where there should be no passage.
His eyes opened.
He advanced.
Step by step.
Without hurry.
A branch gave under the weight of his foot.
The crack cut the silence.
Dry.
Instant.
The knights reacted at the same instant.
Hands went to their hilts.
Steel left scabbards in a single, clean motion.
No shout. No loud order.
Only repositioning — short steps, aligned, forming a blockade at the entrance.
Attentive eyes.
Trained.
Waiting for confirmation.
Then they saw.
The figure approached without changing rhythm.
Bronzed skin.
White hair, cut close, nothing left over.
His light-brown eyes did not seek approval.
Only measured.
The dark outfit fit the body with precision, light, functional — fabric meant to disappear into the environment… but now exposed, without any attempt at concealment.
Karna did not slow.
The first knight advanced.
Firm step, blade coming down in a direct cut, aiming to end it before full approach.
Karna was no longer there.
The body shifted half a step to the side at the moment of impact, the cut passing close to the shoulder without touching.
The left hand rose in the same movement, deflecting the knight's arm out of line while the body turned.
The arrow was already between his fingers.
Short distance.
No bow.
The tip entered under the base of the helm, piercing the throat before the second step completed.
The body fell without sound.
The second knight was already coming.
Faster.
Closer.
The blade rose diagonally.
Karna stepped back with the rear foot, absorbing the advance.
The free hand caught the wrist mid-motion, breaking his balance.
The knee rose short, direct, colliding with the side of the opponent's leg.
His footing broke.
The next arrow entered clean, under the clavicle.
No hesitation.
The others adjusted.
Karna raised his gaze.
The eight advanced together.
Without hesitation.
Two from the front. One from the left. Another closing from the right. The rest adjusting the rear, shortening the space.
Coordination.
Training.
Karna did not retreat.
The first strike came straight — a thrust to the center.
He shifted half a step, the steel passing close to the torso.
The right hand struck the attacker's wrist, deflecting the line. In the same movement, the second was already coming down with a lateral cut.
No time to finish.
Karna dropped his body back, the cut passing in front of his face. The third was already advancing, seeking the opening.
Fast.
More than before.
The arrow was already in his hand, but found no opening.
A fourth strike came low — aiming at the leg.
Karna raised the knee, blocking with the shin at the limit of impact. The shock stalled the advance for half a second.
It was enough to turn the body and leave the line.
But not the pressure.
They did not stop.
One pushed.
Another entered the space.
The blades began to overlap.
Karna was forced to give two steps.
The rhythm changed.
Now it was continuous reaction.
He lowered his center of gravity.
Waited.
The next came high — predictable.
Short deflection.
Contact at the wrist.
Axis break.
The knight's body was pulled forward—
and used.
Karna turned with it, placing him between himself and the next attack. The fifth's blade pierced his own ally before he could stop.
The opening appeared.
Short.
The arrow entered the side of the neck of the man ahead.
Two down.
But the rest were already adjusting.
No pause.
Now they knew:
they could not give space.
Two advanced at the same time, crossing attacks — high and low.
Karna checked the high with his forearm, deflecting enough. The low scraped the side of his leg, opening the fabric, no depth.
Minimal error.
He stepped back half a step.
Controlled breath.
Fixed gaze.
Now more attentive.
More aggressive.
Karna adjusted his stance.
And advanced.
The first stepped back instinctively at the change of rhythm.
Mistake.
The arrow was already in his fingers.
Short distance.
No bow.
The tip entered under the helm, through the side of the face.
Immediate fall.
The body had not finished falling when the second tried to close the space.
Late.
Karna turned his torso, escaping the blade, and released the arrow almost pressed to the opponent's chest.
Clean entry.
The force of impact pushed him back.
Another down.
Four remained.
They did not break.
The formation tightened.
Two in front. One on the right. One holding short distance, waiting for an opening.
More cautious.
More dangerous.
One advanced low.
Another came high at the same time.
Karna gave the center.
Let it.
The low passed.
The high came—
and met his ally's body when Karna shifted the axis at the last instant.
Minimal confusion.
Enough.
The arrow pierced the base of the neck of the one left exposed.
Without looking.
Three.
The one on the right came in aggressive, trying to close it for good.
Karna stepped back.
Then another.
Seeming to give.
Calling.
The knight advanced more than he should.
The base opened.
The arrow entered under the clavicle.
The air left before the body fell.
Two.
Now they hesitated.
For less than a second.
Karna did not give that time.
Advanced.
Straight.
Forcing the mistake.
One tried to retreat.
The other to cover.
Neither managed to align.
The first arrow entered the throat.
The body locked—
but did not fall in time.
Karna was already in motion.
He turned the axis, escaping the line of the last—
and released the second arrow at point-blank range.
The tip entered through the eye.
No resistance.
No coming back.
Silence.
The bodies gave almost at the same time.
None remained standing.
Karna did not stop.
Only adjusted his breathing.
The bow lowered a degree.
Silence returned.
And the forest… no longer breathed the same way.
Karna walked without looking back.
The darkness of the entrance received him without resistance.
Ahead, the staircase descended long and irregular, driven into the stone as if it had been forced open, not built.
Light crawled along the walls — cold, unstable — revealing only enough not to trust what he saw.
The first steps echoed low. Then the sounds came.
Distant at first, broken, cut before completing — screams. Not continuous. Severed.
Mixed with the crying of more than one voice, too small to sustain it for long.
Children.
Karna did not speed up, but the rhythm was no longer the same.
The breath shifted a degree, aligning with what came from below.
The air grew heavier with each step, and the smell came right after — old blood, thick, mixed with something too sweet to exist there.
Wrong.
At the end of the stairs, the door.
Tall. Thick. Marked not by time, but by use.
Karna stopped for an instant.
The hand moved forward without hesitation, pushing.
The wood yielded slowly, as if resisting more for what it held than for weight.
On the other side, a corridor… wide, but too closed for that space.
The walls drew closer at subtle angles, enough to unsettle without explaining.
Light did not enter — it simply remained, faint, sustaining the minimum.
Drops of water broke the silence at irregular intervals.
The screams had ceased.
Karna advanced.
The ground changed under his feet — more rigid, less natural.
Then he saw.
At the end of the corridor, something stood.
It did not guard. It waited.
The shape resembled a human body, but did not obey it.
There was alignment where there should not be, rupture where there should be continuity.
The skin seemed stretched over something larger, marked from within, as if what sustained it had grown beyond limit.
The bones around were not scattered.
They were too close.
Abandoned.
The creature's head moved first — slow, misaligned.
The eyes opened at different times, one after the other, until they fixed on him.
The body reacted next.
Rising with weight.
As if each movement needed to be remembered before happening.
The creature began to emit human sounds.
They were not complete words.
They were fragments.
Broken.
Drowned in despair.
"Help me…" "Mom…" "I'm scared…"
Karna did not react immediately.
Only observed.
The pattern was not in the voice.
It was in the timing between them.
Then it came.
Fast.
Without warning.
Karna shifted his body close to the wall, the attack passing where he had been an instant before.
His feet touched the ground already adjusting the axis — and, when he looked back—
Nothing.
The creature had disappeared.
Silence returned.
Karna let the air out through his nose, almost a laugh.
"I see… so that's how it works."
A drop fell.
Hot.
Thick.
It burned lightly on his shoulder.
The smell came after. Rotten.
Karna raised his gaze, unhurried.
"Right…"
The hand was already reaching for the arrow.
"found you."
The creature dropped.
Vertical.
Brutal.
Karna did not block.
Left the line.
The impact passed scraping, displacing the air around.
In the same movement, he turned his body and released the arrow without drawing the bow — short distance, direct precision.
The tip pierced the creature's shoulder.
It recoiled—
and vanished.
Karna did not pursue.
Breathed.
Once. Twice.
The bow rose.
The gaze changed.
More attentive.
"It's not fast…"
The head tilted slightly.
"it chooses when to exist."
The corridor answered.
With movement.
Not visible.
The creature came again — this time from the side, claws tearing the space in a wide arc.
Karna was already in motion.
He rolled under the attack, rising already with the bow drawn—
He loosed.
The arrow crossed the corridor.
The creature vanished before impact.
Silence.
One step.
Another.
Karna did not shoot again.
Waited.
The mistake was not speed.
It was repetition.
Then he saw.
Not with his eyes.
With the pattern.
Every time it advanced in a straight line… it disappeared at the end of the movement.
Karna breathed deep.
And spoke low:
"So you run…"
The arrow was set.
Unhurried.
"…and vanish before you stop."
The sound came.
Front.
Direct attack.
Karna did not retreat.
Waited.
Until the last instant—
the body gave half a step to the side.
The claws tore the space where he had been, displacing the air against his face.
The turn came with it.
Fluid.
Controlled.
The arrow was already positioned.
"Nagastra."
The shot came at the end of the movement.
The arrow did not go straight.
It curved.
As if it were alive.
The creature vanished—
But the arrow did not lose the target.
It changed direction in the air.
Pursued.
One second.
Two—
Impact.
A scream tore through the corridor.
This time it did not vanish.
The creature reappeared against the wall, the arrow buried deep in the torso, the body failing to maintain form.
It still tried to advance.
Instinct.
Karna already had another arrow nocked.
His gaze steady.
Unhurried.
"It's over."
The shot came clean.
Direct.
The arrow pierced the center of the chest.
The creature locked—
and fell.
The body hit the ground hard.
This time, it did not disappear.
Silence returned.
Heavier than before.
Karna let go of the bow for a second, rotating his shoulder, feeling the burn.
The blood ran, but did not compromise movement.
A short sigh escaped.
"I've seen worse… but it was worth trying."
He took the bow again and moved on.
Walked to the end of the corridor.
The door was there, marked not by time, but by what it held. Karna did not hesitate as he pushed it.
The wood yielded heavy, revealing the hall.
At the center, a circle was carved deep into the stone, and blood flowed constantly, filling the grooves of ancient runes.
Above, suspended by chains, women and children hung like living sacrifices.
Some no longer had life, inert bodies swaying slowly, while others still struggled in despair, breathing with difficulty.
The terror in their eyes did not need a voice.
On the ground, among the marks of blood, a name stood out, fragmented.
"An… guçu."
Even without understanding the language, the weight was clear.
Wrong.
At the edges of the circle, five figures in black cloaks maintained the chant, low and continuous voices, as if they were one.
Behind them, women and children trembled in cages, too tight to contain the number of bodies.
Karna did not stop.
The bow rose and four arrows flew in sequence, precise.
Four bodies fell, and the chant faltered — broke, but did not cease.
The fifth still stood.
Karna drew another arrow and fired, tearing the cloak… but failed to reach him.
Late.
The last one's voice rose — not in volume, but in weight.
The air answered.
The impact came without form, direct, throwing Karna against the wall. The shock tore the air from his lungs, and his vision faltered at the same instant.
He tried to move.
The body did not respond as before.
The sound around distorted, too distant to be real.
Even so, he forced his head to rise.
Tried to focus.
He saw the feet first, motionless inside the circle.
Then the body, still, sustaining what remained of the chant.
And then—
the hair.
Straight.
White.
His vision collapsed—before the thought could form.
Darkness.