Raiden awoke with a heavy heart, burdened by the decision he had resolved to make overnight. The weight of his curse—a relentless shadow that had loomed over his journey—had become
a threat too perilous to ignore. In the stillness of the dawn, he had made up his mind: it would be safer for Artanis if Raiden continued his journey alone. The dangers that trailed in the wake of his curse were not ones he wished to share.
Ever since he had crossed paths with Artanis a few days prior, he had felt a semblance of comfort in having a companion. Despite his daunting stature and morally grey principles, Artanis had become a valuable ally. His powerful abilities as a warlock, paradoxically serving a devil, had ironically granted Raiden a form of stability amidst the turmoil. The sense of not being utterly alone in his cursed existence was a small but significant solace.
The ritual they had undertaken together, intended to sever Raiden from his curse, had not yielded the desired freedom. If anything, the curse felt more entrenched within him, its dark tendrils intertwined more closely with his essence.
As Raiden rose, the room’s void mirrored the deep isolation he was poised to re-accept. His initial strategy had been straightforward: awaken Artanis, convey the weight of his decision, and separate with the aspiration that fate might reunite them in brighter times. Yet, the unexpected absence of the warlock from their shared tower plunged his intentions into chaos.
His mind raced as he considered the possibilities of Artanis’s disappearance. Was it mere coincidence, or had Artanis sensed Raiden’s impending departure and chosen to make the first move? The thought pained him, but it did not sway his determination.
Puzzled and a bit concerned, he began to explore the building, searching each room with the hope of finding some clue to his Artanis’s whereabouts. Yet, no matter where he looked, the warlock remained elusive, as if he had vanished into thin air. It wasn’t until Raiden approached one of the tower’s windows and peered out that he noticed something unusual.
There, not far from the base of the tower, stood a tent—a structure that definitely hadn’t been there the day before. From afar, the tent appeared almost to blend into its surroundings, its iridescent fabric catching the light in a gentle shimmer, like a mirage against the desolate backdrop. Descending the tower with a sense of urgency, Raiden hastened towards the tent, drawn by its mysterious allure.
As he gently drew aside the entrance, he was greeted by an unexpected vision. The interior, in stark contrast to the exterior’s understated elegance, opened up into a realm that seemed to defy the very dimensions of the tent itself. It was a domain where the essence of Artanis’s magical endeavours was laid bare. This hidden sanctum, veiled behind the tent’s deceptively simple facade, offered a glimpse into a world where magic intertwined with the fabric of reality.
The interior bore no resemblance to the modest tent he had expected moments ago. Instead, it unfolded into a lavish chamber that could easily belong in a grand castle. The space was spacious and luxurious, an unexpected haven amidst the desolation outside. Books lined the walls, their spines serving as silent guardians of ancient knowledge and arcane secrets. Artifacts and magical items were scattered throughout, each with its own aura of power and mystery. The room was illuminated by an array of blue candles, their light casting a serene glow over the opulent surroundings.
Awestruck by the transformation, he stood at the threshold, the magic at play unlike anything he had encountered before—or was it? With the gaps in his memory, he couldn’t truly tell.
As he stood there, taking in the lavishness of the tent’s interior, Artanis emerged, looking remarkably rejuvenated. He was the picture of health, groomed meticulously, and dressed in new robes that bore no sign of their recent ordeal.
“I was expecting you,” Artanis said, a slight smile playing on his lips, clearly aware of Raiden’s astonishment. “As soon as I felt a fraction of my strength return, I summoned this tent—my very modest abode,” he added, his tone dripping with a playful sarcasm that belied the opulence surrounding them. He gestured around at the luxurious setup with a casual air, as if such extravagance was commonplace, perhaps even understated by his standards.
Still absorbing the shock of the transition from the tower’s spartan accommodations to this opulent retreat, Raiden couldn’t help but marvel at the contrast. “Modest, indeed,” he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. He took a few steps inside, his eyes roving over the artifacts and volumes of ancient lore that seemed to vibrate with magical energy.
Artanis, observing Raiden’s reaction with a subtle air of pride, couldn’t help but share the origins of his unique dwelling. “This tent, believe it or not, was quite a challenge to acquire,” he began, “It’s far from your typical shelter but a marvel of rare magic, crafted from the very fabric of reality and adorned with spells for protection and concealment.”
He paced the interior slowly, his fingers gently grazing the tent’s enchanted fabric and the spines of ancient books with equal reverence. “This is my refuge, a place for rejuvenation, study, and safeguarding the artifacts that I’ve amassed throughout my journeys.”
“Within these walls, we’re shielded from the outside world, allowing us to discuss and devise our future course without the worry of eavesdroppers or unforeseen disturbances,” he also assured.
“It’s truly remarkable,” Raiden admitted, his voice carrying a genuine sense of admiration. “Every time I think I’ve seen the extent of what magic can do, you surprise me with something new. You’re not just skilled; you’re an artist with your magic.”
Clearly amused by the praise, Artanis let a fleeting smile grace his features. “Thank you, but let’s not make it sound like I’m performing parlour tricks here,” he responded, his expression blending levity with seriousness. “Magic is a tool, an art form, yes, but it’s the application that matters. And as for surprises,” he added with a more nonchalant air, “how about you catch me off guard for once? Maybe tell me a compliment that’ll actually make me raise an eyebrow.”
Raiden’s smiled slightly. “Fair enough,” he conceded, his tone playful. “I suppose you do hear such compliments often, being the esteemed warlock that you are.”
“True, though the circle that knows me as a warlock is rather limited,” Artanis shared, his statement carrying a subtle irony, “To the wider world, I’m merely an accomplished mage—respected, admired, and enveloped in a certain allure of mystery.” A sly smile crossed his face as he added, “But we can delve into that narrative another time.”
Leaning in with a barely concealed excitement, he deftly steered the conversation towards their pressing matters. “After the ritual’s unfolding, there’s a wealth to unpack,” he noted, his voice taking on a more earnest timbre despite the thrill beneath it. “The ripple effects of what we’ve done, our forward path… The subjects at hand are endless. I’m sure you’re just as keen as I am to dive into the complexities of our affliction. It’s not every day we get to dissect the outcomes of such powerful magic, after all.”
Raiden hesitated for a moment, caught between the eagerness in Artanis’s voice and the weight of his own decision. He took a deep breath, measuring his words carefully. “I can see you’re brimming with enthusiasm,” Raiden began, his tone reluctance. “And I wouldn’t want to dampen your spirits, but—” He paused.
Artanis’s gaze sharpened, intuition flickering behind his eyes as he detected the hesitation in Raiden’s voice. He leaned even closer, an air of suspicion colouring his features. “But what?” he prodded, his approach blending curiosity with a careful undertone. “You seem to be on the edge of a significant reveal. Out with it, then.”
Steeling himself for the weight of his decision, Raiden took a deep breath. “But, after everything that’s happened, I’ve made a decision. I believe it’s best for me to continue this journey alone.”
Artanis folded his arms across his chest, a chuckle escaping him as if he couldn’t quite take Raiden’s words at face value. “Embarking on a lone adventure, are we?” His comment laced with disbelief and a hint of humour. “That’s quite the dramatic turn. Do enlighten me, why this sudden leap into solitude?”
Raiden’s voice carried unwavering sincerity as he pressed on, “My curse is a danger to those around me, and I refuse to let it threaten you, Artanis. You’ve already taken considerable risks on my behalf, and the idea of exposing you to further danger is something I cannot accept.” His decision, though painful, was made with a selfless intent.
With a smug tilt to his head and a touch of indignation, Artanis replied, “Quite noble of you to fret over me so much,” he said, his voice dripping with irony. “It almost sounds as though you question the extent of my formidable abilities.”
“That’s not it at all. I have no doubts about your capabilities,” Raiden asserted, wanting to dispel any misunderstanding. “But if I journey alone, at least I can ensure that my curse doesn’t endanger anyone else. It’s about minimizing the harm, not doubting your skills.”
After a brief moment of silence, Artanis let out a laugh, brushing off Raiden’s solemn declaration with a wave of his hand. “My friend, you’re being incredibly melodramatic,” He rebuked softly, a smile teasing the edges of his lips. “What’s next? Are you planning to live the life of
a recluse in some mountain cave, shunning all contact with the outside world?”
Raiden met Artanis’s levity with a somber gaze, the seriousness of his intent undiminished by the warlock’s jesting. “If that’s what it takes,” he replied firmly, a hint of resolve in his voice. “Yes, I would consider even that.”
Artanis allowed his laughter to fade into a disbelieving silence. Shaking his head, he adopted
a posture of exaggerated contemplation, his annoyance barely veiled beneath a façade of bemusement. “Preposterous,” he finally declared, the word sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You speak of self-sacrifice as if it were the only path left after a single setback. Truly, Raiden, your penchant for the dramatic knows no bounds.”
Leaning forward, a pointed sarcasm seeping into his tone, Artanis continued, “Shall
I alert the scribes to pen your tragic tale now, or do you plan to wait until you’ve actually taken residence among the mountain bats? One failed attempt to lift your curse, and here you are, ready to embrace a life of solitude as if you were the hero of some grand, sorrowful epic.”
Raiden’s somber gaze didn’t waver as he absorbed Artanis’s mocking words. After a brief pause, he found his voice, firmer and more reflective this time. “During the ritual, Artanis, you suffered greatly. The pain you endured… it was more than anyone should bear. And who knows what horrors would have befallen us had we not severed the ritual when we did.” His eyes, dark with the memory, locked onto Artanis’s, searching for understanding.
He continued, his voice a mixture of concern and conviction. “Besides, you said it yourself—the ritual left behind a residue. An echo of dark magic that might attract more fiends. We toyed with forces beyond our comprehension, and now, we might pay the price for our hubris. Isolation, as drastic as it sounds, may not just be for my own protection, but for everyone’s safety.”
Artanis’s laughter filled the space between them, rich and full of an unwavering confidence that seemed to dismiss the very notion of fear. “Raiden, my friend, you worry too much. In our quest to lift your curse, what we encountered was indeed intense, but let me remind you,” he said, leaning back with a casual air of authority that seemed to envelop him like a cloak, “I chose this path willingly. I knew the risks involved in delving into such potent magics, and I accepted them. To stand by your side, to face whatever darkness awaited, was my decision—and one I would make again without hesitation.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he added, “And as for the castle we’ve left behind, embroiled in dark magic, let’s not be naive. We live in a world where purity is but a façade, and demons wander freely. The idea that our actions could attract unwanted attention is hardly shocking. If the magic lingers, attracting beasts and fiends, so be it. It’s a testament to the power we wielded, and a challenge I accept willingly.” His smile, a mix of defiance and reassurance, seemed to underline his readiness to face whatever consequences their actions had set in motion.
Raiden’s expression sobered however, his eyes reflecting a depth of concern that contrasted sharply with Artanis’s light-heartedness. “I doubt the villagers living near the castle share your enthusiasm for such… challenges,” he countered, his voice laced with a seriousness that brooked no jest. “To them, the repercussions of our experimentations are not a testament to power, but a harbinger of danger, perhaps even death.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing, “And regarding the curse, its complexity and potential peril extend beyond just you and me. Its removal, as we’ve seen, is fraught with risk, not just to us, but to anyone in proximity. The last thing I want is for our endeavours to bring harm to innocents. The magnitude of the curse, its intricacies, they might prove too elusive to untangle without consequence.”
Artanis’s chuckle only deepened, his amusement at Raiden’s declaration becoming even more pronounced. “My dear Raiden, as a warlock who’s danced with demons, traversed the shadow realms, and faced the abyss itself, I assure you, this is but a trifle,” he said, his voice dripping with incredulity. “The challenges I’ve encountered in the dark arts, the battles I’ve fought against entities that would freeze your blood—those are the true tests of fortitude. Compared to that, navigating the intricacies of your curse is more an intriguing puzzle than a dire threat.”
Raiden met Artanis’s dismissive stance with a steady gaze, the gravity of his concern undeterred. “I understand the magnitude of challenges you’ve faced, Artanis, and I don’t doubt your strength or resilience,” he began, his voice calm but firm. “However, this isn’t about the trials you or I can endure alone. It’s about the unpredictable impact my curse could have on those around me, on you. My decision stems from a place of responsibility, not fear. It’s one thing to confront danger willingly; it’s another to inadvertently bring it to someone else’s doorstep.”
Artanis waved off Raiden’s solemn words with an easy smile, his confidence unfazed. “Our partnership may not have begun as a friendship, true, but remember, we have a deal. And I am not one to shy away simply because the journey becomes challenging,” he stated, the levity in his tone masking the steel underlying his commitment. With a sly, ironic twist to his smile, he added, “I can’t quite decide whether to be flattered by your protectiveness or to be irked by it. To think, you worrying over me as if I couldn’t handle a little curse-induced adventure.”
Raiden met Artanis’s gaze, his lips twitched upwards in a reluctant smile, acknowledging the warlock’s indomitable spirit. “It’s not a question of your ability to handle adversity, Artanis. Of that, I have no doubt,” he began, his voice a blend of respect and a touch of exasperation. “It’s the unforeseen consequences I’m wary of. Our actions, however well-intentioned, ripple out far beyond our immediate reach.”
Pausing, he then added, “As for our deal, consider it fulfilled. Your assistance has more than repaid any obligation between us. We’re even now. I can’t, in good conscience, let this curse bring further risk to you, no matter how capable you are of facing it.”
Artanis’s patience seemed to fray at Raiden’s insistence. “So, you think by worrying incessantly about everyone around you, and deciding to isolate yourself, you’re doing anyone any favours?” He challenged, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “You’re foolish if you believe that running away and adopting the life of an outsider is going to solve anything.”
His frustration apparent, he continued, “Running away might seem like a noble sacrifice to you, but it’s not a solution. It’s avoidance,” he stated, fixing Raiden with a gaze that bore into him with an intensity meant to convey the seriousness of his words. “The curse, as we’ve both witnessed, possesses a will of its own. It seeks to expand, to exert its influence. If you don’t find a proper way to contain it or seek a solution, it could lead to outcomes far beyond your ability to control.”
Raiden’s expression shifted, weariness seeping into his features as he absorbed Artanis’s pointed words. There was a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken fears and frustrations, before he spoke, his voice tinged with a resigned fatigue. “Perhaps the solution is simpler than we think,” he said, a hollow laugh escaping him as if the thought was both absurd and painfully logical. “If the curse seeks a host to expand its influence, maybe it’s time to remove that host—me.” His words hung in the air, not as a declaration of intent but as the weary musings of someone who has battled endlessly against an unseen enemy.
Artanis’s frustration flared into visible anger, his patience clearly strained by Raiden’s drastic suggestion. “Remove you as the host? Seriously?” he snapped, disbelief and irritation intermingling in his tone, stripping away any previous amusement. “Out of all the rash, defeatist strategies—this is what you land on as a ‘solution’?”
His anger simmered as he glared at Raiden, adding sharply, “I must admit, I hadn’t pegged you for someone so desperate. It’s one thing to be cautious, but to consider such extremes…you’re truly testing the limits of my tolerance here.”
Though his irritation still simmered just beneath the surface, Artanis took a deep breath, attempting to rein in his emotions. “Let’s be clear,” he said, his voice steadying but still carrying the weight of his frustration. “Suggesting we remove the host, essentially suggesting your own demise, is not only defeatist; it’s outright absurd. We’re dealing with magic, Raiden, not some simple equation where subtracting one element solves the problem.”
Chastened by Artanis’s sudden outburst, Raiden felt a momentary flush of embarrassment, his earlier resolve wavering under the weight of the warlock’s frustration. The stern rebuke sparked a flurry of questions in his mind, the lack of understanding about the intricate workings of magic making him feel all the more vulnerable. With a cautious, somewhat timid voice, he sought clarification, “Why wouldn’t that solve the problem?”
Artanis’s demeanour softened, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes as he acknowledged Raiden’s genuine confusion and concern. “I’ve encountered cases,” he began, his voice laced with sincerity, “instances where the removal of a host did nothing to quell the curse. Instead, it became unanchored, unpredictable, spreading without discernment.”
He then leaned closer, ensuring Raiden grasped the gravity of his words. “And believe me, the last thing we want is to transform your curse into a rampant force, wreaking havoc beyond our control. Magic, especially of this caliber, demands respect, caution, and above all, patience.”
Pausing to fully process Artanis’s fervent counterargument, Raiden released a weary sigh, his stance momentarily losing its resolve. In that silence, Artanis could discern the tumultuous internal struggle waging within Raiden. Even without words, the warlock observed the subtle shifts in Raiden’s expression—a fleeting look of desperation, the hard swallow of uncertainty, the slight narrowing of eyes as if to hold back the weight of his thoughts.
With a steadying breath, Artanis’s gaze fixed on Raiden, his frustration giving way to a more measured intensity. “We are dealing with a grave issue, yes, and the path ahead is fraught with uncertainty. But to suggest surrender after one failed attempt?”
“We didn’t succeed on our first try, true,” he continued, his tone more composed yet edged with a distinct coolness, “But that doesn’t mean all hope is lost. It’s absurd to think so. Magic, as much as it is an art, is also about persistence, about learning from our setbacks. We’ll find a way to lift this curse, without resorting to… final solutions. So, no more talk of giving up or drastic measures. Agreed?”
Raiden’s firm determination began to waver under Artanis’s earnest appeal, the depth of his own despair and isolation becoming evident. The thought of leaving had never been about his own desire for solitude; it was a burdensome choice he felt compelled to make for the safety of others, not least Artanis. As the warlock’s words penetrated the fog of his resolve, Raiden found himself grappling with the realization that perhaps there was a glimmer of hope, a chance that the curse could be outwitted without necessitating his self-imposed exile.
“I…I never wanted to leave,” Raiden admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with a mix of relief and lingering doubt. “It seemed like the only way to protect…to ensure no one else got hurt because of me. But if you truly believe there’s another way, a way to outsmart this curse without resorting to such extremes, then I’m willing to try. It’s just hard to see beyond the curse when it’s all you’ve known for so long.”
A hint of satisfaction flickered in Artanis’s eyes, tempered by a shadow of worry he quickly masked with his usual nonchalance. “See? Not all is lost,” he said, leaning back slightly as if to physically embody the relief he felt, yet not fully letting his guard down. “We’ll tackle this curse head-on, with every bit of arcane wisdom at our disposal,” he stated firmly, then with a slight, uncharacteristic hesitation added, “And… we’ll do it together.” It was clear from his tone that such declarations of unity were not his usual fare, betraying a moment of unfamiliarity with the sentiment.
“Besides, if you decided to take up the life of a noble hermit, who else would be around to acknowledge my unparalleled wisdom?” He quipped, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the moment. “Or, more importantly, who would be there to offer me those rare compliments, even if they lack a touch of originality?” The slight curve of his lips betrayed his relief, even as he strove to maintain a facade of casual confidence.
Raiden couldn’t help but crack a small smile at Artanis’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “Surely, you can’t be short on admirers,” he retorted, his lips tipping up in a faint smile. “But I’ll do my best to keep up, regardless.”
Artanis responded with a smirk, his voice carrying a mock-arrogance. “Of course, you will,” he affirmed, not missing a beat. “I haven’t given up on the puzzle you present, Raiden. As soon as you’re done with your gloomy soliloquies, I’ll share what I’ve uncovered. Then, we can strategize our next moves.” His attempt at nonchalance was palpable, yet beneath the surface, there was an unmistakable glimmer of happiness. Internally, Artanis felt a surge of relief and satisfaction, knowing that Raiden was reconsidering his drastic decision and that their partnership—this unusual companionship they’d forged—was not at its end.
Raiden met Artanis’s gaze, a newfound determination reflected in his eyes. “I’m done,” he affirmed, his voice carrying the weight of his promise. “And I won’t bring up that idea again. We’ll find another way…” There was a sense of relief in his voice, a weight lifted from his shoulders.
“Good,” Artanis replied, his tone carrying a subtle warning. “Because if you ever mention it again…” he paused for effect, a mischievous spark lighting his eyes, “then I’ll bind a spell on you that makes every seat you try to sit on feel like you’re settling down on a cactus. And not just any cactus, but one particularly fond of its new perch.”
Raiden’s initial response was a frown, a reflex to the seriousness with which Artanis delivered his ultimatum. However, the absurdity of the image—a spell making every seat as uncomfortable as sitting on a particularly hostile cactus—slowly permeated his solemn mood. Despite himself, the corners of Raiden’s mouth twitched upwards into an involuntary smile.
Raiden’s comments infused a subtle warmth, melting away the friction that lingered between them. “You’ve got nothing to fear,” he declared, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a barely contained smile. “I wouldn’t dare, now that I’m fully aware of the harrowing consequences, which apparently include a close encounter of the prickly kind.”
Artanis’s response was swift, his demeanour shifting to one of exaggerated gravity. “Excellent to hear,” he intoned, nodding with mock solemnity. “Because, just for your information, my interest in cacti isn’t purely academic. I’ve developed a certain… expertise.” He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face as if he were carefully selecting from an encyclopedia of spiny flora in his mind.
“Indeed, I’m acquainted with varieties that could redefine your understanding of discomfort,” Artanis concluded, a playful gleam lighting up his eyes. “And I’m not merely referring to their touch. Some of these cacti are capable of imparting lessons you’d find nowhere else, in ways you’d least expect.” The hint of mischief in his tone suggested he was enjoying the thought far more than he probably should.
“Alright, alright, I’ll cooperate,” Raiden acknowledged, with a tentative smile edging his lips as he noted the odd direction their conversation had veered into. Internally, he couldn’t help but find Artanis’s fascination with cacti both peculiar and, frankly, a bit odd.
Seizing the opportunity to maintain their light-hearted exchange, Artanis adopted a sardonic tone. “Well, you can start by taking a bath,” he suggested, eyeing Raiden with an exaggerated scrutiny that implied his current state was less than fresh. “Considering our recent escapades, I’d say it’s not just cooperation but a necessity.”
Without waiting for a response, Artanis extended his hand towards a nearby tub, his fingers weaving through the air in a practiced motion. Moments later, a large bubble of water formed, wobbling slightly in the air before it burst, cascading into the tub with a splash that filled the room with the sound of running water.
Raiden, as a grin started to spread across his face, shifted his gaze from the tub back to Artanis,
a glint of mirth flickering in his eyes. “Am I supposed to bathe in the middle of the room?” he asked, the humour in his situation not lost on him.
Catching the amusement in Raiden’s query, Artanis returned with a cleverly veiled compliment, his tone laced with mock seriousness. “Shyness? In your case, it would be entirely unwarranted. Given the trials you’ve faced, one would assume you’ve nothing to hide—and certainly, nothing that would diminish your… let’s say, aesthetic contributions to any setting, not least a room such as this.”
Raiden’s eyebrows lifted slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the cleverly veiled compliment, as he processed Artanis’s convoluted assertion about his appearance.
With a theatrical roll of his eyes and a gesture that seemed both resigned and amused, Artanis conjured a folding screen, summoning it into existence beside the tub. The screen unfurled smoothly, providing Raiden with a semblance of privacy amidst the otherwise open room. “There, no more excuses,” Artanis declared, a smirk playing on his lips as he gestured towards the now slightly more secluded bathing area.
As Raiden submerged himself into the warm water of the tub, the tension of their recent escapades began to dissolve. The sound of water moving echoed softly within the confines of the room, creating a serene atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the earlier mood of playful banter.
Meanwhile, Artanis, leaning against a nearby wall, watched the steam rise with a thoughtful expression. “So,” he began, his voice carrying over the sound of water, “after the ritual, I’ve had some time to think about what happened, about what I sensed during and after our attempt to break the curse.”
At this, Raiden’s eyes flicked up to meet Artanis’s, a questioning look etched across his features, silently urging the warlock to continue, intrigued by what insights might have emerged from his contemplation.
“The magic we unleashed… it was potent, wild even, beyond what I’ve encountered before. And yet, despite our efforts, the curse remains,” Artanis continued, his gaze steady on Raiden, ensuring he understood the significance of the situation. “But it’s not just that the spell didn’t work as we hoped; it’s what it revealed about the curse itself.”
He paused for a moment, letting the implication of his words settle. “The origin of the magic at play here is infernal, of that I’m certain. But what struck me most during our encounter was the realization that the powers we’re dealing with are far greater than my own. And considering
I draw my power from Zaltharos, we must be facing an entity of immense strength.”
As the weight of his revelation hung in the air, Artanis met Raiden’s questioning gaze with an unwavering seriousness. “Zaltharos, by the way, is the name of the devil I’m bound to through pact,” he explained casually, as if mentioning an old acquaintance rather than a being of infernal power. “So, when I say the forces we’re confronting surpass my own abilities, it’s not a statement made lightly. The entity we’re up against is not just powerful—it’s on a scale that even Zaltharos might respect.” His tone was matter-of-fact, treating the mention of his demonic patron as a mere footnote to the larger issue at hand.
Raiden, his interest piqued despite the relaxing bath, leaned forward slightly. “What are you suggesting?” he asked, the seriousness of the conversation not diminishing the comfort of the warm water.
Artanis’s expression grew somber as he considered the implications of his findings. “What this means for us, I’m not entirely sure. But one thing is clear: breaking this curse will require more than powerful spells or ancient artifacts.”
“This isn’t merely a battle against a powerful curse; it’s a confrontation with forces that eclipse even those of Zaltharos. For such an entity to take an interest in you, Raiden, it suggests your identity, your very essence, holds a significance we’ve yet to fully understand.”
“It’s compelling,” Artanis continued, “that you would draw the attention of such a powerful entity. This curse… it’s not just a means to an end. It’s a statement, a marker of sorts. It could very well be that another devil, or perhaps something even more ancient and powerful, has marked you for reasons we can’t yet fathom.”
Raiden absorbed Artanis’s words, the gravity of the situation settling upon him like a heavy cloak. He shifted uncomfortably, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. “Significant? Me?” he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “But how? I… I don’t remember anything that would hint at me being… well, important.”
Artanis met Raiden’s gaze, understanding the turmoil that lay behind those words of disbelief. “The very fact that you don’t remember your past, Raiden, is not without reason,” he said, his voice carrying a note of solemnity. “Your loss of memory, it’s too convenient, too targeted. It suggests a deliberate effort to conceal your true nature, not just from the world but from yourself as well.”
He leaned forward slightly, emphasizing the importance of his next words. “This isn’t mere happenstance. Such a level of manipulation hints at the involvement of fearsome adversaries, individuals or entities with the power and knowledge to erase a person’s memories so thoroughly. It points to deep-seated plots, a web of intrigue designed to keep you from understanding who you are, from realizing your potential.”
Artanis paused, letting the implications of his analysis sink in. “We’re not just fighting against
a curse, Raiden. We’re up against a concerted effort to keep you in the dark, to prevent you from reclaiming your identity and the power that comes with it. The adversaries we face are not only powerful but also cunning, capable of weaving such spells that conceal the truth. Our journey, then, becomes even more critical. We’re not only seeking to break the chains of this curse but also to unravel the mystery of who you truly are, and in doing so, uncover the reasons behind this elaborate deception.”
Raiden, absorbing the weight of Artanis’s revelations, couldn’t help but respond with a sardonic twist, the absurdity of their situation pressing down on him. He looked around, noting his current predicament, sitting in the tub, a stark contrast to the seriousness of their conversation. “Great,” he said, the word laced with a heavy dose of irony. “So, not only am I cursed, with no memory of who I am, but now there’s a grand conspiracy to keep me in the dark. And here I am, sitting in a tub, pondering my significance in the grand scheme of things.”
He let out a short, humourless laugh, the absurdity of discussing cosmic battles and deep-seated plots while in such a vulnerable state not lost on him. “Well, at least we’re tackling these revelations with some semblance of dignity,” Raiden added, his tone dry, as he gestured to his current, less-than-heroic posture. “Next, you’ll be telling me I’m the lost heir to a kingdom or some pivotal figure destined to save the world. And my throne awaits, just as soon as I can get out of this bath.”
Artanis couldn’t help but crack a smile, the amusement clear in his eyes as he regarded Raiden. The warlock’s usual solemnity gave way to a lighter, more teasing tone. “Ah, I see my role as the resident purveyor of sarcasm is under threat,” he remarked. “I must admit, you’re quite good at it, even in such…compromising circumstances.”
His smile broadened slightly, acknowledging the oddity of their situation. “But let’s not assign you a throne just yet. Though, who knows? The way things are unravelling, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised.”
Raiden snorted at the playful suggestion, the ludicrousness of the conversation offering a momentary escape from the severity of their situation. “Well, if it turns out I am some lost heir to a throne, I’ll make sure to name you my royal advisor,” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. “Imagine that, a warlock at the heart of the court. What a scandal we’d cause.”
Artanis raised his eyebrows at the idea, his enjoyment evident. “A warlock as a royal advisor? Now that would certainly stir the pot,” he mused, the notion of such a position, with its inherent contradictions and controversies, not lost on him. “I can already hear the whispers in the corridors. It would be quite the sight, wouldn’t it? Though, I daresay, the counsel I would offer might be a bit unconventional for the royal court’s tastes.”
Raiden shrugged. “Perhaps by the time we unravel this mystery, you won’t be dealing with a devil anymore. Who knows what we’ll uncover?”
At that, Artanis chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I wouldn’t count on that. Some affiliations are a bit more… enduring than others,” he responded, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of truth. “But it’s a nice thought, Raiden. In any case, serving as an advisor in your hypothetical kingdom would certainly be an interesting chapter in my life.”
With the brief moment of levity passing, Artanis’s expression shifted back to one of focus and determination. “All jesting aside, we have a serious path ahead of us,” he said, the gravity returning to his voice. “Our immediate priority must be to unravel the threads of this curse and your lost past. To do that, we’ll need to delve into places and magics that are, to say the least, less than savoury.”
Raiden’s expression mirrored the shift in Artanis’s demeanour, the seriousness of their situation settling in. “Do you have any specific places in mind?” Raiden inquired, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Given my situation, with memories that are more like gaps than solid ground, I’m not sure I’ll be much help in identifying where to start. My knowledge of these… less than savoury places and magics is practically non-existent, or at the very least, forgotten.”
“First, we should seek out any lore or ancient texts that might give us insight into curses of this nature.” Artanis stated, the strategist within him taking over. “There are libraries and archives that might hold such knowledge, though gaining access to them may not be straightforward.”
He then began to pace slightly, his mind already racing through potential leads and resources. “We’ll also need to consult with experts in infernal magic. I have contacts in various circles that might be able to help us, though we should proceed with caution. Not all will be sympathetic to our cause.”
He stopped, turning back to Raiden with a look of resolve. “And finally, we should consider seeking out artifacts or relics known to possess the power to break or at least weaken such curses. This will undoubtedly be dangerous; such objects are often guarded or hidden for
a reason.”
Raiden glanced at warlock, his eyes reflecting the turmoil of doubt and concern within. “Artanis,” he began, his voice carrying a newfound seriousness, “after all you’ve discovered, all the dangers and uncertainties… do you truly still want to help me?”
He paused, the weight of his own question evident in the slight furrow of his brow. “I mean, none of this sounds easy, or even feasible, given the forces we’re up against. It’s a lot to ask of anyone, even you.”
Artanis regarded Raiden with a steady gaze, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes as he prepared his response. His posture straightened, a confident, almost arrogant air enveloping him as he spoke. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” he began, his voice laced with a self-assured edge. “This entire situation, the curse, the hidden forces at play, and yes, even you, Raiden. You’ve become quite the intriguing research subject for me.”
He leaned back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve always relished a challenge, and this,” he gestured expansively, encompassing the scope of their predicament, “is perhaps the most intriguing puzzle I’ve encountered. And let’s be honest, you won’t find anyone better suited to help you navigate these treacherous waters than me.”
Artanis’s confidence was palpable, his belief in his own abilities and the unique interest he took in Raiden’s case underscoring his commitment to their cause. “You should consider yourself fortunate that I have chosen to assist you out of my own volition,” he continued, the smirk now fully formed. “Not just because of the intellectual stimulation it provides me, but also because, well, you are quite the fascinating enigma.”
He smiled, his expression turning momentarily thoughtful before a sardonic glint returned to his eyes. “And perhaps, just perhaps, I’m already envisioning myself as a royal advisor in your future kingdom,” he added, harking back to their earlier banter with a chuckle. “Imagine the scandal, indeed. But one can’t deny it would be an interesting role, no?”
Raiden let out a sigh, the realization and acceptance of Artanis’s unwavering determination settling over him. He looked at the warlock, a mixture of gratitude and resolve in his eyes. “I’ve already realized there’s no use trying to convince you to back down,” he admitted, a half-smile forming on his lips despite the seriousness of their situation. “Well, since you’re so determined,
I guess I won’t be considering any easy paths from now on either.”
He glanced down at himself, still sitting in the tub, the absurdity of the moment not lost on him. “Though, making such declarations from a bathtub doesn’t exactly scream ‘heroic’, does it?” Raiden mused, a hint of humour returning to his voice. “Perhaps it’s time to rise from the water. One can’t very well strategize the next move or face formidable foes while soaking, after all.”
With that, Raiden made a move to stand, his words not only acknowledging Artanis’s commitment but also reinforcing his own readiness to confront whatever lay ahead, no matter how daunting.
As Raiden stood, searching for something to dry himself with, Artanis’s gaze followed him,
a discreet but undeniable curiosity in his eyes. It was a momentary lapse, his usual composure slightly faltering as he observed him. Realizing his attention might have been too apparent, Artanis quickly pointed to the nearby cloths, a hint of distraction in his voice. “The towels are over there,” he said, gesturing with a nonchalance he didn’t entirely feel.
Then, collecting himself and returning to the matter at hand, Artanis couldn’t resist adding
a touch of their ongoing banter to the conversation. “I’m glad to see you’ve changed your approach,” he remarked. “And to think, all it took was threatening you with a cactus…” He shook his head slightly.
Raiden couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, mock indignation flashing across his face. “Oh, please, it wasn’t the cactus threat that swayed me,” he retorted with feigned outrage. “Clearly, it was your unmatched persuasion skills.”
Wrapping a towel around himself and stepping out of the tub, he turned to Artanis with
a renewed sense of purpose. His previous humour giving way to focus, he asked, “So, what’s the plan then?”
Noting the determination in Raiden’s stance, Artanis nodded, already formulating a strategy in his mind. “First, we delve into ancient texts. The Arcanum Library in the city of Veritas Hold is where we’ll start,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of his resolve.
He began to pace slightly, his hands gesturing to emphasize his points. “Veritas Hold is one of the oldest cities known for its vast collection of magical lore and arcane knowledge. The Arcanum Library, in particular, houses rare manuscripts and tomes that are not found anywhere else in the world.”
Artanis stopped, turning to face Raiden fully, ensuring he understood the significance of their next steps. “I believe that within its walls, we might uncover texts or scrolls that shed light on the origins of your curse. Perhaps even find references to similar enchantments or entities that could give us a clue on how to break it.”
His expression turned serious, underlining the importance of their task. “It won’t be easy. The knowledge we seek could be hidden, or in codes meant to protect its secrets from the unwary. But,” Artanis’s eyes met Raiden’s, “if there’s any hope of finding answers, of understanding the forces we’re up against, the Arcanum Library in Veritas Hold is our best chance.”
Raiden, hesitated for a moment, a shadow of concern crossing his features. “But is it safe for me to go with you to Veritas Hold?” he asked, his voice laced with caution. “I wouldn’t want to bring any unwanted attention or danger to the library—or worse, endanger you and anyone else there.”
Artanis met Raiden’s concern with a momentary contemplative silence, then a confident, almost arrogant smirk began to form on his lips. “Your worry, while valid, underestimates the resources at my disposal,” he confidently stated, his posture straightening as if to physically underscore his next point.
“There are ways to mask our presence, to cloak us from the prying eyes of those who would wish us ill. I can weave an enchantment, a veil of sorts, that will conceal the curse’s aura—at least enough to prevent it from drawing undue attention while we’re in Veritas Hold and within the Arcanum Library.”
His smirk widened slightly, turning into a full-fledged grin. “Believe me, Raiden, when I say that navigating the intricacies of arcane camouflage is something of a specialty of mine. We’ll walk through the city and its library undetected, as if we were just two ordinary scholars in pursuit of knowledge.”
Artanis’s tone was not just reassuring but brimming with the kind of overconfidence that suggested he genuinely relished the challenge. “The curse may be formidable, but it has yet to encounter the cunning of a warlock who’s spent years outsmarting entities far more menacing than a few monstrosities. Besides,” he added with a playful glint in his eye, “should we encounter any trouble, I can’t think of a better companion than someone with your… uniquely acquired set of skills.”
Visibly buoyed by Artanis’s plan and his unwavering confidence, Raiden couldn’t help but feel
a flicker of hope ignite within him. “I have to admit, it is quite reassuring,” he said, with a slight smile pulling at his lips.. “I’m beginning to feel a bit more hopeful about our chances now.”
As he then made a move to dress himself, perhaps out of habit reaching for his old, battle-worn garments, Artanis interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, no, you won’t be needing those again,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of excitement. “I’ve got something far better for you. Given our upcoming venture, I’ve taken the liberty of selecting a new set of clothes from my collection. Something less… covered in the blood of infernal fiends and the debris of crumbling castles.”
Raiden hesitated, casting a doubtful look towards Artanis. “With all due respect, fancy robes don’t exactly seem like my style,” he remarked, his mind conjuring images of the elaborate, intricate garments often favoured by practitioners of the arcane.
“Robes? No, I wouldn’t dare subject you to that,” Artanis couldn’t resist letting out a snort at the assumption. “What I have in mind is attire far more fitting for someone of your… let’s say, dynamic proclivities. Consider it the appropriate ensemble for a man of action, not the garb of one meandering through the dusty aisles of an arcane library.”
With a flourish that matched his earlier words, he produced the clothing he had prepared. The clothing was thoughtfully chosen, a perfect blend of practicality and style befitting
a warrior of Raiden’s caliber.
The outfit consisted of a durable, dark leather tunic, reinforced with subtle metal accents at the shoulders and chest for added protection. The leather was of high quality, flexible enough to allow for ease of movement, yet tough enough to offer defense against minor threats. The tunic was paired with matching trousers, reinforced at the knees and thighs, designed to withstand the rigors of combat without sacrificing mobility.
To complete the ensemble, Artanis included a pair of sturdy boots with reinforced soles for grip and agility, along with gloves crafted from the same dark leather, offering protection while allowing the dexterity needed for swordplay. Included in the set was a specially designed belt equipped with a harness, allowing Raiden to carry his large sword on his back. This setup was essential, given the sword’s size made it impractical to be worn at the waist.
The attire, while devoid of any overt embellishments, spoke of a quiet elegance, its design focused on the practical needs of a fighter. The dark hues of the leather were chosen not only for their aesthetic appeal but also for their practicality, blending into the shadows when stealth was required.
Raiden carefully inspected the wear laid out before him. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the evident quality and superior craftsmanship of each item. The materials felt durable yet comfortable, clearly chosen with
a warrior’s needs in mind.
Artanis observed him, with a trace of mirth in his gaze. With a casual flick of his wrist, he brushed aside Raiden’s silent gratitude. “Please, don’t read too much into it,” he interjected. “This isn’t a gift; think of it more as a strategic investment on my part.”
He tilted back a bit, his lips curving into a more distinct smirk. “It’s purely self-serving, really.” Ensuring that my esteemed companion isn’t prematurely dispatched due to subpar attire is in my own best interest. Besides,” he continued, the joy in his tone now clearly evident, “parading around in clothes that’s seen better days hardly sets the right tone for our endeavours. We can’t have you looking less than presentable—it would reflect poorly on both of us, don’t you think?”
Fully aware of Artanis’s penchant for masking genuine concern with wit, Raiden couldn’t help but chuckle at the warlock’s explanation. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse?” he replied, the warmth in his voice reflecting the appreciation he felt. “I suppose looking presentable is the least I can do to uphold your…distinguished reputation.”
Artanis, allowed a momentary pause before his gaze flicked pointedly towards Raiden, currently clad in nothing more than a towel. A mischievous gleam lit up his eyes as he couldn’t resist making an observation. “Presentable, you say? I’d argue you’re quite… striking in your current ensemble,” he quipped. “Though, I must admit, while this particular ‘apparel’ might serve to distract certain foes, I doubt it would offer much protection against the real demons we’re likely to encounter.”
“Oh? If you’re suggesting that my current ‘attire’ is distracting,” Raiden replied, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips, “perhaps I should remain in it a bit longer. If you enjoy the view, just say the word, Artanis.”
Momentarily caught off guard by Raiden’s playful counter, Artanis masked any hint of embarrassment with a practiced air of detachment. He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching into a brief, amused smile before regaining his composure. “Well, as much as
I appreciate the… ambiance, we do have a world to save,” he replied smoothly, deflecting with
a casual air. “And unfortunately, that requires a bit more armour and a bit less… towel.” He then turned away, pretending to busy himself with some inconsequential adjustment to his own attire, a subtle way to deflect from the moment.
Raiden simply smiled to himself, pleased with the light-hearted exchange, and began to don the clothes Artanis had provided. As he adjusted to the feel of the new outfit, he looked up, the practical matter at hand resurfacing in his mind. “Are we heading to Veritas Hold right away, then?”
Artanis hesitated for a moment, his expression turning serious as he considered how to broach the subject. “Actually, not right away,” he finally admitted, the usual confidence in his voice giving way to a rare note of hesitancy.
Raiden, noticing the shift in Artanis’s demeanour from their recent light-hearted interaction to something more solemn, tilted his head slightly, curiosity piqued by the sudden change. The fabric of his new clothing rustled softly as he moved, signifying his full attention was now on the warlock. “Why not right away?” he probed gently, his tone infused with concern.
Artanis attempted to regain his usual composed and somewhat nonchalant demeanor as he addressed Raiden’s question, but despite his efforts, his voice betrayed a mix of emotions—frustration, annoyance, and a hint of urgency that he usually kept well under control. “There’s a matter I’ve been neglecting,” he began, forcing a casual shrug that didn’t quite match the tension in his eyes. “One that I’ve ignored for too long. It’s reached a point where I can’t afford to overlook it any longer.” He paused, searching for the right words, his gaze briefly flickering away before meeting Raiden’s again.
“It involves… certain responsibilities that require my immediate attention. I’ll need to part ways with you for a day or two,” he admitted, trying to sound as normal and in control as possible. Yet, the slight edge in his voice, the tightness around his jaw, suggested that whatever this matter was, it weighed heavily on him, perhaps more than he cared to admit.
“Could I come with you and assist, perhaps?” Raiden offered, the genuine concern in his tone unmistakable. “Whatever this responsibility entails, you shouldn’t have to face it alone. If there’s anything I can do to help, consider me at your disposal.”
The warlock, however, shook his head, a hint of firmness in his voice. “No, Raiden, it’s best if you stay here. The matters I need to attend to are… let’s just say they’re a bit delicate and quite specific to my unique set of skills. It’s not something you’d enjoy, nor is it a place where you can offer help. It’s better for both our sakes that you stay put.”
He paused, gauging Raiden’s reaction, before continuing, “However, I would ask that you wait for me in a nearby village. It’s not far from here, and it will serve as a suitable place for us to regroup. I won’t be gone long—no more than a day or two at most.”
Raiden’s initial reaction was one of understanding and acceptance, recognizing the solemnity in Artanis’s decision. Yet, as the gears turned in his mind, a sliver of suspicion crept in, shadowed by a deeper awareness of the complexities surrounding Artanis’s character and their journey together. “Is this… related to the pact you’ve made?” He asked, his tone carefully neutral yet tinged with an undeniable curiosity and concern.
Artanis’s response came swiftly, his voice laced with a hint of evasiveness yet underscored by a firm and somewhat arrogant tone, as if to reassert control over the direction of their conversation. “It’s… a matter of certain obligations, yes,” he admitted, not directly confirming Raiden’s suspicion but not outright denying it either. His posture straightened, a proud and unyielding edge creeping into his demeanour. “Obligations that I need to fulfil in order to assist you further on our path. Let’s just say, the price of power is not always paid upfront.”
His gaze held Raiden’s for a moment longer than necessary, as if challenging him to question the nature of these obligations further. Yet, there was a calculated coolness in his expression, a barrier that he erected not just to protect his own secrets but perhaps to shield Raiden from the darker aspects of the pact he had made.
“Rest assured, whatever I must do, it is for the greater good, and it will not impede our mission. On the contrary, it will ensure that I can stand by your side.” Artanis concluded, his tone leaving little room for further inquiry, yet somehow conveying a sense of solemn duty beneath the surface arrogance.
Sensing the depth and complexity of the situation, Raiden chose to remain silent. Though he might have wished to inquire further, the delicate nature of Artanis’s obligations and the evident burden they represented led him to hold his tongue.
Artanis, observing Raiden’s decision to respect the unspoken boundaries of their conversation, felt a complex mix of relief and regret wash over him. Internally, he sighed, appreciating Raiden’s understanding but also feeling the poignant weight of the solitude his choices imposed upon him. It was a solitude born from decisions only he could understand, cloaked in the shadows of pacts and power.
After a moment’s contemplation, Artanis approached Raiden, his expression serious yet softened by a sense of camaraderie and trust. From the folds of his cloak, he produced an artifact of considerable power, its appearance alone suggesting its immense value. The artifact, glowing with a soft, ethereal light, seemed to pulsate with a life of its own, its surface etched with symbols that whispered of old magic.
“This,” Artanis began, his voice taking on a tone of solemnity, “is not merely a token of my trust in you. It serves two crucial purposes.” He carefully placed the artifact in Raiden’s hands, ensuring he understood the significance of the gesture. “First, it will allow me to locate you easily when we part ways. With this, no distance will be too great to prevent me from finding you should the need arise.”
He paused, allowing Raiden to absorb the gravity of the artifact’s first function before continuing. “Second, and perhaps more importantly, it will shield you from the unwanted attention your… unique curse might attract. This artifact contains a warding spell, powerful enough to cloak your presence from those creatures drawn to your essence. While in the village, its magic will ensure you remain undisturbed, allowing you to await my return without fear of drawing any monsters to you.”
Sensing the burgeoning questions in Raiden’s eyes, Artanis preempted them with further explanation, his tone underscored by a pragmatic recognition of the artifact’s limitations. “Before you ask, yes, this artifact has its… let’s say, duration. It depletes over time,” he admitted, a note of regret weaving through his words. “Its magic is potent but not inexhaustible. Therefore, it won’t shield you indefinitely.”
He held Raiden’s gaze. “You should only activate it once you’re within the village. Do not waste the artifact’s power on the journey there. Its purpose is to ensure your safety and anonymity in that specific location, where you’ll be most vulnerable without my presence.”
Raiden accepted the artifact, examining its craftsmanship briefly before securing it on his person. “Thank you, Artanis,” he responded, his gratitude evident. “I’ll be waiting for your return. And just so you know,” he added, a slight smile softening his features, “I can handle myself quite well. But I won’t deny, this journey seems less daunting with you in it.”
The warlock gave a nonchalant shrug, his confidence unwavering as he prepared to depart. “Of course, you can handle yourself. But it never hurts to have a wizard on your side, does it?” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smirk. “Just try not to have too much fun without me. I’ll be back before you know it, and we’ll continue this less daunting journey together.”
Artanis then waved his hand dismissively, signalling the end of their momentous exchange, and together they stepped out of the tent into the crisp air of the early dawn. The world around them was quietly awakening, with only the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant calls of morning birds breaking the silence. Without a word, Artanis began to methodically dismantle the tent, his movements precise and practiced, belying the weight of the conversation that had just taken place.
As Raiden watched, pondering the journey ahead and the artifact now in his possession, a subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at Artanis’s intention to invoke something beyond the ordinary. With a fluid motion and a whispered incantation that seemed to blend seamlessly with the morning breeze, Artanis summoned forth a majestic chestnut horse. The animal appeared out of nowhere, its approach silent but for the soft thud of its hooves against the soft earth. It stopped before Raiden, its intelligent eyes meeting his with a calmness that spoke of a well-trained companion, ready to serve.
Before Raiden could express his gratitude, Artanis turned to him, offering a final nod of acknowledgment. Without another word, he stepped back, and with a subtle gesture, the air around him shimmered. In the blink of an eye, Artanis teleported away, leaving behind a faint trace of arcane energy that quickly dissipated into the morning air.
Raiden stood alone, the reality of the moment settling in. The chestnut horse neighed softly, as if to offer its own form of companionship in Artanis’s absence. Despite the solitude, the thoughtfulness behind Artanis’s preparations—a horse ready for travel, the artifact for reuniting—imbued Raiden with a sense of purpose and a quiet confidence to face the days ahead.
With Artanis’s departure, he took a moment to appreciate the quiet support and companionship the warlock had provided. It fortified his resolve to face the uncertain days ahead, knowing that upon Artanis’s return, they would continue their journey together, stronger for the challenges they would undoubtedly face.
