Amidst the battle raging in the forest, elsewhere in Bell Tine—
Inside a small potion store, glass bottles rattled as a green-haired woman frantically stuffed vials into a leather satchel. Her hands trembled, eyes darting to the shelves of strange powders and liquids. Every trace of her operation needed to be gone before the authorities caught wind.
Then—ding!
The bell above the shop door rang.
"We're closed at the moment," she said sharply without turning. Her voice cracked slightly, betraying her nerves.
But the footsteps did not stop. They were calm, unhurried.
When she finally looked up, her heart lurched.
A man stood in the doorway wearing a dark blue uniform embroidered with the crest of Zheno Academy of Order. His half-black, half-white hair fell lazily over his face, and his pale complexion made the faint pink glow of his eyes seem even more haunting. He looked half-asleep, yet unnervingly composed.
Her breath caught in her throat. That uniform… she knew it well.
Before she could lift her wand to cast, his lips parted.
"Sleep."
The single command rang with quiet authority. The woman collapsed instantly, her body crumpling to the wooden floor.
The man exhaled as if even that was too much effort. Wenard Rekalante, second year, ZAO division, was here under Kaizer's orders. His task was simple: secure the drug samples.
He glanced over the fallen woman, sighed, then walked deeper into the shop. But his steps slowed when the air suddenly shifted.
His head turned. Through the front door, his senses stretched outward—and then he felt it.
Far away. Not here. Beyond the horizon, near the Forsaken Forest.
The sky rippled black. A surge of dark magic pulsed so violently that, for a heartbeat, daylight itself dimmed across Bell Tine. Wenard's eyes narrowed, the pink glow in his pupils flickering unnaturally.
A chill ran down his spine.
But then—layered atop that suffocating darkness—another energy erupted. Heavy. Burning. A pressure that pressed against his ribs even at this distance.
Two forces. Both monstrous.
His lips parted slightly. Even through his lazy haze, he shivered.
"I wish," he muttered, voice low, "I'd never have to face something like that…"
Still, against his better judgment, he stepped toward the door—drawn like a moth toward the impossible clash in the distance.
---
Back in the Forsaken Forest.
Klyden staggered forward, blood dripping into his eyebrow and stinging his eye, but he was grinning like a maniac.
"The longer this drags on, the more we suffer," Ashborne panted beside him, twin blades lowered.
Ahead, Draven looked unfazed. His grip on the spear was steady, stance strong, as though he could continue this dance a thousand more times. The two boys, however, looked ready to collapse.
"Do you have a plan?" Ashborne asked between heavy breaths.
Klyden's face tightened into seriousness… then broke into a cheeky grin. "Nope, hehe."
Ashborne shot him a deadpan look and exhaled through his nose.
From behind, a voice cut in dryly. "Do not bother asking him. All he knows is charge forward without thinking."
Keiya emerged from the shadows, sweat streaking her face, strands of hair stuck to her temple. Her clothes were torn, dirt-stained, but her eyes were sharp.
"Oh, Keiya!" Klyden beamed, one eye squinting shut as blood still trickled down his face.
She glared at him. His smile melted into a comical pout, like a scolded puppy.
"I can give the two of you an opening," Ashborne muttered, raising his blades.
"That'll be nice! I won't waste it!" Klyden answered without hesitation.
Ashborne lunged first, steel meeting steel as Draven blocked, unmoved. But then Ashborne's blades crossed, and the shadows themselves rose like living tendrils.
Veil of Northern. (Living Darkness).
Darkness blanketed the forest. Sight fractured, sound bent in strange echoes, even the sensation of movement dulled—as though the air itself dragged at Draven's limbs. Only Ashborne moved freely, eyes glowing faintly within the pitch.
Draven's eyes widened. For the first time, his guard slipped. He snarled, spear spinning defensively as his senses faltered.
"NOW!" Ashborne's voice thundered through the dark.
Keiya's hands blurred through a series of intricate sigils, each movement weaving threads of power. She clasped her palms together and slammed them downward.
"Seria!"
Bindings of pure force wrapped Draven like invisible chains. The ground itself cracked beneath the weight of the spell. He strained, growling, muscles bulging, but the bind held.
Not wasting a second, Keiya snapped her hands apart. A fireball bloomed above, searing the black veil with crimson light before plummeting down.
BOOM!
The explosion shook the forest, fire rolling outward in a storm. Trees splintered, bark charred, and the earth cratered beneath Draven's feet.
When the flames parted, Draven still stood—staggering, skin burned, but alive.
The dark aura around him flared violently, so heavy it shattered Ashborne's veil.
Keiya froze, her breath hitching sharp in her throat. "Kly—"
Before she could finish, heat rolled through the forest like a tidal wave. The very air thickened, heavy and metallic, every breath like inhaling molten iron. Pressure sank against the earth, dragging branches low, splitting soil in jagged veins.
And then—Klyden moved.
His hair, usually a dull gold, ignited as if kissed by a sun not of this world. Strands flared upward in shimmering arcs, molten threads that burned yet never consumed. His eyes, clenched in focus, snapped open—revealing not pupils, not irises, but twin suns staring out, their radiance unfiltered, blinding, ancient.
He exhaled. Slowly. Purposefully.
The breath itself shimmered like steam, carrying the weight of a star's heart.
His sword rose, steel no longer simple steel but a mirror of his awakening—each edge glowing molten white, etched in flares that licked outward and burned patterns in the ground just by existing.
Draven's instincts screamed. Every nerve in his body rebelled, thrashing with primal warning. His muscles twitched uncontrollably as if his very being knew—this was no mere opponent. This was a celestial executioner. Desperately, he yanked his spear up into a guard, shadows curling tight around him like armor.
Then Klyden spoke, voice a low, resonant thunder:
"Solar Titan."
Light exploded.
It wasn't just light—it was creation itself tearing into the world. Solar winds burst from Klyden's skin in roaring waves, wrapping him in blazing armor, a second body wrought from flame and radiance. Plates of golden fire fused over his shoulders, chest, and limbs, glowing brighter than any forge. Every step he took crushed the ground into glass, the soil hissing, trees catching fire simply from the aura radiating outward.
He was no longer a man. He was a walking sun.
When he swung—time staggered. The air folded, warped, screamed. Heat lashed outward, warping even the shadows around Draven into broken shapes. The forest blazed with color, every leaf turning to fire, every stone splitting.
Their weapons collided.
And the world drowned in white.
Not mere brightness, but the obliteration of darkness itself. Sight, shadow, thought—erased in one moment of blinding celestial brilliance.
The ground heaved like a wounded beast. Rings of searing light tore outward from the impact, flattening trees for miles. The earth split in jagged scars, rivers boiled where the waves reached, and the horizon itself seemed to bend under the weight of colliding absolutes.
Even Keiya—braced, heart steel—shielded her eyes with trembling arms. Her lungs stole themselves still, her chest frozen as if even breath dared not enter such holy violence.
Ashborne alone looked skyward, his crimson gaze sharp with dread. For beyond this godlike clash, further still, another presence stirred—dark, immense, suffocating. Black energy spiraled above the distant canopy, its pull heavy enough to churn the gut. Whatever that was—it was no extension of Draven. Something older, hungrier, was waking within the Forsaken Forest.
Back on the ground, light and dark still warred, annihilating everything between them. Shadows screamed against flame, night clawed against dawn. Trees collapsed, their trunks exploding into ash. Wildlife fled in silent terror.
And then—
Silence.
The light died in a final ripple, leaving the battlefield scarred and broken.
Klyden's arm dangled bloodied, skin torn raw beneath what armor still clung. His sword wavered in his grip, its molten glow fading but not yet extinguished. His chest rose and fell ragged, steam curling with every breath.
Across from him, Draven was still standing.
Smoke curled off his body, his clothes half-burnt, the shadows that cloaked him torn to tatters. And yet—he endured.
A pause. The forest held its breath. No one moved.
No one dared.
Then Draven's spear slipped. His body toppled backward, shaking the ground as he crashed.
Klyden exhaled, chest heaving. Slowly, he lowered his sword. His golden glow dimmed back to soft blue. His lips curved into a crooked, tired grin.
Then, with a groan, he plopped down on his backside. "Owww…" he muttered, before laying flat on the charred dirt.
Keiya rushed to him, her face unreadable, but her steps quick. His half-lidded gaze caught her, and his grin widened mischievously.
With his bloody hand, he raised two fingers in a peace sign. "We won."
Her lips pressed together. She sank down beside him, exhaustion catching up.
Ashborne leaned against a tree, sliding down its trunk with a sigh. For the first time in hours, they all allowed themselves to breathe.
Footsteps echoed from the cave.
"Am I too late?" Liora's voice piped up, too casual for the battlefield she was walking into. Her eyes went wide at the wreckage—trees bent and broken, earth split like shattered glass, the air still shimmering from heat.
Flat on the ground, Klyden lifted one arm lazily, flopping it back down like a dead fish. "Yep. Completely useless. Might as well turn back, Liora. Zero contribution."
Liora blinked, then snorted. "Wow. You really do know how to redecorate. What is this? Abstract apocalypse chic?"
Klyden wheezed a laugh without lifting his head. "You like it? Took me hours. Planning to submit it to the gods as modern art."
She put her hands on her hips, surveying the battlefield. "Mhm. Ten out of ten. Very… dramatic. I especially love the part where you're the rug. Really ties the whole scene together."
That finally made Klyden chuckle, shoulders shaking against the dirt. "Better a rug than the lamp. You'd look terrible as home décor."
"Oh please," Liora shot back, crouching low just to smirk at him eye-level. "I'd make an amazing centerpiece. Sparkles, flowers, the works. Meanwhile, you're more like—" she tapped his shoulder with her finger, "—a very tired doormat."
Ashborne, sitting off to the side, pinched the bridge of his nose. Keiya blinked between the two, stunned that they were cracking jokes over smoldering craters.
Klyden lifted one finger weakly, pointing at the split earth behind him. "Correction: legendary doormat. Not everyone can carve a canyon with their face."
Liora burst out laughing, almost doubling over. "Okay—okay, fine. You win that one."
Klyden grinned faintly from where he lay. "Of course I do. Even flat on my back, I'm undefeated."
Then a rustle behind them.
Reiyell emerged, Wads floating unconscious in a cocoon of water. His body lowered gently to the ground beside Klyden, wounds already healed by Reiyell's magic.
"Damn," Klyden muttered, tilting his head without moving the rest of his body. "He's worse than I am."
Reiyell set Wads down carefully. Keiya dug into her pouch, pulled out a vial, and without warning shoved it into Klyden's mouth.
He gagged immediately, coughing violently. "—GACKH—W-WHAT THE HELL, KEIYA?!" He rolled onto his side, pounding his chest as if he'd been poisoned instead of healed.
Keiya only crossed her arms, expression flat.
Liora burst into laughter again, covering her mouth. Reiyell chuckled softly. Even Ashborne, sipping his own potion, cracked a tired smile.
For a brief moment, despite their bruises and burns, relief washed over them.
The mission was done. They had survived.
Far away, hidden in the shadows, Wenard observed quietly. His pink eyes lingered on the group before he exhaled and stepped back.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished—teleporting back to the potion shop.
Reappearing among rows of bottles and shattered glass, he muttered lazily to himself as he began searching the shelves.
"Not bad…"