The roast boar had been picked clean down to the bone, the plates were empty, the mugs half-full – and only then did Alvios realize what they didn't have.
"Uh… guys?" He leaned over to Nouel and Viktoria. "Please tell me one of you has more money on you than I do."
Nouel raised an eyebrow. "How much do you have?"
Alvios dug into his pouch and placed three splitter-lumen and a few chipped, low-resonance fragments on the table. The faint clink of the tiny Aether crystals sounded pathetically meager – barely enough to pay for a simple meal. Half a silver at best, he thought grimly.
Viktoria stared at the little pile.
"…Is this a joke?"
"Hey," Alvios protested, "out in the countryside you get a week of bread and soup for that!"
"This is a port town," Nouel muttered dryly. "Trivordi. They'll charge you for breathing if they can."
At that moment the waitress appeared, wearing a friendly but unmistakably businesslike smile.
"Did you enjoy everything?" she asked.
"Yes!" Alvios beamed. "The boar was divine. Really, if I ever get married—"
"—you'll hopefully calculate the cost beforehand," Nouel cut in.
The waitress placed a small wooden board on the table. On it: the total.
All three looked at it at the same time.
Silence.
Alvios blinked. "…That's not the price. That's the… uh… the table number, right?"
"That's the price," she replied gently.
Viktoria swallowed. "I could've bought three new outfits back home for that…"
Nouel leaned back, crossed his arms, and whispered, "We're dead."
Alvios cleared his throat and tried his best prince's smile, even though he wasn't one.
"So, young lady, I assume there is surely some… diplomatic solution."
"This isn't the royal court," she grinned. "Either coin… or you help out in the kitchen."
Alvios' face fell. "Kitchen?!"
Viktoria suddenly lit of. "I can cook!"
"I can't," Nouel said flatly. "But I can slice bread into perfectly even, razor-thin pieces."
"And you?" The waitress looked straight at Alvios.
Alvios pointed at himself proudly. "I am excellent at… uh… motivating. I can give the soup a very encouraging speech!"
"You can carry plates," she decided.
What followed was half an hour of chaos:
Viktoria, wearing a kitchen apron over her light armor and cat ears, looked surprisingly professional. Nouel really did slice the bread into perfect, identical pieces – like a machine. And Alvios… spilled more mugs than he managed to deliver.
"That was entirely on purpose," he muttered after the third mug shattered on the floor.
"Then stop having purpose," Nouel growled.
In the end, the innkeeper herself stood before them, hands on her hips.
"All right," she said at last, clearly amused. "You entertained me. Let's call it… even."
Alvios took a deep breath. "So we're… free to go?"
"For now," she replied. "But if you ever get rich – remember Trivordi."
Viktoria leaned over to Alvios. "See? Worked out, didn't it?"
"Yeah… my pride is in ruins, but at least I'm still alive," he said.
Nouel stood up and took his bow. "If we keep eating like this, we'll need paying jobs soon."
As if the Flow of the world itself had listened, Alvios' gaze fell, on their way out, on a wooden board next to the door – covered in yellowed notices, bounties, and requests for help.
His finger stopped at a piece of parchment that looked cleaner and newer than the rest.
"Look at this," he said.
On the paper was written:
HELP WANTED
"The village of Oakrest, northeast of Trivordi, is suffering from severe illness and supply shortages.
In addition, skeletons are regularly sighted emerging from the old cave system nearby.
Anyone able to help is requested to make their way here.
Reward negotiable."
— Village Elder Bran
Viktoria tilted her head. "Skeletons… sickness… that doesn't exactly sound like a vacation."
"Sounds like responsibility," Alvios said quietly.
Nouel studied the notice longer than the others. Something in the words seemed to hit him. He sighed.
"We need money. They need help. And…" He looked over at Alvios. "You wouldn't rest anyway."
Alvios grinned. "Exactly."
"All right then," Nouel said. "Oakrest. Northeast. We go."
"My prince," Viktoria said, raising her hand in a mock oath, "let us show these poor people that we are heroes."
"We're not even officially a party," Nouel objected.
"Then we are now," Alvios countered. "Decided."
As they left the tavern, Alvios' gaze lingered on someone else.
The young man in the white coat – the one who had stood out since they'd arrived – was now at the counter, talking to the innkeeper. His hair was red like a blood-moon night, his coat embroidered with golden patterns, his sword slim and elegant. Unusual for this land, its blade was as narrow as a rapier. The royal crest gleamed on his breastplate.
The innkeeper studied him a long moment, then said softly:
"You… you're the Red Bolt. Twylmir Fribur. What's a noble lord like you doing in a place like this?"
Twylmir's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Even a noble sometimes needs an honest beer."
"Or an answer," the innkeeper murmured.
"This time, the latter," Twylmir replied. "I'm looking for someone."
"Who?"
His gaze hardened. "Billi the Ripper."
The innkeeper froze.
"…An outlaw who, a hundred and thirteen years ago in the capital, Aeridoris, slaughtered a thousand soldiers just for fun," she whispered. "They found the bodies three days later, hacked apart in the side alleys… but you know that already, don't you?"
"Indeed," Twylmir said calmly. "All I need is his description. And his current whereabouts."
"His location is unknown," she answered hesitantly, "but his appearance I can describe in every detail. I… I saw him."
Twylmir said nothing. Only his fingers tightened around the mug.
"He wore a hat like a musketeer, just narrower. Two pistols at his sides, both engraved with runes. A poncho with a half-cape, a bit like those assassins from the old stories… tight boots, leather holsters at his hips, and a longer strip of leather at the side – probably from a leather cuirass under his jacket. And… there was his necklace. A skull."
Twylmir nodded. "That's enough. Where did you see him?"
She bit her lip. "In the Deep Oasis. Five years ago. You… you're not planning to go there, are you?"
"I'm planning to go wherever he is." Twylmir set the mug down. "Thank you, innkeeper. I'll inform the royal house of your cooperation. You will be properly rewarded."
He turned away.
"Farewell," she said quietly. "We probably won't see each other again, old friend."
But Twylmir had already disappeared into the crowd.
Outside the tavern, Alvios, Nouel, and Viktoria tightened the straps of their packs. They did not notice the man in black – the stranger who had destroyed the chimera – slip out of the side door and watch them from afar.
The wind played with his dark cloak.
His eyes glowed briefly beneath the hood.
Then he followed them – at a distance.
The sun was already sinking as they left Trivordi behind. The road northeast wound over hills, past fields and scattered copses.
As time passed, their conversation grew quieter, their steps heavier.
"We should rest," Nouel said eventually. "If we keep going in the dark, we'll walk straight into trouble without seeing it."
Alvios nodded. "Agreed. Besides…" His stomach growled. "A hero fights better on a full stomach."
They found a small clearing not far from the road. A few stones, some grass, a handful of trees – and enough dry wood.
Nouel lit a fire with practiced hands, Alvios stretched a simple tarp, Viktoria gathered herbs and roots for a soup.
When the fire finally crackled and the sky deepened into dark blue, a familiar silhouette stepped out of the darkness.
"You've come far," said in a calm voice.
Alvios jerked upright and instinctively reached for Liberta – then let his hand drop when he recognized the eyes.
Glowing white. Black rune-like lines running down to his cheeks.
"You…" Alvios exhaled. "The man from the ship."
Viktoria straightened, her ears twitching. "You saved our lives."
Nouel eyed him skeptically. "And then you just vanished."
The stranger stepped closer to the fire. The light traced the contours of his face: half-elven features, high cheekbones, sharp eyes glowing like embers in the mist. Fine lines – pitch-black runes whose glow was not light but shadow – ran across his cheeks. His robe, made of dark, flowing silk, resembled the garb of the monks of the Order of Ignis Ardentis, but its edges were charred, as if fire itself had tried to erase its shape. His hair was ash white, slightly tousled, shimmering in the firelight like burned embers in the wind. Between his eyes and along his cheeks ran thin lines – deep black runes that glowed with an eerie, matte light.
He sat down slowly opposite them.
"My name is Raiiko," he said quietly. "Raiiko… Shadowbrand."
The runes on his cheeks shimmered faintly, as if the word shadow stirred them – barely visible, yet the Aether around them vibrated, like darkness holding its breath.
Alvios repeated the name softly. "Raiiko… So you're not a ghost."
Raiiko gave a brief smile. "Not that I know of."
"What are you?" Nouel asked bluntly.
Raiiko looked into the fire. The flames reflected in his white eyes.
"A monk," he answered after a moment. "From a monastery called Ignis Ardentis. I spent many years listening to the fire… and learning to guide it."
Viktoria tilted her head. "So you're… a master of Ignis?"
"Some would claim that," he replied calmly. "I myself consider me only someone who has survived long enough to make mistakes – and learn from them."
For a while no one spoke. Only the crackling wood and the soft chirping of the night filled the silence.
Alvios studied him closely.
"Why did you help us?" he asked at last.
At first, Raiiko didn't answer. His gaze wandered over them – one after the other, as if he were truly seeing them only now.
"You," he said to Alvios, "with your dark red cloak and the sword at your side… your amulet glows faintly, as if it's breathing with you. Under your cloak you wear light armor – only on arms, shins, and shoulders, just enough to protect you without binding you. Your chest is covered by a simple, sleeveless cuirass of hardened leather – plain, but worn by a traveler who knows what he's doing.
At your hip hangs a bag – heavy with books, notes, and secrets. I recognize the binding of an Aetherium codex… and a journal that carries more weight than any blade.
Your turquoise eyes tell me you're still new to this world… yet your pitch-black hair reminds me that one should never judge by appearances alone.
You have the gaze of a dreamer – and yet there is a resolve in your grip that even the Aether can feel."
Alvios cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Uh… thanks?"
Raiiko's eyes turned to Viktoria.
"You – with the cat ears, the light armor, the blades of light and shadow. You carry Solis and Noctis in your hands. Your eyes reveal kindness… but also something you desperately hide behind a smile."
Viktoria flinched and glanced away. "You talk too much."
Then he turned to Nouel.
"And you… the hunter. Sandy hair, clothes without ornament, everything practical, everything with a purpose. Your bow speaks for you – Ventus, Cristallum, Terra as one. You trust your hands more than your words."
Nouel said nothing. But his hand unconsciously settled on the bow.
Finally, Raiiko closed his own eyes and turned his head slightly to the side.
"And I," he said softly, "am someone who has seen too often what happens when nobody steps in."
Viktoria's gaze fell to the black runes on his cheeks.
"These markings…" she began hesitantly. "Why do you have them?"
Alvios looked at him curiously. "Yeah. Are those… tattoos?"
Raiiko slowly opened his eyes again. In the fire's shadow, the runes on his face seemed even deeper.
"No," he said. "Not tattoos."
He touched one of the lines with two fingers.
"These runes… are a gift. Or a curse. From someone I only call 'Death'."
A faint gust of wind swept across the clearing, as if the name had stirred something in the Aether.
The runes on his face began to glow more intensely – not brighter, but blacker, as though even light could lose itself in them.
"Death?" Nouel repeated skeptically. "A man? A spirit?"
Raiiko stared into the fire, and for a moment there was something in his eyes that seemed older than any of them.
"I don't know what he is," he replied. "Only that he didn't let me die back then. He burned these marks into me – and with them the ability to touch corrupted Aether without being destroyed at once."
He raised his hand, and for a brief second a pitch-black spark flickered between his fingers – not light, but the absence of everything.
"He gave me the ability to speak with shadows," Raiiko said quietly. "They answer, sometimes. When I disappear… or when I leave without going anywhere."
He lifted his hand slightly, and for the fraction of a moment his shadow no longer fell where the fire should have cast it.
Then everything snapped back into place.
"With these runes, I can send things back that don't belong here. Like the chimera."
Viktoria shivered. "And… are there more… things like that?"
Raiiko thought for a moment – but his answer stayed inside his mind.
Corrupted Aether… walking skeletons… a cave, sickness.
This isn't new. I've felt this before – every time the Flow itself becomes restless.
And always, always, the same echo follows it.
A being that erases the excess, not life.
He drains to cleanse… sucks the Flow dry until nothing is left but quiet.
Death calls it balance.
I call it silence.
This is his handwriting.
Death was here. Or someone marked by his trace.
Aloud, he only said: "More than I'd like."
"And why are you joining us?" Alvios asked carefully.
"Because you're heading in a direction I have to go anyway," Raiiko replied. "Where skeletons walk out of caves and sickness spreads, the Aether is almost never as it should be."
He looked directly at Alvios.
"And because you can only face fate together. Didn't one of you say that earlier?"
Viktoria smiled faintly. "That was me."
"Then it seems I chose the right companions," Raiiko said.
The rest of the night passed in quiet conversation, broken by long pauses.
They talked about food, about travel, about the difference between villages and cities.
Over everything they didn't say, an invisible shadow hung.
When eventually everyone except Raiiko had fallen asleep, he sat for a long time at the fire, staring into the embers and whispering into the night:
"If it's you… if you've got your fingers in this again…"
His hand stroked over the runes on his cheek.
"…this time, I'm ahead of you."
The next morning the sky was gray, but clear. The air smelled of damp earth and the promise of a long day.
"Two, maybe three more hours," Nouel estimated as they moved on. "Then we should reach Oakrest."
The closer they came, the more tangible the change became.
The fields were barren, many plots lay fallow. Trees bore only a few withered leaves. In the distance they could see houses – crooked, slightly sunken, as if the ground itself were getting tired.
When they entered the village, a smell hit them – of sickness, old smoke, and something they couldn't quite name.
"They don't look good…" Viktoria whispered.
Children with pale faces, adults with hollow cheeks, some coughing violently, others wrapped in makeshift bandages.
An older man with a gray beard and tired eyes stepped toward them. He leaned on a staff, but his voice was still firm.
"You here because of the notice?" he asked.
Alvios nodded. "We came from Trivordi. We saw your request for help. I'm Alvios, this is Nouel, Viktoria… and Raiiko."
The old man studied them for a long moment.
"I'm Bran, village elder," he introduced himself. "If you truly wish to help… then you're welcome. But I won't lie to you – it's dangerous."
"Tell us what happened," Nouel said.
Bran glanced toward the edge of the village, where dark rocks and a deep depression could be seen in the distance.
"For months now," he began, "skeletons keep appearing from the old cave in the north. At first just a few, then more and more. At the same time, our supplies began to rot long before they should. And people fall ill… with fevers and pains no healer can explain."
Raiiko felt something tighten in his chest.
The pattern was all too familiar.
"We tried to stay away from the cave," Bran continued. "But it only gets worse. People say the Aether up there has… turned foul."
Viktoria clenched her fists. "That's vile."
Alvios nodded seriously. "Then we go to the cave. If that's where the source is, we have to find it."
Bran looked at them for a long time – as if weighing whether they were just talking or actually planning to act. At last he nodded slowly.
"The Cave of Reflection," he said. "That's what we used to call it. A place of peace, where you could hear the Flow of the world. Now… it is a place of death."
He pointed them the way.
"Don't go too close to the edge of the cliffs," he warned. "The air up there is heavy. And if you hear screaming…"
He broke off.
"…ignore it. It isn't real."
Alvios felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
"We'll come back," he said. "With a solution."
"Or not at all," Nouel muttered – so quietly that only Raiiko heard him.
They left the village, eyes fixed on the dark rocks jutting from the land like broken teeth.
The path to the cave led them up a steep track. The higher they climbed, the heavier the air became. A sweet, rotten smell hung in it, as if something unseen were decaying.
At last, they stood before it.
The entrance gaped in the rock like an open maw. Black shadows clung to the walls, even where the light still touched the edge. A cold breath wafted out to meet them, as if something deep within were exhaling.
"Great idea," Nouel muttered. "Really. Heroic work."
Viktoria swallowed and drew her blades.
"We came here together," Alvios said. "And we leave together."
Raiiko stood still for a moment, listening.
In the depths he felt a familiar, rotten tremor.
He thought only one word:
You again.
Then he said aloud:
"Stay close to each other. And no matter what you hear – don't believe everything."
Together, they took their first step into the darkness of the cave.
The Aether inside stirred –
like something that had slept for a very long time
and was now slowly opening its eyes.