The cliff cast a long shadow over the thorned ààlè symbols carved by hands long gone.
Darkness pooled in the courtyards and alleyways below, though it began retreating as lanterns bloomed in the night air. A rustle came from a nearby bush – a rabbit startled into motion.
Leonardo's eyes snapped open. Rigor locked his joints as he hauled himself upright, short, ragged gasps tearing at his throat.
The world swam into focus – the oppressive cliff, the ancient symbols, the lanterns pushing back the dark.
"What happened?" Fear seized him, icy and absolute, whispering that death was inevitable.
"I don't want to die!" he screamed at Ronald, hands flailing wildly as his brother tried to grasp his shoulders.
"Never! You can't just stop thinking about it!" Ronald shouted back, the sharpness in his voice like a slap. Behind them, the spiraling cave entrance loomed, a gaping maw.
Leonardo gazed up at the moon. A tear traced a path down his cheek as its cold luminescence caught the amber in his eyes.
"I want my name on the moon, brother. That's the only thing that makes moving forward worth it... the ultimate goal. My name... etched there." His voice was low, intense – part dream, part desperate plea. He swiped angrily at his tears.
"Not that quote again." Ronald kicked a spray of pebbles; each impact echoed sharply, a punctuation mark in the stillness. "You'll have me."
But Leonardo's eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon. "No, I don't mean literally. Never literally... but yes, I'll have you." He tilted his aching neck, the phantom sensation of a rope still burning.
High above, the second, smaller moon hung motionless – an unblinking eye watching their descent. Anguish clung to him, cold and heavy.
Shapes shifted in the deeper shadows – night creatures emerging.
"Leonardo... let's go home. You need sleep," Ronald urged, his own gaze darting towards the inky blackness swallowing the land.
"Sleep. Yeah, maybe you're right..." Leonardo murmured. His attention snagged on the cave entrance again – more miners scrambling out.
Then he saw it: a huge figure, large compared to the thin faced men, moving _against_ the flow, striding into the mines. He shook off the unsettling image as Ronald broke into a run down the cliff path.
Leonardo scrambled after him, dust churning around their boots. The dense air slammed against their faces as they fought for breath, the cliffside blurring past.
---
"We made it!" Ronald slammed the inn's heavy door shut behind them. Triumph flashed in his eyes, edged with something darker, harder.
Leonardo stumbled in close behind, but not close enough. "Wait! Don't take the–" he protested, frustration tightening his face as Ronald called out to the innkeeper.
"I call shots!"
The night festival was about to begin, and Volnia was transforming, a stark counterpoint to the cold dread still coiled in Leonardo's gut.
He stepped outside, gulping the night air like a drowning man breaking surface. The stars seemed impossibly bright, impossibly distant.
I almost died down there. Again. The thought was a cold stone in his chest. His perspective wasn't just changing; it was shattering.
The restlessness wasn't curiosity; it was the frantic energy of someone who'd glimpsed the abyss and scrambled back, knowing it was still there, waiting.
High above, the nightly creatures—grotesque, tall figures with wings—watched from the moonlight, massive and unnervingly still.
"What if I just rule over it?" he mused aloud, the words tasting bitter. Rule over death? Over the mines? Over this fear? A laugh escaped him, harsh and brittle in the festive air – a sound utterly devoid of humor, pure desperate defiance.
"What if I just become free from... everything?" Especially from the cold certainty that had gripped him on the cliffside: death is inevitable.
The town was defiantly lively tonight. "It's the lizard-folk's winter solstice," he thought absently, the knowledge a distant echo.
Most people didn't even know about the solstice, but the lizard-folk had woven it into their history, a celebration against the dying light.
Celebration.
While I feel half-dead already.
He walked mechanically towards the town's outskirts, drawn to the vast stillness of the second-largest lake in Moerlan.
The water was a mirror, the ships upon it like toys frozen in time. Peaceful. An illusion, perhaps, but a potent one.
Before I die... The unspoken thought slammed into him, triggered by the lake's deceptive calm.
Before that darkness takes me for good... what? What do I actually do with this breath?
"Maybe... maybe I could be a fisherman," he murmured, the image forming – simple labor, the rhythm of water, the open sky, away from the crushing earth.
"Or perhaps a guard." Standing watch under the moons, not crawling beneath them. "Guiding tourists..." The idea sparked with a faint, desperate hope. "I know Volnia's cave system like the back of my hand."
"Yeah..." The word was an exhale, a decision that made him smile.
"I'll be a guide. Just... just not for this cave system." His tone was low, intense, less a career choice and more a vow of survival spoken to the night.
A life above ground. A life before the end.
The festival officially began with a burst of noise and light further into town. Lanterns bloomed like fiery flowers overhead.
The sudden energy jolted him. I have to move. I have to get back before...Before I stop moving forever.
He broke into a run towards the crowd, his worn-out shoes flapping, the festive chaos a welcome shield against the thoughts chasing him. Lanterns cast a warm, flickering glow over the cobblestones, painting shifting patterns on the faces below.
In a corner of the square, lizard-folk performers twisted in dazzling acrobatic feats, defying gravity. Nearby, elves in flowing robes danced with hypnotic grace, a fluid counterpoint to his own ragged flight. Life, vibrant and ongoing, pulsed around him.
Further down the street, Ronald shouldered through the throng, his earlier intensity momentarily replaced by fierce determination, holding two plates heaped with steaming festival food.
"Leo! Over here!" He thrust a bowl into Leonardo's hands before he could protest. "Try this. Now," he urged, steam curling around his grinning face, eyes alight with a salesman's fervor. "Herbs from the hills just outside Volnia. Honestly? Best stew in the entire world. Probably the next one too."
Leonardo chuckled, the warmth of the bowl seeping into his chilled fingers. "What are you, a stall owner now?" He followed Ronald as they wove towards a slightly quieter spot near the edge of the square.
"Better than hacking at rocks in the dark, isn't it?" Ronald retorted, already digging into his own portion with gusto. "So, yes. Absolutely."
For a moment, Leonardo forgot. The mine's crushing weight, the lingering phantom rope, the icy whisper of inevitability – they receded, pushed back by simple, hot food and his brother's stubborn presence.
Ronald paused, his spoon hovering. He stared into his bowl, his earlier enthusiasm dimming.
"You know," he said, the words muffled slightly by a mouthful, "I never really understood you. All that moon talk... the ambition." He swallowed hard, then looked directly at Leonardo, his gaze surprisingly vulnerable.
"Doesn't matter. You're my brother. That's the only thing that does matter."
Leonardo met his look, the shared intensity from the cliffside returning.
"And we go through everything together," he affirmed, matching Ronald's fierce focus as he took another deliberate bite.
A beat of silence stretched, filled only by distant music and the clatter of their spoons. Then Ronald's voice dropped, rough and low.
"She hated me, Leo. Mom. Before she died." A single tear tracked through the dust on his cheek, ignored. "The way she looked at me... and at you. Different, but... cold."
The stew turned to ash in Leonardo's mouth. "Ronald..." He reached out, but words failed him. What comfort existed for that raw, ugly truth?
Ronald knew. He swiped angrily at his cheek, the vulnerability snapping shut like a trap. "Oh yeah," he said, forcing a note of dark cheer back into his voice.
"The intel on Dad? Got it. He still carries Mom's ring. In his pocket. Almost every damn day. Took some doing to confirm it."
Leonardo frowned, bewildered. "How does that help us?"
A sharp, brittle laugh escaped Ronald. "He doesn't want _anyone_ knowing, does he? So we just... kindly let him know that _we_ know." His grin was all teeth, devoid of warmth. Leverage.
Leonardo shook his head, a reluctant, almost admiring smirk touching his lips. "You're one nasty piece of work, 'stall owner'."
Ronald's grin widened, the manic energy returning. "The _best_ in the worllllddd!" he crowed, throwing an arm around Leonardo's shoulders for a brief, hard squeeze.
In that shared, slightly savage moment, leaning against the wall with the festival swirling just beyond their quiet pocket, Leonardo felt it.
Not the generic warmth of a crowd, but the fierce, unbreakable anchor of brotherhood. _This_ was everything they needed. Right here. Right now.
"Meet me at the inn," Leonardo called out as Ronald started to melt back into the throng, the weight of the future pressing back in, but lighter now. "Soon."
"Yeah, yeah! See you in four hours," Ronald responded, walking in the opposite direction.
"What?!" Leonardo turned quickly, but Ronald was already running. "Nothing!"
The festival continued late into midnight, the music and laughter echoing through the streets. Leonardo tried his best to go home when most people didn't.
Bumping into a few people, one acted as oddly as he did—grabbing Leonardo's arm quickly. "Are you Leonardo?" they asked, practically giggling.
He yanked his arm back, heart skipping. There was something wrong—not just in the man's grip, but in the way his smile didn't match his 'eyes' behind that hood.
"Yes... wait, no? Let go of me!" Leonardo replied, his voice still, though his confusion deepened as he took in the stranger's appearance—the same person, he saw entering into the cave earlier.
"I'm your biggest fan! But I never liked how Rosalina or Angelina treated you. Maybe it started at Rollwind Mountain, right? Then Evergreen Hill, with the pixies. And at the Undergrowing Lake?"
"Yeah no." Leonardo replied, trying to spit on the persons face but they tilt their head to dodge it.
Leonardo noticed a symbol. It glowed very brightly. Four slashes—each slash larger than the last, but none bigger than a hand's length.
"Rosalina is your soon-to-be lover," the stranger muttered.
"What do you mean?" Leonardo replied, his tone a hard mixture of paranoia and alarm.
"I'm saying I know you more than you know yourself," the stranger declared.
"Get out of my face," Leonardo demanded, trying to shove past the person.
"This is what I like," the stranger said, smiling even more, startling Leonardo. "A tale of death, anguish, guilt, revival, and the very best identity."
"Who do you want to be?"
They stayed in silence for a few minutes. Leonardo watched, unable to speak, but every word from the stranger hit a chord inside him.
"Do you just want to explore? Because if yes, I have a gift for you, an opportunity to have a whole new world waiting for you," the stranger muttered, watching him.
"I—" Leonardo froze. He felt unsafe. "Rald..." he managed to mutter.
"If I'd come any later say a few years, you'd have tried to kill me. We'd be stuck in the same loop. But Act One? That's when you're at your weakest — and when you want change the most, Leonardo."
The stranger frowned when staring at Leonardo's eyes, making him stagger back as they melted into the crowd, vanishing like a wisp of smoke.
Leonardo stared after him, unsettled. That was fear, he thought, his breath uneven.
The white cloak had concealed almost everything, save for a bulging bag strapped beneath it.
The only part of the stranger that had been visible was his right arm, making it easier to discern his gender.
The man's build was unmistakable—no woman in all of Moerlan could possess such a physique.
He felt the weight of every stare, every silence—like he didn't belong at this festival, or anywhere.
He passed by an alleyway and saw a man being eaten—his screams dying out as the blood loss overtook his voice.
Leonardo stared, eyes lowering to the spreading pool of crimson. The victim was an elf.
This man is already dead, Leonardo thought, just as the night creature turned toward him—its eyes hollow, devoid of purpose.
Leonardo crouched low. If it's a night creature, stay low. Night creatures hate motion.
Sweat beaded at his temple as the thick stench of blood clung to the air.
The creature stood, crow-like wings twitching in the night breeze.
Leonardo subtly shifted his weight toward his ankle, breath shallow.
The night creature fixated on the stranger who had just passed the alley—then snapped its gaze to Leonardo, screeching as people nearby scattered in panic.
"A night creature!"
"Call the guards!"
"Hey, missed me? I've been waiting for ages," the stranger boomed, giggling.
"Why are you here?" Leonardo asked in shock. He'd had enough strange encounters for one night.
He wanted to punch him. Or beg him for help. Or just run.
"Ah, were you with Ronald? He's one of my favorites, you know. A bit unimportant, but that brotherly bond sticks—even if you're a horrible brother," the figure said, rummaging through a pouch with swift, practiced hands.
He's clearly insane. He's going to die, Leonardo concluded inwardly.
The night creature lunged as the stranger tilted backward, pivoting with insane speed.
Being called a horrible brother drained every ounce of fear from Leonardo—replacing it with Wrath.
The creature staggered, then charged again—this time with its claws extended.
The words had cut deeper than any blade. Not because they were wrong—
But because they weren't.
Leonardo's fist clenched. He was ready to strike.
"You're projecting. You know it's true," the stranger continued, raising a hand from beneath his cloak and seizing the night creature by the throat.
"If I made this beast, kill you, then clawed you back from death, O King—would you grant me your presence?"
Leonardo's eyes widened, fixed on the convulsing horror in the stranger's grip.
He said nothing.
The creature thrashed wildly, claws raking the air, but not a single shred of the stranger's cloak gave way.
The grip constricted, cruel and unyielding.
Leonardo's breath hitched as raw power radiated from the stranger's grasp—like death itself was coiling in those fingers.
A sick, wet crack snapped through the air—brutal and final. Leonardo flinched, turning his face away.
Green blood erupted, steaming hot and foul-smelling, splattering over the stranger's hand like poison.
They pulled out a small, intricately carved stone and handed it to Leonardo.
"I almost forgot to give you this. I love chaos—it's my favorite theme," the stranger said cheerfully.
"Being in the middle of it—and the cause of it—is so fun. You'll love dragons."
Leonardo stood, mind blank, the stone cool and smooth in his fingers.
The stranger's enigmatic words lingered.
"Chaos?"
"Uncontrolled chaos," the stranger replied, then added,
"Chaos isn't destruction—it's freedom," he hissed, tracing the four slashes on his arm.
Why in Moerlan's dynasty would I take a stone from a stranger—and accept it?
He'd do anything to escape the mines. And now, standing in this strange moment, he wanted it—deep down, he truly did.
"Well, that's it," the figure said, their voice like a cold morning breeze, sending a slight shiver through Leonardo.
"You'll want to throw it away. Maybe you will. That's how fate works, Leonardo—ugly, small, and impossible to forget."
They shrugged off their cloak, revealing a mask underneath. It was plain yet striking—dark blue, with intricate lines etched from its base to the nose. It pulsed faintly, like Agnite radiation.
"Have fun," the stranger muttered. "Because I know I will."
Then, stepping out of the alley, the figure walked away.
Leonardo remained, standing between two deaths: an innocent elf and a night creature—gluttony incarnate.
He couldn't tell if the man was mad—or if he was—or if the world itself was finally coming undone.
Leonardo clutched the stone tighter. Its smooth surface thrummed softly, like a heartbeat not his own.
He should throw it. He should run. Back to the inn. Back to Ronald. If safety still meant anything.
But he didn't.
He stood there, rooted, as the weight of the night pressed in—solid, suffocating. The scent of blood still clung to the air. A body still lay behind him.
Ronald's laugh echoed in his memory—bright at first, then fading into something thinner. Worn down by years of darkness, guilt, and silence.
The mines. His mother's final breaths. That moment when her hand went still in his.
The Overseer's orders. The broken tools. The dream of his name on the moon.
The pieces of himself he'd been leaving behind for years.
"I don't want this," he said aloud. "But I don't want that, either."
The stone pulsed again.
It wasn't a promise. Not hope, not salvation. Just the possibility that something else existed. And maybe that was enough.
Leonardo shut his eyes. Took a breath. Held the stone between both palms—and crushed it.
There was no great flash. No shattering sky. No voice of destiny whispering in his ear.
Only the soft crunch of stone, and the sound of his own breathing.
When he opened his eyes, the street was still. The corpse was still there. The scent of iron still sharp.
And his hands were empty.
He looked around—half expecting the world to have changed.
But nothing had. Not really.
People still danced at the festival. Music still played somewhere, muffled. The night creatures would return. The mines would still be there tomorrow. So would Ronald.
He wasn't falling. He wasn't being peeled away.
He was still here.
And maybe that was the most important thing of all.
Leonardo wiped his hands on his shirt, turned slowly, and began walking.
One step forward. Then another.
No grand rebirth. Just the choice to keep going.
And then—
"What do we have here?"
[Uninvited Guest]