Realm of Monsters

Caligo had promised to kill every adult in the Cairn Tribe by sunrise for Marek’s defiance against the god. By now, they were dead, and it was his fault. Marek had lost everything and everyone he fought for.

He chuckled bitterly to himself. “Is this what you wanted, Caligo? Is this my punishment?”

“No.”

Marek jerked his head up, the chains rattling at the motion. “Who’s there?”

A pair of faintly glowing eyes stared at him from the corner of the cell, the irises a pale lavender. Marek knew those eyes, he had never forgotten them since that night. His lips curled in a half-hearted, wry smile. “Hello, Stryg.”

“You remember me,” Stryg noted.

“A boy chieftain who almost killed me. It’s hard to forget. I thought I killed you.”

“You almost did, if it wasn’t for—”

“Clypeus. I remember him too. He had my respect. He was brave to the end.”

Marek stared at the darkness, two glowing eyes staring at him with murder. He sighed, the chains keeping him from moving much. “At first I thought you were dead, even though Crow told me otherwise. Still, it was hard to believe you could have survived the spear wound and the fall… Then whispers spoke about an Ebon Aspirant appearing in Undergrowth. When I heard the Aspirant was a blue goblin I knew it was you.”

“...Do you know why I’m here?”

“I can take a guess.”

“Then why did you smile when you saw me?”

Marek stared into the shadows, try as he might he could only make out the eyes and the faintest of silhouettes. “I thought you were someone else. I guess I’m glad you weren’t him.”

“Who?”

Marek thought about answering for a moment, then shrugged. “The Monster in the Dark.”

“You think whatever that monster would do to you is worse than what I will?”

“I’m sure you’ve thought of interesting ways to exact revenge—”

“You have no idea what I think.”

Marek inclined his head, “But the Monster is something else entirely. It isn’t mortal. It isn’t a man, it cannot be killed. It’s ancient, a god from before our time. It doesn’t just kill, it twists people until you can’t recognize them anymore… you can’t even recognize yourself. So yeah, I guess you could say I am glad it’s you and not a dark god.”

“I’m well aware of Caligo’s nature. She is my cousin.”

Marek’s eyes widened. “You? Then you’re…?” He shook his head and chuckled, “Of course, no wonder Caligo warned me to stay away from you. I suppose you’re quite young, a dark godling barely coming into his own.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m still alive. If you were older I would have died on that cliff rather than your friend.”

“You are going to die.”

“I know,” Marek said softly.

“I thought of this day, so many times… There wasn’t a day that went by I didn’t think of that night. I thought of what I’d do to you in this moment.” Stryg scoffed lightly, “Did you know the Sylvan are very different from Hollow Shade? We don’t torture, nor do we take slaves, we simply kill our enemies. And we only imprison someone so that we can decide whether to execute or let them go. It’s efficient. Resources are scarce in the forest, and we wouldn’t waste them feeding our enemies.”

“But you,” Stryg stepped closer, “You, I wanted to hurt. More than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Marek looked him in the eyes, his gaze tired but steely. “What are you waiting for?”

“You are going to die, Marek… But not today. That moment will be saved for all the city to see.”

“A public execution.”

“I’d rather take your life right here and now. But it seems the entire council wants your blood.” Stryg glanced down between Marek’s legs, “I just came down here because I heard Loh destroyed your groin with a flame spell. Not what I would have done, but I suppose it’s painful enough… for now.”

“How generous,” Marek spat at his feet. “Torture me if you want, there is nothing more you can take from me.”

Stryg dug his claws into Marek’s shoulder, “It won’t end with you.”

Marek clenched his jaw and huffed quietly in pain. “Everyone I love is dead. Like I told you, there is nothing more you can take,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What of your tribe?”

“They live?”

“They escaped, like most of your army. They are scattered across the valley, trying to regroup. It won’t matter. I made a promise when Clypeus died, I intend to keep it.”

Marek thought of Caligo and his promise, he couldn’t help but grin spitefully. “You really are Crow’s kin. A monster just like him.”

Stryg released his grip and pulled his claws out. “I am told you are the heir of House Helene and that you eradicated your own House. Are you not a monster to your own kin?”

“My kin? My mother’s sister killed her and half my tribe. I avenged them. You would have done the same.”

“That’s where you and I are different.” Stryg walked away. “Tristan Helene lives. You failed. I won’t.”

“Wait. Just wait. Wait!”

The iron bars closed with a heavy screech.

~~~

Aurelia’s room smelled like the rest of the infirmary, elixirs, herbs, and the faint metallic scent of blood. Stryg sat at her bedside, watching his mother’s chest move faintly up and down. He had visited her a few hours each day for the past few days.

The light filtering through the window was dim, despite it being early. All the windows in the Gale and Veres manors were enchanted to filter most of the sunlight outside. The light wasn’t deadly to vampires, but they were sensitive to it, particularly their eyes and skin.

Stryg had never been bothered by the sunlight, or rather, his skin wasn’t. His eyes, on the other hand, were very sensitive. Too much light and the ring around his irises would snap and expand in a rather painful transition. He didn’t know how much of that pain was related to his Veres blood or his father’s.

His mother would probably know. But Aurelia hadn’t woken up. The white mages employed by House Gale had sworn that her wounds had fully recovered, still, she showed no signs of waking. Melantha had taken a look with her Blue clarity magic and noted that her wounds extended beyond the external. The void mana from the dragonbane’s flames had poisoned her flesh.

The truth was neither Melantha nor Holo knew when she would wake up. Both of them were working on a solution, but neither sister had ever come across void magic like this before.

“I’m sorry, mom.” Stryg grabbed her limp hand and pressed his forehead on the back of it. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

Someone knocked on the door and after a moment it opened slightly and a familiar face popped in. “My lord, we have a— situation,” said Lawrence Gale.

“What is it?” Stryg muttered.

“Someone was causing quite a fuss at the gates, a goblin. He refused to say much, except that he claims to know you and will only speak to you.”

Stryg jumped to his feet. “Where is he?”

~~~

The room was empty save for Gian and Gale who were standing around a goblin sitting on the only chair in the room. His lip was split, blood trickling into his dark beard. His clothes were somewhat roughed up, but there were no visible cuts. He held a large cloth sack in his arms and guarded it with a fierce look in his yellow slit eyes.

“I’ll only ask one more time, what’s in the sack?” asked Gale.

“Bite me,” the goblin hissed.

“Keep wasting our time and I’ll do more than just that, I’ll rip your throat out,” she bared her fangs.

Gian raised his hand and Gale took a reluctant step back. “Why do you want to speak with our lord, Stryg? How do you two know each other?”

“How do you know him?” the goblin asked with a raised eyebrow.

“He is our Lord Veres.” Gian frowned, “Do you not know whose House you are in?”

The goblin shrugged, “The wolf dropped me off here. That’s all I needed to know.”

“Wait, a wolf carried you here and you decided what, to just waltz up to our manor?”

“I trust my wolf’s judgment.”

“Are you serious?” she scoffed indignantly.

“Is this where Stryg is at?”

“That’s Lord Veres to you. And yes,” she added at the end, a little annoyed.

“Then I was right to come here,” the goblin nodded.

“You mean you were right to try and break through our gates?” Gale asked.

“I tried to knock, but your idiotic guards refused to speak to me, let alone open the gates.”

“Our House is on edge after the siege, everyone is. You’re lucky my family’s sword masters didn’t cut you down the moment you crossed our manor’s threshold,” said Gale.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have a spear on me,” the goblin growled.

“Why don’t we all just calm down for a moment, hm?” offered Gian. “I assume you are Sylvan, yes?”

Stryg burst through the doors and slid to a halt in front of the three of them, his eyes alight with eagerness. “Jahn! You’re here!”

Gian turned. “That I am.”

“There you are!” Jahn broke into a grin.

Stryg tackled him with a hug. “You’re back!”

“It’s good to see you too, my boy!” Jahn laughed. “You’re squeezing too much. Too much!”

“Sorry,” Stryg let go but stayed close.

Gian furrowed his brow. “I feel as if I’m missing something. Who is this person?”

“This is my uncle, chieftain of the Blood Fang Tribe,” said Stryg.

“Your uncle?” Gale frowned. “As in—?”

He straightened his back. “I am his mother’s younger brother, Jahn.”

Gale paled, mortified. “Then you are a Veres?”

Jahn glanced over at Stryg uncertainly. Stryg nodded reassuringly, “He is.”

“Jahn, was it?” Gian asked slowly.

“Yeah, that’s right. What about it?” he asked warily.

“Nothing, really. I just— Your name, it’s somewhat… uncanny?”

“You have a problem with my name,” he hissed.

“No, not at all,” Gian said weakly.

“I was named after my grandmother’s younger brother. She said he was the most talented swordsman she had ever seen. It is a name of strength and a legacy I carry proudly, so if you have a problem with my name then you have a problem with me.”

“She said that?” Gian whispered.

“Yeah…?”

Stryg grinned, “Jahn, allow me to introduce you to the Sword Paragon of the Ebon Realm, Gian Gale, brother of Stryga Veres.”

Jahn glanced up at Gian, then did a double take, before his eyes widened slowly into saucers. “You’re him…?” Jahn swallowed and tried his best to keep his voice from breaking, “I didn’t know you lived.”

A tear slipped down the old vampire’s cheek and he smiled unabashedly, “Neither did I of you.”

Jahn cleared his throat and sniffed, his eyes darting around everywhere save Gian, and finally settled on Gale, “And who are you?”

“A Shield of Veres. Lady Gale VIII. On behalf of my men, please forgive us for our actions earlier,” Gale bowed deeply. “Rest assured, you don’t have to be on guard any longer. You are home, my lord.”

“Lord? That feels weird,” Jahn said wryly.

“Trust me, you never get used to it,” said Stryg.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re right?”

Stryg patted his shoulder. “You look tired, you should get some rest.”

“I haven’t slept much these last few nights,” Jahn admitted.

“I’ll have the servants prepare a room for you right away,” said Gale.

“I can’t sleep, not yet. How is my sister?”

“Alive, but my mother still hasn’t awoken,” Stryg muttered.

“I see.” Jahn clenched the leather sack in his arms tighter. “Before the battle, Aurelia asked me for a favor in case something happened to her. After the siege, I rushed to the village and back as quickly as I could.”

“The book…” Stryg whispered.

Jahn nodded and undid the drawstring. “There was also something else buried with it.” He reached into the leather sack and pulled out a snow-white sheath, emblazoned with black steel. “I figured you might need it.”

Stryg stared at it, “Is that—?”

Gian stepped forward and traced his finger over the scabbard, “It’s my sister’s. It’s Krikolm’s.”

“The women of our family have kept it safe all these years,” said Jahn. “Now it belongs to you.”

Stryg drew Krikolm from his waist. It had been difficult to keep the blade from clipping his pants the last few weeks. Gingerly, he grabbed the white scabbard and slid the scarlet blade inside. A small part of him expected the blade to cut right through the scabbard but it held taut without any damage.

“Lord Koval crafted that scabbard for Krikolm. It will not break,” said Gian.

“This, on the other hand, is not nearly as durable,” Jahn grabbed an old leather-bound tome from the sack and carefully handed it to Stryg. “It is our family’s book of memories. Stryga, Nalindra, and Aurelia’s memories are imprinted within.”

Stryg received it gratefully and stared at the book with a quiet reverence. The cover was made of some kind of thick animal leather. A thousand small arcane sigils were carved into every space across the cover. Tiny magestones were embedded in the corners and spine.

Gian narrowed his eyes. “Books of memories were made forbidden by the Ebon Lords of old.”

“What? Why?” asked Stryg.

“Besides the difficulty and risks necessary to create one, imprinting one’s own memories inside requires interacting with one’s own soul. The slightest mistake could irreparably damage the soul. Why would my sister and the others risk imprinting on such a thing?”

“For the same reason my grandmother crafted the book in the first place,” said Jahn.

“My sister made this?” Gian said, surprised.

Jahn looked at Stryg solemnly, “The book has been passed down from one generation to the next. Aurelia said that if something happened to her she wanted me to make sure the book reached your hands. She wanted you to see their memories.”

Stryg stared at the book, his hands shaking slightly. “My mother told me she saw only a few parts of it. When I asked her why, she said the book was never meant for her… it was meant for me. How could she know that? What exactly is inside of this thing?”

“I don’t know,” replied Jahn quietly. “We never will until you use it.”

“You don’t have to do this, Stryg. This magic was made forbidden for a reason,” said Gale.

“She’s right… But Stryga wouldn’t have crafted such an object if she thought she didn’t have to,” noted Gian.

Stryg traced the book’s spine. “If there’s even a small chance it has anything that can help my mother then it’s worth the risk.” He channeled his mana into the magestones.

Gale reached out to stop him. “Wait, don’t just—!”

Stryg’s world went dark.

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