Chapter 11

The days passed slowly within the walls of Glelrun. A new kind of respect shone in people’s eyes when they looked at Vyth... and that look felt heavier with each passing day.

The golden armor he wore as Ylena’s gift gleamed with every step he took. Sunlight flashed across the breastplate, along the curved lines on the shoulders, and as he walked between the stones the light scattered in bright bursts. The people of the city watched him in silence, as if he were not human at all, but something more... something distant and unreachable.

But inside he felt something different. Every shine, every glimmer echoed with emptiness. The armor was not glory to him, but a burden. When he looked at it, he did not see Ylena’s promise. He saw the choice that took Amarah from him. The Goddess’s cold words still rang in his ears.

A child ran past him, holding a stick he swung like a sword. The boy stopped for a moment, looked up at him with bright eyes, then quickly lowered his gaze, as if he did not dare look any longer. Pain struck Vyth’s heart. Once, he would have gladly shown him the moves, teaching him like a game. Now he felt that with every motion he only drifted farther from the people he lived among.

The light of the golden armor, meant to give courage, had become a wall separating him from the city. He no longer knew whether there was true trust behind their respect, or only fear of what he represented.

Vyth stopped in the square before the Temple and looked at the light reflecting from his armor. The wind moved softly across the stones, people passed quietly around him, and every step they took felt as if it carved a deeper mark of loneliness inside him.

He looked up at the sky, but the light surrounding him gave no answer. Only silence remained, and the feeling that behind all the radiance there was a hollow darkness inside him.

Vyth left the city alone. The dark shadows of the forests around Glelrun slowly closed around him as the gravel path faded into silence behind him. Only the faint sound of his own footsteps followed him.

After a long walk he reached a clearing he had not visited in a long time. The grass had grown tall, and the thick branches of the trees formed a dark dome above him. Yet he recognized the place at once. This was where he and Amarah often trained together. The air had once been filled with the echo of sword strikes and laughter. Now only the wind moved the dry leaves across the ground.

He stopped in the center of the clearing and closed his eyes. The memories surged up with force. He saw Amarah in front of him, deflecting his strike with an effortless motion. He heard his voice with that familiar mocking smile, "You have to be faster if you want to keep up with me." He felt the moments when they sat beside each other after exhausting training, talking about the future. Back then it seemed everything was ahead of them.

Vyth opened his eyes slowly, and the cold silence of reality pulled him back into the present. The clearing was empty. The shadows had grown longer, and the place that once gave life and hope now reminded him only of what had been lost.

Bitterness tightened in him. He felt the light of the golden armor sitting on him like something foreign, as if it did not belong to him at all. A gift that only reminded him of what the Goddess had taken. Amarah. His trust. The hope that the Gods truly cared for those who believed in them.

For the first time the thought rose in him that perhaps he had expected too much from them. Perhaps they were nothing more than distant, powerful beings who would never truly understand the pain of mortals. Or even if they did, they did not care.

The thought pressed harder. Every lost day, every broken promise, every cold silence pointed to the same truth, that the guidance he had sought from the Gods was nothing more than an empty illusion.

Vyth slowly knelt in the grass and placed his hand on the ground. He felt the cold, the firmness of it. This was the only certainty that remained. The world he could shape with his own strength. Not words, not promises, but the decisions he made.

Quietly but with determination he made a vow, that he would no longer seek direction from Gods or mortals. He would not wait for guidance from anyone. Only his own heart and his own decisions would be his compass.

When he stood, the light on the armor glimmered faintly. He no longer saw it as a symbol of glory, but as a test of his own will. And though the weight did not grow lighter, for the first time he felt that something else might come with it. Freedom.

The sun was already low when a stranger appeared at the city gate. He was a young man, his clothes covered in road dust, yet his gaze was steady and determined.

The gate guards watched him with suspicion, their hands instinctively drifting toward their spears. In recent weeks they had looked at every stranger differently, since the demon attacks and Kierg’s presence had stirred enough fear to make them see anyone as a threat.

"Who are you, and what do you want in Glelrun?" one of the guards asked. His voice held more distrust than courtesy.

"I am looking for Aryn." the stranger answered. His voice was calm, though there was a tension in it he tried to hide. "I need to speak with her."

The guards exchanged a look. The name always made them cautious, since few people were allowed to address the leader of the Guardians directly.

"And why do you think the High Priest would meet with you?" the other guard growled.

The young man’s expression darkened for a moment, then he spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.

"Because of Amarah."

The spearheads slowly lowered. Uncertainty, curiosity, and worry appeared on the guards’ faces. The name carried a weight they could not ignore.

"Wait here." one of them said, then rushed through the gate. The other guard did not move, keeping his eyes fixed on the stranger as if ready to strike at any moment.

The stranger did not protest and did not try to explain himself. He stood still, his gaze set beyond the city walls, as if he knew that patience was the key to being allowed inside.

It did not take long before the returning guard signaled. "Come. We will take you in."

The gate opened slowly, and the stranger stepped across the boundary of the city.

After the stranger entered the city, word spread quickly that someone had arrived because of Amarah. The rumor drifted through the streets in hushed voices, and soon a guard hurried to find Vyth at the training grounds.

"Aryn is calling you." he said shortly, out of breath, then gestured without giving any explanation.

A restless feeling rose in Vyth’s chest. It was rare for Aryn to summon him with such urgency, and the name the guard had not even dared to say made the situation even heavier. After a moment of hesitation, he started walking, his steps echoing under the golden armor.

When he entered the great hall, Aryn was already there. Her expression was strict, yet tired. In front of her stood the stranger, waiting upright and respectfully.

"Vyth, I am glad you are here." Aryn said as she turned toward him. "I want you to hear him as well."

The stranger bowed, then spoke. His voice was calm, yet beneath it trembled a deep, barely restrained emotion.

"My name is Oryn." he said. "Years ago Amarah saved my life when demons destroyed my village. He took me to a distant city, where he raised me, taught me, and treated me as if I were his own son."

He paused for a moment, as if lost in the memory, then lifted his gaze and continued with a grave tone.

"Recently I have heard nothing from him. I had a bad feeling, and I knew I could not wait any longer. So I set out to learn what happened to him."

Silence settled over the hall. Aryn’s gaze shifted toward Vyth, unsure of what to say.

Vyth remained silent for a long time. He felt that every moment he delayed only made the words harder to speak. His gaze rested on Oryn’s face, who waited with tense attention. He did not demand an explanation, but behind the silence burned fear and the last spark of hope.

"It is not easy for me to talk about this." Vyth said at last, his voice breaking slightly. "Amarah’s story... ended differently than anyone would have wanted."

Oryn’s eyebrows trembled, but he nodded silently, showing he wanted to hear the truth no matter what it was.

"He made wrong choices." Vyth continued. "He stepped onto a path that was hard to turn back from. The darkness transformed him into a vampire. From that moment he no longer lived as Amarah, but as Kierg. His body and strength became tied to the darkness, and the longer it lasted, the less we could see the person he once was."

Oryn’s eyes widened slowly, a look of shock passing across his face. He did not speak, but his fingers curled into fists without him noticing.

"But Kierg..." Vyth paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "...Kierg realized what he had done. He saw how his power filled everyone with fear, he saw how those he cared about turned away from him. That was when he understood how great his mistake had been. And from then on he tried to make amends for everything he had broken."

Oryn’s expression tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he could not bring himself to look Vyth in the eye.

"We found a way..." Vyth continued, softer but steady. "...to purify him. We planned everything carefully, and in the end we succeeded with the Blood of the Redeemer. But the purification did not come without a price. Amarah’s body could not survive it."

Silence settled over them again. Vyth could almost feel Oryn’s heart tighten under the weight of his words. But he did not stop.

"His soul... did not return to us. It remained trapped in the Underworld. With Ylena’s help I tried to bring him back, but I was not successful."

Oryn’s eyes slowly filled with tears. Pain tightened in his features, yet he held himself together, as if wanting to honor Amarah’s memory by not collapsing. At last he spoke in a quiet, hoarse voice.

"I see..."

Aryn had been quietly observing until now. She lowered her gaze slowly. She knew these words reopened wounds, but they were necessary. The silence of the hall preserved the weight of Amarah’s story with solemn dignity.

The following days passed slowly and with a calmer pace. Oryn did not speak about returning to his home village. When Aryn asked if he was planning the journey, he shook his head firmly.

"From now on I want to stay here." he said. "In Glelrun. I cannot turn my back on the place where Amarah lived and where so much happened. If I can help in any way, anywhere I am needed, I will do it."

His words did not sound overly solemn, only quietly determined. Aryn nodded, and although she did not say anything, there was a hint of respect in her eyes.

Vyth did not disagree with Oryn’s decision. He felt that the young man carried not only pain, but a steady will that wanted to take shape. So in the days that followed they often sought each other’s company. Sometimes they talked at length, other times they simply sat in silence together. And at times they went to the training grounds to practice side by side. They were not bound by a teacher and student bond, but by a slowly forming brotherhood built on shared loss and shared belief.

On a quiet evening, when the noise of the city had already faded and pale moonlight filtered through the trees, the two of them stood on the training grounds.

A sword glinted in Oryn’s hand. His movements were precise, but a little too tense. The practice and discipline were clear, but the natural ease that only experience gives was still missing.

Vyth watched him for a while, then stepped aside to see the form more clearly.

"Your arm is too stiff." he said at last, slowly circling him. "If you hold it like that, the strike feels stronger, but it actually slows it down. Let the movement guide the arm, not the arm guide the movement."

Oryn nodded and repeated the exercise. This time it was smoother, and when the blade stopped, he exhaled with quiet satisfaction.

"Better." Vyth noted, then drew his own sword and stood beside him. For a while they practiced the sequence in sync, one strike following another, the shine of the blades catching the moonlight. Their rhythm slowly aligned, as if they were truly moving in harmony.

When they stopped, Vyth was silent for a moment, then spoke in a low voice.

"Amarah would be proud of you."

The weight of the words lingered in the air, and no explanation was needed. Oryn stopped, his gaze dropping to the ground, and he let out a slow breath. Finally he raised his sword and answered quietly.

"I hope that one day I can reach his level."

There was no bitterness in his voice. Only determination, longing, and a strength shaped by pain.

Vyth looked at him, and for the first time he truly felt that Oryn’s presence did not just remind him of Amarah, but gave him a new support. A companionship that pointed not to the past, but toward the future.

At the edge of the training grounds, in the shadow of the trees, Aryn stood in silence. She did not want to interrupt, she did not want to break the rhythm between the two young ones. She only watched them, the way they moved together, the way Oryn tried to follow Vyth’s instructions, and the way Vyth guided each movement with patience and quiet remarks.

A faint smile slowly appeared on Aryn’s face. Not a bright one, barely noticeable, but honest. She could see something beginning to take shape between them, something that was not just shared training or a chance friendship. Something deeper, something that could not be created through orders or duty.

In recent times Vyth’s shoulders had been weighed down by failure, disappointment, and self-blame. Aryn knew that a warrior’s heart was sharpened not only by the blade, but by finding something he could truly hold on to. Now, as the two figures stood side by side and their movements slowly aligned, she felt that perhaps Vyth had not needed a new mission to occupy his mind. He had needed someone he could connect to.

She did not speak. She did not step out of the shadows. She simply remained there in the background.

The training ended, and the grounds slowly grew quiet. Vyth stepped through the gate and paused for a moment. Sunlight broke through the gaps in the city walls, casting a golden glow across the armor, which now felt like something other than a burden.

At the side of the path stood a little boy. His small figure was barely visible in the shadows of the stones, yet the significance of the moment was clear. His gaze was uncertain, but this time he did not turn away, did not run as he had so many times before. He simply stayed there and watched the glow of the armor in silence.

As Vyth walked past him, the boy spoke quietly, almost too softly to hear, yet every word rang clear.

"You have become stronger than before."

Vyth stopped. For a moment he only looked at the child, then he nodded slowly. A faint smile appeared on his face, perhaps for the first time in a long while.