Episode 2
The Keeper and the Friend
The brush is thick and stubborn, clawing at their legs with every step. It’s a miserable path, made worse by the dark. You’d think with the twin moons high and the southern rings gleaming overhead, some light might reach the underbrush—but no such luck.
Flora moves ahead with ease, one hand brushing the tall grass. Wherever her fingers pass, the stems seem to bend, parting just enough to let her slip through.
Zeal follows—less graceful. He steps over a tangle of vines, only to catch his foot on a flattened patch of greenery.
“So… what’s the plan, exactly?” he mutters,
“It’s pretty straightforward,” Flora says. “I didn’t get a perfect look at the layout, but the village is small—probably just a few buildings and some pop-up tents. I’m hoping we can stumble across an animal willing to help us. If we’re lucky, they’ll scout and give us everything—layout, numbers, who’s where.”
“Like… a wild animal?” Zeal blinks.
“I can… speak with them,” she says.
“No way! That’s amazing! Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
She gives him a sharp glance. “No offense… but secrets are how we survive.”
Zeal nods. “Yeah. That’s… unfortunately true. Still, your plan’s solid. A good start.”
“Thanks. I’ve been chewing on it since dinner. With it being so late, I’m betting the guards are sluggish—half asleep at best. They won’t expect a breach tonight.”
“That’s actually smart. So what can I do?”
“I need a lookout. That’d help a lot. Animals are sharp, but they’ve got the attention span of a breeze.”
She stops cold. “Shhh.”
Zeal nearly stumbles into her back. “What? What is it?”
“A critter,” she whispers, crouching low. From her belt, she pulls a tiny leather satchel and plucks a berry from inside. Holding it out like a peace offering, she speaks softly into the dark.
“Hey there, little guy. A berry for a moment? ”
A rodent-like creature scampers down a nearby tree, its big eyes glinting, whiskers twitching. Its limbs are gangly, but its body is a puff of overgrown fluff. Round ears perk as it approaches, snout wiggling with cautious interest.
“There you go,” Flora coos, laying the berry on her palm. “Do you have a moment? I really could use your help—and I’ve got plenty more berries where that came from.”
The little beast chatters back, a string of rapid chirps that makes Flora giggle.
“You’re a funny one. I just need a quick peek at the village. I’m looking for someone… someone very important to me.”
The creature chirps again, snatches the berry, and—without hesitation—scales her leg and dives into the satchel, face-first in fruit.
“I’m guessing that’s a yes,” Zeal says with a smirk.
Flora nods, beaming. The rodent pokes its berry-smeared face out of the satchel, shoots Zeal a squeaky glare, and vanishes again.
“You guessed right.” She brushes off her hands and stands. “Part one of the plan—check. Let’s keep moving.”
“On it,” Zeal replies, marching forward.
They weave through tangled limbs and whispering branches for nearly twenty minutes before a soft orange glow pulses in the distance—firelight.
They creep closer, careful and silent, until they reach the edge of the trees.
Before them sprawls a rundown village. Weather-beaten shacks lean into each other like drunks at a tavern. A few larger buildings anchor the mess, with canvas tents scattered between. In the center, a massive fire crackles beneath a crude spit roast. A chunk of meat spins lazily as soldiers gather around it—singing, if you could call it that. Their chants slur together, more desecration than melody.
Flora spits. “Eck. Fucking barbarians.”
Zeal’s lip curls, silent disgust in his eyes.
Flora kneels. “Alright, little guy,” she whispers, reaching into her satchel, “I need you to find my friend. See where she’s being kept… and how many guards are watching her.”
The critter scurries down her arm. She leans in, whispering into its oversized ear. Zeal crouches beside her, trying to eavesdrop, but can’t make out the words.
“What’d you tell him?” he asks.
“Just gave him a description of Sorinia,” she says.
“Ahh. So now we wait.” Zeal exhales, lowering himself into the grass beside her.
“Yeah,” she nods. “Moment of truth.”
They sit in silence, the stillness broken only by drunken howling and the crackle of firelight.
“So…” Flora says softly. “Kuta was an Arbiter?”
“He was,” Zeal answers without pause.
“I thought they all died in the Cataclysm.” She turns to him, leaning in slightly, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“The Cataclysm?” Zeal squints.
“Wait—what? You’re kidding,” she says.. “The explosion that wiped out the old capital?”
“Oh! Right.” Zeal hushes his reaction. “The Cataclysm. I… didn’t realize it had a name.”
“mhm.” Her voice lowers. “So… what’s his deal?”
Zeal shrugs. “Honestly, I'm not sure…He doesn’t like to talk about it. When I ask, his answer’s always the same—‘I survived, and gave that life up to raise you.’” He mimics Kuta’s gravelly voice with theatrical exaggeration.
Flora stifles a laugh.
“They were legends,” Zeal says, quieter now. “The Arbiters. The stories he used to tell me… that’s the kind of strength the world needs again.” His fingers brush the metal shackle still locked around his elbow.
Flora exhales. “Yeah…”
A rustle.
The rodent returns—darting from the underbrush and scrambling up Flora’s back like it never left. It chirps rapidly into her ear.
“Mhm,” she says, nodding. “Mhm… Thank you. For everything.”
She lets the creature down and dumps the rest of her berries onto the ground. It chirps once more and dives in, cheeks puffing with every bite before vanishing into the dark.
“This is really promising,” she whispers, eyes lighting up. “He said Sorinia’s in a hut on the far side of the village. One guard. Asleep. We sneak in through the window, tie him up, free her—easy. We will be far gone before they even notice. It’s… perfect. As perfect as we could hope for.”
“That’s great,” Zeal says, voice trembling with adrenaline. “Right. All we have to do now is… put the plan into action.”
Flora gives a nod and a wave, and they circle the edge of the village—low and fast, like shadows moving beneath breath
They reach the hut.
A soft glow spills from the cracked window. They peer inside.
The room is small. A flickering lantern rests on a table beside a discarded helmet. A man slumps across it, mouth open, snoring like a wind-sick sagré.
Across the floor, a tarp lies pinned at the corners with thick rope stakes. It rises. Falls. Rises again.
Something beneath it… is breathing.
They slip through the window like mist.
Flora lands light. She tiptoes to the sleeping guard while Zeal watches the door. From her pouch, she pulls a handful of seeds and scatters them beneath the wooden chair. Her fingers lift—slow, precise—and the seeds sprout.
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Thorny vines twist upward, silent and swift, wrapping the man’s limbs. She clenches her fist.
The vines constrict.
The man jerks, eyes wide in terror—but a thick coil shoots up and seals his mouth shut. He thrashes, only managing pitiful wheezes. The thorns hold tight.
Zeal flashes a thumbs-up.
The guard watches helplessly as Flora kneels beside the tarp.
Her breath trembles. “Sorinia…” she whispers.
Zeal peeks over her shoulder—
Then freezes.
It isn’t a person beneath the tarp.
It’s a creature. Massive. Vulpine. Bound in heavy black straps.
An Asunegon. A myth.
A legend.
His throat tightens. The secret stuns him—but he swallows the shock and returns to his post.
Sorinia flinches as Flora strokes her rope-wrapped snout. Her pupils shimmer—wide, glassy, terrified.
“We’re gonna free you,” Flora says. “Just need to get these straps off.”
She grabs one and pulls. It doesn’t budge. She grits her teeth, tries again—still nothing.
“Zeal!” she hisses. “I can’t get these off.”
He checks outside one last time, then rushes over. From his satchel, he pulls a small blade and begins sawing at the strap around Sorinia’s neck. Flora gently unwraps the binding at her mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me what she was?” he mutters.
“Does it matter?“she says. Calm. Certain.
“No… it just feels—”
He stops.
Flora peels the tarp farther back.
The lanternlight catches on thick fur. Matted. Dried with blood.
Zeal’s words fall away.
“Oh, Sorinia…” Flora chokes. “What did they do to you?”
The creature groans, rolling her head weakly.
Flora doesn’t speak. She doesn’t cry. She just stares—fists trembling, teeth bared—as if rage is the only thing keeping her upright.
“You’re right,” Zeal says. “It doesn’t matter.”
He cuts at the next strap, but the blade dulls—useless now.
Flora pulls the tarp farther.
And goes still.
Where Sorinia’s forelegs should be… are butchered stumps. Crude stitching holds the wounds closed, puckered and raw.
“Those fucking monsters…” Flora breathes, a sob ripping free. She swipes at her tears and locks eyes with Zeal.
He presses the blade to the next strap.
“The elixir,” he says. “My pack. Little vial.”
She digs, finds it, bites off the cork.
“Here, girl…”
The thick black liquid drips into Sorinia’s mouth. Her eyes flicker faintly green. Zeal saws through the strap—but it barely gives.
He shifts the tarp again.
The hind legs… gone too.
More scars. More stitching. More horror.
Flora turns her head away, hands trembling as she pours what’s left of the vial.
Then—
A creak.
The door swings open.
“Hey Bonto, I brought you some rump roast—”
A guard enters. Sees the scene. Drops the meat.
Flora explodes.
“YOU REPULSIVE FUCKS!”
She hurls forward. The vial clatters to the floor.
Vines whip from the walls. Both guards are slammed into the floorboards—screams shatter the air. Thorned roots stab through the doorframe. The walls groan.
Flora storms out with them.
Zeal stares, heart hammering. Frozen between choices.
He glances down.
Unclasps the shackle. Drops it into his bag.
Focuses.
A pressure coils in his fingertip. Something inside responds.
A short blade hums to life from his skin—purple, sharp, alive.
He lifts the blade.
And cuts her free.
Outside—thwip, a scream, crash.
The wall buckles.
Zeal jolts, steadies his nerves.
He spots the vial. A few drops remain. He tips them carefully into Sorinia’s mouth.
“Come on,” he hopes. “If you understand me… you have to wake up. Now.”
She blinks. Lifts her head. Wobbles.
Then slumps again.
But her breathing— eased.
The stitching? Healing.
Another scream rips through the night. A crash!
The entire hut shifts this over—slanted.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
He runs to the door.
“We’ll be back… stay strong,” he whispers to Sorinia.
Then bolts into the chaos.
Toward wrath.
Toward Flora.
He is greeted with pure mayhem.
The soldier who landed the hit begs for help—only to be dragged away screaming. A tendriled shadow lashes through the chaos…Flora.
She fights like a tempest, ripping soldiers from their feet. The blood-soaked gravel only seems to feed her growth. The vines she conjures grow grotesque—wrapping around limbs and torsos, building themselves into an amalgamated nightmare of flesh and thorns. Arms reach from within. Faces contort in silent screams.
Zeal freezes at the sight. It’s horror and it's her.
A soldier lunges from the side—blade raised.
Zeal raises his arms. He flinches, eyes squeezed shut—
A sickening crack.
Burning pressure slams through his bones.
He peeks through his lashes… he is still intact.
His forearms are glowing—coated in shifting violet light, like armor made of mist.
The soldier recoils, stunned.
Zeal moves before thinking. His hand drives forward, sliding cleanly through the man’s chest. The blade—his blade—flickers from his palm like an extension. The man gasps, the sword drops, and his confusion fades into emptiness.
Zeal stares, trembling.
His first kill—
—And it was— effortless.
A scream tears through the air—Flora. He spins. Her head juts from a frozen wall of ice.
To the left—another figure.
A massive man, clad in heavy armor, katana gleaming beneath the twin moons. The blade looks unreal—mythite-forged.
Zeal sprints toward them.
The man stands ready. Each of his movements is deliberate. His armor bears the symbol of a Keeper.
He towers over Flora. Thick beard. Wild brows. A walking colossus.
With a flick of his wrist, the katana arcs—launching a massive icicle. It slams into Zeal’s shoulder, shattering on impact. The shock ripples through his chest. He stumbles, gasping.
The katana strikes again—this time the ground. A wall of ice burst toward him like serpents.
Zeal leaps aside, but a spike clips his ankle. Purple energy flares up his leg. He crashes hard, skidding to Flora’s side.
Their eyes meet.
She’s shaking. Exhausted. Ashamed.
Zeal doubles over, gasping, trying to stand. His ankle screams beneath him, bones shifting under pressure.
The Keeper approaches—slow, controlled.
He buries the katana’s tip into Zeal’s chest. Sparks burst against the purple shielding.
Zeal glares upward, defiant.
“Pathetic,” the man sneers. “Disgusting Fables. This is why we need eradication.”
He turns to Flora. Spits.
She barely reacts.
“FUCK YOU!” Zeal roars.
The katana drags down his chest, carving through the glowing armor. Ice traces in its wake—it seeps into Zeal’s torso. Frost coils around his ribs.
The tip ascends to his cheek. It bites.
“That power…” the Keeper grits. “You remind me of someone. Older. Deadlier.”
The battlefield grows eerily still. Only groans echo in the distance.
Zeal and Flora both shake with fury—helpless to act.
KRA-KOOM! The hut behind them explodes—Sorinia.
Debris rains. Zeal lunges forward, sweeping the Keeper’s legs. The man falls, and the katana spins free—slicing Zeal’s satchel. His shackle skids across the gravel.
The Keeper slams into the ground.
Sorina’s sleek, glowing body cuts the air like a comet. Her juvenile antlers collide with the ice prison, shattering Flora free.
Flora drags herself onto Sorinia’s back.
Zeal pounces the giant.
Blades bloom from his arms. He brings them down with instinct.
The Keeper catches his wrist—
But not cleanly.
The blade slices through bone and tendon.
Fingers go flying.
Blood spatters across the gravel.
The Keeper bellows, stumbling back, clutching what remains of his hand.
Zeal stares.
Frozen.
Flora clenches a handful of seeds. They bloom in her palm, lash outward toward Zeal like hands reaching to save him—only to wither mid-air, collapsing uselessly.
She faints into Sorinia’s fur, fingers trembling, her breath in tatters.
Zeal still falters. His arms shake.
He didn’t mean to do that—
Not like that.
He looks down at the blood on his hands.
The aura fades…
The katana finds its master.
Zeal stumbles. His ankle gives. He drops.
The blade rises.
A blinding flash—
An eruption.
And the boy falls.
He opens his eyes to a sky filled with sparks.
Kuta stands beside him.
His blade meets the katana, holding the strike. Energy ripples between them.
The Keeper’s face warps enraged. He pushes harder.
Kuta holds.
The sparks grow violent.
—Until
The katana phases through.
The Keeper staggers back, stunned.
“…Cataclysm,” he spits.
But Kuta doesn’t move. Arms still raised. Eyes locked.
He shouts, voice strained, each word deliberate:
“Flora—take Zeal. Get out of here.”
Sorinia understands. She doubles back.
Zeal limps toward them, eyes wide with pain.
The Keeper slams his blade into the ground.
Frozen needles erupt outward.
Kuta moves between them, shielding the blast.
Zeal stumbles—falls to one knee.
Sorinia cuts low, skimming the burst.
Flora reaches for him—grabs his hand.
For a moment, they connect.
But he doesn’t rise.
Ice creeps up his legs swiftly—veinlike—climbing.
It encases his waist, his chest, pressing in.
Still, his body glows—vivid violet pushing back against the frost.
He grits his teeth, trembling.
She pulls harder.
His arm won’t give.
Her grip slips.
Sorinia lifts.
Flora’s hand lingers midair as the frost closes over him—
Ice swallows his foot. His leg. His chest—
His face.
Zeal’s entombment flashes violet—brilliant and terrible, like erratic lightning.
The Keeper chuckles. “He isn’t going anywhere.”
Flora’s heart plummets.
“Go!!! Now!!!” Kuta roars.
Sorinia dives into the trees, and Flora holds on.
Not with strength.
With desperation.
She doesn’t look ahead.
Only back— at Zeal’s icy tomb.
The purple light at his core flickers…heartbeat by heartbeat.
Fades…
Fails….
Each breath she takes is one further from him.
One closer to the moment she will have to live with.
Then the forest thickens, and he is gone.
Flora folds.
She doesn’t weep.
She pours.
Down Sorinia’s neck, into the spaces between breaths and blame.
“Zeal…” a whimper.
She clutches fur like a lifeline, like memory, like maybe—if she holds hard enough—it’ll undo what she’s done.
But it won’t.
She knows that.
She knows what she left behind.
He had trusted her.
He had followed her.
And she’d led him to silence.
She keeps peering backwards.
A flicker of hope.
That maybe—somehow—
He’s fine.
Then—
The forest catches fire.
Not with flame.
With light.
A blinding violet erupts, washing the trees in brilliance.
The air swells.
A low hum rumbles through bark, marrow, sky.
—rising, pulsing, converging—
Until it sharpens
into a single, perfect beam that splits the heavens.
Brilliant violet radiates along the beam’s edge—so bright she can see it clearly, even through the canopy. The branches don’t dim it. The leaves don’t dare.
Flora turns away, eyes squeezed shut.
Sorinia slows beneath her, head tilted toward the light—entranced.
Then—
It vanishes.
Silence...
The forest holds its breath.
Flora wilts against Sorinia’s neck. Her breath won’t come. Her thoughts won’t land.
“We have to go back,” she gasps. “We have to help!!”
Sorinia hums low in her throat—agreement—and veers hard, racing through the woods.
They return to the village.
But there was none.
Only void.
Ashed carnage.
Charred bones. Snowing embers.
Obsidian ripples cooling in jagged waves.
At its center—
A man cloaked in flickering violet aura. He walks slowly, carefully, carrying a boy in his arms.
Each step cracks the cooling glass beneath.
Sorinia glides to meet them.
Flora slides off, stumbling forward.
“Is… is he alive?” she breathes, throat tight with guilt.
Kuta nods—barely—then drops to his knees. The aura wraps Zeal like a blanket.
His skin glows faintly beneath a scar in the sky.
He wheezes.
Alive.
Kuta exhales hard. His hand clasps the shackle, locking it back around Zeal’s wrist. The aura dims.
“We need to leave here,” he murmurs. “Far from here.”
Flora nods. “Sorinia… can you help us again?”
The creature hums softly.
“Thanks, girl…” Flora whispers. “Kuta, let me help you get him on.”
Even grounded, it’s a struggle.
Flora glances at the field of ruin. “What about the sword?”
Kuta growls, “No. No mythite.”
She nods, shattered and spent.
They vanish into the night,
leaving behind a smoldering crater—
a blighted scar carved into the earth itself.
