The swordsman stood in front — tall, lean, pale-skinned with eyes like steel and a blade nearly as tall as he was.
His stance wasn't that of a novice.
He had fought before. Killed before.
But the way his knuckles clenched around the hilt told Ian this was the first ti he'd stood before a creature like him.
The support mage — a slender man with short black hair, eyes glowing faintly with blue runes along his neck — narrowed his gaze.
He looked like the cautious type.
Calculating.
A silent thinker with spells ready at his fingertips.
The third — the fire-scorched woman with sharp green eyes — said nothing. Her burn had crusted over in blood and soot, but she stood tall.
The fire hadn't dimd her gaze. If anything, she looked like the type who would rather die standing than kneel to anything, even death.
"You expect us to believe that?" the swordsman asked. "You dropped from nowhere. You butchered that thing with magic I've never even read about—"
"I saved your lives," Ian cut in. "And I didn't have to."
A silence.
"You could have killed us," the male mage said quietly. "But you didn't."
The fire-scorched woman still hadn't lowered her weapon. But her grip loosened.
"I'm heading to the First Descent and don't know my way," Ian repeated. "If that's your path too, I'll travel with you. No harm will co to you from … unless one of you tries sothing stupid. In that case—"
He tilted his head. The words that followed weren't a threat. They were just fact.
"You'll die. Quickly. You won't even have ti to scream."
Another silence.
Tense. But not hostile.
The swordsman exhaled, blade lowering just slightly.
"We're heading there too," he said at last. "It's nearly a day's journey east. Through the dry veins of the canyon and across the fractured ridge."
Ian gave a small nod.
"Then I'll walk with you."
The mage woman finally lowered her staff. Her eyes remained hard, but sothing in her shoulders relaxed.
"You keep your distance," she said. "One wrong move and we bury you in fla and steel."
Ian let her have the threat, but they all knew—it was a worthless one.
Not answering,
he just fell in step behind them, trailing like a silent shadow would.
The canyon widened into a narrow path, the ground cracked and dry beneath their feet. S
trange twisted trees lined the path — not quite dead, but not alive either, their bark pulsing faintly as if with mory.
Far above, the sky glowed with a dim, sunless light.
The Reach was a realm between worlds — a bleeding wound in reality, a border of the Hellscape — and Ian could feel it pressing on his senses with every step.
Ti passed.
None of them spoke for a while.
But eventually, conversation resud — hushed, cautious, as though they'd forgotten Ian still trailed just behind.
"The God's Chosen," the male mage muttered. "They're saying he might enter the Hellscape soon."
"I heard that too," the swordsman replied. "Last ssage stone we received before leaving said the rumors have reached the upper rings of the Imperial City."
"Rumors?" the woman scoffed. "It's fact. I was there when he spoke with the Crimson Regnant. Said he'd descend 'when the sun turns away its face.'"
Ian's brow arched slightly, unseen.
They were speaking of him like one might speak of a king. Or a living myth.
"Why would he enter here?" the support mage asked. "The God's Chosen has no need for this cursed place. He could walk into any throne room in the Empire and take what he wants."
The woman gave a dry, humorless smile.
"Maybe he's bored. Maybe he wants to test his limits. Or maybe…" she paused, glancing toward the jagged horizon, "maybe sothing in the Reach called to him."
The swordsman sighed. "Even if he does co, he won't be the only nightmare walking those grounds. Every house and bloodline has sent their best. One of the Dread Princes is rumored to be attending the tournant even."
"Not rumored," the woman said. "Confird."
The three shared a mont of silence at that.
Ian said nothing. But he stored every word.
Every na.
They were from the Imperial City. That much was clear. Born of towers and spellforged streets, sons and daughters of a world where power was law and nas were currency.
They talked about this "God's Chosen" like one might speak of the sun — a presence so large it eclipsed all others.
And Ian… didn't know him.
Not yet.
The thought didn't frighten him.
But it intrigued him.
Who was this man? And what manner of thing earned reverence even from mages who had stepped into the Hellscape?
The light began to shift.
At first, it was subtle.
A fading in the color of the rocks.
A slow bleeding away of warmth in the air.
Then, without warning, the sky above dimd.
Not a sunset.
Not a storm.
A waning.
Like sothing was swallowing the light itself.
Ian slowed his pace.
The three ahead of him stopped at almost the sa mont, instincts honed by hard-earned experience. They turned in unison.
The support mage muttered a curse.
"Light's fading."
"We need to find shelter," the swordsman said, already scanning the rock faces and jagged crevices nearby. "Now."
"We won't make it to the next crossing before night," the woman snapped. "If we're caught in the dark—"
"We won't be," Ian interrupted, eyes narrowing.
The pale sun above dimd further — now little more than a dull, sickly eye staring down through ashen clouds.
He'd read the texts. Studied the field reports. Even the old, forbidden ones in the archives Elise had stolen for him.
In the Hellscape, true night never ca.
Only… absence.
A hollowing of all things.
And in that void, creatures awoke. Demon beasts that had forgotten what it ant to die.
"We go west," Ian said. "Toward that ridge." He pointed toward a natural stone arch, part collapsed, part buried beneath dust. "I saw it earlier. There's a cavern beneath."
The swordsman hesitated.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
He didn't wait for permission.
He moved.
The others followed.
None of them needed to ask what would happen if they failed to find cover.
Because in the Reach — in the twisted dream of the Hellscape — nightfall wasn't just an absence of light.
It was a summons.
And only fools stood still when the dark began to listen.
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