Chapter 92: We Have to Return
The fire crackled in the clearing as dusk fell. What was once a chaotic battlefield had now quieted into a graveyard of scorched armor, shattered weapons, and still-burning underbrush. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the dense treetops, painting everything in shades of rust and crimson.
Inigo stood over the body of one of the fallen elites, crouching down to inspect the strange emblem Lyra had picked up earlier. It was small—no larger than a palm—but intricately carved. A black serpent coiled around a burning tower, its eye etched with a crimson gemstone. The symbol pulsed faintly, as if it still carried a residual charge of magic.
"This isn’t just branding," Inigo muttered. "This is a seal."
Arienne stood beside him, her white robes now stained with dirt and ash. "The enchantments woven into it are beyond common warbinding. I sense layers of compulsion magic, blood sigils... even sacrificial binding. Someone fed lives into this."
"That’s sick," Lyra muttered. She had found a stump and was restringing her bow with swift, practiced hands. "This wasn’t a simple hit squad. This was meant to send a message."
Korrik let out a snort as he dragged a body toward a growing pile. "Well, message failed. We’re still breathing."
"Barely," Inigo said. "And we’re not done."
He pocketed the emblem and rose to his feet, brushing soot from his coat. "Arienne, can you trace where this thing was made? Or who made it?"
She frowned. "Not from here. I’d need a sanctified scrying basin, runic amplifiers, and probably the blood of the warbinder himself."
"Bit late for that last one," Korrik muttered, wiping gore from his axe.
"We might be able to work around it," Arienne added thoughtfully. "If we bring the emblem to the Arcane Registry in Elandra, they might be able to identify its maker. These kinds of sigils require rare inks and materials. Someone would’ve had to register their imports or black-market trades."