Lastmoor was a coastal village shrouded in a heavy mist from the sea at sunset. The air was thick with a blend of salty sea tang and fish’s oily, decaying scent. Cassius moved deeper into the village, his eyes absorbing the sight of rundown dwellings and various buildings lining the dirt path. The villagers wrapped up their day by the seaside, tending to dead fish and counting the meager coins earned from their sales. Fishermen secured their rusted boats to the shore, fastening them to weathered mooring stakes.

Cassius observed the villagers: their clothes were worn and faded, their expressions weary and lifeless. No excited chatter filled the air, and the fishermen showed no eagerness to return home to their families. The lone tavern in Lastmoor was nearly empty, with only a couple of men drinking alone, their shoulders slumped and eyes hollow.

Cassius was riding through what he assumed to be the village center when he abruptly pulled the reins of his horse, halting it mid-step. His attention was caught by a figure emerging through the persistent haze that hung over Lastmoor. As she drew closer, he realized it was a woman whose appearance sharply contrasted with the locals. It wasn’t her pale skin and dark hair flowing down her back like an ink-black waterfall that set her apart or the obsidian-black dress that seemed to devour light and life from the surroundings; it was the commanding aura she projected, even from a distance.

Cassius held his breath as she drew near. Her eyes were fixated on the path before her, appearing unaware of a bounty hunter passing by. Still, her movements betrayed practiced awareness, each step revealing her senses honed to every detail around her, and she was missing nothing.

 As she passed by, the world seemed to slow, and the air around Cassius turned unnaturally cold. He stayed frozen right where he was, counting the seconds until she was far enough away. Only then did he dare to glance over his shoulder.

“Until later, young man.” The words were spoken in a cunning, velvety voice that sent a chill down his spine. It was followed by laughter, low and menacing, laced with satisfaction, as if she knew something he did not. The hunter in Cassius urged him to pursue her and demand answers, but he forced his focus back on his mission. He knew with certainty that she had no connection to his mission. How he knew this, he couldn’t say, but he knew that this woman was entangled in a mystery far removed from his own, and he couldn’t risk being drawn into it.

Art above by Sakhatokan

Not now.

Not yet.

Cassius tied his horse outside the tavern cobbled together from a weathered canvas, patched with animal hides and old sails. Rough wooden poles supported the structure, with ropes anchoring it firmly to the ground. The lighting was dim, provided by no more than four oil lamps hanging from the poles. Five mismatched tables, each bearing wear marks and countless repairs, were scattered across the space. Instead of the usual scents of salt, smoke, and hearty food, Cassius was greeted by the briny, metallic odor of freshly caught fish being cut and processed.

As Cassius moved toward one of the tables, eyes followed him. He chose a seat facing the entrance, keeping watch on his horse. Without a word, a woman in ragged clothing set a mug of ale in front of him, muttering, “We’ve got no food in,” before disappearing.

Cassius felt exposed as every eye in the tavern fixed on him, evaluating whether he was a friend or foe. He knew he couldn’t stay in Lastmoor. Experience had taught him not to trust the pain that often drove people to inexplicable actions. Having once been one of them, he understood all too well what might happen if he lingered.

But Cassius had answers to find.

 “What do ya want?” barked an old man seated a couple of tables to Cassius’ right. His voice slurred, hinting at the amount of alcohol he had consumed. Cassius chose to remain silent.

“Here to kill us and rob us, eh?” another man muttered, his low voice brimming with underlying rage.

“That’s all the travelers do these days,” the woman who had brought him the mug replied. Cassius didn’t move. Instead, his eyes shifted to the mug lying untouched before him. He looked up, meeting the woman’s gaze. She tried to avoid his penetrating stare, and as she bent to shelve the mug she’d been cleaning, Cassius moved.

The woman hurled a knife. It was a clumsy throw, but it hinted at her training. Before she could reach for a second knife, Cassius was behind her, his dagger pressed against her throat. The men shot to their feet, their faces flushed with rage and fear.

“I’m not here to kill any of you,” Cassius said, his voice a low rumble. “I’m hunting the man who took so many of you.”

The woman whimpered against his blade. The men’s shoulders slumped, their blunt knives clattering to the ground. A wretched sob escaped the older man’s lips.

“My poor, poor William,” he wept.

Cassius withdrew his knife from the woman's throat, watching as she hurried toward the older man. He remained where he was, studying the three people before him. They shared an uncanny resemblance, making it clear they were a family. The older man appeared to be the woman's father, and the other man was her husband.

"He was sick," the woman sobbed, turning to the old man as she tried to wipe his tears away. "The doctor offered to help, but before we knew it, he was coughing up blood… and then he was gone."

“He buried them all with us because the chief spoke highly of him,” the woman’s husband spat, turning away to face the tavern entrance with hands on his waist. “Not long after, one of us couldn’t accept that his twelve-year-old daughter was gone. Then he came back, screaming that her body was missing from the grave.”

"Like so many others," the old man continued, his veiny hands trembling as he took his daughter's hand. "Dead. Gone."

Cassius swiftly raised the blowgun to his lips as the older man spoke and fired a dart. It streaked past the husband's outstretched fingers, reaching for Cassius' satchel, still secured to his horse's saddle. While the woman and the older man engaged Cassius in conversation, the husband, having said his piece, had attempted to slip away unnoticed, likely intent on theft. However, Cassius had remained acutely aware of the man's intentions.

The man yelped and escaped. The woman shrieked just as the older man seized an ax from beneath the table he was sitting at. Cassius stifled a chuckle as he stepped out from behind the counter and closed in on the older man. Meanwhile, torn between pursuing her husband and defending her father, the woman's cries persisted.

"Where?" Cassius demanded of the older man, who clutched the ax tightly in trembling hands, marked by fear and illness.

“By the Bredensea Woods’ treeline,” the older man answered. It was clear that he had grasped the meaning behind Cassius' question.

Cassius turned, flicking a coin toward the older man. In his haste to catch it, the man dropped the ax, only for the coin to slip from his fingers and land in the mug of ale before him.

Every fiber of Cassius's being urged him to race out of Lastmoor and head straight to the edge of Bredensea Woods, where the bodies had vanished. He was eager to search for any leads but wasn’t impatient. Instead of leaving Lastmoor, he tied his horse away from the village and approached the town chief's premises.

The townspeople looked terrified, and rightly so, after what they had endured. Cassius had no intention of lingering; he had no desire to discover what loss and fear might drive these people to do.

Cassius navigated the uneven streets of Lastmoor at a measured pace, eventually stopping in front of a fenced house with a wrought iron gate. He glanced around briefly before catching hold of the gate with a swift jump and vaulting over the spikes to the other side.

From the looks of the shabby home—larger than any dwelling in Lastmoor—it was clear that the chief was a recluse. There were no signs of life on the premises, but Cassius’ instincts told him someone was inside, safe behind the walls.

Cassius entered through the main door, which had been left ajar. Inside, darkness reigned, punctuated only by the flickering flame of a single candle guiding his way. He didn’t need to explore further; a sobbing, bleeding man lay curled up like a child on the floor, crying.

Cassius scanned the room, acknowledging a wailing man and noting the wreckage of household items. Clearly, there had been a struggle, and the man had been on the losing side.

"Reeve?" Cassius called, addressing the chief of Lastmoor. Reeve stopped wailing and bolted upright. As he turned to face Cassius, the dim flame revealed a bloodied face. At the sight of him, the chief reached out desperately, making strange noises.

Someone had cut out Lastmoor’s chief’s tongue, Cassius figured. He could only wonder who had done this and why. The man was now of no use to him. Clearly, he had reached a dead end and needed to change his course.

Without delay, Cassius left Reeve’s premises and mounted his horse, heading east toward the Bredensea Woods. Though not far, it lay beyond the village bounds—where Zenior had buried the bodies himself.

Cassius' keen ears detected the sound of footsteps trailing him. They belonged to someone small and nimble, a skilled runner who moved with remarkable stealth. An ordinary man, or even a seasoned hunter, might have missed him entirely.

Cassius relished challenges. The corners of his lips curled into a faint smile as he urged his horse onward, pressing it to greater speed.

When Cassius was confident he had shaken off his pursuer, he lifted his feet out of the stirrups and pulled his knees close to his chest. Releasing the reins, he somersaulted through the air and landed gracefully in the narrow path's bushes. His horse continued galloping, knowing what its master wanted. Cassius held his breath in the shadows, his nose wrinkling at a strange odor carried on the breeze that swept through the woods. With focused attention on the approaching figure, his lips curled into a grin. Clearly, an amateur, he mused.

As the pursuer drew nearer, Cassius rose to his feet and drew his dagger. The figure skidded to a stop upon seeing his shadow, then stumbled and let out a feminine scream, shattering the silence of the night. Surprise flashed through Cassius, halting his thoughts abruptly.

“Damn you,” the woman cursed from where she lay in the bushes just a few feet away. "That pig failed to mention you were so damn stealthy!"

Cautiously, Cassius approached her, his ears tuned for any faint sounds of her drawing a dagger or any other weapon. Instead, she was occupied with untying her greaves, muttering curses under her breath. Cassius couldn’t remember the last time someone had cursed at him, and he couldn’t deny his shock.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" she snapped as she tried to rise, only to hiss and sit back down. Cassius remained silent, observing her from a distance. The darkness masked her features, but he could discern her short, slender form dressed in pants and a tunic in the faint half-moonlight. A dagger glinted at her waist, securely fastened to her belt.

"Are you going to help me or what?" she asked him, to which he merely blinked in response. "Don't tell me you plan to leave me here, in the wild and this close to the Bredensea Woods, where the animals will tear me apart before morning."

Still, Cassius remained silent. Instead, he turned slightly to gaze at the dark silhouette of the treeline in the distance.

Cassius had done his homework, studying the areas around Lastmoor. The Bredensea Woods were renowned for their thick, lush canopy, creating a vast and shadowy ceiling over the forest. Towering trees, a mix of broadleaf and coniferous species, stretched towards the sky. The undergrowth was dense, with various shrubs and young trees filling the spaces between the larger ones. Close to such abundant herbs and healing plants, Cassius could understand why the people of Lastmoor hadn’t questioned the doctor.

"He buried them all there," the woman replied, snapping Cassius' attention back to her. Given his knowledge of twisted minds like Zenior's, Cassius suspected as much. "Only the Reeve knew about him digging them up. We suspected, but we weren’t sure about the doctor’s involvement. I threatened to cut Reeve’s tongue to make him talk, but I cut it anyway."

Cassius was taken aback. This woman, whoever she was, seemed several steps ahead of him. Yet, she wasn't wise enough, considering how freely she divulged information. He sensed that she spoke the truth from her demeanor, devoid of any signs of deceit. Why she trusted him remained a mystery.

"The doctor had bribed him when he first entered Lastmoor," she continued, her knees raised with elbows resting on them. "Said he was experimenting with a drug and believed that it could cure people."

Without a word, Cassius turned to leave. According to the Axis of Seraphim, the bodies couldn’t be found, and it had been Zenior who had dug them up. 

"They're not there," the woman's voice halted him. "When people tried to dig for their loved ones, they found nothing, and no one has figured out where the bodies have gone."

Cassius didn't linger for more information. He whistled for his horse, the sound slicing through the night. Moving with purpose, each stride long and brisk, he drew closer to the tree line. An ominous, overpowering stench filled the air, reminiscent of the one he had encountered at the Aliss’ home in Redglen.

Now that the stench was this strong, Cassius knew which it belonged to.

Magic.

Cassius couldn't explain how he knew, but a deep certainty pulsed through his veins.

Zenior had used Dark Magic. This revelation meant he was a wizard who had deceived even the Axis of Seraphim. But why had he committed so many murders? And where had the bodies vanished? 

This mission had just grown infinitely more complex.