Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 33: The Entry of the Impostors

Chapter 33: The Entry of the Impostors

The grilled meat didn’t taste good. Its blood still soaked into the flesh gave it a metallic flavor, but I was used to it. Eating hadn’t been a pleasure for a long time, just a necessity.

Lysara, on the other hand, devoured her piece ravenously. Her movements were jittery, almost feral, like a starving animal that had been deprived of food for too long. Her feverish gaze shone with a strange intensity. Seeing that spark in her eyes, however brief, warmed my heart. It meant there was still something left of her, something human.

— Want some more? I asked, offering her another piece.

She shook her head, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. She had gone silent again, absent. The moment had passed.

Meal over, we resumed our journey.

The days stretched on endlessly. The sand changed, the rocks too, but the silence remained the same. Each step carved a little more fatigue into our bones. Every night, I wondered how many more days it would take for us to become human again, or if it was already too late.

We followed the main road, though sometimes it split into other paths. I didn’t linger on them. My only goal was to move forward, to put as much distance as possible between us and whatever was chasing us.

The days passed. I tried to talk to her, to break the wall of ice she had built between us. Sometimes, she answered—a sliver of voice, a fleeting spark of emotion. But she would shut down again, as if every word cost her an inner battle.

I wasn’t too worried. We had time. Once we found Cassandre, she could help her. She’d know what to do.

One day, another Gorvak blocked our path. This time, Lysara fought without hesitation. Her gaze was more confident, her movements more precise. She had learned from her last fight. She was smart.

When the creature collapsed, she stood still for a moment, breathing hard. She stared at the blood dripping from her hands, thoughtful.

— You’re getting better, I said softly.

She raised her head toward me, as if surprised by my words. Then, without a word, she resumed walking.

The days continued to pass, marked by battles, hunting, and silent vigils. We fed on the Gorvaks we found.

Little by little, the child’s wounds were healing. Slowly, imperceptibly, something in her seemed to be changing.

It was strange, that feeling. Taking care of someone, watching over her... it wasn’t so bad.

At last, a city appeared on the horizon. My heart skipped a beat. I was more than happy—relieved at the idea of finally leaving this endless wandering behind.

My legs slowed on their own. The dust from the road seemed to settle in my breath. It was truly a city. People. Normal sounds. No screams, no blood. I had almost forgotten what that felt like.

And yet, something inside me scratched at the surface. A stubborn apprehension, like a shiver under the skin. Too calm. Too clean. As if the city itself was holding its breath at our approach.

Holding my cloak in hand, I walked briskly. I had tied it into an improvised sack, filled with Gorvak tusks. After every hunt, I had carefully collected them, hoping to sell them once in town. We’d need the money.

Glancing at Lysara, I made a decision and veered off the main path. Without a word, I lifted her and quickened my pace. We had to act cautiously.

I didn’t have the luxury of a plan. Too many eyes, too much tension in the air. If someone spotted us, even a rumor would be enough to nail us to an altar.

Once far enough, I gently set her down and gave her a knowing look.

— Turn us into Gorr’Shan, I whispered.

She didn’t respond, simply nodded and placed a cold hand on my arm.

A strange sensation ran through me. My body twisted, adapted, reshaped under a force I couldn’t control. At the same time, I saw Lysara changing as well. She remained the same size, as did I. She could alter our bodies, but not create matter out of nothing.

I looked down at her, observing her altered appearance. The transformation was impressive—and disturbing.

Seeing my own body distort, my hands widen, my skin change color... it was a nightmarish sight. And yet, I felt no pain, no fear. Just this strange impression... of having become something else. Not a monster, not a hero. Just a copy. An imitation far too convincing.

Lysara, transformed into a Gorr’Shan, no longer bore any trace of her former appearance. Her body remained small, barely ten years old in appearance, but now bore the stigmas of this demonic race. Her skin had taken on a metallic gray hue, marked with dark lines as if the sun had tanned her for years.

The ritual tattoos, though more discreet than on an adult warrior, snaked along her arms and neck, emitting a faint yet vibrant glow, as if her very essence were trying to mimic that warrior energy. Her eyes, once dull and empty, now shone with an incandescent red, piercing and inhuman, reminiscent of the burning flame of the race she imitated.

Two small black, rigid horns protruded from her forehead—not yet as massive as those of true Gorr’Shan warriors, but marked enough to leave no doubt about her lineage. Her face, still young, now seemed marked by a strange gravity, accentuated by a few fine scars that perhaps had never existed before.

I shivered. It wasn’t her. Not really. Yet it was still her hand that had transformed me, still her eyes that looked at me. What was identity worth in a world where everything could be masked?

As for her clothes, they hadn’t changed: her appearance could be altered, but not the matter itself. Her body, more robust despite its small size, now seemed built to survive in a hostile environment.

When she looked up at me, there was no emotion. Just a red, deep, and unfathomable gaze.

Gently caressing her hair, I murmured:

— You did very well.

She looked up at me, her glowing red gaze fixed, then replied in a monotone voice, almost mechanical:

— Thank you.

Dry, distant. But she had thanked me.

One word. A single word. Cold, mechanical, almost accidental. And yet, it felt like I had seen the moon rise in an endless night. I said nothing. I was afraid the silence would return, that she would close that tiny breach.

My heart tightened. I was happy, like a father hearing his child’s first words.

A breach, tiny, had opened in her wall of silence.

And for me, that was all that mattered.

As we resumed walking, ahead of us:

The fortress loomed like a nightmarish silhouette on the high plains swept by howling winds. Its black stone walls, as smooth as polished basalt, rose toward the tormented sky, bristling with massive towers. Deep red banners flapped in the wind, marked with a seal, while fires burned in large braziers, casting an infernal glow on the façades.

An inner voice whispered to turn back. That we weren’t ready. That we were going to get crushed. But I knew I no longer had a choice. Behind us was the void. Ahead of us was hell... Maybe, deep down, I was made for this.

The guards at the entrance inspected the contents of my improvised sack.

Upon seeing the tusks, they let us through without much scrutiny.

Once inside the fortress, I was awestruck by the sight before me:

The city teemed with strange, disciplined activity. Streets paved with dark slabs wound between angular buildings carved directly into the rock. Blacksmiths hammered metal in a constant clamor, forging weapons and armor. Markets overflowed with exotic goods, tanned leather, and smoked meats.

At the center, dominating everything, the Iron Bastion rose like a throne of darkness. Its towers were connected by suspended bridges that defied architectural laws, and its steel gates were carved with scenes of ancient battles.

This was where a noble lived, I thought.

But none of that really mattered to me. What I was looking for was the very essence of a true fantasy world...

An adventurers’ guild!

As I wandered the streets, I noticed the presence of other races. They all seemed demonic, but there weren’t just Gorr’Shan. I was surprised by such diversity.

There it was, right in front of me. Yes! A true fantasy world! My heart was pounding, an electric warmth coursed through my body. Overwhelmed by my nerdy side and the irresistible call of adventure, I felt a nearly uncontrollable euphoria wash over me.

Crossing the building’s threshold, my eyes widened, shining with wonder. Like a child discovering treasure, I let my gaze sweep over the scene unfolding before me: tables scattered here and there, scarred warriors, adventurers exchanging tales and loud laughter, counters where the smell of alcohol mingled with that of leather and metal.

Turning my head toward Lysara, I met her blank, unfathomable gaze. Yet something in her expression made me pause. As if, behind that apparent neutrality, she was staring at me with a hint of incomprehension, probably wondering why I was reacting so excessively.

A flush of embarrassment rose in me, briefly tightening my jaw. I cleared my throat, trying to shake it off, then looked away.

I had to pull myself together.

I was here for a reason. Excitement had to give way to focus.

Sensing a presence upstairs, I made a decision.

I set Lysara down on a table.

— I’ll be back. I have something to take care of. Wait here, please.

She nodded silently. Yet, in her dim eyes, a brief flicker of sadness appeared—fleeting but undeniable.

Wasting no time, I activated my stealth ability and melted into the shadows. I slipped between the warriors, some so massive they looked like they could crush a skull with one hand. A few turned their heads slightly in my direction, as if sensing something undefinable.

Could they really see me? Or was it just instinct, a visceral alert to the invisible?

I didn’t slow down.

I finally reached the stairs. Climbing them one by one, I emerged into a silent corridor, at the end of which stood a massive door.

Behind it, I felt it: someone was waiting for me.