Chapter 15: Nightwatchers

(1,071 Words)

The road to Zephrylia stretched before them, winding like a silver thread through the forested foothills. After the soul-scouring trial of Stormrise Divide, the trio had chosen to camp just outside the distortion's reach before continuing. Their journey resumed at dawn, and now the capital's outer walls shimmered faintly in the distance—tall, proud, and crowned with banners that danced in the breeze.

But the city felt tense. As they approached the checkpoint, Elen was the first to notice it.

"Extra guards," she muttered. "And that's the third scout riding patrol we've passed in an hour."

Blaze nodded. "Something's wrong. You can feel it in the air—like lightning before a storm. Even the birds aren't singing here."

Nyari's ears twitched. She said nothing, but her golden eyes tracked every motion around them. Her feline instincts bristled. Something beneath the surface was watching them.

At the gate, the captain waved them through once Elen presented her seal. Still, he gave Nyari a long, lingering look.

"Tiger-blooded, huh?" he muttered. "You adventurers attract all kinds lately."

Nyari gave him a fanged grin. "We grow on you. Just give us time."

They entered the city beneath the shadow of the gates. Zephrylia pulsed with life and structure. Tall spires of white stone lined the capital's heart, woven with bridges and aqueducts carved by magic. Towering statues of founders and saints stood watch over cobbled plazas, and enchantments kept the city's canals flowing cleanly through the districts. On any other day, it would've been beautiful.

But today, it felt haunted.

Traders whispered behind drawn curtains. Soldiers wore grim faces, armor unpolished, eyes ringed with sleeplessness. And everywhere—everywhere—missing person posters littered the boards like fallen leaves.

Nyari stopped at one.

A sketch of a young woman—a knight-in-training. Missing for two weeks. A note scrawled beneath: Last seen at night near the southern wards. Responds to the name Maren.

Blaze peered over her shoulder. "That's the third one I've seen with the southern wards listed. All female. All at night. All magically inclined."

Elen folded her arms, lips tightening. "We're not staying idle. Princess or not, something's stalking this city. And it's hunting with intent."

Gathering Shadows

They spent the day gathering rumors.

Elen vanished into the armory district and returned with quiet reports from old contacts in the royal guard—off the record, of course. Blaze visited the mage quarters, entering three separate towers under the guise of a traveling scholar and weaving gentle inquiries with flame-touched charm.

Nyari roamed. She walked the streets, silent and alert, her ears twitching at every whisper, her golden eyes catching flickers no one else could see. She moved through crowds like a ghost, pausing at alley mouths where shadows seemed too dark, where the air carried the scent of old blood and forgotten cries.

As twilight bled into night, a pattern emerged. Victims vanished only after sunset. Always near ley line nodes—areas where magic shimmered unnaturally. Like Stormrise Divide. Places where time and space didn't hold quite right.

The Whisper in the Dark

That night, while staying in a rented tower suite near the city's inner ring, Nyari awoke with a start.

A whisper brushed her ear—so close, it chilled her spine.

"Star-born... you shine too brightly."

She bolted upright, claws already forming along her fingertips. She scanned the dark, her feline pupils narrowing into gold slits. Nothing moved.

Then—just beyond the balcony—a flicker.

A shape. A shadow darting across the edge of her vision.

She dashed silently to the door, threw it open, and without a word, leapt.

The rooftops of Zephrylia became her hunting ground.

Nyari bounded across tiles and beams with the grace of a predator, her striped white-and-black form melting into moonlight and vanishing between shadows. Her breaths were measured. Her footfalls soundless. Her focus absolute.

The figure ahead moved with purpose, slipping from rooftop to ledge, vanishing behind chimneys and reappearing beside lofted lanterns. It wasn't fleeing in fear. It was guiding.

A challenge.

Nyari narrowed her eyes and quickened pace.

The wind whipped past her ears as she vaulted a bridge and landed in a crouch atop a bell tower's slanted roof. The stranger glanced back for the first time. Their eyes—pale and unreadable—met hers.

Then they turned and leapt again.

She followed.

Two blocks. Five. Seven. They twisted through the noble quarter, then into the outer ring, where the lanterns were fewer and the air felt colder. Finally, the stranger turned sharply and ducked into a collapsing structure—an old chapel, long abandoned.

Selvara's Warning

Nyari blinked ahead, phasing forward with a burst of speed, landing in the nave.

The girl stood near the broken altar, shadows clinging to her like smoke.

She was no older than Nyari—perhaps younger. Her hair was jet black, cut short and swept across one eye. Her skin bore glyph-tattoos that shifted subtly with her breath, as if alive. Her cloak bore no crest.

"You shouldn't have followed," the girl said. Her voice was low, resonant.

Nyari didn't move. "You whispered my name. You wanted me to chase."

The girl's hand slid to a dagger on her hip—a curved blade etched with violet sigils.

"Your kind doesn't belong here. Not among the broken gods."

Before Nyari could reply, the girl lunged.

Nyari moved faster.

The clash was brief but sharp. Steel rang against claw. Dust exploded as they collided, danced, and separated. Nyari's foot swept. The girl rolled. A dagger slashed across Nyari's shoulder—not deep, but precise.

Then, just as suddenly, the girl stopped and tossed something.

A coin.

Nyari caught it mid-air.

On its surface: a seven-pointed star surrounded by serpents.

"The Nightwatchers," the girl whispered. "We were created to kill gods."

Nyari's tail lashed. "Why tell me this?"

"Because you shine like them," the girl said, stepping back into the shadows. "And they'll come for you. Unless you choose to join us."

Then, without flash or spell—she vanished.

Nyari stood alone in the dust, the coin warm in her palm.

She turned it over.

Engraved on the back, almost too faint to read: Selvara.

She whispered the name. "Selvara..."

Then—bells.

Not church bells.

Emergency bells.

From the direction of the eastern ward, smoke was rising. A sickly orange glow lit the distant sky.

Nyari's glyph pulsed in her chest. A warning. A call.

She closed her hand around the coin, her claws flexing involuntarily.

And with a leap, she vanished into the shadows—toward the fire.