Chepstow was nothing like the town Mia had pictured during their journey. In truth, it looked like a slightly larger version of Blueriver, though rougher around the edges, lacking the quiet charm she’d grown accustomed to. The houses were widely spaced, rustic structures with weathered wood exteriors that might have once been bright but had since faded to a dull, smoky brown. Each home sat comfortably distant from the next, almost like neighbors who, despite their proximity, had little to do with one another.
The woods encircled the town like a protective ring, looming close enough for her to see winter’s last traces of snow clinging to the branches. The sight lent a bleakness to the air, as if Chepstow were suspended in a perpetual end-of-winter twilight. She could hear the chatter of women perched on their porches, pipes in hand, exhaling thin wisps of smoke that vanished quickly in the dry air. Children darted around the yards, their shrill laughter rising and falling unpredictably, carrying an odd, haunting quality that reminded her of a fox’s distant cry in the night.
Mia kept quiet, her gaze lingering over the scene with a quiet disappointment she didn’t bother to mask. Lucas walked alongside her, catching the slight shift in her expression. He gave a resigned sigh. “I told you it’s not what you’d expect.”
“It’s just…” She trailed off, searching for the right words to convey her frustration. “A slightly warmer version of Blueriver.” She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “It’s fine,” she added hastily, forcing a smile. Then, almost as an afterthought, she muttered, “But the village boys are cute.”
Lucas blinked in surprise, raising an eyebrow. “Huh?”
Before he could press further, she nudged him playfully and continued to walk, stepping into the heart of the village. The scent of hay hung heavily in the air, sweet but tinged with an underlying staleness from wheelbarrows piled with dry stalks. They paused as a man on horseback clopped past them, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance.
Mia slowed to a stop as two boys darted in front of her, their feet skidding to a halt just inches away. One had a mop of brown hair framing a gentle, unblemished face, while the other sported a poorly shaved scalp, dotted with nicks and patches, likely a recent and crude remedy for lice. Both stared up at her with wide, wondering eyes.
The smaller of the two whispered, “Are you an angel?” reaching a cautious hand toward her as if she might vanish at any moment.
Mia smiled and crouched down to meet their eye level. “An angel?” she laughed. “Definitely. Straight from heaven…” the girl whispered, leaning in with a grin. “But you know who isn’t?” She jerked her thumb in Lucas’s direction, who stood a few paces back, watching with a bemused expression. “See that one over there? The tall, pretty one? He’s actually a demon in disguise.”
The boys’ eyes widened, their mouths dropping open. They glanced over at Lucas, who was beginning to frown.
“I need you two to keep an eye on him,” she continued, lowering her voice as it was of great importance. “Make sure he doesn’t get up to any trouble.”
The boys gave solemn nods, little chests puffing, before spinning around to glare suspiciously at Lucas. As Mia straightened, she caught his narrowed gaze.
“What are you up to?” he asked with cautious, tightly pressed lips.
“Oh, nothing.” She smiled sweetly, brushing her hands off on her coat. “Just enlisting a bit of local help.”
“Uh-huh…” Lucas muttered suspiciously. “Well, tell your…”
“Hey!” a young voice shouted. “Don’t mess with the angel!”
Lucas blinked, startled as a boy—no older than five, with brown hair—came running over, his heavy steps culminating in soft taps against Lucas’s leg. “Uh…angel?”
“Alaric!” a voice called sharply from a porch. Lucas turned his head, spotting a young woman with long brunette hair cascading over her shoulders, her features soft and button-like. If the boy were a girl, he’d be her exact likeness—his mother, Lucas assumed.
Alaric gave a huff before spinning on his heel. Lucas noted the oversized, well-worn tunic he wore, looking like it hadn’t seen a wash in months. The boy, though slightly chubby—perhaps with the natural roundness some kids have—carried an aura that felt different. Almost…unearthly. Lucas shook his head; that was impossible. Yet the feeling lingered.
Alaric’s mother tugged him gently by the hand, pulling him forward with a protective urgency. Her eyes were narrowed, her brow furrowed, as if shielding him from something unseen.
“Lucas?” Mia’s hand tapped his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts.
He jumped at the touch, jolted back to the present. “Ah—uh…sorry, yeah?”
She tilted her head, curiosity glinting in her eyes, though she chose not to pry. “So. You really think Sebastian’s here?”
“Well.” Lucas sighed, his hand drifting instinctively to the handle of his dagger. He felt nothing—a sign that usually meant one thing. “No—at least, I don’t think so.”
“Oh,” Mia mumbled, looking puzzled. “What does that mean?”
“It means…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “It means we keep heading south, like the blade said.” Lucas spun around, scanning the town as if trying to make sense of why they had been led here. “But why would it bring us to this place?” Without another word, he started walking, eyes focused ahead. Mia raised an eyebrow but followed closely, feeling a bit like a lost puppy.
The two walked in silence, their footsteps blending into the murmurs of the townspeople who were now gathering in the village center. As they approached, Mia saw what had drawn Lucas’s attention—a raised wooden stage in the square. It stood four or five feet high, supported by thick beams of wood tinged almost orange, with a set of narrow, rickety stairs leading up to one side. Two tall posts rose from the platform, connected at the top, with ropes hanging from them—two in count, each tied into a noose.
Lucas stared at it, solemn but unsurprised. Public executions like this weren’t rare, he knew; in fact, this method was considered merciful compared to the violent displays in Heladon. “Mia,” he murmured, glancing at her. She had crossed her arms, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the stage.
At that moment, a guard in silver plated armor pushed two people—a man and a woman—up the stairs. They wore only thin cloths around their waists, leaving them exposed to the prying eyes of the crowd. Though their faces showed the lines of middle age, a lingering hint of youth was still visible. The crowd’s gaze scrutinized every detail of their exposed forms, stripping them of dignity long before the nooses would.
“Mia, you don’t have to…” Lucas’s words faltered as she leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his torso but never shifting her gaze from the scene. Gently, he placed a hand on her back.
"The silver beast wrapped its golden tongue around its captor, and so did it plunge the world from darkness, pulling us out and into its healing amber gaze," intoned the large man standing to the right, reading aloud from a worn parchment. "To its legs did it run forward, taking its men in stride." He lowered the parchment and looked out over the crowd. "...And so, for the survival of our people and the forgiveness of our great deities, we grant mercy upon the throats of this married couple, condemned for the murder of General Altkatire—a man who sought only rest in this village before he was to march into battle. Because of this act, his army is now forced to retreat to the capital."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, though no one dared speak up. General Altkatire, here, in this tiny village of Chepstow? Lucas couldn't believe it. If the general had indeed been in such a remote place, it seemed unlikely that an ordinary couple would be behind his death. To Lucas, this reeked of personal vendetta—perhaps a debt unpaid or a broken affair. He was certain this was a staged execution, a cover for a private grudge.
The guard maneuvered the condemned pair to the ropes, securing the coarse loops around their necks. The rough fibers scraped against their skin in the biting wind. The man and woman exchanged a silent look, their faces blank, then clasped hands tightly, their eyes closing as they began to murmur under their breath. Mia recognized the rhythm of a common prayer on their lips. How is that going to save you? she thought bitterly. Help yourselves.
Seconds stretched out painfully, feeling like hours. The large man, his face ruddy from the cold, wore a tattered coat, dirty and thin against the chill. Shifting his stance, he grasped a metal lever, his cold, gray eyes narrowing as he locked his gaze on the couple. With a pull of the lever, their bodies dropped, and the sickening snap echoed across the square. As if mocking the event, a flock of birds squawked in the distance. Their bodies hung lifeless, necks twisted unnaturally, as blood pooled at the corners of their mouths and dripped onto the dirt below. The ropes creaked, straining under their weight.
"Let’s go," Lucas said quietly, breaking the thick silence between them. Mia pulled away, looking up at him with a mask of indifference. As he turned to leave, she bent down, her hand clenched around a rock, its rough surface pressing into her skin. For a moment, she imagined breaking the executioner’s sneer, wiping that smug look off his face with a single throw. The urge was so strong it almost surprised her.
“Stop.” Lucas caught her arm firmly.
Mia struggled; her voice sharp. "Let go of me."
“No.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, “If you throw that, they’ll come after yo—us.” He released her arm, nodding for her to drop the rock.
She glared at him, but her expression softened. She knew he was right. Sighing, she knelt to place the rock back on the ground. The instant it touched the dirt, a sneering laugh rose from the stage, grating on her nerves. Her hand clenched into a fist, and in a quick motion, she snatched up the rock once more, hurling it with precision. The rock sailed through the air, striking the large man in the leg, drawing a surprised yelp.
Lucas gritted his teeth, grabbing Mia by her coat and pulling her away from the scene.
"What the hell are you doing?" she spat angrily.
Lucas glanced over his shoulder, watching as the large man scanned the crowd, his gaze finally landing on them. A slow, cruel smile crept onto his face.
“You look just like him,” the man bellowed, his voice echoing across the village, thick with arrogance and self-importance. Lucas kept moving, but his pace slowed as he released Mia. She stayed close, sensing his tension. "Sebastian Dark."
The crowd fell silent, and Lucas halted, his fists clenched. His hand dropped instinctively to the hilt of his dagger, and he turned slowly to face the man.
“No...” The man’s voice dropped to a mocking drawl. “You’re too young. A relative, perhaps?”
“How do you know that name?” Lucas’s voice cut through the crowd, a deeper, sharper edge to his tone than Mia had ever heard. She turned to look at him, surprised at the sudden intensity in his voice.
The large man on the platform—thick-set, with shoulders that seemed to strain against his armor—tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Doesn’t matter how, but why.” He stepped down from the stage in a slow pace, each footfall sending a small cloud of dust and pebbles scattering. A gust of wind swept through the square, carrying with it the ripe scent of sweat and unwashed bodies, making Mia wrinkle her nose. The man raised a hand as Lucas opened his mouth to speak.
“Mmm-mmm-mmm,” he hummed with the shaking of his head. “You have two minutes before I send my men after you.” His voice was calm, almost leisurely.
“What?” Lucas’s yelled in disbelief, but his body was already moving, instincts kicking in before his mind could catch up. “Why?”
The man tilted his head again, the smirk never leaving his face. “You can’t get very far.”
He began to count. “One… two… three…”
Lucas’s fingers found Mia’s hand, and without another word, he pulled her into a sprint. She struggled to keep pace, her boots slipping against the loose stones and dry dirt underfoot. When he felt her stumble, he halted briefly, scooping her up by the legs and lifting her into his arms, cradling her as one might a child. She let out a gasp as he took off again, dashing through the thickening crowd, her weight balanced against his chest as he moved forward steadily.
“Where are we going?” she yelled, the words nearly lost amid the commotion as the townspeople erupted into shouts and gasps, some scattering to clear a path, others pointing and murmuring.
But Lucas didn’t answer. His eyes were focused, his breaths coming in measured bursts, his grip around her secure.
Mia felt her heartbeat steady, falling in rhythm with his movements. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the sensation of being carried. “I trust you,” she murmured.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
