Raven and his subordinates watched as Lilar exited the establishment without the two youths.
Jack turned, his eyes fixed on Yousafer and Yuray. "It seems they aren't traveling together after all."
Resting his elbows on the table, Ripley lowered his head, leaning into his interlaced fingers. "We cannot be certain of that yet."
Raven rubbed his temple with his thumb. "Pay them no mind. We are here for our mission and nothing else."
Despite their captain's command, both Ripley and Jack kept their gazes anchored on Yousafer and Yuray.
---
In a remote corner of this world, a black carriage trudged slowly along a path cutting through a dead forest. The trees stood like skeletal sentries, stripped of every leaf. The ancient wood emitted a muffled groan each time the mud-caked iron wheels rolled over the jagged stones. The four horses pulling the carriage left deep gashes in the rain-slicked road, their breath escaping in white plumes from frothing muzzles.
Upon the driver's seat sat a man of gaunt, unsettling features. His pale grey skin clung tightly to the bones of his face, and his hollow eyes were barely visible beneath the wide brim of a rain-drenched hat. He sat in absolute silence, clutching the reins with hands as cracked as withered roots. Rain cascaded down his worn leather coat, yet he remained motionless, seemingly indifferent to the cold.
Dozens of soldiers moved in a slow procession around the carriage, their drab grey uniforms adorned with the banners of the Church of the United Nations. The rhythm of their footsteps merged with the splashing rain and the occasional snort of the horses, creating a somber melody—a funereal anthem. Each held a pike in his right hand, while ornate wooden rifles with gold filigree hung at their sides. Not a single man spoke; not a single head turned, even when wolves howled from the dark depths of the forest.
Inside the carriage sat an old woman draped in monochromatic white robes. She held a black candle that cast a sickly, unnatural glow. Beside her leaned a wooden staff topped with a carved serpent's head. Shadows coiled in every corner, held at bay only by the strange light of the candle.
The worn leather seat creaked with every jolt, and the walls, lined with dark grey fabric, seemed to devour the candlelight, leaving flickering shadows dancing across the woman's face. The heavy scent of ancient wood and acrid smoke filled the air. Her void-white eyes stared straight ahead as if piercing through the very walls of the carriage, while her golden necklace, encrusted with jewels, swayed rhythmically with the movement.
After some time, the carriage emerged from the graveyard of trees, and a colossal structure loomed before them. A faint, raspy voice came from the gaunt driver: "Mistress, we have arrived at the headquarters."
The old woman offered no response, remaining as still as a statue.
The headquarters was a monolithic, ancient fortress. Its high stone walls bore the scars of centuries—cracked and mottled with patches of dark moss. The massive wooden gates were studded with gargantuan iron bolts, designed to withstand any siege. At its four corners, towers rose toward the heavens, each flying the flag of the Church. The ramparts were crowded with soldiers standing as motionless as stone effigies.
The carriage ground to a halt before the great gate. Horns blared in greeting.
*Creeeeeak...*
The gate groaned open slowly. As the carriage entered, rows of soldiers stood in wait, their pikes leveled and their heads held high in a display of rigid discipline.
A man in his forties stood at the head of the formation, his single eye tracking the carriage as it stopped. A jagged X-shaped scar marked the skin beneath his blinded eye. He wore dark green regalia with three stars pinned to his right shoulder. At a signal from the scarred colonel, a soldier stepped forward and opened the carriage door.
The old woman peered out at the soldiers with her milky white eyes. The cold wind tossed strands of her thick white hair, yet not a single soldier dared to meet her gaze.
She stepped onto the stairs slowly. The scarred man bowed slightly. "Welcome, Lady Parayohina. I trust the journey was not too taxing."
The old woman's feet touched the ground. Her voice, sharp as a whetted blade, cut through the air, causing the soldiers to hold their breath. "The journey was seamless, Colonel Rickmond." She paused. "Is the General present?"
A sudden heaviness filled the air; the soldiers felt as though their lungs refused to draw breath under her presence. Rickmond replied, sweat beading on his forehead, "No, My Lady. He departed some time ago. There are numerous disturbances in the northeast of the continent."
The old woman leaned on her serpent-headed staff. "Very well. Let us proceed. I have little time to waste."
"Please, this way, My Lady." Rickmond gestured toward the interior of the fortress.
As Rickmond and Parayohina disappeared inside, the soldiers finally exhaled, their breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Who is that woman?" one whispered.
"Just looking at her brings a sense of pure dread."
"Those white eyes... she's like a monster in human skin. Who is she?"
Drenched in sweat, a veteran soldier spoke up after hearing their hushed questions. "You don't know who that is?"
The younger soldiers shook their heads. "How could we?"
The veteran stared at the ground. "That is the Oracle, Parayohina."
*"One..."* a faint whisper echoed.
"Is that the Great Oracle?" The soldiers were stunned.
The veteran continued, "It is said that Lady Parayohina has lived through six generations or more. I've heard she is over three hundred years old."
*"Two..."*
The soldiers leaned in closer. "Three hundred years? That's impossible! No human can live that long."
Another scoffed, "It must be a myth. Who could survive such a span?"
The veteran lowered his voice. "They say her prophecies are ninety-five percent accurate. The Army has avoided countless disasters because of her sight."
"Is that true?"
"Lady Parayohina... she truly lives up to the legends."
*"Three..."*
The moment the soldier finished his sentence, he felt a horrific shift. His features began to distort with violent speed. His skin turned a bruised, angry red, and his veins bulged until they threatened to burst. His eyes swelled in their sockets. He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his throat. He began to vomit uncontrollably.
The soldiers around him recoiled in terror. "What is happening to him?!"
His clothes shredded as his body bloated. Cerulean larvae began to squirm beneath the surface of his skin. His eyes dangled from their stalks, and his teeth began to fall out one by one. His tongue twisted backward, swelling until it choked his throat.
The horror intensified as a thick blue liquid began to ooze from his pores. His veins detached from his muscles, and his remaining teeth showered the ground before him.
One soldier, paralyzed by fear, stumbled back until he hit the wall, his pike clattering to the ground as he trembled uncontrollably.
*BOOM.*
The man detonated. Shards of flesh and bone sprayed the are
a, releasing a stench of rot so foul it seemed to poison the very air.
End of Chapter.