Rowen Commons

  When Carl approached the town's massive gates, he was sure that the walls were not there before. Back then, it was a tiny hobble village. Kevin said it reminded him of a hobbit enclave, and for some reason, Rowen Enclave is what they called it initially.

  Now? It was a literal small town.

  The two guards waved from their towers when the large gates closed behind them. The city was massed with Rowen citizens. The air carried the mingled scents of cooking fires, strange spices, and something distinctly magical, an electric tang that reminded Carl of the ozone smell after lightning strikes. Though not as technologically advanced as he saw at the Temple Palace, this place was built in an almost pre-industrial style, wooden buildings with intricate carvings that shift subtly when viewed from different angles.

  The Caravan he rode in (Mia's of course with Kevin and Bryson keeping a close eye on him) pulled into a waystation next to the others. Several of the workers rushed around them while the farmers and refugees made their way into the building.

  "Carl, was it?" Pizer asked. "Captain says you need to come with us. I would imagine he wants to clear you before you wander through the Commons. You know... procedure stuff."

  He didn't hesitate on that notion. It would be a burden if he constantly had to look over his shoulder while finding a way to bring Kevin back to Earth. He made a point to return here to talk to the residents and this so called Champion of the Temple Palace that the Empress mentioned. Surely, they would have valuable info he hoped to use to get home.

  Kevin hopped out with Bryson. The other soldiers greeted them, and after an exchange of words they headed inside. He didn't even acknowledge Carl's presence.

  Pizer waved over. "Don't sweat the Captain. You get used to demeanor."

  God, I hope not.

  The two-story structure bustled with activity. It reminded Carl of a military command center, with people streaming in and out, absorbed in their business. Soldiers and civilians moved this way and that, some carrying documents, others engaged in rushed conversations.

  None had paid any notice to Carl, nor was anyone curious. He could only go so far with the cloak over his ears. If he kept it on long enough, people would likely draw suspicion. If he was to truly walk around the area, he would have to do something about his appearance.

  At the far end of the hallway, Kevin knocked on the door marked Commander, when the other side said 'Enter', he turned to Carl.

  "You will remain here. When the Commander is ready, I will signal. The Corporal will stay to watch you."

  He did not wait for Carl to respond as Bryson followed him in and closed the door behind them.

  Pizer shook his head and pointed to some benches. "It's not the best seating in the world, however, hopefully this won’t take long."

  "It's fine," Carl replied. "Hey, so how long has the Captain been with you, what do you call yourselves, the Advent Guard?"

  "As far as I can remember. They say he hailed from up north, but I think he was a Captain up there as well. Ya, I don't know really."

  About ten minutes later, a large heavy-set woman walked up the stairs. Even though many had come and go while they waited, this woman looked directly at Carl as she approached.

  "Pizer, welcome home," she said, glancing at Carl. "Your team have all the exciting events."

  "We always do, Matron," he replied with a respectful nod.

  Carl shifted uncomfortably under her firm gaze. The weight of her attention felt like a physical presence.

  "Is this the North beast-kin spy?" she asked, still staring directly at him.

  "Word never escapes you, ma'am," Pizer responded with a hint of difference in his voice. "But I think spy would not be a word to use in this situation. He sounds well-known with the Captain."

  "Indeed." Her focus remained unbroken. "Why are you out here?"

  "Captain told us to wait," Pizer explained simply.

  Matron shook her head. "My word. Follow. I do not like wasting time with nonsense from your Captain today."

  When they walked inside, the room fell into a silence.

  A large man stood behind an official looking table piled on with paperwork and small rocks. He stood behind one of the four chairs positioned around it, looking out the multi-paned window.

  Along the wall, there were two sofas with large vases next to them. Above the sofas hung various faded paintings. These looked like original artwork by a professional artist, one with a city overlooking the ocean and another with an old man posing next to the same desk. He had sad eyes, but upon closer inspection, Carl thought the old man was smiling. He stood on a cliff overlooking the sea, staring at a faraway ship. It may have been a speck of dust or maybe just a smudge in the painting.

  Matron waved over to the chairs, “Please, have a seat. I know they will not offer it to you.”

  Carl sank into the chair while the Matron was claiming one of the corner couches for herself. Pizer remained standing behind Carl's seat, seemingly unwilling to sit when Kevin and Bryson were still on their feet. She reached between her ample bosom, extracting a pack of cigarettes with practiced ease. She lit one up and exhaled a stream of smoke toward the open window beside her, the gray wisps curling out into the air beyond.

  "Demi," The large man at the window announced. "You know it is rude for you to walk in unannounced while I receive the debriefings from my subordinates."

  "And it was rude of you to send an evacuation team to one of my farms every week disrupting my trade, but let's not talk semantics here."

  The large man turned around to face Carl. “Regardless. Son, my name is Commander Robert Johnson of the 13th Advent Guard, Rowan Prefecture. My Captain here says you came out of the forest seeking him or someone like him. This is the second time this week. Two very distinct individuals, both claiming to be from the Northern Temple beast-kin, both with unusual features. I will have you know that I am not a man who fancies surprises. Especially those who look like Anbar zealots.”

  Carl straightened up glancing at Kevin who stood there like a statue. "Sir, my name is Carl Jackson. And I am here on a mission to bring Kevin home."

  The Commander gave him a curious glance. "That is what my Captain relayed to me. Now I see, there is a different story from the other individual. The green cloaked beast-kin who, mind you, spoke perfect english, said that she was looking for my Captain as well, except she says he is to defeat the "Great Darkness" that plagues all of her kind. Now, I can gather that she is referring to the Anbar Empire, but she called her kin a word that I am not familiar with. What was it again?"

  "Spore-Beasts," the Matron said.

  “Right. Spore-Beasts. Now, I find that strange indeed. Very few of these beast-kin can speak the Rowen language, and yet I have very few interpreters as well. One who is in this room as we speak.” He nodded over to Bryson.

  "Captain Kevin," the Matron interjected. "Do you know this person?"

  Kevin didn't move, nor did he look down. "Negative Ma'am. This person is only associated with the farm."

  "See, and here lies the problem," Johnson said. "I was hoping that you would provide us with some answers, Carl."

  Carl took a deep swallow. He still couldn't get past the coldness coming from his friend.

  "I am sure that it isn't a secret that my Captain here hails from the Northern Territories. The Anbar, in their high and mighty crusade, declared that all beast-kin are an abomination to the land and must either be enslaved or 'conscripted'. And to be honest, it sounds like the same word, but the Anbar takes two different meanings in handling the beast-kin."

  Bryson spoke next. "Yesterday's events at the farm prove that they are no longer concerned with crossing over Rowen Territory to get to the north."

  "Where is the other one by the way?" the Commander asked. "I heard that she accompanied your team halfway to the hidden beast-kin village. Did she return with you?"

  "Affirmative," Kevin replied.

  "Sir, she is with the refugees," Bryson added, "She was instrumental in saving them from the Hunger."

  "Alright, so we are at the point again where the Matron rudely interrupted us." The Commander turned back to the window. "Since you wanted to be part of this briefing, maybe you can clue us in as to why the Conscripted beast-kin are sniffin the trees. Have you heard from your man, Whiskers?"

  "Yes, which is why I am here actually," she replied, taking another hit from her cigarette. "An Anbar Emissary went missing a month or so ago from Armargosa. It was shortly after they announced their crusade. From what he described, witnesses say that the emissary went berserk and slaughtered most of his enslaved and disciples. Nobody could figure out why and there was a subsequent amount of arguing in the city. There were angry people there, sure, but he said it was highly unusual. Whiskers thinks he went north."

  "And you think this crazed Anbar is in our woods?"

  The Matron once again reached into her bosom and pulled out a large green marble. She tossed it to Pizer. "Whiskers send his love."

  Carl whispered to Pizer. "Hey, who is this, Whiskers?"

  "A tradesman from Armargosa in the south," he replied and then said, "Resonance: Replay Communication."

  The green marble glowed, connected like another dial-up modem. "Matron, is Johnson near you? If not, then pause this and go see him. Both of you have to hear this. The Church has issued a Bishop to retrieve their lost Emissary. But that is not the important news.

  After I got off the recording with you, the victim's families here told the investigators that the lunatic started spouting something called a Swordsmith... or something like that. A prophecy I think about some Great Darkness. I thought it was just Anbar gibberish, but they said everyone in the area started arguing with each other over petty squabbles. Like a whole borough full of angry peasants suddenly at each other's throats.

  It died down eventually. We lost contact with Mordecai about a week ago as well. But I am sure you have noticed it. We were going to recall the tradesmen, but realized that none was schedule to go that route. None would go anyways, with all the nonsense here, people would think it was the end of times.

  Anyways I am rambling. The important note is that we lost contact with Bradford near Cascadia. He was on his usual route to you. I got a hold of Cayce who said that they were evacuating because of some Conscript attack in the forest. Striker has a gut feeling and I trust her gut more then I trust Demi and her cigarettes. No offence lass, but when Striker is seriously thinking something is wrong so we are making emergency preparations to our Caravan. I think she is ready to go as we speak.

  Oh and there is also a Primal something from the beast-kin up north traveling with us. Strange looking one, but she was intent on riding with us. We will be there in a few days. Demi, Johnson, be on your guard. See you soon."

  "The Anbar are becoming more of a nuisance ever since they started their Crusade," Johnson said. "What was Bradford carrying on his way to us."

  "The usual supplies. Resonance materials mostly."

  "Wait," Bryson said. "Can any of that stuff be used to make a Tracking Pod?"

  "I... sure?" she shrugged. "Why not, it’s not a hard mixture to come up with."

  "The Lieutenant said that a tracking bomb went off on the hidden beast-kin village."

  "We will need more information," Johnson said. "Captain, question the refugees. Take Mr. Carl with you as they will more likely respond to someone relatable. Ask if anyone has seen Bradford's Caravan once it entered Cascadia. Matron, your convoys will have to stay in place until we are sure that the Anbar's wayward minister is under control."

  "Understood Sir," Kevin said saluting and walking out. Bryson followed and then Pizer. Carl made his way as well when the Commander stopped him.

  "You are on provisional access to the Commons until we can clear you. Do not stray from the Captain's team until then. The timing of the Northern Beast-kin involvement is too uncanny to be nothing more than a coincidence. Now go on."

  "He says, 'he doesn't have anything to say to you long-ear.'"

  Kevin looked at the beast-kin shrew, then back at Bryson. "Tell this one to relate all information on the whereabouts of the missing Caravan."

  Bryson translated back to the beast-kin who then turned his head and walked off. "He said..."

  "I do not need a translation for a non-answer Lieutenant."

  "Right, hey Captain, they really do not like you. No offense. Why don't I take the lead and ask around?"

  "Proceed," Kevin replied.

  They started around the room with Bryson taking the lead in questions. They seemed to be more forthcoming with the beast-kin not overtly running away when they approached.

  "You are the Carl Jackson," a voice said behind him.

  The Champion emerged from between two groups of refugees, her eagle features partially hidden beneath her hood. She carried her staff loosely in one hand, but Carl didn't miss how her grip tightened as she approached.

  "Carl is fine. It is safe to assume that you are the Champion that the Empress mentioned that would be here. It is finally nice to meet your acquaintance."

  "Yes, my grandmother insisted that this was Retsam’s will and here I stand." Her voice carried gently, yet there was something almost challenging in her tone. "You may refer to me as Pazuzu, heir to the next Royal Succession to the Great Bastion and Talon Keep."

  "Yeah, that's a long title. Mind if I just call you Paz?"

  "Do as you wish Companion. You watch him like a mother with her chick," Paz observed, tilting her head toward Kevin. "Fascinating, but futile."

  Carl crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "To understand why you cling to this... shell." Her voice carried a note of disdain as she regarded Kevin. "The Sword Master's soul is scattered. This empty vessel serves no purpose until the fragments are reunited."

  "His name is Kevin," Carl said through gritted teeth. "And he’s my friend."

  Paz circled them slowly, her movements predatory. "Friend? You speak to him as if he's still in there. The prophecy speaks only of the Sword Master's return," Paz continued, unperturbed. "It says nothing about his... Companion." Her eyes narrowed. "Your attachment complicates things."

  "Listen, I don't really give a damn about your prophecy," Carl shot back. "I'm taking him home when I fix what is wrong with him."

  Paz's feathers bristled visibly now. "Home? You misunderstand. Rowen is his home." Her voice hardened. "The Sword Master belongs to Rowen."

  "He belongs with his family," Carl insisted. "On the Earthen Plane."

  "Such arrogance, with this Earthen Plane," Paz hissed. "You would doom an entire realm for one man? Then you, Companion, is no friend to the Spore-Beasts, and thus, no friend to the Sword Master."

  The strain between them crackled like static electricity until Lieutenant Bryson approached.

  "Those elderly beast-kin that are sitting in that group are waiting for you I think," he informed Carl, eyeing the confrontation warily.

  Paz stepped back, her posture still rigid with anger. "Go. Speak with the Elders. Perhaps they can make you understand what I cannot." She fixed Carl with an intense stare. "But remember this, outsider—what you want and what must be may not be the same thing."

  On the other side of the room, the Elders sat around in deep meditation chant with the other elder beast-kin to include the older bear that he protected in the forest. They halted when Carl walked up. The bear beast-kin pointed to an empty spot. "Sit and meditate with us Carl Jackson."

  He sat with the elders and closed his eyes. Paz settled beside him as he tried to focus his concentration. Within moments, an otherworldly warmth surrounded him. In his mind's eye, he envisioned the forest and deep within it, a village. They sat around a campfire, each elderly glowing with luminescent color against the backdrop of a moonlit night.

  "Young Carl Jackson presents himself to the Elders of the Cascadia Mist Forest. Young now, but his spirit is much older. He arrives as the prophecy unfolds as it was told through history."

  "The prophecy was fulfilled and completed long ago," Carl replied. "I have only arrived to bring my friend home."

  "Indeed, your Will and Retsam’s Will are intertwined with fate. Time flows like a river, and history repeats itself."

  "Tell me how to return my friend home," he replied.

  "Re-unite the Power Sword of course. Kevin must become the Sword Master once again."

  Carl sighed. "That is not my Will. I must return my friend back to his family and his life."

  "You will not achieve your Will until you convince his Will to mirror yours."

  He did not understand what that meant. "Are you saying that Kevin does not want to go home?"

  "The Sword Master's soul is fragmented. Corruption takes root. Power Swords accepts responsibility and traps the fragmented shards. Broken is the shell of Great Darkness. Malikhil rises again."

  Cosmic good vs. evil. He had thought this was all over with the first time they were here. Now, he and Kevin are getting dragged back into it.

  "I am to understand that until he reunites his soul, he cannot leave. Fine, where are the Power Swords? Do you know?"

  "The Kalaraq approaches. Clear the corruptions and reunite the fragmented pieces. Only then will the Sword Master defeat the Great Darkness and save the Spore-Beasts of Retsam."

  "Understood. Thank you for your wisdom, Elders."

  "Be wary, Carl Jackson. A fractured soul will never be mended the same. Repeat your mistake again and you will destroy your friend completely."

  The words gave him a chilling haunt. His mistake. Back then, Kevin refused to go home and insisted that Carl return without him. Not accepting that, he pulled Kevin through the portal. He understood what had happened now. Kevin's memories remained here in Rowen. Now his soul is here as well. If Kevin is not convinced to go home...

  He shuddered at that thought.

  Think positive Carl. You can do this.

  Carl opened his eyes to find Kevin staring at him. His eyes were a blank canvas, void of any emotion.

  "Do you have information," Kevin said.

  "Hey," Carl asked. "Do you remember us going back through the portal to Earth?"

  The question hung in the air for a moment. Then something shifted in Kevin's expression - a ripple across the previously still waters of his face. His eyes, normally vacant and cold, suddenly flashed with crimson intensity. Veins pulsed visibly at his temples.

  "Again, with your nonsense questions!" Kevin's voice erupted, making several nearby refugees flinch and back away. His fists clenched tight. "When will you understand that I don't give a flying crap about your dumb talk about some fantastical home?"

  Spit flew from his mouth as he advanced on Carl, jabbing a finger against his chest. "MY HOME IS RIGHT HERE! IT'S ALWAYS BEEN RIGHT HERE!"

  The outburst left everyone frozen in shock. Even Paz stared wide-eyed at the display of raw fury. For a heartbeat, the air seemed to vibrate with the force of Kevin's rage - a red-hot aura almost visible around him.

  Then, as suddenly as it had erupted, the emotion drained from Kevin's face. He blinked twice, his posture straightening back to military precision. His eyes returned white, and a flicker of confusion crossed his features, there and gone in an instant, before the blank mask slipped back into place.

  But Carl had seen it - that momentary flash of bewilderment, as if Kevin himself didn't understand what had just happened.

  A complicated surge of emotions crashed through Carl, first a hope like a sudden burst of sunlight, followed immediately by a wave of dread. This wasn't the calm, thoughtful Kevin he knew - this was something raw and primal bursting through the empty shell. But it was something. Proof that his friend wasn't completely gone. Carl's core hammered against his ribs as the implications sank in. If anger could break through, maybe other emotions could too. Maybe the real Kevin was still in there, trapped and fighting to get out.

  Yet that flash of crimson in Kevin's eyes, that unnatural rage... it didn't feel like Kevin at all. It felt like something else using Kevin's face, Kevin's voice. Whatever had fragmented his friend's soul was corrupting what remained. Time was running out.

  "Captain?" Bryson ventured cautiously. "Are you... okay?"

  Kevin's eyes snapped to the Lieutenant, once again cold and distant. "Proceed with the mission," he stated flatly, as if nothing had occurred.

  But something had changed. The temperature in the room felt different, charged. And in the distance, barely perceptible, Carl thought he heard the faint ring of metal against metal.

  Kevin walked outside.

  Carl was going to ask him about the outburst when an Advent Soldier ran up the street in their direction. She seemed to be in a hurry, bumping into various people on the way over.

  She approached Kevin and saluted. "Captain, your presence is requested at the front gate."

  The alarm blared across the town, echoing between buildings. Soldiers materialized from doorways and guard posts, efficiently herding civilians off the streets. Within moments, the once-bustling town transformed into a ghost town - windows shuttered with heavy wooden boards that slid into place with mechanical precision, doors locked with audible clicks. Parents clutched children to their sides, hurrying them along established evacuation routes without the panic Carl would have expected.

  "Move to your designated shelters! This is not a drill!" one soldier bellowed, his voice carrying over the din.

  He watched in amazement from his position near the refugee center. He'd never seen a community react with such military precision, as if this evacuation drill had been rehearsed countless times before. No chaos, no confusion, just the methodical execution of a well-established protocol. The speed suggested this wasn't their first emergency.

  "What the hell could they be so afraid of?" he muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively moving to where his weapon would be if he had one. Kevin with his squad took a fast walk pace with the female soldier leading the way.

  At the gate, ten soldiers lined up in uniform fashion. Four more were up on the skyboxes on each side of the gate to go along with the one soldier he saw up there when he entered.

  Kevin's squad fell into formation behind him, their movements synchronized with practiced precision. Four additional squads converged on their position, each led by captains wearing the same rank insignia as Kevin. Their uniforms, though dusty from recent patrols, maintained the crisp lines and meticulous appearance of elite soldiers.

  The assembled forces created an impressive display of military might, weapons gleaming in the afternoon sun as they awaited orders. The soldiers' faces remained impassive, but their alert eyes constantly surveyed the surroundings, bodies tense with the hope of whatever threat had triggered the town's alarm.

  The Commander walked to the front ahead of the Captains and their squads. “Towers,” he yelled, “What do we have?”

  One of the tower guards yelled out. “There is a huge buildup of encroaching dust along the trail. It doesn’t seem to be spreading into the forest and slowly approaching the gate.”

  “Wind Resonance.” The Commander said to himself and turned his head to his team, “Advent Guard! No sudden movements without my command!”

  The alarm ended as they stood out there and waited. Carl's anxiety rose as he wondered what could have caused a commotion so great. He looked at Paz who was right next to him, and even she seemed poised. Indeed, there was a presence out there that he felt, but if he felt it, then what would make them feel it as well?

  "Paz, what is out there?" Carl asked.

  "The sound is maddening," she replied. "A mind warped by the Power Sword's influence."

  "Advent Guard," the Commander said. "Batons at the ready."

  All the Advent Guard pulled out their batons, each one in a particular color. Carl looked at Kevin's and it looked silver, as if it had no color.

  The following silence was deafening as the dust reached the gate as the Tower Guards covered their faces as it blew in.

  The dust cloud reached the gate, it swirled unnaturally, almost deliberately, before enveloping the guards in the towers. They covered their faces, but not before Carl noticed something disturbing—their expressions twisting with irritation.

  "STOP WITH ALL THIS NONSENSE!" Kevin's voice erupted, his face contorting as if something beneath his skin was trying to claw its way out. A faint crimson aura seemed to flicker around him for just a moment… so brief Carl might have imagined it. Veins stood out like blue rivers against the suddenly flushed terrain of his neck and temples, pulsing visibly with each syllable he spat. "DAMN IT WITH THIS DUST! APPROACH OR LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE!"

  The Commander's head snapped toward Kevin; shock evident on his face. "Captain, at ease!"

  Like wildfire, aggression spread through the formation. A soldier to Carl's left began grinding his teeth audibly. Another muttered obscenity under her breath. Two men in the back rank started shoving each other for standing too close.

  "Your armor's digging into my shoulder, you idiot!" "Back off before I make you eat those words!" "Who the hell authorized this pointless formation, anyway?"

  The disciplined soldiers Carl had observed earlier were rapidly devolving into agitated, hostile versions of themselves. Hands that had been steady on weapons now twitched with barely restrained violence. Eyes that had been alert and professional now darted around, looking for targets, for reasons to lash out.

  Carl glanced at Paz beside him, finding her face as calm as his own… a striking contrast to the sea of anger surrounding them. Their eyes met briefly in mutual recognition: something unnatural was happening.

  The Commander's face had turned crimson, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought against the same rage consuming his troops. With visible effort, he raised his baton high above his head.

  "EVERYONE SHUT THE HELL UP!" he roared, the veins in his neck protruding like cords.

  Just as suddenly as it had come, the wave of anger receded. Like puppets whose strings had been cut, the soldiers' faces went slack with confusion. Some blinked rapidly, others shook their heads as if clearing cobwebs. Kevin's rigid posture returned, though a muscle still twitched in his jaw.

  "What... just happened?" a nearby soldier whispered, genuinely bewildered by his own behavior.

  Carl felt it then—a presence approaching. Not just dust on the road, but something extremely evil that fed on fury and chaos. Beside him, Paz gripped her staff tighter, her eyes fixed on the gate.

  "Kalaraq is here," she whispered, too low for anyone but Carl to hear.

  “Commander, we have fox beast-kin!" the Tower Guard yelled.

  As the dust parted, Carl glimpsed sleek, sandy-colored forms darting through the swirling clouds. The fox spore-beasts moved with unsettling coordination, their bodies low to the ground, tails swishing in perfect synchronization.

  A sound like fingers snapping loudly and the foxes responded instantly. Their eyes held a strange, vacant quality. Not the wild intelligence of normal animals, but something replaced with fanatical obedience. Each breath they took released a fine mist of spores that swirled around them like miniature dust devils.

  Out of nowhere, a man materialized directly in front of the Commander. Not walked, not approached, but simply existed where nothing had been a heartbeat before. His body hung at an impossible angle, like a marionette with half its strings cut, before snapping upright with a series of wet, sickening cracks.

  His neck rotated in jerky movements no human spine should allow, first left, then right, the bones audibly grinding beneath his skin. His fingers danced against his thighs in spasmodic excitement, leaving tiny smears of someone else's dried blood with each tap.

  He wore an elaborate helmet crafted from gold and copper, with spikes jutting outward and downward in an intimidating display. His uniform differed markedly from Advent’s, this one featured intricate leather strappings across the torso adorned with strange symbols that moved when Carl looked at them directly.

  At his waist hung two pistols, and behind him… not attached but following like a loyal pet… floated a semitransparent red blade that shimmered with unnatural energy.

  Carl stared at the sword. The hilt was probably made of sterling silver and had two claws pointing inward. The blade itself was mesmerizing, pulsing with what looked like veins of molten fire running through translucent red crystal.

  It trailed behind the man like a predator stalking prey, never touching him yet somehow bound to him. Each time Carl tried to look away, his eyes were inexorably drawn back, as if the sword itself demanded his attention.

  A strange heat radiated from it - not physical warmth, but something more primal. Carl felt his heartbeat quicken; his jaw tightens. Memories of arguments, of fights, of every moment of fury he'd ever experienced flickered through his mind in rapid succession. He forced himself to breathe slowly, recognizing the unnatural nature of these feelings.

  He never thought he'd seen anything more captivating in his life - or more dangerous.

  Paz's eyes narrowed as she nudged Carl sharply with her elbow. "Kalaraq. It's trailing behind the Anbar. Something's very wrong, its essence feels twisted and corrupted, pulsing with malice. I don't think he even realizes what's following him."

  Carl glanced at her, surprised. "How can you tell what it is?"

  "The Empress showed me renderings of all five Power Swords before I left," Paz explained quickly. "Each has a distinctive essence that Champions are trained to recognize. But this one..." Her fur bristled slightly as she gripped her staff tighter. "It's not just a sword anymore, it's becoming something else entirely. The corruption is feeding on his madness, and its shape is different."

  The man removed his helmet, which vanished the moment he placed it in his hand. Carl noticed his ears weren't pointed but rounded, stirring a strange mix of nervousness and excitement in his gut. The man's eyes were mismatched: one blue, one an unsettling amber that seemed to glow from within.

  "AHHHH!" The sound wasn't an exhale but a grotesque parody of pleasure, the noise a predator might make while savoring the scent of fear. His arms spread wide, fingers splayed as if trying to embrace the entire Commons, before suddenly snapping together in front of his chest with such force that his knuckles cracked audibly.

  "Such a GLORIOUS day!" His voice fluctuated between a whisper and a shout, sometimes mid-word. "Gardros is PLEASED!"

  His hands trembled—not with fear, Carl realized with growing dread, but with barely contained excitement. He tugged at a crude leather strap cinched around his waist, revealing a bulging, red-stained bag that hung heavy as a tumor against his hip. Fresh blood seeped from its stitched seams, collecting in fat droplets that pattered rhythmically onto the dirt between them. The metallic scent hit Carl's nostrils seconds later, turning his stomach with its cloying sweetness.

  Behind Gardros, the floating sword pulsed in perfect synchronization with each blood drop that fell.

  "I should have sent notice that I was coming Rowen Commons. Commons of the Rowen. Such a funny name. No. Not funny. Yes. Intriguing and not funny," he said, his voice suddenly calm and measured, "but wasn't necessary as your scouts greeted my advanced party at the farms earlier." As he spoke, his free hand traced religious symbols over his heart.

  The Commander adjusted his belt. “Tell me, Anbar emissary, why are you so far into Rowan prefecture? You violate the Armargosa Peace Accords.”

  "Ah," he said as his head snapping to one side at an uncomfortable angle, "Right to the point. THEY told me you were serious, pointed ear, but I just HAD to see for myself." He bit down on his finger until blood welled, then used it to draw a symbol on his forehead. "My name is Gardros, Order of the Holy Angels, Glory to the High Anbar Church. You have interests that I am after and know you carry these limited talking, walking beast-specimens. I know they are here because-” he tapped his nose repeatedly, "… my nose KNOWS. The Great Darkness whispers their location to me!"

  He suddenly froze, eyes widening. "I mean... the Holy Angels. Yes. The ANGELS whisper to me!"

  The Commander raised his hand, and his troops went into position. "We don't have what you're looking for. I'm sorry for you to come all this way, just to have to turn back to Anbar empty-handed."

  "Ah, ah, AH!" Gardros wagged his finger, his smile stretching too wide. "Like Gardros said, is this not a trading post as well? I have trade! One comes not empty handed but trade is what you pointed ones... I have ears, LOTS of ears for trade! Yes, I do! You collect ears, right? That is what THEY say!" He grabbed his own ear and twisted it painfully. "Well, I am fortunate enough to have collected a good bit of them. Specimens, yes these are enough for specimens. Delicious Resonance using specimens indeed."

  Gardros reached behind him with theatrical flourish, producing a dripping sack that hit the ground with a wet, meaty thud. The crude knot unraveled on impact, vomiting its contents across the dirt between them.

  Ears. Dozens of severed, pointed ears. They spilled out like macabre confetti…some shriveled and gray with age, others still slick with fresh blood that steamed in the morning air. Small ones that could only have belonged to children lay nestled against larger adult ears, all harvested with the same merciless precision. Several still wore earrings, the silver and gold catching the sunlight in obscene sparkles.

  A collective gasp rippled through the Advent Guard. Even Johnson, hardened by years of service, couldn't hide the flash of revulsion that crossed his face.

  "Not enough?" Gardros asked, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Of course not, Not enough, not enough. Not. Enough. Gardros can provide MORE!"

  He snapped his fingers, and the fox Spore-beasts stepped up. They knelt, trembling, as Gardros pulled a curved knife from his belt.

  "One more should be sufficient, yes?" His voice was suddenly businesslike, as if discussing the weather. He grabbed the first Spore-Beast's head and sliced off its ear in one clean motion. The spore-beast screamed, but Gardros seemed to savor the sound.

  "MAGNIFICENT!" he cried, holding the bloody trophy aloft. "The voices SING through their pain! Can you hear it, Commander? Can you HEAR THE GLORY?"

  The sword floating behind him pulsed brighter, though Gardros never once acknowledged its presence.

  Gardros threw the ear into the pile. He licked his fingers clean, one by one, with disturbing thoroughness.

  Gardros stood back up, then cracked a smile that looked pure evil given form. "Now, I do say that is enough for payment of what I came here for. So, if you don't mind, 'Advent Guard,' I would like to see the walking resonance beasts you have hiding in this pathetic town you call Rowen Commons. My masters are WAITING."

  "We have no beast-kin here," Commander Johnson lied steadily, though Carl knew dozens of refugees had just been processed through the gates.

  "LIES!" Gardros shrieked, his sudden mood shift making several soldiers flinch. "I can SMELL them! Their resonance calls to me!" He tapped his temple repeatedly. "The voices tell Gardros where they hide. Every. Single. One."