Arc 2 Chapter 2: A Fragile Truce

Irelia groaned as she pushed herself upright, every movement met with sharp protests from her battered body. Muscles ached, and the lingering burn of half-healed wounds reminded her all too clearly of the battle the night before.

Across from her, Pip’s worried gaze met hers, his hazel eyes filled with concern.

“You should rest more,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Irelia waved him off, bracing herself against a nearby rock for support. “I’ve had worse,” she muttered, though the wince that followed betrayed her usual bravado.

Her emerald-green eyes swept the camp, taking in the halflings huddled near the fire. Their faces were pale, drawn with exhaustion and the unmistakable weight of lingering fear—the kind that settled deep after coming far too close to death.

“Where’s Nariel?” she asked, adjusting her cloak in an attempt to ignore the stiffness in her limbs. Her voice was carefully neutral.

Pip gestured toward the treeline. “She went to scout the area, checking for anything lurking nearby. Said it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Irelia nodded absently, but her gaze lingered on the rescued halflings. Trauma clung to them in different ways—some stared blankly into the fire, their minds elsewhere, while others clutched their blankets as if the weight of the fabric alone could anchor them back to reality.

Her voice softened as she asked, “How are they holding up?”

Pip sighed, raking a hand through his tousled hair. “Not great. They’re shaken, Irelia. Really shaken. Derrin said he’s thinking about going home—settling down somewhere far from all this danger.”

Irelia arched a brow. “Can’t blame him. The merchant life isn’t exactly worth dying for.”

“I thought it was,” Pip admitted quietly. His gaze dropped to the ground, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “I thought this life would be full of freedom and adventure. But after everything… I don’t know.”

For a moment, Irelia said nothing. Her instinct was to brush it off with a sarcastic remark, to crack a joke and lighten the mood.

But something in his voice—in the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes—made her pause.

Instead, she said, “Questioning your choices doesn’t make you weak, Pip. It makes you wise. Better to figure out what you want now than to wake up one day in a place you can’t come back from.”

Pip glanced up at her, surprise flickering across his face before a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

“Don’t read too much into it,” she said, though a trace of warmth slipped into her tone. She shifted her weight, wincing as pain flared up again.

“Besides,” she added with a smirk, “you’re still here. That says something.”

Before Pip could respond, the sound of footsteps crunching through the underbrush snapped their attention toward the treeline.

Nariel emerged, her silver hair catching the morning light, her armor faintly gleaming beneath the soft glow of dawn. Her piercing blue eyes swept over the camp, assessing, calculating—until they landed on Irelia.

“You’re awake,” Nariel said, her tone even, though there was a sharpness to her gaze. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I had a mountain dropped on me,” Irelia quipped, her wry smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Thanks for the patch-up.”

Nariel gave a curt nod, but for the briefest moment, something flickered across her face—relief, quickly buried.

“You’re welcome,” she said smoothly. “Let’s hope you don’t make a habit of needing it.”

Pip, watching the exchange with barely contained curiosity, let his eyes dart between the two women. The tension between them was thick, like a taut thread waiting to snap.

He cleared his throat. “Uh… do you two always bicker like this, or is today a special occasion?”

Nariel shot him a sharp look, and Irelia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Special occasion,” she muttered.

Pip wasn’t deterred. “So… how do you two know each other?”

The reaction was almost comical.

Nariel’s jaw tightened, her usual composure faltering for the briefest second.

Irelia groaned, tilting her head back as if the gods themselves had cursed her with this conversation.

“Long story,” Irelia muttered.

Nariel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “One we don’t have time for.”

Pip’s hazel eyes flicked between them, skepticism clear on his face. But after a beat of silence, he let out a dramatic sigh. “Right… definitely not awkward at all,” he mumbled under his breath.

Nariel crossed her arms as she settled by the fire, the flickering light catching on the polished edges of her armor. Her sharp blue gaze lingered on Irelia.

“You have a remarkable talent,” she said dryly, “for attracting danger and chaos wherever you go.”

Irelia leaned back against the rock, mirroring Nariel’s stance, arms crossed and smirking faintly. “What can I say? Trouble and I go way back.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, it was just a cult. I’ve dealt with plenty of those.”

Nariel’s expression darkened, her gaze shifting to the fire. “This wasn’t just a cult,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the morning mist like a blade. “The Ashen Veil is far more dangerous than the rabble you’re used to.”

The weight of her words settled over them. The flames crackled between them, filling the tense silence. Pip, still seated near the fire, cast a wary glance between the two women, curiosity warring with unease.

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Irelia exhaled, eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re the reason the Morning Flame came to the Bastion Peaks.” It wasn’t a question—it was a statement, firm and certain.

Nariel met her gaze and nodded.

“The Ashen Veil,” Nariel began, her voice steady but edged with grim certainty, “isn’t just a scattered group of fanatics. They’re an organized, methodical movement. Their influence runs deeper than we ever imagined. They’ve infiltrated towns, noble houses—even knightly orders.”

At that, Irelia’s brow furrowed, emerald-green eyes narrowing. A knot of unease tightened in her chest. This wasn’t just another cult scrambling for power—this was far bigger than she had thought.

“They seek out ancient ruins and artifacts,” Nariel continued, her gaze fixed on the fire, her expression unreadable. “And these ruins? They’re after something tied to Pyraxis.”

The name sent a chill down Irelia’s spine.

Pyraxis.

Some called it a god. Others, a titan.

No one knew for certain.

What was known was that Pyraxis had been an ancient being—one as old as the earth and the heavens. Its death had marked the end of one of the most catastrophic eras in history: The Great Titan War.

And now, the Ashen Veil was looking for something connected to it.

Irelia couldn’t shake the memory of the carvings in the ruins—the ancient sigils, faintly pulsing with latent magic. Her fingers brushed absently against the faint burns on her arm, a stark reminder of the hellhounds and the cultists who had nearly ended her.

“What do they want with Pyraxis?” Pip’s voice broke the silence, edged with unease. “Isn’t that just some old myth?”

Nariel turned to him, her piercing gaze unwavering.

“Myths often hold truths,” she said. “Pyraxis isn’t just a story to them. They believe there’s power to be found—power that could tip the balance of the world.”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. The weight of what remained unspoken pressed heavily upon them.

The continent stood on the edge of a fragile, ephemeral peace.

Thalrion—specifically Veltharia, the world’s granary—was the economic heart of many nations. Its wealth in grain made it invaluable, but also a target. The Kaerithan Clans harbored deep distrust toward Veltharia’s ambitions, wary of territorial expansion across Sutir’s Arm. Meanwhile, Solendria was always watching, waiting, searching for the perfect opportunity to extend its influence into the central continents.

And if someone—worse, a cult—were to seize the power of an ancient deity?

The scales of power wouldn’t just tip. They would shatter.

The thought sent a chill through Irelia, one she shoved down with practiced ease.

Her voice, when it came, was sharp, firm, unwavering.

“We can’t just leave,” she said, cutting through the tense silence. “Whatever they’re after could change everything—and I don’t like the odds.”

Wars—especially intercontinental wars—affected everyone.

And Irelia knew the devastation of war far too well.

Nariel’s head snapped toward her, frustration flickering behind her sharp blue eyes. “You’re still injured,” she countered, her voice tight with controlled impatience. “You’ve barely recovered from last night’s battle. And we don’t know what else might be lurking in those ruins. Hellhounds don’t just wander into the mortal world, Irelia. Something brought them here.”

“Exactly,” Irelia shot back, her voice rising. “Something brought them here. And if we don’t figure out what, how many more people are going to pay the price? How many more towns, villages, or—” she gestured toward the halflings huddled by the fire, “—innocent people will end up as collateral damage?”

Nariel’s jaw tightened, her composure visibly cracking. “And you think charging back into those ruins is the answer? You can’t save anyone if you get yourself killed. And what about them?” She gestured toward the halflings. “They need someone to escort them to safety.”

Irelia met her gaze, unwavering. “They will get to safety. But if we walk away now, we’re giving the Ashen Veil more time to tighten their grip. Every moment we wait, they get closer to whatever they’re planning.”

The fire crackled between them, the flickering glow casting sharp shadows across their faces. Tension thickened the air, coiling between them like a drawn bowstring.

Pip shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between the two women as if searching for an escape route. The weight of their argument pressed down on the camp, suffocating.

“You’re being reckless,” Nariel said at last, her voice colder now, more measured—but no less sharp. “And stubborn. As always.”

Irelia’s smirk returned, but there was no humor behind it. “Funny. I was about to say the same about you.”

The silence that followed was heavy, unyielding. The only sound was the fire hissing as embers cracked and split.

Pip cleared his throat, hesitant. “Uh… maybe there’s a middle ground here?”

Two pairs of piercing eyes snapped to him at once.

He immediately shrank back. “Or not. Just… throwing it out there.”

Nariel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her temple. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased, but her frustration remained. She turned back to Irelia, looking at her.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” she asked, quieter this time.

Irelia didn’t hesitate. “No,” she said, firm and unwavering.

“Because I’ve seen what happens when people do.”

Nariel studied Irelia for a long moment, her sharp blue eyes searching for something—hesitation, doubt, second thoughts. She found none.

With a heavy sigh, she relented. “Fine. But we do this cautiously.” Her tone made it clear that was not up for debate. “The halflings stay here, and we secure them an escort before we venture any further. Agreed?”

Irelia nodded, though the flicker of defiance in her eyes suggested her definition of cautious might be more flexible than Nariel’s.

Pip, sensing the argument had reached a fragile truce, visibly relaxed. “Well, glad that’s settled. Sort of.” He shot a glance toward the halflings, their weary faces mirroring his own uncertainty. His fingers curled around his slingshot, his voice barely above a mutter.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

The fire crackled on, casting flickering embers into the air. Despite the truce, the tension didn’t fully fade—unease lingered in the air, a silent promise of the dangers still waiting ahead.