Moonvael - Magic & Mushrooms

Boom.

Ryder jolted awake, his heart pounding. Darkness still filled the room.

“Wh-what was that?!” Eon gasped, fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table. He threw them on and waved a hand, instantly igniting every candle in the room.

Bastian was already moving, scrambling onto the windowsill to peer out at the streets of Stonehaven.

A distant voice rang out—urgent, frantic—but the words were garbled, lost in the night.

“That didn’t sound good,” Ryder muttered, jumping out of bed and moving to the window. He joined Bastian, staring out at the city. Across the streets, Aethereans stirred—doors creaked open, curtains twitched, and windows glowed as their occupants sought the source of the disturbance.

Eon had already rushed out of the bedroom, lighting the candles in the living room with a flick of his wrist. He yanked open the curtains, watching as more and more lights flickered on across Stonehaven. The streets were beginning to fill with wary, curious onlookers.

Then, the voice came again—clear this time.

“Umbramancers at the gate! Umbramancers at the gate! Stonehaven is under attack!”

Eon’s breath caught. His eyes widened. “They’re attacking…” he whispered, already pacing, his mind racing through possibilities.

Bastian and Ryder joined him in the living room.

“We have to help them!” Ryder said, his voice sharp with urgency.

“I will help them,” Bastian said firmly. “You and Eon need to get out of the city. Right away.”

Eon nodded. “Bastian is right, Ryder. We should leave while we have the chance.” He exhaled sharply, thinking out loud. “Open a rift to my study—we can gather supplies there. Then we’ll stop by Moonvael, take Vaelwynd Pass, and charter a ferry from Mystvael to Felrose. From there, we’ll head to Aetherspire.” His finger traced an invisible route in the air as he worked through the plan. “Yes, that’s the best course.”

Bastian gave an approving nod. “A solid plan. Ryder, you must do as Eon says. Stay safe.”

Ryder shook his head. “No. I’m coming with you.”

“No, Ryder,” Bastian said, his voice unyielding. “I cannot let you. Please—for your own safety, do as Eon says. Get to Felrose. Once the umbramancer presence diminishes, I will find you again. But for now, I must help defend Stonehaven. You must reach Oberon.”

Ryder’s chest tightened, his eyes burning. There was no use arguing. Bastian’s tone made it clear—this was not a request. And Ryder trusted him more than anyone. Bastian would never lead him astray.

“Fine,” he whispered, his voice thick. “Please take care of yourself. And take care of Stonehaven.”

Bastian’s eyes softened, a glimmer of warmth in their fiery depths. “I will do my best,” he promised. Then, with a graceful leap, he landed in Ryder’s arms, rubbing against his chest like a cat. The cool flame of his head curled around Ryder’s neck in a silent expression of affection.

Ryder held him close, fingers pressing into Bastian’s soft fur, memorizing the warmth before gently setting him down.

They moved quickly—Ryder picking out a new outfit to wear and Eon changing into his traveling garments, both gathering what little they had. Within minutes, they hurried downstairs and slipped out of the inn.

Bastian lingered just long enough to rub against Ryder’s leg one last time before nodding and sprinting off toward the front gate.

“Okay, let’s rift,” Eon said.

Ryder took a deep breath and nodded. Closing his eyes, he envisioned Eon’s study—the central desk, the towering bookshelves, the alchemy table in the corner, its glass vials and beakers gleaming under candlelight.

He held out his hand. The aether around them trembled, coalescing into a shimmering oval. On the other side, Eon’s study materialized, just as he had imagined it.

Eon’s lips parted in relief. “Perfect,” he said, wasting no time as he stepped through.

Ryder followed without a word, the rift vanishing the moment he crossed its threshold.

In the study, Eon hurried to his desk, rifling through drawers until he pulled out an old ornate key, along with several papers and what looked like tickets. With a flick of his wrist, everything vanished into his vault.

“Alright, let’s pack some food and get moving,” Eon said, his voice steady but urgent as he strode out of the study toward the kitchen.

Ryder followed without hesitation.

After gathering some bread and honey for the road, the two stepped outside, making their way down a narrow path leading south through the forest. Ryder assumed this would take them to Moonvael. As they left the estate, he glanced back just in time to see the protective shield shimmer briefly around the property before fading into invisibility.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer, Ryder. I know you wanted to be with Bastian, but I’m sure he’ll be alright. From what Saeya told me yesterday, he’s been an incredible asset to the guard since arriving in Stonehaven. With him, Saeya, and the rest of the city’s defenders, I have no doubt Stonehaven is in good hands. I’m just relieved you’re safe and that we can continue our journey,” Eon said, trying to reassure him while taking a bite of his bread loaf, honey glistening on the crust.

Ryder remained silent, mulling over Eon’s words. He did want to be with Bastian—seeing him again had ignited a newfound hope. At least he was here, in this world, and that was something. Still, worry gnawed at him. He tore off a piece of his bread, chewing slowly. The soft, airy texture melted in his mouth, the honey adding a rich sweetness. It tasted almost freshly baked, comforting in its own way.

The path they followed was noticeably thinner than the ones before, cutting a direct route from Eon’s estate to Moonvael. The canopy above was lighter here, allowing the moon and stars to cast dappled beams of silver across their path. Eon walked with an ease Ryder hadn’t seen on their previous treks, his familiarity with the route apparent. That unspoken confidence settled Ryder’s nerves, and for the first time since leaving the city, he felt himself relax, letting the quiet rhythm of their steps and the cool night air soothe his thoughts.

After about an hour of walking, the dense forest thinned, revealing a towering two-story wooden fence with a grand gate at its center. As they neared, a magical barrier shimmered and dematerialized in a graceful arc around the gate, recognizing their approach.

“This is Moonvael,” Eon announced with a smile, turning to make sure he had Ryder’s full attention.

Ryder took in the sight before him. The gate, illuminated by flickering torches along the ramparts. Unlike the formidable stone walls of Stonehaven, Moonvael exuded a different energy—smaller, cozier, yet brimming with life. Even in the dead of night, sounds of bustling activity drifted from within.

With a wave of Eon’s hand, the massive doors creaked open, revealing cobblestone streets lined with torches, their golden glow illuminating the night. Aethereans moved about, engaged in quiet conversations or heading toward their destinations.

As they stepped inside, Eon gestured again, and the barrier rematerialized, the gates shutting firmly behind them. “One of the best things about Moonvael is its protection. Only those accompanied by a mage with honest intentions can enter,” Eon explained, his voice laced with pride.

“Like the barrier around your home?” Ryder asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Yes, similar magic. The enchantment senses the intentions of approaching mages—if they are pure and honest in their intentions to enter, the gate allows passage. It’s one of the Grand Luminary’s greatest gifts to this village, ensuring the knowledge kept here remains safe,” Eon said with a knowing smile.

Ryder nodded, taking in his surroundings as he followed Eon down the torchlit path. The village was more lively than he expected at this hour, the streets teeming with people. As they walked, heads turned, whispers passing between villagers as they eyed the two newcomers. Ryder couldn’t help but feel the weight of their stares—something about them had drawn attention.

Ryder quickened his pace to catch up to Eon. “Eon…”

“Yes?” Eon acknowledged without breaking stride.

“Why are there so many people out at this time?” Ryder asked, glancing around at the bustling streets. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Eon chuckled. “It’s Moonvael, that’s why.”

Ryder furrowed his brows. “What does that—”

“We’re here,” Eon interrupted, striding up the grand stone steps of a magnificent building.

Ryder’s breath hitched as he took in the stunning architecture. The structure resembled an ancient Greek temple, its massive white stone columns shimmering under the moonlight with an iridescent sheen. Each pillar was intricately carved with depictions of Dovaa and other mythical creatures, their forms frozen in motion. Above them, sharp triangular pediments bore elaborate constellations, framing an exquisite relief that illustrated Aetherealm’s creation story. At the entrance, colossal bronze doors stood adorned with a radiant sun, its beams stretching outward in a mesmerizing pattern.

As they stepped inside, Ryder’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

He had never seen a repository of knowledge so breathtaking. High vaulted ceilings arched above them, painted with elaborate frescoes that depicted Aetherealm’s rich history. Streams of aether seemed to flow through the very walls, glowing softly from bright blue crystal stones embedded within them. Vivid murals of lush forests, cascading rivers, and forgotten ruins covered the walls, giving the entire space an ethereal vibrancy.

Following Eon through the grand hall, Ryder noticed scholars seated at long wooden desks on either side, each deeply engrossed in their studies. The vast library was eerily quiet, save for the occasional whisper and the soft rustling of parchment.

At the heart of the library stood a towering stone statue of Arcaenion, his arms outstretched as if welcoming all seekers of knowledge. Before him, a massive bronze tome floated up and down in a steady rhythm, enchanted by unseen magic. The base of the statue pulsed with a bright blue glow, the swirling aether within casting mesmerizing patterns of light across the marble floor.

Beyond the statue, endless rows of towering bookshelves stretched toward the ceiling, their dark wooden surfaces polished to perfection. Sliding ladders lined the shelves, allowing scholars to reach the highest tomes. Enchanted lanterns drifted lazily overhead, casting a warm golden glow that illuminated every corner of the room.

Ryder couldn’t believe his eyes. Every inch of this place was stunning, an unparalleled sanctuary of knowledge. It exuded a quiet reverence, a sense of discovery waiting to be unraveled. He felt an unmistakable pull toward it, an innate curiosity stirring deep within him.

Past the central statue sat a massive circular desk encasing a spiraling staircase which descended below to another level. Behind the desk, robed scholars moved about. A few Aethereans, dressed in matching deep blue and purple robes, were seated behind the desk, their expressions calm as they assisted others. Two more figures ascended from the lower level, each carrying stacks of aged tomes.

Eon turned to Ryder with a knowing smile. “If you want to explore, go ahead. I’ll be back shortly. Let’s meet at the statue in about fifteen minutes? Looks like you’re itching to wander.”

Ryder’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “That sounds perfect,” he said, already scanning the room, his mind racing with possibilities. Where would he even begin?

Eon nodded and approached the desk, leaning in to whisper to one of the librarians. With a knowing nod, she lowered a section of the counter with a flick of magic, allowing Eon to pass through before leading him down the spiral staircase. As soon as they descended, the lowered portion of the desk rose back into place, seamlessly restoring its structure.

Left alone, Ryder took in the grandeur of the library. Cozy alcoves and reading nooks were nestled between towering bookshelves, each furnished with plush chairs, intricately carved tables, and softly glowing lanterns that floated aimlessly above. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, mingling with faint traces of lavender, creating an atmosphere of serenity and focus.

Drawn to the nearest row of bookshelves, Ryder marveled at the sheer number of tomes. Back home, he had visited libraries and bookstores, but nothing came close to this vast archive of knowledge. His fingers skimmed along the spines until one caught his eye—a large, royal blue volume bound in fabric. Pulling it from the shelf, he opened it to the title page: The Aetherean Way by Sylvaen of Aeiavael.

Curiosity sparked, he flipped through the pages, scanning its contents. The book detailed a rigid doctrine for living by Aeiaris’ high standards, outlining laws that dictated the behavior of a proper Aetherean. Those who deviated from this path, the writer declared, were to be punished—some by exile, others by a fate called dispersion.

Ryder’s brow furrowed. Dispersion? The word sat heavy in his mind, unfamiliar yet foreboding. Before he could dwell on it further, a polite throat-clearing pulled him from his thoughts.

Glancing up, Ryder found himself face-to-face with a tall, pale-skinned man. He wore round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and sported a neatly trimmed patch of hair on his chin. His longer than usual Aetherean ears twitched slightly, and his blue and purple robes immediately marked him as one of the librarians.

“Hello,” the man greeted warmly, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “I’m Vyshal, one of the head librarians. Is there anything I can assist you with?”

Ryder returned the smile, nodding. “Actually, yes. I assume, as a librarian, you have extensive knowledge of this place?”

Vyshal’s expression brightened. “Indeed. We dedicate our lives to understanding and preserving every volume within these halls, constantly expanding our collection.” His gaze drifted to the book in Ryder’s hands, and recognition flickered across his face. “Ah, The Aetherean Way.” He tilted his head slightly before studying Ryder more intently. “You’re not Aetherean, are you? You don’t carry the same presence, but… there’s a powerful aura about you.”

The question caught Ryder off guard. He hesitated before answering, uncertain of how much to reveal. “I’m… not,” he admitted carefully.

Vyshal didn’t seem surprised. Instead, he nodded in understanding. “Aetherealm holds many mysteries, even for those of us who devote our lives to uncovering them.” He gestured toward the book. “May I?”

Ryder handed it over, watching as Vyshal ran his fingers along the fabric cover, inspecting its spine as though weighing its worth.

“This text is one of the more zealous interpretations of Aeiaris’ role in our world,” Vyshal explained. “It states that all Aethereans are connected through her, the Mother Tree—that much holds some truth. However, certain sects have turned her into a deity in her own right, shaping their beliefs around a version of her that suits their ideals. They claim she is a benevolent mother, but with a firm and unwavering hand, one that demands order and obedience.” He paused, exhaling through his nose before continuing. “And for those who stray from her way, punishment is severe. Some are shunned, exiled. In extreme cases, they call for dispersion.”

Vyshal’s tone was calm, but there was a distinct edge to it—an unspoken weight behind his words. Ryder watched as the librarian placed the book back onto the shelf with careful precision, as though the knowledge it contained was something volatile, something dangerous.

Dispersion. The word echoed in Ryder’s mind once more, more ominous now than before.

“What is meant by dispersion?” Ryder asked, curiosity laced with unease.

Vyshal chuckled softly. “Not being Aetherean, you must feel so lost here,” he mused. “Dispersion is death. Whenever creatures in this realm pass, their very essence dissolves into aether, rejoining the collective energy that flows through us all. But in certain teachings, dispersion is something far worse—torture. A method of unraveling someone’s essence piece by piece, while they are still alive, until nothing remains. Some mages have perfected the technique, though such practices are widely condemned—at least in civilized society. Of course, not every corner of Aetherealm is so civilized.” He ended with a knowing smile, as if warning Ryder of dangers yet unseen.

Ryder swallowed hard, nodding as he absorbed the weight of Vyshal’s words. He didn’t dare let his imagination wander to what such a fate would entail—he had already witnessed dispersion firsthand. Death. It was the confirmation he hadn’t wanted. He had killed someone back at Eon’s estate. The realization settled in like a stone in his stomach, and he felt the sting of tears threatening to rise. Quickly, he blinked them away, clearing his throat.

“I see… And you’re right—I do feel lost here.” He hesitated before continuing, choosing his next words carefully. “Do you know of any way to open a rift to another realm outside of Aetherealm?”

Vyshal’s brow furrowed in thought. “Rift magic is rare and extraordinarily powerful. As far as I know, only the Grand Luminary possesses the ability to wield it. It is said that the secret to perfecting rifting is contained within the Lexicon of Luminaries. If that is what you seek, you would do well to speak with Grand Luminary Oberon.” He adjusted his glasses and studied Ryder carefully. “Do you have any other questions?”

Thousands. Ryder exhaled slowly, grounding himself, unwilling to let his emotions unravel further. “You mentioned that some have made Aeiaris into a deity,” he began, his brow furrowing. “But if she is the creator of every Aetherean, and that is widely considered fact, wouldn’t that make her a deity by definition? And doesn’t she bestow upon the realm the aeiablooms?”

Vyshal’s expression softened. “Yes, by that interpretation, one could see her as such. However, many believe Aeiaris is not sentient, merely the origin of life—our birthplace, not a conscious divinity. The religious sects, however, see her differently. They believe she gifts us the aeiablooms so we may witness aether’s beauty, a reminder that we must protect the realm and its people. But scholars argue the opposite—that the blooms are not a blessing, but a warning. The more aeiablooms appear, the closer the realm inches toward its demise.”

Ryder’s stomach tightened. “Wh-what do you mean? The realm is… dying?”

Vyshal’s gentle smile never wavered. “Long ago, Aetherealm endured the Blue Bloom Plague—a time of great suffering that reinforced the need to safeguard the realm. Both religious and secular minds agree on that much. However, their views on how to preserve Aetherealm vastly differ.”

“How so?” Ryder asked, his voice quiet but firm.

“The Disciples of Aeiaris believe mages are the root of corruption. They claim that if all mages were eradicated, leaving only the Priests of Aeiaris—those who have mastered dispersion—the world would be purified and allowed to thrive. This belief stems from the fact that the plague primarily affected mages.” Vyshal’s gaze darkened slightly. “On the other hand, those who reject such teachings seek to harness magic as a means of reversing the aeiablooms’ effects. They believe a solution must exist—one that does not require bloodshed. But so far, no method of reversing the blooms has been found. The outcome, as it stands, is grim. If we do not find a solution, both paths lead to the realm’s destruction.”

Vyshal clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head slightly. “So, I ask again… Do you have any other questions?”

Ryder absorbed the information like a sponge, realizing just how intricate and layered Aetherealm’s culture truly was. His mind swirled with everything he had learned, struggling to piece it all together. But one lingering question, one he hadn’t yet received an answer to, escaped his lips before he even had time to fully process it.

“This village… why is everyone out so late?”

Vyshal chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious? The answer is in the name! Tell me, how did you arrive here?”

“With the help of… a friend,” Ryder replied, glancing over Vyshal’s shoulder as if searching for Eon.

Vyshal gave a knowing nod. “I see. Well, to answer your question—Moonvael is a secluded place, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. The knowledge stored here is invaluable, and as such, we take great measures to protect it. You must already know that if you made it past the barrier.”

“Yes, I was told it was designed to keep the village safe,” Ryder affirmed.

“Precisely. The barrier not only shields us from harm but also serves as a cloak of concealment. If you were to search for Moonvael during the daylight hours, you would never find it. It is as though the village ceases to exist, vanishing entirely from Aetherealm. We scholars thrive under the moon’s glow, adjusting our lives accordingly to ensure the safety of Moonvael and, more importantly, the Grand Library. After all, nightfall is when we are most at risk.” Vyshal’s ever-present smile remained, his tone unwaveringly matter-of-fact.

Before Ryder could fully digest the revelation, a familiar voice cut through the hushed air.

“Ryder! There you are,” Eon called in a low voice, stepping into the aisle.

Ryder’s attention snapped to him immediately.

Vyshal turned toward Eon. “Ah, so this is the friend you spoke of?”

Ryder nodded.

Eon offered Vyshal a polite nod. “Vyshal, good to see you again. Ryder, I didn’t see you back at the statue—are you ready to head out? The library is incredible, but I think we should get moving.”

“Oh, must you leave so soon?” Vyshal asked warmly, his expression unchanged.

“Unfortunately, yes. Urgent business,” Eon replied, already turning toward the exit.

Ryder gave Vyshal one last nod before stepping forward to follow.

Just as he passed, Vyshal’s voice rang out, lighthearted yet tinged with something deeper. “Take care, Ryder. The realm can be a very frightening place.”

Ryder hesitated for a fraction of a second, eyes lowering briefly to the floor as the words settled over him. Then, without another word, he continued after Eon.

As they exited the library, Eon led them along the path circling the building and further east. The two walked in silence, Ryder lost in the whirlwind of thoughts stirred by his conversation with Vyshal. His body moved on autopilot, his mind too scattered to focus on any one thing. He simply followed Eon, his guide through this world, though his heart ached for home.

He longed to see Reuben, Evan, Calista, and—most of all—Alice; the people who made up his world. Eon was a steady presence, a wonderful guide, and Bastian’s words had reassured him, yet the yearning for home gnawed at him. It had been less than 72 hours since he arrived in Aetherealm, yet those hours had been the most intense of his life—no small feat, considering all he had already endured.

Everything felt like a blur. They had left the village and now followed a winding path toward the mountains. Ryder had lost track of time, but the sky was still dark when they reached a massive tunnel carved straight through the mountain, its entrance illuminated by torches.

Outside, various groups loitered near the tunnel’s entrance—some ragged and destitute, others rough-looking, their stances and whispers exuding an air of mischief. More figures moved within the tunnel itself, vanishing into the dimly lit passage. The sight made Ryder uneasy, but Eon strode forward with confidence, easing some of his apprehension.

Just before they entered, a man leaning against the stone wall pushed off and approached them, jolting Ryder from his thoughts.

“Excuse me,” the man said, his voice rich and smooth.

Ryder’s gaze flicked up. The man was taller than him, with silver-gray, spiky hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same shade. His piercing blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight, a stark contrast against his pale skin. A dazzling smile revealed perfect white teeth as he closed the distance between them.

He wore the attire of a rogue—sleek, dark clothing fitted for speed and stealth. Two long daggers rested at his hips, their hilts gleaming faintly under the torches.

Before Ryder could respond, the man continued, “Would you care for an escort across Vaelwynd Pass? The journey can be treacherous with the ruffians about.”

Ryder parted his lips to reply, but Eon cut in before he could speak.

“No, thank you. We’ll be fine.”

The man didn’t miss a beat, his grin never wavering. “Are you sure? Only 500 zil, and I’ll see you across safely. I’ve lived between Moonvael and Mystvael my whole life—this tunnel can be quite the ordeal without proper caution.”

With that, he turned his attention to Ryder, his smile even more dazzling. “I’m Dain, by the way. Aeromancer and tunnel guide here at Vaelwynd Pass.” He extended a hand toward Ryder.

Ryder couldn’t help but stare. Something about Dain was utterly captivating. Flustered, he cleared his throat and reached out, clasping Dain’s hand in a firm shake. “I—I’m Ryder. Nice to meet you.”

The moment their eyes met, Ryder felt heat rush to his face.

“Very nice to meet you as well, Ryder.” Dain’s voice was smooth as silk before he turned to Eon, offering the same polite handshake. “And you are?”

Eon barely spared him a glance. “Not interested.”

Dain chuckled, withdrawing his hand with an amused gleam in his eye. “Alright, suit yourselves.” He gave Ryder a final wink before stepping back. “Safe travels, adventurers.”

Ryder swallowed hard and followed Eon into the tunnel, his heart inexplicably racing.

As they ventured deeper into the tunnel, Ryder’s unease only grew. He glanced back at Dain, who had resumed his post against the entrance wall, casually waiting for his next client. There was something about him—an inexplicable pull Ryder couldn’t ignore.

“Eon?” Ryder spoke softly.

“Yes?” Eon acknowledged without slowing his pace.

“I think we should bring him along.” Ryder hesitated before continuing, his gut churning. “I have this feeling… like we’re going to need him.”

Eon sighed, shaking his head. “Ryder, we’ll be fine. I haven’t been here in a few decades, sure, but it can’t be as bad as you think.”

Ryder swallowed hard. Eon’s confidence felt misplaced—too certain for someone who admitted he hadn’t traveled this path in years. Besides, if Dain was an Aeromancer, maybe he could learn something from him.

His thoughts drifted to the coin pouch, remembering the iridescent Dovaa coins—each worth 100 zil. Hiring Dain for 500 zil was barely a dent in his funds, and if it meant securing their safety, it seemed like a small price to pay.

Taking a deep breath, Ryder slowed his steps, allowing Eon to walk ahead. Then, with a resolute nod to himself, he turned on his heel and jogged back toward Dain.

Eon’s exasperated sigh echoed behind him.

“Excuse me,” Ryder said, his voice almost timid as he approached. “I’m sorry about my friend’s attitude. I think we’d appreciate your escort after all.”

Dain looked up, his signature smile returning. “Ah, smart choice.” His tone was smooth, amused. “Your friend there seems a bit on edge, I’d say. I promise you won’t regret hiring me.”

Ryder returned the smile with a nod. “I don’t doubt that. Thank you for coming along.”

Without hesitation, Dain pushed off the wall and strode forward, easily catching up to Eon, who stood a few paces ahead, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. As Dain passed him, he sent Eon a playful wink before taking the lead.

Eon let out an exaggerated huff, rolling his eyes before begrudgingly following after him. Ryder suppressed a chuckle. This was going to be an interesting trip.

The journey began in silence, tension thick between them. Eon was clearly displeased with Ryder for going behind his back and hiring Dain. The weight of his irritation lingered, making each step feel heavier—until Ryder decided to break it.

“Tell us a little about yourself, Dain. You said you’re an Aeromancer?” Ryder asked, offering a smile in hopes of shifting the atmosphere.

Dain nodded, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. “That’s right. I’ve spent my entire life studying the flow of air, learning how to bend it to my will,” he said, flicking his wrist toward Ryder.

A sudden gust of wind swirled around him, catching Ryder off guard as it lifted his hat straight off his head. He scrambled to snatch it before it could fly away, quickly pulling it back down. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, but a smile still found its way to his lips.

“How do you do that?” Ryder asked, both amused and intrigued.

Dain smirked. “By will, of course. A calm mind and unwavering intent—that’s the key to control. Though, sometimes, anxiety can trigger it as well… but that method tends to be far less predictable.”

So, a calm mind or sheer panic. Lucky for me, I’ve got plenty of the latter. Ryder mused with a quiet sigh. If control could stem from anxiety, he figured mastering aeromancy might not be as impossible as it sounded.

After a brief pause, Dain spoke again. “So, what brings you two to Vaelwynd Pass?” His tone was casual, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning the torch-lit tunnel ahead.

“To get to Mystvael, obviously,” Eon answered flatly.

Dain chuckled. “Ah, a spitfire. I like that.”

Ryder snickered, but the moment was short-lived as Eon shot him a sharp glare. He quickly bit back his amusement.

Dain, unfazed, continued, “Mystvael is a strange little place. Just be wary of the mist that rolls in at night.”

“Mist?” Ryder echoed, glancing at Eon for confirmation.

Eon’s expression shifted, his usual confidence wavering.

“How much do you actually know about Mystvael?” Dain pressed.

Ryder turned to Eon, expecting an answer.

Eon hesitated before sighing. “I mean… I visited decades ago, but I haven’t been there in a long time.”

Dain hummed. “Then you must not be aware. Decades is quite some time.” His voice took on a more serious edge. “Mystvael is a stunning seaside village, a popular resort town—but it’s also plagued by something far more sinister. Every night, as the moon rises, an iridescent mist envelops the town. It’s beautiful… mesmerizing, even. But step into it, and you’ll never return. Locals know better than to be lured in, but travelers and outsiders? They rarely listen.”

Eon paled. “The mist… takes people?”

Dain nodded. “Yes. And when it does, it thickens. You can hear the voices of those it has stolen—pleading for help, begging to be brought home. Some villagers believe it’s a curse from Aeiaris, punishment for the rise of mages, a warning to follow the Aetherean Way. A reminder that they must obey.” He scoffed at the idea.

Ryder frowned. “And I assume you don’t believe that?”

Dain smirked. “I’m a mage myself, so no—I don’t think we’re the reason. If Aeiaris truly sent this mist, then why? She’s supposed to be nurturing, kind—not something that would let her own children suffer. I don’t claim to know what the mist is or why it’s here, but what I do know is this: it takes, and when it does, it only grows worse.” He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “Over the last decade, the mist has become stronger. More curious villagers have stepped into it… and more voices have joined the chorus. They cry out every night, their pleas haunting those left behind. Some believe the mist is alive, that it plays tricks on the mind. Personally? I think that once it takes you, you’re gone. What we hear is just an echo, a cruel imitation of their final moments—repeating forever in hopes of luring in the next victim.”

Eon rubbed his chin, deep in thought, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Ryder let Dain’s words sink in, his stomach twisting at the thought. Whatever awaited them in Mystvael, he wasn’t looking forward to finding out.

As they continued through the tunnel, they passed small clusters of Aethereans heading in the opposite direction, some alone, others in groups. Occasionally, a few travelers moved toward Mystvael alongside them, reinforcing the idea that this was a well-traveled path. Ryder began to wonder what dangers truly lurked here. So far, there had been little sign of the ruffians Dain had warned about—only travelers and the occasional merchant.

After a while, the distant murmur of voices grew louder. As they neared, an alcove carved into the mountainside appeared, leading to a smaller side tunnel bustling with activity. A makeshift market stretched beyond the entrance, torchlight illuminating the narrow passage filled with vendors shouting their wares, beggars pleading for coin, and hawkers aggressively pressing fliers into the hands of passing travelers.

Dain slowed his pace. “We don’t want to go in there,” he advised, his voice firm. “Best to keep moving.”

Ryder and Eon exchanged glances but nodded, following Dain’s lead. The raucous voices from the market echoed around them as they stayed on the main path, the sounds of heated negotiations and drunken laughter fading into the distance behind them.

As they pressed forward, Ryder’s eyes caught something unusual—a carved symbol etched into the tunnel wall. His breath caught in his throat. It was the same marking he had seen on the tree back at Vaelaris Lake. He took a step closer, reaching out to trace the grooves, but before he could alert the others, the unmistakable sound of steel being drawn from its sheath tore his attention away.

Dain had unsheathed both of his daggers, his stance rigid, muscles tense.

A deep, rumbling chuckle echoed through the tunnel as a massive figure stepped into the torchlight ahead. A burly man with a long, scraggly beard grinned, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. Shadows shifted around him as more figures emerged from the darkness, their numbers concealed by the torches ahead suddenly snuffed out. The only thing standing out in the dim light was a dark red gauntlet glinting ominously on the man’s right arm.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t Dain.” The man smirked, his voice thick with amusement. “And who are your little friends?”

Dain’s expression darkened, his fingers tightening around the hilts of his daggers. “Xerxes,” he muttered, his voice edged with warning. “Let us pass, and you won’t feel the bite of my blades.”

Xerxes let out a slow, mocking whistle. “Quite the confidence. It’s been a long time since we last crossed paths. You’ve been keeping out of our way.” His smirk widened as he lifted his gauntleted hand. “But I guess today just isn’t your lucky day.”

With a flick of his wrist, he gave a simple command.

“Kill them.”

The darkness behind him stirred as figures lunged forward.

Dain braced himself as men emerged from the shadows, their rogue-like attire blending into the darkness. One by one, they drew their daggers, their movements swift and practiced. Without hesitation, Dain crossed his long daggers above his head in the shape of an “X” the air around the blades rippling with condensed aether. With a sharp downward slash, he unleashed a powerful gust, the “X”-shaped burst of wind surging forward with explosive force. The shockwave tore through the oncoming assailants, sending them crashing into one another in a chaotic tangle of limbs.

But they weren’t the only threat.

More attackers had flanked them, breaking off toward Ryder and Eon.

“Get down!” Dain commanded, spinning mid-strike to unleash another razor-sharp wave of air. The blast caught two of the charging men, knocking them off their feet. The third, however, twisted in midair, narrowly avoiding the strike as he descended upon Ryder, dagger poised to plunge straight into his face.

Everything happened in a heartbeat.

Eon reacted first, summoning a warding shield just in time. The attacker’s dagger met the shimmering barrier, sending a crackling ripple of energy outward as it deflected the strike. The brief moment of impact gave Ryder enough time to instinctively fall backward, planting both feet into the man’s chest and kicking him off. The assailant tumbled but landed deftly, already recovering for another attack.

Ryder’s pulse pounded in his ears. He scrambled back to his feet, summoning his staff from his vault in a flash of aetheric light. These men weren’t umbramancers—they wielded no magic, only raw skill and deadly precision. Their movements were calculated, their coordination seamless. And they all had one thing in common—each bore a dark red-stained gauntlet on their right arm.

The attacker was already closing in again, faster than Ryder anticipated. He barely managed to parry the first strike with his staff before instinct took over. With a quick twist of his grip, he spun the staff upward like a fan blade, the opposite end striking the man hard across the temple. The force sent him hurtling backward, his daggers clattering against the cobblestone as he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Dain, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of motion. His blades whistled through the air as he sent another barrage of slicing gusts toward the advancing enemies. Those who dodged found themselves locked in a deadly dance of steel, Dain maneuvering effortlessly, each movement fluid and precise. The wind itself seemed to fight alongside him, throwing off his opponents’ aim and unsettling their balance.

Then, three more men took aim at Ryder and Eon at once, all their focus trained on Ryder.

They leapt high, weapons gleaming under the dim torchlight, their blades angled for a fatal strike.

Ryder’s breath hitched. His fear and anxiety surged, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. This was different—closer, more immediate than any danger he had faced before. It was overwhelming. He could see their weapons, the gleam in their eyes, the sheer force behind their descent.

Something inside him snapped.

With a sharp inhale, he willed the air around him to move—to obey.

Aether swirled together in an instant, condensing and surging outward in a powerful gust. The moment the attackers came within reach, the wind detonated with an earsplitting roar. The pressure wave sent them rocketing into the tunnel’s ceiling with such force that cracks splintered through the stone. Their bodies struck hard before falling lifelessly to the ground.

Then—darkness.

The entire stretch of the tunnel went pitch black as the wind extinguished every torch in its wake.

Disoriented, Ryder could only hear the chaos—the frantic shuffle of footsteps, the muffled screams of those now trapped in the void. His ears rang, the world around him a haze of panicked movement and labored breaths.

Then, one by one, the torches began to reignite.

Eon stood at the center of it all, palm raised as small flames flickered back to life. The soft glow illuminated the aftermath—the fallen bodies alongside the stunned expressions of those still standing.

Ryder exhaled shakily, his heart still pounding. He clenched his fists, steadying himself, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. As his vision cleared, he took in the aftermath of the battle. The dust settled around the three men who had lunged at him, their bodies sprawled motionless on the ground, dispersing. Further ahead, Xerxes—their leader—stood frozen in shock, Dain’s dagger pressed firmly against his throat.

The remaining conscious members of the gang, seeing the tide of battle had turned against them, wasted no time in retreating. They scrambled back toward Moonvael and the market tunnel, their hurried footsteps echoing against the stone walls.

“Do it, coward,” Xerxes sneered, though the fear in his eyes betrayed his bravado.

Dain didn’t flinch. “Get out of here, Xerxes,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “If I see you again, I’ll be the last thing you ever see. Consider this your final warning.” He pressed the blade just enough to draw a thin line of blood, and Xerxes winced.

For a tense moment, Xerxes’ gaze flickered between Dain and Ryder before he slowly stepped back. Wiping the fresh blood from his neck, he hesitated only a second longer before turning on his heel and bolting down the tunnel.

Dain exhaled sharply, then, with a smirk, flicked his wrist, sending a sudden gust of wind at Xerxes’ feet. The man tripped with a loud grunt, landing hard on the cobblestone. A chorus of muffled laughter from deeper within the tunnel followed as he scrambled back up, humiliated, and disappeared into the shadows.

Dain chuckled, sheathing his daggers as he rejoined Eon and Ryder. “And here I thought you had no idea what aeromancy was,” he teased, his smirk widening. “That was quite the display. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Maybe you didn’t need me after all.”

Ryder’s face flushed. “No, we did. I’m not from around here, so having a guide has been invaluable. I appreciate you coming along,” he said, nudging Eon playfully.

Eon huffed, but after a moment, offered a reluctant smile. “Fine. I was wrong. I’m glad you joined us.” His expression quickly hardened again. “But who were they? They weren’t umbramancers—I didn’t sense any magic from them.”

Dain shook his head. “If you’re both alright, let’s keep moving. I’ll explain on the way.”

Ryder and Eon exchanged a glance before nodding, and the three resumed their journey toward Mystvael, taking a moment to gather themselves.

As they walked, Dain finally spoke. “That was Xerxes and his little gang, the Crimson Gauntlet. They’re a band of Disciples of Aeiaris—though even by the religious standards, they’re extremists.” He sighed. “As I said before, many in Mystvael believe mages are responsible for the mist that plagues the village. Xerxes lost his brother to it years ago, and that grief twisted into hatred. With tensions already high between mages and the Disciples, he took matters into his own hands. The Crimson Gauntlet formed as a vigilante group, dedicated to eradicating magic users—or at the very least, terrorizing them into leaving Mystvael.”

Eon stroked his chin, processing the information. “That’s awful. But you and Xerxes… you knew each other, didn’t you?”

Dain let out a bitter chuckle. “We did. We were once friends. We both came to Mystvael around the same time. When his brother was taken by the mist, I was there. I tried to help him through it, but over time, I watched him drown in his own grief. He became bitter, angry—convinced that mages were to blame. He cut himself off from the world until he found others who shared his hatred. That’s when the Crimson Gauntlet was born.” Dain sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swore to put an end to his little crusade, but… every time I have him at my mercy, I hesitate. Because I see it—the man he used to be, trapped beneath all that rage. I gave him one last chance today.”

The group fell into silence, the weight of Dain’s words settling over them.

At last, the tunnel opened to the outside world. They stepped into the crisp morning air, greeted by the breathtaking sight of the Village of Mystvael. Below them, nestled in a vast ravine, the seaside village lay bathed in golden sunrise. Beyond it, the iridescent mist stretched over the water, slowly retreating with the dawn, dissolving into nothingness.

Dain exhaled, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape before turning to Ryder and Eon. “There it is—Mystvael. Take care while you’re here.” His tone grew more serious. “And remember, when night falls, get inside. Do not test the mist.”

Ryder nodded, then summoned his coin pouch, pulling out six Dovaa coins and handing them over. “An extra for your trouble,” he said with a grateful smile.

Dain took the coins with a grin. “Smart man. Oh, and word of advice: don’t use magic in Mystvael. Like I said, many people blame the mages for the mist. Safe travels, Ryder, Eon.” With a final nod, he turned and strode back into the tunnel, disappearing into the shadows.

Eon and Ryder lingered a moment longer, taking in the stunning view before them. Then, without another word, they began their descent toward the village below.