The Devourer's Dominion

The night was deep, but Aetheron wasn't sleeping.

He sat on a broken pillar, the remains of an ancient civilization scattered around him. The moonlight painted everything in pale silver, shadows stretching long against the ruins. His fingers traced the edges of the sigil on his arm, the mark pulsing faintly beneath his skin. It was growing stronger.

And he wasn't sure how much of him was still in control.

Footsteps approached from behind, slow and deliberate. He didn't turn.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Lyara's voice was softer than usual. Not her usual sharp tone, not the battle-ready confidence she always carried.

Aetheron exhaled through his nose. "Maybe I have."

She stepped beside him, following his gaze to the ruins below. "This place… it feels heavy."

Aetheron nodded. He could feel it too. The weight of something ancient, something lingering in the air. He didn't know if it was real or just the power inside him reacting to the surroundings.

Lyara crossed her arms. "Veyrin's on edge."

"He always is."

"This time, it's because of you."

Aetheron smirked. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Lyara sighed, shaking her head. "I'm serious, Aetheron. We saw what happened back there. That wasn't just your power. That was something else."

Aetheron tilted his head, considering her words. "And?"

"And we need to know if we can trust you."

That made him pause. He turned to look at her fully, his gaze sharp. "You think I'd turn on you?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But do you?"

Silence stretched between them. Aetheron had no answer.

Because deep down, he wasn't sure.

—

They moved at dawn.

The forest around them was thick with mist, branches twisting overhead like skeletal fingers. The air was damp, filled with the scent of wet earth and old wood.

Aetheron walked ahead, his steps light, senses sharp. Lyara and Veyrin flanked him, their presence familiar, but the tension between them hadn't eased.

Something was watching. He could feel it.

Veyrin suddenly halted. "We're being followed."

Aetheron didn't respond—he had already sensed it.

Then, the attack came.

A blur of movement. Aetheron twisted just as a dagger sliced through the air where his throat had been a second ago. He ducked low, sweeping his leg out. His attacker flipped back, landing gracefully on a nearby branch.

Aetheron's eyes narrowed. "You."

The figure was cloaked in black, a mask covering their lower face. But he recognized them.

Seris.

The Phantom Blade.

She tilted her head, her dark eyes glinting. "Still fast, I see."

Lyara and Veyrin moved into position, weapons ready.

Aetheron didn't lower his stance. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Seris smirked beneath her mask. "You've been making noise. The wrong people are listening."

Aetheron exhaled. "Let me guess. You're one of them?"

Seris didn't answer. Instead, she flicked her wrist. A dozen shadowy blades materialized around her, hovering in the air like hungry beasts.

Veyrin tensed. "I hate those things."

Aetheron smirked. "Then don't get hit."

And then, the fight began.

—

Seris was fast. Faster than Aetheron remembered.

She moved like a phantom, her blades slicing through the mist, each one aiming for a vital point. Aetheron weaved through them, his body twisting at impossible angles. Steel clashed, sparks flying as his sword met her daggers.

Lyara darted in from the side, her spear striking like lightning. Seris barely dodged, flipping over the attack and landing with feline grace. Veyrin unleashed a barrage of explosive needles, but Seris danced through them, moving like she knew where they would land before they even left his fingers.

Aetheron lunged, his blade humming with dark energy. He swung—once, twice—each strike carrying the weight of the power inside him.

Seris blocked the first, dodged the second, and retaliated with a spinning kick that Aetheron barely avoided.

She wasn't just testing him.

She was studying him.

And that pissed him off.

Aetheron feinted left, then twisted at the last second, bringing his sword down in a brutal arc. Seris met it head-on, her blades locking against his. For a moment, they were close—too close. He could see her eyes, calculating, reading him like an open book.

Then, she smiled.

And vanished.

Aetheron's blade hit nothing but air.

"Shit."

Lyara spun around. "Where did she—"

Seris reappeared behind her, a blade inches from her throat.

Aetheron moved on instinct. His power surged, shadows warping around him as he crossed the distance in an instant. He grabbed Seris's wrist before she could strike, his grip like iron.

Seris didn't struggle. She just looked at him, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

"You're changing," she murmured. "I can feel it."

Aetheron tightened his grip. "What do you want?"

Seris tilted her head. "To see if you're still you."

He frowned. "And?"

Seris slowly smirked. "Not sure yet."

Then, she twisted free, flipping back into the trees.

"I'll be watching," she called, before melting into the shadows.

And just like that, she was gone.

—

The silence stretched between them, only broken by the rustling leaves.

Veyrin exhaled. "That was annoying."

Lyara was still gripping her spear tightly. "She was playing with us."

Aetheron sheathed his sword. His pulse was steady, but something about that encounter bothered him.

Seris wasn't just an assassin.

She was a warning.

And whatever was coming…

It wasn't just watching anymore.