“Shoot her legs!” the hideout leader shouted in panic as he pointed a finger at Serenya. “Don't kill her! Just stop her assault!”
The Owl soldiers swung their glowing spears away from Zeek, targeting Serenya instead. Reacting on instinct, the Wanderer threw himself directly in front of her, acting as a human shield. He thrusted his right hand forward, desperately trying to conjure magic, but the massive Nullstones pulsing within the warmachine were still pressuring his senses.
Bracing himself for the inevitable impact of the magical projectiles, he prepared for the worst. But Serenya with a wave of her hand, she brushed the incoming blasts away into nothingness with ease. She stepped past the Wanderer, her voice overlapping echos.
“Do not stand in the crossfire,” she spoke, her radiant yellow eyes locking onto the platoon.
Serenya raised her hands toward the ceiling. “Enough!”
The moment the word left her lips, the glowing tips of the enemy spears fluctuating as the magical energy overloaded completely. One by one, the weapons detonated right in the hands of their bearers, shattering the spears and sending the fragments flying. Within seconds, the entire Owl platoon was disarmed and groaned on the ground as they clutched their injured hands.
“Serenya...?” Zeek breathed, his eyes widening as he stared at his niece from beneath the light shield.
The incandescent glow faded from her eyes, her irises returning to normal as she dismissed her magic. She looked at him for a second before quickly turning her back, staring down at the rocky floor in shame.
The Wanderer quickly lunged forward, grabbed his fallen steel sword from the dirt, and stepped in to guard Serenya’s back. “This is not a good time to talk, Captain,” he warned, his eyes scanning the groaning guards.
Zeek wiped away a single tear that escaped his eye, his expression hardening back into a mask of military steel, as he pushed himself up from his knees, he barked an order to the few remaining soldiers. “Tie them up! Whoever resists, kill them on the spot!”
He marched directly toward the hideout leader, leveling the tip of his blade at the man’s throat. “Your men are completely unarmed. Don’t try anything funny.” Zeek’s eyes still filled with tears. “Threaten me again, and I will personally order that warmachine to bring this entire hill down to the ground. God knows I don’t wish a single soul inside to get out of here alive.”
Serenya tightly clutched the fabric of the Wanderer’s uniform, burying her face into his back before peaking her tear-filled eyes over his shoulder. “I'm sorry... Uncle,” she sobbed.
“DON'T CALL ME UNCLE, YOU HERETIC!” Zeek roared, refusing to look back at her.
The remaining of Zeek’s men moved quickly, dragging the groaning Owl guards against the stone wall and binding their wrists with ropes.
As the dust began to settle, Serenya walked over to a dark corner, sitting on the cold earth and sobbing quietly into her knees.
The Wanderer watched her bitterly. He walked over and gently knelt in the shadows beside her.
She turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “Don’t look at me,” she rasped. “I’m a monster.”
The Wanderer reached out, his right hand wrapping around her fingers. “You aren't.”
She slowly looked up. “You said it yourself before,” he continued softly. “We shouldn't judge people by something that is out of their control. If there is a monster in this place, Serenya... it would be me. But if a man like me can still fight to redeem himself, I am certain you can too.”
She wept louder, grabbing his arm in fear. “My father will disown me.”
The Wanderer squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Calm down. Take a breath. I'll make sure everything will be fine. I promise.”
The Wanderer stood up, dusting off his uniform, and walked over to Zeek. The Captain was keeping himself busy, barking orders at the remaining soldiers to gather the disarmed Owls and separate them from the bodies of his fallen men.
"What's next, Captain?" the Wanderer asked.
"Move faster, we don't have the whole damn day!" Zeek shouted at his men, ignoring the question entirely before turning his gaze toward the Wanderer. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it."
The Wanderer stepped into his line of sight, speaking firmly. "I understand your frustration, Zeek. But your men must keep their mouths shut about what they just saw."
Zeek stared at him, anger twisting every line of his face. "I can handle my own men." He stepped closer, aggressively raising a finger to the Wanderer’s chest. "But you make sure that is the absolute last time I help that heretic."
Then turned around and walked away.
"She is still the same woman!" the Wanderer raised his voice to the retreating Captain. "She is still your niece!"
Zeek stopped for a fraction of a second, shouting back over his shoulder, "My niece died in that cave! There is only a heretic waiting for the Seeker’s execution now!"
The Wanderer sighed and walked back to where Serenya sat. He stretched out his hand, offering a smile. "Come on now. Zeek won't tell anyone, and neither will his soldiers."
She reached up, taking his hand as he pulled her to her feet. "So... he doesn't hate me?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his.
"I don't think anyone could," the Wanderer replied with a faint laugh. Then, leaning in, he whispered, "But don't try to talk to him right now. Give him some time. I'm sure he will come around."
Serenya nodded, wiping the last of her tears. She followed the Wanderer reluctantly out of the cave, keeping her head low under the uneasy stares of Zeek’s remaining men.
As they stepped into the desert heat, Zeek’s messenger popped his head out from the top hatch of the massive warmachine. "If you had only waited for us to come prepared," the messenger muttered, looking down at the Wanderer, "none of this carnage would have happened."
The Wanderer glared up at him. "Shut up and help Serenya enter that thing."
The messenger hesitated, looking over at Zeek for confirmation. From a few paces away, Zeek lazily waved his hand, approving the command.
The Wanderer helped Serenya mount the massive metal tread of the warmachine. As she reached the top ridge, she paused and looked down at him. "You aren't coming with us?"
He shook his head. "I have a different path to walk right now. But we will meet again, Serenya. I promise."
She gave a slow nod, and disappeared down into the safety of the armored hatch.
The Wanderer walked over to where Zeek was mounting his horse. "You can control your own men, Captain," the Wanderer said, looking up at him. "But what about the Owls inside? They saw my new face. They know exactly who I am."
Zeek gripped the reins. "I don't care. Do as you wish."
With a sharp kick to his mount's flanks, Zeek galloped away, followed closely by his riding men and the rumbling warmachine, heading back toward Valoria.
The Wanderer watched the dust cloud they left behind until it completely faded into the horizon.
Turning back toward the hill, his face hardened. He moved back inside the hideout, his boots echoing ominously through the rocky corridor as he walked directly toward the corner where the Owl soldiers sat tightly bound against the wall.
The hideout leader looked up, a bloody chuckle escaping his lips. "What now, great hero? Going to lecture us?"
With every step the Wanderer took deeper into the cave, the Spiral raged inside his chest, its mana flooding back into his veins.
The Wanderer stopped in front of them, devoid of any mercy.
"I'm sorry, Kuma," he whispered into the dark, mana sparking of his hand. "One last time... for her."
A few minutes later, the Wanderer stepped out of the mouth of the hill back into the desert. With a flick of his wrist, he detonated the support pillars of the hideout, causing a catastrophic chain reaction. Behind him, the large hill gave way, collapsing the entire cavern into rubble and dust.
He had carefully orchestrated the internal damage, ensuring that any investigators who dug through the ruins would see only one story: the Owl guards had been torn apart by the backfire of their own overloaded weapons, and the unstable rocky structure simply hadn't withstood the violent carnage, burying the truth beneath tons of solid stone.
Satisfied that his secrets - and Serenya's - were safe within the mouth of dead men, the Wanderer turned his back on the ruins.
The heat waves shimmered off the desert floor as he lifted his gaze toward the distant towers of Hosar piercing the horizon. Taking a deep breath to steady the residual mana, he took his first step toward the city, ready to slip into his new skin as Vincent Dragonborn.