Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 38: THE ARTIFACT COLLECTOR

Chapter 38: THE ARTIFACT COLLECTOR

The mountain paths wound treacherously beneath a sky that defied natural law. Shimmering rifts pulsed overhead, bleeding fragments of void energy that twisted the air into nauseating patterns. Reed led his ragtag force through narrow passes where the rock itself seemed to whisper, ancient voices scratching at the edges of sanity.

Three of their fighters had already succumbed to the influence, their minds fracturing under the void’s proximity. Reed had ended their suffering personally, driving his blade through each throat with mechanical precision. No time for sentiment. No room for weakness.

"The barrier thins here," Shia observed, her void tendrils probing the air ahead. She no longer attempted to maintain a human form, instead hovering above the ground as a writhing mass of shadow punctuated by those unsettling starfield eyes. "We’re close to one of the old breach points."

Reed nodded tersely. The void fragment embedded in his chest throbbed with increasing urgency, resonating with whatever lay ahead. Four hours until dawn. Four hours to reach Crimson Peak and stop the ritual that would transform innocent children into vessels for the Monarch of Emptiness.

"We should rest," Dorn suggested, his weathered face haggard with exhaustion. The militia fighters behind him swayed on their feet, weapons dragging in the gravel. "Just a few minutes. The men can barely—"

"We don’t have minutes," Reed cut him off. "Every moment we delay—"

"Is a moment you risk failure through exhaustion," interrupted a new voice, smooth and cultured, emanating from the shadows ahead.

Reed’s blade was in his hand instantly, void energy coiling around the steel. "Show yourself."

A figure emerged from between two massive boulders—a tall man draped in an elegantly tailored coat of midnight blue, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that seemed to capture and refract the unnatural light. His face was angular, aristocratic, framed by silvery hair that fell past his shoulders. Most striking were his eyes—pale amber, almost golden, with vertical pupils like a cat’s.

"Peace, Lord Reed," the stranger said, raising empty hands. "I come seeking conversation, not conflict."

Reed didn’t lower his weapon. "You know my name."

"I know many things about you, son of Corvus." The stranger smiled, revealing teeth too sharp to be entirely human. "Your reputation precedes you, particularly after your... performance at the Tournament."

Shia drifted closer to Reed, her void tendrils undulating protectively. "He carries no void taint," she murmured, "but he is not human."

"Perceptive Hero," the stranger inclined his head toward Shia. "Indeed, I am something... other. But that is inconsequential to our business."

"We have no business," Reed stated flatly. Behind him, his fighters had formed a defensive line, their exhaustion temporarily forgotten in the face of this new potential threat. "Move aside or die where you stand."

The stranger sighed dramatically. "Such hostility. Particularly when I come bearing information you desperately need regarding the ritual at Crimson Peak."

Reed’s eyes narrowed. "What do you know of it?"

"I know that marching your little army up the main path will result in their immediate slaughter," the stranger replied, gesturing casually toward the trail ahead. "Krell has positioned void-corrupted sentinels at every switchback. Monstrosities crafted from the remains of travelers who passed this way before you."

Lyra stepped forward, her face pale. "He speaks truth, Lord Reed. Vamir always boasted that the approach to Crimson Peak was impenetrable."

"And yet, here I stand," the stranger noted with another unsettling smile. "My name is Valerian Thorne. I am a collector of artifacts, particularly those touched by the void."

Reed’s grip on his sword tightened. "Thorne? Relation to Lord Thorn?"

Valerian waved dismissively. "A distant cousin of a branch family, nothing more. My interests are academic, not political." He reached into his coat and produced a small wooden box inlaid with silver. "May I?"

When Reed nodded curtly, Valerian opened the box to reveal a measuring device of some kind—concentric rings of silver and obsidian surrounding a central needle that spun rapidly before pointing directly at Reed’s chest.

"Fascinating," Valerian breathed, eyes gleaming. "Just as I suspected. The void fragment you carry is not merely embedded in your flesh—it’s synchronizing with your heartbeat, your blood flow." He snapped the box shut. "A true symbiosis. Exceedingly rare."

"What do you want?" Reed demanded, acutely aware of the precious minutes ticking away.

"To study your artifact, of course." Valerian gestured toward Reed’s chest. "I’ve spent decades collecting and cataloging void fragments, but never have I encountered one that has achieved true bonding with a living host."

"We don’t have time for this," Dorn growled. "The children—"

"Will die at dawn regardless of which path you take," Valerian finished smoothly. "Unless you accept my assistance."

Reed exchanged a glance with Shia, whose void tendrils had gone unnaturally still. "What assistance?"

"An alternate route to the ritual site," Valerian said. "One known only to those who study the old ways. It will bypass Krell’s defenses entirely and place you at the eastern flank of the summit caldera."

"In exchange for what?" Reed asked, though he already knew the answer.

Valerian smiled. "One hour with your artifact. To examine, measure, and document its properties. No removal, no tampering—merely observation."

"No."

"Lord Reed," Lyra pleaded, "we cannot hope to breach the main approach. The children will—"

"I said no," Reed repeated coldly. "I don’t trust him."

Valerian’s expression remained pleasant, but something ancient and dangerous flickered behind those inhuman eyes. "Trust is unnecessary. Practicality should suffice." He reached into his coat again, this time withdrawing a small leather-bound journal. "Perhaps this will change your mind."

He tossed the journal to Reed, who caught it one-handed. The cover bore a familiar insignia—a raven clutching a void stone.

"My father’s," Reed murmured, recognizing the handwriting as he flipped through the pages.

"Corvus was meticulous in his research," Valerian observed. "Particularly regarding the Monarch of Emptiness and its servants within the royal court."

Reed looked up sharply. "Where did you get this?"

"I have my methods." Valerian straightened his already immaculate cuffs. "The journal contains the ritual countermeasures your father developed before his execution. If you wish to save those children from transformation, you’ll need that information."

Reed continued scanning the journal, his expression darkening. "This is incomplete. The final pages have been torn out."

"Indeed," Valerian agreed. "The most crucial section—the actual counterspell—is missing." He tapped his temple. "But I have committed it to memory."

"Convenient," Shia remarked, her voice echoing with void resonance.

"Pragmatic," Valerian corrected. "Insurance against exactly this scenario."

Reed closed the journal, weighing his options. The fragment in his chest pulsed with increasing urgency as dawn approached. Every instinct warned against trusting this strange collector, but the alternative—watching innocent children transformed into vessels for an eldritch horror—was unacceptable.

"One examination," Reed finally conceded. "After we reach the summit. After the children are safe."

"During," Valerian countered. "I will guide you to the eastern approach and provide the counterspell. While your forces engage Krell’s guards, you will grant me thirty minutes—no more—to examine the fragment. Once complete, I will join your battle."

"You expect me to sit idle while my men fight and die?" Reed’s voice dropped dangerously.

"I expect you to make a necessary sacrifice to ensure victory," Valerian replied smoothly. "Your fragment’s resonance will only increase as we near the ritual site. Without proper calibration, you risk losing control of it entirely."

Shia drifted closer to Reed, her void tendrils brushing against his arm in a gesture almost like reassurance. "He fears something," she whispered. "Not us. Something else."

Reed studied Valerian more carefully, noting the barely perceptible tension in his shoulders, the way his inhuman eyes constantly darted toward the shimmering rifts above.

"You’re not just a collector," Reed realized aloud. "You’re running from something."

For the first time, Valerian’s composure cracked slightly. "We all have our pursuers, Lord Reed. Mine happen to be particularly... persistent."

"The Council of Shadows," Shia intoned, the void within her resonating with the words. "I can sense their mark upon him."

Valerian’s face went rigid. "You are even more perceptive than I anticipated, Hero."

"The Council of Shadows doesn’t exist," Dorn scoffed. "Children’s tales to frighten the superstitious."

"Oh, they exist," Valerian assured him grimly. "They’ve existed since before the kingdom’s founding, guiding events from the darkness between realities. They serve neither void nor light, but something... other."

"And they want what you possess," Reed concluded. "Something valuable enough to risk exposure."

Valerian’s smile returned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Knowledge is the only currency that truly matters, Lord Reed. I possess certain... insights... that the Council would prefer remained buried."

"About the Monarch?"

"About everything." Valerian glanced meaningfully at the sky, where the rifts had begun to pulse in unison. "Our time grows short. Dawn approaches. What say you to my offer?"

Reed turned to his assembled fighters. Exhausted, terrified, but determined—all that remained of his once-prosperous domain. They deserved better than a suicidal charge up a defended mountainside.

"Twenty minutes," Reed countered. "And you provide the alternative route first."

"Twenty-five," Valerian responded immediately. "And I require a blood seal on our agreement."

Reed glanced at Shia, who gave the barest nod. "Done."

Valerian produced a small silver blade and sliced his own palm without hesitation, extending his bleeding hand toward Reed. "By blood and void, I swear to guide you to Crimson Peak’s eastern approach and provide the counterspell to halt the ritual. In exchange, you will permit me twenty-five minutes to examine the void fragment embedded in your flesh."

Reed drew his dagger and cut a matching wound across his palm. When their blood mingled, a sharp crack of energy rippled between them, sealing the pact. The fragment in Reed’s chest flared briefly, sending a wave of cold fire through his veins.

"Well then," Valerian smiled, wiping his hand on an immaculate handkerchief that seemed to absorb the blood completely. "Shall we proceed?"

He led them away from the main path, down into a narrow ravine that shouldn’t have existed—a fracture in the mountainside that appeared only when viewed from a specific angle. The air grew thicker as they descended, heavy with the scent of ash and something sweeter, more cloying.

"The children’s blood," Lyra whispered, her face contorted with horror. "They’ve already begun the preparatory rites."

"But not the final transformation," Valerian assured them. "That requires the alignment of the void rifts at precise dawn."

They continued in tense silence, the ravine gradually widening into a natural tunnel that wound upward through the mountain’s interior. Strange luminescent fungi cast an eerie blue glow across the rough stone walls, illuminating ancient carvings that depicted scenes of worship—human figures prostrated before a towering entity composed entirely of darkness.

"The original cult of the Monarch," Valerian explained, noting Reed’s interest in the carvings. "They believed the void was merely a veil, behind which waited their dark god. They weren’t entirely wrong."

"These markings are older than the kingdom," Reed observed.

"Much older," Valerian agreed. "The Monarch’s influence has waxed and waned throughout history. The current royal line was corrupted seven generations ago, when King Harren IV discovered one of the primary void fragments and became... enlightened."

"And my father discovered this truth," Reed said, the pieces finally aligning in his mind.

"Corvus discovered far more than that," Valerian’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. "He found a way to use the void against itself—to create a weapon capable of severing the Monarch’s connection to our reality permanently."

Reed stopped abruptly. "A weapon?"

Valerian tapped Reed’s chest lightly. "Not all fragments are equal, Lord Reed. The one you carry is unique—a piece of the Monarch itself, torn away during its last attempted manifestation. With the proper calibration, it could be turned against its source."

"And that’s what you really want to study," Reed concluded, eyes narrowing. "Not just the symbiosis, but the fragment’s potential as a weapon."

"Let’s just say my interests align with humanity’s continued existence," Valerian replied smoothly. "The Council of Shadows believes the Monarch can be controlled, harnessed. I know better."

Before Reed could respond, Shia materialized between them, her void tendrils flaring with agitation. "Someone follows," she hissed. "At the tunnel entrance."

Valerian cursed softly. "We must move faster. We’re nearly there."

The tunnel curved sharply upward, the gradient becoming so steep that several of the weaker fighters struggled to maintain their footing. The air grew increasingly hot, sulfuric—they were approaching the volcano’s active chambers.

Finally, they emerged onto a narrow ledge overlooking a vast caldera. The scene below stole the breath from Reed’s lungs.

In the center of the crater, a massive obsidian altar had been erected, its surface carved with intricate runes that glowed with malevolent red energy. Surrounding it in concentric circles were thirty-seven small cages, each containing a child from Reed’s domain. The children sat unnaturally still, their eyes open but unseeing, mouths moving in silent unison as if reciting some unheard liturgy.

Lord Krell stood at the altar’s western edge, resplendent in ceremonial armor that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the light of the massive torches positioned around the ritual site. Beside him, Vamir directed a dozen acolytes in dark robes who moved methodically between the cages, painting void sigils on each child’s forehead.

But most disturbing was the figure suspended above the altar—a woman with void-black skin and writhing tendrils where her limbs should be. Not Shia, but someone transformed in similar fashion.

"Lady Seraphina," Reed breathed, recognizing the former Tournament competitor. "They’ve converted her completely."

"A necessary sacrifice," came a voice from behind them.

Reed spun to find a dozen royal guards emerging from the tunnel, their armor bearing the king’s personal insignia. At their center stood Prince Malek, his handsome face twisted into a cold smile.

"Did you really think we wouldn’t anticipate your arrival, Lord Reed?" The prince chuckled. "We’ve been guiding your path since before you were born."

Valerian stepped forward, placing himself between Reed and the prince. "Your Highness. You’re far from the safety of your palace."

"Valerian Thorne," Malek sneered. "The Council warned us you might interfere. Always collecting your precious artifacts, never understanding their true purpose."

"I understand more than you know," Valerian replied, his voice dangerously soft.

The prince’s attention returned to Reed. "The ritual requires one final component, Lord Reed. The heart of a willing sacrifice, merged with a primary void fragment." His eyes dropped meaningfully to Reed’s chest. "We had hoped to extract it while you were in our custody, but your... abrupt departure... necessitated this more elaborate plan."

Reed’s hand moved to his sword, but Valerian caught his wrist. "Not yet," he murmured. "We need the counterspell first."

"There is no counterspell that can save you now," Prince Malek declared, drawing his own blade—a wicked thing of black metal that seemed to devour the light around it. "The Monarch stirs beyond the veil. By dawn, it will walk among us, and a new age will begin."

Reed glanced over his shoulder at the ritual below, then at his fighters—exhausted, outmatched, but still gripping their weapons with grim determination. Behind the prince, more royal guards poured from the tunnel, their numbers growing by the second.

"Twenty-five minutes," Reed said quietly to Valerian. "You have twenty-five minutes to examine the fragment and tell me how to activate it as a weapon."

Valerian’s inhuman eyes widened slightly. "Here? Now?"

"Here and now," Reed confirmed, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the pulsing void fragment embedded where his heart should be—a jagged shard of absolute darkness that beat with the rhythm of his life force. "Or we all die anyway."

A slow smile spread across Valerian’s face as he withdrew a small silver instrument from his coat. "As you wish, Lord Reed." He turned to the prince and bowed mockingly. "Your Highness, I regret to inform you that your audience must wait. I have a prior appointment with this gentleman’s heart."

Prince Malek’s expression contorted with rage. "Kill them all! Bring me the fragment!"

As the royal guards surged forward, Reed’s fighters formed a protective circle around their lord and the strange collector who now bent over Reed’s exposed chest, golden eyes gleaming with an almost feverish intensity as he murmured: "Oh yes, this is far more extraordinary than I imagined. The patterns of integration are completely unprecedented."

Below in the caldera, alarm horns began to sound as Krell spotted the confrontation on the ledge above. The ritual preparations accelerated, acolytes moving with frantic purpose between the caged children.

Torn between the immediate threat and the impending ritual, Reed made his choice. "Dorn, hold them as long as you can. Shia, with me." He fixed Valerian with a hard stare. "Work quickly, collector. Our time just ran out."

Valerian’s fingers danced over the fragment, his instruments taking measurements with inhuman precision as the battle erupted around them. "The activation sequence is complex," he muttered. "Your father’s notes indicated a specific resonance frequency that would—"

His words cut off as an arrow struck him in the shoulder, the shaft burning with enchanted fire. Without pausing his examination, he snapped the shaft off and continued working.

"Fascinating," he whispered, seemingly oblivious to his own injury. "The fragment is already active, Lord Reed. It has been since the moment you escaped the royal palace. It’s been... changing you."

Below, Vamir had spotted them. The traitor pointed toward the ledge, shouting orders that were lost in the cacophony of battle. Several acolytes broke away from the ritual preparations, racing toward the steep path that connected the caldera rim to the ledge.

"How do I use it?" Reed demanded, watching his fighters fall one by one as the royal guards pressed their advantage. Dorn still stood, blood streaming from a dozen wounds, roaring defiance with each swing of his blade.

Valerian withdrew a final instrument—a crystal tuning fork that emitted no sound when struck, yet sent waves of agony through Reed’s entire body.

"Like this," Valerian whispered, his face transformed by an almost religious fervor. "The fragment isn’t a weapon against the Monarch, Reed. It is the Monarch—or rather, the key to becoming one."

The void fragment in Reed’s chest pulsed violently, tendrils of darkness spreading outward through his veins like black lightning. Pain beyond imagining consumed him, dropping him to his knees.

"What... have you... done?" he gasped.

Valerian stood, wiping blood from his instruments with meticulous care. "Fulfilled my end of our bargain. I’ve shown you how to activate the fragment." He glanced at the battle raging around them, then at the ritual below. "What you choose to become now is entirely your decision."

As darkness consumed Reed’s vision, Valerian leaned close to whisper in his ear: "The Council of Shadows doesn’t serve the Monarch, Reed. They imprisoned it. The royal family seeks to free it—but only a true void vessel can contain its power without being destroyed."

The collector straightened, nodding respectfully to Shia who hovered protectively over Reed’s convulsing form. "He’ll either emerge as something new, or he won’t emerge at all. Either way—" Valerian’s form began to shimmer, becoming translucent, "—our business is concluded."

As Valerian vanished entirely, Reed’s consciousness expanded beyond his failing body, beyond the mountain, beyond reality itself—stretching into the infinite void where something vast and ancient awaited him. Not with malice, but with recognition.

"At last," it whispered in a voice like the death of stars. "My heir returns."