We walked for a long time without saying much. The path descended slowly between hills covered in dry grass and ancient stones that rose from the earth like remnants of a forgotten world. Behind us lay Mireya's camp, with its patched tents, the smell of smoke from the campfires, and the uncomfortable feeling that even after we had left, the ravens were still watching us from somewhere. Aldric was the first to break the silence. We had walked for several minutes when I heard him clear his throat beside me, as if arranging his thoughts before speaking.
—Captain —he said at last— there's something I wanted to ask you.
I glanced at him without slowing my pace.
—Go ahead.
Aldric kept his gaze fixed on the road, but I noticed a mixture of curiosity and caution in his voice.
—During the fight with that creature… the werewolf… you used a formation I hadn't seen in years. The shieldwall.
The word echoed in my head before I could stop it. Shieldwall. I knew what it meant. There was no doubt about that. The word felt familiar, almost intimate, like an old tool one has used a thousand times with his hands but whose origin he no longer remembers. The problem was that beyond that certainty… there was nothing. No clear memory.
—It's an old technique —I replied after a moment—. A war formation.
Aldric nodded slowly, as if acknowledging the obvious.
—That's what I thought. But it's not something one learns in just any barracks.
We walked a few more steps. The wind blew from the north, carrying with it the damp scent of the marshes that stretched beyond the valley. Then Aldric spoke again.
—You also said something else during the fight.
I turned my head toward him.
—Oh?
—You mentioned the Valkyries.
The word lingered between us like a stone thrown into a silent lake. Valkyries. For a moment I felt something strange, a faint pressure in my chest as if a door in my memory had been pushed from the other side. Blurry images tried to take shape: white wings cutting through a grey sky, bright steel covered in frost, fallen warriors lying upon snow. But the memory dissolved before I could grasp it. Aldric was watching me carefully. He was expecting an explanation. So I did what any man does when the truth slips through his fingers. I improvised a lie convincing enough to resemble a memory.
—For a time I served in the north —I said, keeping my voice calm—. Up there those stories are still part of war.
Aldric raised an eyebrow with interest.
—Stories?
—So they say —I continued— when a warrior dies fighting with honor, the Valkyries descend from the sky to collect his soul. They are like women of silver riding upon wings of storm, and they carry the fallen to a great hall where heroes drink and fight for all eternity.
Aldric listened in silence.
—Did you ever see them? —he asked.
I looked toward the horizon before answering.
—War makes men see many things. Some are real. Others… are the result of wine, fear, or blood.
Aldric let out a small laugh.
—That sounds more honest.
We continued walking for a while. The road began descending toward the valley where the river flowed, and in the distance the silhouette of the old stone bridge we had to cross could already be seen. That was when we noticed it. On one side of the road, no more than a kilometer away, stood a carriage. Black. Impeccably black. Far too elegant for a place so desolate. In front of it waited a single horse, also black, its coat gleaming with a dark shine that seemed to absorb the fading light of dusk. We stopped. Aldric frowned.
—That wasn't there before.
—No —I replied.
We approached cautiously. There was no coachman, no luggage, no sign that anyone had been there recently. The horse stood perfectly still, like a statue carved from obsidian. I opened the carriage door. Inside there was no one. Only a letter. The red seal on the paper was immediately familiar. Agramor. I broke the seal and read aloud. Agramor welcomed us once again and, with a courtesy that felt almost insulting, informed us that he had decided to send us a carriage to ease our journey to his castle. If any of us wished to use it, we had only to climb inside and take a seat. The horse knew the way. It would take us there without the need for a driver. When I finished reading, I folded the letter and looked at the group.
—How generous of him —Serah said with a dry smile.
We watched the carriage for a few seconds. Then we looked toward the bridge.
—It's a trap —said Maelor. —Without a doubt.
We stood in silence a moment longer, evaluating the scene like players staring at an obvious board. Then I shrugged.
—When the choice isn't clear, the best thing to do is keep moving.
We left the carriage behind without looking back. The black horse did not move a single centimeter as we walked away. By the time we reached the bridge, the sky was already beginning to darken and the river flowed beneath us with a slow, dark murmur that resembled the sound of a deep breath. We began to cross. The stones of the bridge were damp and worn by time, and each of our steps echoed dully across the ancient surface. We had crossed roughly halfway when it happened. The wind stopped. Not gradually. Not slowly. It simply ceased. The air became cold and heavy, as if the entire world had held its breath. Then I heard a voice.
—My guests…
The voice came from above. I lifted my gaze. And I saw him. He floated in the air above the bridge, motionless, as if gravity had no power over him. His cloak moved slowly in a wind that no longer existed, and on his face there was a calm smile, almost amused. The Devil watched us like a patient host who had waited far too long for his guests.
—I must admit —he said calmly— you disappoint me a little.
His eyes glowed like embers in the gloom. He descended slowly a few meters without effort, like a feather falling into water.
—I opened the doors of my home to you… and how do you treat me? By rejecting my hospitality. It would have been an unforgettable evening.
I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword. Aldric did the same. Suddenly we heard a heavy thud. Maelor shouted. Eldran had collapsed onto the stone, his body rigid as if turned to rock. His wound was bleeding black blood that dripped slowly across the bridge toward Agramor's feet. Serah knelt beside him.
—Captain! —she cried— He's not breathing!
I glanced back quickly. I did not want to lose sight of the Devil, who watched us with arrogant patience.
—Take Eldran and cross the bridge —I said at last—. I'll deal with the Devil.
Agramor laughed. He began walking toward us. Eldran's blood ran across the stones from the wound to the Devil's feet, leaving no trace on the ancient bridge.
—Always so self-sacrificing, Captain. Your tenacity bores me —he said without stopping—. Advance, retreat, fight, die… you may choose whatever path you wish.
He stopped a few steps away. His smile widened.
—But you must understand one thing, my dear guests…
His eyes burned in the darkness.
—The end of the game… is decided by me.