Chapter - 10 The gathering

One month had passed again.

Dorian's body had changed. His ki surged through him, sharpening his movements, making him faster, stronger. His aura had expanded beyond what he ever thought possible—no longer just a presence, but a force he could wield. His training under Orin had pushed him past his limits, molding him into something new.

But even as his power grew, the questions remained.

And now, the day of gathering had arrived.

Orin stood beside him, murmuring an incantation. The air around them darkened, the world twisting as shadows wrapped around their bodies. Then—

Darkness. A sensation of falling.

And in the next instant, they stood somewhere new.

Dorian's stomach lurched slightly as he steadied himself. He exhaled and took in his surroundings. A desert.

Endless dunes stretched in every direction. The sky was vast and empty, the sun casting harsh light over the barren land. There was nothing here. No landmarks, no life. Just sand.

He glanced at Orin. "Convenient."

Orin smirked.

They began walking, their boots sinking into the hot sand. The silence of the desert was eerie—only the sound of the wind accompanied them. But soon, a shape emerged in the distance. A ruin.

The temple stood in the middle of nowhere, half-buried by sand, its stone pillars cracked and worn. Ancient carvings covered its entrance, though time had erased most of their meaning. Dorian followed Orin inside, stepping into the cool darkness.

The interior was vast but crumbling. Faded murals lined the walls, depicting long-forgotten gods or kings. A massive circular hall stretched before them, the ceiling cracked open in places, letting shafts of sunlight spill in. The air was thick with dust and time.

And they weren't alone.

In the far corner, an old man sat lazily, puffing on a pipe. His beard and hair were pure white, his skin wrinkled with age. He didn't move, just watched them through half-lidded eyes.

Orin gave a small nod. "He's always the first to arrive."

The old man looked at them, then gave a slow nod back before returning to his pipe.

Dorian remained silent. The atmosphere was strange—calm, yet charged with something deeper.

They waited.

Footsteps echoed through the temple. Another arrival.

A short young boy stepped inside. His blond hair was neatly combed, and he wore a formal suit, looking completely out of place in the ruined temple. His smile stretched wide—too wide.

Something about it felt off.

His face was innocent, almost childlike, but his eyes held something darker, something that sent a small chill down Dorian's spine. He looked around before spotting Orin.

"Oi, old man! Still alive?"

Dorian blinked.

Orin sighed. "Lucian."

The boy grinned and then turned his gaze to Dorian, studying him with sharp amusement.

"And you," Lucian mused, his grin never fading. "You must be the one the old man recruited."

Dorian simply nodded.

Lucian's eyes flickered to Dorian's missing arm. A gleam of mischief sparked. Then, with a voice as cheerful as a child's, he said, "If you are happy and you know it, clap your hands." He laughed at his own joke, clapping his hands.

Dorian stared at him. What the fuck?

But he said nothing. Just stared.

Lucian sighed dramatically. "Tch. Boring man." Then he plopped down, still grinning to himself.

Dorian took a slow breath. These people are eccentric.

Another presence entered the temple, this one carrying a distinct aroma—spices, smoke, something rich and savory. The scent alone made Dorian's stomach twist slightly in hunger.

The man who entered was middle-aged, slightly overweight, with brown skin and thick arms. His clothes were loose and comfortable, but something about him felt like a chef, as if cooking wasn't just a job, but an identity.

The man's sharp eyes landed on Lucian.

"Didn't expect to see you here, brat," he said, his voice deep and steady.

Lucian grinned. "What, you missed me, Cook?"

The man snorted. Then, seeing Dorian, a fresh face, he extended a hand. "I'm the Cook, the one who cooks."

Dorian shook his hand, nodding in understanding. Another weirdo!

He had assumed this group was large. But looking around, there were only four of them. He expected more.

Orin, noticing Dorian's thoughts, explained.

"We are not a large group as everyone thinks. And not everyone attends the gathering," he said. "Also, the dead ones can't come."

Dorian felt a small weight settle at those words.

Orin continued, "What is worse? We change locations sometimes. If someone misses a gathering, they won't know the new location."

Lucian laughed. "Like me, hahaha!"

Dorian turned toward him, curious.

Lucian smirked, leaning forward. "Two years ago, I didn't attend the gathering. I forgot the date. Haha! Then last year, I showed up—only to find an empty wasteland." He shrugged. "Took me a whole damn year to find someone who knew the new location. Ran into Eve last month. Lucky me."

Dorian listened, absorbing everything.

This group… it wasn't just chaotic. It was disconnected, fractured, yet somehow still moving.

And tonight, he would see what they truly were.

As the night deepened, more would arrive. And with them, the ritual of forsaking would begin.

*****

The air shifted.

A sudden burst of aura cracked through the temple, a wave of invisible force that sent dust swirling into the air. Dorian felt it before he saw its source—the sheer weight of it pressing against his body, a suffocating presence that made his instincts scream.

Then, he arrived.

A towering man strode into the ruined temple, his body strong and battle-worn, his presence unmistakably powerful. There was something about him—something like Orin. His aura pulsed, restrained but immense, like a caged beast waiting to be unleashed.

But what struck Dorian most was his appearance. Unlike the others, who dressed in worn cloaks or practical attire, this man's clothing was expensive—royal, almost. Deep blue, lined with silver embroidery. A warrior's body, wrapped in a noble's fashion. And across his left eye ran a jagged scar, a mark of past battles.

Orin's face darkened slightly. His usual indifference cracked just a little.

"The troublesome one has come," Orin muttered.

The man wasn't alone.

Behind him, dragged through the sand like discarded luggage, was a corpse.

Dorian's breath hitched. The others, however, barely reacted.

The man walked further in, dragging the lifeless body across the temple floor before stopping in the center of the gathering. He dropped the corpse with a dull thud, then exhaled as if shaking off dust from his hands.

Dorian stared.

Jareth.

It was Jareth the Taker.

His body was twisted unnaturally, his once-calculating eyes now dull and lifeless. Dorian had met him before—a cautious man. And yet, here he lay, discarded like trash.

Dorian expected someone to react.

Lucian just smiled.

The Cook merely sighed.

The old man didn't move—he might as well have been asleep, or dead.

The silence was deafening.

Then, the scarred man spoke.

"I told you guys not to approve this piece of shit last year. This mother fucker is the source of rumor about our group."

His voice was sharp, irritated—but not enraged. He looked at the dead body like it was a broken tool, a mistake.

No one answered. No one seemed to care.

The man exhaled, running a hand through his hair, before suddenly shifting his tone. His rage vanished in an instant, replaced with a calm, almost bored expression.

"Nevermind," he said. "It's solved anyway."

He stepped over Jareth's corpse and casually scanned the room, as if checking inventory. Then, his eyes landed on Dorian.

"Oh?" His lips curved slightly. "A new face."

He took a step forward, moving toward Dorian with slow, deliberate steps.

Dorian's instincts flared—his body tensed, his aura rising. He didn't know this man, but every fiber of his being screamed that he was dangerous.

Then, just before the man got too close, Orin stepped forward, placing himself in the way.

"He's my recruit," Orin said, his tone flat but firm.

The scarred man paused, genuinely surprised. He looked between Orin and Dorian before chuckling.

"Yeah?" he mused.

And then—

His aura exploded outward.

Dorian's breath stopped as the sheer weight of it crushed down on him. The temple shook. Dust and debris fell from the ceiling, small stones cracking off the weakened pillars. The ground itself seemed to groan under the force.

Orin didn't hesitate.

His own aura expanded, meeting the man's head-on.

The air between them crackled with invisible energy, the two forces colliding like two titans testing their strength. The clash sent a shockwave through the temple.

Dorian gritted his teeth, struggling to stay upright. The sheer pressure was like being buried under tons of stone. His body screamed, his aura instinctively trying to resist but failing against the overwhelming force.

And yet—

The others didn't react.

Lucian simply smiled, enjoying the show.

The Cook watched, arms crossed, but otherwise unconcerned.

The old man in the corner didn't even flinch. Dorian wasn't sure if he was still alive.

The air hummed with tension.

Then—

The scarred man suddenly withdrew his aura, the pressure vanishing in an instant.

The temple settled. Stones stopped falling. The oppressive force lifted, leaving only the still air behind.

Dorian exhaled, feeling his heart pounding.

The man tilted his head slightly, his lips curving in amusement.

"What a surprise," he said. "You've never taken a recruit before, Orin. This is not like you."

His gaze lingered on Dorian for a moment longer before he stepped back, the moment of tension fading.

"Interesting," he muttered.

Orin didn't reply.

Dorian swallowed, steadying himself. His mind raced.

The scarred man let out a slow breath, scanning the room once more before stepping forward.

"The gathering has begun," he announced, his voice carrying a weight that silenced even Lucian's usual grinning antics. "And with it, the trial."

Dorian straightened. The trial.

The scarred man's gaze landed on him again, sharp, calculating. "This group—" he gestured vaguely around the room, where Lucian smirked, the Cook yawned, and the old man didn't move a muscle "—is really a joke."

Lucian gave a dramatic gasp. "How dare you?"

The Cook simply nodded. "Fair assessment."

The scarred man ignored them. "But there is one thing we take seriously—the decision to forsake." His eyes locked onto Dorian. "And tonight, we'll see if you are ready."

He stepped forward.

This time, Orin didn't interfere.

Dorian threw him a glance, expecting some kind of warning, but Orin simply folded his arms and said, "That man's crazy, but not mad. Do your best, Dorian."

Dorian clenched his fists. Not reassuring.

The trial had begun.

Standing face-to-face with the man, Dorian felt his aura pressing down on him, heavier than before. It was suffocating.

The scarred man's expression was unreadable, his voice steady.

"You don't have to tell me your past. But whatever it is—are you sure you can forsake it?"

The words weren't just spoken. They carried weight. Each syllable rang in Dorian's chest like a hammer striking stone. The aura surrounding him thickened, wrapping around him like chains.

Dorian gritted his teeth. Sweat formed on his brow.

The man's gaze didn't waver. "Can you forsake your past?"

The pressure intensified. Dorian dropped to one knee. His breathing grew ragged.

"Can you forsake who you were?"

His muscles burned. His vision blurred. It felt as if the weight of every decision, every regret, every sin he had ever carried was now crushing him.

"Can you forsake your lost path?"

His fingers dug into the stone floor. His arms trembled.

And then—

"Are you ready to start a new path?"

The final question hit different.

A spark ignited in Dorian's chest. The weight was still there, but instead of crushing him, it dared him to rise. He clenched his jaw.

His aura flickered—then flared.

Slowly, with effort, he stood.

Dorian met the man's gaze, his voice steady, unwavering.

"I am Dorian Blackfrost. I cannot forsake entirely who I was… but I am ready to start a new path."

Silence.

The pressure vanished. The air stilled.

Treyr stood still, his sharp gaze locked onto Dorian. The silence stretched, the weight of the moment hanging between them.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he took a step closer.

His presence was suffocating, but this time, there was no challenge in his aura—only judgment.

"You're different from what I expected," Treyr murmured, his expression unreadable. His eyes flickered with something—calculation? Curiosity?

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his lips.

"You have proven yourself," he said at last, his voice quieter now, but filled with something that hadn't been there before—respect.

He took a step back.

Dorian inhaled deeply. He didn't hesitate.

"I am tired of ignoring my past. I can't forsake it. But I will keep moving forward, without being tied down by it."

His aura pulsed gently around him, as if reaffirming his words.

"From now on, I am Dorian the Unbound."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Orin nodded. The Cook gave a small, satisfied nod. Lucian grinned.

The scarred man exhaled through his nose and smirked. "Good."

Then, he raised his hand. "The ritual begins."

For the first time since they arrived, the old man in the corner moved.

He coughed, then began to chant.

His voice was deep, hollow, echoing through the temple, as if the stones themselves were whispering the words alongside him.

"I sever the chains, but not the cause,

The past remains, but no longer calls.

I walk my path, unbound and free,

Carrying strength, but not the past's decree."

The moment the incantation ended, a dark energy surged through the air.

Dorian's body tensed. Something unseen entered him.

Not his body. Something deeper. His soul.

It wasn't pain. It wasn't even discomfort. Just… a shift. A change that couldn't be explained, but was undeniably real.

And then—

The energy faded.

Dorian stood still, blinking. He felt refreshed. As if something had been lifted, yet at the same time, nothing had changed.

The ritual was complete.

One by one, the others began to leave.

The scarred man stepped forward and extended a hand toward Dorian.

"I am Treyr the Ruler, the one who rules."

A familiar name. Dorian hesitated but couldn't remember, so he shook his hand.

Treyr nodded. "It's been a long time since we had a worthy member. You did well."

The Cook, stretching, gave Dorian a casual wave. "Welcome to the group." Then, without another word, he turned and left.

Lucian rolled his shoulders and called after him. "Wait for me!" He glanced back at Dorian, flashing his usual mischievous grin.

"Welcome, Unbound," he said with a smirk, then disappeared into the night.

Treyr gave a simple nod. "If fate allows, we'll meet again." Then he left. Just like that.

Dorian watched them leave, exhaling. That's it? It's over?

The temple, which had been filled with power, tension, and presence, now felt empty.

He turned to say something to the old man—

But he was gone.

Dorian's eyes darted around.

Orin clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about him. He's always like that."

Dorian frowned, but before he could question further, Orin gave a small, rare smile.

"Welcome to the group, Dorian the Unbound."

With that, they too left the temple behind.

The temple stood silent, abandoned once more. The wind howled through the cracks in the stone. The moon cast long shadows through the ruined hall.

Then—

Footsteps.

A figure arrived, standing at the temple entrance, looking around.

"...What the hell? Where is everyone?"

A pause. Then, an annoyed sigh.

"Fuck! Did I miss it again?"

*****

The return to the forest was silent.

Orin's dark spell had transported them once again, and by the time they arrived, it was already midnight. The thick canopy above barely let the moonlight seep through, but the faint sound of rushing water echoed through the trees, a familiar presence in the quiet night.

Dorian felt the tension in his body slowly ease as he inhaled the fresh, damp air of the forest. But his mind? It was restless.

Tonight had been… strange. Unexpected.

Sleep wouldn't come.

So instead, he walked toward the waterfall.

Dorian sat on a smooth rock near the water's edge, watching the way the moonlight danced on the rippling surface. The sound of the waterfall was constant, soothing, yet his thoughts refused to settle.

He wasn't alone for long.

Orin approached quietly, hands in his pockets, his usual calm and unreadable expression in place. He didn't ask why Dorian was awake—he already knew.

With a sigh, Orin sat down beside him.

For a moment, neither spoke. The night air was cool, and the waterfall roared softly in the background. It wasn't an awkward silence—just the kind that comes when words aren't necessary.

Then, finally, Dorian exhaled.

"That's really an eccentric group."

Orin smirked. "You're just realizing that now?"

Dorian shook his head, his brow furrowing. "It wasn't anything like I expected. I thought the gathering would be… I don't know, more structured? More serious? But some of them didn't even have to do anything. What was the point of them coming?"

His voice held genuine curiosity.

"The Cook, Lucian—they just showed up. That was it. No trials, no challenges. It felt pointless."

Orin's smirk widened slightly.

"Pointless?" He gave a small chuckle. "You're thinking about it the wrong way, Dorian. They had already achieved their goal by coming."

Dorian frowned. "What do you mean?"

Orin turned his gaze toward the waterfall, his dark eyes reflecting the moonlight.

"Take it as a kindness," he said. "This is what a group is meant to be—people with a common thing. They didn't need to do anything. They simply came to acknowledge you and the other recruits. To let you know that, in some strange way, you are now one of their own."

Dorian processed that.

"Acknowledging the new members…" He repeated the words slowly, mulling them over.

"Connections, Dorian," Orin continued. "That's what matters. These people? They live scattered, chaotic lives. Some will never meet again. Some will cross paths when they least expect it. But by coming to the gathering, they formed a connection with you. And if fate allows, that connection might one day be useful."

Dorian leaned back slightly, arms crossed. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Orin glanced at him. "Still think it was pointless?"

Dorian hesitated—then sighed. "No. I guess not."

Orin nodded, satisfied. "Sometimes, if there are no new recruits, they just share stories of their current lives instead. It's not always about trials. It's about the group itself, however scattered we are."

Dorian looked up at him, "Treyr's... aura. I resisted it, but I'm not sure what that means. He said I am worthy. What did I prove by resisting?"

Orin's lips twitched into a faint, knowing smile. "You've proven your resolve, Dorian. Aura is not just power; it's the very nature of a person's will. It's the manifestation of your inner strength, your conviction. Treyr's aura is not just force—it is his will, his essence, pressing down on you, testing whether you have the strength to stand against it."

Dorian furrowed his brow, still confused. "But I only resisted it. What if I couldn't? What if I had... failed?"

Orin smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "If you couldn't resist, you would've fallen. Under the pressure of Treyr's aura, many would have. Some would have crumbled; others might have lost themselves entirely. It's a test of your resolve, Dorian. You can't simply withstand it with your body. You have to be true to yourself. That's why he said you were worthy. You resisted, because you're true to your words, to your conviction."

Dorian fell silent. True to your wrods.

After a moment, Dorian shifted topics.

"The group is small." His voice was thoughtful. "I expected more members to be there. I thought it was bigger."

Orin smirked. "It is bigger. You just don't see them all at once."

Dorian glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

Orin stretched his legs out, exhaling. "Think about it. We change our location often. Some people miss it. Like Lucian, who had no idea where we were last year. Others might never run into someone who knows the new place. Some don't even care to look."

Dorian frowned. "Then how does the group even stay connected?"

Orin chuckled. "That's the beauty of it, Dorian."

Dorian blinked.

Orin continued, his voice steady. "Sometimes, a member might run into another by chance, and that person might know the next gathering location. Other times, someone might get tired of waiting and start a new gathering on their own. This way, the group is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. We don't rely on a single leader, a single meeting place, or a single structure. That's why we've lasted this long."

Dorian absorbed this new information. It was chaotic. Disconnected. But somehow, it still worked.

"...So the group is like a wandering network," he muttered.

Orin smirked. "Exactly."

Dorian ran a hand through his hair. It was a lot to take in. He still wasn't sure if he truly understood what he had just become a part of. But one thing was certain—this was unlike any group he had ever known.

And maybe, in a strange way, that was why it worked.

For now, he let out a deep breath and stared at the rushing waterfall. The night stretched on, and though his mind still spun, he finally felt a little lighter.

Maybe sleep would come after all.