Blood of the fallen star: Spawns of the Devil

Agor had barely dozed off when he heard his name.

Garrick's voice cut through the haze like a blade.

"Get up, boy."

Agor stirred, groggy but alert. He turned toward the door, his pulse steadying just enough to process his surroundings. Garrick stood there, a towering figure, his broad shoulders blocking most of the flickering light from the hallway. His face was unreadable—hardened like stone—except for his eyes.

They were sharp. Too sharp.

"It's time. Let's go."

He grabbed a coat hanging beside the door and tossed it toward Agor.

"Wear that. Cover up those rags—you're about to step into the most feared room in all of Eaglestone."

Agor hesitated before pulling the coat over his battered clothes. It smelled of leather and dust, the fabric heavier than he expected. He adjusted it, feeling its weight settle against his shoulders.

Garrick studied him.

The boy looked worn. His face was paler than before, exhaustion evident in the faint tremor of his hands. In the past few days, he had endured more than most Eaglestone-born warriors would ever face in their lifetimes. And yet, despite the fatigue and the lingering shock, he stood tall, his expression set in quiet determination.

Garrick felt something stir within him.

He had known boys who had broken under lesser burdens. This one was different.

He had already made up his mind.

"Who will be there?" Agor asked, his voice dry and hoarse.

Garrick didn't answer immediately. Then, in a voice lower than before, he said:

"You'll find out soon enough. No more questions. From here on out, stay silent. Do as I say."

Agor clenched his fists and nodded. His body still felt strange, his chest pulsing with a dull, foreign rhythm, and the whispers from his nightmares still coiled in his mind like unseen chains.

He forced the thoughts aside and followed Garrick into the dimly lit corridors.

Eaglestone was awake.

The scent of damp earth and burning coal filled the air. Torches flickered against the high stone walls, their light licking the fortress's aged stone. This place had stood for centuries, weathering war, blood, and time. Its passageways wound through layers of ancient construction, corridors twisting like veins through a slumbering beast.

As they moved, shadows clung to the edges of their vision. Garrick walked with the confidence of a man who had spent his life navigating these streets, but tonight, something felt different.

Eyes lingered too long. Conversations ceased when they passed.

Or was it just his imagination?

He swallowed hard.

They took a sharp turn down a sloping stone path. The air grew colder, the torches fewer.

And then, looming before them, stood the Hall of Summoners.

The entrance was flanked by two massive iron braziers, their blue flames casting ghostly light across the worn stone. The walls bore ancient banners, torn and faded, relics of wars long past. Spears, shields, and broken swords lined the chamber like trophies of forgotten victories.

At the center of the hall sat a massive wooden table, surrounded by men in dark armor. These were no ordinary warriors. These were commanders, summoners, battle-hardened figures whose mere presence carried the weight of authority.

And at the head of it all sat Commander Rhaskhar.

His presence filled the room before he even spoke.

He was a mountain of a man, his frame bulging with unnatural muscle. The plates of his armor stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, every inch of him exuding raw power. His head was shaved clean, the skin smooth and gleaming under the torchlight.

But it was his eyes that unsettled Agor the most.

Dark red.

They burned like embers in a dying fire, sharp, penetrating—hungry.

The moment Agor stepped inside, those eyes locked onto him.

A weight settled in his chest.

He felt exposed.

"Enter," came a voice from the side.

It was Kaelis, the only summoner standing. The others remained seated, their gazes like wolves studying prey.

Garrick and Agor stepped forward.

A long silence stretched.

Then, Rhaskhar spoke.

His voice was thunder in the stillness.

"From where cometh you, boy?"

The question hit harder than Agor expected.

He hesitated. His mind scrambled.

"Where were you before Garrick found you?"

Garrick cleared his throat. "I found him at the coastal end of the river—"

"The boy has a voice," Rhaskhar cut in, his voice sharp as steel. "Let him speak for himself."

Agor swallowed. He knew he had to say something.

"I… I was traveling to Eaglestone with my parents. We were attacked… by those things."

Rhaskhar's expression didn't change.

"And before that?"

Agor hesitated.

There was something about the way Rhaskhar asked his questions that made his skin crawl.

This wasn't just an interrogation.

It was a test.

He took a breath.

"I was born in Vareth'Kal."

The room shifted.

Vareth'Kal. A name of ice and isolation. A region long considered unreachable—its people spoken of only in whispers.

Rhaskhar leaned forward, his gaze deepening.

"What happened to your home?"

Agor's breath caught.

Memories flooded back.

"I… I was playing near the village with my friends when I heard screaming. A lot of screaming. Then… fire. Mama and papa took me from our village ....we ran for weeks

"Then one day , are night the Enju came like a shadow. My mama grabbed my hand, and we ran. My papa was behind us. But… but then I heard a loud sound and he was no more. One of them did it"..

"It killed him. He… he screamed once. Then nothing."

Agor's voice shook, his fists clenching.

"Mama didn't stop. She kept running. But then…

He swallowed hard.

" Soon we were surrounded, One of them—it was different. It didn't just attack. It… it looked at us. Like it was thinking.

"It raised its hand, and Mama… she stopped. In the air. Like she couldn't move.

"Then it slammed her down.

"She… she didn't move after that."

Silence.

Rhaskhar's fingers drummed against the wooden table.

"Tell me again," he said, his tone shifting. "What exactly happened to your mother?"

Agor stiffened.

Rhaskhar's eyes were too sharp.

Too knowing.

Agor hesitated, but he repeated the tale.

Rhaskhar listened in silence.

Then, he smiled.

It wasn't a comforting smile.

It was the kind of smile a predator gives before striking.

"This boy has met a SheEnju. The very first to do so in over ten years."

He turned toward the summoners.

"And yet… he survived."

His red eyes gleamed.

You left something out"....

Agor's pulse quickened.

"I… I don't know what you mean."

Rhaskhar leaned forward, his voice lowering.

"That thing should have ripped you apart. Why didn't it?"

Silence.

Then, one of the summoners spoke. "I can smell it."

Another nodded.

"The blood."

Their eyes fixed on Agor.

The questions shifted. Now, Garrick was in their crosshairs.

He gave his version of the story.

When he finished, Rhaskhar exhaled through his nose and spoke:

"The town healer will determine what you are, boy. If you are a danger…"

His voice was iron.

"I will kill you myself."

Agor's breath stilled.

"For now," Rhaskhar continued, "Garrick, you are responsible for him. Until we find a use for him."

The commander's red eyes gleamed.

"Tomorrow, boy… life or death awaits you."