Impatience

After finishing my brew, I headed down below deck. The chill outside had seeped into my bones, and the warmth of the cabin was a welcome relief. The air smelled faintly of sea salt and damp wood, but it was better than freezing above.

I spotted Eryon sitting on a sturdy crate, gently patting the dark feathers of his crow companion, Moara. The bird shifted slightly, its gleaming eyes catching the light as it ruffled its wings. I made my way over and sat beside him.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Eryon glanced at me, his expression as calm as ever. “It’s fine. No need to worry about it.”

Moara cawed softly, hopping closer to me on Eryon’s shoulder.

“He likes you,” Eryon said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He doesn’t usually take to strangers. Guess you’re good.”

I smirked and offered a small nod toward the bird. “Thank you, Moara.”

For a moment, silence stretched between us, filled only by the creaking of the ship and the gentle roll of waves. My attention shifted to Eryon, his gaze distant as he absently scratched Moara’s head.

“What brought you all the way here?” I asked. “From your land to the capital city?”

He sighed, the weight of his story evident in his expression. “It’s my home,” he began, his voice low but steady. “A forest, deep and ancient. My clan has lived there for centuries—generations of peace, harmony, and survival. The trees fed us, the rivers nourished us, and the land provided everything we ever needed.”

He paused, his hand tightening into a fist on his lap. “But after the war took my continent, it changed. The forest… it’s dead now. Dry. For the first time in our history, it’s useless. The rivers don’t flow, the trees are brittle and rotting, and the land can’t grow so much as a weed.”

I frowned, the weight of his words sinking in.

“My people are starving,” he continued. “And if that wasn’t enough, the soldiers—armies loyal to the conquerors—raid our village constantly. They take everything we have left. The women, the children… my mother.”

His voice faltered, and he clenched his jaw, the tension radiating off him. “I swore I’d stand and protect my village until the day I died. But when they took my mother…” He exhaled sharply, his hand trembling slightly before he steadied it. “I knew standing there wouldn’t fix anything. My father’s last wish was for me to take revenge. To find the one responsible for all this chaos and end them.”

I leaned forward, my grip tightening on my staff. “And who’s responsible?”

He turned to me, his dark eyes burning with determination. “Astoroth,” he said. “The Wrath Demon. The conqueror of the world.”

The name sent a chill through me, colder than the winds above deck.

Eryon’s voice softened, but the fire in his tone remained. “The elder of my village said this continent is the last one standing. If Astoroth falls, maybe—just maybe—there’s a chance for my people to live again. And the only way to meet him… is to be here. At the capital city. That’s why I’m here.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his mission mirroring the one I carried. For the first time, I saw beyond his stoic demeanor and temper—his pain, his drive, and the hope buried beneath it all.

I tilted my head slightly, offering a small smile. “Then we should stick together. We have the same destination. My name is Thalia, by the way. I haven’t properly introduced myself.”

Eryon nodded in acknowledgment. “Nice to meet you, Thalia.” His tone was warm but steady.

I continued, “If you’re coming with me, you’re also coming with Rowan.”

Before I could elaborate, Eryon finished my thought for me. “The best monster-hunter in the world.”

My eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah,” I said, surprised.

Eryon chuckled, his gaze momentarily distant. “His reputation reached my land. He’s that good.” Then his expression sobered. “Sure. Ain’t no way I’m taking down Astoroth by myself anyway.”

Curiosity got the better of me. “What do you do in combat?” I asked, leaning slightly forward.

Eryon glanced at me, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as if preparing his response. “In my clan, they call me a Beastmaster.” He paused, gesturing toward Moara perched on his shoulder. “All the land animals that see me? They’re friendly. Even the most vicious and savage predators. It’s like they recognize me as one of their own.”

He leaned back with a casual confidence. “In battle, you’ll see me herding a lot of dangerous animals. But instead of goats, it’s lions, snakes, rhinos—anything deadly in the area.”

I raised an eyebrow, both impressed and skeptical. “That sounds... unconventional.”

Eryon shrugged, glancing at the axes strapped to his sides. “Most of the time, I handle myself just fine with these. I don’t want the animals to get hurt just to protect me.”

His eyes glinted with a mix of pride and warmth. I then said, “I’m a mage too, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Eryon grinned, then paused, his expression softening. “You’re just like my mom.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “I’m what?”

He quickly raised his hands in mock surrender, noticing my indignation. “No, no—I didn’t mean it like that! I meant the mage part.”

I relaxed, chuckling softly. “Good save.”

His tone grew wistful. “She’s a great mage. The best I’ve ever known. The best in our clan’s history. Yet...” His jaw tightened, and I saw a flicker of pain cross his features. “She got taken by them too.”

I felt a pang of sympathy, sensing his anger bubbling beneath the surface. To shift the mood, I pointed at Moara. “Where did you get her?”

His expression changed, softening as he patted the bird affectionately. “Oh, her? She’s actually the go—”

Before he could finish, the ship trembled violently beneath us. It wasn’t the crash of a wave this time; it was something deeper, more sinister.

Above us, a loud, echoing thud sent a chill through my spine.

Our eyes locked. Without a word, Eryon and I bolted for the stairs, my staff already glowing faintly in preparation.

When Eryon and I rushed up to the deck, we were met with a cluster of elven crew members, all gathered in a tense, whispering circle. Their anxious murmurs filled the icy night air, but the sight beyond them made my stomach tighten.

Pushing through the crowd, we reached the center of the commotion. There stood Rowan and Torran, weapons drawn but not raised in hostility. Their stances were cautious, guarded, and for good reason.

Kneeling before them was a Sea People, far larger and more imposing than the ones we had encountered before. His blue skin was marred with scars—some old, others fresh and still seeping. He gasped for air, his body trembling as though the life had been all but drained from him. Beside him, a massive trident lay discarded on the deck, its shaft dented and scratched from battle.

Torran stepped forward and knelt beside him, his voice unusually soft for the gruff dwarf. “What’s going on here?”

The Sea People’s breaths came in ragged gasps, but he managed to lift his head. His voice, though strained, carried the weight of authority. “My... name is Issathel... General Commander of the Sea Kingdom.”

A ripple of unease spread through the crew. Even Rowan’s usually stoic expression tightened.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

I stood frozen, my grip tightening around my staff as Issathel continued. “Our kingdom... has been invaded. Taken over by... a demon. A demon who claims... she is the commander of Astoroth’s army.”

The mention of Astoroth’s name sent a shiver down my spine. The air seemed to grow colder as dread clawed its way through my chest.

Rowan was the first to speak, his voice calm but sharp. “A demon leading an army under Astoroth. How strong is it?”

Issathel’s tired eyes locked onto Rowan, his gaze filled with equal parts anger and despair. “Strong enough to... raze our defenses... break our wills. This demon is unlike any creature of the depths. It doesn’t conquer. It consumes.”

The words hung in the air like an ominous storm cloud. My pulse quickened, the enormity of what Issathel was saying crashing over me. Astoroth’s conquest wasn’t limited to the surface. He was reaching into the very heart of the seas.

And if this demon was strong enough to topple an underwater kingdom... what chance did we have?

Issathel’s ragged breathing filled the tense silence as he continued, his voice hoarse but steady despite his wounds. “The King... he sensed it first. An unnatural stirring in the ocean’s depths. Not the Primal Sins—they’ve never concerned themselves with us—but something darker. A force that carried malice... and intent.”

The weight of his words pressed heavily on the group. His hand trembled as he gestured weakly. “The King warned us. He told us to prepare for a storm unlike any other. But no preparation could’ve been enough. They came—swiftly, brutally. Creatures that could breathe underwater, move faster than us, but with strength that defied reason. They were merciless, relentless, impossible to outmaneuver.” His voice cracked, anguish cutting through his tone. “Even our strongest warriors, seasoned against the terrors of the deep, were overwhelmed. And leading them... was her.”

Rowan’s gaze shifted to the horizon, scanning the pitch-black sea. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his lance, though his face remained a mask of calm. Nearby, Eryon clutched his axes tightly, his shoulders tense. Moara was nowhere to be seen, and Torran rested a steadying hand on Issathel’s scarred shoulder.

“Who is she?” Torran asked quietly, his voice thick with tension.

Issathel opened his mouth to respond, but another voice answered instead.

“It’s Hastira,” Susan said, her tone cutting through the chill air like a blade. She stepped into the circle, her flask hanging loosely from her fingers. Her usual drunken demeanor had vanished, replaced by a cold, unyielding seriousness.

Torran’s head swiveled toward her, his brows knitting in confusion. “You know her?”

“She’s the commander of Astoroth’s army,” Susan continued, her voice grim. “The Demon of Impatience.”

I blinked, my chest tightening as I absorbed the name.

“Impatience?” Torran echoed, his hand tightening around his harpoon.

Susan nodded, her expression dark. “She doesn’t wait for chaos to happen—she forces it. Drives her enemies to act rashly, to falter under her unrelenting assault. She pushes faster, harder, until no one has time to think or strategize. She feeds on panic, disarray, and shattered nerves. Her forces don’t just kill—they drown you in your own mistakes.”

Issathel groaned weakly, his voice barely a whisper as he added, “She shattered us before the first strike. We were... outpaced at every turn. Always a step behind her.”

The word hung heavy in the air: Impatience. Another terrifying piece of Astoroth’s vast army, sent to dismantle kingdoms and crush hope itself. I glanced at Rowan, his face stony, his eyes burning with quiet fury.

Issathel coughed, forcing himself to continue. “She... she’s not done. She won’t stop until the entire ocean is hers.”

The crew’s murmur filled the air as Susan finished her explanation about Hastira. She stood firm despite the judgmental stares of the elves around her. Her voice had been steady, but I could see a flicker of unease in her eyes.

“How do you know so much about this demon?” Eryon’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and accusing.

Susan hesitated, just for a moment, before she exhaled and met his glare head-on. “Because,” she said, her tone measured but carrying an undercurrent of bitterness, “I sold my soul to her years ago.”

The murmurs grew louder, some shocked, others incredulous. Elves exchanged wide-eyed glances, their disbelief written across their faces. For a moment, it felt as though the air itself had thickened, heavy with judgment.

But not everyone was surprised. I glanced at Torran, and his face remained impassive. He leaned slightly on his harpoon, as though he’d heard worse before. I, too, stayed still, my grip tightening on my staff.

Eryon, however, was a different story. His entire body seemed to vibrate with barely-contained fury as he stalked toward Susan. Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed her by the collar and hauled her off her feet with one hand.

“SO YOU ARE A DEMON SPAWN!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the tense silence.

Susan struggled, her feet kicking slightly as she tried to find her balance, but Eryon held her up effortlessly.

“YOU HAVE TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!” he roared again, his voice cracking with anger.

The crew took a collective step back, their murmurs replaced with tense silence as they watched, unsure if they should intervene.

Susan gasped, her fingers clawing at Eryon’s wrist. Her face turned red from the pressure.

“Eryon, stop!” I called out, taking a step forward, but before I could act, Rowan moved.

I hadn’t even noticed him approach, but there he was, standing behind Eryon. His hand rested lightly on Eryon’s hip, and his presence alone was enough to freeze the Beastmaster in place.

Eryon glanced down, his fiery gaze meeting Rowan’s calm but unyielding one. The tension between them hung in the air like a taut string about to snap. Rowan didn’t speak, didn’t need to. The unspoken command was clear.

Slowly, Eryon’s grip loosened, and he lowered Susan back to the ground. She crumpled to her knees, coughing and clutching her throat as she gasped for air.

Rowan’s voice broke the silence. “There’s no need to kill her. She sold her soul years ago. That doesn’t make her your enemy now.”

Eryon took a step back, his shoulders heaving with the effort to contain his rage. His axes remained strapped to his sides, but the tension in his posture told me he wasn’t ready to let this go.

Susan straightened, wiping at her mouth before glaring up at Eryon. “You think I don’t already know how responsible I am?” she rasped. “I’ve been paying for that mistake every day since. Don’t think for a second I’m proud of it.”

The crew’s murmurs began again, a mixture of unease and curiosity. Torran stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise.

“All right, enough gawking,” he said sharply, his tone commanding. “We’ve got bigger problems than one foolish decision from years ago. Let’s get back to the task at hand.”

The elves hesitated before nodding and dispersing, though many still cast wary glances at Susan as they returned to their duties.

Susan dusted herself off, her expression defiant despite the redness around her throat. Her eyes flicked toward Eryon briefly before she looked away.

Rowan gave Eryon a firm pat on the shoulder. “Focus on the fight ahead, Beastmaster. There’ll be plenty of time for judgment after we survive.”

Eryon exhaled sharply but nodded, his fists unclenching as he stepped away.

I glanced at Susan, who now stood with her head held high, as though daring anyone else to challenge her.

For better or worse, she was part of our fight now.

The calm after the tension didn’t last long. As the elves resumed their tasks and the crew tried to shake off the earlier chaos, a strange quiet fell over Issathel.

Kneeling as he had been, his once-mighty form now seemed feeble. His breaths grew shallow, his chest barely rising with each gasp. Torran, who had been standing closest to him, turned sharply toward us.

“Something’s not right,” he muttered, his voice laced with unease.

Issathel’s body began to tremble violently, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. Before anyone could react, he collapsed to the floor, writhing as a guttural scream of pure agony tore from his throat.

Eryon took a step forward, his hand outstretched as if to help. “We need to—”

“Don’t,” Torran barked, grabbing Eryon’s arm and pulling him back.

“What are you doing?” Eryon snapped, but Torran’s gaze stayed locked on Issathel, his face grim.

“Something’s inside him,” Torran said quietly, his voice almost drowned out by Issathel’s tortured cries.

And then it happened.

Issathel’s entire body convulsed, arching unnaturally before it suddenly... tore apart.

The sickening sound of flesh ripping echoed across the deck, followed by the wet, viscous splatter of blood as it sprayed in every direction. Crew members screamed, stumbling back in horror. Torran ducked, shielding his face from the crimson rain, while I raised my staff instinctively, conjuring a small barrier to shield myself.

From the ruins of Issathel’s body, something emerged.

At first, it was only a shifting mass of shadow and sinew, wet and glistening with gore. Then, it began to take shape. A figure stepped forth, tall and unnervingly graceful, her form lithe and humanoid yet impossibly wrong.

Her skin shimmered like polished obsidian, faintly reflecting the dim magical lights of the ship, giving her an almost liquid-like sheen. Jagged spikes jutted out from her shoulders and arms, glinting faintly as though they were blades crafted from pure darkness. Coiled around her body were chains, ethereal and razor-edged, glinting with an otherworldly glow. They moved as if alive, slithering and snapping like serpents ready to strike.

Her face was a cruel mockery of beauty, its features elongated and sharp, the hollows of her glowing, molten-gold eyes seeming to pierce through everyone on the deck. A jagged, too-wide grin stretched across her face, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth that seemed designed to rend and tear rather than bite.

The chains unraveled slightly as she stepped forward, their ghostly edges scraping against the blood-slick deck, leaving faint scorch marks where they dragged. Her movements were serpentine, smooth and predatory, her body swaying slightly as if every motion was part of some calculated rhythm.

And then she laughed. It wasn’t loud, but low and chilling, a sound that seemed to crawl up the spine and linger in the air like a whispering echo.

The chains, as if responding to her laughter, writhed and coiled around her like living things, their ends snapping audibly, sharp enough to cut through flesh with ease.

“Oh,” she said, her voice smooth but with an edge like broken glass. “It’s been so long since I’ve been... invited.”

Her molten eyes locked onto each of us, her cruel grin never faltering. The chains slithered around her body, the motion almost hypnotic, and then snapped forward with a sharp crack, coiling around her like a predator testing its prey.

“Well, well,” she purred, her voice a mix of silken tones and guttural growls. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had a proper entrance.”

A wave of nausea hit me as I watched her, the sheer presence of her figure almost suffocating. This wasn’t just a demon. There was something... more to her, a force that made my chest tighten and my grip on my staff tremble.

I could hear Susan’s sharp intake of breath beside me, and for once, her usual drunken demeanor was gone, replaced by a stark sobriety.

Eryon’s axes were in his hands instantly, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. “What the hell is that?”

No one answered, but I had a feeling Susan already knew. Her wide eyes told me everything I needed to know.

“That’s... Hastira,” she said.

----------------------------------------

To be continued