As night descended upon the mortal realm, specifically the vast desert where the Daryen Valley's civilisation slumbered, Hesuas materialized. The transition from the divine realm to the earthly plane was not a journey but a dissolution and reconstruction of divine essence.
The desert night was alive—not with silence, but with a symphony of subtle movements.
A small herd of scorpions, their exoskeletons glinting like obsidian under starlight, existed in a delicate ecosystem of survival. As Hesuas walked among them, these creatures—normally territorial and aggressive—parted like living liquid, recognizing a power far beyond their comprehension.
Near a fire that burned with unnatural steadiness, a man sat.
Seven feet of raw, primal presence, his skin was a landscape of cracks and fissures, telling stories of battles fought in realms beyond mortal understanding.
Daurgien—a name that carried the weight of raw, unfiltered power.
He did not acknowledge Hesuas' arrival. He didn't care about the latter's level or his status.
Hesuas' patience, vast as the cosmic spaces he traversed, allowed this momentary disrespect.
"The plan?" he stated, was more a demand than a question.
Daurgien's response was a grunt that contained volumes. "It is prepared," he said, his voice like granite being ground against itself. "Everything moves as calculated."
With a gesture, Hesuas produced a small, perfectly round glass bottle.
Within its transparent walls, a single droplet moved—not with the predictability of liquid, but with a sentience that suggested consciousness. The blood of a deity: a substance more potent than entire civilisations, more dangerous than the collective ambitions of a thousand kingdoms. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on n̷o̷v̷e̷l̷f̷i̷r̷e̷.net
He placed the bottle before Daurgien; he was willing to give a drop of blood to a mortal. That single drop makes a normal human into a strong and fierce being. In some cases, the drop can turn humans into savage creatures and make them go berserk. The gods had forbidden to use of the blood of immortal beings, but Hesuas was willing to go to such lengths.
No further words were exchanged. None were needed.
As quickly as he had appeared, Hesuas disappeared.
The desert wind whispered, carrying secrets older than time itself.
The desert stretched before them like an endless tapestry of golden silence, its undulating horizons swallowing the boundaries between earth and sky.
Jolthar, Eran, and the six knights moved through this liquid landscape of sand and scorching light, their journey a deliberate progression across sand dunes that seemed both timeless and momentarily alive.
They had traversed considerable distances to reach this point—more than a day's arduous journey that had tested the limits of endurance and resolve. The desert was not merely a geographical feature but a living entity, its breath hot and ancient, its memories etched into every grain of sand.
Jolthar rode with a certain irreverent grace. The drake had made itself useful, keeping up with the changes in terrain.
Eran briefed him about the tribe, as much as he knew. It would be like a secret mission; no one should know about it.
Their small company moved with the precision of seasoned travellers—six knights whose armour seemed to absorb and reflect the desert's luminosity; their movements synchronised like a singular.
They made several stops to rest for them. The journey itself was strenuous. But they continued, determined to reach the valley quickly.
The night blanketed Daryen Valley in an eerie stillness. The usual hum of nocturnal life—crickets, owls, and the rustling of leaves—was conspicuously absent.
It was a silence so profound it felt unnatural like the valley itself was holding its breath.
Atop the steps of the pyramid castle, Jarl Daus, a grizzled leader with years of battle etched into his hardened features, stood alongside his son and Belan. With them were Lysandra and a few other key figures, all cloaked against the chill of the night.
Their discussion had dragged into heated debates for hours. What should have been a straightforward solution to the disappearances had instead left them with more questions than answers. The Jarl's voice, deep and gravelly, finally broke through the tension.
"I'll show you what we're up against," Daus said, his tone resigned yet edged with frustration.
The group descended the castle's broad steps and moved toward the viewing platform overlooking the valley. The settlement below, usually lively even at night, was deathly quiet.
Lights in the windows flickered faintly, but no one dared to venture outside. Doors and shutters were bolted shut, as though even the houses themselves sought protection from an unseen menace.
The whole valley was silent; everybody locked themselves in. Not a single soul was seen outside. The wind whistle was the only sound that broke the eerie stillness, sending shivers down their spines.
The air grew thick, viscous—no longer simply atmosphere but something more malevolent.
Suddenly, a piercing, inhuman screech split the night air, originating from the valley's southern edge. The sound was eerie, vibrating through the very stones beneath their feet.
"Something's wrong," Belan said sharply, her hand instinctively gripping the hilt of her blade.
Without hesitation, she and the others sprinted toward the source of the sound. The screech led them to a modest house among the settlement.
The scene before them was chaotic—one of the walls had been violently shattered, splinters of wood and stone littering the ground. Inside, a man and woman were wailing inconsolably, their cries a mixture of despair and terror.
"Our daughter! She's gone!" The father cried, clutching his chest as though the pain was physical.
Belan knelt beside them, her voice steady but urgent. "What did you see? What happened?"
The man shook his head, trembling. "We heard something—like claws against the wall—and then... nothing. She screamed, and when we came out, she was gone."
There were no signs of an intruder—no footprints, no trails of blood, nothing to indicate what had taken the girl. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. The group spread out, scouring the surrounding streets, but the emptiness was unyielding.
Belan, however, felt an odd pull, an instinct she couldn't explain.