A Background Character’s Path to Power

"Thank you," Nusayel managed at last, the words thick with emotion. His other hand came up to clasp Zephyr's shoulder briefly, the gesture conveying more than words could.

Zephyr inclined his head, his usual stoic expression softening just slightly at the edges. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadowed hallway, leaving the baron alone with the unopened letter that seemed to weigh far more than its physical form.

The obsidian walls hummed faintly against the storm's fury outside as the baron finally broke the seal with trembling fingers, the sound of unfolding paper whisper-quiet in the empty hall.

The wax seal cracked with a soft snap. As the parchment unfolded, something small and metallic tumbled into the baron's palm - a simple silver ring.

"Hmm?"

With practiced ease, he channeled a trickle of aura into the ring. His hands began to shake as the inventory contents materialized in his mind's eye - a mountain of gleaming aura coins stacked like a miniature tower, rows upon rows of high-grade recovery potions, healing potions shimmering in their crystal vials, and an entire armory's worth of enchanted weaponry. And many more.

"T-this..." The baron's voice failed him.

The money alone could sustain their entire territory for six months, a year if rationed carefully. On the other hand, the rest were even more valuable.

His fingers trembled as he smoothed out the letter, his eyes hungrily scanning the familiar handwriting:

[ Dear Mother, Father,

Thank you for worrying about me - and yes, I'm fine now. I'm so sorry for what happened back then, and for not writing sooner.

Life here has been... hectic, to say the least. But I want you to know I'm doing well. I've made some good friends (even if they're all a bit strange), and I've actually secured a position at a new business in the nearby town. The pay is surprisingly decent!

I'm sending along part of my savings and some items I've collected these past years. Consider it my way of helping out back home. Our territory's situation had me concerned, and I know the winter stores were running low last season.

More than anything, I find myself worrying about you all. How are you both truly doing? Are my siblings fine, keeping out of too much trouble? And the Keep—is it standing strong against the winter winds and whatever else the Hollowlands throws its way? Please tell me there haven't been any major problems, that everything is well. And please, promise me you won't overwork yourselves. I know how you both are.

I'm truly sorry again for everything that transpired, for the worry I caused, and for my silence. But I promise you, I'm going to visit soon, probably right after the semester ends. Then, we can talk about everything, properly.

See you soon,

Your son,

Amaniel ]

The baron didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until his vision blurred.

A single droplet darkened the parchment where it fell. He carefully folded the letter with military precision, though his hands betrayed him with minute tremors.

Outside, the storm howled against the obsidian defenses.

Inside, the baron sat motionless at the empty table, clutching the ring and letter to his chest as if they might vanish like mist. The candlelight danced across his face, catching on the tracks of moisture he made no effort to wipe away.

His fingers tightened around the letter, his whisper barely audible over the storm's muffled howl.

"Why..."

A breath. A pause. The words came out raw, frayed at the edges.

"Why did it have to be you, Amaniel?"

Then, with the slow, deliberate movements of a man carrying something far heavier than paper and metal, he stood. The letter was folded once more with military precision, the ring pressed into its crease. Both disappeared into the inner pocket of his coat, resting just above his heart.

The storm raged on.

The baron walked away, leaving only silence and the ghost of candlelight trembling in his wake.

______ ____ _

Midnight's stillness blanketed the underground chambers.

Row upon row of cured soldiers lay in perfect repose, their chests rising and falling in steady rhythm beneath woolen blankets. The only sounds were the occasional creak of bedframes and the soft sigh of breathing - more than thirty souls healing in shared silence.

"..."

"...Swoosh-!"

A scout in the far corner jerked upright, his eyes flying open to reveal orbs filled with swirling white mist. Another followed. Then another. Bodies spasmed without waking, some striking their heads against the bottom of upper bunks with dull thuds. None cried out. None seemed to feel their injuries.

From each pair of mist-filled eyes, tendrils of vapor began to seep forth, coiling through the air like spectral serpents. The wisps converged at the chamber's center, twisting and compressing into a single, pulsing sphere of white fog.

Then, a darkness formed at its core.

Two slitted pupils emerged from the mist, blacker than the midnight shadows. They darted left, then right, as if taking inventory of the unconscious bodies surrounding them.

The eyes hovered there, observing as the people collapsed back onto their beds.

Their chests resumed their steady rise and fall... rise and fall... their mist-laden eyes now vacant once more.

They lingered a moment longer, their inky slits sweeping over the unconscious soldiers one final time. Then, with unnatural grace, they drifted forward, passing through the chamber's heavy oak door as if it were no more than a wisp of smoke.

The underground corridors welcomed the entity with cold, stagnant air. It moved swiftly, darting left and right, its gaze probing every shadow, every crevice.

Stone walls blurred past, iron-barred doors offered no resistance, only the obsidian reinforcements, humming faintly with powerful resistance, forced it to divert its path. Up it climbed, through passages and halls, slipping through locked doors and through keyholes.

Room after room yielded nothing.

Until, at last, it paused in front of a door. Then, without hesitation, it entered the room.

Inside, sprawled across a disheveled bed, lay a half-elf. One arm dangled off the mattress, his shirt riding up to expose a lean torso marred by scars. Chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, he seemed deep in sleep, vulnerable.

The eyes widened, pupils dilating with something akin to hunger.

This one… the very essence of its mental aura, its spiritual light, shone brighter than any other in this forsaken place.

And more importantly, he was the only one strong enough to survive the merging.

Without a sound, it slipped closer, unseen, a whisper of a promise echoing in the silence:

Soon, this body would be its own.