Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

The Broker's Ambition

Leto leaned back against the weathered wooden post of Aurel's station, a sly grin playing on his lips. "You know, kid, this commission deal of ours? Probably the smartest move you've made. Dangerous missions mean fat coin, and with you doing the legwork, I get to spend more time drowning in ale and less time dodging arrows."

Aurel, adjusting the sword at his hip, returned the smirk. "Glad to make your life easier, Leto."

"Don't get me wrong," Leto said, patting his chest with mock seriousness. "I earned this network. Years of mercenary work, dodging blades, cleaning up after nobles too soft to lift a sword. But you? You've got the knack for jobs most folks wouldn't even whisper about. Mysterious contracts, treacherous territories—hell, you practically leap at what others flee like the plague."

Aurel merely shrugged, his expression a mask of focused indifference. "I'd rather be doing something meaningful. Besides, this arrangement works for both of us."

Leto's grin widened. "Oh, it works, alright. You chase the danger, I chase the coin. Pure win-win. And between you and me, Aurel, I think you've barely scratched the surface of what you're capable of."

Aurel's eyebrow arched. "What do you mean?"

"Just a hunch," Leto murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Call it experience, but there's something about you—something that screams you're not like the rest of us. I've seen plenty of fighters in my time, but you? You've got a different spark, and I'm willing to bet I'm not even seeing the tip of the iceberg."

Aurel said nothing, his face unreadable as he processed Leto's words. A quiet part of him wondered if Leto was right, if the nascent power he felt stirring within was finally beginning to show. He kept the thought to himself, offering only a slight nod.

"Well," Leto clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. "Now that our partnership's forged, I'll make sure to dig up exactly the kind of jobs you're after. I've got contacts—people with pockets deeper than a dragon's hoard, willing to pay handsomely for someone like you to solve their... dangerous problems."

"Sounds like a plan," Aurel replied, his voice steady. "Just keep 'em coming."

"Oh, don't you worry, kid. This is just the beginning."

Two days later, as the sun bled across the western sky, Aurel spotted Leto approaching, a confident swagger in his step. In his hands, a rolled parchment—an unmistakable harbinger of work, and perhaps, fortune.

"Well, kid," Leto announced with a wide grin, unfurling the parchment across Aurel's makeshift station. "Looks like business is booming. Not one, but a stack of missions came my way. Dangerous ones, lucrative ones—you're gonna love this."

Aurel's eyebrow rose. "That many? In two days?"

"Ha! You gotta trust me on this," Leto tapped the parchment with a playful smirk. "Word spreads fast when you're good. And I don't mind admitting, some of these clients have deeper pockets than I've seen in years. High-paying missions like these... well, there's plenty of incentive to keep them coming."

Aurel chuckled at Leto's candor, but as he studied the man, he noticed more than just his words. There was a striking clarity about Leto—not in his rugged appearance, but in his very presence. No lingering malice seemed to cling to him, no strange heaviness, no subtle taint of the Bloom. In this broken world, such unblemished clarity was rare, solidifying Aurel's burgeoning trust.

The absence of malice wasn't just reassuring; it was profoundly comforting. Whatever Leto's motives, there was no hint of corruption or darkness lurking beneath his confident exterior. For someone navigating a world steeped in shadow, this sense of unburdened normalcy carried a weight of its own.

Aurel's fingers traced the parchment, pausing at a particular entry: Missing Scholar—urgent retrieval requested. Nobility-backed. Region unknown.

"This one," Aurel said, tapping the listing. "The scholar. Tell me more."

Leto leaned in, excitement glinting in his eyes. "Good choice, Aurel. This one reeks of mystery. The employers? A consortium of nobles—leaders, merchants, the influential types. They're pooling resources to brace for the next Malice Bloom. The thing is, the scholar they hired vanished, and his work might be the key to understanding whatever comes next."

Aurel's gaze sharpened. "Vanished? How?"

Leto shrugged, his tone dropping slightly. "Last anyone saw him, he was moving fast between settlements, trying to keep a low profile. He'd been researching Malifuge corruption—diving deep into its origins and effects. Apparently, his findings were getting... unsettling. Sounds like he attracted the wrong kind of attention. Whispers suggest the Catalyst Order might be involved."

"Malifuge?" Aurel asked, his voice even but laced with curiosity. "What exactly are they?"

"Ah, that's the kicker," Leto admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I'm not entirely sure—only what's in the mission details. From what I've heard, they're creatures or beings twisted by the Malice Bloom's corruption. Dangerous things, no doubt."

"And the Catalyst Order?" Aurel pressed. "What do you know about them?"

"Not much," Leto frowned. "They're mentioned in passing. Rumors say they're some sort of clandestine group with their own agenda—something tied to the Bloom, I think. But that's all I've got."

Aurel leaned back, mulling over the details. The enigma surrounding both the Malifuge and the Catalyst Order added treacherous layers to the mission. Dangerous unknowns—and yet, they only sharpened his resolve. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll take it. Let's see what's out there."

Leto clapped him on the shoulder, a delighted laugh escaping him. "Now you're talking, kid! I'll send word to the employer. You're gonna do great—I can feel it."

The Scholar's Trail

The village sprawled before him, quiet but not lifeless, its narrow streets weaving between modest homes and bustling market stalls. Aurel stood at the entrance, his boots scuffing the dirt road as he surveyed the scene. The air here felt thick with a faint tension, heavy with the lingering taint of the Malice Bloom. He muttered softly to himself as he walked, the rhythm of his thoughts keeping pace with his steps.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Alright, according to Leto, the scholar's last known location was this place. So... this is the village. But where do I start?" His eyes scanned the streets, observing the simple patterns of daily life. "Should I ask around? Yeah, probably. But if I was a scholar—and I was being chased—I'd want to hide. Somewhere quiet, isolated maybe. So why come here at all?"

He paused, rubbing his chin in thought. "The report mentioned Malifuge... something about him chasing the mystery surrounding this area. Could it be the same thing? Maybe that's it. He's after the Malifuge too—the mystery here. Makes sense, right? That's a start."

His muttering continued, grounding him as his thoughts darted between possibilities. He pulled out the report Leto had provided, scanning its brief description of the scholar: Eyeglasses, slim build, unusual demeanor—stands out because of his weirdness. Aurel couldn't help but smirk. "A nerd, huh? Weird. Reminds me of Ron in some ways. But Ron... Ron is strong. Really strong." He trailed off, his mind drifting to fleeting memories of his time with Ron, a mix of admiration and longing stirring quietly.

Snapping himself back to the present, he nodded decisively. "Alright. I'll ask around. First step—has anyone seen him? Eyeglasses, slim, strange personality. And while I'm at it, I should ask about rumors too. Anything tied to Malifuge or mysteries. That's the lead I'll follow."

His resolve set, Aurel adjusted the sword at his side and stepped into the village. Despite its unassuming appearance, he could feel the weight of unseen threads pulling him deeper into something more—something darker.

A Chief's Lament

As Aurel delved deeper into the village, signs of meticulous organization emerged. Makeshift patrols of guards moved through the streets, their watchful eyes scanning the horizon and the passing villagers. Small markets buzzed with activity, and the hum of chatter carried a tone of cautious optimism. It wasn't much, but this was a place forged in survival—a haven born from the ashes of the Bloom.

"They've done well for themselves," Aurel muttered, admiring the sheer effort it must have taken to establish such a semblance of order amidst the chaos. "Patrols, a market, even a little government... Not bad for a bunch of survivors."

His gaze settled on the largest structure in the village center—a simple but sturdy building that stood apart from the rest. Clearly, this was the seat of authority, the hub around which the village revolved. "Alright," Aurel said to himself. "No better place to start than at the top. The chief should know something."

The guards stationed near the chief's hall eyed Aurel warily as he approached. One, a burly man with a worn leather vest, stepped forward, hand resting on his blade. "You're not from around here. What's your business?"

Aurel held up his hands in a gesture of peace, his tone calm but firm. "I'm looking for someone—a scholar. Slim, glasses, likely stands out. Reports say this was his last known village. I thought the chief might be able to help."

The guard scrutinized Aurel, then exchanged a look with his companion. After a tense moment, he nodded. "Wait here. I'll see if the chief can speak with you."

Aurel stood outside, arms crossed, observing the surrounding activity. The weight of the mission lingered, his thoughts drifting. If I were a scholar, running from something, would I really come to a place like this? Why here, of all places?

His musings were interrupted when the guard returned, gesturing for Aurel to follow him inside. The chief's hall was sparse but functional, a central meeting room surrounded by maps, ledgers, and hastily scribbled records of supply and defense. At the head of the room sat the chief—a wiry yet imposing figure whose sharp eyes studied Aurel intently.

"You're looking for the scholar," the chief said, his voice carrying the weary weight of someone who had seen too much, too soon.

"That's right," Aurel replied, his gaze steady. "Anything you can tell me about him would help."

The Windmill's Secret

The old chief squinted, recalling details, his expression shadowed by a deep sorrow. "Yes, five days ago, a young man matching that description came to our village. He asked about the disappearance of one of our own—a man named Tony." The chief shook his head, his voice dropping. "Tony was found dead just outside the village boundary. His eyes... frozen open, completely black. It was as if his soul had been sucked out of him. Poor soul."

Aurel furrowed his brow, arms crossed, listening intently. "So this scholar... he was investigating that? Trying to solve what happened?"

The chief nodded gravely. "Yes. He insisted we couldn't turn him away, not when one of our own was involved. He seemed determined, like he'd seen this kind of thing before. It wasn't just curiosity—it felt personal to him."

"What do you know about him?" Aurel pressed. "When was the last time you saw him, and where?"

The chief sighed, rubbing his temples. "The last place we saw him was at the old windmill. He went there to investigate Tony's death. I remember him muttering something about how it was 'deeper than he thought,' and how this wasn't his first encounter with this kind of crime scene." The chief paused, his lips tightening. "That was the last we saw of him. He hasn't been back since."

Aurel's expression darkened, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to coalesce, though incompletely. "And the body of the victim? Was it... mutilated?" His thoughts flickered back to his time with Ron and the haunting case of the Sorrowfiend.

The chief's face turned grim, shaking his head firmly. "No, no. The body was physically untouched, but it wasn't natural. Tony looked like his life had been drained right out of him. His body was stiff—frozen solid—and his eyes... completely black." He shivered at the memory. "It's like something devoured him from the inside."

Aurel's mind churned, his instincts kicking in. So, it's not a Sorrowfiend, but it's something just as unnatural. He glanced back at the chief. "Can someone guide me to the windmill?"

The chief nodded, summoning one of the guards. "Ben, take him there. Show him where the scholar went."

With Ben leading the way, Aurel soon found himself standing before the old windmill. It loomed over the surrounding landscape, its blades still and weathered by years of disuse. The air felt heavier here—thicker, almost suffocating. Aurel stepped inside cautiously, his eyes scanning every corner of the mill.

"Alright," Aurel muttered under his breath, his thoughts spilling out. "This is the place. If the scholar came here, what was he looking for? Something about the crime scene... something deeper." He crouched low, inspecting the floor and walls for anything out of place.

His attention was drawn to a faint ripple of movement in the shadows near the far corner of the mill. Narrowing his eyes, Aurel stepped closer, his hand instinctively resting on his sword hilt. Darkcuties, he realized, as several small shadowy figures scuttled into view. But something was wrong. They weren't collecting malice energy, as they usually did.

"They're not harvesting..." Aurel murmured, his brow furrowing. "So what are they doing here? Darkcuties don't appear unless there's malice energy to gather. This... this doesn't make sense."

He studied their behavior carefully. The creatures seemed agitated, almost disoriented, moving in erratic patterns. The scene only deepened the mystery. The scholar must have stumbled onto something here—something tied to this Malifuge the report mentioned. What did he find?

Aurel rose to his feet, his resolve hardening. "Alright. This is definitely bigger than it seems. Time to follow the trail and see where it leads."

A Lead from the Shadows

Aurel sat cross-legged in the dim light of the windmill, fingers drumming lightly against his knee as his mind worked through the possibilities. His thinking face, marked by a furrowed brow and the occasional muttering, had become a familiar routine whenever he delved into brainstorming.

"If I was a scholar," he mused aloud, "why would I disappear? Kidnapped, maybe? Yeah... but..." He paused, narrowing his eyes at the floorboards as if they might hold answers. "Why didn't I ask the chief if there were other strangers in the village? Idiot." He ran a hand through his hair in mild frustration. "But wait, no—if there were, the chief would've told me. Too important to leave out."

Nodding slightly, as if awarding himself approval for the deduction, he leaned back. "Alright, so maybe it wasn't people. But if the scholar vanished... did he see something? Could he see them?" His eyes shifted to the corner of the windmill where the darkcuties still moved erratically, seemingly oblivious to his presence. "The darkcuties. That's it!"

He sat upright, snapping his fingers. "If I follow their trail and track any weird behavior, I might find him. These little guys aren't acting normal—no malice energy collection, no purpose. They're here for a reason, and whatever that is, it's connected to him."

Aurel let out a breathless laugh, a spark of excitement igniting in his chest. "Why didn't I think of that before? Alright, darkcuties, let's see what secrets you're hiding."

Standing, he adjusted the sword at his side and fixed his gaze on the flickering shadows. The strange dance of the darkcuties wasn't just eerie—it was a lead. And for now, that was all he needed.