The goddess Liora was a kind goddess. Liora could see all mortals with her divine sight who walked in the light. When her divine sight showed a mortal in trouble, she would give them aid. She’d whisper a warning to an old woman to walk a different direction if she was heading towards monsters. She’d have it rain on a house which accidentally caught fire. She loved mortals and loved being able to give a helping hand when she could.

  Liora had a sister of the same disposition, always wishing to help mortals. But where Liora could see all mortals who walked in light, her sister had the divine sight to see all mortals who walked in darkness. The darker it was where the mortal walked, the easier it was for her sister to view them and offer her own help if the said mortal was in trouble.

  But then one terrible day Liora’s sister was murdered. Liora didn’t only grieve at the death of her sister, but because mortals had no one to help them in the night. Liora tried her best to use her divine sight to view mortals at night, but all she could see was blackness. So mortals, one after another, began to suffer deaths and harm which Liora couldn’t prevent after dusk.

  The pain of losing her sibling and seeing suffering caused Liora to weep tears every dusk, right before the sun set. Alone up in the heavens, no one noticed her weeping except for one creature.

  It was a Night Raven, the largest and strongest Night Raven which ever existed. Night Ravens normally only woke up at night, but this one always woke up early at dusk. He wanted to be the first to snack on the berries and catch the fish in the shiny river for their tasty meat.

  And as he flew high, coming close to the heavens, he heard the weeping. Since he was so large and strong, he was able to reach closer to the heavens than any other bird. There he saw a goddess lying among the clouds, as large as a castle. But before he could say anything, a large tear dropped from the goddess’s face and landed on him.

  He tumbled down from the sky as his body was drenched in the salty tear. He just barely pulled his wings out in time to stop himself from crashing to death, pulling off a shaky landing. That’s when he noticed his dark beautiful feathers were now snow-white and glowing. The Night Raven squawked in outrage as he realized he lost his glossy, lustrous black color.

  When he flew to meet his fellow Night Ravens, they teased and made fun of his new bright feathers. The poor white Night Raven wanted nothing to do with his fellow birds and flew up in the night sky. He wanted to avoid everyone and so stayed as far up in the sky as he could all night long.

  On this very same night, Liora once again tried to view the mortals below and was amazed that her divine sight no longer only showed darkness. The bright glow of the white Night Raven brought about a light while not as strong as the sun, it allowed Liora to view those below. When she realized the white Night Raven was the key to see at night, she called out to it with promises of as many berry treats as the raven wanted.

  So she named this raven a Moon Raven and with many bribes of treats and compliments of how beautiful his feathers were, she convinced him to occasionally fly high in the sky to shine light on the mortal land for her. And whenever a Moon Raven is seen, it’s believed to be a child of the original Moon Raven which still lights up the sky at night.

  It was more children’s tale then true belief under Liora’s teachings, but it was a nice story told to children by the priests. Duncan remembered hearing of it as a child and the wonder he felt when he actually saw a Moon Raven. He really should tell Will about the story considering how close a friend Osirus was to him.

  This is what he thought anyway as Osirus stayed perched on a large sack of salt which Duncan carried with ease. The sack had to weigh at least a hundred pounds, but large biceps were a perk of being a knight. Duncan was now dressed in commoner clothing, his armor back at the inn. The sword was still sheathed at his side though, it wouldn’t do to be defenseless.

  Besides the Moon Raven tale, there were also other things he wanted to talk to Will about. Like how it was okay if he allowed others to pay for inn rooms and supplies. The Hero wasn’t used to depending on others which was understandable considering the horrible people he used to work with.

  He could still remember the flash of fear on Will’s face when he suggested Osirus join him for this endeavor. The poor man was so desperate for connections that even a temporary separation from Osirus scared him. Hopefully he and Hellene could help Will with his fears. They were comrades now with a common goal and it was nice to work with people who understood how the Heroes Party needed to be stopped.

  Speaking of endeavors, they were nearly to their destination.

  "Remember the plan," Duncan murmured to Osirus as the monastery came into view. The white-feathered raven bobbed his head in acknowledgment. "I'll put on a show they won't forget," Osirus whispered back.

  The monastery of Sunveil was a modest structure of weathered stone, its walls covered in climbing vines bearing small white flowers. A wooden sign marked the entrance, proclaiming it a sanctuary of Liora's light.

  As they approached the gate, Osirus took flight, circling once overhead before disappearing into the clear blue sky. Duncan adjusted his grip on the heavy sack and proceeded alone to the entrance.

  To Duncan’s left, a few peasants had gathered around a circular stone fountain set into an alcove of the monastery wall. The water bubbled up from a carved stone lily at its center, cascading down in crystalline streams that caught the sunlight. Peasants knelt at its edge, cupping their hands to drink or filling small clay vessels.

  An elderly woman with gnarled hands dipped a cloth into the waters and pressed it against her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. As Duncan watched, she blinked several times, her face transforming with wonder as clarity returned to her gaze. A thin man nearby was drinking deeply, the visible lesions on his neck seeming to fade with each swallow.

  Duncan was staring at the healing magic at work probably a bit too much because he jerked in surprise when a young monk with a shaved head and brown robes greeted him past the entrance.

  "Welcome, traveler. How may we assist you today?"

  Duncan hastily bowed his head respectfully. "I've brought a donation of salt for your kitchens. In appreciation for the good work you do for the poor of Zephyria."

  The monk's eyes widened with gratitude. "That is most generous! Let me take that from you—"

  As the monk reached for the sack, Duncan stepped back smoothly. "I thank you for your offer, but this sack is quite heavy. I wouldn't feel right risking injury to one who does such important work." He offered a humble smile. "Perhaps you could simply show me where to store it?"

  The monk frowned slightly. "That's kind, but unnecessary. We are accustomed to—"

  A flash of white cut through the air as Osirus descended from above, landing gracefully on the head of a stone statue of Liora that stood in the courtyard. The monk's words died in his throat as he stared at the snow-white raven with glowing blue eyes.

  "Behold!" Osirus announced, his voice clear and strong. "I am Osirus, guardian of sacred knowledge! I have come to share great wisdom about Liora the goddess herself! Knowledge passed directly from her divine lips!"

  Several other monks who had been tending the garden nearby dropped their tools and approached cautiously, their faces a mixture of awe and disbelief. Even the peasants turned and stared at the bird with wonder.

  "A Moon Raven..." the young monk whispered, his eyes never leaving Osirus. "Here, at our humble monastery..."

  Duncan cleared his throat. "About the salt?" he prompted gently. "Where should I store it while you speak with this magnificent creature?"

  The monk blinked rapidly, clearly struggling to focus on Duncan's question while Osirus preened dramatically on the statue.

  "Oh! Yes, of course," the monk said distractedly, pointing vaguely toward the rear of the building. "Just follow the stairs down and head north along the corridor. Storage room is at the end." He was already stepping away, drawn toward Osirus like a moth to flame. "The goddess truly blesses us today!"

  "Indeed she does," Duncan murmured, slipping away unnoticed as all the monks gathered around Osirus. Before his father’s death, he would have cringed at the idea of using a talking raven to trick monks into thinking they were getting a divine message.

  Now he only appreciated how the deception helped him become one step closer to revenge.

  Duncan entered the monastery, his eyes quickly scanning the interior as the heavy wooden door closed behind him. Four polished oak benches lined the stone floor, facing a small altar dedicated to Liora. Golden rays from stained glass windows illuminated a oak statue of the goddess, her arms outstretched in welcome. Incense hung in the air, sweet and heavy.

  To his right stretched a narrow hallway, while to his left a set of worn stone stairs descended into shadow. Listening for any approaching footsteps and hearing none, Duncan adjusted his grip on the salt sack and quickly made for the stairs.

  The stone steps were smooth from centuries of use, leading down to a dimly lit gray brick corridor where crystal sconces provided just enough illumination to navigate by. The air grew cooler as he descended, carrying the faint smell of damp stone and cooking herbs.

  Duncan turned at the bottom of the stairs, moving cautiously through the stone hall. The weight of the salt sack dug into his shoulder, but he maintained his pace. To his right, he glimpsed a large kitchen through an open doorway—iron pots hanging from ceiling hooks, vegetables piled on cutting boards, and a massive stone hearth with glowing embers. Thankfully, no one was present.

  He continued forward, reasonably certain he was heading north as the monk had indicated. The corridor stretched before him, doors lining both sides at irregular intervals. After several moments of walking, he reached what appeared to be the end of the hallway where a heavy wooden door stood closed.

  Shifting the weight of the sack awkwardly in his arms, Duncan fumbled with the iron handle, pushing the door open with his elbow. It swung inward with a low creak, revealing a cluttered storage room filled with barrels, crates, and burlap sacks similar to his own.

  With a grunt of effort, Duncan stepped inside and dropped the heavy sack near several others. He straightened, placing both hands at the small of his back and stretching until he heard a satisfying series of pops. Rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension, he surveyed the room.

  "Now to find that passage," he murmured, looking back at the hallway. There was just one problem… there was no passage. Other than the door to an occasional room, it was a nothing but stone walls.

  Duncan ran his hands over the cold stone walls, searching for any hidden switch or loose brick that might reveal a secret passage. Nothing. He moved methodically down the corridor, pressing against each section of wall, growing more frustrated with each passing moment.

  "There has to be something here," he muttered, eyeing a door he hadn't yet checked.

  He tried the handle and found it unlocked. Inside was a small, sparse bedroom—a narrow cot, a wooden chest, and a simple desk. No secret passages, just another monk's quarters. He checked two more doors with similar results.

  Duncan leaned against the wall, exhaling heavily. Perhaps he should have let Will handle this part of the mission. The scout's keen eye and natural instinct for finding hidden entrances would have been invaluable now. Duncan's skills lay in confrontation, not subterfuge.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "Faithless..."

  Duncan stiffened, his hand automatically moving to the hilt of his sword. "Who's there?" he called, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.

  No response came, but the temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Duncan's breath fogged before him as he drew his blade, the familiar weight providing little comfort against this unseen threat.

  Without warning, the crystal lights lining the corridor flickered and died, plunging him into absolute darkness.

  "Faithless..." The whisper came again, closer this time, seeming to circle him in the blackness.

  Duncan raised his sword, turning slowly, straining to hear any movement. His pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out the smaller sounds.

  "Show yourself!" he demanded, his voice steadier than he felt.

  "Faithless knight... faithless servant..." The words hissed from all directions at once.

  A metallic scrape—metal against metal—sounded directly behind him. Duncan whirled, blade extended.

  His heart nearly stopped. Barely a foot away stood a suit of armor, water dripping steadily from every joint and seam. Its arm was extended, a gauntleted finger pointing directly at the seemingly solid stone wall. Within the helmet's narrow visor, two eyes burned with golden light, fixed on Duncan's face.

  Duncan stumbled backward, his sword suddenly slippery in his grasp. The blade clattered to the floor as he lost his grip. Instinctively, he dove into a roll to retrieve it, his hand closing around the hilt as he came up in a defensive stance.

  But the corridor was empty.

  The crystal lights flared back to life, illuminating an empty hallway. No armor, no water puddles, no glowing eyes. Duncan blinked, momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness, his sword still raised before him.

  He lowered his blade slowly, breathing hard. With sword ready in one hand, he slowly raised the other hand and touched the wall where he had seen the… armored creature point at. He honestly expected something to happen when his hand touched the stone. Maybe pass through the wall or a brick suddenly click to show a secret door.

  After a minute of patting the wall over, he gave a frustrated huff and sheathed his sword.

  “By Light, all that ridiculous theater and nothing to show for it,” he muttered as he took a couple of steps back. He wasn’t going to think about the words the thing had said. He wasn’t going to wonder how it knew about his faith.

  Then he saw it.

  It would have been so easily missed if he wasn’t looking at this very specific section of wall. These bricks were not the same as the ones used for the rest of the corridor. The gray coloring was close, just a slight shade different compared to the other bricks. Someone tried very hard to make this wall look like it was always here with all the other walls.

  But it was different and now Duncan knew why no one else had ever accidentally stumbled upon the Reflecting Water Dungeon after nearly two centuries.

  It’s because the passage to it was sealed off.

  ***

  I shifted my weight as I walked alongside Hellene, the loose stones of the path crunching beneath my worn boots. The disguise of an elderly scholar merged against my skin, an uncomfortable reminder of my precarious position in the capital.

  After a long discussion, it was agreed that Fredrick shouldn’t participate in the Reflecting Water Dungeon exploration. While another scout could definitely be of help, there was just too much risk of the Heroes Party checking on him and wondering why he was gone. Crazily enough, Hellene’s magic backpack actually had enough room for all of my stuff. The thing had even more magic storage than my Inventory Box.

  “I still can’t believe how many useless knickknacks you kept. You’d think you would have swiped a few valuables like that diamond you gave Elane,” Hellene muttered, staring into her own backpack as we walked. I couldn’t stop the grimace on my face as I recalled the hard stares and probing questions from the Heroes Party.

  “Things changed drastically after I shamed Andy for not saving Lord Lasair. They kept a much closer eye on me and always quizzed me on what I found, “ I said, recalling Andy actually taking time to count gold coins by hand more than once.

  “At first I just collected useless stuff to mess with them. I remembered Heather’s face when I showed her live snails I’d pocketed,” I said with a grin, getting a rare smile from her. I glanced at her backpack, thinking of all the random objects I’d collected from this world.

  “But later I really was interested in collecting objects which the Scan ability didn’t instantly show as useful in dungeon diving and fighting. It even helped me learn some of the culture about this world,” I said, remembering legends and childhood stories behind some of the art pieces I’d found. They weren’t made of gold or set with jewels so the others had no interest. But the history behind a vase or a tiny stone statue showed what an incredible past this world had.

  The stories were definitely more interesting compared to my history class back in high school.

  The old woman closed the backpack, but not before pulling out a simple amulet both of us knew quite well. Hellene held the amulet up to the sunlight, examining the blue gemstone set in tarnished silver.

  [Nightvision Amulet—necklace, uncommon item, Active Power—Nightvision—Once a day the wearer can see perfectly in the dark, effect lasts one hour.]

  "I can't believe this still exists," she murmured, turning it over in her wrinkled hands.

  "It was one of the first magic items I ever used," I said, watching how the sunlight caught in the stone's depths. "Elane gave it to me when I mentioned having trouble seeing in darker dungeons."

  Hellene's eyes flickered toward me. "This was actually her first successful attempt at creating an uncommon magic item. Before she could only pull off making common items."

  "I didn't know that," I admitted, surprised. "It worked perfectly, though. The night vision it gave me was so useful that I eventually invested skill points to have the ability permanently."

  I remembered those early days, how the simple amulet had saved my life more than once when scouting ahead for the party. How strange that a item with such a minor power had become the foundation for one of my most reliable abilities.

  "Elane always knew the value of the practical over the flashy," I continued. "After I didn't need the amulet anymore, she took it and all the other items the Heroes Party deemed 'useless' and gave them away at the Adventurer's Guild. Said someone else could benefit from them."

  Hellene suddenly stopped walking, her fingers closing around the amulet. I took a few more steps before realizing she wasn't beside me anymore and turned back.

  "Will," she said, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant, "I'd like to visit a place. Would you come with me?"

  "Of course," I replied. "Where to?"

  Hellene's violet eyes met mine, a vulnerability in them I hadn't seen before. "Elane's grave."

  The request hit me like a physical blow. For a moment, I couldn't speak, my throat constricting as memories threatened to overwhelm me. The news of her death, the arrangement of her funeral, and the last time I was at her grave.

  "I... yes," I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, of course I'll go with you."

  A complicated mix of emotions swirled inside me—surprise that Hellene trusted me enough to share this private moment, dread at facing the physical reminder of how Patrick murdered Elane, and a strange need to also pay my respects properly to Elane’s grave as well.

  Hellene joined me at my side again as I led us to the place Heroes were honored after death even when there was no body- Hallows of the Crown.

  It took half an hour of walking and before we reached the nobility district. Hallows of the Crown was the only grave site which was a part of the nobility district, given how only the most powerful nobles and royalty itself were buried there.

  The nobility district was a sharp contrast to the rest of the city. Gone were the cramped buildings and narrow streets, replaced with sprawling estates and wide, clean boulevards. Pristine white mansions stood behind ornate iron gates, their manicured gardens bursting with exotic flowers imported from distant lands. Fountains sparkled in private courtyards, the tinkling of water mixing with birdsong and the occasional strains of music from unseen musicians.

  I kept my head down as we walked, conscious of my disguise. Even with my elderly appearance, I couldn't help feeling exposed. This was where the wealthy and powerful of Zephyria resided—people who might recognize me, or worse, who might be close allies of the Heroes Party.

  It was only after we turned a corner and Hallows of the Crown came within sight, that I felt the tension in my shoulders finally loosen.

  The Hallows of the Crown sprawled before us as we approached, an exclusive cemetery secluded behind tall iron gates and ancient stone walls. Unlike the crowded graveyards that served common folk, this place had space—acres of meticulously maintained grounds where marble monuments and elaborate mausoleums dotted rolling green hills.

  Hellene followed me through the ornate gates, my disguised form stooped and slow. A stern-faced guard in the royal colors stood watch but made no move to stop us. Perhaps my elderly scholar appearance and Hellene's dignified bearing made us look like mourners with legitimate business.

  The grounds were eerily silent despite being in the heart of the capital. Not another visitor within sight; even the wind seemed hesitant to disturb the solemn air. Massive oak trees, centuries old, cast dappled shadows across polished stone markers and pristine pathways paved with white gravel. I led the way, but soon Hellene knew the destination as well.

  Even from a far distance you could make out the statue of Elane.

  I felt a familiar knot form in my stomach as we approached. The statue stood nearly twice life-size, dominating the modest grave beneath it. The marble sculptor had captured Elane's features perfectly—the gentle curve of her smile, the slight tilt of her head when she was curious about something. But everything else about it was wrong, so terribly wrong.

  The sculptor had dressed her in elaborate wizard robes covered in star and moon patterns, complete with silver thread embroidery that Elane would have found ridiculous. In her stone hand, she held an ornate staff with spiraling runes and a crystal orb—nothing like the simple branch-like staff she'd carried throughout our adventures.

  "When King Grier offered to have a statue crafted in Elane’s image, Hellene and Jesse lied through their teeth about what Elane wore before she died," I muttered, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "And there was no body found to prove otherwise."

  Hellene's expression darkened as she stood beside me. "A travesty," she agreed quietly.

  The real Elane had worn the same simple brown Beginner Robes from the day she was summoned until the day she died. Her staff had been nothing more than a gnarled piece of wood she'd found in the forest during our first week here.

  Regardless of Andy’s threats and Heather’s glares daring me to dispute their claims, I had been very tempted to tell the truth to anyone who would listen. That Elane was never allowed to have a single gold coin in her name because her so called ‘friends’ needed them more and why would she even need money? They could always make sure she was fed and had shelter.

  Better equipment had to go to the others because what was the logic of giving it to the person who stayed behind half the time while everyone else dungeon dived? Even if those decisions for Elane to stay behind were being made by Heather.

  In the end it was a no-win situation. I could either allow the illusion of how Elane was treasured by the Heroes Party to continue which was disgusting. Or I could expose how Elane was a constant victim of bullying and emotional abuse. But no one wanted to be remembered after death as just being a victim no matter how true it was.

  In the end I kept silent because my last significant conversation with her ended with her claiming Heather and Jesse cared for her. I had nothing to tell me that she would want the lie to end after she died so I let it keep going.

  Hellene knelt slowly before the grave, her knees cracking with the effort. Her fingers traced the inscription on the stone plaque at the statue's base.

  "'Elane Lopez, Honored Hero and Great Friend,'" she read aloud, her voice flat. "Another lie. None of them were her friends except for maybe you."

  I joined Hellene on the ground, ignoring the dampness of the grass seeping through my disguised robes. "No, maybe in a different life we could have been friends though. I just couldn’t stand to be near her when I knew I couldn’t stop the hurt she suffered."

  The silence stretched between us as we stared at the monument. Birds chirped in the distance, the sounds of the city muffled by the cemetery's thick walls.

  "She had a pet cat named Pebble," Hellene finally said, her voice barely audible. "A gray puffy little thing she loved to feed and play with."

  I glanced at her, surprised. "I never saw her with a cat."

  "As a favor, I kept it at my house in Zephyria." She shrugged, but the casual gesture couldn't hide the pain in her eyes. "She wouldn’t admit it, but I knew she was terrified those other girls would do something terrible to it if they found it with her.”

  "What happened to it?”

  “I gave it to a very sweet child who I trust will take good care of it. The marsh wasn’t a safe place for a cat,” Hellene said, eyes staying on the gravestone. I had a strong suspicion her moving to Sorrowmire Swamp wasn’t just because she wanted to avoid people. There were less dangerous places she could have moved to from the capital and still be far from people.

  She went out of her way to learn a ability to curse items to get revenge on the Heroes Party.

  Could her plan of vengeance have required her to be far, far away from people to test something out?

  “I can hear those gears turning in your head boy. You’re wondering why I decided to go to Sorrowmire Swamp,” she said, side-eyeing me. I found myself looking away awkwardly. On a normal day I’d have no issue trying to get answers to the questions on my mind. But this was supposed to be a time to pay respects to Elane.

  “The Curse Item ability is just like other crafting abilities in that the System doesn’t actually tell you what curse you will get with your materials. Every curse I did identify happened through trial and error. Cursing is actually very illegal in this country and I’d probably be beheaded if it was discovered,” Hellene said, giving a smirk when she saw my face turn pale.

  “Oh don’t look so terrified for me boy. We’re fighting against the Heroes Party, at this point we’re all considered criminals,” Hellene said as she elbowed me. I couldn’t stop the snort I gave, she was right. Here I was worried about her getting arrested for cursing stuff when we were all in danger for a different reason.

  “There was one very specific curse I was looking for, but I had no luck finding it. And at this point I doubt I ever will.”

  As she spoke, I noticed Hellene’s smirk disappear while she tapped the ground below us.

  “It isn’t right for her body to be missing…”

  “No it isn’t… Andy claimed goblins took it away, but the truth was Patrick buried her after killing her. I’ll find out where, I promise,” I said and nearly jerked in surprise when she grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I found her violet eyes staring at me with an intensity so strong, I couldn’t look away.

  I could feel the holy symbol I wore suddenly turned warm. A pressure building in my head, but all I could focus on was Hellene’s eyes.

  “We’ll both find out from him, right before we snuff out his miserable life.”

  “I have no issue telling you guys where she’s at.”

  I’d like to say we instantly turned with weapons drawn, ready for battle with instincts sharp. Unfortunately my reality very rarely was that good. Instead we both turned at the same time and got our legs entangled, both of us falling in a heap as we stared up in fear at a giant figure who was surrounded by blue sparkles floating in the air.

  It was Patrick Vester, Unbending Knight, dressed in his steel armor with his famous warhammer Glacierbreaker held in both hands.