"They forsook their thrones and fled the firmament, yet named me heir to the ruin. Mine is not a voice of divinity, but the echo of what divinity could not hold."
Long before empires rose, the Speakers held the balance between gods and mortals-until...
CHAPTER 05 | GRIEF "Anger that comes from sadness is the most ugliest form of rage." ___
JUNG HOSEOK
I pressed on through the dense woods, my dagger firm in my grip. The only sound that broke the silence was the soft crunch of my boots on the dry leaves beneath me. That was, until a burst of laughter cut through the air—loud, brash, unmistakably the laughter of Zivians. I froze, instinctively darting behind a nearby tree, heart racing as I cautiously peered around its trunk.
Three figures loomed ahead. Two of them were stumbling, clearly intoxicated, while the third slumped in deep slumber. My mind raced. This wasn't good. If Zivians were this close to Gwyar, their search for something—or someone—had likely intensified. Had they come looking for Lycus and me after the commotion back at Magnus? The thought was a cold knot in my gut.
I gripped my dagger tighter, thumb brushing the hole at the top of the hilt as I focused on the hunter nearest to me—the one on the right. I had to be ready.
"King Axel really stashed away a prize in the dungeons," one of the hunters sneered, glancing at the other. "Shame I didn't get a turn with her like you did. Bet it was quite the experience. Like taming one of those wild beasts out in these woods."
My stomach churned with disgust. My grip on the dagger tightened, knuckles white as my blood burned with fury. The laughter that followed felt like a slap in the face.
"She was incredible, Arnold," the other hunter chimed in, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Can't say I was the only one who enjoyed her company, but damn, I'm proud to say I was one of 'em!"
The words were like a dagger to my soul. I wanted nothing more than to silence them—permanently.
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ZIVIAN ONE
My comrades and I had made camp deep within the shadowed woods of Gwyar, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the crackling of our fire. King Axel Lazarus had given us a singular mission: capture Y/N and the one who had aided in her escape, and return with her head as proof of our success. It was frustrating, to say the least, that she had eluded us once again with the help of those pests. But once we caught her, we'd make sure she paid for every ounce of trouble she'd caused. And as for the others, well, they wouldn't escape unscathed either. In the wilderness, far from prying eyes, there was no one to stop us.
Vincent lay sprawled out on the ground, dead to the world, while Arnold and I passed around a couple of beers, the alcohol dulling the edge of our thoughts. We swapped stories of past hunts and victories, the kinds of tales men like us always tell, with a mix of pride and callous amusement.
But as the night dragged on, the stillness was broken by a sound that made my blood run cold—a sharp, spiraling whistle, cutting through the air from behind us.
