Lord Dox, Lucius has escaped!" Zon spoke, his heart pounding violently against his chest. Fear dripped from every word as he stood trembling before the dark throne, knees threatening to buckle under him.
The hall was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, menacing shadows across the stone walls. The air felt thick and cold, as if the very room was holding its breath in anticipation of violence. Heavy tapestries depicting ancient battles hung from the walls, their colours faded by time and blood. The throne itself was carved from black obsidian, sharp edges glinting in the firelight like teeth ready to bite.
The silence in the hall was absolute, broken only by the faint crackle of the torches and Zon's ragged breathing.
"Well, well, well…" Dox spoke, his head practically fuming with rage. A low, chilling chuckle escaped his lips, echoing through the chamber like the growl of a predator. "So you want me to do it myself?" He leaned forward on his throne, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "No problem. I will grant your wish of dying."
Before Dox could even stand up, Zon was already trembling so badly he looked like he might collapse. Cold sweat poured down his face in streams, soaking his collar and dripping onto the stone floor. His legs shook uncontrollably.
"Lord Dox, please… give me one last chance!" he begged, voice cracking, almost urinating in his pants from pure terror. His hands were clasped so tightly together that his knuckles turned white, the skin stretched thin over bone.
"Why should I?" Dox replied, a slow, cold smile spreading across his face, one that never reached his eyes. The smile was sharp, dangerous, like a blade pressed against skin. "You've failed me too many times already, Zon. Your excuses are growing tiresome. I'm starting to think you're more trouble than you're worth."
Zon's breath came in short, ragged gasps; the air felt too thin, as if the room itself was closing in on him. His mind raced desperately for any way to survive.
"I can prove my worth, Lord Dox. Just give me one last chance. I swear I won't disappoint you this time. I have a plan, a good one."
Dox leaned back on his throne, fingers drumming slowly on the armrest. The sound was deliberate, threatening. "Well, I do love playing cat and mouse." His smile widened, cold and predatory. "What is your plan? If it's good, I might consider sparing you. Speak quickly, before I lose what little patience I have left."
Zon swallowed hard, forcing the words out through chattering teeth. "There is information that Lucius is travelling west. The sole survivor of that village, the boy, is still with him. Once I kill that boy, Lucius will be easy to bring to our side. He'll break without him. I'm sure of it. Please, my lord… just one more chance."
Dox chuckled, a menacing, low sound that echoed through the chamber and sent fresh shivers down Zon's spine. "I give you one last chance, Zon. Don't disappoint me. Fail again, and I will make your death slow and painful, slower than you can imagine."
"Yes, my lord!" Zon said, dropping to his knees, hands pressed to his chest in a desperate pledge of allegiance, head bowed so low it almost touched the cold stone floor. "I will not fail you this time. I swear it on my life."
A month had passed since Lucius disappeared.
The hero party still remembered him vividly, mostly out of fear. The memory of the useless fifth hero who had suddenly become something dangerous lingered in their minds like a dark cloud that refused to dissipate. Some, like most of the heroes, felt envy and jealousy burning in their hearts, mixed with a fierce determination to beat him when they finally caught up. They wanted to prove they were the real chosen ones, the true saviours the world needed.
But unfortunately, he was proving incredibly hard to find. No news of him had surfaced at all. Still, they continued their journey south, growing stronger with every passing day.
As they travelled, the four heroes improved rapidly in strength, magic, and endurance. Low-level monsters that once posed a threat were now nothing to them; they could slay entire groups in minutes with practised ease, their blades flashing and spells crackling through the air.
"Head Mage, how long is the journey to Lark?" Liam asked, impatience clear in his voice. He could no longer wait to be known as the most powerful hero in front of all the soldiers and mages. His fists clenched at his sides, eager for glory and recognition.
The Head Mage turned, fuming with irritation at hearing the same question for the fifteenth time. Her face tightened, lips pressing into a thin line as fresh anger flared in her violet eyes.
"It takes time, Liam. Besides, this journey gives you plenty of time to train and become stronger, so we can survive whatever dangers lie ahead."
Liam's breath hitched, the frustration that had been simmering for weeks finally boiling over into something raw and ugly. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, the veins bulging along his forearms as his face flushed a deep, humiliated red.
"Tch. You too think I'm not strong enough yet?" he snapped, voice cracking with the hot sting of envy and wounded pride. "Fifteen times, Head Mage! Fifteen times you've fed me the same empty words while that useless fifth hero Lucius is out there somewhere, probably laughing at us! I've grown stronger than any of you realise. My spells hit harder than Clara's now, my sword cuts through bone like paper. Every night I lie awake feeling this power burning in my chest, and all I get from you is 'it takes time'? I don't need more training, I need action! I need the world to see me, to cheer my name, to know that I am the real hero, the one who will save them all while Lucius fades into nothing!"
His chest heaved, eyes glistening with angry tears he refused to let fall, the jealousy twisting like a knife in his gut at the mere thought of the fifth hero's shadow still haunting their legend.
The Head Mage's hands trembled on her staff, irritation sharpening into a fierce, protective exasperation that made her voice rise.
"You think I don't see the fire in you, Liam? You think I enjoy repeating myself like some broken record while the south waits for us?" She stepped closer, his own breath coming faster, the weight of responsibility cracking her usual calm. "I'm fuming because every time you ask, I hear the same reckless hunger that could get all of us killed! Yes, you're stronger, stronger than I ever hoped, but strength without patience is just a boy swinging a sword at shadows. The world doesn't need another glory-chaser; it needs heroes who won't burn out before they reach Lark. I'm trying to keep you alive, you stubborn fool!"
The tension between them was thick, crackling like the air before a storm, but before Liam could hurl another bitter retort, the other three heroes stepped into the firelight, drawn by the raised voices that had carried across the camp.
Clara crossed her arms tightly, her sharp eyes flashing with shared ambition and a flicker of worry. "Liam's right about the wait, Head Mage. We've all felt the power growing, the itch for real battle. But if we tear each other apart now, what chance do we have against whatever's waiting south?"
The captain of the soldiers planted his massive axe in the dirt with a heavy thud, his deep voice rumbling with steady frustration. "The lad's burning up inside, and I get it. We all do. But fire without direction burns the whole party. Tell us the truth this time, no more 'it takes time.'"
Shira edged forward, clutching her staff, her face torn between Liam and the Head Mage. "Please… I don't want us fighting like this. Liam, you're the strongest I've ever seen. But the Head Mage has led us this far. We're in this together, right? All of us… We have to be."
The Head Mage exhaled a long, shaky breath, the fight draining from her shoulders as he looked at each of them: Liam's furious, tear-bright eyes, Clara's sharp resolve, Garrick's grounded strength, Shira's concern, Collen's silent eyes scanning them.
"Very well," he said, voice still edged with emotion but softening just enough. "No more circling the same argument. Sit. All of you. We talk strategy tonight, real strategy for the south, for Lark, for whatever darkness is hunting that fifth hero we left behind. Because the world is changing, and if we don't face it united, none of your glory will matter."
Liam stopped pacing, the fire in his chest still roaring but now joined by the others' presence, the weight of their shared gaze pulling him back from the edge. For the first time in weeks, the hero party felt less like four separate egos chasing fame and more like the beginning of something forged in fire and frustration, stronger, angrier, and finally ready to push south as one.
Far to the west, aboard the merchant ship cutting through the waves, Lucius stood at the railing, the gentle rocking doing little to calm the storm inside him. His hands gripped the wood until splinters dug into his palms, drawing tiny beads of blood he barely felt.
Inside his chest, the curse twisted violently, a living thing of cold fury and desperate fear that made his heart slam against his ribs like it wanted to break free. The boy, his only remaining light in this nightmare, was sleeping below deck, still not fully trusting him completely, but the thought of any threat getting anywhere near that innocent face sent a wave of protective rage so fierce it nearly buckled Lucius's knees.
Dave remained a silent presence a few feet away, the fragile truce between them still delicate and unspoken, but even he could see the way Lucius's shoulders shook, the dark aura flickering along his arms like living smoke. The captain's jaw tightened, a rare flash of concern breaking through his usual gruff mask.
The journey continued.
In the shadowed ruins of an old watchtower overlooking the western plains, Zon stood before a circle of his hardened men, torchlight flickering across their scarred faces. He kept his voice low, steady, the terror from a month ago now buried beneath cold calculation.
"Listen closely. We move at first light. The boy is the key; take him, and the rest falls into place. No mistakes this time. No mercy. We end this hunt the way it was always meant to end."
His men nodded, fists tightening on weapons, eyes gleaming with dark anticipation, but Zon offered nothing more.
The night swallowed his words, leaving only the promise of blood and pursuit hanging in the air.
The real hunt had just begun.