Even as Cal and Vincent saw the frost and the ashes that covered the tree, they didn't waver when it came to following the moonleg lilies. They continued on their path, doing their best to make it to the next runecarriage terminal.
They had a stag's carcass slung between them, which came from one of the ones Cal had killed earlier. They weren't hungry now, but later there might be nothing to find. The opportunity was right there for them, so there was no point in leaving a potential meal to rot in the forest.
As the two continued to walk along the illuminated path, they realized how badly their bodies needed rest. Vincent yawned, his body sagging with exhaustion.
"We need to rest somewhere," Cal said, looking around for a potential spot to set up camp. Vincent did the same, despite his tired gait and his heavy eyes.
"It's getting closer to dawn, but it's still dark," Vincent replied softly. "We need to lie down. At least for a while."
They walked on for a while longer, guided by the dim, silvery glow of the moonleg lilies. The forest did not grow quieter, but it did not grow louder either. It simply endured — branches creaking faintly, leaves stirring without wind, the ground crunching softly beneath their boots where frost had begun to settle.
Eventually, the two of them slowed.
They looked ahead, noticing two trees that grew unnaturally close together. Thick trunks formed a shallow hollow where their roots had pushed the earth inward over time. The space between them dipped slightly, sheltered from multiple angles, with fallen branches and dense undergrowth breaking the line of sight from the forest beyond. It wasn't comfortable, but it was defensible. That mattered more.
"There," Cal said finally. "This might work well for us."
He shifted the stag's weight on his shoulder before continuing. Vincent followed his gaze and nodded.
"Better than sleeping out in the open," he said.
They dragged the carcass into the hollow and set it down carefully, then began the quiet work of making camp. Cal gathered fallen branches and dry twigs from the surrounding area, careful not to stray too far from the trees. Vincent worked more slowly, fatigue dulling his movements, but he helped where he could — breaking thinner branches, clearing away leaves, pressing down loose soil to make the ground a little more stable.
After some time, they managed a fire. It wasn't anything but small and deliberate, but it gave enough warmth and light, and it was not enough to announce their presence to anything that might be watching. The flames flickered low, casting uneven shadows against the trunks of the trees and painting the hollow in muted gold and black.
Neither of them was hungry. The weight of exhaustion had dulled the sensation of appetite, so the need and want for food wasn't there for now. Still, the stag remained nearby, its presence a quiet reassurance. When hunger came — and it would — they would do their best to carve what they could from the carcass and eat it as a meal. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it would keep them moving.
At the moment, that was enough.
The fire crackled softly. Vincent's breathing slowed, his eyes half-lidded as the weight of the night finally began to claim him. Cal remained awake a little longer, gaze fixed on the tree line beyond the hollow, listening to the forest breathe.
"I'll keep watch," Cal said, looking off beyond the hollow. "You get some rest. You look like you're going to pass out."
Vincent snapped his head up, his eyes doing their best to widen despite the immense weight on them. He looked seconds away from passing out.
"Wait, no," Vincent replied, trying to stifle a yawn. "You can't be up all by yourself! I can help!"
Cal scoffed in response, rolling his eyes. "Really? It seems to me that you can barely keep your eyes open."
Vincent straightened his posture, trying his best — and failing — to look alert and vigilant for Cal's sake. Behind the effort, lay the exhaustion that could be found after a long night at the mines back in Lamnor.
Cal sighed, setting his sword on the ground for a moment, to relieve his body of its weight. "Fine. Suit yourself."
The flames bent softly between them. Vincent shifted where he sat, drawing his knees closer to his chest, eyes fixed on the flames as though daring them to keep him awake. Cal leaned back against one of the trees, arms folded loosely, gaze drifting upward through the narrow gap where branches parted just enough to reveal a sliver of night sky.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
It was Vincent who broke the silence, voice low and rough with fatigue. "Still find it hard to believe we're doing this."
Cal glanced over. "Doing what?"
"Heading to the Merlin Trials of all places," Vincent said. "We just left Vireldawn behind. Like it was nothing!"
Cal huffed softly. "You say that like there was something worth staying for."
Vincent quirked an eyebrow before asking. "Was there not?"
Cal shook his head almost instantaneously. "Not there. You know how bad it was. You also know that being there meant we were never worth anything."
Vincent sighed, opening his mouth to say something in what could be disagreement, but he closed it before starting again. "Fair," he said, almost reluctantly.
"Still. The Merlin Trials aren't just anything. Whole Empire's overseeing it! It happens once every twenty years!"
At that, Cal's expression shifted — not surprise, but a faint tightening around the eyes. "The Evervoid Empire," he said. "Hard not to hear about it, even from the edges of the world."
"We'd be seeing the home of the Empire up close!" Vincent said as excitedly as he could manage. "Led by His Majesty, Arthur Evervoid! That much I know. People in Gravenmoor talked about him like he was divinity itself!"
Cal stared at the fire. "Granddad hated talking about the Empire."
Vincent glanced at him. "Hated? Mr. Virell?"
"Loathed, actually," Cal corrected. "Every time it came up, he'd change the subject. Or tell me it wasn't something I needed to worry about." He paused. "Which usually meant it was. And he'd berate me for it too. One time he kicked me out to the mines for hours because I asked. Missed dinner once."
Vincent's eyes widened greatly, his mouth hanging open. "Mr. Virell... did that to you? I thought-"
"You thought many things about him," Cal interrupted, putting his hand up. "He may be family. And it may be love. But no amount of love is hiding how much he's disappointed in me. And I'd rather do something with my life than upset him even more."
Vincent's eyes shifted downward. The silence from the melancholic tone in Cal's voice overtook the conversation, leaving behind an awkward void.
The flames popped, briefly flaring brighter.
"All I do know," Cal continued eventually, "is what slipped through when he wasn't paying attention. The Evervoid has ruled for generations. The Trials are their way of finding… talent. Or weapons. Depends on who you ask."
Vincent scratched at his jaw, thinking. "The Evervoid family aren't the only ones with power, though. Empire's got other noble families backing the throne."
Cal's gaze flicked to him. "You know that much?"
"Somewhat," Vincent responded, yawning. "Passerby talk. Drunks. Mercs passing through Gravenmoor. None of it reliable."
"It's reliable here," Cal assured. "Granddad mentioned three families. Rarely. And after he did, he switched the subject."
Vincent leaned in slightly. "Which ones?"
"The Thorne family," Cal said first. "Military blood. Old, even by imperial standards. Supposedly their lands never knew peace because they made war their inheritance."
Vincent moved a bit, almost like a flinch. "Yeah, I heard that name before. They treat war like a rite, almost."
"Probably exaggeration," Cal said, though he didn't sound convinced.
"Probably," Vincent echoed, unconvinced as well.
Cal went on. "Then there's the Visconti family. They aid in economics. Wealth. Contracts. Money is their influence." He frowned faintly.
Vincent let out a quiet whistle. "I heard they own half the runecarriage lines. Or control them, at least."
Cal's eyebrows raised a tad, but when hearing the notion, he couldn't help but find it true. "I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case."
"And the third?" Vincent asked.
Cal hesitated before responding. "The Grimaldi family. They had connections to the Sinfaust Empire apparently, but I don't know to what extent. And they're currently the closest to the royal family."
Vincent shrugged, fatigue pulling at his features. "We both don't know much, huh? But... I guess we'll know more. We're walking towards the center of it all, aren't we?"
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
Cal watched the flames until his eyes ached, thoughts circling paths he hadn't meant to tread yet. "Yeah... I guess we are."
The conversation died down into quiet. For a time after that, the world seemed content to remain as it was.
The forest beyond the hollow neither advanced nor retreated, a presence that lingered just beyond the reach of light. Vincent's shoulders slackened little by little, his chin dipping as exhaustion finally began to claim him in earnest.
Cal stayed awake. He didn't know how long passed before it happened again. There was no sound to mark it, no movement in the undergrowth, no shift in the air. Just sharp pressure blooming behind his eyes, like a sharp tug from a pair of tweezers. He snapped his head up, looking around for any trace of danger possible. He felt his heart kick against his ribs like they were impediments.
His hand moved instinctively, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword where it rested nearby. For a split second, he was certain something was there.
There it is again... I keep feeling that pressure behind my eyes and it feels like my head's throbbing! It hurts! Is something nearby? Something dangerous?
But there was nothing.
No distortion in the shadows. No wrongness in the silence. The forest remained exactly as it had been moments before — still, patient, indifferent.
Cal exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his grip to loosen.
"You alright?" Vincent asked.
Cal didn't even realize Vincent was awake until he heard the question. He turned his head to him, seeing Vincent's bleary but focused eyes. They were fixed not on the forest but on Cal himself.
"I'm alright," Cal said quickly, trying to brush off the concern.
Vincent frowned. "You sure?"
Cal nodded once and turned his attention back to the fire, willing the pressure to fade. It did, eventually, retreating just enough to stop screaming for his attention. But the edge it left behind remained, a quiet tension coiled tight beneath his skin.
Vincent didn't let it go.
"You've been tensed this entire time," he said. "I get it now, since we're in this forest of all places. But you've been like this ever since we left Lamnor. Is something wrong?"
Cal said nothing.
The fire popped softly, a spark leaping free before dying in the dirt.
Vincent shifted closer, lowering his voice. "If there's something wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right?"
Cal's jaw tightened. He stared into the flames, watching the way they bent and curled, how they erased the wood they consumed. The image struck a nerve he hadn't meant to touch.
"That's the problem," he started. "I don't know if something is wrong with me."
Vincent furrowed his brows in confusion, wondering what Cal meant by the statement. Cal sighed before continuing, the hesitation in his gait and voice clear.
"I noticed something back there," Cal said quietly. "After those stags. When we fought those creatures with the bells."
"Noticed what?" Vincent asked.
"This," Cal replied, angling the blade so Vincent could see clearly. "It should be filthy. Dull, at least. I cut through bone. Flesh. Rot. And it's… nothing. Like it never touched any of it."
Vincent squinted. "Did you clean it?"
Cal shook his head. "Not once."
He lowered the sword, resting its tip against the ground. The firelight reflected faintly along the edge, a pale sheen that made Vincent uneasy for reasons he couldn't quite name.
"That's just the start," Cal continued. "You remember back in my room? Before we left?"
Vincent nodded slowly. "The sword glowed."
Cal nodded. "It happened again when I fought. I felt it, even if you couldn't see it. For a brief moment."
Vincent swallowed. "Cal..."
"There's more," Cal interrupted, trying to steady his breath. "When I cut one of them through the torso… there wasn't a wound. There wasn't anything left to bleed. The part I cut just wasn't there anymore. Like it had never existed."
The statement left behind a silence and shock that Cal wished had passed immediately. Vincent stared at him, color draining from his face.
Cal looked down at his hands, flexing them slightly. "I've been thinking about it since it started. The pressure. The way things disappear. The way my sword had no stains after the fight." His voice dropped. "I think they're all connected."
Vincent didn't speak.
"I think they're all part of the same thing," Cal went on. "Part of me."
Realization dawned in Vincent's eyes, his gaze boring into Cal's. "Blightless Dominion... That name! You think it's what makes up these abilities?"
Cal nodded. "Remember when we went to that tunnel in search of that fugitive? You remember those theories we came up with?"
Vincent nodded almost too quickly. "Esoteric Arts! You... You're saying you have one, aren't you?"
Cal nodded once. "And I think you know what that entails." He met Vincent's gaze, steady despite the weight pressing down on him. "I think I'm an Ecliptic."
That one word hung between the both of them, like it was verboten.
Vincent leaned back as if struck, shock written plainly across his face. But as the seconds ticked by, his face grew into that of acceptance. Everything Cal said did indeed make sense, especially given what they saw before they made the choice to leave Lamnor.
Vincent stared at the fire, then back at Cal, then down at the sword. His breathing slowed as the pieces began, reluctantly, to align.
"You've always been strong," Vincent said, almost admiringly.
Cal snorted softly despite himself.
Vincent looked up again, eyes sharper now. "If you're right… then this changes everything."
Cal nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of."