A week after her confrontation with Felix, Allison arrived in a small village on the way to Remira, named Tauten. It was a modest settlement, an unassuming patch of land nestled between the rolling hills and the dense woods. The buildings were simple and worn, wooden structures that looked as though they had been pieced together from whatever materials the villagers could salvage. The village reminded her of those she had seen two decades ago—tiny, makeshift communities that had sprung up when the people were first brought to this new world. Desperation had been the driving force then, as they clung to whatever they could build, however imperfect, to create something resembling stability.
Times had changed significantly since those early days. In larger towns and cities, the people had thrived, creating new societies, forging new economies. But not everywhere had evolved at the same pace. The eastern coast, where Tauten lay, seemed to hold on to an older way of life, one where simplicity and self-reliance were still the cornerstone of their existence. The villagers here enjoyed the rustic beauty of their surroundings, finding contentment in a slower, quieter way of life. Allison could see the appeal, the peacefulness of it all, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. It was the kind of place she might have considered settling down—if she’d had the choice.
At the entrance of the settlement stood a tall man, his posture stiff and watchful. A small scabbard hung from his waistcoat, the blade barely visible beneath a patch of rust that clung to the edge. He stood in stark contrast to the rural charm of the town, a stark reminder that safety here was a distant concern.
The sword was clearly more for show than for use. A symbol of protection, perhaps, but one that spoke more of the town’s general sense of safety than of any real defense. If a threat had ever arisen, it was likely handled by the community as a whole, rather than relying on the sharpness of this man's blade. It made her wonder how prepared they were for something serious to happen. In all honesty, she doubted they were.
As Allison approached, the man stepped forward, raising his hand.
“Woah there, missy,” he called, his voice carrying a heavy drawl as he blocked her path.
Allison ignored the "missy" remark, understanding it wasn’t meant as an insult but as a reminder of his own position, the authority he thought he held over the road that passed through the village. She could tell this was his domain, his place where he could assert control. She lifted a hand, showing no intention of backing down.
“I’m just passing through. Please step out of the way,” she said, her tone level, but with an edge.
“We’re not accepting any more inhabitants,” the man replied, his voice firm, as if rehearsed. “You’ll have to go around.”
“I’m not staying,” Allison said with a shrug, offering no further explanation.
The man gave a dismissive grunt, crossing his arms. “Everyone who says that ends up staying anyway. We need to increase our food output enough as it is.”
“I’m headed to Remira,” she said, irritation beginning to build. “I’ve no reason to stay here.”
“And what business do you have in Remira?” His eyes narrowed, his suspicion rising.
“What business is it of yours?” she shot back, her patience thinning.
He studied her for a moment, scrutinizing her every detail, his eyes lingering for a second longer on the dagger at her belt. His nose wrinkled slightly, as though he could smell something off about her.
“I’m going to need you to set down any weapons you may have on you,” he said, his voice cold and demanding.
Allison blinked, taken aback. “You must be joking.”
“Strip your weapons or find another way through,” he insisted, his hand moving toward the sword at his side as though preparing for an altercation.
“You really couldn’t think of another word for that?” she said, her tone biting, as she took a step forward, closing the gap between them. “We’re done here.”
The man’s confidence faltered as he reached for the sword at his side, only to freeze in surprise when his fingers brushed against empty air. He looked down, confused, and then back up at her, his brow furrowing as he realized the scabbard was missing.
“Huh…?” His eyes widened, the sense of authority he once carried now replaced by confusion. He looked back at Allison, who was holding his rusty sword with a grimace on her face. Her expression twisted in disgust as she examined the full extent of the blade’s mistreatment: the blade was chipped, dulled, and looked as though it had seen no care in years.
The man’s face reddened, the realization dawning on him too late that his sense of control was slipping, not because of anything he’d done, but because Allison had taken the very thing that had symbolized his authority.
“Really quite a pathetic sword, isn’t it?” Allison remarked, her fingers curling gently around the hilt of the rusted blade. She lifted it slightly, inspecting the worn metal. “Were you planning on threatening me...with this?”
The man’s confusion deepened, his brow furrowing as he tried to process her words. “How’d you…”
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking from the sword to him. With a casual shrug, she handed the sword back to him, the motion smooth, deliberate. The moment his hand made contact with the hilt, something strange happened. The rust seemed to dissolve as if it had never been there. The blade shimmered for a split second before becoming sharp and gleaming once again, its edges now pristine and well-maintained.
“You should get that sharpened if you want to take your job seriously,” she said, her tone both condescending and oddly playful. “Oh, and stop badgering travelers who tell you they’re just trying to pass through.”
Without another word, she walked past him, the briefest of glances tossed over her shoulder as she passed. The man stood frozen, staring at the blade in his hand, now almost unfamiliar to him in its rejuvenated state. The rust had faded, but his pride had been stripped bare. He made no move to stop her, simply watching in stunned silence as she continued on her way.
Allison, however, was keenly aware of the shift in the town’s atmosphere. The moment she stepped into Tauten, it felt as if the air had thickened, charged with a quiet intensity. Eyes followed her, but not in the way that strangers would gaze with curiosity. No, these eyes were more calculating, more wary. She could feel the weight of their attention, could almost hear the low murmur of gossip trailing behind her, carried on the whisper of the wind. Time and again, she noticed figures watching her from between cracked shutters and behind poorly patched walls. Their eyes glimmered with reflection from the weak sunlight, like a predator’s eyes gleaming in the dark.
If this were the heart of a city like Jersey, such places would have been long abandoned, boarded up with signs of neglect and years of decay. Yet here, in Tauten, there was a sense of watchfulness, a quiet readiness to judge. It reminded her of how she’d felt when she first arrived in Nassau all those years ago—isolated, an outsider in a place that was too different, too disconnected from everything she knew.
By the time she reached the end of the crossing, she spotted what she was looking for: the local bar. The building was nondescript—old, sagging, with a discolored wooden facade that seemed to have seen better days. There was no sign to mark it, but the litter of empty bottles scattered carelessly around the entrance told her everything she needed to know. She pushed open the door, the hinges groaning with protest, and stepped inside.
The air inside was thick with the smell of stale alcohol, mingling with the faint scent of damp wood and lingering smoke. The low hum of conversation dropped to a near silence as every pair of eyes in the room slid over to her. She could feel them on her back, watching her every move, appraising her as if she were something to be either feared or pitied. Undeterred, she moved to the counter with a steady step, her presence demanding attention despite the palpable unease. She slid onto one of the stools, her elbow resting casually on the bar as she met the bartender’s eyes.
Her voice was light, almost teasing. “What’s your favorite drink here?”
The bartender stared at her, a woman perhaps in her early twenties, though worn by the years this world had exacted from her. She looked as though life had hardened her quickly, age catching up with her sooner than most. Her features were sharp, a combination of youth and the weight of survival. The bartender's silence was long, deliberate, and when she finally spoke, her tone was dry, tinged with the harshness of experience.
“Depends on how much I want to forget,” she said, her gaze never wavering. “It’s not often we get travelers.”
“I can see why,” Allison replied, her lips curving slightly at the corners. “The guard out front doesn’t exactly leave a positive impression.”
“More like our general geography isn’t fit for most people to get lost near,” the bartender muttered with a shrug, clearly unimpressed. She leaned back, hands resting on the counter. “But I’ll give you that. Rog always has a sour disposition. What brings you out here? Tauten doesn’t have much for outsiders.”
Allison leaned in a little, her voice lowering, keeping her words close to the bartender’s ear. “Rumor has it that a dragon’s been spotted around these parts. I’m looking for the source of this information.”
The bartender scoffed, a sharp, dismissive sound. “Dragon?” she echoed, eyes narrowing. “Surely you’re too old to believe kids' stories like that.”
“I believe in a lot of things I doubt you would,” Allison said, her gaze steady and unfazed.
The bartender eyed her carefully, sizing her up for a moment before giving a slight nod. "You look like a whiskey type of woman."
"I’ve been acquainted before," Allison replied, her tone nonchalant, though there was a flicker of something—perhaps nostalgia—beneath her words.
The bartender smirked, an almost knowing glint in her eyes. “Glad to hear it.” She turned to the shelf behind her, her hands moving with practiced ease as she poured a glass of amber liquid, the sharp scent of alcohol filling the air. Her eyes never left Allison as she worked, gauging her reactions. “Should I even ask where you heard that rumor?”
“Words travel far,” Allison said, her voice low but carrying the weight of someone accustomed to the ebb and flow of whispers. “I travel farther.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow, amused but cautious. "Not much into sharing info yourself, are you?"
Allison offered a smile, small but genuine, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I try to keep my hand close to me if I can.” It was a subtle warning, a hint of something hardened beneath her calm exterior.
“You’ll find that doesn’t help you make a lot of friends ‘round here.” The bartender slid the glass over to her, the sharp clink of the glass against the counter punctuating the air.
“I’m not really looking for friends,” Allison replied, her fingers curling around the glass. “Just to find the info I need.” Her voice was firm, as though this was an unspoken truth she carried with her wherever she went.
The bartender didn’t argue. She simply bent over the counter, her gaze shifting to the man in the corner of the bar who had been quietly nursing his drink. She nodded toward him, an almost imperceptible movement, but enough to catch Allison’s attention. “He’d probably be your best bet for local rumors.” She raised her voice, calling out to the man with a tone that was both casual and expectant. “Hey Sammy!”
Sammy’s bleary eyes lifted slowly, as though he hadn’t been expecting to be spoken to, let alone summoned. “Whuzzat?” he mumbled, his voice thick with the effects of too many drinks.
“We got someone who will listen to your stories! Get over here,” the bartender called, a wry smile playing at the corner of her lips as she looked back at Allison, her expression half-amused, half-apologetic.
Sammy took a long, drawn-out gulp from his glass, his movements slow and deliberate, before setting it down with a dull thud on the table. With a grunt, he stood up, swaying slightly on his feet, and ambled over to join them at the counter. “You rang, boss?” he slurred, flicking his head with an exaggerated flourish, his grin lopsided. Allison could tell from his gait and the glassy look in his eyes that this wasn’t his first drink of the night.
“We’ve got someone who’s interested in hearing about that dragon you keep talking about,” the bartender said with a knowing look, her words carrying just enough weight to draw Sammy’s attention.
Allison raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “The word spread from the town drunk?”
“Hey hey...hey now,” Sammy responded, suddenly defensive, though his words were thick with alcohol. He licked his lips, his eyes narrowing, not with anger, but with a certain clarity, as though her comment had shifted something in his mind. “Just because a man is drunk… doesn’t mean he’s the drunk.”
“Right,” Allison said, giving a slight chuckle as she waved off the topic. She wasn’t interested in engaging in the semantics of Sammy’s sobriety. “What have you heard?”
Sammy’s posture shifted as he leaned in closer to the counter, his voice lowering with the weight of someone about to tell a tale. “Heard? Lass, it was what I saw!” He slammed both of his hands down onto the wood with a force that startled the other patrons, the sound reverberating in the room. “I was out by my backyard, just minding my own business, when I felt this weird chill in the—” he paused for a moment, blinking rapidly and shaking his head as though trying to clear his thoughts. “Sorry. I felt this weird feeling in my gut. Like my stomach was swirling and I was gonna heave.”
Allison raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not fully convinced. “Were you drinking then, too?”
Sammy turned to her with a look of genuine confusion. “No, why would I bring it up? If I had been drinking, then it’d make complete sense why I was feeling that way.”
“Sorry,” Allison said, her voice smooth as she gestured for him to continue.
He nodded, a serious expression falling over his face as he leaned in even closer, lowering his voice. “I felt this feeling deeper in my chest and knew something was wrong. I looked up and saw a black dot flying in the sky. It was way higher than I’ve ever seen any sort of plane fly before. I could almost see two little wings flapping from its back.”
Allison’s skepticism flared. “How can you be sure of that? If it was so high up, I mean.”
Sammy’s eyes gleamed with a knowing sort of certainty. “I’d heard talk before of the creature,” he said, voice quiet but insistent. “I wasn’t the first who had ever seen it. Mother Benita on the other side of town was the one who told me first. Anyway, I assumed that must have been it, because of how clear our skies are anytime else.”
His voice trailed off, and for a moment, the bar seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the tale settling over the room like a fog.
“Mother Benita? Where can I find her?” Allison asked, her voice steady and expectant.
“She’s on the other side of town. Big red building before the store.” Sammy’s response was quick, but his gaze shifted nervously between her and the bartender, as though realizing he might have said too much. His discomfort was palpable, the alcohol only masking his hesitation for a moment longer.
Allison nodded, absorbing the directions with a practiced ease. She finished her drink in one swift motion, the warmth of the whiskey settling in her stomach, a comforting burn. She set the empty glass down on the counter with a soft clink. Sammy’s eyes flicked from the glass to her face, a furrow of confusion knitting his brow. He seemed caught off guard by the way she was moving on so quickly.
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“I...didn’t finish my story,” Sammy stammered, a hint of protest in his voice.
“You didn’t see the dragon—at least, not in a way I can confirm,” Allison replied, her tone clipped but matter-of-fact. “I can’t risk being led astray if what you saw was some strange bird or something like that.” She reached into her coat pocket, her fingers brushing against the familiar shape of a coin. With deliberate precision, she pulled out a golden coin and set it down on the counter between them. The soft, metallic click of it landing on the wood was final. “Thanks for the drink. It was perfect.”
Sammy’s eyes lingered on the coin, and his fingers twitched, but he didn’t immediately reach for it. Instead, his gaze turned back to her, urgent, almost pleading. “Hey, you don’t want to find that thing.” His voice dropped lower, filled with a raw kind of fear. “It does weird things to you.”
Allison raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. “What kind of things?”
Sammy’s expression grew distant, and his words came in a rush, like he was trying to explain something too complex for his inebriated mind to fully grasp. “I heard voices. Saw myself...It felt like everything in my head spilled out and surrounded me. Everything went dark, and then I blacked out.” His eyes met hers, wide and frantic. “You don’t want to face that.”
“I do,” Allison said simply, her voice a mixture of resolve and quiet appreciation for the warning. “But I appreciate the heads-up.”
She stood, feeling the weight of the moment settle over her. The exchange had been brief, but the air between them felt thick with something unspoken, something heavier than mere words could carry. Without another word, she walked toward the door, but just as she reached for the handle, the bartender’s voice rang out, stopping her in her tracks.
“Hey!” The word sliced through the air, sharp and unexpectedly warm.
Allison paused, glancing back over her shoulder. The bartender’s tone was almost teasing, but there was a note of genuine kindness beneath it. “If you don’t end up getting yourself killed,” she said with a small smile, “feel free to come back. It was nice having another face to talk to.”
Allison offered a small smile of her own, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was as close to a lie as she could stand. She nodded, turned, and walked out the door, the sound of her boots on the floor echoing as she stepped back into the thickening night.
The red building was easy to find amidst the modest array of homes in Tauten. The color was a deep, almost garish crimson, but it wasn’t the paint that caught her attention. The thick layers of reinforced steel plating along the outside of the structure made it look more like a bunker than a home. There was something deliberate about the way it was fortified, as though the building itself had been preparing for something long before any of the people in Tauten had even considered the possibility of danger.
Allison approached the front door, her hand hovering just inches from it when a sudden, foul odor hit her. It was subtle at first, the faintest trace of something rank in the air, but it quickly intensified, a heavy, metallic stench that twisted into her nostrils. It was enough to make her gag, a familiar scent she had encountered only once before in a much darker place.
Before she could retreat, her stomach lurched, and she doubled over, coughing violently, her hand clutching at her midsection as her body reacted instinctively to the overpowering stench. Just as she regained her breath, she felt the cold, sharp press of something against the back of her head—a metal barrel, cold and unforgiving.
“Give me one good reason I don’t give my house some new paint,” a gravelly voice rasped from behind her.
Allison sighed, her breath steady despite the danger. “Well, it would smell awful for one,” she started, still trying to shake off the wave of nausea. Not that the stench could get any worse. “And for two, I think deep down you want to tell someone about the dragon you saw.”
There was a long pause, followed by the sound of shifting feet, the scrape of metal against metal as the old woman’s finger hesitated on the trigger. Allison could feel the hesitation, the way the woman’s grip tightened and loosened, the conflict playing out in the brief silence.
The gun never went off. Instead, Mother Benita lowered it slowly, her exhale heavy with a resigned breath. “Something tells me you won’t leave unless I plug you full of holes or tell you what you want...and bullets are damn expensive around here.”
Allison offered a smile that barely flickered at the corners of her lips. “You’re smarter than many in this place.”
“I know that,” the woman muttered, giving her a sidelong glance as she stepped aside, opening the door to let Allison in. “Don’t need to tell me twice. Was it Rog that got in your way?”
“If you mean the guard out front, then yes.” Allison stepped over the threshold, her eyes scanning the room as she walked inside. “Didn’t stand as much of anything other than some wasted minutes, though.”
She made a clicking sound with her tongue, setting her rifle down by the door with a soft clink, before she shuffled past Allison and closed it with a firm thud. The action was quick, practiced, and surprisingly efficient for someone of her age. “That boy’s out there out of obligation,” she said, a note of dismissiveness in her voice. “He’s got a wife that’s pregger than a busted cow. Her job’s usually to man the guard post—and lemme tell ya, she’s mighty intimidating given the chance. But the poor sap’s taken over the spot...and well, he’s not.”
Allison raised an eyebrow at the mention of the guard’s family, but she didn’t let the side comment derail her thoughts. “No, I don’t believe so. Anyway, the dragon.”
“Down to business, I like it,” Mother Benita grunted, her voice softening into something more approachable. “Truth be told, I’m not one for small talk either. Lotta...wasted minutes. I like that.” She looked Allison up and down with a hint of approval, as if appreciating the directness in their conversation. “Anyway, it was about a month ago,” she continued, her tone turning reflective. “I was out in the fields behind my shop here, tending to my gardens. The like—you know. Out back there, you can see the mountains.” She gestured vaguely behind her, her hands fluttering like leaves caught in a breeze. “Stragglers and bandits live out them ways. They’ve got little camps dotted around the face of the mountain—always having a struggle or two between ‘em, you see. So, when I started hearing the sounds, I thought it was just the carrying sound of one of their little scraps.”
“But it was different?” Allison prompted, trying to focus on the details.
“Yessum,” Mother Benita affirmed, a faint frown creasing her brow as she drifted further into the past. “I was getting ready to head inside to avoid any possible spillover. They’ve come close to our little village in disputes before, but that’s when I started feeling woozy in my heart.” She rubbed her chest absently, her fingers brushing over the worn fabric of her shirt.
“Your heart?” Allison asked, a hint of curiosity mingling with skepticism.
“I started hearing voices in my head,” Mother Benita continued, her voice lowering as though the memory itself was painful. “Reflections of my own thoughts...it was like hearing a mirror. And then I looked up and saw the monster.” She paused, her eyes locking onto Allison’s with a sudden intensity, her expression hardening with the weight of what she had witnessed. “It was terrifying. Its body was like every dragon I saw on TV when I was a youngin’. Thick black belly, all scaled to the brim. But its face...that’s where things got wrong. It was like a mask. A human mask.” She shuddered involuntarily. “That wasn’t no dragon’s face. It looked like it could eat you...like a human would.”
The implication of her words hung in the air, chilling the room with the weight of that image. There was something profoundly unsettling about imagining a beast with a face so human, yet so utterly alien, capable of such brutality. It was terrifying to think of any creature capable of carnage with its teeth, but the notion of a human-like being—one that could tear into another person, not as a beast, but with intent—struck a deeper, more primal fear in Allison.
“That thought,” Mother Benita continued, her voice growing quieter, “was the most terrifying of all.” She seemed lost in the memory for a moment, her eyes distant, haunted.
Allison didn’t respond right away. Her mind processed the weight of the story, the words, and the image Mother Benita had painted for her. Finally, she broke the silence. “I talked my head off about it when I went to the ol’ drink,” Mother Benita muttered with a soft laugh, as though the memory was one of too many words spoken. “Got too tired of talking about it so I stopped going.”
“Your talk seems to have caught on,” Allison observed, her voice casual, though she was keenly aware of the gossip already spreading through the village. “Guy in the bar was talking your story up.”
“Must be Sammy,” Mother Benita huffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “That boy will talk your ear off for an hour and say only a second’s worth of talk.” She waved her hand dismissively, as though to brush the thought away. “Don’t mind him, even if he is over-talking.”
“I got that impression pretty early,” Allison replied, matching the old woman’s playful tone, though there was an edge of frustration in her voice as well.
“Well, I guess I have his mouth to thank for your coming here,” Mother Benita added, giving Allison a sideways glance.
Allison gave a wry smile in response, her lips curling just slightly. “I wanted to get the info straight from the source.”
“Well, you have it,” Mother Benita said, her voice hardening slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing just a touch. “Now tell me, what do you plan to do now that you’ve heard my tale?” Her gaze was sharp, calculating, as if she were assessing Allison's next move, as though it was a test.
“I’m planning on confronting it. You won’t have to worry about it visiting the area for much longer,” Allison stated firmly, her eyes narrowing with determination.
“You’re mad, you know that?” Mother Benita’s voice was laced with disbelief, but there was a hint of admiration in her tone too. She had seen plenty of reckless acts in her time, but this felt like a whole new level of dangerous.
“I’ve got my own reasons for seeking the beast out,” Allison said, her tone sharp but measured. “Don’t trouble your conscience by thinking that it was solely for your town’s sake.” She knew that the weight of her words would linger in the air between them, but she wasn't interested in going any deeper. Her quest wasn’t about saving others—it never really had been.
Mother Benita’s lips twisted into a grin, her eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge. “The age of heroes died long ago, is that it?”
Allison’s lips curled into a wry smile. “Heroes are destined to die for their causes,” she replied, her gaze unwavering. “I’m not dying anytime soon.” She gave a brief nod and turned, offering the old woman her peace before stepping out of the door. The weight of their conversation was not lost on her, but the path ahead called louder than any lingering thoughts.
Back outside, Allison quickly scanned her pack to check her food reserves. The contents seemed sufficient, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that she might be underprepared. She could ration properly—she had before—but there was always a sense of dread that followed when she skimped on supplies. If misfortune found her, it wouldn’t care about her careful planning.
She swallowed her pride, resigned to the reality of the journey ahead. The town’s commons were quieter than before, the air thinner, less suffocating in the absence of prying eyes. She could feel the weight of the town’s suspicion lift somewhat, likely due to the barkeep’s small yet subtle efforts to reassure the villagers that she meant no harm. Still, the tension hadn’t entirely dissipated. It never did in places like this.
The market was busier than she expected, but she moved through it without making a spectacle. The shopkeeper’s wife watched her like a hawk, her eyes narrowed in that familiar way. Allison could feel the weight of her gaze like an unspoken judgment, but she didn’t flinch. The shopkeeper himself was less hostile, though a certain wariness still lingered beneath his tired eyes. He’d likely seen enough strangers come and go to recognize the look of someone who had already made up their mind.
Allison finished her transaction quickly, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being scrutinized. The shopkeeper’s wife wasn’t any different from the others—people who had an opinion and would never change it, no matter how much time passed or how much she tried to prove them wrong. She didn’t have time for that now. She didn’t need their approval, and she certainly didn’t need their pity.
The memories of Nassau crept in again, unwanted but undeniable. A different place, but the same kind of people. She buried them down, deep, where they couldn’t resurface.
With her pack restocked, she turned and followed the path leading out of town, toward the hills that loomed in the distance. They were closer now, their jagged peaks cutting against the sky. But, as she took her first few steps into the open air, she stopped. Her eyes narrowed. Someone was blocking her path.
Felix stood there, arms crossed, his usual amused expression gone, replaced with something far more serious. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. “You must really have a death wish if you’re trying to take down Sakonna.”
Allison's face twisted in shock. “H-How did you read my mind?” she stammered, taken aback by his bluntness. She had been so sure she was keeping her intentions under wraps. But as her mind raced, another thought surfaced. “Unless...you didn’t.”
Felix didn’t respond immediately, his silence stretching the tension between them. The air between them grew heavy, thick with the unsaid words hanging in the balance. Allison’s mind darted in another direction, forced to address something she hadn’t considered earlier. “Issachar, right? Last time we…”
“I have nothing more to say on that subject,” Felix interrupted, his voice sharp. “Unless you listen to what I have to say.”
“I’ll only listen to Issachar’s whereabouts. No more,” Allison said, the determination in her voice firm as steel.
“Then we’re at a stalemate, old friend,” Felix said, raising his arms stubbornly, his stance unwavering. “I have ears for much more than what I’m wanting, but you’ve made yourself clear the last time we talked about your feelings on the matter.”
“If you’ve nothing realistic to offer me, then I’ve no wish to talk,” Allison said through gritted teeth, her patience already stretched thin. “Back out of my way.”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to do that.” Felix’s voice was steady, unwavering, as though he was preparing for something far larger than just a verbal exchange.
“You’re thinning my already weary patience for you,” Allison said, her voice dripping with venom. She couldn’t help herself; the frustration was spilling out of her. Why did he have to be so maddening? So stubborn?
“And I’m calling your bluff,” he said with a glimmer of a challenge in his eyes. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He was waiting for her to act.
Allison’s fingers twitched as she tapped her forearm, the lance extending into her grip with a smooth, practiced motion. The metallic sound was sharp, cutting through the tension.
“Come on, you can stop pretending now,” Felix said, his voice softer, almost coaxing. “Just put it aside and let us talk like adults.”
She didn’t hesitate. Two quick steps forward, her posture rigid and resolute. She wasn’t backing down.
“Allison...” Felix said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something almost like concern.
She didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
And she lunged—her body moving with precision and deadly intent. The tip of the lance shot forward, aimed directly for his leg, her mind set on making the trip harder for him if he didn’t back down. The moment she struck, she fully expected him to be forced to retreat, to feel the impact and get the message. But a part of her hated the thought of causing him harm; the way his gaze shifted from mischief to something more serious left her with the unsettling feeling that this confrontation wasn’t just a simple disagreement anymore. She had given him more than enough fair warning, but she knew it was inevitable. He had to learn one way or another.
The lance collided with his leg, but to her shock, it didn’t sink into flesh. It didn’t even leave a dent. Instead, it bounced off with the force of slamming into an immovable wall. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down at the point of impact. Her gaze locked on the spot where she had struck—where his leg had been glowing, golden, and radiating an energy that made her pulse quicken. It was as if the lance had struck something far more than just skin and muscle.
“You’ve formed a pact with them?!” she yelled, her voice crackling with disbelief, anger, and the sting of betrayal.
Felix looked down at her, his face betraying no hint of surprise—he had been waiting for her to discover it, and now she had. “I needed a way to protect myself from your threats if you were serious...” he began, his voice calm, though there was a flicker of something else behind his words. “...and it seems you were.” His usual smirk faded, his expression becoming serious, almost regretful.
“You are...” she sputtered, her fury boiling over, “...such a hypocrite! You wouldn’t have to protect yourself like that if you just let me be!” Her grip on the lance tightened, her knuckles white with anger.
Felix sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of their history was pushing him down. “You know that I can’t do that. This is the way that things must be. You know me.” His eyes softened for a moment, as if he wanted to explain himself, but the bitterness between them had already thickened into something far more irreparable.
Her chest heaved with frustration, her thoughts a whirlwind of betrayal, and her fingers clenched even tighter around the lance. Energy surged through her veins as she drew all the power she could muster into the core of the weapon, feeling the pulse of her spirit mingling with the raw force she was about to unleash. She wasn’t going to back down now. Not after all of this.
“I am going to warn you one...final...time...” she spat, her voice low and full of warning.
“No,” Felix’s voice broke through the tension, but it was tinged with desperation. “I’m warning you. If you don’t let down your lance and be reasonable about this—”
She didn’t wait for him to finish. The air around her grew thick with an overwhelming warmth, a sensation so intense it seemed to drown out everything else. She whispered a prayer, her words barely audible over the rising hum of energy, and in that fleeting moment, everything went quiet, like the world held its breath. Then, in a burst of motion and a force of will that felt almost divine, she bolted forward. Her lance shot out with all of her might, the raw energy behind the thrust enough to shatter the golden pact that had been protecting him. The weapon sliced through the air like lightning, its point driving deep into Felix just off-center of his gut.
His eyes went wide in shock, and the look on his face shifted from defiance to something far more vulnerable. The force of the blow sent him stumbling back, and he collapsed onto the ground, his hands instinctively clutching the wound as if trying to will the pain away. His cry of agony pierced the air, raw and primal. For a moment, everything seemed to hang in the balance.
He looked up at her, his eyes wild with a fury she hadn’t seen in him before. “You’ve put your faith in mad gods—and after all we’ve been through, you still underestimate me!” he yelled, pain lacing his words.
Allison knelt down beside him, the words leaving her lips like venom. “And that, Felix, is the biggest insult of all.” Her gaze bore into him, unflinching. “I’m out of pity for you. I don’t know if that wound will kill you—probably won’t, but I don’t care anymore. If you’re determined enough, maybe you can crawl back into town. Maybe someone will patch you up. What you do is your own accord. I’m done with it.”
Felix’s retaliation fell on deaf ears, his cries of anger and confusion barely registering as she stood up, the finality of her decision settling over her like a weight. She ignored his words, his desperate attempts to reach her, as she turned her back on him and walked away. Her steps were deliberate, slow, but her mind was already focused on the mountains ahead, the path she had to take. Nothing would deter her now.
As she walked, she retracted the lance and slid it back into her armband, securing it tightly. Her pack felt heavier on her shoulders, but it wasn’t the weight of supplies that burdened her—it was the weight of her resolve. She didn’t look back, not even once.
No one was going to underestimate her...not anymore. She wouldn’t let them.
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