Lyonel POV
Lyonel ran east.
He didn't know how long, minutes, hours, or some strange stretch of time that felt like eternity. His ribs throbbed, each breath slicing through him like a knife. His legs trembled so violently he thought they might give way. Still, he forced them to move.
Branches whipped against his skin. Roots caught his feet. The world blurred into streaks of brown and green. He didn't dare look back. He didn't dare slow. All he could do was run.
Finally, his body refused to take another step. He stumbled, nearly collapsing, and steadied himself on a tree trunk.
That was when he saw it.
A hut. Small, wooden, crooked, half-eaten by moss and shadow, as if it grew out of the earth itself.
A faint whisper rolled through the wind.
Enter.
Lyonel stiffened. His heart punched against his ribs.He looked around. No one. No movement.
But the voice had been close—too close.
He swallowed hard.
"Seven guide me," he muttered, though he didn't know if they were listening. Then, with trembling steps, he obeyed the voice and pushed open the wooden door.
At once, the smell hit him, sharp, earthy, potent. Herbs hung from the ceiling in bundles. Dried berries, powders, mushrooms, and roots cluttered the shelves. Something simmered in a clay bowl over a faint ember fire, releasing a thin white smoke.
But none of that startled him as much as the birds.
Dozens of them, white, grey, brown, resting upon the rafters. Their eyes fixed on him, every head turned silently in his direction.
Lyonel's hand drifted to Adder's Fang at his hip.
A voice, soft but ancient, floated from deeper within the hut.
"There is no need for that, Lyonel."
Lyonel stiffened.
How did she know his name?
He turned slowly, but before he could fully reach for his sword, a cold hand touched his shoulder from behind.
Lyonel spun around, blade half-drawn—
And stared.
It was an old woman, wrapped in long black robes that dragged across the floor like creeping shadows. Her hair was long and grey, flowing freely over her shoulders. Her skin bore the years in deep lines. Her eyes, her green eyes, however, were sharp. Too sharp.
Lyonel opened his mouth to speak, but the moment he did, pain stabbed through his chest. He staggered, legs buckling, and caught himself against the wall.
The old woman stepped forward without hesitation and pressed her hand against his chest.
Warmth.
A soft glow.
A sensation like sunlight pushing away a winter chill.
And then the pain simply… vanished.
Lyonel gasped, clutching at his ribs in disbelief.
"What, what sorcery is this?"
She gave him a patient, almost knowing look.
"I am the woman who saved your life," she said calmly. "And in time, you shall help me."
Lyonel backed up a step.
"Help? Me?" He pointed at her, voice rising. "You're a demoness."
She laughed, a surprisingly warm sound, though laced with something darker beneath.
"A demoness… it has been many years since someone dared call me that."
She lifted a hand.
Lyonel's vision blurred. His skull suddenly felt aflame. The pain wasn't like a physical wound; it was inside him, in his mind, burning, clawing. He fell to his knees with a strangled cry.
"Stop—!" he choked.
The old woman didn't move.
"I will show you why I need you."
She snapped her fingers.
Darkness swallowed him.
When Lyonel opened his eyes, he was somewhere else entirely.
A field.
Wide. Bloody. Terrifyingly quiet.
The sky above was grey and swirling, casting a muted, ominous light over the landscape. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, armour dented, shields cracked. Smoke drifted lazily upward from dying fires.
A scream tore across the field.
"RAHHHHHHHHH!"
Lyonel jolted, turning toward the sound.
A massive figure strode across the battlefield, a man, huge and broad as a bear, clad in steel armour. shining beneath the ashen sky. A greatsword rested in his hands, and each swing of that blade was a storm.
Men surrounded him. Dozens.
He cut through them like a force of nature, no wasted movement, no hesitation. Steel met steel, shields splintered, men fell, his strength incomparable. Lyonel watched with awe. The giant man fought with desperation, but also with purpose.
He was protecting someone.
A woman.
She stood behind him, dark-haired, cloaked, gripping a small dagger with both hands. She looked terrified but stubborn, as if refusing to abandon the giant knight even though she should have run.
Lyonel wanted to move. To help them. To do anything.
But his feet refused to obey. He wasn't truly there. He was trapped within a memory, a vision.
The battle raged. The knight roared. He swung, twisted, blocked, and countered, skill meeting sheer overwhelming numbers.
Then fate struck.
An arrow flew, small and insignificant in the chaos.
It slipped through a narrow gap in his visor.
The giant knight staggered, sword dropping. He reached for the shaft lodged in his helm, but he fell before he could grasp it. The ground shook beneath his collapse.
"No…" Lyonel whispered helplessly.
The men surrounding the woman turned toward her.
She backed away.
Lyonel tried to run to her, but he was dragged back by the vision. His voice was swallowed by the wind. His hands passed through the air like it was smoke.
He shut his eyes because he could not bear to watch what followed.
He heard her scream.
Then silence.
When he opened his eyes again, it was night.
The same field, but transformed. Cold. Still. Moonlit.
The giant knight's body remained where it had fallen. Around him lay the silent forms of the men he had slain.
But the woman and her attackers were gone.
A sound drifted on the wind.
Soft. Low. Melodic.
A woman's voice, singing.
"Hush now, hush now, shadows wake,From bones and breath the paths I take…Whisper, whisper, broken name,Return to dust from whence you came…"
"Drift now, drift now, faded soul,I gather what the darkness stole…Circle turning, night made deep,In silent earth, the secrets sleep…"
"Come now, come now, spirits torn,By blood unbound and sorrow worn…Step softly where the cold winds sigh,For I will sing, and you will lie…"
Lyonel froze.
A figure appeared at the tree line, stepping into the silver light of the moon.
A woman. Beautiful, strikingly so. Dark hair cascading down her back. Eyes an enchanting, unnatural blue. She walked with the grace of someone who had danced this path a thousand times.
She moved among the fallen with eerie calm, performing a ritual Lyonel could not fully comprehend. She touched each body, murmuring words he could not understand, collecting something from them, tokens, pieces of who they were. She placed them carefully in a circle around the fallen giant.
The air grew heavy. The moon dimmed.
She began chanting, her voice trembling the very air.
The circle glowed faintly.
The giant knight's armour darkened, steel fading into shadow. The plates shifted, reshaping, becoming a seamless suit of black. The visor ignited with twin points of red light.
The body twitched.
Then rose.
Lyonel staggered back, breath catching in his throat.
The man was the Black Devil who attacked him.
Transformed.
Bound.
Something no longer human.
The woman smiled at her creation, whispering a soft phrase he could not hear.
And then—
The world lurched.
Lyonel gasped and fell backward.
He was back in the hut.
The old woman stood over him, eyes heavy with meaning.
"Now," she said quietly, "you understand."
Lyonel's hands shook violently. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
"What… what are you?"
Her smile did not reach her eyes.
"Someone who has seen too much. Someone who knows what must be done."
She leaned closer.
"And someone who needs you, Lyonel Dondarrion."