The grand chamber of Solmaria's royal court was a place of false gold and old blood. Tapestries depicting long-forgotten victories hung heavy on the walls, their colors faded, their triumphs empty. The air was thick with the scent of burning resin and cold stone, and though the hour was late, none among the gathered council showed signs of fatigue.
They had all received the same message.
And none of them could afford to ignore it.
King Raphael Vaelor sat upon the high seat — a throne more for ceremony than comfort — his weathered face carved in grim stone. His crown, a circlet of black steel and pale diamond, caught the flickering torchlight but his eyes remained in shadow.
Beside him, Lady Elara Voss, High Priestess of the Divine Church, regarded the council through half-lidded crimson eyes, her expression unreadable. The white of her robes was untouched by the filth of the world, a stark, deliberate contrast to the dark news carried into this sacred hall.
A knight — his armor still stained with travel dust — knelt at the center of the chamber floor, his voice flat as he finished recounting the events at Lord Veylan's estate.
"…bodies of the entire household. No survivors. The master, his family, even the servants. A single message, carved in blood upon the walls."
He hesitated before speaking the words aloud.
"THE SINS AWAKEN."
A heavy silence fell.
"Blasphemy," one of the younger nobles whispered.
Lord Vareon, gaunt and sour, grunted. "No demon would leave such words by chance. This was a message… to us."
"It was a reckoning," Lady Elara murmured, her voice soft and cold as falling ash. "And a warning."
The court erupted in hushed argument.
"If the old sins rise again—"
"It cannot be. The relics were lost—"
"The Hero, Leon… he carries one, doesn't he?"
"Wrath." The word carried like a shiver down the room's spine.
King Raphael raised a hand and silence returned.
"You all see the threat now. This was no random demon raid, no rebel sorcery. It was deliberate. And should the sins truly awaken again, the Holy Kingdom will burn as it once did."
He looked to Lady Elara.
"Your counsel, Priestess?"
She regarded the flickering torches, as if seeing things in their flames no one else could.
"Recall the Virtue," Elara said at last, voice like a bell tolling for the dead. "The Holy Knight must return to Solmaria again. If the sins gather, if the summoned hero proves uncontrollable… we will need her strength."
A murmur of unease passed through the chamber.
"So we fear the boy now?" Lord Vareon sneered. "He slew a demon, saved a kingdom. He's done more for us than your 'Virtue' has in years."
"And that," Elara countered smoothly, "is precisely the danger. Wrath always serves well before it turns."
Another pause. Tension heavy as stone.
"Put it to vote," the king commanded at last.
The council's verdict was swift.
Unanimous.
The Virtue would return.
And as the gathered lords and priests dispersed into the long shadows of the night, none noticed the hooded figure lingering near the great windows, listening to every word. A shadow in the torchlight. Eyes gleaming pale silver.
*
*
*
The horizon was bruised with the colors of approaching dusk, a bleeding crimson swallowed by indigo clouds. The air tasted of iron and moss, thick with the scent of wet earth and something sour — the stench of beasts.
Leon stood at the vanguard, his katana unsheathed, the polished silver blade catching what little light the dying sun granted. The steel hummed faintly in his grip, as though sensing blood near. Before him, in the clearing just past the treeline, they waited.
Shadow Wolves.
Creatures of purest black, their fur absorbing the light, the only color in their monstrous forms the blood-red gleam of their eyes and the jagged grin of too-white teeth. Born from the cursed woods and demon continent, far from where sane men tread. And now, here.
Near Solmaria.
"How the hell did these things get here?" Leon muttered, eyes narrowing.
"Form up!" Darius's voice cut through the cold air, a command that brooked no hesitation. "Protect the villagers! Hollow Blades — with me!"
The escorting adventurers sprang into motion, weapons drawn, faces grim. The villagers huddled behind them like frightened livestock before slaughter.
Leon surged forward, his magic flooding his limbs, Reinforcement Magic wrapping his muscles in liquid heat. He caught the first wolf mid-pounce, katana slicing clean through.
Or so he thought.
The wolf's body melted into shadow before his strike landed, and it reformed behind him — too fast.
Shit
A shimmer of golden light flared around him, a perfect sphere that halted the beast's lunge. The wolf snarled, fangs scraping harmlessly against the divine barrier.
Iris.
She stood to the side, one hand raised, the glow of her spell reflecting in her crimson eyes. "Careful. These aren't normal wolves, Leon. Don't get reckless."
"Noted," he grunted.
"They're Shadow Wolves," Iris called to the group. "Born from abyssal darkness — either catch them before they move or kill them with divine magic."
As if summoned by the claim, another wolf lunged from the gloom, only for Sylva to intercept it in a blur. Her daggers found flesh where others might find only smoke, and the creature dropped in a heap of shadow and blood.
Velis wasn't far behind. A grin cut across her face, silver eyes alight with thrill as she toyed with another beast, her movements too quick, too precise. She flickered between trees, her blade severing a wolf's throat before it could react. Another pounced — she impaled it mid-air.
Kieran, perched comfortably on the carriage roof, propped his chin in one hand, watching them with unmasked amusement. "Remind me why I don't get hazard pay for this job?"
"Because you're useless," Lyra snarled through gritted teeth as she struggled to land a hit, her strikes passing harmlessly through shadows. She scowled as Velis cleanly dispatched two more wolves and shot her a smug grin.
"Maybe you just need to get good," Velis called, laughter in her voice.
Iris's voice rose, steady and sharp. "Cover me — I'm finishing this."
Golden chains of light erupted from the earth, writhing through the air like living things. They lashed around the remaining wolves, binding them mid-leap, fangs bared and eyes wide with fury. The chains tightened, crushing bone and flesh alike with a chorus of wet cracks.
Silence fell.
Leon exhaled, his shoulders easing as he turned toward Iris. "Damn. That was beautiful."
A flush crept up Iris's cheeks despite the cool air. "Thank you. I… had to be useful somehow."
Selene gestured toward Velis and Sylva. "Or you could be like those two and not need help at all."
Velis practically glowed at the praise. "Finally! Somebody notices. Honestly, I was starting to think you lot were blind. More praise, please. I've earned it."
Gaius chuckled. "You'll get your ego so fat you won't fit in the wagon."
Sylva gave no comment, simply cleaned her daggers on a cloth, her face unreadable, though her gaze lingered on Leon for a moment longer than necessary.
A handful of villagers approached, their faces a mix of awe and relief. "Thank you, heroes," one man stammered. "Please — come. The chief wishes to meet you."
Darius nodded, sheathing his sword. "Lead the way."
Leon took one last look at the battlefield, at the fading stains of shadow and blood on the ground. Shadow Wolves here… not normal. Something wasn't right.
* * * * *
The village was little more than a cluster of stone homes and timber walls, their roofs battered by weather and war alike. Smoke from scattered chimneys curled into the cold dusk, the scent of charred wood and boiled herbs hanging in the air.
Leon dismounted as the wagon rolled to a halt near the largest building — a hall of old wood and time-darkened stone. Its walls were draped in faded banners, the symbols of Solmaria's crest only barely discernible through age and smoke stains.
A woman waited at the entrance, her spine straight despite her years. White hair fell loose over her shoulders, framing sharp, weathered features. Pale blue eyes regarded them, steady as mountain frost.
"Welcome, travelers," she said, her voice roughened by age but carrying strength nonetheless. "I am Eira Marrowind, chief of this village."
At her side stood a young woman — slender, pale-haired like her mother, but with softer features and wary eyes. She wore a hunting dagger at her hip and the stance of someone used to danger.
"My daughter, Lira," Eira introduced. "And my son, Calen."
The boy, barely older than Leon, stepped forward with a nervous smile. His hair was ash-blonde, and his face bore fresh bruises, likely from recent skirmishes.
"Thank you," Calen said. "For saving us."
Leon offered a polite nod while Darius spoke. "We're glad we arrived in time."
Eira gestured for them to follow her inside.
The hall's interior was dimly lit by flickering lanterns, the scent of herbs and smoke heavier here. The villagers gathered around the edges of the room, murmuring as the Crimson Vow and the Hollow Blades took seats around a long table.
"You've done us a great service," Eira began. "Those beasts have been hunting our folk for days. We sent word to the holy knights in Solmaria, but none came."
Iris spoke first, her brow furrowed. "It's strange. Shadow Wolves don't belong here. They're creatures of the demon continent, or the Cursed Forest."
Leon nodded in agreement. "Even in the demon continent, they keep to the deadlands. For them to cross so far…" He left the rest unsaid, unease gnawing at his gut.
Eira's expression darkened. "Aye. It's not natural. It started a week ago. Just after… well."
Darius leaned forward. "After what?"
This time it was Calen who answered, his voice hesitant. "There was a murder. In Solmaria. Not just any murder — a bloodbath. A nobleman, his whole family, their staff. Everyone in that estate was butchered."
The words hung in the air like frost.
Gaius let out a low curse under his breath. Even Velis stopped fidgeting.
Leon's brows drew together. "Who?"
Iris asked the question before anyone else could.
Calen glanced at his mother, who gave a tight nod.
"Lord Veylan," the boy said quietly.
At the name, Sylva's body went still beside Leon. He felt it before he saw it — the tightening of her shoulders, the way her gaze fixed on nothing, cold and distant.
The daughter, Lira, picked up the thread. "That's when it started. The wolves came out of nowhere. No one knows how or why, but they began attacking the outlying farms first, then the roads. The injured piled up, and we couldn't hold much longer."
Eira sighed, weariness evident in the lines of her face. "We have little to offer for your help, but… tonight, there'll be a feast. A poor one, but you're welcome to it. You've earned it."
Darius gave a soft chuckle. "We don't do this for coin or glory, Chief Marrowind. But we'll gladly accept a warm meal and good company."
The old woman managed a small smile, though sorrow still clung to the corners of her eyes.
"Then it's settled."
The mood in the room lifted, if only slightly, as talk turned to preparations for the evening. But even as laughter and warmth returned to the hall, Sylva's silence lingered, and Leon's unease only deepened.
Veylan.
It was a name Sylva had not spoken of to anyone. And now it returned, carried on the breath of slaughter.
As the villagers bustled about and the Crimson Vow made ready to rest, Leon caught Sylva's gaze.
A storm still slept in those eyes.
And he knew it hadn't passed.