The effects of the drug that had incapacitated the pair of captives had worn off for one of them.

  Vale stared up at a face, much like her own.

  A young man with curly golden hair which framed dark eyes and a sharp nose. He sported lavender irises their mother had been so proud of and the castle’s staff so infatuated with. She had witnessed many a servant entranced by her brother’s good looks, to her mild disgust.

  ‘Triol.’

  ‘Vale. It’s good to see you. Have you bee-‘

  Rather than dignify her older brother’s response with a reply, Vale spat at his feet.

  ‘I see you’re not in the mood to talk.’

  ‘Still doing father’s bidding I see? Playing the enthusiastic servant boy.’

  Triol Revenant did not rise to her provocation.

  ‘Dawn was devastated when you left.’

  Vale winced, as her brother wasted no time before driving a figurative dagger into her chest. She almost would have preferred the actual thing.

  ‘You’re blind in your arrogance Triol. Thinking that serving him would get you anywhere. How could you be so blind?’

  Triol’s eyes softened. He had missed Vale dearly. After his sister left… he didn’t know if he would ever reunite with her again. What a twisted turn of fate that they would do so in the Archcity of Fear. She must have found one of their father’s records of it.

  No doubt, coming here with the aim of finding or becoming something capable of killing the Deathbringer himself.

  The tragedy of it all was that he understood his sister. Her motivations.

  Most of all, her resentment.

  Yet unlike Vale, he also understood their father.

  Ever since he was young, Triol had learned very quickly that there were many ways to influence others around him.

  His appearance had only been one such tool – a trivial one at that. He noticed the covert glances that servants – the living ones – infatuated with his appearance had directed his way. How he was treated differently because of people’s perceptions of him.

  However, his mild influence over others paled in comparison to the power held by Vetrian Revenant.

  The substance of his Fearshaping.

  He had never glimpsed something so overwhelming. That demanded - no - commanded his respect and fear. For there was no room for choice, when you faced Vetrian Revenanrt.

  To some extent, that extended even to his deference.

  But he wasn’t an idiot.

  ‘Vale. It was pure luck that you were able to find this Archcity. What was your plan? To discover a hidden relic capable of putting father in the ground for good? To become a Fearshaper yourself capable of rivalling him?’

  Vale continued to strain against her restraints. She bared her teeth at her brother as she began to take stock of the situation. She struggled to tilt her head to the left, and deciphered a foreboding building across the street.

  Her focus was interrupted by soft footsteps, that appeared to draw nearer. Vale attempted to sneak a glance at the approaching figures, and her stomach dropped as she heard a familiar voice speak in hushed tones.

  She wrinkled her nose as it was met with an acrid scent.

  Is that… piss?

  ‘There they are! Rogues and thieves, I’ll gut you!’

  It was the man whose throat Shiver had speared with an ice dagger back in Brimstone.

  Evidently, she had done a pretty poor job.

  Feardamnit Shiver.

  Triol extended an arm, whereupon a pale, skeletal raven alighted, perching on his shoulder.

  Caledon’s eyes widened as his suspicions were confirmed.

  House Revenant. A Fearshaper with power over death itself. The very house that his father had burned from existence for their atrocities. They still lived?

  The arrogant Lord Semille did the unthinkable, and bowed deeply before the figure draped in a long black cloak, trimmed in darksilver.

  They stood in the foyer of one of the dark towers that filled the Archcity of Fear. Evidently, the lord from House Revenant thought it was sufficient to evade the notice of the wandering Terrors. He certainly was bold, if nothing else.

  ‘My lord Revenant. House Flora greets you.’

  Caledon gritted his teeth as he stepped forward.

  ‘I am the leader of this expedition, Caledon Brimstone.’

  The figure looked at him impassively. Lord Semille sneered at his statement.

  ‘I greet you, Lord Brimstone. My name is Triol.’

  ‘You’re of House Revenant.’

  Triol inclined his head. The crow perched on his shoulder mimicked the motion, as if to mock Caledon’s ignorance.

  ‘Your house has committed unspeakable crimes against elvenkind. Vetrian Revenant sent hordes against Archcities, villages and towns alike murdering countless elves. My father burned your house from exi-‘

  Caledon flinched as one of the Dreadwood knights rose an immense greatsword towards his throat. He froze, and he found no reassurance when he met Lord Semille’s gaze.

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  The arrogant lordling had bowed to him. Caledon detected a slight tremble in his shoulders.

  He was afraid?

  ‘You will have to forgive the runt, my lord. He knows nothing of the cooperation between our houses.’

  ‘Cooperation?’

  Caledon froze in confusion. Then, he noticed the bodies lying before him. Two female elves. One bore dark golden locks, similar to Triol’s own and deep lavender eyes. She wore a similar cloak trimmed in darksilver similarly to Triol. The girl watched his movements carefully, but she seemed to be securely restrained.

  Another girl lay next to her, unmoving.

  That must be her… Shiver.

  From behind Triol emerged another elf from the shadow. He was short in stature, with round, copper glasses and a charming moustache. He sported a beige bucket hat and wore the garb of one of the archaeologist’s guild.

  But his face was unmoving, blank, and his eyes stared forward unblinkingly. His gaze seemed to be devoid of life.

  Undead? No… he still looks to be alive.

  It dawned on him that he faced a lord of House Revenant. Fearshapers that Feared death. Through their Fear was their mastery derived. There was a reason their house was so widely feared and hated. They had devolved into nothing but a children’s bedtime nightmare that their parents punished them with when they misbehaved.

  So deadly, they had almost singlehandedly threatened to topple elven civilisation as they knew it, with a single Fearshaper. Veteran was only halted by the actions of his father. Had Berevan not interceded, who knows whether the Revenant’s massacre would have ended.

  At least, that was supposed to be the case. Both of them speak of cooperation between our houses. Father…

  He stiffened as he cursed his inelegant handling of the situation. He narrowly avoided jumping back as Triol sudden thrust his hand within his cloak.

  ‘Yes, Lord Brimstone. We are allied with your house.’

  He withdrew the small item and held it out towards Caledon.

  Bearing a blade to him.

  If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that what he had just heard was a product of his own Fear. Hallucinations that deceived him as to the truth of reality when he was most at ease. It had emerged in the form of his father and sister during the briefing. Deceiving him as to their true words and intent.

  Caledon was anything but at peace.

  ‘This should be proof enough.’

  Caledon traced his eyes along the edge of the darksteel dagger in Triol’s hands. The casual ease of its construction, and the threat of death that it contained in its mastery of its construction sang to him.

  Two words were engraved into it.

  His eyes fell on the inscription on the blade, written in soft glowing silver, forming a script that elegantly depicted two words.

  Triol Revenant.

  Caledon’s shoulders slumped. Sakar’s handiwork was unmistakeable. He knew, that the old smith bowed to no one – even at the threat of his own life. Others had tried before.

  ‘It was a gift from my father for accepting my current station. Brimstone make, you might recognise it.’

  Triol casually sheathed it, and turned to glance at the buildings above them. The towers that pierced the abyssal dark, interspersed with otherworldly glowing orbs of silver that burned still in the darkness.

  ‘In any case, back to the matters at hand. As you can see, I’ve apprehended the culprits you were chasing. I would be happy to hand over the elf you’re chasing.’

  Triol gestured towards the blonde elf at his feet.

  ‘Leave this one. Do what you see fit with the other.’

  Caledon watched as Lord Semille’s eyes flashed in satisfaction. His thirst, for blood would be sated.

  The blonde girl that was conscious had tears in her eyes and looked pleadingly towards him.

  Bring them to “justice”.

  Caledon concealed a frown as he recalled his father’s words.

  This is no form of justice that I know of.

  For as long as he had known his father, Highlord Berevan Brimstone had exhibited upstanding moral character. He was a lord that provided for every citizen he could afford to. He had taken care to bring Viveria and himself to the lower quarters to show the plight of poorer elves to his children, who had been raised in privilege.

  Where Viveria was often hot-headed, and eager to pass judgment, Caledon differed from his sister. The plight of the elves had brought tears to his sister’s eyes, which had dissipated quickly as it arrived when she had attended her next swordsmanship lesson.

  His father, in all of his great wisdom – compared her to a fleeting, bright flame that burned with passion. Caledon, he described as a steady hearth, which endured onwards interminably.

  Between the two, his father had always cautioned to fear the latter. He his words came to him once again.

  ‘Never change, Caledon. Continue questioning. Question even those you trust the most. If they do not hold up to your scrutiny, then deliver your own sense of justice. That is your responsibility as a lord.’

  His father had boomed with his characteristic laugh. But for the first time in his life, Caledon had detected an undertone of desperation.

  ‘Perhaps, one day, I will be on the receiving end of your judgment. I cannot give you satisfactory answers to your questions – yet. But I will say this. Trust yourself Cal. You are a far better man than I.’

  Caledon felt a warmth blossom from within him. A familiar warmth. Comfort at the thought of his father. Ironically, the very object of his Fear. It was not enough to halt his gratitude.

  As he gazed at the elves at his feet, bound and gagged, before a Fearshaper who heralded from a family that had committed unspeakable crimes against elven society, Caledon did as his father advised him.

  He questioned.

  What had the orphan stolen that had Flora in such a frenzy?

  Why was there a Fearshaper hailing from House Revenant that appeared to treat him with respect, calling him an ally?

  What was he to do about this all?

  Caledon’s eyes flickered to movement behind the blonde girl. He remained silent, ensuring that his eyes betrayed nothing. Then, his attention was drawn to a structure that stood opposite them.

  It faded into the background of the grand Archcity – as if evading the silver light filtered down into the fog beneath it.

  A temple.

  With pillars of dark stone, bordering its entrance. Two large stone doors with intricate carvings running down their surface. The doors were sealed shut.

  Until recently.

  A sliver of golden light seemed to emerge from the slightest of gaps. On the floor before the doors lay an… ice cube?

  Caledon’s eyes flicked to the other girl that lay still, seemingly unconscious.

  Bound no more.

  Shiver burst into movement, slicing through the restraints of the other elf with a dagger of ice. A shout erupted from Lord Semille that ended the silence that hung over the city.

  Triol cursed, at the noise that escaped Semille’s mouth, his vision shooting not towards the escaping elf, but towards the city streets around him.

  Even he’s afraid of the Terrors.

  Their bindings had been severed, and the two sprinted towards the temple opposite them.

  The Knights of the Dreadwood erupted into action, extending their hands outwards and sending vines shooting towards the pair. Lord Semille invoked his Fear once more.

  [Vines of the flickerroot]

  Caledon threw his body in the path of the oncoming vines, deflecting them from their path. The shield of his own creation dented and his breath was knocked from his body.

  Abandoning his shield, he sprinted after the pair, as they ran into the temple, its doors now glowing with a strange energy.

  The intricate carvings that covered its surface appeared to be squirming. The carvings were embodied by tendrils of dark which had suddenly come alive. The very sight of it chilled Caledon but he paid it no heed as he barely managed to slip into the rapidly closing gap before the stone doors slammed shut. He pressed his back against the door, chest rising and falling rapidly at the sudden exertion.

  Which brought him right into the path of a Cerulean gaze.

  Eyes devoid of any warmth.

  But such a description was inadequate.

  Had a certain orphan girl with pigtails been present and alive, she would have given him the perfect, arrogant description for what he saw.

  Eyes, the colour of snow in a thunderstorm.

  Which carried a blizzard’s wrath within.

  here.