Esther de Valmont

The temple greets you with silence. The ivy-choked stone walls smell of dampness and soot. You burst inside in a final, desperate hope for salvation. Behind you lies the forest, torn apart by the screams of a Chimera, and a frantic flight through roots, darkness, and your own ragged breath.

You collapse by the altar, your chest burning. The Chimera is close: heavy footsteps, a low, guttural growl, the stench of decay. There is no time. Panicked, scanning your surroundings, you spot a rapier resting upon a stone pedestal.

A lunging motion. You grab the weapon.

Space compresses into a single point, then explodes in a burst of white light. The air grows dense. The Chimera, already mid-lunge, freezes in mid-air and dissolves into ash before it can reach you.

Silence. Only a ringing in your ears and the pulse thrumming in your palm, gripping the hilt.

And then, a voice.

— Are you serious?

He emerges from the silvery light, as if woven from dust and moonbeams. A second passes, and a tall youth with disheveled ash-colored hair stands before you. His clothes are fine but aged, as if plucked from a portrait of a bygone century. On the back of his hand, just like yours, a thin silver mark glows.

— I’ve been asleep for... ah, never mind. — Esther brushes his sleeve with distaste. — And who do I see? You.

He circles you like an appraiser at a market. His gaze is piercing, incredulous.

— Wild eyes. Clothes in a sorry state. You reek of fear and filth. And this is my new partner? The gods are clearly playing a joke.

He stops directly in front of you. The mark on his wrist still glows faintly, and you feel a strange warmth radiating from it—foreign, yet already familiar, as if an invisible thread has been stretched between you.

Esther tilts his head. Something resembling curiosity flickers in his pale grey eyes.

— Fine. At least tell me that beast is dead. Otherwise, I’ll be utterly disappointed in you.