Chapter 21: Homeward Shadows

The sun hung low against the western horizon by the time Reziel and the knights broke camp. A biting wind swept over the rugged foothills, stirring dust and brush in swirling eddies. Despite the weariness clinging to every muscle, they pressed on—wounded knights resting in wagons, solemn faces peering out at the roads ahead. The once-looming fortress lay behind them, a silhouette against the bruised sky.

Aria Highwind rode at the column's front, her posture tense but resolute. She'd insisted on taking point, even though fatigue lined her eyes. Sir Galland, still sporting a ragged bandage on his upper arm, stayed near the middle, coordinating the slow march. Anora, Ronan, and Kiana each led smaller squads, ensuring the safety of those too hurt to travel on horseback alone.

Reziel, mounted on a loaned horse: I'd rather walk… but my ribs won't let me go far.

He winced with every jolt. Though he longed to collapse and rest, a part of him dreaded the quiet. Too much time to think about the System, the "equal exchange," and the risk of being devoured. A murmur of leftover arcane energy still pulsed in his body, each breath reminding him how close he'd come to unleashing another Overlimit.

By dusk, the column reached a makeshift crossroads used by merchant caravans. Tired knights quickly set up a perimeter, guarding their few wagons of supplies and the captured cultists. More than one prisoner groaned or muttered curses from behind steel bars. The knights kept them under watch—too valuable for interrogation and any leads on severing the System.

Aria dismounted near a low campfire, tying her mare to a post. As Reziel guided his horse closer, she stepped in, helping him dismount carefully. His ribs flared with pain, forcing a hiss from his lips.

Aria, soft voice: "Easy. You're still healing." Reziel, forcing a grim smile: "I've been better…"

With a practiced gentleness, she guided him toward a spot by the fire. A few knights waved them over, shifting gear aside to clear space.

Darkness settled fully, stars scattered across the sky. Tents rose around the campsite—some battered beyond repair, replaced with tarps. Galland moved through the area, murmuring thanks to each knight on watch, ensuring they rested in rotation. Anora and a junior cleric tended the severely wounded, salve and healing spells flickering in the firelight.

Reziel exhaled, lowering himself onto a rolled blanket. Smoke from the campfire stung his eyes, and the aroma of a thin stew teased his empty stomach. Days of fighting have left me hollow. Yet no appetite stirred; exhaustion overshadowed all else.

Aria dropped to a knee beside him, rummaging through a small pouch. She pulled out a battered tin cup and ladled some stew from a pot hanging over the fire. "Try to eat," she urged. "Even a little."

He accepted it, letting the warmth seep into his chilled fingers. "Thank you," he said quietly, slurping the meager broth. Each swallow eased his parched throat.

Not long after, Ronan, Kiana, and a few other knights joined them at the fire, faces drawn from fatigue and sorrow. Kiana stirred the stew absentmindedly, sneaking glances at Reziel. Ronan wiped dirt from his dented breastplate, words clipped.

Ronan, solemn: "We lost fifteen knights in that fortress. Another ten are injured so badly they won't see the field for months, if ever again." Kiana, sighing: "At least the cult's final ritual was stopped. They won't threaten Luxaria again."

Reziel tensed at the mention of the cult, remembering the masked leader's final words—You cannot save the vessel. A chill prickled his spine. They truly believed the System demanded an ultimate price.

Aria caught his troubled expression. She rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We're alive, and we have leads. That's more than we had before."

He mustered a faint nod, trying to embrace the small hope sparked by the fortress texts. But "equal exchange" still looms…

Late into the evening, after Galland checked on the guards, he joined Reziel and Aria at the dwindling fire. The crackle of flames punctuated a lull in conversation.

Galland, voice low: "We'll reach the capital in two days if we maintain this pace. The High Council and Radiant Church must be informed of our victory—and the cost."

Aria, frowning: "The church might object to us harboring the System's host. Or they'll demand Reziel's immediate 'exorcism.'"

Galland shrugged wearily. "They can't ignore that he helped save Luxaria. And they have no legal grounds to act without the Crown's approval. For now, he's under Knights of the Radiant Dawn protection."

Reziel bit his lip. What if the church decides I'm too dangerous? A fresh wave of anxiety spiked, quickly quelled by Aria's firm nod. "We won't let them do anything drastic. You're one of us now."

A hush fell, the fire's embers glowing red. Galland turned to Reziel, an unspoken question in his gaze. "Do you truly believe the cult's records might hold a safe solution?"

Reziel inhaled shakily. "I… want to believe. But it may be half-lost or demand a sacrifice. We won't know until we decode everything."

Galland's jaw tightened. "Then decode we shall. Once in Luxaria, we'll gather scribes, librarians, and mages to help. You have my word."

As if conjured by their concerns, a young knight trotted over, face pale. "Captain! We've—there's trouble near the prisoners' wagon."

Galland rose instantly, Aria and Reziel wincing at the abrupt shift in tension. The group hurried across camp to where two knights stood guard over a small cage wagon. Inside, a captive cultist clutched his chest, eyes rolled back. Another cultist raved in a trance, unintelligible runes swirling over her skin.

Knight on guard, alarmed: "They started convulsing. Some kind of delayed curse or communion with leftover magic."

Reziel leaned forward, recognizing the hazy aura around the raving cultist—faint tendrils of violet. "A self-inflicted spell?"

Anora, arriving with her staff, grimaced. "Probably a failsafe. The circle must've marked them. If they attempt to reveal secrets, the magic consumes them."

One cultist collapsed, frothing at the mouth. The other shrieked, eyes bulging with terror as swirling runes glowed along her arms. Galland signaled Anora, who began chanting a dispel. Aria stepped to the wagon door, spear at the ready.

Reziel's breath caught—this might be their only chance to glean direct answers about severance. He moved closer, ignoring his throbbing ribs. "Let me try something," he urged, heart pounding. "I can dampen the cult's energy. A small Dark Pulse might interrupt the curse."

Aria's eyes flashed with concern. "Careful," she warned. "Don't overexert."

Nonetheless, Reziel placed a trembling hand on the wagon's metal bars, focusing on a controlled Dark Pulse. He released a gentle surge of negative mana, weaving it to counter the violet arcs racing across the cultist's skin. Sweat beaded on his brow as pain flared in his side. Keep it contained, don't push too far…

For a moment, the swirling runes on the cultist's arms faltered. She gasped, blinking rapidly. But the leftover curse from the fortress circle was potent, clawing back. The knightly dispel and Reziel's interference weren't enough to fully break it.

Cultist, rasping: "No… no more… Twilight… devours…" She collapsed, face twisted in agony.

Despite Anora's frantic chanting, the cursed energy flared one last time, then died. The cultist sagged, unconscious or worse. A hush settled as knights checked her pulse.

Anora withdrew her hand, face grim. "She's still breathing, barely. We'll see if she survives the night. The male cultist… not so fortunate." She shook her head at his unmoving form.

Reziel's shoulders slumped. "I tried…" he murmured, leaning heavily on the wagon. A wave of dizziness hit him, vision blurring.

Aria caught his arm before he could drop. "That was already too risky," she admonished softly, though sympathy lingered in her tone. "You did what you could."

Galland exhaled, glancing at the bodies. "They'd rather die than betray the cult's secrets. If any remain stable enough for interrogation in Luxaria, we might learn more. For now, we secure them carefully."

The incident cast a renewed pall over the camp. Knights whispered of curses and leftover rituals, shuffling nervously around the prisoners. Some retreated into their tents, anxious for morning. Others patrolled the perimeter, wary of any further magical aftershocks.

Reziel lay on a bedroll near Aria's tent, a small lantern flickering overhead. His ribs ached fiercely from the brief exertion with the cultist's curse. He pressed a hand to the blackish veins creeping along his side, frustration boiling. Even a tiny usage hurts. Will it always be like this?

Aria emerged from a quiet discussion with Galland, kneeling beside Reziel. "You need rest," she insisted, gently pressing a folded blanket under his head as a pillow.

He forced a nod, eyes shut. Rest… if only I could quiet my thoughts. Each time he drifted, nightmares teased him—visions of Overlimit, serpentine masks, and half-finished rituals whispering about "equal exchange." At some point, Aria's steady presence lulled him into a fitful sleep.

At dawn, the camp rose with subdued efficiency. Wagons creaked under the weight of wounded knights and battered cultists. The remnants of a bitterly cold night lingered in the early light, leaving dew on tent flaps and armor.

Reziel awoke stiff, but at least his mind felt marginally clearer. Aria offered him a hand up. "We have another day or two on the road," she said. "We'll get you to a proper healer in Luxaria."

He managed a wan smile, grateful. Together, they joined the slow procession heading east. Galland rode at the front, scanning the horizon for any sign of brigands or stray cultists. The column trailed in a ragged line—less than half the force they'd started with, yet still intact enough to defend themselves.

Anora's wagon carried the unconscious cultist woman, her breath shallow, curses scrawled across her arms. Another wagon bore the fortress texts and relics recovered from the archive. Reziel's heart fluttered with mingled hope and dread. If these shards of knowledge can't help me, what then?

By late afternoon on the second day, the main road crested a ridge revealing Luxaria's capital in the distance—its white walls and watchtowers shining under the sun. Even from miles away, the sight comforted the knights. For Reziel, it stirred an odd mixture of relief and anxiety. What welcome will I receive? The church might not be friendly.

Aria halted her horse beside his, giving him a measured look. "We'll handle it. Don't dwell on the worst-case scenario."

He mustered a slow exhale. "I'll try."

By early evening, the column reached Luxaria's city gates. Guards recognized Galland's insignia, quickly waving them through, though their gazes lingered on the wounded knights and bound cultists. Word spread fast among bystanders—anxious whispers about a major battle, a cult's defeat, and an unknown "dark mage" among the knights.

Reziel felt their stares like needles. They suspect me already. But Aria stayed close, guiding him forward with unwavering resolve. Galland, leading the column, headed straight for the Knight outpost near the palace district.

The wide courtyard of the Knights' headquarters bustled with activity as the battered column arrived. Squires rushed to help the wounded dismount; stablehands guided the weary horses to stalls. Officers emerged from the tall, arched doors, expressions shifting from alarm to urgent compassion. Some recognized Reziel from prior glimpses—once an outsider, now integral to the fortress's victory.

Galland dismounted, issuing crisp orders. "Get the severely injured to the infirmary. Secure the prisoners in the lower holding cells. Aria, see that Reziel gets medical attention as well."

Aria, nodding: "Right away."

Reziel started to protest—"I can wa—" but Aria shot him a firm look. "You can barely stand. Let's get you checked by a real healer."

Inside the outpost's infirmary, a stern older healer named Bryn directed knights to cots. The smell of antiseptic herbs and candle wax stung Reziel's nostrils. Bryn scowled at the blackish veins across Reziel's side, pressing gently with experienced fingertips. Reziel winced, white spots dancing at the edge of his vision.

Bryn, sharp tone: "You're lucky you're upright. The mana scorch in your channels is severe. Another Overlimit, you said?"

Aria, quietly: "Yes. He's avoiding it now."

Bryn, tsking: "Good. Because any further strain might cause permanent damage or worse."

Reziel bit back a surge of hopelessness. I know… but it's the only strong weapon I have if forced. The healer applied a thick poultice, chanting softly to mitigate the lingering corruption. Aria sat by him, silent support in the sterile gloom.

Late that night, as Reziel dozed on a narrow cot, Aria returned from an emergency debrief with Galland. She knelt at his bedside. "The council acknowledges our victory. We'll present the cult texts tomorrow for official review. The Crown's archivists will assist."

Reziel blinked weary eyes, hope stirring. "So they won't try to label me a heretic?"

Aria's lips curved in a small smile. "Galland made it clear you were vital. Right now, they see you as an ally—one that needs special care, yes, but an ally nonetheless."

Relief washed over him, tension loosening. "That's… good." He swallowed. "And the church?"

She shrugged. "They'll likely demand an audience, but Galland expects they'll proceed cautiously. You're under Knight protection, and the fortress threat was real. They can't dismiss your help."

As dawn approached, the infirmary settled into a restless hush. Knights convalesced in rows of cots, occasional groans punctuating the silence. Aria dozed upright in a chair near Reziel, spear within reach. He forced himself to rest, though his thoughts whirled: I'm alive, back in Luxaria, with a real shot at decoding the severance. But it might demand an "equal exchange."

He pictured the cult's warnings, the lines on that old scroll—Vessel devoured, host undone. A shiver traced his spine. If that's the only way, do I risk everything?

Yet a seed of optimism remained, nurtured by Aria's steady presence and the faint promise that among the fortress relics, a kinder method might surface. One that would free him from Overlimit's curse without demanding the ultimate price.

The morning sun peeked through the infirmary's high windows, illuminating dust motes swirling in golden beams. Another day dawned—one that would lead him deeper into the capital's intrigues, the church's scrutiny, and the labyrinth of ancient texts. The challenge was far from over, but for the first time since leaving that fortress, Reziel felt the stirrings of genuine hope.

I will find a way, he vowed inwardly, clutching Aria's hand in the hush before sunrise. And I won't face it alone.