The warning bells struck again, rattling gravel along the ramparts and shivering straight through the soles of Runa's boots. Each resonant peal seemed to echo the fragile hope that had just bloomed within her. Asta’s weathered face tightened. She gestured sharply towards a narrow, spiraling staircase carved into the rock face. “Quickly, girl. To the observation platform. Our ‘guests’ will not wait.” The ascent was steep, the rough-hewn steps slick under her worn boots. At the top, a cold wind whipped through an arched opening in the battlements, carrying with it the scent of pine and distant rain. Below, the Ironwood stretched, an unbroken sea of dark green, its shadows deep and hungry. A thin, winding path, barely more than a deer trail, snaked through the trees, ending abruptly at the citadel's crumbling main gate. Along this path, a procession of figures moved with grim efficiency. Half a dozen armored riders, their cloaks emblazoned with the roaring bear sigil of the Royal Wardens, advanced, their spears glinting dully in the overcast light. At their head rode an officer in a crimson tunic and polished steel breastplate. He sat his horse with a stiffness that spoke of unearned authority, his fair hair meticulously braided, his jaw set in a line of self-importance. “Jonas,” Asta muttered, a note of distaste in her voice. “The Grand Duke’s lapdog. Sent to do his master’s dirty work.” The gates, massive and reinforced with black iron, groaned open just enough for the riders to pass through. Runa watched, a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. This was the court Gintaras commanded, a machine of steel and titles that Runa had only ever watched through kitchen gates. The rider dismounted with an exaggerated flourish, boot leather ringing on the flagstones. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, but his movements were precise, almost theatrical. His gaze swept over the battlements, settling on Runa and Asta. A flicker of surprise, then dismissal, crossed his features as he took in Runa’s simple, ill-fitting tunic and the groundskeeper’s stooped posture. He made his way directly to the foot of their tower, his armor clanking with every step. “Asta, old woman,” Jonas’s voice boomed, rich with affected authority. “I presume the beast still haunts these woods? The reports from the outlying villages have grown… tiresome. The Grand Duke demands its swift eradication.” He paused, his gaze raking over Runa with an almost insulting slowness. “And who is this unfortunate creature? Another stray caught in the wild hound's shadow?” Runa’s eyes narrowed. “Unfortunate, perhaps, in that I must breathe the same air as a peacock,” she retorted, voice sharp despite her frayed hem. “As for ‘stray,’ I assure you, I am quite where I intend to be.” Jonas’s carefully composed expression faltered, a flush rising on his neck. “Impudent wench! Do you know to whom you speak? I am Jonas of the Royal Wardens, sent by the Grand Duke himself to rid this keep of its vile occupant!” His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, a purely performative gesture. “And you, old woman, should teach your… guest… some respect.” Asta stepped forward slightly, placing a hand on Runa’s arm. “Commander Jonas. My apologies. The girl is new to our… peculiar ways. She means no offense. The shapeshifter, as you call it, remains within the Ironwood, though its nature is… complex.” “Complex?” Jonas scoffed. “It’s a ravening monster that preys on the innocent. The Grand Duke’s patience wears thin. I have been given explicit orders to ensure its demise, and to secure this fortress. No more talk of ‘complexities.’ Now, tell me, where does the beast lair? I shall lead my men, and we shall put an end to this legend once and for all.” Runa watched him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You intend to hunt the creature yourself, Jonas? I would advise caution. The Ironwood is not like the manicured hunting grounds near the capital. And these stone halls hold more secrets than your polished armor does sense.” “Are you questioning my abilities, peasant?” Jonas’s voice rose, his face darkening. “I have hunted beasts far fiercer than any local myth. I know these woods. I have studied the surveyors' charts, the citadel's layout.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Now, where is your master, the Lord Alvydas? He will confirm my orders and provide assistance.” Asta’s gaze flickered to Runa, a silent communication passing between them. “Lord Alvydas is… indisposed, my lord. He has been unwell. I assure you, the fortress is secured. And the beast will not trouble the villages further, not if we… manage its unique temperament.” “Indisposed? Unwell?” Jonas snorted. “He has been ‘indisposed’ for months. It is precisely his absence that has allowed this beast to terrorize the populace. No matter. I require no assistance from a bed-ridden lord or a pair of superstitious women. My orders come directly from the Grand Duke.” He turned to his men. “Establish patrols. Secure the perimeter. No one in, no one out. And prepare for a hunt at first light.” With a final, disdainful look, Jonas turned and marched away, issuing commands in his booming voice. Runa watched him go, her expression unreadable. “He truly believes he’s hunting a mindless monster,” she murmured. “He truly believes the Grand Duke gives a damn about the villagers.” “He believes what he’s told,” Asta corrected, her voice low. “And the Grand Duke has his own reasons for wanting Alvydas… silenced. Come.” She led Runa down subterranean corridors and into a small, dust-shrouded chamber smelling of saltpeter and damp slate. In the center of the room, set into the floor, was a shallow basin carved from a single slab of obsidian, filled with water that shimmered with an unnatural, silver light. “This is the Glimmer-Pool of Kaelus. It shows what is, and sometimes, what will be.” Asta knelt, her fingers tracing the runes carved into the basin’s rim. She chanted softly in a language Runa didn’t recognize, harsh syllables that seemed to hum in the air. The water in the pool began to swirl, the silver light intensifying, deepening into a swirling vortex of indigo and ebony. Images flickered, indistinct at first, then coalesced. Runa leaned over the rim. The reflection resolved into a gilded solar, heavy rugs muffling the floor, a roaring hearth, and servants hovering along the perimeter. And there, stretched languidly on a velvet chaise, was a man who was the spitting image of Alvydas. His hair was meticulously styled, his fine clothes impeccably tailored, and a goblet of crimson wine rested in his hand. But where Alvydas carried an air of quiet sorrow, this man exuded a brittle, predatory arrogance. This was Gintaras. The impostor. He was speaking, his voice, though muted by the pool, carrying a sneering contempt. “The beast in the woods. My dear twin. What a convenient myth he has become. Jonas assures me the task will be swift. A few arrows, perhaps a silver-tipped spear, and the ‘beast’ will be no more. And with it, any lingering whispers of his… existence.” He took a slow sip of wine, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “A pity, really. Such a useful curse. But one must consolidate power, mustn’t one?” Runa’s stomach churned. This was the usurper who left Alvydas to bleed out his humanity every dusk, now swilling spiced vintage and ordering executioners. He was worse than she imagined, a viper cloaked in charm. Gintaras chuckled, a sound that grated even through the magical medium. He leaned forward, his gaze drifting towards the edge of the pool, towards the 'reflection' that was Runa’s vantage point. His eyes, identical to Alvydas’s yet devoid of their gentle warmth, seemed to pierce the illusion, fixing directly on her. A smirk, slow and chilling, spread across his face, as if he knew she was watching, as if he could see her horrified expression. Runa recoiled, heels scraping across the flags. He shouldn’t be able to do that. He couldn’t possibly see her. Asta’s hand grasped her arm, her voice urgent, strained. “His court magician. Volkov. He has a way of sensing when the Glimmer-Pool is used, especially when Gintaras himself is the focus. He knows. He knows someone watches.” Above them, the bells fell silent, leaving only the dripping water and the harsh rasp of Asta's breath. Gintaras knew someone was spying from the dark. The safe bargain Runa had struck two minutes ago had just collapsed into a live hunt.

The Hunter and the Usurper