Sol woke to a stillness, first hit with a smell harsh disinfectant smell permeated around the room. And when his vision finally cleared, he observed the room of brass fixtures, and gears. The intricate metal work and pipes run through walls, as he sat up to take in his surroundings.

  The view from the window beside his bed was devoid of any sunlight. Still, it showed him a view of the busy streets beneath the clouds. To him, it was a stark reminder of people who prayed fervently to the Sun, lived beneath a shroud of shadows.

  Sol's hands shook at he breathed. He looked at them as if they belonged to someone else. His palms were raw where he'd gripped too tight. His knuckles, bruised, and bloodied.

  His first battle. His first kill. He couldn't believe it.

  I defeated an abyssal-wraith. The thought rolled through him like ice water over his body. His stomach clenched, and his chest tightened in the sudden rush of adrenaline at the memory of the kill.

  The door creaked open with a hesitant groan, and the woman with her light hair in a bun stepped inside. Her heels gently tapped the floor. Miss Sophia, who he had met earlier after exiting the ancient ruins entered the room. She had her eyebrows creased closer, showing a look of worry. She looked older than he remembered, or perhaps it was just the weight she carried in her eyes.

  "Child, how have you been?"

  "I am," Sol answered as he looked down, "...alright... A little confused."

  "I understand," She stated sincerely. "The physicians had told us you were not suffering with something serious, yet we will still take care of it. Whatever you are going through, you can share it with me."

  Sol looked at her, a little hesitant to share what he had seen or heard, but he simply nodded. The only thing he could feel now was the faint buzz of the city from the glass window, and it harmonized with the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall before him.

  "I am a scholar. I had been studying in Vitruvia before returning..." Her eyes scanned the room. "I wish to know the history of this land. The relics that only exists in name, and even Gods that live in records lost to time. I never would have guessed a ruin could become so dangerous..."

  A silence settled between them.

  "The Sun's disciples, they might come to question you." Sol stiffened at the mention. "But you must stay calm, Sol."

  He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face, weariness crawling through his bones. He had wanted sleep, not disciples notorious for pulling out answers from within one's souls.

  It was time for her to leave as well. At the door, she lingered. "Keep your eyes sharp. Trust your instincts, not your memories." Her words lingered long after she departed, echoing in the stillness of the ward.

  A moment later, the door was pushed open again, and this time he sees Loen enter alongside Marguerite.

  "You're awake," He chirped, taking the worn couch by the window.

  "You look like shit," Marguerite commented. She pulled over a chair and sat down, crossing her legs, and leaning back like she was settling in for a long visit.

  He gave a hoarse chuckle. "Thanks. You always know how to lift my spirits."

  Loen leaned forward, pulling his knees up on the chair. "You gave us a scare! Out cold for two days. Thought Marguerite was gonna slap you awake!"

  "She wanted to," Marguerite added dryly.

  A heavy weight pressed behind his eyes, fatigue dragging him like a slow tide. He laid back, the thin pillow doing little to ease the stiffness in his neck. The pillow was too thin to matter, a worn scrap that barely lifted his head, and the stiffness in his neck settled deeper rather than easing. His gaze drifted to the beams above him, the grain of the wood blurring as that weight pressed harder.

  "I'll just close my eyes," he murmured, more to himself.

  "You can sleep later," Loen interrupted, rummaging in his coat pocket. "First things first." He tossed a small pouch onto Sol's blanket. The familiar weight of coin landed on his chest. "Your share!"

  Sol blinked down at it as though the thing had materialized out of air, then looked up at Loen's very bright grin. It was unrestrained such that it belonged nowhere near a place that reeked of disinfectant and quiet suffering. "You're absurd! Who pays someone in a hospital bed!?"

  "Me," Loen said, flashing teeth and making a victory with his fingers. "Besides, I wasn't gonna carry your pay forever. Too tempting to keep it all for myself."

  "Too heavy for your thick arms, more like," Marguerite muttered.

  Loen snorted. "Don't listen to her, Sol. She's just jealous I actually do the heavy lifting."

  "Jealous?" Marguerite arched a brow. "Of you? Oh, please. If it weren't for me, neither of you would've lived past the first five minutes in the ruins, myscke-heads."

  "And yet," Loen countered, spreading his hands, "here we are, all breathing thanks to Sol. Admit it, Marguerite. He's the clever one."

  Her gaze slid toward Sol, cool but lingering for longer than a moment. "Clever, maybe. Useful? That remains to be seen." She commented, with a brief exhale, not quite a sigh, more a dismissal, but not personal.

  "I was wondering when you'd bring that up." He turned his head toward her, a smile on his face. "Tell me, Marguerite; if I'm so useless, why are you still here?"

  "Someone has to make sure you don't die before you're useful," she answered in a snarky tone.

  Loen chirped in, "That's her version of affection!"

  Marguerite shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through toughest of steel.

  Their bickering rose and fell in waves, filling the ward with warmth, however brittle as glass. Sol let their voices wash over him, eyes slipping shut again. He didn't mind the noise. Not at all. Better their chatter than the silence. It was better than bearing the silence, and that silence would drag him back to his thoughts.

  His hand drifted to the pouch of coins, fingers curling around it as a form of grounding himself. The rough twine and uneven weight offered a crude point of contact with the waking world. How absurd, he thought to himself. Loen's laughter, Marguerite's biting remarks, the hum of the city beyond the window. All held him in place, anchoring him weakly against the drag of exhaustion.

  As he shut his eyes for a while longer, his mind drifted into a cold void, before he was thrown into flashes of something again. In the blackness behind his eyes, something cracked loud and clear, like a world snapping in half. He envisionsed that gate of ruin again, but this time it was not simply ruined by time, but wrapped in red threads that held it up, just enough to stabilise. As if, those threads were stabilizing the ruins until they had walked out of it.

  Flames erupted from the heart domain, not red or orange, but white-hot and searing, licking up dark. It roared silently, devouring everything into complete white blindness.

  Sol gasped, awake once more. For a moment he didn’t move. His eyes adjusted to the dark, searching for shapes, for the silhouettes he was certain had been in the room a heartbeat before.

  Then, he sat up in surprise, the room was empty now. It was dark, and the city was lit. His chest rose and fell too fast, heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. Swinging his legs off the bed, he got off the mattress, walking to the large window, and lifting a hand over it's thin glass.

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  He tried to piece together the missing hours. Sleep had taken him fast, too fast, and something had torn him back out just as suddenly.

  A nightmare. No... He attempted to put together, almost forgetting what he had witnessed in his blur of dreamworld. It still clung to him like a ghost of sound carried in the wind. Sol exhaled slowly, trying to force his breathing into something steady.

  "What was that?"

  · ? ·

  Sun Cathedral

  In the dim flickering lights, a strange figure burst through the cathedral's grand archway. There was panic etched across that priest's expression. His once radiant robes were now unorganized as they clung to him. He called out to the gathering. "Something unnatural has appeared within the cathedral's wing! It is assumed to be an abyssal wraith!"

  On the cue, an ominous roar echoed through the stone halls. It reverberated as if a heartbeat of despair. The priests in the hall became alert as the knights began to gather. Some guided them out, the others readied their weapon to stand against the demonic entity.

  "How is this possible!?" One man in gold and white robes exclaimed in anger.

  "An abyssfilth has breached the barrier?"

  Abyssal wraiths were not common in Solthar, as it was protected and blessed by the Sun. It's flames surrounding the land in a thin, yet unwavering barrier. No entity could pass, and if they did, they were destroyed immediately.

  To find one in the cathedral was a shock to everyone present. Some refused to believe it, but the thunderous roar was no doubt belonging to a demon's—the abyssal wraith.

  In the darkened halls of the cathedral, the abyss molded itself. Its form was a grotesque goo of shadows that writhed and shifted, exuding a smoldering aura and chilling the surroundings. The knight gripped his sword tighter. He watched as the abomination of darkness birthed from the twisted remnants of fallen deities, infused with the whispers of the abyss.

  It roared again.

  With their weapons drawn and resolve steeled, the knights clad in battered armor dashed forward, intent on purging the entity. Yet, the creature was unwavering and resistant to flames they struck it with. It absorbed blows as if they were mere gestures of defiance. Panic surged and ignited within the the knight's chest.

  "It does not falter."

  It leaped, consuming men, endearing them dead and corrupted; forcing them to scatter and rethink. They watched as bodies fell lifeless, one after another.

  A scream echoed in the hallway, as a knight was held up in the air by a long limb. He pleaded for help, before his voice died. His body dropped before the men, and a few stepped back in horror at the sight of decay.

  They had never seen an abyssal wraith before, nor did they know what if was capable of doing.

  "Fall back!" The command was useless. The thing grew with every life it consumed. One threw a flaming bow, letting it explode and destroy it's limbs. It was a futile effort, with the wraith re-summoning the tendrils and grabbing more victims.

  "It's resistant to the holy flames?"

  "Summon the priest and an exorcist!"

  A flash of bright purple ripples in the grand hallway. Countless mirrors appear, surrounding the the demon, letting it reflect in each watery reflection. Another flash and it's ripped apart, making it roar in pain and rage.

  In that moment of despair, Marguerite descended from the swirling depths of a mirror portal. Her presence ethereal. The air around her rippling with a brilliant energy.

  The creature snarled as it sensed her power surging. It lunged with claws of shadows made solid. Marguerite lifted her staff high, her lips moving in a chant. The spell fought her as much as it fought the beast. She conjured a circle, pouring her essence into the incantation as the creature lunged. It's dark claws ready to rip her apart yet blocked by a magic circle surrounding her—a shield.

  The creature reeled back caught in the force of her magic. A vision flared into being and she aimed the staff towards the core of the mold, shooting it with a great flash. The knights took the chance to tear off the limbs, regrouping with strife in their veins upon seeing the power of the witch.

  It's core was forming again, almost as if it was unaffected by Marguerite's magic spell. But, the witch did not waver.

  Marguerite dodged it's attacks, leaping towards the core to destroy it again. She vaulted aside, narrowly evading a whip of black tendrils. The magician planted her boots onto the wall, her staff humming with power.

  "Oh, stubborn, are we?" She smirked, eyes gleaming, "But not fast enough!" She shot the beam again, purple hues engulfed the halls and the tendrils burned. Yet? the entity lingered.

  How persistent!

  Marguerite stiffened, feeling a sudden shift in the air. The hall seemed to dim, as if a barrier of darkness was cast upon her. She felt as if she was separated, turning to see how far the knights were from her. The hall was bending to a will of something.

  As she fought off the creature, a sight bloomed before her. A humanoid figure wreathed in the same abyssal mold, and darkness. It's gaze piercing yet unreadable. She could not see the entire form, as only the top half of it floated out from the abyssal wraith's core, but not fully.

  "The sun has burned you once before. Will you still fight for it?" The apparition intoned, voice low and inhuman, and almost as if multiple mouths soaking in disharmony. Its fingers brushing Marguerite's forehead. So close to her in a blink as the surroundings bent to the will of the abyss.

  The touch sent a jolt of malevolence surging through her. Marguerite felt her control slip as her power ignited into chaos. It began threatening to consume her. The witch's heart pounded uncontrollably, ears ringing in shock and fear of what was to come.

  She would be corrupted! The touch seared deeper than fire akin to a whisper from the wrong side of the mirror.

  "I see enough to know your game. I've faced darkness before. You won't bend me!" Marguerite exclaimed, attempting to resist it. Returning to reality from the shock, she gripped her staff until her knuckles turned white.

  "I do not ask you to bend. I invite you," the voice spoke, pulling her again with invisible threads.

  "And I refuse!" She summoned a mirror, attempting to flee behind her, aiming her staff to shoot a beam at the creature with a chant. The coils lingered, and so did the human-like figure it had woven from shadows.

  "And yet, how deliciously defiant you are." It grinned, and raised a hand towards the witch. Marguerite floated back to flee, as it's many limbs flew to her to finally consume.

  Then, like a beacon of light amidst encroaching darkness, another figure emerged from the shadows, breaking the barrier the wraith had cast.

  A man with scholarly grace walked past the knights. The lantern in his grip flickered to life in a single chant that called out to the Sun. It brought forth a radiant ghost-green light into the surroundings, imbued with the Sun's blessing. The erupted flames sliced through the illusion of the shadowed figure, and cleansed all that it touched. It banished the corruption as molten light cascaded around him with a firm command.

  She did not scream, nor resist but simply smiled—one that bloomed like rot before dissolving into threads of void. And now, her absence somehow loomed heavier than her presence did. That sent unease down Marguerite's spine. She dropped to one knee, gasping, and her hands trembling against her staff as she used it like an anchor. The creature was banished, but so was her composure.

  The mirrors behind her cracked and vanished. She no longer needed to flee, muttering to herself in tense tone, "Focus. Breathe. It's gone... it has to be gone." She assured herself wearily.

  The man of grace stood beside her, simply observing the dim halls with his gleaming silver eyes. He adorned all black, a shade that contrasted with the garments that were usually seen among the people of the church. His forest green hair cascaded down his tall frame, as he held his lantern raised in his gloved hand.

  "A lantern?" The witch asked, in a brittle tone. "Did the mighty Inquisitor Silas run out of swords?" Marguerite couldn't suppress the edge of sarcasm that crept into her voice even through her trembling facade. She had almost been corrupted by an abyssal entity, and now she stood beside a Sun's disciple. Marguerite lampooned, she was truly going to be executed if it had lingered a second longer.

  "Steel cuts flesh. This inscribes the truth into the soul." Not that the demon's have any souls, echoed unsaid.

  "You know Sol." He did not ask, simply stated a fact he had known.

  "I..." Marguerite uttered dumbly, "I have met him."

  "He is going to be questioned soon, as a suspect."

  Marguerite's lips parted in protest, but no sound came. A flash of alarm surged through her. That was the Inquisition's favorite euphemism, and it rarely ended with just questions.

  "To think that the magician would be here is a little suspicions as well." He narrowed his silver eyes, turning to her, "Though. I must thank you for your timely intervention."

  "Well, I was in the city." She smiled, uncomfortable, "It is our duty to protect."

  "Likewise. I shall take my leave, if you excuse me."

  Marguerite stood still as Silvanus disappeared, the echo of his footsteps devoured by the silence. Only when the last glint of his ghost-fire had vanished did she let her smile drop.

  Frowning, she drew in a sharp breath and raised her fingers, sketching a sigil mid-air, her voice low and precise.

  "O, Weaver of all crossings! Let me glimpse the knot you hide beneath tomorrow; show me where it leads, and where it ends." The spell shimmered to life, a circle of light spinning like an iris opening, only to snap shut the moment it began to focus.

  A jolt shot through her arm. She stumbled back a step, a cold burn racing down her veins. The magic didn't just fail, but it recoiled as if something had seen her, and it pushed back. Marguerite's eyes widened as the faint afterimage of the vision burned into her mind: it was not Silvanus but something veiled in a cascade of black tendrils it simply watched, and Marguerite felt like a pawn being weighed.

  Abyssal wraith.

  She gasped, clutching her chest. Her foresight had been silenced. Something was watching that did not want Sol to be seen.

  "You damned abyssfilth!" Marguerite straightened slowly after stomping her foot, masking the tremor in her hands as best she could.

  Just what was unraveling in Solthar? She whispered to the air, voice barely audible.

  At that moment Loen stood outside the door of the ward with empty eyes, as if hearing words meant only for the dead.