Towan and Elliot sat cross-legged on a large boulder, perched like self-proclaid sages. Their eyes were closed, expressions serious — or at least trying to be.
“Why exactly are we ditating on a rock again?” Elliot mumbled, not opening his eyes.
“Because it looks cool,” Towan replied, straight-faced. “Soone might walk by and think we’ve achieved enlightennt.”
“Or brain damage.”
Before Towan could co up with a coback, a voice called out below.
“You two.”
Lytharos stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed.
“Co with .”
They scrambled down and followed him toward the house. Inside, the familiar scent of herbal tea welcod them. It wasn’t fancy — just strong, earthy, and grounding. The kind of tea that only warriors with bad knees and older souls appreciated.
“You still have this?” Leon’s voice echoed in mory, a distant past where laughter once filled the wooden walls.
Lytharos poured into three worn cups. “Haven’t made it in years. Figured now was the right ti.”
The brothers sat down across from him, steam rising between them.
Then Lytharos spoke, voice casual but words heavy:
“Ever heard of the Circle of Ourothan?”
Towan blinked. “Yeah. A dying monk said those words before you rescued us.”
“Well.” Lytharos leaned back. “That’s what I’m after. They’re an organization trying to revive The Corruptor.
You’ve heard of him, right?”
Elliot nodded grimly. “The one who defeated all Essentia Warrior teams. Only one stood against him in the end… and even they broke apart after the fight.”
Towan furrowed his brow. “But isn’t he dead? I an, really dead?”
“That’s the thing.” Lytharos’s eyes glinted. “They don’t want to resurrect him. They want to replace
him. They believe corruption will choose a successor—soone strong enough to hold it. Soone they can raise, guide, and… weaponize.”
Elliot’s hands tightened around his cup.
“They’re experinting… aren’t they? The body we found back then—he was a failed host?”
Lytharos nodded. “They’re searching for people who can survive corruption. Twist just enough to beco sothing else… without breaking.”
Silence fell. Then:
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“There’s sothing wrong with the way they move,” Elliot muttered. “The corrupted ones. It’s like… they echo. Like sothing’s inside them. Rembering.”
Lytharos tilted his head slightly. “Interesting you noticed that.”
He set his cup down, eyes narrowing.
“That’s not just corruption. That’s mory.”
Towan blinked. “mory of what?”
Lytharos didn’t answer at first. He stared out the window, watching a gust of wind stir the grass beyond.
“So say Essentia rembers,” he said softly. “It holds echoes. Footsteps. Techniques. Even rage. And when it’s twisted, those echoes co back wrong. They reflect what once was… but hungrier.”
Elliot exhaled, thunder whispering faintly beneath his skin — too soft to hear, too quiet to na.
“They’re not just reviving a legend,” Lytharos said finally.
“They’re reviving his fury.”
The board was packed. Dozens of parchnt sheets flapped lazily in the wind like tired flags. Towan stood with his arms crossed, squinting at the ss of bandit raids, supply escorts, and the ever-present "kill these wolves" posts.
"Is it just , or do all Bronze commissions boil down to 'babysit a cart' or 'get eaten by bandits'?"
Elliot, already flipping through a stack of pinned scrolls with clinical precision, didn’t even look up.
"That’s because that’s exactly
what they are."
Towan leaned in closer to read one scroll, then imdiately recoiled.
"Ugh. Escort mission and wolves? That’s a combo platter of pain."
Elliot paused. His fingers brushed across a dusty, half-torn paper wedged at the very bottom of the board.
The title:
Commission: Recovery of Lost Text – Category: Bronze
"Seeker requests retrieval of a specific volu from the ruins of Mournlight Monastery. Compensation negotiable. Location unstable. Magical anomalies likely. Proceed with caution."
No ti limit. No client na. Just a hastily drawn sketch of a book:
A black cover with a gold-embossed eye on the front.
Towan leaned over Elliot’s shoulder, squinting at the parchnt.
“…A book quest? Seriously?”
Elliot didn’t look impressed. “Most of these end in dust and disappointnt. The place is probably ransacked.”
“Yeah,” Towan said, tapping the corner. “But look at the stamp.”
Elliot frowned and leaned closer. Beneath the faded commission seal was a mark neither of them recognized — a quill piercing through a crescent moon, seared into the paper like a personal signature.
“Sothing about that looks… familiar,” Towan murmured.
“You sure it’s not just a weird guild logo?” Elliot asked.
Towan hesitated, his hand hovering just above the scroll. “Maybe. But…” His brows furrowed slightly. “…I don’t know. My gut’s buzzing. Feels like this one’s ant for us.”
Elliot gave him a long, skeptical stare. “You trust your gut now?”
“Only when it sounds like a prophecy or impending doom,” Towan said. “Right now it’s… weirdly calm. That’s gotta an sothing.”
“Or indigestion,” Elliot muttered.
Towan grinned. “Either way, I’m curious.”
He pulled the commission from the board. A few nearby adventurers looked up. One snorted.
“Good luck with that one. No one’s made it past the first hallway in that ruin. Place eats maps and brains.”
Another chuckled. “Whole zone’s dead — magic flickers, gear breaks. Only people who take those jobs are bookworms and lunatics.”
Towan turned with a confident half-smile. “Lucky for us, I’m both.”
Elliot sighed under his breath. “And I’m the babysitter.”
The two of them stepped away from the board, scroll in hand. A guild clerk gave them a once-over and nodded without much fanfare. Bronze ranks taking suicide jobs? Not her problem.
As they exited into the golden light of afternoon, Towan flicked the corner of the scroll with one finger.
Towan’s eyes narrowed
“Think it’s cursed?”
“Absolutely. But it’s not trying to kill us yet. So that’s a nice change of pace.”
The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of parchnt, ash… and sothing else neither could na. Not yet.
Sowhere in the distance, a man sat in the shade of an old tree with a teacup and a smile, watching a crow land beside him.
As he took a sip, he said “Let’s see what they rember.”
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