Stepping across the barrier feels no different than simply entering a different room. Perhaps the air’s a bit different, but everything feels the same, he feels the same. He looks back to the castle, and it’s still there, Knight waving goodbye. But behind the castle, the sun twinkles through the trees, undeniably sinking. For the first time in a very long time, he watches the sun move in the sky, and the old fear comes crawling back, momentarily stealing his breath. He had forgotten what it was like, to live his life on a timer. Beyond the creeping sense of mortality, there’s the demon in his bones, frothing in his very veins, awakened by the promise of night.

If he’s going to save Therios, he’s going to have to do it quickly. He doesn’t have much time. He consults the map, eyes habitually finding Tarside, the only village north of the Lost Valley. Vanth had made a promise never to go back; he and Tarside were both well rid of each other. But if Beggar’s Hole is what Tarside has become, then go he must.

#

He smells the city far before he sees it. The sheer stench of humanity overtakes the forest, and Vanth is sure that if his flowers resided out this way, they’d be curled up and crying. Following the stench comes the noise. Screaming. Cursing. Animals screeching. Metallic clangs and wooden thumps. A chaotic symphony of city living. Vanth is nearly knocked over by the sheer sound. He has to lean against a tree, feeling frazzled, like his ears somehow forget to interpret so much noise.

And the city. It is nothing like he’s ever seen. Grand stone walls and towers guard a city that looks to be collapsing in on itself. Tall tenement buildings, made of wobbling wood, lean over narrow streets slick with mud and waste. Fire erupts out of several buildings along the western wall; people run screaming out of the city, tripping over each other and the scurrying pigs and dogs.

Gone is the small hamlet of his youth, the stately manor overlooking the fields of serfs; now there is a huge stone city, smoke pouring out of its seams, stuffed to bursting with people. He doesn’t remember there being so many people. How is he going to find Therios in all of that?

He casts an anxious glance at the sun, which hugs the mountains on the horizon. He doesn’t have much time. Therios may not have much time.

Deep breath gathered in his lungs, he strides out of the forest and up to the city walls, prepared to face some guards. But the watching posts aren’t manned, leaving the gates completely unregulated. He pushes sticky, smelly bodies out of his way as he fights to get through the gates and the people fleeing whatever skirmish is happening on the western walls.

That’s probably where the guild is and where Therios will be, Vanth thinks grimly. Black smoke sweeps the alleys. Men with torches light buildings on fire just to hear the screaming. Vanth staggers up the winding paths, pushing people out of his way as they flee the chaos and he runs towards it.

And there he is, Therios, standing guard in front of the guild door, fighting back Laris’s men, armed with nothing but Knight’s sword. He’s alive. Before Vanth can melt with relief, a horn blasts and man shouts: “Step aside!”

The crowd parts for a man of imposing build and extremely thick eyebrows; fire flashes at his fingertips, the flames licking out in warning to those who stand too near. Therios snarls at him, face glinting with blood, expression half-mad. He’s holding his side, arms pressed tight against a wound, dark brown blood crusting his clothes.

“I’ll step aside once your men here set down their swords and stop torching the city.”

“I’ll say it once more, Therios, and only once: move.”

“No.”

“If the traitors won’t come out, and you refuse to let us in, that leaves me with only one choice.”

Laris, for it must be him, raises his hand, and a bright ball of light manifests in his palm. In a flash, he throws it at the guild where it erupts into a fireball, bursting through the window. The building itself may be stone, but inside the floors and furniture burn.

“No!” Therios cries, aghast.

“Detain him,” Laris says, “he’ll be the first to hang.”

“I’d rather burn with my brothers!” Therios declares, and like an idiot, runs into the building.

Vanth gathers the deep chill inside himself and blows away the smoke, blows away the flames. He douses the entire street, the fire twisting away into nothing, leaving behind the charred frames of houses.

The frantic fighting pauses.

“Who did that?” The whispers spread throughout the rumpled and scorched populace.

“You,” Laris spits on the ground.

He advances towards Therios, who stands on the threshold.

“Laris, I promise you, I did not do this,” Therios says and then he grins, “I’m thankful to whoever did though.”

Laris’s face twists into something ugly, “I don’t need fire to kill you.”

He raises his sword above his head.

“No!” Vanth shouts.

He runs forward, but he’s immediately tackled by Laris’s men and pulled to the ground. Laris and Therios both turn towards him. Therios’s expression of stupefied surprise is almost comical. Even as his chin digs into the ground, and a man twists his arm, Vanth can’t help but smile at the sight of him.

“Vanth,” Therios says dumbly, “you’re here.”

Then he scowls at the men holding him down, “Let him go! Let him go before I kill all of you where you stand!”

He takes a step forward, but immediately stumbles and falls against the building, clutching his side. The last sparkle of the sun is almost gone, but by the light of the torches, Vanth can see that the wound he had so painstakingly healed had reopened. With a sharp snap of his leg, Laris kicks Therios, sending him sprawling to the ground. Vanth reflexively struggles against the men holding him, a dark fizzle of energy gnawing on his bones, clamoring against the underside of his skin. Laris stalks over to Vanth, looking down at him with an unpleasant amount of speculation.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” Therios shouts.

“Ah, so it’s like that then,” Laris says, contemplative.

With the flat end of his bloodied sword, he tips up Vanth’s chin, cradling his throbbing pulse against cold metal.

“Should I kill you first, I wonder? Make him watch as you, and then the rest of his poisonous guild, hang for treason?”

He kneels and grabs Vanth’s chin in one hand, “Or maybe I’ll take you for myself, and you can watch him die as you stand faithfully by my side.”

Therios’s outraged howl is cut short as he’s apprehended by Laris’s men.

“Bind them both,” Laris commands.

“No, please!” Vanth begs, “Please, you have to let me out of the city before nightfall.”

He’s jerked back and a rough rope is wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms against his back.

“Let us go, and we’ll never come back, I promise. If I stay here, there’s no telling what will happen.”

“Shut him up, will you?” Laris says, “He’s clearly hysterical.”

Rope is shoved between his teeth, cutting his tongue. Laris turns back to Therios and circles his struggling prey. Vanth shivers on the ground, the night chill finally settling in, and can only wait for the world to turn.

“And here I have you at last. Not so witty now, trussed up like this, without your guild to back you. And where are they anyway?”

He shouts up at the blackened building, “Will you not come out, even to save your brother?”

“No!” Therios cries, “Resist until the very last. My life means nothing.”

“I agree,” Laris says, and twirls his sword, “I was going to make your execution very public, just to give everyone a good look at what happens to traitors. But I’m impatient and grow tired of your existence, so—"

He places his sword against Therios’s neck.

The Earth turns. The sun vanishes from view, sending up a last wave of purple light in farewell. The night burns him. The sun has set.

The change starts in the pit of his stomach, like an acid that boils and erupts, burning his insides, twisting them, warping them, spreading from his innards and leaking out of his pores. People scream and run; a demon is in their midst, Vanth is gone. His soft shape, his gentle vessel, has been ripped away, baring the demon underneath. Charun, he had been called by the frightened villagers of his past, the demon of the dead.