Failure's Weight

The morning broke not with birdsong, but with chaos.

Thanks to Morgana, of course.

The shadows around the bound demon stirred and slid, invisible to all but her. They sharpened into a blade and sliced clean through the ropes that held the captive demon in place.

The demon wasted no time. With a snap of motion, she swung her bound arms into Tomas’s temple. The priest collapsed to the ground, dazed.

By the time Avric and Borik jolted awake, the demon was already sprinting into the treeline, vanishing into the dark.

Morgana sat up slowly, feigning sleepiness. Inside, however, her heart hammered with excitement.

Avric roared, his voice raw with urgency. “She’s getting away!”

He bolted after her, steel flashing in the dawn light. Morgana pushed herself upright, muttering a curse for effect, then sprinted after him. Borik remained behind, kneeling at Tomas’s side, his thick brows furrowed with worry as the priest rubbed his neck and tried to gather himself.

Leaves slapped against Morgana’s armor as she plunged into the forest shadows behind Avric. His pace was furious, his every step pounding with righteous intent.

Of course you’ll chase her. You can’t let go, can you? You need to save everyone, catch everyone, fix everything. Poor boy.

The demon ahead was fast, agile, slipping between trunks with practiced ease. But she was wounded, slowed by exhaustion and bruises from the previous day's fight. Avric pressed harder, armor rattling, determination written in every line of his back.

And Morgana? She followed close, guiding him without guiding. Every snapped branch she pointed toward, every faint scuff of dirt she highlighted with a sharp word, each one led them just a little further astray. Not wrong enough to be obvious. Just… skewed. Enough to waste time.

“Left!” she shouted once, pointing at a trail of disturbed leaves. Avric veered without hesitation.

They ran for what felt like hours. The morning sun climbed higher, burning through mist, turning the forest into a furnace. Sweat plastered Avric’s hair to his brow, his chest heaving under the weight of his plate. His legs faltered, stumbled, but he refused to slow.

Finally, he collapsed to one knee, sword digging into the earth for support.

“She’s… gone.” His voice cracked with despair. He slammed his fist against the dirt, teeth clenched. “Damn it!”

Morgana slowed beside him, and came to a stop, looking at the distant trees. She let out a low sigh, as though disappointed, but her heart was steady, cold.

“Yeah,” she said simply. “She’s gone.”

Together, they trudged back toward camp.

Tomas was pale but awake, leaning against a tree as Borik pressed a waterskin into his hands. The dwarf’s face was grim, his thick jaw set tight. When Avric and Morgana emerged from the undergrowth, the hope in his eyes died instantly.

“Ye didn’t get her.” It wasn’t a question.

Avric shook his head, guilt twisting his features. Morgana didn’t bother faking much this time, only gave a small shrug.

The silence that followed was heavier than any battle. No one argued. No one cursed. Borik only tightened his grip on his axe, Tomas only bowed his head, Avric only sheathed his sword with a hollow rasp.

The weight of failure covering them like a blanket.

The road back to the city was long and joyless. Hooves clopped against hard earth, leather creaked, but not a word was spoken. Even the birds seemed to have deserted them.

Avric’s face was pale, drawn. Tomas dozed in the saddle, still nursing his bruised neck. Borik’s scowl looked carved from stone.

And Morgana rode quietly among them, cloak drawn close, eyes half-lidded. Her lips wanted to curve into a smirk at her success, but she kept them flat. The others were grieving, and she needed to play her part.

Still, her mind spun.

So... The ruins again. They keep coming up. Demon Lord, Demon Queen, all the whispers Avric heard before… it’s always those damn ruins. Why there? What’s waiting?

Her jaw clenched. If it really is some big resurrection ritual… I need to see it. I need to know if it’s truth or garbage. Or it has anything to do with me.

The thought lingered with her until the gates of the city rose on the horizon, golden in the afternoon sun. The guards let them pass with quick salutes, though their eyes widened at the grim expressions of the returning adventurers.

By the time they reached the Adventurer’s Guild, Avric’s shoulders were tight with frustration, Borik looked grim, and Tomas kept rubbing the side of his neck where the demon had struck him. 

Morgana swung off her horse lightly, brushing dust off her cloak as if she hadn’t just spent the day knee-deep in blood and tension.

Inside, the receptionist blinked in surprise when the four of them asked immediately to see the Guildmaster. He wasted no time escorting them upstairs.

“Enter,” came the Guildmaster’s calm voice when the door was knocked.

The elf woman sat behind her desk, pale pink eyes glinting behind her glasses as she looked up from a stack of parchment. She raised a brow at the sight of the battered trio and the ever-composed Morgana. 

“I thought you would be here by yesterday evening. What took you so long?”

Avric stepped forward first, bowing his head politely. “Guildmaster Elariel… the mission didn’t go as expected.”

“Explain,” Elariel said, voice crisp.

Avric’s jaw tightened, but before he could speak, Borik gave a heavy sigh and plopped down into a chair. “We found yer goblin camp alright... burned tae ash. Just like the report said. But the stench was still fresh when we arrived. No beasts, no scavengers touched it. Almost like somethin’ kept ’em away.”

Tomas continued, tone subdued. “We were searching for clues. At first, nothing beyond a map marked in Demon Tongue. But then… a group of demons arrived. Five of them. It turned into a fight.”

At that, Elariel’s quill froze mid-note. Her eyes flicked up sharply. “Demons... Inside Althwyn’s borders?”

“Yes.” Avric’s voice was flat, grim. “And not just strays. A coordinated group. Two mages, two fighters, one supporter. They asked if we were the ones that killed the goblins in that camp. They… seemed determined to find the cause.”

Elariel leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled. “And the outcome?”

For a moment, no one spoke. The silence was heavy, thick enough that Morgana could practically taste it. Avric’s fists clenched at his side. Finally, Tomas whispered, “We killed the fighters and the mages. But the supporter… escaped. She slipped past us at dawn.”

Elariel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So. A confirmed demonic incursion, and one of them fleeing with whatever information they hold. This is troubling.”

Borik grunted, looking ashamed. “Troublin’ is puttin’ it lightly. We were lucky tae walk away with our hides.”

The Guildmaster shifted her gaze toward Morgana, who had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them all squirm. “And what about you, Wildrider? You were hired to guide them. What did you see?”

Morgana tilted her head, letting a slow smile curl on her lips. “Same thing, more or less. Goblins crisped. Demons barging in like they owned the place. Lots of yelling in a language I couldn’t read...” she tapped her temple as though amused, 

“But I got the impression they’re very, very interested in whatever these goblins were doing here. Can’t imagine why,” she ended with a shrug.

Borik shot her a look. “Ye sound far too calm fer someone who just fought five demons.”

“Would panicking make the situation better?” Morgana shot back. “I figured one of you three already had that covered.”

Borik’s ears turned red, but he had no comeback. Tomas rubbed at his temple. Avric only sighed, too tired to scold her for her sharp tongue.

Elariel cut in smoothly, silencing them all. “Enough. The situation is clear. I will mark that section of forest as dangerous territory immediately. No further low-rank missions will be assigned there. And…” Her eyes lingered on Morgana for a beat longer. “…your performance will be noted. That you survived a direct clash with demons is no small feat.”

Morgana beamed at that, clapping her hands together. “So what you’re saying is… promotion?”

Borik groaned. “By the ancestors, lass…”

Avric surprised them all by stepping forward again, shoulders squaring. 

“Guildmaster, if I may. Morgana fought beside us without hesitation. She held her own against demons, something even most B-rank adventurers couldn’t claim. I believe she deserves recognition beyond a single rank bump.”

Elariel arched a brow. “Is that so?”

Tomas nodded faintly. “He’s right. She fought as hard as any of us. Possibly harder considering that she took down three of them single-handedly.”

For a heartbeat, the room went silent. Then the Guildmaster gave a small, thoughtful hum. “…Very well. Morgana Wildrider, effective immediately, you are hereby promoted to B-rank Adventurer.”

Morgana’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I like the sound of that!” She spun on her heel, smirking at the trio. “Guess I’m skipping the boring middle step. Don’t be jealous, boys.”

Avric flushed faintly, Borik muttered under his breath, and Tomas just gave a weary chuckle.

Morgana turned back toward Elariel, winking. “Make sure my pay’s ready by tomorrow. And, do call me when you’re planning a little trip to those ruins. Because I’ll be there. Invitation or not.”

With that, she waved casually over her shoulder and sauntered out of the office, leaving an amused Guildmaster and three dumbstruck holy men behind.