Portraits of the Divine

Joren couldn't breathe. 

His lungs locked tight, chest rising in shallow jerks. His hands, still sticky with blood, trembled against his thighs as the damp mist around them pressed inward like a wall. All sound seemed distant, muffled beneath the pounding in his skull. His heart wasn't beating, it was hammering, his body feeling ice cold. This was real. Sudden. Brutal. A life ended in a blink of an eye, and Joren was still staring down at the empty place it left behind. His throat felt raw, like he'd swallowed ice, when his knees buckled from under him as he fell into the dirt, sweat running down his face. A body, cooling in the dirt. A man who'd been breathing and speaking a moment ago, now empty. 

The thought slammed into him like a punch to the gut: why didn't we help him run, why were we hesitating? His stomach twisted, bile rising in the back of his throat. His legs refused to move as he sat in the dirt road staring fearfully at the hunter before them. The spear still gleamed from the blood, black and wet. The figure holding it stood motionless, no remorse for the life he just took. "One target or three?" the hunter repeated, voice low and even. "I wasn't aware he had companions." 

Gus swallowed hard. His usual booming confidence faltered beneath the weight of the scene. "We..." he started, then stopped, throat barely working. He glanced at Joren, still pale and shaking in the dirt. Then he straightened as best he could and forced the words out. "We... weren't with him." A breath. "Didn't even know the man. He came out of nowhere, begging us to help him." The hunter's gaze flicked once to the corpse, then back to Gus. A long silence stretched between them, sweat running down Gus's face in complete fear for his and Joren's lives. "We're just passing through," Gus said carefully, palms half-raised. "Heading for Duskfen. That's all." 

Another pause. Finally, with a slow breath, the hunter moved forward and picked up the corpse, hoisting it over his shoulder like a sack of grain. "I don't recognize either of you in the book, so I'll believe you for now." Without another word, the hunter turned and strode back into the fog the way Joren and Gus came, vanishing between the trees. 

Early Evening – The Road 

Silence rushed in, thicker than the fog around them already. The faint pool of blood-soaked earth was the only thing they could see. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Gus let out a long, shuddering breath and dropped to sit on a fallen log, hands braced on his knees. "He's gone…" he said hoarsely. "We're okay. He's gone." But Joren couldn't move. His legs felt frozen, the cold from the dirt seeping into his bones. His arms were still trembling like a newborn struggling to stand up. The sticky wetness of blood on his hands, already drying, was all Joren could feel. He stared at the empty space where the man had fallen, heart pounding behind his ribs like it wanted to tear free. 

We let him die. I could've... if I'd acted faster... if I... He squeezed his bloodstained fists tight until the skin burned as he thought to himself. The thought struck harder than any blow. Joren's breathing came in sharp, shallow bursts, like a panic attack. He swallowed, but it was like trying to force down a stone. His voice finally broke the silence, hoarse and trembling. "I should've… done something." 

Gus looked up, eyes tired, voice rough. "Joren… there wasn't time." But the words didn't land. Joren's heart was racing too fast, guilt twisting through his gut. "I froze." His voice caught. "He called out for help, he begged us to be saved." Gus stood again, walked over slowly. He crouched beside Joren, a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Kid," he said, soft but firm, "If you had shown your powers back there, you wouldn't be alive right now." He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "What happened wasn't on you." Joren shook his head violently, breath shuddering out. "Then what's the point of having this power if I can't even save someone?" 

Gus helped guide Joren away from the site of the murder, bringing him to a clearing to set up camp for the night. Joren did not help. 

Morning – Camp 

The dawn came slow and gray. A thin veil of mist still clung to the trees, diffusing the weak light, giving the forest a grey look as always. Joren hadn't slept much last night. His eyes felt gritty, his body heavy with exhaustion, but his mind wouldn't stop circling back to the same moment. Again and again he recalled the man's desperate eyes, the shunk of the spear, the lifeless weight in his arms. 

Joren sat near the cold ashes of the campfire, knees drawn up, arms draped across them like a child. Gus stirred nearby, packing up his belongings so they could get moving. For once, the big man wasn't talking, his usual cheer nowhere to be found. Joren ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on dried sweat and grime. His voice was a rough whisper. "Gus… do they really do that? Just… kill people in the road like that?" 

Gus paused mid-fold, sighing through his nose. "I've heard stories, but I never thought it actually happened. Auspex they deem dangerous are relentlessly hunted, but I imagine that man we saw was only an Eclipse at best." Joren said nothing, the words sinking deep. I didn't know... I didn't understand... Hazel's advice, Elira's lessons, Tsunami's warning, he ignored it all. None of it had prepared him for this. 

After a while, Gus shouldered his pack and nudged Joren. "Come on. We can't sit here forever, Duskfen is still ahead of us." Joren rose slowly, shouldering his pack with arms that still felt leaden. His heart was quieter now, but the guilt hadn't faded. It rode with him, ate at him, as they stepped back onto the road. 

4 Days Later – Near Duskfen 

The road to Duskfen had lived up to its name; swampy, crooked, and slow-going. For days they'd trudged along winding trails half-swallowed by reeds and mud with slick wooden planks thrown across deeper bogs. The air hung thick and wet, the scent of earth and rot clinging to their clothes. By now, Joren had settled some of the weight on his chest. The rhythm of travel had helped, step after step, the steady company of Gus and the new sights along the road. They passed curious roots and long-forgotten stone markers mossed over with age, helping them learn more about history in the area. Strange birds croaked from the trees and small insects with wings hovered near the water's edge. 

In these four days, the two had spoken little of what happened. Gus, knowing better than to force the conversation, had let Joren walk through it in his own way. Still, their quiet camaraderie remained a comfort for him. "We should be getting close," Gus said with a curious smile on his face, wiping sweat from his brow. "Locals always say when the air smells more like herbs than swamp, you're near the city." 

Joren inhaled deeply, there was something else now catching his attention. Faint traces of dried herbs, woodsmoke, and the subtle tang of oils drifted on the breeze. The road beneath their boots grew more solid, finding the moss thinning beneath well-worn stones. 

"Finally," Gus said, straightening up with a relieved breath. "I was starting to think this place was just another rumor." Around the next bend, the trees gave way to a sprawling low city, half built on stilts above the marsh and half on raised stone. Wooden causeways stretched over sluggish waterways, linking clusters of homes and workshops as a city over the water. 

A cool wind stirred the swamp grasses as they crossed a broad wooden bridge leading toward one of the main entrances. A weathered sign creaked above it: Duskfen Market Quarter. The scent of spices and smoke thickened with each step. Joren slowed, taking it all in. "This place is... something else." "It's got charm," Gus replied with a grin. "Looks like there's plenty to see here." 

As they followed the wide causeway deeper into the market quarter, stalls of dried herbs, pottery, swamp-brewed spirits, and strange carved trinkets lined the path. The air buzzed with low voices and the soft lap of water beneath their feet. Gus slowed near a stall hung with charms made of bone and reed. "Now this looks interesting," he said, picking up a woven talisman shaped like a coiled snake. 

Before Joren could reply, a voice called from behind one of the stalls. "You two new in town?" They turned to see an old man running one of the booths leaning on a wooden post, sleeves rolled, one arm marked with a weathered tattoo. Joren nodded. "Just got in." The man scratched at his chin. "Well, if you're lookin' to earn your keep or stretch your legs, we could use a few extra hands. Something's been stirring up trouble out by the southern quarter." Gus tilted his head. "What kind of trouble?" The old man gave a small, knowing smile. "Ask for Lothar down by the tannery when you're done wanderin'. He'll know more." With that, he turned back to his work, leaving Joren and Gus to exchange a look. Gus let out a breath. "City barely knows us and we're already getting invites." Joren cracked a faint smile. "Guess this place really is something else." They moved back into the crowd, the sounds and scents of Duskfen drawing questions, and a new task already taking shape.