Pao barely slept.
The fog didn't leave Drevos Hollow that night. It stayed heavy, settled low around the houses like a blanket laid down for burial.
He sat against the wall of the barn, the Lanternmark burning faintly under his collarbone. The warmth was constant now. Not a warning—but a presence. Something close.
Erwan sat across from him, sharpening his sword slowly.
The jail was locked. The cultist still breathing, still bound. But it didn't feel like a victory.
"You think there are more?" Erwan asked.
"There always are," Pao said.
The silence broke just after midnight.
A sound like cracking wood.
Then a scream.
Sharp. Human.
Not from the prisoner.
Not from a cultist.
From someone else.
Pao shot to his feet.
He grabbed his satchel and spell tags. Erwan followed, already armed, moving toward the square.
The fog had shifted.
It wasn't thin anymore. It was a wall.
It covered the buildings, the street, the well—and something moved inside it.
Slow. Calm. Deliberate.
They approached cautiously.
A figure emerged.
Not masked.
Not hunched.
He stood tall—broad shoulders, bare arms covered in ink. His robe hung open over a dark chest. His hair was tied back, and his eyes gleamed gold in the lantern light.
He smiled when he saw them.
"Finally," he said. "I've been waiting to meet the boy with the light."
Pao took a step back. "Who are you?"
"Lawrence," he said. "One of the last true speakers."
The Lanternmark flared hot. Pao flinched.
Erwan raised his sword. "You're their leader."
Lawrence tilted his head. "No. I'm their priest."
Without warning, Lawrence raised his hand.
The ground split open between them.
A clawed limb—charred and slick—burst from the crack and tried to grab Pao.
He dove to the side and rolled. "He's a summoner!"
Erwan charged.
Lawrence didn't move.
With a flick of his wrist, a dark wave of energy—thick like oil, jagged like broken glass—ripped through the air.
It struck Erwan square in the chest.
The impact threw him across the square.
He crashed into a stone pillar and didn't move.
Pao shouted, "Erwan!"
He reached for a spell tag and cast Verun Kaa, blasting the summoning pit shut.
The clawed limb hissed and vanished into the ground.
Lawrence walked forward.
"Your spells are sharp," he said. "But shallow."
Pao threw a shock glyph. Lawrence caught it in his hand.
It fizzled out.
He whispered something in a language Pao couldn't understand.
The fog around them twisted—thickening until it pulled into tendrils, like ropes wrapping around Pao's legs.
He tried to cast again—Val'zen—but the tag wouldn't activate.
The moisture in the air had corrupted the paper.
Lawrence raised his hand again.
A thin spear of dark magic formed—like glass, but flickering.
"Let's open your chest and see what burns inside."
Pao didn't have time to dodge.
The spear flew straight toward him—
And stopped midair.
A second later, a bolt of white flame struck Lawrence square in the chest.
He staggered.
Three figures emerged from the rooftops.
Hooded. Armed. Robes marked with the Guild's crest.
One dropped beside Pao and knelt. "Get behind me."
Another dashed to Erwan's side.
Lawrence stood upright, smoke rising from his chest.
He stared at the newcomers.
"Guild," he said quietly. "Finally."
The lead Guild operative raised a metal staff.
The crystal at the top hummed.
"I'd advise you to surrender," she said.
Lawrence smiled, then whispered, "No."
He slammed both palms to the ground.
The fog erupted.
Visibility vanished.
Pao felt heat and static charge fill the air. Cries. Explosions. Runes being activated faster than he could track.
Then silence.
When the fog cleared, Lawrence was gone.
And Erwan—
Was still lying near the stone pillar.
Pao crawled to him.
Blood stained the dirt beneath him.
His chest had caved in from the impact. Bones splintered. Armor cracked.
Erwan's eyes were still open.
But they weren't moving.
One of the Guild members knelt beside Pao.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Pao didn't answer.
He just stared at Erwan's face.
Then at his hands.
Then at the still-burning Lanternmark on his chest.
Later, they secured the square.
The prisoner in the jail had died—killed by something during the chaos.
The Guild confirmed what Pao had feared:
Drevos Hollow had been the fifth seal site. Lawrence was the speaker for a devil they still hadn't named.
And the seal wasn't holding anymore.
Pao sat alone near the edge of the village.
The wind had returned. The fog had begun to lift.
But his chest still burned.
He held Erwan's sword across his lap.
And his journal in his hand.
He wrote:
"Lawrence. Speaker. Cult leader. Wields advanced dark casting tied to physical channels. Commands sealed energy from beneath Drevos Hollow. Summoning confirmed. Fog-bound weaponry used. Repelled only by Guild Tier-3 interference."
"Erwan killed in action. Died protecting me."
"Guild presence late. Enemy escaped. Town lost."
He closed the journal.
And in the quiet that followed, for the first time since he'd arrived in Drevos Hollow—
Pao felt alone.
Truly alone.