The Chronicles of Onyx Book Two - Fight of a Hero

Chapter Seven

"We wish to leave and search for Onyx" Jade said for a second time in an attempt to capture the withered mage's attention. Dezenym, however, seemed oblivious to the words, slumped on his antler-carved throne, his gaze vacant. His fingers curled around the ivory hilt of a dagger, knuckles white as though clinging to some unspoken memory.

"Sir?" Jade called again, taking a cautious step forward. The air felt thick, almost oppressive, inside the ancient hall.

"It's a waste of time," Rok muttered from behind him. "We need to move before daylight fades."

Jade shook his head. Leaving Dezenym like this, in his hollow and vulnerable state, felt wrong. Without a strong leader, the wolves were left exposed, their defenses weakened. To Jade, it seemed cruel to abandon them, especially when Dezenym—once such a powerful figure—now looked as though he could barely defend himself.

"We can't just leave him. Not like this," Jade insisted, his emerald eyes flashing with defiance as he looked up at Rok.

Rok's gaze hardened. "So, what do you propose we do, boy?" he questioned, harshly.

Jade felt his confidence waver under Rok's penetrating stare, his mind grasping for an answer that wouldn't come. His gaze dropped to the floor, searching for the words he could not find. "I–I don't know," he admitted, frustration tightening his voice.

Rok seemed to soften, the tension in his shoulders easing as he studied the boy's troubled expression. "You're young," he said, his voice gentler now. "You're not meant to have all the answers."

Jade met Rok's eyes, a flicker of reassurance passing between them. The silence in the hall deepened until it felt as if the very walls were listening.

Then, unexpectedly, Dezenym shifted. His dull gaze fell upon the scabbard strapped on Rok's side, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Jade's heart leapt as he saw the mage's attention sharpen, his body seeming to gather strength.

"Did you see that?" Jade whispered urgently, his hand darting out to clutch Rok's sleeve.

"Get off me" Rok protested, shaking the young elf off his cotton sleeve.

Dezenym slowly parted his cracked lips, his voice barely a murmur as he spoke in a hushed manner. Four chilling words escaped, like a shattered breath: "Find her. Kill her."

Rok's hand instinctively tightened around his sword hilt. "Who?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, laced with curiosity and concern.

Dezenym's golden eyes lifted, meeting Rok's earthy gaze, and for a moment, there was a glimpse of something—fear, desperation, maybe regret—shimmering in their weary depths.

"Raven," he breathed, the name hanging heavy in the air.