Vol. III Chapter II: Keeper of the Crossroads

One month had passed.

Lucius had long lost count of how many times he had paced from bed to door. His room was spacious for a cell; it even had a small table with a chair and large barred windows. But it was still a prison.

He was treated well. Three meals a day. No chains. Only the door remained locked.

But Marcthain had not shown his face since that night.

At first, Lucius had called his name over and over, until his voice grew hoarse. But still, he wouldn’t come.

Then, after almost three weeks, someone else came.

At first, she had just been a guard. The first one to say more than a single word to him.

Sometimes she brought fresh fruits. Sometimes she talked about what was happening beyond the walls. And with each passing day, her visits grew longer.

Her name was Nocthelia.

She wore full plate armor, her face hidden behind a heavy helmet that muffled her soft voice. Yet whenever she spoke, her tone was calm, gentle, almost soothing. Somehow, her presence made the silence easier to bear.

Lucius told her everything. About the mission, about Melissa, about what they had endured. She listened quietly, asked little, but always returned the next day.

Then, one day, she arrived carrying a bowl of steaming soup and a slice of bread. And she brought news.

“There’s movement out there,” she said, sitting across him. “Scouts reported Yashar’s army has gathered. They’ve set up camp just beyond the border. Another day or two, and the battle begins.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “And after that?”

Nocthelia looked at him for a long moment, then lowered her gaze.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “They’ll probably let you go.”

Lucius nodded with understanding and turned his gaze toward the window.

“Good,” he murmured. Then, almost under his breath, “Are you still out there…?”

Nocthelia stood.

“So… you still want to find her?”

Lucius looked up sharply. “Of course I do.”

An unseen smile touched her lips. “Then maybe… I can help you.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nocthelia giggled, soft and strange, and raised her hands to her helmet. Slowly, she lifted it off and placed it gently on the table.

A cascade of black hair spilled over her shoulders. Emerald eyes gleamed beneath dark bangs. Her expression was unreadable, equal parts mischief and majesty.

She smirked with a strange charm as she unbuckled the next clasp of her armor.

The metal groaned softly as she loosened the heavy pauldrons and let them drop to the stone floor with a loud clang.

“W... what are you doing?” Lucius asked, confused.

She didn’t answer. One by one, the rest of her armor came off, the cuirass, the gauntlets, the greaves, each piece falling away to reveal the lithe, toned body beneath.

“Isn’t it obvious, my dear Lucius?” she purred, her voice low and honey-sweet.

Her skin was flawless, pale as moonlight. The shape of her body was sculpted, graceful and powerful. Her waist was narrow, her hips curving with an elegant sway as she stepped closer.

Lucius stepped back, throwing his head to the side, forcing himself not to look. His face was already flushed deep red.

“I... I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m not into you like that. Please... put your clothes back on.”

She paused, blinking in amusement.

“You know,” she said lightly, “most men wouldn’t have said that.”

With a whisper and a flick of her fingers, dark mist began to swirl around her. Within it, tiny stars shimmered like distant constellations.

When the mist cleared, she was clothed in flowing, shadowy robes. A crescent-shaped glow had appeared on her brow, and in her hand she now held a torch lit by a flickering blue flame.

Her voice changed. It was melodic, deeper, and echoed softly through the cell.

“You wish to save your precious Melissa… but tell me, Lucius. Do you truly think you can do it alone?”

Lucius froze. His heart pounded in his chest.

“Who… are you?”

She let out a low, musical laugh. The blue flame cast eerie shadows along the stone walls, flickering in her emerald eyes like distant stars.

“Oh, Lucius,” she murmured, stepping closer. “Have you truly not guessed? Or do mortals no longer recognize gods when they stand before them?”

She tilted her head. The crescent on her brow pulsed with a strange, otherworldly light. Her bangs shifted, revealing eyes that were suddenly too deep, too ancient, as if they had seen the rise and fall of empires.

“I am Hecate. Keeper of the Crossroads, Guardian of Magic, and Mistress of the World Soul.” She lifted the torch, its light dancing over her face. “And you... you are a man caught between two worlds. Torn between love and duty, between a mortal realm... and mine.”

Lucius stared at her, stunned.

“A… goddess? Like Hermes? Or Dionysus? Is he still after us? Is that why you’re here?”

Hecate’s lips curled into a slow, unreadable smile as she watched him grasp for answers. Her flame flickered, as if in amusement.

“Ah, Dionysus, ever the vengeful reveler... and Hermes, the silver-tongued trickster.” Her emerald gaze narrowed. “No, little mortal. I am not here on their behalf. They may weave their games, but I... I weave my own.”

Her voice dropped to a teasing whisper.

“Tell me, little hero. Does the sight of a goddess undressing frighten you more than the thought of losing your beloved Melissa?” She grinned, sharp and dangerous. “Because I could help you find her.”

The last trace of embarrassment vanished from Lucius’ face. He stepped forward, his voice breaking with desperation.

“You know where she is? Is she alive? Tell me!”

Hecate smiled.

“Did you know,” she said, voice soft as silk, “that there are Essences in this world... whose effects are permanent?”

Lucius blinked. “Permanent? You mean…”

“Not just for a moment. Not until the bottle runs dry. I mean forever,” she whispered. Her eyes gleamed. “They’re incredibly rare. To create one, you need ingredients found only in places where old and powerful magic still breathes.”

She twirled her fingers, and a small vial floated between them. Inside, a violet mist swirled, speckled with flecks of silver light. It pulsed faintly in the air.

“I happened to… find a few. And if you accept what I’m offering, I might just let you have one.”

Lucius stared at it. His thoughts raced.

Hecate’s smile widened.

“It might save your life... or hers.”

Lucius gasped. “So she is alive! Where? Where is she?!”

“Ah, ah,” she said with a lifted finger. “I didn’t say you’d get that answer for free. If you want to know her location, you must do something for me.”

Lucius didn’t hesitate.

“Anything.”

The word left his lips like a vow, raw, unshaken, absolute.

For a moment, Hecate said nothing. Then her smile grew slowly, pleased, as if this had been her intent all along.

“Good,” she whispered. “Then let me tell you…”

Lucius stood frozen, heart pounding, breath caught in his chest.

He didn’t yet know what she would ask of him.

Only that, whatever it was, he would do it.

For her.