Shadows Between Blood
The last surviving glider ship sputtered through thick clouds, trailing smoke from its dented rear engine. Inside, it was eerily silent. The wounded lay still, stained in blood and ash. Captain Sheane sat at the controls, his broken arm in a sling, jaw clenched as he fought the trembling in his legs. Beside him, Lyra stared blankly at the horizon, her expression unreadable, her armor cracked and scorched.
At the center of the ship, Elian lay unconscious—his massive wounds still seething with faint, pulsing energy. His limbs had been mangled by Vornyx's assault, and yet his body was knitting itself back together at a rate that defied human understanding.
The four remaining soldiers sat in silence, their eyes hollow. One wept. Another whispered a prayer.
It was a return home—but not a victory.
---
Four Weeks Later — Arkhelm
The city of Arkhelm was alive. Towers blazed with neon circuitry, factories hummed with restored order, and parades were held in honor of the T.E.R.O.S.A's valiant stand—even if they'd returned in pieces.
Elian emerged from the military recovery wing wearing a new coat, fitted and sharp. He had healed in record time, thanks to the ancient DNA surging in his blood—his bones, once shattered, now felt stronger, his senses sharper.
He smiled as he walked into the sterile white room where his sister, Sylvie, lay in her medical pod. Her breathing was calm, her eyes lively as she teased, "You look like a K-drama protagonist."
Elian laughed, sitting beside her. "You still look like a grumpy potato in that pod."
She flipped him off.
Their banter was light—but the shadows lingered. Elian's mind occasionally flickered with faint, painful flashes of Vornyx… and the torture.
Then, the door slid open.
Lyra.
Her sharp violet eyes scanned the room like a hawk. "Elian," she said, voice curt, "We've got a mission."
Elian raised an eyebrow. "Now?"
She ignored the question and turned. "Come on."
---
The Investigation Begins
Over the next three days, Elian and Lyra combed through restricted archives, ruins from the battlefield, and decrypted remnants of intercepted communications. Clue by clue, the two formed an unlikely team.
Through the trails, they discovered an ominous name hidden in the coded fragments: Sereth D'aelryn.
"She's my sister," Lyra finally admitted, her voice hushed. "She was once in the Arkhelm Defense Corps… until she vanished."
Elian nodded, calm but alert. "What happened?"
"She hated this world," Lyra said. "Hated me for staying in it."
---
Confrontation in the Moonspire Forest
The tracks led them to the ruins of an old observatory in the Moonspire Forest, now overgrown and bathed in lunar mist. The wind howled unnaturally. There, standing alone among the rubble, was Sereth D'aelryn.
Her hair, silver and braided with obsidian cords, shimmered in the moonlight. Her eyes were mirrors—reflecting nothing but hate.
"Sister," she hissed, her voice dripping venom.
"Sereth…" Lyra gripped her blade tightly. "You're alive."
"Unfortunately," Sereth replied coldly. "But that's something I intend to fix—starting with you."
She extended her hand—and her body split open, revealing a transformation both majestic and horrific.
Her Prime Ancient form emerged: a regal horror clad in bone-forged armor, wings made of crystalized dusk, and a halo of fractured light that spun like blades. A symbol of death and elegance—she was a Prime ancient (prime ancients is another name for the 12 hybrids that consumed the guardian ancients and now wield their powers, these include Elian, Kael and Thorne), the devourer of the Guardian Ancient Zephyra, bearer of the Wind Beyond Sight.
Before Lyra could react, Sereth surged forward.
Elian stepped in.
---
The Battle: Elian vs. Sereth
Elian's body exploded into radiant flame, his Ancient form bursting forth—wreathed in golden fire and molten sigils.
The clash was instant.
Sereth's strikes were impossibly fast, blades of air cutting even the molecules around Elian. Each swipe bent the light, tore trees from the roots, and created micro-vacuums.
Elian countered with raw force—his fists erupted into burning novas, breaking apart wind barriers and shattering the earth beneath them.
The two danced violently—air versus flame, elegance versus brute will. Sereth unleashed a screaming vortex, a typhoon with blades hidden inside, and Elian barreled through it, igniting the winds and turning the storm into a blazing cyclone.
He reached her core, delivered a strike powered by a burning pulse that cracked her armored chest. She shrieked, wings flaring open in desperation—but it was too late.
Elian had her.
Fist to her heart.
But he didn't kill her.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But I'm not going to be the reason Lyra cries tonight."
He let her go.
Sereth vanished into the wind, blood trailing behind like falling stars.
---
Back at Arkhelm
The mission was recorded a success. Lyra sat beside Elian, silent.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I hate that you did that," she said stiffly.
"Did what?"
"Spared her. Protected me. Said something sweet."
He chuckled. "You're welcome."
She glared at him. "Stop smiling like that."
"You like it."
"I don't."
"You will."
She flushed—and instantly turned away.
In that small moment, amid war, pain, and betrayal… something bloomed.
She hated it.
But it was real.