Four days had passed since the attack—by those they now assumed were called Fog Walkers. The trio continued along the dirt path, clouds stretching endlessly above them. Sunlight managed to break through in beams, casting a hazy warmth over the drying road.
"How much damn longer until we get there?" Rin asked, exhaustion heavy in his voice. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression hollow—he hadn't slept in two days.
"Hell if I know," Zay muttered with a yawn, nearly stumbling with every other step. His limbs felt like lead, each one begging for rest.
Jade glanced over at them both, her expression unreadable. With a flick of her hand, a chill gust of wind swept over them, sharp enough to jolt their minds back to awareness—if only for a moment.
None of them had slept in over forty-eight hours, and not for lack of trying. The roads offered no safety—not even enough to close their eyes. And the weather... the weather had become a tormentor in its own right. One hour, skies were clear and calm. The next, torrential rain hammered down. Then came snow, brief and biting, followed again by sun that scorched like it was the peak of summer.
Jade had been the only one able to stay fully alert. She'd found a method—by freezing parts of her body momentarily, shocking her system awake. The cold didn't just sting; it sparked her nerves to life, forcing her mind back into focus.
The three trudged forward for over an hour before the skies finally broke, unleashing a torrential downpour. Rain hammered them without mercy. Then, through the haze, they saw it—a towering gate in the distance, marking the edge of a vast kingdom. High above it, a massive beacon spun in a chaotic, tumbling rhythm—its light sweeping in every direction, like it was searching for something… or someone.
Rin lifted a trembling hand, pointing at it with a breathless laugh.
"T-That's it!" he shouted. "That's the Summit Kingdom!"
Without another word, he took off running, soaked clothes clinging to his frame. Zay followed, pushing forward on aching legs. Jade sprinted behind them, rain washing over the three like they were trying to outrun a curse.
But then Zay's eyes caught something—something wrong.
A massive metal sphere hovered in the air, completely silent as it descended. No propulsion. Just motion—pure, relentless motion—aimed straight at them.
Zay's heart dropped.
"RIN! LEFT! NOW!"
Rin turned mid-step, confusion plastered across his face.
"Huh? Wha—?"
He didn't get the chance to finish.
The sphere struck the ground between them with a thunderous impact. Zay saw a flash of crimson light and instinctively dove, tackling Jade to the dirt and shielding her just as the sphere exploded.
A wave of flames erupted from the impact, screaming out in all directions. Trees ignited. Grass turned to ash. The ground cracked and groaned under the heat.
And through it all… a lone figure emerged from the smoke and fire—calm, and unbothered.
He wore a loose, pitch-black outfit, tailored for movement but unmistakably militant. On his chest, the insignia of a severed rose bound in chains—a symbol etched in silver and crimson threads. The same emblem was stitched into his black gloves, which flexed with quiet menace at his sides.
A long cloak fluttered behind him, its edges singed and soaked in soot. His trousers were sharp, reinforced, yet bore the faded marks of old wars. His face was cut from stone—sharp cheekbones, a jaw built from cold resolve. Gray eyes that saw through you. Shoulder-length crimson hair swayed in the wind, the color of fresh blood caught in moonlight.
He stepped into the flames without hesitation. Then, he raised his right hand—fingers poised.
Snap.
A crack echoed out, and instantly, the fire obeyed.
With a sharp hiss, the inferno twisted upward, drawn into the sky like it had been summoned... then extinguished entirely.
Silence followed.
The man lowered his hand slowly.
And then he spoke—his voice a quiet storm, unshaken and colder than the ash beneath his boots.
"You shouldn't have come here."
The man kept walking.
Each step was deliberate. Every motion—precise, elegant, and unhurried. It was as if time itself had slowed just to witness his passage. His cloak didn't merely flutter in the wind—it moved with purpose, gliding behind him like a shadow with a mind of its own.
Then, without warning, he stopped. The silence that followed was sharper than any blade. He blinked slowly, as though waking from a dream.
"I know you're still alive," he said, voice low, steady, and colder than the scorched earth beneath his boots. "That explosion wasn't enough to kill an Arbiter, even at the weakest level. I made sure of it… after several tests."
Zay rolled off Jade, his breaths ragged. Smoke coiled from the seared remnants of his tunic, now clinging to his back in tatters. Burn marks crisscrossed his skin. He staggered to his feet, eyes locked onto the figure ahead.
His hand reached toward the hilt at his waist, trembling. He had nothing left but willpower—and even that was fraying.
"You… who the hell are you?" Zay rasped, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. "What the fuck is this?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He simply watched as Rin dragged himself upright behind Zay and Jade, his clothes scorched, his dagger hanging loosely in one hand. Beside him, Jade clutched at her side, her body wrapped in rapidly melting layers of defensive ice—modest, but draining. Her breath hitched from the effort, but her glare was as cold as ever.
"The False Threads," he said, "they run the Summit Kingdom now."
A pause.
"There's a bounty on your head."
The words dropped like iron into the silence.
Zay's eyes narrowed, heart pounding. The others remained still, processing.
"I'm not your enemy," the man added, almost as an afterthought. He glanced back toward the towering gates of the Summit Kingdom.
"Not yet."
He raised a hand, pointing toward the massive walls in the distance. The lights atop the spires pulsed in an eerie rhythm—like a heartbeat, mechanical and watching.
"They know you're coming. They've been watching longer than I have. I delayed them… with this."
Zay tightened his grip on his katana. His lips parted again, breath ragged.
"Who are you?"
For a moment, the only response was wind and rain. Then lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the man's face in pale silver.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to let one crimson strand of hair fall across his cheek. His eyes gleamed like steel beneath a storm.
"You'll know when you need to."
He turned away.
"For now… follow me."
And without another word, the man turned away from the looming kingdom, his cloak brushing through the wet grass as he walked toward the shadows of the ruined path behind them.
Jade hesitated, her breath still uneven, frost clinging to her skin barely.
"Are we really going to follow the man who just tried to kill us?" she muttered, her voice sharp but laced with fatigue.
Zay and Rin stood in silence and didn't answer at first. They both stared at the man's retreating figure, eyes narrowed, one hand still gripping the hilt of his scorched blade.
"No," Zay said quietly. "But it's probably the best choice we've got."
He looked down at the burns on his arms, then over to Rin, barely standing.
"We're in no shape to fight. Not yet."
With no other option, the three of them followed.
Eventually, the man led them behind a massive, jagged stone pillar that rose like a broken monument from the earth. Docked just behind it, hidden from view, was a sleek, black carriage—its frame reinforced with spell-metal, its wheels coated in silent sigils. Two obsidian-coated horses stood at the ready, their eyes glowing faintly in the rain.
The man climbed in first without a word. Zay followed, helping Jade in, then Rin. The interior was dimly lit, cushioned, and unnervingly warm. The moment the door closed, the air felt heavier.
They sat across from the man, the three of them silent, wet, bruised, burnt marks over their bodies, and wary. The man simply reached to the side and picked up a small glass filled with steaming tea. He took a sip, eyes closed as if savoring the quiet.
"If I wanted you dead," he said calmly, "why go through all of this?"
No one replied. The silence felt accusatory.
Outside, a man in his late twenties in a dark, weathered cloak—clearly the coachman—tightened the reins. With a low whistle, the horses stirred, and the carriage began to move, gliding through the rain like a shadow on wheels.
Jade blinked slowly, her body shivering as the ice continued to melt off her, the chill in her bones finally catching up to her injuries. Her body slowly becoming more revealing as the ice melted.
The man in black opened one eye, sighed, and reached beneath his seat. He pulled out a bundle of neatly folded clothing—black tunics and matching trousers, each enchanted with faint glimmers of warming Sigils etched into the pants with a Seal for Warmth.
He tossed them to the trio without ceremony.
"Change," he said, his tone clipped and unimpressed. "I refuse to ride any longer in the presence of such indecency."
Then he leaned back, closed his eyes again, and rested his arms over his chest—utterly at ease.