Crimson Legion scouts — once a nuisance — now move with uncanny coordination, ambushing from the treeline and vanishing before counter-strikes can land.
Each skirmish leaves the Pale Company a little more frayed, a little more wary.
Sereth’s arrows still fly fast, but not true.
She covers it well at first: a stumble disguised as a sidestep, a missed shot turned into a distraction.
But every time she lifts Heartstring the pain burns behind her ribs, and every time she tries to speak — especially when Elaris shouts an order — it flares hotter, searing away the words before they reach her tongue.
By dusk the camp is quiet except for the hiss of rain on coals. Elaris finds her alone, kneeling beside her bow, hands trembling.
Elaris: “You’re pushing too hard.”
Sereth: “I’m fine.”
Elaris: “You’re not.”
He crouches beside her; the silver light of his mark flickers faintly. She can feel it like a heartbeat she’s no longer allowed to share.
Every word she wants to say — the truth, the fear, the love — burns inside her chest until she has to look away.
Valthrix’s whisper: “Holding it together still? It’s delightful to watch.”
The laughter curls through her thoughts like smoke.
She flinches, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood.
Sereth: “Just leave me alone.”
Elaris mistakes the plea for exhaustion and sighs.
“Then rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He walks away. She stares after him until the pain dulls into nothing, and that emptiness hurts worse than the flame.
She turns toward her bedroll — and a hand snatches her into the shadows.
Vex. Eyes glowing faintly, tail coiled tight.
Vex: “You made a deal, didn’t you? Don’t lie. I can feel it.”
Sereth freezes. Her pulse pounds loud enough to drown out thought.
Valthrix (purring): “Careful now…”
Sereth doesn’t meet Vex’s eyes. She doesn’t need to — the guilt is written across her face.
Vex exhales shakily, rubbing her temple.
“I’m sorry, Sereth. I’m sorry we ever met you all. We dragged you into this, and now—”
Her voice breaks; she gestures helplessly toward the campfire where Elaris sits apart, the glow outlining the worry he hides behind calm.
“He took it on himself to save us. Why would he do that?”
At his name, Sereth recoils as if struck.
A sharp wince, her hand clutching her chest.
Sereth: “I… er—”
The pain steals the words.
What wants to come out is because he cares; what escapes is a choked breath and a tear sliding down her cheek.
Sereth: “I have to go.”
She slips past Vex before more can be said, retreating into her tent.
Inside, the silence is worse than any scream.
Valthrix’s laughter, soft and satisfied:
“Sweet dreams, little flame.”
Outside, Vex stands staring at the tent flap, guilt twisting in her gut.
When she finally moves, it’s toward Arden’s bedroll.
Vex (low): “Cleric… we’ve got a problem. And I think it’s wearing Sereth’s face.”
Arden looks up, eyes already wide with concern, the holy sigil in her hand catching a glint of red from the dying fire.
The night thickens around them, heavy with unspoken fears — and somewhere in the dark, the faintest echo of infernal laughter rides the wind.
The rain has turned to mist. The fire hisses low, red light flickering over damp earth and tired faces. Most of the camp has gone quiet—Kael on watch, Borin and Garruk already snoring loud enough to rattle a tent post.
Vex lingers near Arden’s tent, arms crossed, tail twitching with restless energy. When she finally steps closer, her voice is hushed, urgent.
Vex: “We’ve got a problem.”
Arden looks up from her small brass mirror—her nightly prayer tool—and sees something rare in the Tiefling’s eyes: fear, stripped of her usual bravado.
Arden: “Sit.”
Vex: “I’d rather pace.”
Arden: “Then pace quietly. Tell me.”
Vex glances toward Sereth’s tent.
“Something’s wrong with her, Sunshine. Not the usual ‘I got stabbed’ wrong. Worse. She’s hiding it.”
Arden straightens, worry knitting her brow.
“You mean hurt?”
Vex: “No. I mean bound.”
That single word chills the air.
Arden’s hand tightens around her holy symbol.
“Bound how?”
Vex hesitates. Her tail flicks again, slow and deliberate.
“Hell-bound. Contract-bound.”
The cleric stares.
“That’s… not possible. She’s mortal.”
Vex laughs once, hollow.
“You think that matters down there? I know the feel of an infernal tether when I see one—it’s all over her aura. And every time she looks at Elaris…” she shakes her head, “…it’s like watching a knife twist in her chest.”
Arden’s expression softens, guilt threading her tone.
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“She hasn’t told him.”
Vex: “She can’t. I tried to get her to talk, and—” (Vex gestures vaguely toward her own chest) “—something stopped her. Like she was choking on it.”
The cleric closes her eyes, whispering a silent prayer to temper her anger.
“Valthrix.”
The name burns coming out.
Vex shivers.
“Don’t say it too loud. I can feel her listening.”
Arden lowers her voice but not her conviction.
“You think she made a deal to free you and Laz.”
Vex: “I know she did. I felt it when the silence broke after Elaris signed. The air went sour for half a second—classic infernal twist. But I didn’t realize she’d offered herself.”
Arden rubs her temple, thinking, always thinking.
“Deals like that always have currency. What would Valthrix take from a ranger?”
Vex: “Something valuable, personal. Her aim, her voice… maybe her heart.”
Arden freezes, eyes flicking toward Sereth’s tent again.
“Her heart.”
Vex nods grimly.
“She’s losing pieces of herself, Sunshine. You can see it every time she tries to smile. She’s falling apart and pretending she’s fine.”
Arden exhales slowly.
“Then we can’t confront her outright. It could trigger the pact. If we accuse her, Valthrix might call it interference.”
Vex: “So what? We just watch her break?”
Arden: “No.”
The word carries quiet authority. She leans forward, voice low but steady.
“We find a way to shield her. If infernal energy marks her soul, then holy wards can muffle the connection. It won’t sever it, but it might weaken Valthrix’s hold. I’ll need Elaris’s help—he knows enough necromancy to reinforce the barrier from the other side.”
Vex tilts her head.
“You think Boneboy’s gonna take that calmly?”
Arden: “He doesn’t need to. He just needs to not look at her while I cast. That’ll be the hardest part.”
Vex smirks despite herself.
“Good luck with that.”
Arden almost smiles, though her eyes stay fixed on the shadows.
“He’ll see soon enough. When he does… I just pray he’s merciful—with her and himself.”
Vex stands, brushing off her coat.
“Then we start tomorrow?”
Arden: “Tomorrow. Before she loses another piece of herself.”
Sereth lies very still on her side, staring through the thin slit of her tent’s flap at the dim orange smear of the camp-fire.
Voices drift across the clearing, soft enough that she can only catch a word here, a name there — her name, the unmistakable tremor of Arden’s voice, Vex’s angry whisper.
She presses her hand over her chest, feeling that dull burn throb once, twice.
“Please,” she breathes, so quietly that not even she hears it, “please don’t get involved. Please don’t—”
The warmth in her chest turns cold.
Valthrix (inside her mind, silken): “So… they know now.”
“Question is, did you tell them, little flame? Because that would be a breach of our pretty little agreement.”
Sereth squeezes her eyes shut, shoving the voice away, searching for something bright.
A night long ago: laughter under the stars, Elaris’s voice low and amused as he pretended not to blush, Garruk boasting about cows, Borin trying to harmonize.
The smell of smoke and spiced wine.
The way home had felt.
For a heartbeat, she almost smiles.
Then the voice returns, quieter, coiling around the memory like smoke curling through paper.
Valthrix: “Oh, that’s adorable. My little bird, clinging to a happy thought.”
“Tell you what—since you’re so bad at keeping secrets, perhaps we make it harder for you to remember them at all.”
The fire outside pops, and the sound makes her flinch.
She grabs her head, whispering no over and over, but the images already blur — the colours draining, the laughter thinning, faces fading into mist.
Valthrix (whispering): “Payment, darling. It’s always about balance.”
A single tear slides down Sereth’s cheek, and when she tries to recall Elaris’s laugh, she can’t remember the sound — only the feeling it used to leave behind.
The voice purrs, satisfied.
Valthrix: “Sleep now, my sweet archer. You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow will hurt worse.”
The whisper fades.
Outside, the campfire burns low, and from inside her tent the faint, broken sound of a sob cuts through the night air — once, then silence.
The morning light feels too clean for what’s left of them.
The air over the camp is cool, still heavy with the scent of burnt steel and rain. Garruk is the first to notice something is off — when Sereth doesn’t tease him back.
Garruk: “Oi, Birdie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Sereth: “Maybe I have.”
She says it flat, tone almost wrong. Garruk’s grin falters.
Vex watches her from across the fire, tail flicking nervously, while Laz silently counts the seconds between Sereth’s blinks. Even Kael looks unsettled — and that’s saying something.
When she tries to pour herself water, she misses the cup’s edge by inches.
A simple motion that once came as naturally as breath.
Her laugh sounds hollow as she brushes it off.
Garruk: “What’s happened to you, Birdie? You’ve lost your colours.”
She doesn’t answer, but the comment sits heavy between them.
Elaris finds her standing alone at the edge of camp, staring into the mist that rolls low between the trees. He doesn’t announce himself, only steps up beside her until she finally speaks.
Sereth: “Do you ever feel like… you’re watching your life from outside yourself?”
He tilts his head, studying her.
The mark on his hand pulses faintly, that familiar resonance trying to bridge the distance.
Elaris: “You and I shared something beneath the Rootmother. You remember that?”
She turns to him, confusion in her eyes.
Sereth: “I… should.”
He taps his mark gently; the silver light shimmers against his skin.
Elaris: “When I held you, the forest fell silent. You told me you’d never let go. Do you remember what that felt like?”
Her eyes search his face, panic beginning to flicker.
Sereth: “I want to. It’s there but… it’s like shards of glass. Fragments. When I reach for it—”
Her hand moves to her chest, a sudden wince as if someone stabbed her from the inside.
He steps forward, catching her face in his hand.
His voice softens, stripped of the scholar’s composure, the necromancer’s calm.
Elaris: “Sereth, I care for you. Tell me what’s wrong.”
For a heartbeat, she almost answers—
then a familiar voice slithers through her mind.
Valthrix (inside her skull, velvet-sweet):
“Well, this is a turn, isn’t it? What you always wanted—he says he cares, and you can’t even say it back?”
“Or is it worse, my little flame? Maybe you can’t remember how to.”
Sereth’s mouth opens, but the sound that comes out is a shudder, not words.
Elaris’s thumb brushes her cheek, eyes wide with worry.
And that’s when Arden and Vex step into view, faces drawn tight.
Arden clears her throat softly.
Arden: “Elaris… we need to talk.”
Sereth takes a small step back, eyes flicking to them like a cornered animal.
Vex: “She’s marked, Bones. Infernal. We can’t say how deep it goes, but… she’s under it.”
Elaris turns sharply to Sereth; she flinches as though struck.
Elaris: “Is it true?”
Sereth doesn’t answer. The silence between them stretches until even the wind seems to hesitate.
When she finally moves, it’s to retreat — a small, trembling step backwards.
Sereth: “I… don’t remember.”
The words are a whisper, torn from somewhere far away.
Elaris’s face hardens, grief and fury fighting for space behind his eyes.
He turns back to Arden and Vex.
Elaris: “Then we play her game.”
The air thickens instantly — that unmistakable taste of sulfur bleeding into the morning breeze.
Vex exhales, steadying her twin daggers at her belt.
Vex: “Guess we’re heading back to Hell, then.”
Arden’s holy symbol flares, golden light flickering against the red haze creeping in at the edges of the forest.
Arden: “Or we bring Hell to us.”
Elaris looks once more toward Sereth, who stands pale and shaking, caught between apology and agony.
Elaris: “Valthrix wanted a game. She’ll have one.”
The ground shivers — faint, like a heartbeat deep beneath the earth.
The air splits with a low, amused laugh that comes from everywhere and nowhere.
Valthrix (disembodied, delighted):
“Finally. The Shepherd remembers how to play.”
And just like that, the light of dawn dims —
as if the sun itself is holding its breath.