Chương 236: The Attack

Five dark figures moved silently through the underbrush towards Crossroads Inn. They wore identical black robes with deep hoods that concealed their features, the fabric specially woven to absorb light rather than reflect it. Only their hands were visible, pale skin occasionally catching the moonlight as they signaled to one another in practiced gestures. Dorrik, the leader of this small band of Lightweavers, kept his focus on the inn ahead.

The two-story structure loomed against the night sky, its windows glowing with warm lamplight that spilled out onto the courtyard. From his vantage point on the low ridge overlooking the establishment, he could see activity in the stables, horses being readied, servants moving with unusual haste for this late hour. Good, he thought. They haven't left yet. He adjusted the thin silver chain around his neck. A traditional Lightweaver adornment now concealed beneath his robes.

In public, he wore it proudly, the small azure crystal pendant marking him as a servant of the First Light, one of the revered practitioners who brought healing and protection to the common folk. The people respected Lightweavers, looked to them for guidance and safety. But tonight's work required discretion.

"Positions," Dorrik whispered, his voice barely audible even in the stillness of the night. The four other robed figures spread out in a practiced formation, each taking a different approach vector toward the inn. Selene, his most trusted companion, gave him a quick nod before melting into the shadows to his right. Torran and Davi moved toward the eastern side of the structure, while Kress circled to the western approach, where the stables connected to the main building.

Dorrik closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. The energy of the blue sun called to him, its pure light flowing through the Cerulean Vein that had manifested in him as a child. Unlike most Lightweavers who had to actively draw in blue sun energy, those born with the Vein had a natural connection, a constant trickle of power that made them ideal candidates for advancement within the Order. But that blessing came with responsibility.

The purity of the First Light could not be tainted by base emotions: greed, jealousy, vengeance. This operation was not about those things, he reminded himself. This was about protecting the Order, ensuring that the selection of the new Saint proceeded without the interference of House Vareyn and their dangerous ideas. Lady Laelyn could not be allowed to reach the Cerulean Spire. The risk was too great.

He flashed back to the meeting with Elder Lyonis three days prior, the gravity in the elder's voice as he'd outlined the threat.

"House Vareyn harbors dangerous beliefs," the Elder had said, his blue eyes glowing with intensity.

"Their candidate carries the blood of a heretic, her grandmother practiced forbidden arts that draw upon both solar energies. If Laelyn Vareyn becomes Saintess, she may reintroduce these heretical practices, undermining the very foundation of our Order." Dorrik had been skeptical at first.

"Surely these are just rumors, Elder. House Vareyn has served the Blue Sun faithfully for generations."

"The fools in the Order might not believe me but I have evidence," Elder Lyonis had replied, producing a worn leather journal.

"This belonged to Laelyn's grandmother. It contains techniques for drawing on both the First and Last Lights simultaneously, a fundamental violation of our most sacred tenets." Dorrik had not been permitted to read the journal, but the mere existence of such a text was damning. The separation of the two solar traditions was absolute, as it had been since the beginning of time.

Those who sought to blend the energies inevitably lost control, becoming neither Lightweaver nor Skybound but something monstrous, corrupted by conflicting forces. Or so they had all been taught. Pushing these thoughts aside, Dorrik focused on the present moment. Their mission was clear: intercept Lady Laelyn before she reached Lord Kaeven's protection in Hyelin City. No unnecessary casualties, no evidence linking back to the Order. She was to disappear quietly, another victim of the roads' many dangers.

The first team of assassins had failed, but they had been mere initiates, sent to test the decoys. Now it was time for a more decisive approach.

"Movement at the eastern gate," came Kress's whispered message, transmitted through a thin thread of blue light that connected all five Lightweavers. Dorrik nodded, even though his companions couldn't see the gesture.

"Maintain positions. Let them come to us." He crept forward, using the natural contours of the land for cover. The black robes, specially treated with light-absorbing minerals, helped him blend into the shadows. By day, Lightweavers dressed in elegant blue and white robes, their presence announced with ceremony and respect. The common folk viewed them as protectors, healers, as a source of hope. It wouldn't do for them to be seen like this, moving like thieves in the night, preparing an ambush for a noble daughter.

Such actions would shatter the careful image the Order had cultivated over generations. Sometimes the light must cast shadows to preserve its purity, Elder Lyonis had told him. Dorrik believed in the Order's righteousness, in the purifying power of the First Light. But he was not naive enough to think that power came without cost or compromise. Every system had its shadows, its necessary evils. Tonight, he and his team would be that shadow.

He positioned himself behind a large oak, eyes trained on the inn's eastern gate. The preparations in the stables had accelerated. Horses were now being led out, saddled and laden with provisions. A carriage had been hitched, its lanterns conspicuously dark. They were definitely planning to move under cover of darkness. Closing his eyes once more, Dorrik extended his senses, feeling for the distinctive energy signature of a true Cerulean Vein.

Each person touched by the blue sun carried a unique energetic signature, like a fingerprint of light. Most Radiant-Touched had faint, inconsistent patterns, while trained Lightweavers developed stronger, more coherent ones. But those born with the Vein, and no formal training on how to conceal it, had a signature as clear and distinctive as a beacon fire on a moonless night. For a moment, he sensed nothing unusual beyond the normal ambient energy of the inn and its occupants.

Then, suddenly, like a flicker at the edge of his vision, he caught it, the unmistakable resonance of a powerful Cerulean Vein. There you are, he thought, a grim smile touching his lips. As a Rank 1 Lightweaver, his sensing abilities were limited to about a hundred paces, but that would be enough. Once Lady Laelyn left the inn's protective walls, his team would spring their trap.

"Eastern gate is opening," Torran's message came through the light-thread.

"Two guards emerging to secure the perimeter."

"Hold positions," Dorrik replied.

"Wait for the primary target." His fingers brushed against the runic focuses sewn into his robe's inner lining, small crystals inscribed with light-bending sigils that would amplify and direct his abilities. Unlike the Skybound, who carved runes directly into their flesh and bone, Lightweavers preferred external focuses for their power, purer, less invasive methods that respected the natural boundaries of the body. Just another difference between the two Orders.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. The Skybound's bloody practices reflected their connection to the corrupting red sun, their willingness to mutilate themselves for power. Lightweavers took a higher path, or so they were taught. Yet here he was, preparing an ambush, hiding in darkness while planning what amounted to an execution. The irony wasn't lost on him. Focus on the greater good, he reminded himself.

One life weighed against the potential corruption of the entire Order. The math was simple, even if the execution left a bitter taste. Minutes passed as the caravan continued its preparations. More guards emerged, forming a protective perimeter around the eastern gate. Dorrik counted eight in total, more than expected, but not unmanageable for five trained Lightweavers.

"Hurry with those horses," commanded a tall, broad-shouldered man who could only be Beric.

"I want us well away from here before anyone realizes we've gone."

"The back road to Hyelin isn't as well-maintained," cautioned an older woman in practical traveling clothes, Lady Mara, most likely, according to their intelligence.

"We'll need to move slower, especially in the dark."

"Slower is better than dead," Beric replied grimly.

"The boy who tried to leave earlier confirmed my suspicions. Someone has paid the staff to report noble travelers." Lady Laelyn herself stood near the wagon, her dark hair braided tightly against her head, a traveling cloak draped over what appeared to be fine clothing. Even from this distance, Dorrik could sense the unusual quality of her spiritual essence, a rare, pure resonance with the blue sun that marked her as exceptional even among those with the Cerulean Vein. For a moment, he felt a twinge of regret.

Killing someone with such a natural connection to the First Light seemed almost sacrilegious. But orders were orders, and the politics of the Order took precedence over individual potential, no matter how remarkable. And like Elder Lyonis had mentioned, there were others more deserving of the Saint position. While Dorrik knew the elder was referring to his nephew, the statement still held true.

"Where is Tomas?" Lady Laelyn asked, looking back toward the inn.

"I told him to meet us here."

"My lady, we cannot wait," Beric insisted.

"Every moment increases our risk."

"I promised him passage," she argued.

"After he saved my life—""A debt that doesn't require risking your own safety," Beric countered firmly.

"The boy will be safer here, away from our troubles." Dorrik watched the exchange with interest. Who was this Tomas they spoke of? Their intelligence had mentioned no one by that name.

"New variable," he whispered through the light-thread.

"Unknown individual named Tomas, apparently allied with the target."

"One more body to dispose of," came the reply from one of the members of his group. Dorrik frowned at the callous response but didn't contradict it. Anyone who stood between them and their target was, by necessity, expendable. Something flickered at the edge of his awareness. A strange sensation, like a cold wind across the back of his neck, though the night air remained perfectly still. Dorrik frowned, scanning the perimeter of his senses. Something felt... wrong.

Off-balance, as if the natural flow of energies had been subtly disrupted.

"Do you feel that?" came Selene's worried voice through the light-thread. So, he wasn't imagining it. The others sensed it too.

"Stay alert," he replied.

"It could be some sort of defensive measure." But even as he said it, Dorrik knew this was something different. He'd encountered many protective wards and barriers in his training, learned to recognize the distinctive signature of blue sun defensive techniques. This was... something else entirely. Something alien and yet disturbingly familiar. His unease deepened as he realized what it reminded him of, descriptions from the texts warning about the red sun's corruption. But that was impossible.

There had been no reports of Skybound activity in this region for months, save for the recent incident at the small village some distance away. A chill ran down his spine. That couldn't be coincidence, could it?

"Dorrik," Kress's voice came through the light-thread, tight with sudden alarm.

"I think someone's—" The connection abruptly severed with a jolt of psychic feedback that made Dorrik wince. The light-thread linking him to Kress went dark, the gentle blue glow extinguished like a candle in a gust of wind.

"Kress?" Dorrik called through the remaining connections.

"Report!" Silence.

"Torran, circle to Kress's position. Davi, maintain visual on the target. Selene, to me," Dorrik commanded, his hand moving to the crystal focus at his belt, a more powerful tool for combat applications than the subtler ones sewn into his robes. Something was very wrong. The light-thread couldn't be cut accidentally; it required either the death of a participant or a deliberate severing by a skilled practitioner. Either option suggested an immediate threat.

Selene materialized beside him within moments, her movements as silent as falling snow. Unlike the others, she specialized in speed and stealth rather than direct combat, her slender frame belying remarkable agility.

"What happened?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Unknown," Dorrik replied, his eyes scanning the darkness.

"But stay close." The unexplained silence from Kress troubled him deeply.

"Torran, status?" he sent through the light-thread. Again, silence. The thread connecting him to Torran flickered and died, just as Kress's had. Cold dread pooled in Dorrik's stomach. Two connections lost in less than a minute. This was no coincidence, no equipment failure. They were being hunted.

"Davi, fall back to my position immediately," Dorrik commanded, abandoning stealth for urgency.

"Selene, prepare a light barrier. Something's out there." Selene nodded, her fingers tracing complex patterns in the air as she gathered blue sun energy for a protective ward. The faintest shimmer of azure light formed around them, visible only from certain angles, an emergency measure that risked detection but provided some defense against whatever was stalking them. Dorrik expanded his senses to their limit, straining to detect any unusual presence in their vicinity.

The natural energy flows around the inn were disturbed now, rippling like a pond into which stones had been cast. And there, just at the edge of his perception, something moved. Not physically, but energetically, a shadow passing through the blue sun's ambient power. It felt... wrong. Twisted. As if blue light were being bent into unnatural configurations by some external force.

"Dorrik!" Selene hissed, pointing to their right. His eyes widened as he saw it. Emerging from the ground like the tentacles of some monstrous creature, dark writhing roots burst upward, weaving and twisting with unnatural speed. And wrapped within their crushing embrace - Kress. The Lightweaver's eyes were wide with terror, his mouth open in a silent scream as a root coiled around his throat, cutting off any sound.

"Light's mercy," Selene gasped. Before either of them could react, the roots constricted violently and dragged Kress into the earth with a sickening speed. The ground sealed after him as if he'd never been there at all, leaving only a slight depression in the soil.

"What in the Spire was that?" Dorrik whispered, his calm facade cracking for the first time.

"Plant manipulation," Selene replied, her voice trembling slightly.

"A Rank 2 Skybound technique, if I'm not mistaken." Dorrik's blood ran cold. Elemental manipulating was indeed a Rank 2 Skybound ability.

"Davi!" he called through the remaining light-thread, abandoning all pretense of stealth.

"Immediate retreat! We have Skybound presence!" Only static answered him.

"Selene, we need to—" A strangled gasp cut him off. Dorrik turned to see Selene staring wide-eyed at something behind him. He spun, crystal focus raised defensively, and froze at the sight before him. Where Torran had been stationed, a whirlwind of leaves now spun with impossible speed, reflecting the blue moonlight with an almost beautiful shimmer. But the beauty turned to horror as Dorrik realized what was happening within that vortex.

Torran's body was being systematically shredded, razor-sharp edges slicing through flesh and bone with surgical precision. Blood misted the air, caught and spun within the leaf storm like macabre crimson confetti.

"Run!" Dorrik grabbed Selene's arm, pulling her away from the gruesome spectacle.

"Back to the road, now!" They sprinted through the underbrush, abandoning stealth entirely in favor of speed. Behind them, the whirlwind of leaves dissipated, leaving only scattered remnants of what had once been Torran.

"Three down in less than a minute," Selene gasped as they ran.

"How? Who?" Dorrik had no answer. His mind raced through possibilities, each more alarming than the last. A Skybound ambush? But how would they have known about this operation? They had maintained absolute secrecy. Had Lady Laelyn's group somehow detected them and arranged their own counter-ambush? But that made no sense either. Beric and his guards were Radiant-Touched, not full Lightweavers, and certainly not Skybound practitioners. They couldn't possibly command techniques of this sophistication and power.

"There!" Selene pointed ahead, where a dark figure stumbled through the trees, Davi, moving erratically as if injured or disoriented.

"Davi!" Dorrik called out, relief flooding him at the sight of their surviving companion.

"Fall back with us!" The figure turned, and Dorrik's relief evaporated. Davi's face was contorted in terror, his mouth moving in soundless pleas. And wrapped around his body, nearly invisible in the darkness, were thin vines, controlling his movements like a puppet master's strings.

"It's a trap," Selene whispered, pulling Dorrik to a halt. As if confirming her words, Davi's body suddenly jerked upward, suspended by the vines now visibly emerging from the ground and trees around him. He hung there for a moment, a grotesque marionette, before the vines pulled in different directions with brutal force. Dorrik turned away, but couldn't block out the wet, tearing sound that followed. Selene made a small, choked noise beside him.

"Back to back," Dorrik commanded, his voice hard with forced calm.

"Light barrier at maximum." They pressed their backs together, a defensive stance taught to all Lightweaver initiates. Selene's hands moved, reinforcing and expanding the barrier of blue light around them. Dorrik held his crystal focus before him, channeling energy into its facets until it glowed with cerulean brilliance, illuminating the clearing around them. For long moments, nothing moved. The forest stood silent, as if holding its breath.

Even the natural sounds of night, insects, the rustle of small animals, had ceased entirely.

"Where is it?" Selene whispered, her back rigid against his. Dorrik scanned the surrounding trees, the light from his focus casting long shadows that seemed to move and shift with a life of their own.

"I don't know. Stay focused. Don't let anything approach the barrier." Another minute passed in tense silence. The only sound was their breathing, carefully controlled but audible in the unnatural quiet.

"Look up," Selene suddenly hissed. Dorrik tilted his head back, the light from his focus revealing what had caught Selene's attention. Perched on a branch directly above them stood a figure. It wore what appeared to be simple traveling robes, but a deep hood cast its face in shadow. All that was visible within that darkness were two points of crimson light, eyes glowing with the unmistakable energy of the red sun.

"Skybound," Dorrik breathed, the word both identification and curse.

"Not just any Skybound," Selene replied, a sickening realization dawning on them.

"The reports we received... a Rank 2 practitioner on a killing spree in a village to the west." The pieces fell into place. Their superior, a Rank 2 Lightweaver named Orlen, had been dispatched to hunt down this rogue Skybound, a delay that had forced Dorrik's team to proceed without higher-ranking backup. And now, by some cruel twist of fate, they had encountered the very monster they'd hoped to avoid.