The long march.

Chapter 48: The approaching storm

“Noor.”
The sound reached her as if through water.
Her gaze was fixed on the distant tower, its silhouette cutting into the bruised horizon. Even from here, it felt wrong; Watching. Waiting.
A shiver traced the length of her spine as the memory resurfaced, the vial in the alchemist’s hand, the faint green glow, the viscosity of the liquid. She knew what it resembled.
Or rather… she desperately hoped she was wrong.
“NOOR!”
The second call struck through the haze.
“Huh,what?” She blinked, turning sharply. Iris stood before her; brows drawn together in concern.
“You, okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine… it’s just-” Noor stopped herself and waved it off with a faint, dismissive motion. “Never mind.”
But her mind did not let it go. It lingered. Coiled. Waiting.
“Has Chiron been patched up?” she asked instead, glancing toward the edge of the hill where the others had gathered around the wounded centaur and old Taedaz.
“Looks like it. I haven’t been over there as much as I’d like,” Iris admitted.
“No surprise. Is Nixia still insisting that only Kayn and Entinos are allowed near him?” Noor asked, one eyebrow lifting in irritation. The longer they remained exposed on this hilltop, the worse the feeling in her chest became. The Erebosian would not sit idle for long.
“Yes,” Iris sighed. “Hopefully this won’t take much longer.”
Then she studied Noor more closely, her expression softening. “How are you holding up? From the spell earlier. You must be exhausted.”
Noor gave a quiet huff. “I’ve been better.”
She hesitated.
“…But why do you care?” she added, quieter now. “With all due respect, most of you can’t stand me.”
Iris took a small step back, caught off guard.
Noor closed her eyes briefly and exhaled. “Sorry. That came out harsher than I meant.” She rubbed her temple. “You and Kayn, and sometimes Ikaro, you’ve been good to me. But I’ve… grown used to being tolerated. Not liked.”
The admission hung between them.
Iris didn’t respond immediately. She studied Noor as if seeing her properly for the first time; not as the sharp-tongued sorceress, not as the wielder of dangerous spells, but as someone very, very tired.
“Why do you believe that?” Iris asked gently. “Yes, you can be rough around the edges. You don’t sugarcoat things. But I don’t think that makes you unlikable. If anything,” She gave a faint smile. “I think you are good company. At least from what I’ve come to know.”
“You don’t truly know me,” Noor said, her voice thinning. “I’ve kept things from all of you.”
“We all have secrets.”
“Not like mine.”
There was no pride in her tone. Only weight.
“Do you remember when you first met me?” Noor asked.
“When we freed you from the Gold Company? Of course.”
“They’ve been tracking me ever since.” She paused. “Not just them.”
Iris froze. “What?”
“I’ve been covering our trail. Every night. Illusion veils. False paths. Masking sigils to disrupt scrying attempts.” Her voice had grown faint, as though admitting it drained her further. “At midnight, while everyone slept.”
“For how long?” Iris demanded in a harsh whisper. “How did none of us notice?”
“I made sure you wouldn’t.”
The wind stirred around them, carrying distant voices from the others. Noor barely heard them.
“They stopped looking for me,” she continued. “But only because they were replaced.”
“Replaced by what?”
Noor swallowed.
“Immortal inquisitors.”
The words seemed to chill the air itself.
Iris stared at her. “Immortals? You mean Xerxes’ personal guard?”
“They are not soldiers,” Noor corrected quietly. “They are retrieval hounds.”
Her fingers curled into her sleeves.
“They don’t age. They don’t tire. They don’t abandon a pursuit. They track through resonance, through the imprint magic leaves on the world. Every spell I cast leaves a scar in the air. They follow those scars.”
A flicker of shame crossed her face.
“I can slow them. Blur the echoes. But I can’t erase myself.”
“For how long?” Iris asked again, more softly this time.
“A few weeks.”
“You’ve been carrying this alone for weeks?”
Noor laughed under her breath, but it broke midway. “I thought I could handle it. I’ve handled worse.”
But even as she said it, her shoulders sagged.
“I’m tired, Iris,” she admitted. “Tired of calculating every step. Tired of sleeping with one eye open. Tired of pretending that I am not a storm that keeps following all of you.”
Her gaze dropped to the grass.
“They will find me. And when they do, they will not stop. There will be blood.” She inhaled slowly. “You probably hate me for dragging you into this.”
There it was, the real fear.
Not the inquisitors.
Not the tower.
Not even the Erebosian.
But rejection.
Iris stepped closer.
“I’m not mad at you,” she said firmly.
Noor looked up, confusion flickering in her dark eyes.
“But you’re telling Kayn. At least him. You don’t get to decide alone what burdens we can carry. That’s not strength, that’s isolation.”
The words were not sharp. They were steady.
“You don’t help anyone by breaking yourself in silence.”
Noor felt something shift inside her, uncomfortable, but not painful.
“I will,” she whispered. “I just… need to find the courage.”
“You will,” Iris said, offering a warm, unwavering smile. “You’re stronger than you believe. But strength isn’t just power. It’s trust. Believe me, I know.”
For a long moment, Noor simply stood there.
Then she nodded.
“Come on,” Iris added. “Before the others start worrying.”

“Thank you,” Chiron muttered, adjusting the bandages around his shoulder where Aerys had worked with careful precision.
“It was nothing,” she replied with a warm, respectful smile, though the dried blood on her hands said otherwise.
The old centaur rose to his full height.
He did not simply stand, he towered.
The powerful frame of his equine body and the broad strength of his human torso carried the weight of command effortlessly. Even wounded, he radiated authority. His presence was not loud, not theatrical, merely undeniable.
He placed a fist against his chest and inclined his head slightly.
“I believe I owe my gratitude to you above all,” he said, his golden eyes settling on me. “You have my thanks. I stand in your debt… though I do not yet know the name of the one I owe.”
I straightened instinctively, matching his posture with quiet confidence. Entinos and Nixia stood at my sides, silent pillars.
“I am Kayn,” I said evenly, gesturing toward the others. “And these are my companions.”
“Well met, Kayn.” A faint smirk touched his lips. “I am Chiron, Taedaz of Egosea and chief of the Vasin.”
His gaze sharpened, studying me more closely.
“I suspect, however, that my titles pale in comparison to yours.”
I allowed a small chuckle. “You know who I am?”
“Not your name,” he replied calmly. “Nor your face. But I have walked this world long enough to recognize certain signs.” He folded his arms loosely. “It is not the first time I have stood before one chosen by the gods.”
A pause.
“Never three within the same company,” he added, glancing briefly at Iris and Noor. “But you… you are different.”
The words settled heavily.
This was not flattery. It was recognition.
I met his gaze without wavering.

“I’m been created by the gods as their chosen in the looming war against the erebosian…” I took my time as I began to recall Chiron who I was, what we were after and what we have to do now.
“I see,” he murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Then we stand upon the same current.”
He turned slightly. “Where does Dryon await us?”
“At the stone henge,” Entinos answered.
“Then time is not our ally.” Chiron shifted his weight, already preparing to depart. “Vod must be dealt with swiftly.”
“I agree,” I said. “But there is something we need to address before we move.”
All eyes turned toward me.
“Ikaro’s theory was correct. The plague is no accident. It was crafted. Designed.” I paused, feeling the faint echo of the alchemist’s chamber in my chest. “The Erebosian is responsible. We saw the work with our own eyes.”
“Damn it,” Nixia hissed. “Then we strike him now. Before he spreads it further.”
“Vod comes first,” Entinos countered, calm but firm. “Without unity, we will fail.”
“Agreed,” Chiron said. “The clans must gather under one banner if we are to challenge what stands against us.”
He hesitated, then his expression darkened.
“There is more,” he added, his voice lowering. “He spoke his name to me.”
A silence rippled through the group.
“Zerak,” Chiron said.
The name hit like a blade drawn across bone.
Pain flared beneath my ribs; sharp, immediate, wrong. The curse stirred, coiling as if in recognition.
“Yes,” I managed, steadying myself. “Zerak.”
My heart knew that name.
It beat to its rhythm.
But my mind rejected it.
“I cannot tell you how to defeat him,” I admitted quietly. “Something binds my memory. My instincts recoil from him… yet something deeper remembers.”
I clenched my fist, forcing the pain back down.
“My heart recognizes him.”
I looked toward the horizon where the tower stood in the far distance.
“But my mind refuses to accept that he exists.”
Chiron watched me closely, not with doubt, but with understanding.
“Then whatever he is,” the centaur said gravely, “he is tied to you.”
“Maybe I can add something to this whole ordeal we are facing,” Noor announced, stepping forward with measured calm. “This is no mere plague. Not in the natural sense. What spreads across Egosea is an alchemical concoction fused with dark sorcery. It is called Ukkury, Life’s Bane in our tongue. The Atraxia mentions it several times and devotes an entire page to its history and myth. No sorcerer, warlock, or being of arcane mastery has ever successfully created it.”
“Until now, by the looks of it,” Ikaro muttered with a strained chuckle.
Iris frowned. “So, this thing is a weapon of mass destruction?”
“No,” Noor replied, her voice steady. “That would almost be simpler. Ukkury does not merely kill its host. It converts it. It integrates itself into the living being. From what I understand, the Ukkury is as alive as the body it inhabits.”
Aerys blinked, unsettled. “Then what do they gain from using it?”
“The Atraxia suggests it acts as a conduit,” Noor continued. “A channel for raw arcane energy. Whoever can control the infected host can siphon unimaginable power from it.”
Silence fell.
Iris’ eyes widened as realization dawned. “They want to weaponize the infected. Empower themselves against the gods. And at the same time weaken Egosea from within.”
“That is a plausible interpretation,” Noor admitted. “But there is a limitation. To contain such power, you would require a vessel capable of holding it. No living host, god or mortal, could endure that magnitude of arcane **** without combusting.”
The three fauns exchanged a grave look. There was only one possibility.
Chiron’s expression hardened. “He will not use it on himself.”
A chill crept along my spine.
“He will use the Kirelis as the recipient.”
“The Kirelis?” I asked.
“Egosea endures because at its core lies an orb of primordial nature,” Chiron explained. “Crafted by Gaia herself. It is the heart of this land. Its capacity is limitless. It empowers us as much as we empower it. That balance is what sustains Egosea.”
Understanding struck like thunder.
“If the Kirelis is corrupted,” Noor said quietly, “Egosea will not simply die…”
She let the words settle before finishing.
“It will turn.”
The weight of that implication pressed against my lungs.
Chiron nodded grimly. “Vod will give it to Zerak. In exchange, he will be granted a fragment of its unleashed power.”
Aerys threw up her hands. “That fool truly believes he will not be betrayed?”
“I agree with Red,” Noor added, folding her arms. “If Vod thinks Zerak will not claim the Kirelis entirely for the Erebosians, then he has miscalculated catastrophically.”
“No,” Entinos said sharply.
The single word cut through the murmurs.
“Vod is no fool,” he continued. “Reckless, yes. Ambitious, certainly. But not foolish. He knows precisely what he signed. He would never enter a bargain unless he believed himself to be the one controlling it. If a deal was struck, it was because he judged it advantageous.”
His defence unsettled me more than the accusation.
“So, he has truly chosen his side,” Chiron murmured, sorrow threading through his voice.
I stepped toward Dawn where it rested against the tree and slid it into its sheath. Eclipse remained at my waistband, its presence a quiet weight against my hip.
“We deal with Vod first,” I said, my voice steady and absolute. “That is not a suggestion.”
They began preparing at once.
Chiron studied me in silence; not as a boy, not as a companion, but as a commander measuring another.
“Dryon awaits us at the Stonehenge,” I continued. “We must reach him before the ritual begins… before Zerak marches.”
I mounted my horse and tightened the reins.
“If we are fortunate,” I added, glancing back at them, “we may yet save some lives from this madness.”