The vow Aamon made in the depths of the Awakening Legacy library hung heavy in the air as he and his companions moved cautiously through the vast woodland. Every step forward was silent, calculated. The forest they were now in was different—darker, denser, as though the trees themselves bore witness to some ancient sin.
But more than the atmosphere, it was the feeling in Aamon's gut that warned him.
A cold dread coiled in his chest like a serpent.
Something was wrong.
The further they walked, the stronger the pressure became, like invisible hands clawing at the edges of his mind. Aamon's expression remained composed, but his eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, never resting, never blinking for long.
Yue glanced at him. "You sense it too?"
He gave a short nod. "It's getting worse."
They advanced through a thick copse of gnarled roots and moss-covered stones when Aamon suddenly stopped. He crouched, brushing aside a patch of disturbed leaves. Beneath them, faint footprints remained. Too many to count.
And not fresh.
But close enough.
Alexia knelt beside him. "Humanoid. Light on their feet. Elven, maybe?"
"No," Aamon said after a moment, his voice tight. "I recognize this aura. It's the same group that ambushed us in the gorge."
Yue narrowed her eyes. "Cultists?"
Aamon didn't answer. He rose slowly and followed the tracks with purpose, each step taking them further into a darker, more ominous path until the forest began to thin—and the base of a massive mountain came into view.
The mountain loomed like a titan, its cliffs jagged like broken teeth. Midway up its side, the footprints stopped. A sloping ledge carved by erosion provided a natural stairway to a wide, rocky platform about halfway up.
From there, they could hear it.
Chanting.
Low. Guttural. Not in any language of men or elves.
Aamon's body tensed as he led the ascent in silence, his instincts screaming at him. They reached the edge of the platform and crouched behind a cluster of boulders.
What they saw turned the dread in Aamon's stomach into fury.
Two young women—barely in their teens—had been tied to stone slabs, bound in black silk, surrounded by flickering candles made of bone marrow. Hooded figures circled them, murmuring their sacrilegious incantations. A dark altar sat at the center, soaked in old, dried blood.
A twisted statue towered above the altar—horned, eyeless, holding scales dipped unevenly in black ichor. A depiction of the Dark God of Bargains, an entity whispered about in forbidden texts. A deity known to trade secrets for sacrifices.
Yue turned pale. "They're sacrificing them… for knowledge."
"For Estelle," Aamon growled. His hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He stepped forward.
But not recklessly.
He took a deep breath, allowed the air to fill his lungs, and let the fury sharpen, not consume him.
"I'll go in first," he said. "Draw attention. Yue, disrupt their formation. Alexia—free the girls."
They nodded, eyes burning with resolve.
Then Aamon leapt from the shadows.
The moment his boots hit the stone platform, a sonic boom echoed across the mountain.
The cultists whirled around in alarm—but it was too late.
Aamon was already among them.
His fists crashed into the nearest cloaked figure, sending him hurtling into the altar. Blood and black mist exploded on impact.
The chanting broke.
Panic set in.
Yue emerged from the other side, whispering an incantation. Ethereal threads of spirit energy snapped from her fingers, unraveling the barrier that shielded the altar.
Alexia dashed between cultists with surgical grace, her blades flashing like twin streaks of silver light. She reached the girls swiftly and began slicing through their bonds.
The cult leader—a tall figure wearing a crown of jagged obsidian—screamed, "The sacrifice must not be interrupted!"
He pulled a vial of dark fluid from his robes and downed it.
His aura surged violently. Muscles tore through his robes, eyes bleeding black.
He charged at Aamon, claws elongated, mouth snarling inhuman syllables.
But Aamon didn't flinch.
He welcomed the clash.
Their blows collided in a violent burst, shockwaves ripping through the altar platform. Stone cracked, candles snuffed out.
The leader was strong.
But Aamon was relentless.
Each punch carried the weight of guilt, the rage of failure, and the fire of his vow. The leader howled as Aamon pummeled him into the stone, blow after blow breaking bones and will alike.
"You think pain is power?" Aamon roared, eyes blazing with red fury. "You think sacrifices are worth your answers?"
With a final, resounding strike, he crushed the cultist's chest and shattered the altar beneath him. A ripple of dark energy burst outward—then dissipated like smoke in wind.
Silence fell.
The remaining cultists fled in terror, leaving behind only the smell of blood and burning incense.
Alexia cradled the freed girls, whispering reassurances.
Yue stood beside Aamon, watching him carefully.
He stood motionless, his breath heavy, but eyes clear now.
"That's one lead destroyed," Yue said softly. "But it means we're getting closer."
Aamon nodded. "If they were desperate enough to sacrifice lives for information… Estelle is still alive."
He turned toward the horizon, jaw tight.
"And we're running out of time."
Aamon sat by the dying embers of their makeshift campfire, his back resting against a cold boulder. The forest around them was quiet now—too quiet. The chaos on the mountain had left a wound in the air itself, a silence born not of peace, but aftermath.
The two girls lay curled in soft cloaks, the faint rise and fall of their chests the only sign of life. They hadn't stirred once during the descent or even when Alexia gently cleaned the blood from their faces. Whatever had happened to them before the ritual had pushed them far beyond exhaustion.
Finally, as dawn's golden light pierced through the dense canopy, one of the girls stirred. Her lashes fluttered, and wide, silver-blue eyes blinked up at the unfamiliar sky. The second awoke soon after, grasping her twin's hand tightly as if grounding herself in reality.
They sat upright together, their hands interlocked.
Aamon approached slowly, crouching in front of them so he wouldn't appear threatening.
"You're safe now," he said, voice calm but firm. "No one will harm you."
The girls stared at him with uncertainty, their gazes sharp despite the trauma etched into their small faces.
"What are your names?" Alexia asked gently from behind, offering them warm broth in a wooden bowl.
After a long pause, the girl with a scratch on her cheek whispered, "Ruby…"
"…and I'm Shasha," the other finished, her voice barely audible.
Yue sat beside them. "You're twins?"
They both nodded.
Aamon's gaze darkened as he asked the next question carefully. "Where are your parents? Your village?"
Ruby's eyes welled with tears instantly. Shasha trembled.
"The village of Larethil… is gone," Ruby murmured.
"They came in the night," Shasha added. "Black-robed people. They were looking for us."
"For you specifically?" Yue asked, brows furrowing.
The twins nodded again.
"They said... we had 'traces' of Verdant Lineage blood," Ruby whispered. "But we're commoners. No noble blood. That's what Mama always said."
Aamon stiffened.
Verdant blood?
It couldn't be a coincidence.
"What happened to the rest of the villagers?" Alexia asked quietly.
"Burned. Everyone. Even the elders who tried to stop them…" Shasha's voice cracked. "They said they needed silence. So no one would talk about two missing girls."
Aamon closed his eyes, jaw tightening.
All of this… just to offer children as sacrifices for information.
It was worse than he imagined.
He knelt again, facing them.
"You're not just victims now," he said firmly. "You're survivors. And you're under our protection."
The girls looked up at him, surprised at the fire in his tone.
"Do you remember anything the cultists said?" Yue asked gently. "Anything about what they were trying to learn?"