When Brann opened the door to their hideout, a heavy silence greeted them. The abominations were gone.
No screeching claws against stone, no guttural growls. Just the distant pounding of rain, relentless and steady, and the patter of droplets on scattered rubble. He'd braced himself for a fight, his heart still beat with the echo of coming battle, but the air was calm.
Outside, Brann waited for Gaël, a well-packed satchel slung over his shoulder. Without a word, he handed another to the boy.
Inside: dried rations, clean clothes, too big for him, but warm, and more importantly, dry, and what caught Gaël's attention most... a flask filled with clear water.
He grabbed it, hands trembling, and drank in heavy gulps. By the stars… The cold liquid slid down his throat, washing away the burn of thirst that had lingered for hours. Maybe days. He couldn't tell anymore. It felt like he'd been drinking nothing but the blood of their prey for ages.
Brann adjusted the strap of his own pack.
"Move out."
They left the ruins without a glance behind. Not a single abomination in sight. Not even the rustle of a creature lurking in the dark. Odd. But Gaël didn't dare break the silence.
Brann walked with steady steps, as if he knew every crack in this ghost city, every twist in the crumbling alleyways. His calm presence, heavy with restrained tension, was a reminder: they were never truly safe.
They took a winding path, the rain thickening around them. Gaël clenched his jaw. His massive sword, a cursed gift, a precious burden, rested on his back. Thanks to the harness Brann had given him, he could draw it quickly… in theory. But the tip still scraped the ground when he wasn't careful, sparking against loose stones.
His arms, despite the endless drills Brann forced him through each day, weren't the real issue anymore. It was his shoulders. His back. Screaming with every step. A constant burn radiating up to his neck. But he said nothing. He didn't have the luxury of complaining. Not in front of the man he'd chosen to follow. A man who never slowed down. Never faltered. Never once looked back.
The days had melted into one another. March. Dried meat, or the still-warm flesh of Infested. Makeshift camps under the rain.
Gaël had stopped counting the hours, the miles. His waterlogged boots were sponges. Fatigue was a silent companion now, one that never truly left.
Twilight painted the valley in gold and violet as Brann and Gaël moved through the soaked tall grass, their pace steady, the day's fading shadow stretching wide around them. Ahead, a lake shimmered, smooth as obsidian glass, reflecting the last embers of the setting sun.
Brann halted on a rocky outcrop, the wind tugging at the edges of his long black coat. He rolled his neck with a slow crack and cast an unreadable glance toward his young companion.
"We'll stop here for the night."
Gaël nodded, dropping his pack without a word. Since he'd started following Brann, he'd learned not to ask unnecessary questions. The man never did anything without reason.
The fire caught quickly, modest and discreet. A flame just strong enough to warm their hands, but not bright enough to betray their presence. Gaël bit into a chunk of stale bread, his eyes fixed on the dark waters of the lake.
"I've always lived near the sea," he murmured suddenly. "Feels strange seeing a body of water this vast without any waves."
Brann, seated cross-legged on the other side of the fire, let a fleeting smile curve the corner of his mouth, a shadow of a crease near his eyes.
"There are stranger things in the world now."
He didn't say more. As always.Gaël knew by now, answers had to be earned.
Silence settled around them. Only the sounds of the night kept them company: the rustle of leaves, the steady lapping of water… and a strange ripple in the distance.
Gaël lifted his head, senses sharpened.
"What was that?"
Brann didn't answer. He simply raised two fingers to his lips, a signal for silence.
A chill raced down Gaël's spine, though he couldn't say why.
There, in the deepening shadow, the lake quivered. Not like under the wind's touch. As if… something was walking across it.
A figure appeared.
Majestic. Inexplicable.
It moved without disturbing the surface, cloaked in a flickering light, its silhouette bathed in a silver sheen. Its form was like some divine hybrid, part stag, part lion, its fur gleaming like starlight.
Elegant spiral horns rose from its head, golden and luminous, catching the light of the heavens and casting it back in a spectral halo.
But it was its eyes that held Gaël.
Blazing white, incandescent, they seemed to pierce straight into the soul of whoever dared meet their gaze.
"A beast of Lumen…" Brann murmured, something unreadable in his voice. "A radiant one."
Gaël felt his heart thunder in his chest. He'd heard tales, but never imagined seeing one with his own eyes. These creatures, said to be blessed by the Celestial Blade itself, as rare as a noonday eclipse, were rumored to wander the world far from human sight.
'Why here? Why now?'
The sacred beast had stopped near the shore, a regal silhouette framed in the soft astral glow that kissed its coat with an almost unreal silver. Its stance was both graceful and powerful, its frame sculpted with lean, agile muscle, ready to move in a blink if danger stirred. Its large eyes, now glowing with a deep amber light, reflected an intelligence far beyond that of any ordinary animal. There was something unfathomable in its gaze, an ancient, mysterious wisdom, as if it could read the deepest truths hidden in the hearts of men.
Then Gaël felt it. Clearly.
An invisible weight. A subtle, implacable pressure creeping into him, probing his thoughts, his fears, his most buried doubts. It was as if the light itself, embodied in that extraordinary creature, was exploring his soul, weighing every intention to decide if he was worthy.
"It doesn't understand what it sees," Brann murmured, eyes still locked on the beast. "To it, we're anomalies."
Gaël stayed silent for a long moment, unable to look away from the radiant creature. Finally, he whispered:
"But what exactly does it see?"
Silence answered them. Heavy. Suspended. Offering no clarity.
Then Brann moved.
With a swift motion, he tossed a handful of small stones into the air. A sharp crack echoed into the night. Startled, the Blessed Beast leapt back, a cascade of water bursting around it as it vanished into the distant mist with a crashing splash.
Gaël stared, stunned, mouth slightly open. 'Why did you do that?!' he wanted to yell.
Then he understood.
The noise hadn't come from the stones alone.