The forest stretched along both sides of the road, the trees forming a black vault above the procession. Night had fallen.

  The monks advanced in procession, torches in hand, arranged in parallel lines. The flames lit up, in sudden flickers, the folds of their dark robes and sent shadows dancing across the tree trunks. Beneath their hoods, black masks absorbed the light, erasing all expression.

  At the center of the road, dozens of carriages rolled forward, lined up one behind the other. The wheels creaked over the packed earth; the clatter of the harnesses set the rhythm of the march, guided by monks seated atop them.

  At the front of the procession walked three monks, their ivory masks marked by cracks that ran along their cheeks and circled their eyes.

  Vaunn moved along the rear of the procession, slipping between the tree trunks and using the sound of wheels and footsteps to mask his own. At the back of the line, the torches grew farther apart.

  Little by little, Vaunn closed the distance between himself and the last monk. With each step, the silhouette ahead of him became clearer. He stopped just before the bend, where the trees pressed in closest to the road.

  He pressed himself against a trunk as the torches passed one by one, the last monk drawing near. When he was within reach, Vaunn seized him and dragged him off the path, pulling him into the undergrowth.

  Before the monk could cry out, Vaunn’s knee drove into his stomach, knocking the breath from him. He followed immediately with an upward strike beneath the chin; the monk’s head snapped back and struck the trunk. Vaunn slipped behind him and looped his arm around his neck, tightening his hold, then pressed his body against the monk’s, cutting off any leverage.

  The monk struggled, his elbows striking empty air as his hands clenched and unclenched frantically. His body arched, the movements weakened, and his fingers stiffened before sliding down the folds of the robe.

  Vaunn grabbed the robe and pulled it on over his own clothes. He then changed shoes, seized the mask, and brought it to his face; the cold touch of the metal sent a shiver through him. He pulled the hood over his head before stepping back onto the path.

  A man wearing a golden mask approached Vaunn.

  “Do not break formation.”

  Vaunn nodded and resumed a steady pace. The man moved away, blending once more into the front of the procession.

  After hours of walking, a small sphere of flame appeared in the sky. The fire surrounding it wavered, shifting from violet to green, then to a blazing red. The hooded figures gradually quickened their pace—first hurried steps, then faster and faster, until the march gave way to a run. Cries rose from the carriages. Vaunn stumbled over a root, faltered, caught himself just in time, and immediately resumed running.

  As they advanced, the sphere grew until it reached nearly ten meters across. The fireball spun upon itself; the ground gave way with a deep rumble as a crater formed, the earth collapsing and cracking open. All around, within a radius of some fifty meters, the forest had been reduced to ashes and charred silhouettes.

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  The monks stopped at the edge of the crater and arranged the carts in a circle around it. One of them opened the first carriage. Children stepped down, bound together, their eyes blindfolded. Nothing was in its proper place: eyes set too low, necks too short, swollen masses of flesh bulging from shoulders or flanks.

  More children emerged from the second, the third, then the fourth carriage. From the fifth and sixth came young women, followed by men with disturbing silhouettes. They wore rags, and some were missing an ear, a nose, entire portions of their faces—sometimes even limbs.

  Vaunn’s gaze lingered on one of them. He recognized Silk. One of his ears had been severed, and deep gashes covered his face.

  Six monks wearing red masks then took position at the head of each group. They began to move, guiding the prisoners toward the sphere of fire.

  The prisoners were driven toward the orb. Their screams rose as they were lifted from the ground, seized by the incandescent sphere. They burned, and their blood was torn from their bodies, rising into the air before merging with the orb. The flame then lost its color, darkening until it became completely black.

  The sphere fell back to the ground and split in two. A reddish-brown liquid spilled from it, spreading across the crater until it reached the monks’ feet. They knelt and drank greedily. Their skin blackened and hardened, and claws burst from their fingers.

  One of the monks collapsed. Another, whose appearance was no longer human, seized him by the head and tore off one of his arms. Soon, more monks transformed into beasts threw themselves upon the body.

  Vaunn drew a vial from within his robe and plunged it into the substance. He filled it quickly, then sealed it. Backing away, he retreated until he vanished among the trees. When he looked up, a young man was floating in the air, some hundred meters above him. He appeared to be in his early twenties, slender, dressed in a violet suit. Long white hair framed his face, stretched into a wide smile. Their eyes met, and Vaunn was struck by the bright blue gleam of his gaze. Then, without a sound, he vanished.

  At once, a hand settled on Vaunn’s shoulder.

  A honeyed voice rose behind him.

  “You are not enjoying yourself with the others.”

  Vaunn turned around. The young man he had seen floating in the sky was smiling at him. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I am a demon, of course,” he replied.

  He placed a hand against Vaunn’s cheek.

  “I can feel your hatred, human, but you can do nothing against me. You are weak.”

  Vaunn drew a dagger from a hidden pocket and lunged at the demon. The blade cut through the air, but at the moment it was about to strike, the figure vanished.