The once-pristine plaza of Aetherreach's capital now lay in fractured ruin. The great marble steps leading to the Council Hall were split down the middle, scorched with streaks of gold, crimson, and black. The air still smelled faintly of ozone and scorched stone, the lingering scent of the Demon God's demise.
Medics moved quickly among the Dragoons and Commanders, patching wounds, reattaching fractured plating, and replacing drained resonating crystal cores. Elemental wards flickered in the background, sealing off unstable portions of the city while water mages cleared the dust from the air.
Alter stood quietly at the edge of the chaos, watching as the healers tended to the worst cases. Many had minor injuries, but the coordinated defense had saved lives—something not often said after facing a Demon God. Selene was there beside him, her hand lightly resting against his arm, silent but grounding.
"Capital's safe," Captain Draven reported, stepping forward with a tired salute. "City's wards are fully operational again. The people have begun emerging from the shelters."
"Good," Alter replied. His gaze drifted upward to the still-churning clouds. "But we can't stay here long. If this one descended, there are more on the way."
A short time later, the surviving leadership convened in the intact west chamber of the Council Hall. The long table bore a map of Teravane, dotted with crimson markers spreading like an infection from the western coast inland.
"We have confirmation of multiple rift signatures here, here, and here," Veyna said, pointing to three marked strongholds. "If left unchecked, they'll form a supply line for reinforcements."
Takayoshi leaned over the table, one hand braced on the wood. "The eastern front remains stable, but Seraveth's northern border is seeing increased pressure. Soryn's division has pushed them back for now, but it's temporary."
"The next logical move," Prince Kaelen said, tapping the largest crimson marker in the northern plains, "is to strike here—Vorrath Keep. Intelligence reports it's being used as a staging ground for both demon forces and corrupted beasts. If we take it, the western invasion collapses."
Murmurs rippled through the room. All eyes shifted to Alter.
"I'll take point," Alter said simply.
Selene frowned. "Again?"
"They'll send another high-tier Demon God to defend it. That's my responsibility," he answered, his tone calm but firm. "The Dragoons and Commanders will move with me. Two divisions, coordinated strikes. We keep moving before they can regroup."
"And the other two fronts?" Kaelen asked.
Takayoshi spoke first. "I'll maintain the Teravane interior lines until Vorrath falls. Once that front is secure, we'll push toward the Rift Complex in the north."
Soryn's voice echoed faintly through the telepathic channel. Seraveth can hold for now. We'll keep pressure on their southern breach.
The decision was made. Vorrath Keep was the next target.
As the meeting dispersed, Selene lingered by Alter's side. Her fingers brushed his as they walked. "You can't keep doing this without rest," she murmured.
"I'll rest when this is finished," he replied softly. Then, after a pause, added with a faint smile, "Besides… you'll be there."
Her lips curved into a quiet smile, though her eyes still held worry.
Outside, the war drums began to sound again—not in desperation this time, but with the steady, deliberate rhythm of an army preparing to advance.
The Seraveth encampment lay swaddled in a blanket of night, the air sharp with the faint tang of steel and cold earth. Torches guttered along the perimeter, their orange halos clawing at the mist that rolled in lazy coils between rows of tents. Every flicker of light distorted the shadows, making the stillness feel alive, as if something in the dark watched and waited.
The only sounds were the muted shuffle of boots on packed dirt and the occasional creak of leather straps as sentries shifted their weight. Even the wind had gone still, smothering the usual rustle of the surrounding trees. It was the kind of silence that felt less like peace and more like the breath held before a killing blow.
Soryn's boots crunched softly over the frost-bitten ground as he completed another patrol circuit, his hand resting against the hilt of his sword. The stillness had stretched too long for his liking. His gaze swept the mist-veiled treeline one last time before he turned toward the central watchpost.
Takayoshi emerged from the command tent just then, his silver hair catching a glint of torchlight. His expression was a quiet warning. "You feel it too."
Soryn nodded. "Something's here."
That was when the first sound came—low, deep, and wrong. Not the call of any animal, nor the groan of settling trees. It was a resonance, a hum that crawled along the skin like the echo of a heartbeat far too large to belong to anything mortal.
The ground beneath their feet trembled once. Not a quake. A footstep.
Through the fog, a shape began to emerge—tall, armored, its frame broad enough to eclipse two men standing shoulder to shoulder. The armor looked as if it had been carved from the bones of extinct gods, layered in plates of blackened obsidian that reflected no light.
At its sides, gripped in clawed gauntlets, were two swords—each nearly the height of a man, their blades inscribed with molten glyphs that pulsed like veins of cooling lava. Wisps of black vapor bled from the glyphs, trailing behind the figure like chains made of smoke.
It didn't roar. It didn't taunt. It simply walked forward, the ground cracking under its deliberate steps, each one ringing like a distant war drum.
Takayoshi's voice cut across the camp. "Positions!"
The 150-strong Seraveth division stirred at once, boots pounding the frozen dirt as soldiers scrambled into formation. Shields locked, weapons raised, the front ranks braced themselves.
The figure didn't slow.
And then it blurred—disappearing from where it stood and reappearing inside the front lines with a speed that bent the air around it. Three soldiers fell before they even registered the swing of its blades, their armor split cleanly from shoulder to hip.
The night exploded into chaos.
Metal screamed against metal as the demon's twin swords carved arcs of black fire through the mist, each swing trailing a wake that tore the air itself. Sparks burst like dying stars when Takayoshi's blade intercepted one strike, the impact sending a ripple through the ground that knocked nearby soldiers off their feet.
Soryn was already moving—boots hammering the earth in a dead sprint, his spear spinning into a guard position. The moment he reached the demon's flank, he thrust low, the weapon's tip flaring with compressed wind.
CLANG!
The spear met a blade mid-thrust. The demon god didn't so much block as redirect, tilting its sword just enough to slide the strike away before reversing into a counter. The second blade came for Soryn's head in a downward cleave.
A snap-step back saved him—barely. The edge missed by a breath, carving a trench into the dirt where he'd been standing.
Takayoshi pressed in from the opposite side, his movements a blur of silver steel and afterimages. Every strike he landed rang against armor that felt less like metal and more like the shell of some immortal beast. The demon god absorbed the blows with a predator's patience, countering in sudden bursts that could cleave through a shield wall in a single sweep.
"Fall back—tighten the line!" Takayoshi shouted, parrying a strike that jarred his entire arm.
But the demon didn't allow retreats. It moved like a collapsing storm, its swords whirling in a relentless pattern that blended raw strength with unnerving precision. Every step it took forced the soldiers to give ground, their formation bending inward as the demon carved through them in controlled, surgical movements.
Soryn slid low under one sweeping slash, rolling to his feet behind the demon's guard. His spear ignited with a spiral of wind and lightning and drove forward toward the demon's spine.
SHUNK!
The point struck true—but instead of piercing through, the blade sank an inch and stopped cold. A jolt of backlash tore through Soryn's arms as if the demon's very flesh rejected the strike. The creature twisted with inhuman speed, its off-hand blade already swinging for Soryn's neck.
That was when the air around them split.
A single golden marker flared into existence on the demon's chest. In the next instant—
FLASH.
Alter was there.
The teleportation marker didn't just flare—it erupted.
A vertical column of molten gold split the night wide open, the sudden radiance swallowing the moonlight and burning the shadows clean from the earth. Heat blasted outward in concentric rings, bending the grass flat and forcing soldiers to shield their eyes.
When the light fractured, Alter stepped through.
Starsever hung loosely in his grip, but its blade was already alive—runic veins igniting in sequence, each one pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The scorched air clung to him like a second aura, golden vapor curling around the silver-blue plates of his draconic armor. His eyes locked on the towering demon god ahead—its twin swords still wet with the steam of fresh kills.
Takayoshi and Soryn felt the shift in the air immediately. This was no rescue—they were about to witness a sovereign-level execution.
"Move," Alter said, voice calm but iron-edged.
They obeyed without a word, vanishing from his flanks just as Alter's form blurred.
The first collision was a thunderclap.Starsever met the demon's left-hand blade with such force the metal screamed, white sparks cascading in all directions like molten rain. The second blade swept upward in the same breath—Alter caught it on the guard, twisting, then shoved forward to break the lock.
He opened with First Style – Sky Piercer: Celestial Thrust, the golden line of his strike compressing the air into a needlepoint of destruction. The thrust should have driven straight through any defense—but the demon pivoted, one sword catching the thrust at its edge while the other pushed the momentum aside, forcing Alter to overextend.
Alter recovered mid-step, sigils flaring along Starsever's length as he transitioned into Second Style – Heaven's Spiral Pulse. He spun the blade in a wide, fluid arc, compressing wind and lightning into a resonant vortex that threatened to shear the ground apart. The demon met it by planting both swords in the dirt, absorbing the pulse through its blades into the earth beneath—using the terrain as a pressure sink. The vortex shredded the soil but never touched the demon's body.
Without pause, Alter's stance shifted low, boots grinding into the fractured ground as he invoked Third Style – Thunderclap: Tempest Strike. A lightning surge raced along Starsever's edge, detonating into a shockwave at the moment of contact. The blast rocked the entire clearing, but the demon god flowed with the wave—its form blurring like an afterimage, sliding past the concussive core to reappear at Alter's flank.
It struck back in a whiplash of black steel, the twin blades crossing in an X-shaped cut that would have split him in two—Alter ducked just in time, the edges grazing the horns of his helmet and showering sparks into the night.
He retaliated instantly, unleashing Fourth Style – Starfall Sword Style. His afterimages flickered across the field, each one striking in perfect unison from different angles. To an untrained eye, it was a storm of golden arcs converging from all directions—but the demon's perception was sharper than steel. It spun both swords in a defensive weave, intercepting every arc with precision so inhuman it felt choreographed. Sparks became a constant backdrop, the clang of metal a relentless heartbeat.
Alter drew in a long breath, sigils crawling from his wrists up the length of his arms as he transitioned into Fifth Style – Heaven's Spiral Pulse again, but with an altered tempo—frequency shifting mid-spin to destabilize the demon's guard. This time, the vortex compressed so tightly that the sound warped into a low, humming growl.
The demon grinned—and instead of blocking, it let go of one blade entirely, stepping into the spin. Its free hand slammed into Alter's chestplate, sending him sliding backward across the ground. Starsever's arc cut nothing but air.
The tempo of the fight shifted.
The demon launched forward now, both swords in a cascading series of vertical and horizontal sweeps designed to dismantle Alter's rhythm. Every block from Alter's side rang like an anvil strike, each deflection sending hot vibrations into his forearms.
He countered with Sixth Style – Dimensional Slash: Omni Wave, the hidden lattice of parallel space-tearing arcs extending in a cone before him. The attack bent the stars overhead—but the demon crossed its blades and twisted reality at the same moment, creating a warped sheath of null-space that swallowed the incoming slashes. When the shield dissipated, the demon stepped through it, completely unharmed.
They circled each other. The ground between them was gone—only a blackened trench of shattered rock remained, heat waves distorting the air above it.
Takayoshi's knuckles tightened around his weapon. "It's reading every form… countering in real time."
Soryn's jaw set. "Then Alter will have to force it out of its rhythm. And when he does…"
The golden flare in Alter's eyes deepened. His grip on Starsever shifted again.
The clash had reached a fever pitch. Every strike between Alter and the twin-bladed Demon God tore gouges in the night-lit ground, shockwaves booming across the encampment like distant thunder. Soryn and Takayoshi held the perimeter, their troops pushing the last remnants of demonspawn away to give the two titans room to fight.
Alter's breathing was steady, eyes fixed on the jagged movements of his opponent. This Demon God wasn't just strong—it read swordplay like an open book, countering every Divine Heavenly Sword Style he had thrown at it so far.
Then, a glint of decision crossed his eyes.He shifted his footing, lowering Starsever slightly, golden sigils spiraling down his arms.
"Life Sprinkler."
Four golden energy phantoms bloomed into existence—three flanking, one behind—rushing forward with perfect mirrored precision. Steel rang out from every direction, forcing the Demon God into a compressed defensive stance. Its twin swords spun in complex arcs, barely intercepting each coordinated blow.
Alter's clones split, doubling—tripling—until the battlefield was a storm of gold. Thirty-six sovereign blades rained down, each cutting with the precision of the original. The Demon God's footing faltered.
Alter's voice cut through the sounds of bombardment."Starfall Sword Style."
In an instant, the swarm of clones became a rotating celestial wheel, each one streaking in high-speed slashes that came from impossible angles. The flurry of arcs looked like meteors falling in reverse, spiraling toward their target. The Demon God's guard cracked, sparks and black ichor scattering into the air.
There.
Alter disengaged, aura condensing into a single point at the tip of Starsever. His stance sharpened for the killing thrust.
And then—impact.
The moment Starsever's blade tore through the Demon God's guard and struck its chest, an unseen pulse erupted outward. The force didn't just stop his strike—it reversed it.
Pain slammed into Alter's core like a sledgehammer. Every ounce of force he had poured into Life Sprinkler and Starfall came rushing back into his own body, crushing muscle, tearing at bone, and ripping at his veins from within. His knees buckled, breath shattering in his chest.
The Demon God's jagged mouth curled into a grin, its voice like black steel grinding against stone."All you do to me… returns to you."
Blood sprayed from Alter's lips as he staggered, gripping Starsever just to remain upright. The world swam at the edges of his vision.
"Alter!" Takayoshi's voice roared from the flank.
But the Demon God was already moving, its twin blades cutting arcs toward his throat.
Soryn and Takayoshi didn't hesitate—one charged in from the left, the other from the right, their weapons sparking as they intercepted both strikes at once.
"Go!" Soryn barked, forcing the Demon God back a step. "Get clear—now!"
Alter grimaced but obeyed, pulling back with a blur of golden light, leaving the two to hold the line as he fought to steady his ragged breathing. The reflected damage still burned through his chest and arms. He knew now—this wouldn't be beaten by strength alone.
And the Demon God knew it too.
The world around him was a haze of ringing metal and warped air. Alter staggered back, boots skidding across fractured stone, the taste of copper flooding his mouth. His vision doubled—Takayoshi's form flickered in and out, Soryn's body collapsed nearby, their stillness cutting deeper than any wound.
The Demon God stood in the center of the shattered clearing, twin swords dripping with the light it had stolen. Its stance was loose, almost mocking, the edges of its form rippling like molten glass. The reflected damage from Life Sprinkler → Starfall had hit him harder than any enemy ever had. His ribs screamed, his lungs burned, and every heartbeat felt like fire trying to claw its way out of his chest.
And yet—he straightened. Slowly. Deliberately.
The sigils along his forearms flared, not in the clean golden hue of pristine power, but in the molten red-gold of a forge pushed past its limits. His mind sharpened past the pain. He could already see it—the rhythm of the Demon God's reflection field wasn't constant. It pulsed. There was a delay—half a breath—between the moment it absorbed and the moment it redirected.
A gap just wide enough for him to kill it.
He knelt beside Takayoshi's body first, placing his palm over the still heart. The runes of the Veil of Origin on his arm ignited in silver-blue light. Time distorted—the world darkened at the edges—and in a single pull of will, the Commander's chest rose again with a choking gasp.
Soryn was next. Alter's voice was a low command as he pressed his palm to the still form."Not yet. You're not done."
A breath later, Soryn's eyes snapped open, his lungs pulling in air like a drowning man breaching the surface. Both men looked at him, wordless, shaken—and then they saw the expression in his eyes. The plan didn't need words.
The Demon God tilted its head, sensing the surge of life. The air shivered as it took a step forward, twin blades glinting in warped moonlight.
"Hit it hard," Alter said, his voice calm despite the blood still tracing his jaw. "Don't break the rhythm until I say."
Takayoshi moved first, a sweeping cut from his glaive forcing the Demon God's left blade high. Soryn darted in low from the right, his spear ringing against the other sword. They moved in perfect sync, driving the Demon God to parry, block, and counter in a constant, overlapping exchange.
Alter circled, keeping just outside the radius of the reflection field, watching the way its aura pulsed like a heartbeat. The moment it flared—he struck.
His blade blurred in a Sky Piercer: Zero Distance thrust, not into its body, but through the ground at its feet. The shockwave rippled upward, forcing it off-balance at the precise instant its reflection pulse reset.
"Now!"
Takayoshi and Soryn struck together, their weapons embedding deep. The reflection field flared—too late—catching the aftershocks, not the strikes themselves.
Alter was already above it, golden aura exploding outward. Starsever came down in a single, perfect arc.
The reflection caught part of it—sent it screaming back toward him——but he met it mid-air, countering his own rebounding strike with a second blade slash, shattering the reflected energy before it reached him.
The Demon God's scream rattled the broken stones. Its reflection barrier shattered like glass.
Alter's eyes narrowed."No more mirrors."
With a roar that rolled like thunder through the broken hills, he drove Sky Piercer: Celestial Thrust straight through its core. The world snapped white, reality folding in on itself as the Demon God's body detonated into raw light and dissolved into the night.
When the brilliance faded, only three figures remained standing, their weapons still humming with aftershock.
Alter let out a slow breath, lowering his blade. "That's two you owe me," he said to Takayoshi and Soryn, half a smile breaking the steel in his tone.
They didn't answer at first. They just looked at him—aware of exactly how close they'd come to being nothing but memory.
The battlefield was still smoking when the last fragments of the Demon God's body dissolved into the night air. The metallic tang of its death hung heavy, mixing with the scorched scent of overcharged mana.
For a while, none of them spoke.
Takayoshi leaned on the haft of his glaive, his breathing slow but deep, his eyes fixed on the spot where the enemy had vanished—as if expecting it to reform. Soryn had his helmet off, one hand pressed over his ribs, his expression unreadable but tense. Both of them looked like men who had stepped too close to an abyss and felt it stare back.
Alter sheathed Starsever with a slow, deliberate motion. The edge of his armor was scorched black from reflected force, small cracks in the plating still glowing faintly from the overdraw. His posture was steady, but his breathing betrayed how close he'd come to collapse.
"You two should've stayed down," he said finally, his voice low—not scolding, but weighted with truth.
Takayoshi gave a small, humorless chuckle. "You've taught me better than that."
Soryn's mouth tightened, but his tone was even. "If we'd stayed down, you'd be dead."
They left it there. No victory speeches, no drawn-out gratitude. Just a quiet acknowledgment that the line between survival and loss had been razor-thin.
Alter finally stepped closer, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm glad I didn't lose you," he said, and this time his voice softened—not the commanding timbre of the Draconian Prime, but the tone of a man speaking to brothers-in-arms.
Takayoshi nodded once. Soryn met his eyes, held them, then looked away.
A faint wind moved across the ruined clearing, carrying with it the muffled sounds of their distant troops—still holding position, still waiting. Somewhere beyond that, the stars burned in cold silence, their light unbroken by the violence that had just played out beneath them.
"Let's go," Alter said at last. "They'll be waiting for us."
They moved together, their footsteps slow but in sync, the three of them walking side by side through the fractured terrain. Behind them, the battlefield lay quiet—its silence not of peace, but of something that had been ended before it could grow worse.
They didn't speak again until the lights of the forward camp came into view. By then, the tension between them had settled into a quiet, unspoken bond—the kind that was forged not in victory celebrations, but in the shared knowledge of how close they had all come to disappearing into the dark.
The battlefield was still smoking when the last fragments of the Demon God's body dissolved into the night air. The metallic tang of its death hung heavy, mixing with the scorched scent of overcharged mana.
For a while, none of them spoke.
Takayoshi leaned on the haft of his glaive, his breathing slow but deep, his eyes fixed on the spot where the enemy had vanished—as if expecting it to reform. Soryn had his helmet off, one hand pressed over his ribs, his expression unreadable but tense. Both of them looked like men who had stepped too close to an abyss and felt it stare back.
Alter sheathed Starsever with a slow, deliberate motion. The edge of his armor was scorched black from reflected force, small cracks in the plating still glowing faintly from the overdraw. His posture was steady, but his breathing betrayed how close he'd come to collapse.
"You two should've stayed down," he said finally, his voice low—not scolding, but weighted with truth.
Takayoshi gave a small, humorless chuckle. "You've taught me better than that."
Soryn's mouth tightened, but his tone was even. "If we'd stayed down, you'd be dead."
They left it there. No victory speeches, no drawn-out gratitude. Just a quiet acknowledgment that the line between survival and loss had been razor-thin.
Alter finally stepped closer, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm glad I didn't lose you," he said, and this time his voice softened—not the commanding timbre of the Draconian Prime, but the tone of a man speaking to brothers-in-arms.
Takayoshi nodded once. Soryn met his eyes, held them, then looked away.
A faint wind moved across the ruined clearing, carrying with it the muffled sounds of their distant troops—still holding position, still waiting. Somewhere beyond that, the stars burned in cold silence, their light unbroken by the violence that had just played out beneath them.
"Let's go," Alter said at last. "They'll be waiting for us."
They moved together, their footsteps slow but in sync, the three of them walking side by side through the fractured terrain. Behind them, the battlefield lay quiet—its silence not of peace, but of something that had been ended before it could grow worse.
The march back was silent except for the crunch of boots and the low hiss of mana embers fading from the shattered ground. The air grew warmer as the glow of the forward encampment bled into view—rows of tents, guarded barricades, and the faint silhouette of watchtowers catching the moonlight.
The moment they stepped inside the perimeter, heads turned. Whispers rippled through the Dragoons and allied troops alike—some in disbelief that the three had returned, others simply relieved. Commanders from the other fronts began to converge, their faces shifting from cautious concern to visible relief.
Vellmar was first to reach them, his armor still marked with ash from his own battles. "You look like you fought the continent," he muttered, though the edge in his voice couldn't hide the respect.
"Just one Demon God," Alter replied, as if that explained everything.
The officers of both divisions gathered in the central command tent, maps and mana-scribed battle reports already laid out. As Alter, Takayoshi, and Soryn stepped inside, the room shifted—tension melting into a collective readiness.
All across the camp, the war machine was realigning. Wounded were tended. Supplies were tallied. Scouts slipped in and out with fresh intelligence. The three leaders took their place at the head of the table, the glow of the war maps reflecting in their eyes.
The war had not stopped for them. And now, reunited, every division was ready to push forward.
Under the shadow of Aetherreach's outer walls, the Teravane-side Dragoons lay scattered across the recovery field, their armor stacked in neat rows beside them, weapons sheathed but always within reach.
The night air was heavy with the smell of spent magic and scorched stone, a reminder that even victory left scars on the land. The fires of the battlefield had been extinguished hours ago, but the embers still glowed faintly in their minds.
Some Dragoons slept where they sat, helmets tilted forward, the rhythmic rise and fall of their chests almost hypnotic. Others stared at the darkened horizon, hands idly running along weapon grips as though reassuring themselves the fight was over—for now.
Talia Fenreith sat cross-legged on the ground, her wild hair tangled, one knee drawn up as she traced small runes into the dirt with the tip of her dagger. Beside her, Rhed Velgroth leaned back on his hands, gazing upward. "You ever notice," he said, voice low, "how the stars always look cleaner after a battle? Like the world tries to pretend nothing happened."
She smirked faintly. "Or maybe we just see them better when we're not swinging at something."
Not far away, Selin Varrow cleaned her blade in slow, precise motions, every movement a ritual. Across from her, Vellmar Dreadmoor sat like an unmoving wall, both hands resting on his knees. He wasn't speaking, but his eyes never stopped scanning the perimeter, as if daring the night to send another threat.
The newest recruits, those who had survived their first real Demon God encounter, huddled in quiet clusters. They whispered—not about tactics, but about moments. How the air tasted metallic when the barrier fell. How their pulse drowned out the clash of steel. How close they'd been to never seeing another dawn.
Even in exhaustion, there was no weakness here. Only the steady pulse of readiness, the silent bond of warriors who had stood together in the worst the enemy could throw.
On the far edge of the camp, a single Dragoon stood alone, looking toward the direction of the Seraveth front. His armor caught the moonlight, and his fingers brushed the resonating crystal embedded at his collar. Somewhere out there, the others were fighting battles of their own.
And when the next march came, they'd fight together again.
The Teravane night was still, the war camp's fires burning low as the embers painted the rows of tents in a warm orange glow. Beyond the perimeter, the land was quiet—eerily so, given the chaos that had consumed it only days before. Inside, the Dragoons rested, but the air was heavy with the weight of what they had faced and what was yet to come.
Some of the couples had drifted off together to quiet corners of the camp, finding moments of calm before the next march. Rhed sat cross-legged on a blanket, his hand wrapped around Talia's. She leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder, the two speaking in hushed tones that only they could hear. From the flicker of her smile and the rare stillness in his normally restless frame, it was clear they were drawing strength from simply being near each other.
Not far away, Vaelen and Elira sat by one of the smaller campfires. Elira's eyes followed the sparks as they floated into the night sky, her expression thoughtful. Vaelen reached over, fingers brushing hers until she looked at him. No words passed between them—just a quiet understanding, their clasped hands saying more than any speech could.
Selin leaned back against Erndor, her knees drawn close, the two sitting beneath a half-collapsed awning they'd claimed for shelter. Erndor's arm draped protectively over her, his gaze scanning the camp even as she traced small patterns over his gauntlet. They had said little since the battle, but the closeness between them was undeniable—born not of fragile comfort, but of shared survival.
Vellmar and Lucina were positioned a little apart from the others, her hands busily working over the plating on his shoulder guard. He let her fuss, even though his armor was already in perfect shape. "If you're going to march tomorrow, you're going to do it right," she muttered, but the fondness in her voice undercut her sternness. He just smiled quietly, letting her finish.
Caelum and Sorei were perhaps the most openly affectionate of the group tonight, their fingers intertwined as they walked the edge of the camp together. Every so often, she would glance up at him, a spark of humor in her eyes, and he would lean down just enough to murmur something back—words that made her laugh despite the lingering tension.
In the distance, Veyna and Jaris sat on a crate near the supply tent. She leaned back against him, his arms loosely around her waist. The steady rise and fall of her breathing against him made it clear she was close to falling asleep, but his eyes stayed open, watching over her and the camp in equal measure.
All around them, the camp carried the sound of armor shifting, tents settling in the wind, and the low murmur of tired voices. These quiet moments were fragile, fleeting. But in them, the Dragoons found something worth carrying into the next battle—not just resolve, but connection.
The Teravane night faded into a pale dawn, the first streaks of sunlight brushing across the horizon and casting long shadows over the camp. The warmth of the previous evening's moments lingered, but it was soon replaced by the disciplined hum of preparation.
The Dragoons emerged from their tents in staggered waves, armor plates locking into place with metallic snaps, leather straps tightened, weapons sheathed with deliberate care. Steam rose from the kettles near the supply wagons, carrying the scent of broth and fresh bread through the air—an unspoken encouragement for the day ahead.
Rhed was up first among his squad, already checking the fit of Talia's greaves as she protested lightly, saying she could manage herself. He only smirked and tightened the last strap. "Not sending you into the march with loose gear," he muttered.
Vaelen and Elira walked side by side toward the main rally point, their expressions sharper now, the reflective quiet of last night replaced by readiness. She adjusted the length of her cloak while he spoke softly, running over tactics they might need before the first engagement.
Selin and Erndor moved as a unit, speaking little, but every motion between them was synchronized—packing supplies, checking blades, scanning the surroundings. They didn't need to discuss their roles; both already knew how the other would move when the fighting began.
Vellmar lifted a supply crate into one of the wagons with casual strength, Lucina standing nearby to count and check off the inventory. She didn't let him off without a final once-over of his armor, which he tolerated with the same quiet patience as the night before.
Caelum and Sorei joined the forming column together, her hand resting briefly on his before she stepped away to confer with other scouts. Their voices were light but purposeful, a shared rhythm of strategy and encouragement.
Veyna and Jaris arrived last among the couples, the two of them coming from the far side of camp where they'd been helping organize spare gear. She adjusted the straps of her twin blades, while he checked the balance of his spear. Neither spoke much, but they exchanged a quick nod that carried all the trust they needed.
By the time the sun was fully above the horizon, the Dragoons stood in formation—rows of armor gleaming in the morning light, banners rippling with the insignia of the wyvern-winged blade. Ahead lay the road deeper into Teravane's contested lands.
Alter stood at the front with Selene, scanning the assembled forces. His gaze swept over the disciplined lines, the gleaming armors, the faces that had survived what should have been impossible.
"Today," his voice carried across the field, steady and resonant, "we march not just to reclaim land—but to break the enemy's will. We move as one. We fight as one. And no matter what they throw at us—" he lifted Starsever, the blade catching the sunlight, "—we will not fall."
The answering roar of the Dragoons was enough to rattle the camp's banners. Moments later, the column began to move, the ground vibrating with the rhythm of hundreds of synchronized steps.
The campaign pressed onward.