OBSIDIAN RIFT

The golden haze in the courtyard had softened as the sun dipped lower. Duvran lounged in a chair, reclining like he had all the time in the world. A plate of grapes sat at his side, and he plucked them one by one, rolling them between his fingers before tossing them into his mouth. He looked relaxed, except for the faint amusement in his eyes as he took quick glances at Taranis who stood near the balustrade, arms crossed, scowling at him.

Duvran didn't need to look to know he was being glared at as the heat of Taranis' contempt was almost palpable. Yet, Duvran merely smirked and reached for another grape, savoring the flavor before finally speaking.

"I must say, Eolan, I appreciate the generosity of yet another ultimatum. This time, however..." he smirked, "I'll retrieve your Aetherion before the deadline."

Taranis scoffed. "You don't deserve that ultimatum." His voice was laced with undying hate. "You and your treacherous brother deserve to suffer for stealing the Aetherion in the first place."

Duvran finally looked up, his unbothered eyes locking with Taranis 's silver eyes. "Then take it up with Eolan," he said stretching his legs out and flicking a grape stem off his fingers. "He's the one who granted it. Unless, of course, there's something else you'd like to say to me?"

Taranis let out a short, derisive laugh and then scoffed again.

"Oh do I?", he mocked, stepping closer.

Ogma, who had been silent till now, leaned forward slightly, fingers tapping against the armrest of his seat. "Now is not the time for this," he said wearily.

But Taranis wasn't deterred, he turned to Ogma. "After everything Dain did, we're just supposed to sit here while his brother strolls into our realm, grinning like a jackal, and asks for Lugh's release?" His voice carrying the force of barely restrained anger.

Ogma took a long deep breath. "It was only Dain who stole the Aetherion from us," he corrected. "And need I remind you that Duvran stopped Dain from opening the Obsidian Rift? On top of that, he killed him and locked his soul in the Pits of Agony." He tilted his head toward Duvran. "He has made himself useful."

Taranis let out a venomous chuckle. "He only made himself useful because there had to be something in it for him." His eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe he would turn on his own brother for nothing?"

Duvran smirked, weighing the accusation. Then, he shifted in his seat casually, his fingers drumming on the armrest. "And you're absolutely right," he admitted. "I already got what I wanted; ruling the infernal realm."

Taranis took a step closer to Duvran. "Well, enjoy it while you can. Your reign however might be short-lived."

Duvran's smile widened, his eyes cold. "You're welcome to try and end it, if you think you can."

The tension in the courtyard was like dry kindling drenched in oil, waiting for a single spark. And then, slow, deliberate clapping cut through the silence.

All eyes turned to the archway where Lugh stood, bound in gleaming silver cuffs and flanked by two of Eolan's towering stone sons. A foxy smile danced on his lips, his smoky and black-lined mismatched eyes filled with mischief. His scruffy golden hair formed strands that fell over his face. He had a lean build and was draped in a dark fitting embroidered tunic. The ever-cunning god of trickery.

"Oh, beautiful," Lugh said, stepping forward with the exaggerated steps of a performer entering the stage. "The tension! The drama! That was a performance worthy of the realms. I almost believed it myself." He looked at Eolan and added with a devious grin, "Almost."

Duvran smiled, shaking his head as he reached for another grape. "You haven't changed."

Lugh faced him, placing a hand on his chest. "Of course not. And neither have you, it seems." He grinned even more. "You missed me, didn't you?"

Duvran looked away, chewing leisurely.

"Oh, don't deny it," Lugh jeered, waving his cuffed wrist. "You came all this way to free me. How touching."

Eolan, who had remained quiet and motionless throughout the exchange, finally gestured for silence with a wave of his hand, his face darkened with disgust.

Lugh barely looked in his direction. "Not until these are off." He held up his bound wrists. "I refuse to be silenced while shackled. It's undignified."

Eolan's fingers twitched as his patience broke. He stood abruptly, the sudden motion causing a gust of wind to rush through the courtyard. His golden eyes piercing Lugh with a deep, irritated scowl.

Lugh lifted his hands, feigning surprise. "Oh dear, did I strike a nerve? That wasn't my intention at..."

Eolan turned and walked away, his robe flowing behind him.

Lugh watched him go, then chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, I do love being the only one who can make him lose composure." He turned to the others with a smug look. "And yet, we're still best friends." He lifted his voice. "Right, Eolan?"

When no response came, he lifted his arms dramatically. "Alright, you can uncuff me now."

The silver cuffs vanished by Eolan's will and the towering figures of stone flanking him retreated. Lugh stretched his arms, flexing his fingers and examining them with satisfaction. "Ah," he sighed. "There we go."

He looked up at Taranis, who had started walking in his direction. Lugh stepped slightly into his path, forcing Taranis to bump against him as he passed.

Taranis glared at him, but said nothing as he turned and stormed out.

Lugh smirked. "Jealousy isn't a good look on you, Storm Lord."

With a lazy stroll, he made his way to where Duvran sat.

Duvran exhaled, rubbing his temple. "It almost seems like I did them a favor by coming to have you released."

Lugh stretched his arms wide, laughing hysterically. "Oh, they were pained, I assure you." He gestured around the courtyard. "All because of one harmless little trick." He leaned forward, his voice now a whisper. "Even Eolan fell for it."

Duvran chuckled in amusement, shaking his head. "Of course you did."

Lugh sat on the armrest and threw an arm around Duvran's shoulder with a sly grin. "Missed me?"

Duvran sighed. "Not in the slightest." Lugh only laughed as Duvran pushed himself to his feet, stretching slightly. He rolled his shoulders, then glanced toward Ogma and Morrigan.

"Well, it's been a pleasure," he said smoothly. "Thank you for the hospitality. And the grapes." His lips curled into a dark smirk as something sinister glinted in his eyes.

Morrigan barely acknowledged him, seated with an indifferent expression. Ogma only gave him a curt nod.

Duvran turned and began to walk out of the courtyard, motioning for Lugh to follow.

Lugh hurriedly fell into step by his side, theatrically flinging his arms out as they walked through archways. "Now, let me tell you," he began, searching his pocket for something, "you should've seen the looks on their faces when they realized I'd tricked them. Absolutely priceless."

Duvran didn't spare him a glance nor did he stop walking. "Not interested."

Lugh paused mid-step bringing out a silver ring and sliding it onto his index finger, then jogged to catch up. "Not interested? You had me dragged out of my cell, marched past all those self-righteous bastards, and now you don't even want to hear how I got locked up in the first place?"

Duvran's eyes remained forward. "There's work to do."

That shut Lugh up for a moment. Then a wicked grin formed on his face. "Work to do," he whispered. "You always make that sound so sinister."

Duvran didn't respond, but Lugh could see the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Outside, the vast heavenly realm stretched out, serene and majestic, untouched by time. The ground beneath their feet made of marble streets that twisted through lush gardens where deities moved about, their graceful forms clothed in divine silk. Some were either clustered, engaged in quiet conversations or practicing their crafts under golden-leafed trees.

And amidst all this harmony was Duvran's infernal chariot, waiting like a shadow of something anomalous. It rested in the middle of the street, a smudge on the otherwise unblemished landscape. Its frame was black, pulsing slightly with veins of molten magma. Two great beasts were harnessed to it, not ordinary horses, but creatures borne from smoke and cinder. Their skeletal bodies like burning coal, hooves scorching the stone beneath them and blackened skulls bearing horns. Their fiery eyes flicked towards Lugh as he approached them.

Lugh let out a low whistle. "Haven't seen these two in a short while."

Duvran didn't respond. He simply ran his hand over the side of the chariot, and at his touch, the infernal symbols carved into its frame flared to life as if it just got awakened.

Lugh's attention however was on the creatures before him. "Still kicking, are we?" He squinted, observing them. "Now, was it Sgàine and Tuirgann? Or Tuirgann and..."

One of the creatures bared its fangs and snapped at him, narrowly missing his face. Lugh jerked back, chuckling as he brushed imaginary ash from his tunic. "Oh, you do remember me."

The beast snorted, exhaling a thick fume of smoke.

Duvran, already stepping onto the chariot, watched him nonchalantly. "They remember you, it seems." He leaned against the chariot's side, arms crossed. "And they still don't like you."

Lugh huffed, taking cautious steps towards them. "I can't imagine why."

Duvran chuckled dryly. "Maybe because one time, you disguised as me and tried to ride one without my permission." He gestured to the beasts. "They haven't forgotten. And if you're not careful, one of them might decide you'd make a fine snack."

Lugh grinned, patting it's neck despite the heat radiating from it. "Oh, come on now. They wouldn't." He paused. "...Probably."

Duvran gestured toward the chariot. "Unless you'd rather stay behind, get in."

Lugh climbed in beside him, as he looked over the dark smoky reins. "So, how does this thing work again?"

Duvran hardly gave him a glance before gripping the reins himself. "Hold on."

With a flick of his wrist, the beasts reared up and surged forward with an immediate lurch, cutting through the serene air of the streets of the celestial city.

And then, right in their path, a clueless deity stepped into the street.

Lugh barely had time to react. "Uh...Duvran?"

Duvran didn't even flinch or slow down. The deity turned around, eyes widening in horror as the beasts charged towards him.

And then, suddenly, a mass of swirling black smoke tore open in front of the beasts. The chariot plunged forward, straight into the portal, vanishing just before impact.

Behind the portal, the deity stood still but untouched, their robes still fluttering from the force of the chariot's speed. A short moment later, the portal sealed itself, serenity returning back to the atmosphere again.

On the other side of the portal, the chariot burst through a cloud of smoke, entering into the airspace of the infernal realm. The air became heavy with the scent of sulfur and molten earth. The ground beneath them was no longer marble but blackened rock, with veins of molten lava twisting through the landscape as dark clouds swirled above with lightning.

Lugh exhaled, shaking his head. "You did that on purpose."

Duvran smirked, guiding the reins as his kingdom came into view beneath them. "If I hadn't, you wouldn't be wondering."

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The sky over Dunmore was orange as the last light of the setting sun bled into the horizon. Aric knelt on the rough ground of the courtyard, stripped to the waist, his back covered with lines of dried blood where the whip had kissed his flesh. His wrists flared with pain from the hours spent bound, but he hardly noticed. Pain was never a stranger.

Nessa worked silently behind him, her hands warm as she traced the deep wounds with her fingers. Her fingertips glowed softly, sealing open flesh. The sensation burned, not exactly pain, but not comfort either.

"You could at least pretend to flinch," she muttered, her brows furrowed in concentration.

Aric huffed out a quiet laugh. "Would that make you feel better?"

"It would make you seem human."

He smirked, but the expression didn't last. "Pain is just proof I'm still here. If it fades, what's left?"

Nessa threw him a concerned look. "That's a bleak way to live."

"It's honest." He rolled his shoulders as she moved to the last few gashes, the worst ones. "Pain reminds me I survived. It reminds me of what came before. What's been lost. What's been taken."

"Maybe," she said. "But you don't have to carry it like a shield."

He didn't respond to that. Because he did carry it like a shield.

Across the courtyard, Edrik stood near the entrance, watching with his arms folded.

The look on his face was indistinct, but something in the way he stood there told Aric that he'd been there for a while.

"You waiting to see if I drop?" Aric called out, voice rough from the day's heat.

Edrik shook his head. "Figured I'd see if you finally learned something."

Aric chuckled, wincing as the motion tugged at the flesh on his back. "And?"

Edrik shrugged. "Didn't get my hopes up."

Nessa ran her palm over the last open wound, and a final feeling of warmth rushed across Aric's back before the pain reduced to a lingering ache. "That's the best I can do for now. You should rest."

Edrik picked up the discarded pieces of Aric's armor and pauldrons from the ground and held them out. "You heard her. Get some sleep before you decide to piss off Garrick again."

Aric took them, gripping the leather straps. "No promises."

Edrik sighed. "Of course not."

Aric turned toward the barracks, and before he could take a step, Nessa walked up beside him.

"Can I come with you?" she asked.

Aric gave her a sideways look. "You don't need my permission. You're part of the squad."

She smiled at that statement, and they walked across the courtyard toward their quarters.

Edrik watched them go before exhaling through his nose. He'd dealt with enough youngsters for one day.

"Oi, Edrik!"

He turned as his own squad approached, four figures in their gear, moving together like they could read each other's steps. They weren't a perfect unit, if anything, they were a mess. But they were his mess.

The woman in front, a sharp-eyed sharpshooter named Maeve, slung her crossbow over her shoulder. "We on patrol?"

Edrik nodded sharply. "West wall watch duty."

The group groaned in disappointment.

"Come on," one of them, Conall, complained. "There's never anything at the West wall!"

"Not my problem," Edrik said. "Orders are orders."

Maeve smirked as she stepped forward, her voice lowering. "We allowed to bring ale?"

Edrik snorted. "As long as you don't fall off the damn wall."

They laughed in unison, the sound echoing off the walls of the courtyard.

Beyond the barracks and past the towering South gates of Dunmore, the settlement pulsed with life under the sunset.

At the heart of it, Selenna stood before a worn wooden door, holding a steaming clay bowl in her hands. The faint aroma of seasoned broth curled up.

She knocked but there was no answer. She knocked again, louder this time, but still no answer.

She sighed as her fingers twitched around the bowl's rim. She knew grief could make a person keep to themselves but shutting out the world has never brought the dead back.

"Malina," she called softly. "It's me. I know you're in there."

Silence followed.

A flash of frustration surged through her but guilt made her swallow it.

"I know what it feels like," she tried again. "The weight of it. The silence. Like the world got smaller, emptier." Her fingers brushed against the door. "But you're not alone. We've all lost someone. We don't get to shut down, not when we're all we have left."

Still, nothing.

Selenna looked toward the far end of the settlement where a handful of men, both old and young, worked in the evening light, hauling logs, hammering makeshift barricades into place. It was tedious work but they did it without complaints.

"They're still fighting," she murmured, partly to herself. "They don't know if it'll hold. If it'll make a difference. But they do it anyway, because that's what we do. We keep moving forward, even when..."

She stopped, exhaling. She knew words wouldn't do much.

"Just… take the food, Malina. Please."

No sound came from within. Not even a breath.

She stepped back, moving toward the side of the house. The shutters were left slightly ajar, and as she passed, something caught her eye.

A small mound of dirt that looked uneven and hastily packed.

Her stomach twisted as she realized it was the child's grave.

Selenna swallowed hard, peeking through the narrow gap in the shutters. The horrific sight her eyes took in caused her to gasp as the bowl slipped from her hands and hit the ground with a crack, splattering broth all over her boots.

Malina lay stretched out across the floor in a pool of blood, her body limp and a deep gash on her wrist. The blood had long clotted and turned dark, seeping into the cracks on the wooden floor. A knife lay just beyond her fingers, its blade smeared with the remnant of her last act.

Selenna turned, breathing rapidly, her throat turning cold while she struggled to form words. She rushed back to an open area

"Help!" She cried out. "Somebody help!"

A lot of heads turned in her direction, faces furrowed in alarm. Footsteps pounded against the dirt as figures of men and women rushed toward her. In moments, the door was forced open, their eyes and noses welcomed by the grim scene.

Gasps filled the air. Some muttering curses, some turning around covering their mouths.

Selenna forced herself to move, steeling herself. "We need to clean this up. Now."

A wave of hesitant murmurs passed through the gathered crowd.

"That much blood will take too much water," someone grumbled. "We can't afford to waste..."

"This isn't about her." Selenna's voice snapped through the murmurs.

"If we don't, it'll be worse," another voice agreed. A broad-shouldered blacksmith stepped forward, arms crossed over a soot-stained apron. His gaze swept over the faces gathered.

"But it's not just about respecting the dead," he added. "We don't know how long she's been dead. And if we leave this..." He sighed wearily. "We invite things we don't want upon us."

That silenced the argument and the people got to work to clean up the blood.

But it was already too late.

Beyond the dome, deep in Yrengoth forest, something shifted in the darkness, woken from its slumber by the scent of blood that drifted from the settlement. It lifted its head, nostrils flared and it's luminous eyes flicked open.

And it was hungry.