Theo gracefully joined his hands and chanted a soft incantation. Between his palms, a sphere of light began to manifest, growing from a mere spark to a luminous orb of verdant green. With a subtle upward gesture, he sent the orb aloft, its eerie radiance spilling into the dungeon's every nook and cranny. Shadows danced along the ancient stone walls, creating a tableau of light and darkness that added a haunting beauty to the room.
Hesitantly, Theo stepped toward Mikhail, still kneeling beside the dormant rune.
"Your Grace?" His voice, laced with unspoken concerns, resonated in the cold, damp air of the dungeon.
Mikhail lost in his thoughts, barely registered Theo's presence. His eyes were fixated on the rune, now lifeless and unremarkable, a stark contrast to the mysterious light it had emitted moments ago. A crease of frustration formed on his brow, a silent testament to the questions swirling in his mind.
“I need Aldric to return to the mansion at once,” Mikhail commanded, his voice unwavering yet tinged with a cold urgency that echoed off the dungeon walls.
Theo, ever logical, reminded him, “Your Grace, he is needed in Aeloria to assist Belmont and the others with their mission.” His words were firm, a subtle nudge to ground Mikhail in the present realities.
Mikhail’s thoughts momentarily shifted from the rune to the pressing matters. “Right,” he muttered, barely audible in the cavernous room.
A silence, heavy and contemplative, settled between them. The dungeon absorbed their conversation with its high, vaulted ceilings and rough-hewn stone floors. The green light from Theo's orb cast an eerie glow, painting their faces ghoulish shadows.
“The items have been sent to Aeloria, and everything is set for the High Priest’s visit tomorrow,” Theo reported, breaking the contemplative quiet.
Mikhail nodded, acknowledging Theo's words, but his mind was adrift, caught in the tides of uncertainty stirred by the memory and the rune. The previous convergence spells had never manifested such phenomena; this deviation from the norm was baffling and unsettling.
Theo, sensing Mikhail’s distraction, pressed on with practical matters. “Should I tell them to prepare it, Your Grace?”
Mikhail’s response was almost an afterthought, his trust in Theo's judgment evident despite his tumultuous thoughts. “Yes, have them prepare it.”
A look of understanding flashed across his face as Theo pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He had long since learned to read the Duke's silences and his words. “I will have the maids deliver the tea and lunch to your study, then,” he offered a final gesture of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary situation.
Mikhail, now consumed by his thoughts, barely acknowledged Theo’s departure. He made his way to a large, archaic wooden desk near the base of the dungeon stairs. Its surface was littered with parchments scrawled with arcane symbols and ancient scripts that could only be read by those loyal to the Ducal bloodline. He began sifting through them, each document a potential key to unraveling the enigma that plagued him.
Lost in contemplation, Mikhail's eyes scanned the parchments before him, each word and symbol, hopeful for a clue to the questions plaguing him. Mikhail's frustration simmered beneath the surface, a turbulent undercurrent that threatened to breach his stoic exterior.
His mind echoed with a singular thought: I need Aldric’s insight. The realization that answers were beyond his immediate reach only stoked the flames of his vexation. In a rare moment of unrestrained emotion, Mikhail grasped an empty inkwell. Blue light, pulsating and vibrant, enveloped his hand, causing the glass to warp under the intensity of his power. With a flicker of anger, he hurled it against the wall, watching as it shattered into countless pieces, each a mirror to his fragmented thoughts.
Resolutely, he forced himself to set aside the enigma, redirecting his focus to the impending visit with the High Priest. Lost in his troubled musings, he didn't notice the fleeting glimmer of light that danced within the rune, a spectral flicker that vanished as swiftly as it had appeared as he ascended the stairs.
Theo's words echoed in his mind, "Should I tell them to prepare it, Your Grace?" He knew what Theo meant: a potent tea handed down through his family's generations. It was known to calm the mind and soothe the soul, and it was a ritual that Mikhail had turned to in times of great stress.
Upon entering his study, the familiar scent of lavender wafted toward him, a subtle reminder of the world beyond his inner turmoil. He noticed Pascal, ever attentive, pouring tea with practiced ease. The table between the plush velvet couches was adorned with the remnants of his lunch, arranged meticulously.
Mikhail sank into the nearest couch, the fabric’s soft embrace a welcome contrast to the dungeon’s cold stone. He accepted the cup of tea, its warmth seeping into his hands, a small but potent gesture of comfort. With each sip, the heady aroma of lavender enveloped him, weaving a tapestry of calm that slowly unraveled the knots of tension within him.
For a brief moment, Mikhail allowed himself to drift away from the labyrinth of his worries. In the stillness of his study, with the lingering essence of lavender as his companion, he found a fleeting respite from the storm of questions that besieged him.
Mikhail's thoughts drifted to childhood memories as the tea worked its magic. His mind wandered to the gardens of the Ducal mansion, the scent of roses in the air and the vibrant colors of the petals dancing in the breeze. He remembered running through the halls with Belmont, the two laughing and playing with the servant's children.
But even those fond memories were tinged with a sense of melancholy. Mikhail's childhood had been cut short by the weight of responsibility that came with his birthright. He had been groomed from a young age to become the Duke of the Northern Territories. The weight of that responsibility had only grown heavier with time, and now, in the face of the unanswered questions that plagued him, it felt almost unbearable.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the memories and the doubts that came with them. He couldn't afford to dwell on the past, not when the present was uncertain.
He set the teacup on the table and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. He focused on breathing, allowing himself to sink deeper into the cocoon of calm the tea had created around him. Slowly, the thoughts and worries that had plagued him began to fade, replaced by a sense of stillness and peace.
He sat there for a while, lost in the tranquility that enveloped him. But he knew that he couldn't stay there forever. He had to face the challenges ahead, no matter how daunting they might seem. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and rose from the couch, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and determination coursing through him.
He looked to Pascal, who had been waiting patiently for him to finish his tea. "Prepare my horse," he said, his voice steady and unwavering. "I'm going to pay a visit to Zandel Forest. I need to see what is out there and figure out what drew the church into that area."
Pascal nodded, his expression serious. "Very well, Your Grace. I'll have everything prepared."
Mikhail made his way to his chambers to change into his riding gear. As he dressed, he remembered the stories he had heard about Zandel Forest, stories of ancient magic and monsters that resided within its borders. Knights were often sent to patrol the forest's edge but never ventured into it, as the land had always lain empty. No one dared to build on the land due to the rumors that it was home to monsters and that it was cursed. He couldn't remember how those tales came to be but had always thought of them as nothing more than tales to scare children, but now he couldn't be so sure.
Once dressed, he made his way to the stables, where Pascal was waiting with his horse, along with three knights. The animal was a sleek black mare, solid and sure-footed. It was a gift from his father, and Mikhail had spent countless hours training it himself. He stroked her silky mane, feeling a sense of affection and pride for the animal.
"Are we truly riding to Zandel Forest, Your Grace?" A young Knight with shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes asked him.
"Yes, Ivan. Is there a problem?"
The young Knight hesitantly shook his head, clearly uneasy about the journey.
"What troubles you, Ivan? Speak."
"The stories about monsters and ghosts inside the forest..." Ivan began to say before being cut off by another Knight.
"Please excuse Ivan, Your Grace. He is still young and believes those stories."
"I cannot say what we will and will not find within Zandel, but if the Holy Knights managed to enter, I can't imagine it is such a frightful place," Mikhail added, his comment eliciting a soft chuckle from the three Knights, easing some of their tension.
He then mounted his horse and nudged her forward, feeling her muscles tensing beneath him. He urged her into a gallop with a deep breath, his thoughts racing alongside him.
What will we find in there?
They rode at full speed, and soon, the woods appeared ahead of them; the trees were tall and thick, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers toward the sky. He turned to look at his Knights,
He had expected to be filled with dread as they entered, but instead, he was surprised to find that the woods weren't as scary as the stories he had heard. Instead of the dark decay he had imagined, the forest was lush and green, and the gentle breeze that stirred the leaves produced a tranquil melody.
But despite its beauty, there was something wrong here. Once the wind settled down, an eerie quietness settled over the forest. No birds chirped in the trees, or animals rustled through the underbrush. It felt almost like a wave of silence had swept over it like a blanket, enclosing it in an unnatural stillness.
They rode for another hour before finally reaching the heart of Zandel Forest, where they paused momentarily to take in their surroundings. The sun filtered through the canopy of trees above them, casting dappled shadows on the ground below that appeared so deep that one would believe you would fall through the earth if you stepped into them. Still, no living creature made noise here - apart from themselves - yet Mikhail could feel something stirring hidden away among the ancient trees, some presence more potent than anything he had ever encountered.
He dismounted his horse and unsheathed his sword. The three knights behind him quickly followed suit, flanking him with their swords drawn. Mikhail glanced around them, feeling as though they were being watched. Something deep within him urged him forward toward whatever it was that was tracking them.
Comments (1)
See all