The night was colder than the river winds that used to brush against their cheeks when they were younger. The four sat in the hollow shell of the abandoned house, the cracked roof letting in shards of moonlight that cut across their tired faces. No one spoke for a long time. The silence was thick, heavy with the weight of Maka's absence, heavy with all the memories they had unearthed in the garden earlier.
Finally, it was Gable who broke it, his voice rough as though the words had been clawing at his throat.
"Are we just going to keep hiding like rats forever?"
His words seemed to hang in the air, daring the others to challenge him. Xinon shifted, running a hand through his rough hair, smirking despite the tension.
"And what do you suggest, Gable? We four take on the Nordits ourselves?" His tone was mocking at first, but the smirk faltered when he caught the glint in Gable's eyes.
Jim-Yok chuckled low, leaning back against the rotten beam of the house. "Absurd. Completely absurd. Four broken souls against an empire? You're mad."
"Mad or not," Gable shot back, "we can't stay like this. Maka didn't hold us back so we could rot in fear. She wanted us to live—no, to fight. Don't tell me you can't feel it too."
The silence returned, but this time it was restless, like a drumbeat under the skin. Oisla sat still, his gaze fixed on the floorboards. The others' voices swirled around him, but his mind was somewhere else—back in the smoke of his childhood, back in his father's final stand, back in the screams that never left his ears.
Conquer the world.
The thought rose unbidden, and for a moment even he wanted to laugh at himself. But the longer it lingered, the more it began to feel less like madness and more like destiny. Slowly, he raised his head, and the moonlight caught his eyes—eyes that had seen too much, but refused to look away.
"If the Nordits can take everything from us," Oisla said quietly, "then why can't we take it all back—and more?"
Three pairs of eyes locked onto him.
"You're serious," Xinon muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Oisla leaned forward, his voice gaining strength with every word. "We've spent years training, years sharpening ourselves in silence. The Nordits think they've crushed us, that the young are broken. But we are not broken—we're unyielding. If we rise, we won't just reclaim what's ours. We'll take everything. We'll conquer the world."
For a moment, the house was so quiet that even the distant howl of wolves seemed muted. Then Jim-Yok burst into laughter, shaking his head.
"You really are insane."
But his laughter wasn't mocking anymore. It was… proud. Almost relieved.
Xinon slammed his fist into his palm, grinning like a man who had finally found the fire he'd been looking for. "I'll be damned… the boy is right. The Nordits won't know what hit them."
Gable's voice cracked with emotion as he pointed at Oisla. "Don't you see? This is what I've been saying! He's the one who sees the board when the rest of us only see the pieces. He's always been that way—even when we were kids. He's the strategist. The mind. The leader."
Oisla blinked, caught off guard by the raw praise. "I'm not—"
"Yes, you are," Gable cut him off, voice firm. "Who else can we follow? Who else can make sense of the chaos? Oisla, you've carried this burden longer than any of us. It's time you stop running from it."
Jim-Yok pushed himself upright and stepped forward, extending a rough hand. His grin was sharp, but his eyes burned with respect. "Then it's settled. You lead. We fight. And together, we take the damned world."
Xinon slapped his own hand on top of Jim-Yok's. "Count me in."
Gable placed his hand next, his voice trembling but sure. "Always."
Oisla looked at the three hands waiting for his. For years, he had shouldered his grief alone, his pain hidden beneath silence. But now… now he wasn't alone. He placed his hand on top of theirs, and in that instant, something shifted. The air itself seemed to crackle, charged with a vow that no fire could burn away.
They shook hands as one.
A pact born of ashes, sealed under the gaze of the moon.
When they finally broke apart, Oisla's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Then let's bury the ghosts of this house. We don't need it anymore."
Minutes later, they stood outside, torches in hand. The old, creaking house that had once sheltered them loomed silently, a skeleton of their past. They lit the torches and pressed the flames against the dry wood.
The fire caught quickly, devouring the walls with hungry crackles. The glow painted their faces gold and crimson, shadows dancing across their determined eyes.
The abandoned house collapsed into fire, and with it, the last fragments of who they used to be.
From the flames, four figures walked into the night, their vow burning hotter than the inferno behind them.