The light took several seconds to fade. When the radiance slowly withdrew from the bridge, the first thing I noticed was the silence. The river still ran beneath us, but now it sounded like a distant, dark murmur. All those figures that had surrounded us moments earlier were gone, as if they had never existed. The air felt different. Drier. Still. The man with the staff remained seated atop the small carriage that had brought him to the bridge. His horse calmly chewed at thin blades of grass growing between the stones of the road, utterly indifferent to what had just taken place. He studied us for several seconds with an expression that shifted somewhere between curiosity and mild confusion. Then he climbed down from the carriage with a certain clumsiness and raised one hand.
—Well, well… —he said in a raspy voice— Looks like I arrived at a rather awkward moment.
He did not look like the sort of man capable of producing the phenomenon we had just witnessed. He was shorter than most men, broad shouldered, with a round belly that suggested life had treated him generously in matters of food and drink. His reddish beard grew wildly around a permanently flushed face dominated by a round crimson nose that betrayed years of loyalty to strong liquor. His eyes, however, were something else entirely. Small. Bright. Far too alert to belong to a simple drunk. He approached the bridge with a swaying step, leaning on the staff as though it were more a walking stick than a weapon.
—Allow me to introduce myself —he continued with a wide smile—. My name is Timothy Lightbarrel, but you can call me Tim. I'm a wandering merchant, an occasional traveler… and, from time to time, an honest trader —he bowed with theatrical exaggeration —. I also sell things.
He paused, glancing at the scattered bodies lying across the bridge.
—Well… used to.
Aldric frowned.
—What was that light?
Tim blinked several times, as though the question had genuinely caught him off guard.
—Light? —he looked at his staff and slowly rotated it between his hands.—Ah… that. Must've been a reflection of the sun.
Serah stared at him, unimpressed.
—There is no sun.
The man shrugged and scratched his beard.
—Then it must've been a very convincing reflection —he pulled a small glass bottle from his belt, took a long drink, and tucked it away again —. In any case, it looked like you folks needed some help.
His gaze passed across each of us. Aldric, soaked in blood. Maelor, still recovering from the fall. Serah, her clothes torn and streaked with dirt. And Eldran. When his eyes settled on him, something changed. It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. For a brief instant the clumsy rhythm of his movements vanished. He stepped closer and knelt beside the wounded man.
—Well now… this is interesting.
His fingers moved with unexpected precision as he examined the black wound in Eldran's side. He pressed lightly around the torn flesh, studying the color of the blood before frowning slightly.
—Hmm.
He opened a leather pouch from his satchel, revealing a set of small instruments. Aldric watched him closely.
—What are you doing?
—What anyone would do —Tim replied while preparing a needle and a vial filled with dark liquid—. Trying to prevent your friend from dying in the middle of a cursed bridge.
His hands worked quickly. He cleaned the wound. Applied an ointment. Closed the torn flesh with a skill that absolutely did not belong to a drunken merchant.
—Where did you learn that? —Serah asked.
Tim smiled faintly while he worked.
—Let's just say I've had an… interesting life.
Several minutes passed. At last he finished. Eldran slowly opened his eyes. His breathing returned with strength.
—By the gods… —he murmured weakly— I feel… better.
Serah released the breath she had been holding. Tim stood with a grunt and brushed the dust from his knees.
—Well, don't congratulate him just yet. That wound still looks like it was made by something that crawled straight out of hell.
He pulled the bottle again and took another drink. During all that time, I had been watching him. Something about the man made me deeply uneasy. There was a contradiction in him. A constant clash between the drunken clumsiness he displayed… and the precise, almost surgical movements beneath it. Our eyes met. For a brief moment his expression changed. Only a second. Then the easy smile returned. Serah stepped closer and whispered.
—Captain.
—Yes.
—What if Agramor brought him back?
I looked at Eldran. The black wound. The blood. The Devil's words. I said nothing. Tim suddenly clapped his hands together.
—Well then, my dear travelers —he said, pointing toward the carriage— I have a much more pleasant proposal than staying on this bridge surrounded by corpses. I know a village a few hours from here —he flicked the reins gently —. Valebrun. Small place. Quiet. A couple of decent taverns… and a priest with a certain reputation for handling… unconventional problems —his gaze shifted toward Eldran —. I suspect your friend might benefit from a visit.
Aldric sighed.
—We don't have many options.
One by one we climbed into the wagon. The vehicle creaked beneath the added weight, but the horse seemed used to difficult journeys. Tim took the reins. The road opened before us as we left the bridge behind. For a long time, no one spoke. The forest closed around us in its endless mist. At last Tim broke the silence.
—I suppose you've already met Agramor —no one answered, the merchant chuckled softly —.Yes, yes, yes… that reaction is fairly common —he drank again —. This valley is full of stories about him. But there's one I've always found particularly interesting.
Serah lifted her gaze.
—Which one?
Tim smiled. We had taken the bait.
—The story of the Hunter.
The wagon rolled slowly along the narrow road as the merchant began his tale.
—A warrior who carried a sacred sword arrived here long ago… dragged into the valley by the same darkness that brings everyone else. And like you, he did not come alone. He arrived with a band of adventurers. Among them was a powerful warlock. Not one of those carnival tricksters selling charms in the market… but a true scholar of ancient arts.
The horse walked steadily through the fog.
—Exiled from their homes, they traveled together for years searching for a way to escape this prison. One by one, many of their companions fell. But two endured. The Hunter slaughtered the creatures of the valley… and the Warlock searched for knowledge capable of defeating the mist. Steel and wisdom. Together they became almost unstoppable.
Tim narrowed his eyes, as though recalling something that did not belong to him.
—They destroyed specters in ruined fortresses, burned nests of abominations in the Black Marshes, and explored ruins so cursed even priests refused to enter them.
—And then? —Aldric asked, leaning forward.
—They respected each other deeply —Tim said quietly—. Perhaps even loved each other as brothers. Because a man who survives the same horrors you do… becomes closer than blood. Back then there were no villages in this valley. No churches. No roads like this one. Only forest. Mist. And a silence.
—What separated them? —I asked.
Tim glanced at me briefly. For a moment the humor left his face. —Something the Warlock discovered in ancient texts. He looked back to the road.
—A place in the valley where the veil between worlds was thinner —he believed that place held the true reason they had been brought here —. But the Hunter thought it was simply another hunt. Another beast to be slain. The Warlock had other intentions. A crow cried somewhere deep in the forest. They eventually found it —Tim continued—. A circle of black stones buried in the woods. An ancient sanctuary covered in symbols even the Warlock could not read… at first. That was when things began to change. The Warlock stopped sleeping. Barely ate. Spent hours studying those stones. He claimed the symbols contained knowledge older than the darkness itself… older even than the gods we worship.
Eldran shifted slightly in the wagon.
—The Hunter wanted to leave —Tim said—. He believed no knowledge was worth the risk of awakening something that had slept for centuries. But the Warlock had already decided.
Tim paused before continuing.
—One night… while the Hunter slept… he opened the circle. The wheels creaked softly beneath us. Whatever answered from the darkness accepted the call. And when the Hunter realized what his friend had done… It was already too late —Tim took a slow drink —. The Warlock had made a pact with the darkness. He claimed the mist was not a curse… but a prison. A barrier built to contain an ancient evil that once hunted across many worlds. The Hunter fought it . They say he nearly died trying to close what his friend had opened. But the deepest wound wasn't the battle. It was the betrayal. Because when the fighting ended… The Warlock was gone.
Tim spat off the side of the road.
—That same night the Hunter swore he would search every corner of the valley. Kill every beast and abomination if he had to. And when he found the man he once called friend… No devil or god would be able to protect him.
Aldric leaned forward eagerly, but Tim fell silent.
—And Agramor? —Maelor asked.
Tim smiled again.
—Curious question —he drank once more —. No one ever saw the Warlock again. But during his search… the Hunter eventually encountered the Devil. Armed with his sacred blade and the fury of a man who had chosen to finish a war alone, the Hunter fought him as an equal. The legends say their battle lasted an entire night. The sky turned red and rivers changed their course. The Hunter was about to fall when the Devil offered him a bargain.
—What kind of bargain? —Serah asked.
—A bond —the word left his mouth slowly —A curse that turned the great Hunter into something that no longer belonged to the world of the living… nor entirely to the Devil's domain. Defeated, he accepted. In exchange for the chance to one day find the Warlock —Tim looked into the mist ahead —. Now he wanders the valley forever. Hunting what rises from hell… And hunting what tries to escape it.
Eldran spoke for the first time in a long while.
—Then he works for Agramor.
Tim shook his head slowly.
—Ah… —he drank again —. That's where the story becomes interesting. Because the bond between the Hunter and the Devil… is not exactly what it seems.
The wagon rolled out of the forest. The trees parted. Before us rose a massive wooden gate between two stone towers. We had reached Valebrun.