Cher was stunned by Ciel's revelation, forcing a faint smile, she steadied her breath and turned her gaze toward the ocean. Ciel, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her expression, listened as Cher spoke.
"At a young age, I lost my real parents, I have no memory of them, then, just recently, I lost Garm… and Commander." The ocean wind carried the sincerity of her words.
"My life has revolved around fighting the Veyrith ever since I was orphaned. I was moved from orphanage to orphanage, until I was finally adopted by Commander. Some details of those years are hazy… but I remember being brought to Karlea, meeting new friends, and finding a father figure in him."
Cher turned to her with a smile, "if my life were to end soon, I would want it to be in battle. And I would want to be remembered. Ciel… would you remember me then?"
Her words struck deep, as though her father himself were speaking through her, Ciel's chest tightened, her eyes welling with tears she had long suppressed. Overwhelmed, she embraced Cher and wept, releasing years of grief and longing in a single, shattering moment.
As Ciel drifted into sleep upon her lap, Cher gently brushed strands of hair from her face. Watching her rest so peacefully. Her life hung in the balance, and though she longed to see her family in the afterlife, she knew she could not meet them yet, not as she was now. Lifting her gaze to the night sky, she whispered softly, "Wait for me there. Until then… I will give it my all."
Meanwhile, Geist and his crew reached their destination, another bastion of human resistance, a stronghold that spanned across a mountainous ridge, its towering walls capable of deterring even a Veyrith assault from afar. It was a fortress built not only of stone but of resolve, sheltering elite warriors gathered from distant lands to train, to sharpen their strength, and to earn their place among the mightiest.
Stepping down from the raft, the ground beneath them gave way, crumbling apart, its long-faded reinforcement spells finally undone. Yet Geist only laughed, throwing his arms wide as if this were all part of the show.
"Welcome to one of mankind's havens, the city of valor, Morgrast!"
Cael's eyes widened as he took in the sight, warriors clashed in sparring bouts, cavaliers rode fearsome beasts along the cobbled avenues, and traders shouted over one another in a marketplace alive with color and noise. Merchants bartered, citizens bustled, and all around him surged, alive within the walls of Morgrast.
Cael asked with tinged of suspicion in his voice. "Why do you use Veyrith words to name your lands?"
Geist and the others exchanged uneasy glances before Albert, the group's scholar, stepped forward. His old formal attire contrasted with the strange red-orange gem encased in a golden sphere that hung from his neck.
"Actually… we don't."
Cael's gaze sharpened.
Albert continued, his voice tinged with unease. "When the invasion began, the world itself… changed. The terrain, the seas, even the skies, it was as if our land had been erased and replaced by another… then, something stranger still happened."
He touched the gem at his neck. "New knowledge surfaced in our minds, unbidden, we remembered places we had never seen, we understood runes, miasma, ethereal energies, all without being taught. It was as though the world itself whispered to us, embedding its wisdom like a natural reflex to survive."
Cael rested his hand against his chin, his eyes clouded with memory. He recalled the moment he had fallen into the Abyss when its forbidden wisdom wrapped around him like chains and offered him a new path, a new purpose, driven by a force beyond comprehension. In that endless dark, twelve figures had bowed before him as though he were their god.
The memory lingered, heavy and consuming, until Geist broke the silence with a clap and a grin, sweeping away the awkward stillness. "Come on, let's head deeper in!"
They moved across the cobbled platform, the city opening before them. Cael's steps faltered for a moment when his eyes caught the sight ahead, fourteen Karlean warriors, alive and smiling.
A sharp sting pierced his chest, he could almost feel Briggs beside him, watching them with pride, the sight that should have brought him joy.
At the heart of the city, a vast plaza unfolded, four roads crossing at its center, households and shops lining the cobblestone paths. A great fountain shimmered at the middle, where more merchants haggled and children played.
Gesturing proudly, Geist spread his arms wide. "This is the central plaza. Isn't it something?"
The six others only groaned in exhaustion, slumping onto the fountain's edge, but Cael's gaze lingered, he studied the layered inns, the bustling trade, the sheer will of mankind carving marvels out of a war-torn world, for a moment, fascination softened his guarded expression.
Geist noticed and smiled faintly, glad to have brought him here.
But the air shifted when another squad of Albiz Phiria approached, five in number. At their head strode a towering man, nearly the height of a Veyrith, broad chest armored with plate and twin spaulders, his scarred arms bare, his spiked hair and shadowing eyes darkened with streaks of paint, he stopped before them with a mocking tone.
"Well, if it isn't the rookies, Gerson, was it?"
Geist's team bristled, annoyance flashing across their faces, but Geist only smiled thinly. "Sir Murdoc. What brings you to these parts?"
Murdoc sneered, tilting his head as if weighing a pest. "Why do you care, brat?"
Geist bowed his head slightly. "Apologies sir, we'll be on our way."
Murdoc's arm shot out, seizing Geist and throwing him to the ground with casual force. "No, you don't walk away while I'm talking to you."
Laughter rippled from the squad behind him, until it cut short. One of them, the assassin clad in worn cloth with a chain-sickle at his side, had locked his eyes on Cael.
His body went rigid, his instincts screamed, it was as if invisible blades pierced him from every angle, phantom wounds opening across his skin. He staggered back, gasping, his breath caught between terror and disbelief.
"What now, Sentry?" Murdoc's tone was mocking, but the assassin only trembled, eyes still fixed on Cael.
"H… he's not human," Sentry stammered pointing at Cael. "He's a monster!"
The laughter died, Murdoc turned, his scarred face as he looked Cael up and down sizing him up, a grin tugged at his lips. "This skinny kid?" He lunged and seized Cael by the cloak, jerking him closer.
Cael's hand twitched beneath his robe, prepared to strike.
But Geist moved first, he gripped Murdoc's arm, with defiance. "Mock me all you want, but don't ever lay a hand on my friends!"
For a heartbeat, was silence, then Murdoc's smirk faltered, his arm went numb under Geist's grip an unexpected show of strength that forced him to release Cael.
Irritation flared in Murdoc's eyes, with a growl, he swatted Geist aside. The division leader crashed to the cobblestones, cheek split and bleeding, he wiped the blood with the back of his hand, glaring up at Murdoc.
Murdoc scoffed, wave his hand dismissively. "Not worth my time." With that, he ordered his team to move, their mocking laughter faded as they disappeared into the crowded plaza.
Fran and Rebecca immediately hurried to Cael's side, checking for injuries, while Albert and Annisa crouched beside Geist. Colt, however, stood apart his eyes burning, fists clenched, itching for a fight.
"Don't sweat it, Colt." Geist pushed himself up, wiping the blood from his cheek, he forced a smile and gestured that he was fine.
Turning to Cael, his expression softened. "Sorry for dragging you into this, ever since we formed our division, others have tried to drag us down."
Colt laughs, flashing a toothy grin. "Yeah, those numbskulls think they're untouchable, their egos are bigger than their brains, I'd happily cut them down to size."
Geist sighed, shaking his head. "Save it, we've got more important things ahead." He glanced at Cael with renewed purpose. "Come, we'd like you to meet someone., a famous rune expert, someone who might help you understand mo about the mysteries of this world."
They stopped before a weathered old shop, its wooden signboard creaking in the breeze, the painted letters spelling, Simone's. The curtain at the entrance faded blue, fraying at the edges, parted as Geist led Cael inside.
The air was thick with the stench of chemicals and the musk of old metal. Rows of shelves lined the walls, cluttered with bottles, runed trinkets, and half-forgotten weapons. No one stood at the counter to greet them.
Clang. Clang.
The sound drew them deeper, at the back, a hunched figure worked over a forge an old man in a threadbare shirt, suspenders darkened with soot, and heavy blacksmith's gloves. He hammered the steel with practiced force, then paused to peer at the glow through a monocle scope.
"Hey, Master," Geist called out.
Without turning, the man grumbled, "If you've got questions, find Carol. I'm busy."
"Master, it's Geist," Geist said again, firmer this time. "I'm back."
The old man stilled, slowly, he lifted his scope and turned. His weathered eyes widened, recognition breaking through his usual scowl.
They soon spotted Carol slumped behind the counter, a half-open vial of some noxious chemical beside her. Simone let out a long-suffering sigh, popped open a small tube of violet fumes, and held it under her nose.
With a sudden jolt, Carol shot upright, coughing. Her bleary eyes landed on Geist then she froze.
An awkward silence hung in the air, then, in a fluster, she spun around, dusting off her apron, patting her hair into place, and finally turning back with a stiff smile.
"G… Geist…! W–welcome back!" she stammered, cheeks pink.
The rest of the party had caught up by then and exchanged knowing looks, Geist on the other hand, scratch the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, laughed it off. "Hah, good to see you too!"
The five behind him all groaned in unison, muttering under their breath: "You dense idiot…"
Geist quickly shifted to business, Simone, led them into his guest lounge, a wide room where every wall was lined with his masterpieces, from blades gleaming with strange alloys, spears veined with glowing minerals, and axes forged from beasts long thought extinct. none bore a price tag, these were his trophies, his art, not for trade.
Geist took his seat and dropped a heavy bag onto the table, gems spilled out, alongside the fang of a mystic beast and fragments of rare ore.
Simone's eyes lit up like a boy at a festival. "Oho… look at this haul." His crooked smile twitched, but then his gaze snapped to Geist. "Wait… You didn't hand these out for free, did you?"
Geist slammed both palms on the table. "Of course not, you sly old man!"
The tension broke into half a laugh, but Simone leaned forward, his grin sharpens. "Then what's the catch?"
Geist gestured toward Cael. "I want you to craft a weapon for our companion. And…" his tone grew serious, "find a master who can teach him the use of artificial runes."
Simone's eyes slid to Cael, circled him like a hawk, tugged at his sleeve, then his collar. No markings. No runes. Not a single trace.
His pupils shrank, the hammer almost slipped from his grasp.
"Zero…?!" His voice cracked with disbelief. "How in the blazes did you survive?!"
The party forced nervous smiles, but the air around Cael stayed heavy, his silence pressed harder than words. Simone exhaled through his nose, shoulders sank as he finally lowered himself back into his seat. He plucked one of the crimson gems from the pile, its surface glowing faintly in his palm.
"…This one will do."
His voice was quiet, almost to himself.
Later that day, Simone led Cael up a winding path toward the ridge. The climb was steep, and the sun burned red on the horizon. At the summit, the sound of steel clashing greeted them, a training ground. Fighters of all calibers moved across the dirt arena, spearmen, sword bearers, archers. Each moved with discipline.
Amongst the students is the man leading them, his voice carried over the clash, the kind of tone that forged warriors.
"Oh, hey William," Simone called, forcing. "I brought a new face, care to train him too?"
He wiped his brow with a towel, and when he turned to face them, Cael froze.
The man's features were unmistakable, he looks so much like Arthur, with a shorter hair and slimmer frame.
Cael's eyes flickered crimson for a heartbeat before dimming again. Buried memories rose like old wounds reopening.
The man lowered the towel, "…Simone."
They stepped aside from the training ground as Simone presented a sheathed sword, the steel etched rune, William accepted it reverently, drawing the blade. Sunlight caught the gem set at its hilt.
He gave the sword a few measured swings, the runes glow faintly with each strike. The blade cut the air absorbing the ethereal energy, then releasing it in a shimmering arc seconds later. William's eyes lit with approval. "Yes," he murmured with a faint smile. "This will do."
"Impressive, isn't it?" Simone smirked, resting an arm on his hip.
William turned, holding the sword carefully as his gaze settled on Cael.
"So… you're the one I'm meant to train?"
Cael only gave a small nod, steadying the emotions that threatened to surface.
Behind him, Geist clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning. "Cael's a survivor, he's from Karlea. The only one left, apparently."
William's expression froze, he sheathed his sword, his tone shifted. "…I see."
Without another word, William gestured for them to follow, he led the group toward the armory, a hall lined with rows of training garments.
"Suit up."
Cael expected he'd be the only one, but to his surprise, the rest of Geist's squad had already begun digging into the racks.
"Hey!" Geist barked.
Anissa, already cinching the belt of her uniform, shot back, "What? They're comfortable to wear."
Colt twirled a wooden dagger he'd snatched, grinning ear to ear. Rebecca tugged at the sleeve of her uniform, smirking at Geist's irritation.
Geist rubbed his face with a groan, then glanced at the uniforms again. Despite himself, he couldn't resist, his grin spread as he tugged one over his shoulders, puffing his chest proudly.
William watched the antics in silence before forcing a strained smile.
Simone leaned back on the bench, cradling a cup of steaming tea. From his seat at the sidelines, he watched Geist's crew take the field alongside the students.
William, ever precise, surveyed the crowd of students before picking at seven for sparring training.
The chosen trainees looked nervous but eager, forming a line across from Geist's squad, William's gaze softened just enough. "Show me what you've learned."
The clash was swift Fran's overwhelmed his opponent. His final strike sent the trainee sprawling, the courtyard buzzed with whispers of awe.
William raised a brow, genuinely impressed. "That boy's technique… he fights like a seasoned veteran."
On the sidelines, Simone let out a long, satisfied sigh over his tea. "Hah, as expected. Those six, they're Albiz Phiria."
William's head snapped back toward him, his expression tightening, "step back, all of you."
The seven students looked at one another, obeyed, and retreat to the edge of the sparring ring.
Geist froze, then slumped forward, arms drooping, his expression that of a child denied candy.
"But it was my turn…" he muttered, pouting so hard Rebecca actually snorted.
William ignored the antics entirely as he strode to the center, the murmurs around them. His towel hit the bench with a soft thud.
He glanced over his shoulder to the gathered students.
"Listen closely, strength is not measured by victory alone, it is the way you fight, adapt, and uphold your comrades. Watch carefully."
He stepped onto the sparring ground, gesturing for Geist's group to join him.