After a few more dead ends, Orel and Slacume went down yet another cavern. This one slithered as if a giant worm had made it. They did not know how long they had been inside the cave, but it felt like hours.

“Don’t you think this one is a bit weird?” Orel looked at the walls.

“Yeah, it’s like someone dug it.”

It circled like a screw downwards. Unlike the other caves, this one was perfectly circular, as if a round thing had carved it through.

“I’ve been thinking about the legend about the fairies and these woods,” Orel said.

“What about it?”

“What did the knight do to the fairies?” Orel asked.

“Oh, you haven’t heard that part? An evil dragon named Bàsdubh used to live in these woods. It ate people and forced them to provide a monthly sacrifice to, well, keep living. But then arrived the courageous knight Bors who slew the dragon, and the forest fairies thanked him for saving the forest by enchanting it and giving it to him.”

“And is Mr. Lionel that knight’s great-great grandson or something?” Orel asked.

“That's what he says.”

“So, there are dragons?”

“Used to be, but never more than a dozen. I heard they were pretty competitive towards one another.”

“Where did they come from, like that Basut or whatever?”

"Bàsdubh." Slacume corrected, slowly flapping his lips. "I don't know. It's just a story."

"Are they gone now?"

“If you can call the world leaders over their mountains of finance dragons, sure, there are dragons.” Slacume scoffed. “They just don’t breathe fire, and they aren't covered in scales. Hopefully, at least.”

The two descended deeper, yet suddenly the cave stopped in a straight wall. Neither didn’t know how deep they were, but it must be a long climb back up if this was indeed the end.

“Another dead end.” Slacume was losing hope.

“Wait, this doesn’t look right.” Orel touched the rough surface. “It’s a solid slab of stone.”

“Is it blocking something?” Slacume's eyes dodged around, looking for clues.

“It won’t budge.” Orel slipped off after trying to push it.

“Does it have any markings on it?”

“What kind?”

“Any.”

“There’s something on the walls.” Orel looked closely. “It’s a handprint.”

“There’s one on the other side.”

“Should we press them?”

“I guess.” Slacume shrugged.

The two pressed their hands on the imprints, and nothing happened.

“Odd. Are we missing something?” Slacume looked around.

“Some lines are going off of them.” Orel noticed.

“Of course, it’s activated with magic.”

“Do we try again?” Orel asked.

“I don't have my pendant with me. There's no way I can open that."

"You don't know if you don't try first."

"But it's useless. I can't even cast a cantrip without it."

"It doesn't hurt to try." Orel pressed the point.

"Ugh, fine."

They pressed the marks and poured magic through their palms. The thin serpentine lines glowed blue as magic coursed through them. With sweating concentration, Orel managed to fill his lines, but Slacume was still lacking that his lines would reach the stone. It seemed that every second he clung on, the progress dropped further and further back to where they started.

“I knew it. I’m too weak.” Slacume said with self-disgust.

“Keep going.” Orel insisted.

“It’s useless.“

“You have to try. I can’t do this for much longer.”

"I told you, I can't do it!"

"Who decided that?"

Slacume saw Orel’s hardened face and the flame in his eyes. It was grand enough to catch his eyes as well, at least for a moment.

“Screw it! Here it goes!” Slacume cried out.

Slowly, the lines filled outwards while both tried their hardest until their muscles ached and their faces sweated. Just as Slacume was giving in, his lines reached the end. They let go as the stone rumbled to the side. The stone began rolling back before either one could catch a break; thus, they ran to the other side.

Tumbling in their steps, the two looked back as the stone slab returned to its place, sealing them in.

“I did it.” Slacume rejoiced. “We did it!”

Orel couldn’t help but smile with him, but what lay ahead concerned him more. Someone was not too far from them in the dark cavern. As they walked forward, Orel saw a familiar figure.

It was Isao, standing tall and wary, weapon drawn. It was like he was ready to battle.

Orel didn’t understand until he looked past him and saw something disturbing near the ground, scuttling towards them from the shadows. A creature like a half-full pack of flour, pale as one, with freakishly long arms and bony fingers, yet legs like stumps. It stared eyes wide like an animal down its long crooked nose and gnashed its yellow teeth together. Specs of colorless hairs sprouted from every part except the small head, waving around from the slightest movement like a string of spider's web. Terrifyingly enough, it spoke, with speech like someone with a tongue far too large for its mouth, rolling around and spitting saliva everywhere.

“Get out, outsiders! Go away!” The creature hissed.

“You nasty pest,” Isao swung his blade.

“A boggart!” Slacume fell back in shock.

Isao slashed the creature, but it jumped to the ceiling far too fast to get caught, hanging with its slender arms. Its long nails burrowed to the top like ice picks. The gleaming eyes watched down and shone as two white dots. Orel could only compare the horror to Barghest, yet its eerily human appearance made it perhaps even more frightening.

“Stupid humans. Bad people. Traitors. Only mister understood.”

“Mister?” Orel asked.

“Mister gave me a name. Ama-dan.” Ama-dan smiled viciously.

“Oh no,” Slacume gasped.

“What?”

“Boggarts should never be named. It makes them stronger!”

“The deed is done. Too late. Ama-dan far stronger.” Ama-dan giggled and gurgled.

“wait, where are the others?” Orel looked around.

A grin wider than his face stretched on Ama-dan. His rotten teeth, chipped and yellow, showed as his lips tightened. They were not just yellow and brown, but red and black. Orel turned on his light and saw the ground covered in dry blood, and after turning back, the other side of the slab was covered in scratch marks.

“The others were weak. Homesick. No match for Ama-dan.”

“You savage critter!” Isao furiously butted the end of his pole to the ground.

Ama-dan only snickered at those words and then scuttled deeper into the cavern like a spider going along the walls. Isao started sparking thunder as he lost his temper. Before Orel could say otherwise, Isao had already disappeared from his position and emerged before Ama-dan.

“Isao!” Orel yelled.

The white creature’s head rolled on the ground while the limp body hung from the ceiling. Blood splattered on the grey rocks. Isao breathed heavily, taking time to smudge off some of the blood on him and the glaive. Still, the grin on the creature’s face remained, taunting Isao.

“Foul, disgusting, wicked! Trapping and slaying your brethren!”

“Only it must have held enough magic to open the door,” Slacume looked at the claw marks.

“Calm down,” Orel walked over to Isao.

Isao breathed deep before holstering his weapon back.

“I apologize. The storm inside me can rage unexpectedly.” Isao bowed to Orel.

“It’s alright.” The formality flustered Orel. “How long have you been here?”

“Not too long. I had taken several routes.”

“Wait, you opened the door on your own?” Slacume realized.

“It is not made that way? To spread your arms and open it with two hands?”

“Was it that easy for you?” Orel asked.

“I do feel a bit out of charge for the moment. I should replenish myself.” Isao took and opened a gourd from his sash.

“Ooh, is that some magical bottle that can store any matter and energy?” Slacume’s eyes glowed out with excitement.

“Wrong, forest-dweller. It holds sake.” Isao took a large sip.

“So it’s just alcohol,” Slacume rubbed his eyes in disappointment.

“Still, I am surprised that you dared to follow here, forest-dweller.”

“Again, it’s Slacume Potomac! And yes, I came here. There are things I want to do, so I must.” Slacume stepped forward.

“Hmph, very well then. It seems you have used your own strength for once.”

“What is this place?” Orel asked.

“Some mages must have used this cavern for something, and this ‘mister’ that creature mentioned must be connected to it,” Slacume said.

“How old is this?” Orel could not help but wonder.

“Who knows? Decades? Centuries? The mechanism on that door can remain functional for hundreds of years.”

“I think the answer to our questions lies further ahead.” Isao walked forward.

Orel shone his light as they reached the end of the cavern. After looking around, Orel spotted a pile of something, which made him feel ill after shining his light.

“There’s the rest of them, or what’s left,” Slacume tried to hold his lunch inside.

“Their blood, it flows into this pattern on the ground.” Orel noticed.

“What sort of ritual site is this?” Isao asked.

Indeed, the blood of tens of boggarts flowed inside the rough inlays, forming what looked like a ritual circle before pouring into the center hole. Even by shining the light down on it, Orel could not see what was at the bottom. The carvings seemed a bit rough like something had scratched the ground until they were deep enough, but the hole in the middle was eerily perfect.

“This must be what the spirits were afraid of.”

“Wait, look up.” Slacume noticed.

The roof above was not natural. Instead, it seemed that a shaft once probably ran to the surface and was later covered. The support beams have likely broken at some point, yet large stones and other rubble seem to have blocked the whole cavern from collapsing.

“Did they bring something here?” Orel pondered.

“What should we do about this? Tell father Ostwind?”

“The ritual seems to be ready but not triggered. I suppose we should consult someone who could know of this.” Isao said.

“Then we should head out,” Slacume agreed.

Isao and Orel heard Slacume drop to the ground and wriggle back from the entrance, like seeing a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” Orel asked.

Slacume could only point at the pool of blood. The corpse had moved; no longer was the body hanging or the head laying on the floor. Orel turned his light towards the doorway, and they saw Ama-dan’s body swaying with its head resting on one of the arms while the other forcefully burrowed its nails into the slab and turned it until it opened. Isao tried to draw his weapon, but it was too late, and the creature had slipped away. It mocked the trio with sinister laughter as it turned the door shut.

“Stupid humans. Get stuck. Ama-dan goes now.” The head spoke as Ama-dan put it back in its place.

The creature fled. The three ran to the door, which was rapidly closing. Isao took hold of it and could hold it open with all of his power for a small moment.

“Run, you two!” Isao yelled.

“But-” Orel said.

“Just go!” Isao’s grip was loosening.

Orel and Slacume ran through. Isao could not hold it anymore, and the rock fell back. On the other side, Orel didn’t know what to do.

“We can’t leave him!”

“Orel, we need to warn father Ostwind. Something terrible is happening!“.

“But.”

“We must hurry!”

The two ran through the cave as fast as they could before emerging outside. Once there, Orel and Slacume saw Ama-dan relishing under the moonlight, which was now red. The moon had turned dark red, and it seemed almost closer than usual. Neither Orel nor Slacume thought it was a sign of something good.

“Yes. The red moon. Then wild hunt. Soon destruction.” Ama-dan escaped to the forest.

“Was today a lunar eclipse?” Orel asked.

“I don’t know,”

They kept running, and once in the woods, they heard a terrible noise echoing in the cold winds. The howls of the wind were more like a horrible scream echoing far beyond.

“What was that?” Orel asked.

“Wait, it couldn’t be.”

Once they arrived at the village, none of the houses were lit. Instead, most had been boarded up, and Orel could hear not a whisper anywhere, only perhaps muffled crying. The winds ravaged the fog, and the blood moon painted everything in a shade of blood, from the light sky to the dark streets. It had begun to rain, which seemed more like the sky was bleeding. It was as if the cataclysm was happening and would spare no soul.

“Sir Lionel, A company of the Border Control Corps wishes for your presence.” Gotthold opened the door to Lionel’s office.

The Duke needs to stay in their castle, often very late. They sometimes take holidays to travel or spend time in their private manours with their family. How dedicated they are to their work differs from Duke to Duke, some gathering more free time by giving more power to their subjects.

“I see. Let them in.”

Soon enough, a group of officers came into the highly decorated room, came to attention, and introduced themselves. Among them were the Major, Captain, and the lieutenants, while the rest of the company waited nearby.

“Albion Defence corps, fourth division, fifth battalion Coille. Major James Periwinkle of the Frogfoot. With me are-”

“Captain Diarmuid Cumhaill.” Diarmuid seemed weirdly held in contempt.

“First platoon, Lieutenant Jessie Ramsay.”

“Second platoon, Lieutenant Angus Aberdeen.”

“Third Platoon, Lieutenant Claire Cumberland.”

“Fourth platoon, Lieutenant Arthur Wellington.”

“Good evening, sir!” They all announced.

“At ease. Major, what brings you here?”

“Sir, it has come to our attention that there had been suspicious magical activity near the Tuatcoil highway, which needs immediate investigation.”

“I see. Where exactly?” Lione asked.

“Approximately fifteen kilometers on the way to Bertim village.”

“What is this activity you speak of? We have received sightings of Barghest in that area, and I have hired a party to deal with the issue.”

“No, sir. It seems that someone used an areal spell, possibly interacting with those using the road.”

“Sir, if I may.” Gotthold raised her voice.

“Go ahead,” Lionel said.

“We have not been able to contact our designated employee since they left. I was ready to send reinforcements to see if everything was still under control.”

James’ radio went off beeping.

“Excuse me.” James moved farther from the room.

“Frogfoot of the first battalion, Major Periwinkle. Go ahead. Over.”

“This is HQ company captain Durgeshire speaking. We have reports of unauthorized areal magic in several sectors. Frogfoot, status report. Over.”

“Roger that, captain. We report similar sightings in our sector, requesting reinforcements as well. Code yellow. Over.”

“Yes, copy that Frogfoot. Your company was reported to inform the Duke, is that correct? Lieutenant Colonel Erwin has ordered all companies to assess the situation immediately. Over.”

“Affirmative, we are on location. We have contact with the Duke, requesting Field Marchal to be connected. Over.”

“Affirmative. Stand-by.”

“What is it?” Lionel asked.

“Multiple reports of areal magic in other sectors. It is most likely what our sensors captured earlier.”

“This is a disaster. The blood moon is a bad omen, after all.” Lionel turned in his chair to face the moon from his grand window.

“Sir, it has come to our attention that the situation requires an urgent response. You are to grant or deny permission for further operations.” James handed over his radio.

Lionel took the small radio from James’ hands and waited for any messages.

“This is Field Marchal Peredur Galois. Who am I speaking to?”

“This is Duke of Gaunnes, Lionel Elyan Claudin,”

“Sir Lionel? Yes, of course. I apologize. I have had to make many calls for the past hour. Truly we have a situation in your territory, and our forces need your opinion and permission for further action and possible support from the Magistrate. How do you comply?”

“In the name of Sir Lionel Elyan Claudin, I grant Albion’s Defense Forces and the Magistrate permission to enter and act out all necessary tasks against the current threat in the dukedom of Gaunnes. You have permission to mobilize and move your troops through this territory, evacuate citizens, and incarcerate or neutralize possible perpetrators as seen fit. We will worry about the paperwork later. I shall mobilize the local police force as well.”

“Understood, Duke of Gaunnes. We thank you for your cooperation. I will pass this information to the commanding officers. Turn communications back to headquarters. Over and out.”

“Frogfoot, we appoint your company as the mediator between the duke and defense force units. Please select a platoon to guard and retain communication. Over.”

“Major, I am willing to take that role.” Jessie stepped forward.

“No objection to that, lieutenant,” James said.

“This is Frogfoot. We appoint first platoon lieutenant Ramsay in charge of that objective. Over.”

“Affirmative. Use standard VIP asset protection protocol in co-op with the local police force. Over.”

“Copy that. Is that all? Over.” James asked.

“Exercise caution. This synchronized activity has led us to believe this is a possible terrorist attack. The current objective is for civilian evacuation. Once the area is clear or things escalate, follow S&D protocol. Valuate the situation on-site. You have permission to use magic and standard weapons for neutralizing hostile targets. Without further notice, no heavy weapons, artillery, or AOE spells are permitted. Be safe out there, Frogfoot. Over.”

“Roger. Over and out.” James put his radio back on his waist.

“You heard the call. Lieutenant Jessie, organize your platoon and prepare here and retain radio communication. The rest of you will follow me to Bertim. I need to rally up the rest of the platoons.”

“Is there any information on how much damage we are looking at here?” Lionel asked.

“We do not know, sir. There should be minimal civilian and collateral damage to the towns if all goes well. The Coille battalion should have no problem dealing with the issue.” James reassured. “Of course, if this would take a turn for the worse, we would probably need to call in the first division.”

“I must call my wife. This is going to be a long night.” Lionel said.

“Goodnight, Sir Lionel.” James left the room.

After strapping in, the convoy left the city. James occupied the lead vehicle, while others followed in order of assigned platoons. They used the designated government vehicle lane to dismiss the traffic. It had been a while since anyone had seen anything like it. Many started guessing if something was off. The last time something remotely similar was seen was when there was a bomb threat at an airport, after which the security became even tighter. Perhaps this time would mark another wave of straighter laws or a bigger force budget. Regardless of that, the border officers were ready to show what they were capable of, or so the most optimistic ones thought.

“We’re so going to die.” Angus had a bad feeling.

“If so, can I get your laptop?” Diarmuid asked.

“Hell no. I’d rather give it to my eight-year-old sister.”