Rhaine led the detachment, a dozen soldiers marching behind her. At her side rode Alexander Nightside, the man she had hired as a guide. She’d brought him on to help fight the Darkness—yet now, she found herself resisting the urge to stab him if he didn’t stop talking.
“I think the real reason I was exiled by Good King Alther was because his wife, the Radiant Queen Roschell, took too much of a liking to me,” Alex said with a grin.
“I almost regret being born with the power of hearing,” Rhaine muttered. “Almost as much as I regret you being born with the ability to speak.” She shook her head. “Maybe you were exiled because you talked more than the court jester.”
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Alex was briefly stunned by Rhaine’s words—not because she meant to hurt his feelings, but because of how accurate they were.
“That’s your assumption, Lady Rhaine,” he said with a smirk. “And I learned a lifetime ago never to argue with a woman’s assumption.” He mimicked a cat pawing the air. “That’s when the kitty’s claws come out. Meow, Lady Rhaine… meow.”
Rhaine shook her head, exasperated. “Just tell me how much farther we have to go.”
She silently wished they were there already. The journey had begun to wear on the horses—and the soldiers even more.
Alex glanced at the road, then at the sun. “We should be there in the next few hours,” he said with confidence.
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“You said that a few hours ago!” Rhaine snapped, her frustration boiling over.
In her previous missions for the Church, things had been simpler. She had taken out a group of bandits that plagued one of the local parishes. She had led humanitarian efforts during the outbreak of Spotted Fever. Those missions had gone by the book—clean, efficient, controlled. She led the Church’s forces, and there had been little resistance.
But this mission… this mission had problems. And those problems had their own problems.
From the deep-seated distrust of the Church among the people of River Hallow to her own quiet doubts about whether she could actually pull this off—everything felt like it was unraveling. Yet she knew that if she voiced any of that, if she showed even a crack in her armor, it would destroy morale.
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The sound of a soldier screaming for help shattered their conversation. Rhaine turned in her saddle—and to her horror, one of her men was suspended in the air, tangled in the grasp of the Crimson Mist.
They were helpless to stop it.
The soldier's cries were cut off as the ghostly children dragged him into the woods.
“Formation! We are under attack!” Rhaine shouted, drawing her weapon.
“Tell me again, Alex—how far are we?”
“Closer than I… thought,” Alex said, his voice faltering as another soldier was snatched away right before his eyes.
“Ride! Get to Stennor!” Rhaine ordered, spurring her horse into a gallop.
The thunder of hooves echoed through the forest, slowly drowning out the dying screams of her men.
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When the Crimson Mist returned to the woods, they placed the broken, barely-alive bodies of the soldiers in a circle around Marcus, who rested slumped against a tree.
“Pain will make Father better,” the children whispered.
As another soldier was dragged in, Marcus felt something shift deep within him. His insides stirred with that familiar, terrible hunger. It was effortless to end their suffering—almost natural. Each death filled him with renewed strength. Each life lost was like an elixir poured directly into his veins.
When the children dropped the fourth body at his feet, Marcus noticed he was in better condition than the others. His hand reached out instinctively… but then it stopped.
Something inside him pushed back.
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For the first time in days, Marcus resisted. The hunger still clawed at him, but its voice was weaker—no longer in full control. The soldier stumbled to his feet.
“Run,” Marcus said, standing motionless, wrestling the urge to kill.
“But Father, you need to feed!” the children cried.
Marcus shook his head, his voice low but firm. “No… killing is wrong.”
For a fleeting moment, clarity pierced the fog of madness. Guilt sank in—heavy, suffocating. He saw the faces of the lives he’d taken. In his weakened state, Marcus finally felt the weight of his sins.
“I deserve to burn in Hell for what I’ve done,” he whispered.
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Once again, Lorna’s voice echoed in his mind. “Yes, Marcus… you will burn, as the flames dance over your body.”
Her voice wasn’t as loud as before—but it was still there. And it still hurt.
Marcus said nothing.
He turned and walked into the woods, away from Stennor, away from any more victims.
The Crimson Mist followed closely, whispering their concerns. Even they could sense something was wrong with their Father.
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Father Lucas collected the prayers left by his congregation. Fewer people came to church these days—no doubt because of everything that had happened since Rhaine gave her order.
Those who remained made their thoughts clear through their prayers. Nearly every one was for the people of Stennor.
“Everyone knows what the Church ordered,” Lucas murmured, reading another folded slip. “I pray this won’t be our downfall.”
The sound of the heavy door creaking open drew his attention. A man entered the church, his footsteps quiet against the stone floor.
“Can I help you, my son?” Lucas asked, his tone calm but alert.
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“I have a message for Lady Rhaine,” the man said—it was the courier from Trendell.
“Lady Rhaine is not here at the moment,” Father Lucas replied, stepping forward. “In her absence, I am in charge.”
The courier hesitated, confused. “Why hasn’t the High Council been informed of this? I come with important news!”
Father Lucas sighed. “She’s gone to arrest Brother Orion for rebellion against Church orders.”
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The courier handed Father Lucas the sealed order. “I will report what has transpired here to the Church. They will not take this lightly.”
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Lucas gave a solemn nod and accepted the message. He carried it to his inner chambers and sat at the table, taking a deep breath before breaking the wax seal.
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He read the message aloud:
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“The Harbinger has been found. One thousand soldiers will be there in two days to accompany you and your troops. With the Harbinger’s ability to mimic anyone, you are to seal the town and burn everything, —and everyone—inside. May the Creator guide you.”
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Father Lucas shook his head. “How can I pray for our town to be spared when we are no different than those in Silver Falls?”
He sat in silence, struggling with the weight of the decision before him. Rhaine was gone. That left him in charge. The Church was expecting someone to act.
“What am I supposed to do?” he whispered to himself.
If the Church sent more troops, someone would have to lead them. And maybe—just maybe—if he could stop this madness, the Church would overlook their transgressions.
“It might be the only way to keep my people safe.”
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Father Lucas made his decision.
He locked the church doors behind him and set off toward the Command Center. There were preparations to make.
“Maybe Rhaine will be back before the troops arrive,” he muttered. “If not… then I will.”
He had no other choice.
As he began drafting orders for the town, a small hope flickered within him—maybe, with Father Lucas in charge, the people would be more forgiving.
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