When Corvus opened his eyes, he was immediately on guard. From the beds and the size of the cupboards that dotted the large room, he guessed he was in the infirmary of somewhere. There was a curious absence in the room, as if there was something important missing that he couldn’t quite place.

The room was made almost exclusively out of black stone, dark woods and vines, lit by warm, green lanterns and small cloth bags hung from the ceilings with the low buzz and purr of felias, giving the room a warm, but eerie green glow. All the beds were empty except his and one that was opposite the only door in the room. Corvus ripped the covers off and inspected his right arm.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he was still wearing his bracelet, but made a gasp of terror immediately afterwards. His gauntlet was missing, there were patches of soot from where the bandages were, the chainmail had left more scorch marks on his charred skin. The place where his bracer had been was a patch of black charcoal.

He looked to his body. He was no longer wearing his belt, his pack or anything he was before. Raven was gone and he was barefoot. He was wearing loose wool night-clothes that blended in well with the white of the bed. The right arm of the shirt had been roughly cut off to avoid the black mess that was his hand.

Irritated, Corvus swept the charcoal from his arm. It wouldn't move. He tried again, but it stayed.

He tilted his head at his arm, looking at it more closely. The patch of charcoal sparked with a small purple light. Corvus’ eyes widened as he realised what had happened.

The Curse had spread up his arm. Not by much, but it was definitely larger. It was maybe two inches up his forearm, past the bracelet. His eyes widened in terror as he frantically moved to pull the bracelet to the top of the curse to try and stop in spreading any further.

It was hard to make, as the bracelet seemed to be stuck to his charred wrist. He gritted his teeth, trying to move the bracelet carefully and not touch his sin at the same time. Several minutes of careful near-misses, the bracelet was finally at the top of the curse again, albeit with a few gaps of skin, but that was mostly accidental.

His skin was just as ugly and twisted as before, but there was something different. The purple fire was less intense, as if it were sleeping.

“Starved, actually.” Gilgamesh’s soothing voice echoed through the infirmary. Corvus looked up and saw him lounging on one of the empty beds. He was visibly tired and much more irritable than before. Corvus stood up to confront him.

“Where the hell have you been?” Corvus didn’t care about the consequences of talking to him while there might be people listening, but he felt definite pangs of rage echo through his heart. He took a few steps forward to get closer.

“Stop!” Gilgamesh held up his hand, his voice a curious mix of anger and panic.

“Why should I?” Corvus growled at him, taking another step.

“Look down!” Gilgamesh sounded like he was pleading. Corvus doubted that, but was curious anyway.

He turned his eyes downward. He put his guard up immediately when he saw the black writing scored into the ground. It surrounded the area around his bed, and he was just at its edge. He knelt down to inspect the inscription. He couldn’t read it fully, and what bits he could read made no sense to him, as if it was another language. He reached out his left hand and stroked the letters.

They stayed stubbornly stuck to the ground.

Curiosity flooded his mind and he extended his left hand out beyond the barrier. The hairs on his hand stood up, slammed by a wave of intangible force. It felt exactly as it did when he first set foot in the forest. Full of life and magic.

He realised that this must be what he felt before. The absence of magic. He looked to his right hand, wondering if that was why it was so inactive. He slowly raised his cursed hand, reaching towards the edge of the circle.

The tips of his fingers erupted in violet flames, creating a sharp flash of dark light. Corvus violently recoiled, the flames sputtering out as soon as they were back inside. Corvus only just realised that he was panting, gasping even. His right arm was shuddering, paralysed with unconscious terror. Droplets of sweat fell from Corvus’ forehead and sizzled onto his arm.

He looked towards the bracelet. The small gaps that he had left between the cursed flesh and his tanned skin had begun to wilt and burn with violet cinders.

Gilgamesh sighed and stood up, wiping the tiredness from his eyes.

“That is where I have been.” Gilgamesh looked around the large room with a mix of nostalgia and worry. “The Nature magic in this forest is incredibly concentrated. It took everything I had to keep it from flaring up more than it did. It's quite marvellous how they can create a zone completely absent of nature magic, don't you think?"

“I need to leave then.” Corvus’ voice was still shaky but he gave Gilgamesh a half-hearted shrug.

“You know that you wont. Everything leads to here. The first steps to sealing the curse, Death magic, Cleo’s promise. It’s all here, boy.” Gilgamesh spoke in a measured manner.

Corvus looked him dead in the eye.

“When can I seal it? When, damn you?!” Corvus was shocked by his sudden outburst. He didn’t feel anything, but he was certain of something. Wherever he went when he died, whatever it was that he saw and felt, he would do anything to never see it again.

There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye as the figure in the other taken bed began to write awake. It began to groggily sit up, still covered entirely in sheets. Corvus didn’t have the chance to get back into his bed and pretend he was still sleeping before the figure turned its head in his direction.

It straightened and threw the covers off itself. It was boy who looked no older than 15, with a tanned face and thin, sickly features. His head was slightly large, housing glinting blue eyes and a close-cut layer of grey hair. He reached for an oak stick that was lying beside his bed and stood up shakily. As he rounded his bed, Corvus realised that he had a slightly large and warped left foot with blue and navy symbols faintly etched into it.

He hobbled across the room, eyeing Corvus with cautious excitement. Corvus sat on his bed, glancing towards the spot where Gilgamesh used to be, but now just an undisturbed bed. The boy’s surprising athleticism intrigued Corvus, as he seemed to swing himself forward and landed with grace and speed. He made his way to the bed beside Corvus and sat down, a curious smile on his face.

“The sleeping cub has awoken to the dawn!” He raised his hands, as if preaching to a choir. His voice was surprisingly deep and refined, that of a stern yet kindly professor. Corvus almost frowned at the disconnect between his appearance and his voice. He looked like a boy but sounded like a sage.

The boy/man noticed the change in expression and leant forward.

“What ails you? The unfamiliar location? Perhaps the unfamiliar face? Yes! That’s it!” He spoke quickly but clearly.

“Well, for one there's your voice, it doesn’t match you.” Corvus shrugged, passively.

The boy/man let out a hearty chuckle and lightly slapped his leg.

“Blunt and honest! I like you, lad! As for me, my name is Doctor Helsay Curos. Just Helsay is fine. What is your name, lad?” His eyes danced with cheerful, almost childish merriment.

“Corvus.” He extended his left hand in greeting.

“Corvus? Just Corvus? Curious…” He held his chin in thought. Several seconds passed of Corvus’ hand hanging in air, waiting to complete the greeting.

“Oh! My apologies.” He stood up, limped forward a step or two and shook Corvus’ hand, carefully eyeing his cursed hand all the while. “A pleasure, sir Swallow.” He smiled wryly.

“Oh, that? Yeah, that isn’t mine, but its keeping me alive.” Corvus shrugged.

Helsay’s face fell from happiness to wondrous horror.

“So it’s true then? You have been cursed?”

“Afraid so.” Corvus shrugged slightly, clenching his blackened fist.

“My word!” Helsay jumped up as best he could and started what looked like a dance. He was singing in a language that probably made no sense to anyone. He nearly fell over himself trying to get closer to Corvus. He hobbled into the circle of black letters and tried to put his hands on Corvus’ arm.

Luckily for Corvus, his arms were longer than Helsay’s, allowing him to stand perfectly still and keep the doctor at bay. Helsay was manic at this point.

“If you live then we can all live. We can use this. We can fight them back. We can win. We will win. Let me feel your arm!” His breaths were erratic, his eyes were wild and he was grabbing for Corvus’ right hand. He slipped out of Corvus’ grip, darting under his arm and throwing himself towards Corvus.

Helsay’s face was contorted into an unnatural grin, his teeth biting into his lips and tinting them with crimson blood. The only reason that Corvus didn’t kill him then and there out of self-defence was his eyes. They were terrified, almost on the brink of tears. Though he looked like a maniac that didn’t care about living, Corvus knew almost instantly that, deep down, he didn’t want to die.

“Doctor Curos!” A booming voice shattered through the infirmary.

The man immediately snapped out of his excitement and stood perfectly straight as 2 people opened the large, wooden doors, allowing a man dressed in elegant, chainmail-lined black robes. The green lights flickered to a stop, stealing the warmth from the infirmary.

His face was wrinkled but set and steeled. He walked with purpose and confidence, but less grace and efficiency than Cleo. He looked to be around 6 foot tall with a broad frame without the muscles to fill it in, giving him a slightly contradictory physical appearance of size and frailty.

His left eye sparkled with green intelligence, cold and calculating, directly opposed to his right eye that was a light, easing navy-blue that floated over the infirmary like a spotlight. His hair was well kept, stylish black and grey that could easily have passed him for a noble.

His mis-matched eyes settled on Helsay. He strode forward, removing a tight satin glove from his left hand, revealing his own coiling black tattoos on his pale skin. Helsay raised his hands in cheery begging.

“Please, my lord. I just want to help us. I just want to touch—”. Helsay began, hobbling towards the regal man.

“Shhhh.” The man reached out with his left hand, placing it on Helsay’s shoulder, emitting an aura of dark energy that flowed into his eyes and mouth. Helsay immediately collapsed, a dead weight in the arms of the man. He deposited the doctor into the arms of one of his two guards, a woman, more muscle and size than anything else.

She carried Helsay like a sleeping child over to the bed that he had awoken from earlier, placing him down gently and returning to receive his walking stick.

“My apologies, sir. That old fool doesn’t always respect boundaries.” He chuckled a small apology, his contrasting eyes scanning Corvus’ face. His voice wasn’t as deep as Helsay’s, but it held much more weight, as if he’d practiced this.

“Is he dead?” Corvus looked over to Helsay’s unmoving form.

“No no.” The man held up his left hand, admiring his tattoos. “A sorcery of my own making. I was going to go with “The Variable, Instantaneous Hypnotic Miasma”, but I’ve found that "Blackout" rolls off the tongue much easier. In short, he’s just asleep. You’d be surprised to find out how many times I've had to use this on him while you were resting.” He smiled politely.

“How long?” Corvus was becoming rather tired of having to ask that question at this point.

“Several days. We have given you all the space for recovery that you required. Less than I would have liked, but the attack occupied some of our more skilled pairs of hands.” He smiled sadly.

“Attack? The knights or the priests I’ve heard so much about were tracking us?” Corvus crossed his arms, contemplating this.

“Most likely you. Cleo is much too careful to be tracked. It is hardly your fault and I do not hold it against you, but there are several people that might be less than thankful for it.”

“Well tell them I’m sorry but I really don’t care.” Corvus sat down, getting slightly irritated with people. “Who are you anyway?”

The second of his two guards, a shorter man, half hidden beneath a long mop of dark brown hair, with a flail on his belt took an aggressive step forward but was stopped by the man raising his hand.

“How rude of me. My name is Lord Gregory Lias. Lord Gregory will suffice. And you are the mysterious Corvus I have heard so much of. A pleasure.” He extended his hand in greeting.

“I’m sure it is.” Corvus eyed Gregory’s gloved hand carefully, but shook it nonetheless. “Now. Don’t suppose you could tell me where the hell we are?”

There was a flicker in Gregory’s eyes but he blinked and it was gone instantly. He smiled warmly.

“Of course. It has been rather a rough journey for you I hear. I bid you a formal welcome to your new home and school of your heritage.”

He threw his arms open wide.

“Welcome to the Halls of Desperius.”