Book 3: Chapter 2: Demon Aspirants

They followed the bare road, winding into a forest of temperate pines. They moved swiftly on the trail in through the trees, not wanting to be caught unaware by some beast, until the forest thinned gradually breaking into a wide glade.

A village sat on the edge of the trees, nestled neatly into the treeline and foliage like it had grown there. The scene gave off an aura of half-wild and half-tamed, quiet, decorated about with crooked fences which leaned against moss-covered wooden posts. Actual fire-lit lanterns glowed faintly about the many building’s entryways and along the cobble path, their light muted by the mist clinging to to ground and air. There was a distinctive smell of pine mixed with wood-smoke, which settled on their cloaks as they made their way into the village proper.

As they collectively traveled down the main road, villagers looked up from their tasks to watch them. A woman carrying firewood froze, eyes narrowing to slits. Alex saw a man off to his left who sat at a log in front of a house, mending a fishing net. The man stopped his work to set set down the net, suddenly standing upright to look their way. Even the chickens, from Alex’s perspective, seemed to cluck suspiciously, scattering into the shadows of their coop. None of the villagers said a word, but their eyes followed the worldstriders like shepherds sizing up a new beast that had wandered a little too close to the flock.

Alex felt every stare as they walked. He didn’t need his [Aether Sight] to sense the tension. It was in the way people shifted weight on their heels when looking at them, in the way they pulled their children close as they passed, and the swift movement of shutters at the windows. The whispers hadn’t started yet, but they were there, ready and tense on every tongue hidden behind closed lips.

Tom-Tom tugged at the rim of his battered pot helmet, teeth chattering, tongue forking in and out sporadically as if he could taste the unease in the entire area. “Too many stares,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Alex to hear. “Tom-Tom does not like this.”

Alex didn’t answer the little lizard, he simply gave the little guy a reassuring pat on his cooking-pot. But, truthfully, he didn’t like the feeling either.

The inn sat at the far end of the main road, a squat wooden multi-story building with a slanted roof, and a sign depicting a foaming mug, swung above the doorway. As they neared, Alex saw warm light spilling from its windows, promising at least the bare illusion of possible safety. They stepped inside and were met with the smell of stew, alcohol, and damp wood. The chatter of the few patrons died down as the group crossed the threshold.

The innkeeper, a tall, thin man with a much too-wide smile, approached the counter. His eyes flicked over Alex’s cloak, the weapon at Kate’s side, the faint glow of a glyphs on Devon’s bracer, and Alex could see something behind the man’s smile tightened, a tiny change around the eyes. Still, his words came out polite, almost rehearsed.

“Rooms? For all of you?”

“Yes,” Alex said, also keeping his tone level.

The man nodded quickly and fetched keys from under the counter. “It’s a silver a night. We’ve got space upstairs. Dinner’s still hot.”

He didn’t ask questions, which said enough. There was an exchange of metal object between the two of them, and they separated, no more than that. The keys clinked softly in Alex’s hand as the squad moved to claim a table. The innkeeper’s smile lingered in his mind, polite, tense, and the weight of the villagers’ stares followed them even here.

The inn’s common room was warm, but it was a warmth didn’t reach the table where Alex and his squad sat. Firelight from the hearth flickered across the wooden beams overhead, throwing restless shadows that seemed to shift with every passing whisper. After a few minutes, someone came by their table with dinner. Bowls of stew steamed between them, and the smell of roasted herbs mixed with the faint scent of wet pine clinging to their clothes from the forest outside.

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No one spoke much. Spoons scraped against bowls, chairs creaked, Tom-Tom licked his spoon.

The first whispers came from a table near the fire.

“That’s him,” a man hissed, low but not low enough. “The Demon of Terraxum.”

A woman across from him barely stifled a gasp, fingers fiddling with a small pendant depicting some sort of religious symbol. “I heard,” she murmured, “he tore a guard in five pieces with his bare hands. And that he has four hands!”

“I heard he did that to the King. Removed all his limbs and left him to die a cripple in his own blood.” Another added.

“No,” someone else said, voice almost trembling. “He spared the king, wanted to leave him knowing his son was dead. That’s what makes him scarier.”

“And the rest of them?” The woman again.

“His Aspirants. They follow him in hopes of gaining Demon status one day. They’re like a sick cult. A powerful, war-crazy, cult.”

Alex kept his eyes on his stew, swirling the mess about with his spoon. He didn’t need to look up to know the Inn’s patrons were staring. He could feel it, like a hundred rifle barrels aimed at the back of his head.

Garret leaned closer, he spoke barely above a whisper. “At least they’re not asking for autographs.”

A few of the others snorted into their bowls, the brief flicker of humor cutting through the tension slightly. But it was something that didn’t last.

On the other side of the room, a villager spat on the floor and muttered a prayer, clutching his charm so tightly his knuckles went white. Another glared openly, eyes hard and sharp, in their direction. But not all of them looked at the squad with hate. An older man at the bar, lifted his mug in a small, almost imperceptible nod, a veteran’s recognition. A woman with a scar down her cheek met Alex’s eyes and didn’t flinch.

The squad exchanged uneasy glances across the table. Kate’s hand hovered near her rapier hilt. Henry’s expression didn’t change, but his shoulders tensed. Tom-Tom was half-hidden under the table, his pot helmet peeking above the edge.

Alex set his spoon down slowly. “Eat,” he said quietly. “Don’t give them a reason.”

So they did, no one said another word. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the whispers kept coming, but they all remained silent. No one gave any response. Despite this, the tension around them didn’t seem to lessen. If anything, Alex felt it slowly starting to ramp up as the minutes passed. The villager’s fears and insane rumors riling each other up, it was at a slug’s pace, but slowly building nonetheless.

Once their meal was done, Kate leaned close as well, speaking just low enough not to carry past their table. “We can’t stay long. These people are just turning up the heat on themselves and waiting to see who boils over first.” He saw her fingers drumming softly against the hilt of her rapier as she spoke, an unconscious habit.

Across from her, Zach’s gaze drifted toward the windows where villagers occasionally passed by, glancing in, as if checking to see if the monsters were still there. “She’s right. Leaving early is safer. People like this—” he tilted his head toward a man at a nearby table who was glaring into his mug as though it personally offended him, “—they don’t let fear sit quietly for long.”

Henry gave a single slow nod, while Garret wiped stew from his now gorwing beard with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I’d rather not wake up to a mob with pitchforks.” He forced a grin but it didn’t sound like he was joking.

Alex leaned back, letting his senses wash over the room. His [Aether Sight] shimmered into focus, painting the air with faint traces of magic. Nothing overtly dangerous, no glyph traps, or hidden enchantments. Just the natural pulse of fear, suspicion, and resentment radiating off the villagers like heat from a dying fire.

He let his sight ability fade and spoke quietly. “We’ll leave before sunrise.”

The pre-dawn mist rolled over the narrow streets as the team woke up the next morning, the fog wrapping the small forest-side village in a ghostly sheet. Their breath came out in clouds as the squad donned their armor, checked gear, and tightened straps in silence. The only sounds were the creak of leather, the clink of buckles, and the faint rustle of trees swaying in the cold. Even the birds had yet to rouse and thus failed to provide a background tune for their actions.

Despite the ungodly early hours, the innkeeper stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t say a word, just gave them a stiff nod and a forced smile, the kind you gave to policeman in the car as they passed by, hoping they wouldn’t turn back.

Tom-Tom, pot helmet slightly askew, glanced up nervously. A small hand waved from behind a nearby doorway; a child, clutching a wooden toy with wide eyes. Tom-Tom’s tail gave a soft twitch, and he raised his claw to wave back, a faint smile peeking through his facial scales, revealing fangs and causing the child back away.

As they passed the edge of the village, Alex caught it, whispers carried just far enough on the mist to reach his ears.

“There they go, heroes… monsters.”

He didn’t look back. Both can be true, he thought, the words settling like stone weight on his shoulders.

As they set out, the mist thickened, swallowing the rooftops and the faint glow of lanterns until the village was gone behind them. Only the forest remained, dark and endless. No one spoke for a while as they walked.

The weight of the whispers clung to them, heavy as the mist.

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