Cassius had never known fear. Not when he was abandoned to the wide world at a young age or when he faced the harsh truths of humanity growing up on the streets of the ghettos. Yet, a shiver ran down his spine as he sprinted toward the craggy hill leading to the mine entrance. Incoherent but insistent whispers echoed in his mind, urging him to turn back. Sweat gathered on his brow, and his feet felt leaden, but he pressed on. Cassius wasn’t one to give up, especially not when he was so close.

  The cave's entrance loomed before him like a gaping maw. The rough-hewn stones of the archway seemed to snarl at him, while the cool, damp air carried a pungent mix of sulfur and decay. There it was—the monster Cassius had been hunting. He could feel its presence with an unshakable certainty he couldn’t explain.

  Cassius pressed on, leaving the daylight behind and relying on flickering torches that cast long, eerie shadows, making the path ahead seem like an elaborate trap. He wondered if Adelard had somehow warned Zenior and Lard, but the thought was quickly swallowed by the pounding of his heart. Soon, his ears picked up on a new sound—the clash of weapons and grunts. Someone was fighting deeper in the caves. Cassius skidded to a halt, his hand instinctively gripping the dagger at his belt.

  He stepped into what appeared to be a small cavern within the mine, dimly lit by the flickering glow of three oil lamps hanging from jagged rock outcroppings. The scene before him was nothing like he had expected.

  In the center stood a creature—neither man nor beast—towering at over eight feet tall and half as wide. Its face was large and round, dominated by enormous, rolling eyes and oily, glistening cheeks, bathed in the flickering light of three wall torches. Long, spindly limbs and even longer fingers with sharp, menacing nails accentuated its grotesque form. The creature’s ghostly pale face was marred by an unnaturally wide mouth filled with dark, razor-sharp teeth that gaped open as if poised to devour the man fighting the one before it.

  When Cassius entered the cavern, he saw the man in front of the monster shove the other with such force that the air crackled with magic just as the monster's gaze shifted to him.

  “Well,” Zenior said, facing Cassius at Lard’s side. Cassius narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Zenior’s features. The man’s elegant black hair, cropped short on the sides with the volume on top, green eyes, and goatee lent him a youthful and trustworthy appearance. Zenior's sharp nose, thin lips, and prominent cheekbones were set against olive skin etched with deep lines, while his unsmiling mouth added a note of severity to his tall, lanky frame and long limbs.

  At first glance, Zenior appeared to be a well-dressed gentleman, perhaps a doctor. He wore a black tunic that extended past his knees, topped with a white tabard cinched at the waist by a belt, and a black cloak left open at the front. A silver medallion hung around his neck, and he carried a polished black cane and a bag slung across his shoulder—the very cane he had been using in the fight.

  “STOP!” Zenior commanded as the monster began to advance toward the man he had been fighting, brushing aside Cassius. Cassius’s eyes followed the creature’s movements, noting how surprisingly swift it was for such a massive and bulky figure.

  Zenior’s gaze remained fixed on Cassius, narrowing ever so slightly. The intensity of his stare made Cassius catch his breath.

  “I can smell the Axis of Seraphim on you,” Zenior remarked.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Cassius clenched his jaw, suddenly aware of how little he knew about his target who stood before him. Over Zenior’s shoulder, Lard’s skin seemed to ripple as if swarming with beetles beneath the surface, showcasing his restlessness. The redness in his eyes betrayed his frustration with the wizard he had made a deal with, unable to harm him due to their binding contract.

  Cassius made no move to attack. Zenior wielded the innate magic he was born with, further amplified by Lard’s aid. The devil hovering behind Zenior had devoured countless humans, adding to its already formidable strength.

  Zenior’s lips curled into a mocking smile at Cassius’s hesitation. “Pity,” he said.

  Cassius reached for his blowgun without a moment of consideration, but the ground beneath him trembled, threatening to topple him. To his horror, a tear began forming in the air between him and Zenior.

  “We will meet again,” Zenior said, then stepped into the tear. Lard growled, his eyes shifting between the cloaked figure lying motionless on the far side of the cavern and Cassius. For the first time in his life, Cassius felt a shiver of fear—an emotion he hadn’t experienced since childhood.

  As Lard followed Zenior through the tear, it sealed behind them as if it had never existed. Cassius hesitated to breathe, nearly gagging at the acrid taste of sulfur that lingered at the back of his throat. His eyes watered, but he blinked them clearly, focusing on the figure fighting Zenior and appearing to have survived.

  Cassius was instantly at the man’s side, pulling aside his cloak to reveal a frail human, no, a monk.

  The monk stirred as Cassius’s fingers touched his pulse. Cassius quickly withdrew his hand with a hiss, feeling a prickling sensation in his fingers.

  “I’m here to help, dammit,” Cassius growled, his voice low and urgent. At that moment, the monk’s eyes fluttered open, revealing sharp blue irises that glowed piercingly as they settled on Cassius.

  Cassius knew little about monks, but it was well-known across Adaria that some exchanged years of their lives for unimaginable power. He had always regarded such monks as fools and dismissed the stories as mere gossip. Yet, standing before this man—no, this young lad—whose eyes burned with the intense internal aura he had cultivated, Cassius realized the world was indeed full of such fools.

  He stepped back from the monk, carefully studying him to determine if he was a friend or foe. The monk was not tall, just a few inches taller than Aliss, with a lean, athletic build that suggested he had undergone rigorous training. His silver hair, shoulder-length and tied back at the nape of his neck, added to his air of quiet authority. Deep lines etched his face, making him older than his years. His large, calloused hands, with swollen knuckles from countless hours of combat, gripped a wooden staff. Despite its age, the staff was smooth and polished.

  As the monk tried to rise, Cassius made no move to assist him. His eyes were fixed on the staff, warm brown in color with a slight bend near the lower end, reaching up to the monk’s shoulder, a clear sign of its importance on his journey. Cassius’s attention was then drawn to the silver ring on the monk’s right forefinger. Crafted from a single, glowing strand, the ring emitted a soft light in the darkness. Even from a few paces away, Cassius could make out the intricate Elvish runes engraved on the band, and a small blue gemstone at its center radiated an ethereal glow. This was clearly the ring for which the lad had traded years of his life.

  But why?

  “What is an inexperienced wizard doing here?” the monk asked in a husky voice. Cassius narrowed his eyes at the question.

  “Inexperienced wizard?” he mocked. “Did you hit your head a bit too hard?”

  In response, the monk merely smiled.

  “Deny it all you want, young wizard, but I can see the magic flowing through your veins, and I’m certain Zenior noticed it, too.” The monk continued, “The magic my internal aura detects is rare, and I believe our target is aware of it as well.”

  Zenior’s parting words echoed briefly in Cassius’s mind: “We will meet again.”

  He stopped breathing as the gravity of what he was hearing sank in.

  Cassius Perote Sadon was a wizard with dormant powers, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by others who wielded magic. He had always sensed something unusual about himself and had suspected it, but the monk’s next words struck him to his very core.

  “You are a spellblade,” the monk said casually, as though his words were simple facts rather than earth-shattering revelations. “As far as I know, you’re the only one alive because the Axis of Seraphim sees your power as a threat.”

  With those words, a crucial piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

  The Axis of Seraphim had known who Cassius was. They had sought him out in the ghettos, a place the likes of them avoided, for they had no business there and had sent him after a devil, leaving him unprepared so that he could be dealt with without their direct involvement.

  Cassius Perote Sadon had always prided himself on his intelligence. Yet, he had failed to see the trap laid by the very organization he had aspired to join—the one that wielded the greatest power in the Kingdom of Adaria.

  Stay tuned for the next chapter on 4/25/25