The air around the shrine was filled with the sound of effort, devoid of battle cries, shrieking curses, or divine blasts of light tearing through the clouds.
Stone scraped against stone as repair teams labored tirelessly to rebuild the outer wall. Charms were layered onto the ramparts, reinforcing weak spots and resetting defensive enchantments. Wooden crates full of rations and potions were stacked by the gates, while tents were reshuffled to make room for the wounded. Smoke from cooking fires mingled with the faint glow of magical wards overhead.
Wizards and witches worked in tight rotations, their faces streaked with sweat, their wands flicking steadily, and their voices low.
"More earth needs to be laid beneath this arch. Stabilize it before it collapses."
"We're running low on powdered aconite. Has anyone seen the medics?"
"Move that barrier back four feet too close to the line of fire."
Near one of the inner walls, several commanders huddled around a conjured table covered in a projected map. Thin red lines marked enemy sightings, while thicker white curves denoted fallback positions. Only one circle, bright and blue, stood out it showed where they currently stood: the shrine. Even that circle flickered faintly, like a dying light.
Captain Yue spoke first, rubbing her temple as she traced a line with her finger. "We can't simply sit here fortifying ourselves all day. Supplies are trickling in, yes, but not fast enough. If this continues, we'll be out of food and healers in a week."
Lieutenant Ronan scowled. "This isn't sustainable. The gods and demons outnumber us. They can afford to wait. Let us starve. Let us rot."
General Ilori folded his arms. "We need to cut them off—hit their supply lines, disrupt their communications, and do something to force a retreat."
Another younger officer hesitated before speaking. "Has there been word from Lord Kazuki? Or… Lord Morpheus?"
A heavy silence settled upon the group.
Yue glanced toward the high tower that overlooked the rest of the shrine. "They've been in conference for hours. No one has disturbed them."
Ilori frowned, her expression filled with concern. "Hours?"
Ronan muttered, "Maybe they're working on a counteroffensive."
Yue, however, offered a dry response, "Or maybe they're arguing."
There was no humor in her words, only a hint of unease.
The conversation quickly took an uneasy turn, splintering into hushed whispers. A cough echoed through the chamber, and someone else fixed their gaze on the slowly shifting clouds above the warded dome.
They had survived the initial waves, barely clinging to life. But no one dared to utter aloud what everyone was thinking:
If their leaders didn't act soon, this silence would break, and when it did, it wouldn't be in their favor.
***
The chamber was thick with fading wards, soundproofing charms, anti-scrying enchantments, and layers of privacy magic so dense that the very air felt viscous. However, as the meeting concluded, these charms began to fade, evaporating into golden dust.
Kazuki stood first, brushing his palms together and taking a deep, sharp exhale. "So, we're decided then," he said.
Morpheus nodded once, slowly. The shadows across his face shifted with the torchlight, making his expression unreadable. "We are," he replied.
Neither of them spoke of what "it" was. The truth remained hidden behind the empty chairs and half-drained tea cups, like ghosts bound to secrets.
Kazuki adjusted the sleeves of his outer robe and gave Morpheus a sidelong glance. "How long do you think you'll need?" he asked.
Before Morpheus could answer, a gust of wind howled down the corridor outside. Then, the heavy beat of wings echoed through the chamber.
Kazuki turned just as the temple doors rattled on their hinges. With a flutter of dark plumage, Negari landed hard against the stone floor outside the chamber, folding her massive wings behind her back.
Her arms were scraped, and her lips were cracked from the wind and battle, but she held a bundled cloth tightly in her hands. The cloth pulsed faintly like a heart wrapped in silk.
Morpheus stepped forward, his hand outstretched. Negari placed the relic into his palm, and he unwrapped a corner of the cloth.
The light that spilled out was deep amber, not bright or divine, but steady, ancient, and alive. Magic hummed beneath the surface, barely restrained.
Kazuki didn't ask what it was.
Morpheus's eyes lingered on the stone for a moment longer before he carefully closed the cloth over it. He looked up.
"I'll have to do something for a while," he said.
Kazuki nodded. "Just don't disappear."
"I won't," Morpheus replied. Then, after a pause, "Not without a reason."
With that, he turned and began to walk deeper into the temple, the wrapped relic pressed tightly against his chest. Shadows curled in his wake.
Kazuki watched him go without another word. He didn't need to ask questions.
Whatever Morpheus was about to do wasn't part of the plan.
***
It was midnight in New York, a city untouched by the fighting at least for now. Its streets were quiet, shuttered up tight, the scent of coal smoke and wet stone drifting in from the alleyways. Most lights were out. Except in the back room of a crumbling apothecary on the east side.
There, beneath flickering gaslight and rows of unused shelves, a mirror stood propped against the wall. An old thing, round and worn, half-covered by a velvet cloth. Joram waited in front of it with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, the room silent but for the quiet hum of magic vibrating from the glass.
A ripple passed across the surface.
Then the mirror blazed gold.
The figure that emerged within was faceless and tall, its shape obscured by the radiance curling off its form. Wings of light stretched beyond the frame, and though it bore no clear features, it radiated presence serene, commanding, divine.
Joram bowed his head once. "My lord."
The golden being did not respond immediately. When it did, the voice came not with sound, but with pressure. It rang inside the skull inevitable and clear.
"Soon, your men will need to act or be ready to fall."
Joram didn't hesitate. "They're ready," he said. "We've waited long enough. We're ready to bring judgment."
There was a pause, the light in the mirror pulsing faintly.
Joram stepped closer, his eyes reflecting the golden glow. "When shall they act?"
"Soon," the being said again, its tone neither warm nor cold. "Very soon."
Then, more softly, almost like a whisper blooming in Joram's chest:
"You have everything you've ever wished for. Don't squander it."
The golden figure vanished without a sound.
The mirror dulled. Just glass again.
Joram stood in the dim apothecary, staring at his own reflection, expression unreadable.
Then he smiled. Just faintly.
The time was coming.