The Twins of Terror

The giant moon had dimmed enough that stars began to glimmer, distant and cold, as if observing the world below with silent detachment. A chill in the air grew deeper, carrying the scent of bone-dry earth and the distant, acrid tang of the fortress behind them. Oliver shivered and pulled his borrowed cloak tighter around his shoulders. The armor he wore still felt heavy and unfamiliar, its sharp edges pressing uncomfortably into his skin.

The campfire crackled with a welcoming warmth, and orange light danced across Fernwyn’s and Lilith’s faces as they sat close by. They had chosen to make camp on the outskirts of the Marrow Men’s unit, where clusters of skeletal warriors stood motionless, silent guardians in their eerie, obsidian armor. The Marrow Men had not so much as twitched since being stationed there, and their stillness was a reminder of the unnatural order of the Bone Lord’s domain.

Oliver glanced at Fernwyn, his heart heavy with worry. The Dryad had been quiet, her leafy hair whispering softly in the breeze. Her usual vibrancy seemed dulled, her green eyes shadowed with a fatigue that only partially came from the day’s journey.

“Fernwyn,” he said softly, drawing her gaze. “Are you…alright?”

Fernwyn offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m well enough, Oliver,” she replied, her voice gentle as the rustling of leaves. “Better now that we’re here, together.”

He knew she was trying to reassure him, but the unease in his chest remained. He had seen the way she had tensed when they neared the Bone Lord’s fortress, how her hands had gripped her staff as if she expected the earth to split beneath her feet. But now, under the star-strewn sky and by the warmth of the fire, he could at least try to keep her safe, even if it was just for a few precious hours.

Oliver poked at the fire with a stick, watching embers flare and drift upward. He took a breath, trying to shake off his own exhaustion. “So,” he began, glancing between Fernwyn and Lilith, “the Twilight Desolation. What…what exactly is it?”

Lilith, who had been sharpening one of her throwing knives, paused and looked up, her eyes catching the firelight. She exchanged a look with Fernwyn, a silent conversation passing between them before Fernwyn spoke.

“The Twilight Desolation,” Fernwyn said slowly, her voice taking on a somber, almost reverent tone, “is a realm that sits against our own, like a shadow pressed too close. It’s a place of oblivion, where the very air is heavy with despair. Those who are flung into it never return.” Her eyes darkened as she stared into the flames, and her vine-like hair seemed to wilt ever so slightly. “The Nazarak Seal was put in place to keep it plugged, to keep whatever lurks within from leaking into our world. And until now, nothing…no one has ever come back from it.”

A shiver ran down Oliver’s spine. The way Fernwyn spoke of the Twilight Desolation made it sound like a void, a place of no hope and no escape. He could almost imagine it: an endless expanse of shadow, a realm that devoured light and life alike.

“But now,” he murmured, “the seal is broken.”

Fernwyn nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. And that means whatever lies within is free to spill out.”

Oliver's mind swirled with images of the unknown horrors that might have escaped. And that was saying a lot since he was in the land filled with nightmares to begin with. He turned to Lilith, who had resumed her methodical sharpening. “And the Blight Twins?” he asked. “Who…what are they?”

Lilith’s hand stilled, and she set the knife aside, her expression growing grim. “The Blight Twins were once immortal goddesses,” she said, her voice as cold as the night air. “They ruled long before even the Bone Lord came to power. They were—” she paused, searching for the right words, “—perverse monsters. Dark sorceresses who wielded twisted magic and reveled in cruelty.”

Oliver swallowed, a knot forming in his throat. “What did they do?”

Lilith’s crimson gaze hardened. “They killed the Faceless One, the being that created the Breach Between,” she continued. “Their power was immense, and their bond…corrupted. An incestuous union that fueled their mastery of the blackest arts. When their depravity grew too great, the Holy Five gathered their forces to wage war against them. It was a conflict that nearly destroyed this world.”

Fernwyn’s voice broke in, softer but no less heavy. “The Holy Five finally managed to defeat the Blight Twins. But even in victory, they had paid a terrible price. Their strength was spent, their magic nearly exhausted. Killing the Blight Twins was beyond even them, so they did the next best thing.” Her eyes met Oliver’s, haunted and weary. “They cast the twins into the Twilight Desolation and sealed them there, hoping the void would hold them forever.”

Oliver’s mouth had gone dry. He tried to imagine a war so terrible, a foe so powerful that even gods couldn’t fully vanquish them. “And now…they’re back,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Lilith nodded, her wings shifting uneasily. “If they have truly returned, then they will bring their ancient hatred with them. They’ll seek to renew their war against the Dread Lords who are the Holy Five’s successors.” Her expression darkened further. “They’ll burn the Breach Between to ash.”

The weight of her words settled over the campfire like a suffocating blanket. Oliver rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rough edges of his exhaustion. Everything felt impossibly dire, as though the world itself were teetering on the brink. He had been brought here to do something about it, but how could he? He was just a young man out of his depth, surrounded by forces that defied understanding.

“Hey,” Fernwyn’s gentle voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. She reached out, her fingers cool and soft against his hand. “Don’t carry the burden of the whole world on your shoulders. We’re in this together.”

He looked at her, and for a moment, her presence grounded him, pulling him back from the edge of panic. Lilith, too, offered him a look that, while still fierce, held a trace of something almost like reassurance.

Taking a shaky breath, Oliver nodded. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I just…wish I knew how to do any of this. How to be useful.”

Lilith leaned back, a wry smile touching her lips. “You’ll figure it out,” she said. “You have to.”

Fernwyn shifted, lying down on the soft, dry grass beside the fire. “Rest now,” she said, her voice soothing. “Tomorrow will come too quickly, and you’ll need your strength.”

Oliver hesitated, then moved to lie down as well. Fernwyn nestled into the crook of his arm, her vine-like hair spreading out over his chest. The warmth of her body, the faint, floral scent she carried, was a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. On his other side, Lilith stretched out and, with a surprising tenderness, tucked her wings around herself and the others, forming a barrier against the night’s chill.

In that fragile, quiet moment, Oliver closed his eyes. The fire crackled softly, and the distant, haunting calls of night creatures echoed through the dark. Between Fernwyn’s gentle presence and Lilith’s fierce companionship, he allowed himself to hope—just a little—that they might stand a chance.

The world was crumbling, ancient evils were stirring, and the future was uncertain. But for now, he drifted into a fitful sleep, holding close to the comfort of the ones who had come to mean so much to him.