The dawn sky over Ashenleaf was the colour of spilled ink. Serena knelt beneath a cedar whose trunk split the mist like a black blade. Scythe across her thighs, she threaded the nine arcs of Night-Sewn Path through muscle and breath, each motion slower than the last, searching for the flaw that still snagged like a burr.
< Hidden Quest – Night-Sewn Path >
< 25 days remain >
Before the thought faded, the world lurched.
< System-User Detected – 1.1 km south-west >
< Saintess Aurora Vale – Celestial Mandate (Tier-3) >
< Intent: Hostile >
A second chime, colder.
< Warning: Tier gap. Perfection impossible until System reaches Tier-3 >
Serena rose. Umbren flowed out of her shadow, fur bristling into midnight spines. Somewhere beyond the cedar curtain, bells rang—small silver bells that had no wind to move them.
She stepped onto the road.
The track was wide enough for wagons, rutted by iron wheels and recent rain. Pines pressed close, their needles whispering. Serena walked alone at first, then heard the bells again—closer, melodic, almost laughing.
Aurora Vale appeared around the bend as though the forest had exhaled her. Pearl-white robes floated a finger's breadth above the mud; silver hair braided with tiny bells that chimed with every heartbeat. A circlet of pale runes orbited her head, each glyph a fragment of living mandate. She smiled the way a statue smiles—beautiful, remote, inevitable.
"Fellow wielder," Aurora said, voice soft as falling snow. "The Celestial Mandate requires your core. I will make it painless."
Serena answered with silence and steel.
---
Aurora flicked her wrist. Twelve runes burst into spears of white light, streaking down the road. Serena pivoted, scythe flashing. Crescent Arc carved a black crescent that met the first spear mid-air—metal screamed, light shattered into sparks that set pine needles smouldering.
Momentum carried her forward. Moonfall Sweep followed, a low, grinding arc that tore the gravel into a storm of stones and darkness. Aurora rose above it, robes lifting her like wings, and countered with a sigil that unfolded into a mirror-bright shield. The gravel ricocheted, shredding bark on either side.
For three heartbeats they exchanged blows—scythe against mandate, darkness against dawn—until the air itself felt bruised. Neither could land the killing mark.
A merchant caravan rounded the bend behind Aurora, horses rearing, drivers shouting. The saintess glanced once, annoyance flickering, then stepped backward into a pillar of light and vanished between one blink and the next.
Bells lingered, fading south.
Serena lowered her weapon, pulse steady, eyes already calculating.
---
She reached Waymeet by midday. The town bustled; news travelled faster than feet. Children darted between stalls, repeating the tale of "silver lightning on the merchant road." Serena bought a bowl of peppered noodles from a street vendor, ate standing, listening.
"…two gods fighting, I swear by the old stones…"
She paid, wiped her mouth, and walked on. At the Black Lantern, Lysander Crowe leaned in the doorway.
"Heard you brought thunder," he said, gaze sharp.
Serena offered neither confirmation nor denial. "I'll need a quiet room tonight. And a map of every road south."
He handed her a folded parchment without a word.
---
Night fell heavy. Serena climbed the inn's slanted roof, moonlight pooling on cedar shingles. Below, the town lantern festival was beginning—paper fish floated on the river, firecrackers cracked like distant battles.
Aurora stood on the opposite roof, bells chiming in the warm breeze.
They leapt.
Rooftops became stepping stones. Tiles shattered under boots; sparks rained from chimneys. Serena vaulted a washing line, scythe spinning; Aurora's runes became stepping discs of light, carrying her across gaps too wide for flesh.
They clashed mid-air above the river—steel screamed against mandate, scattering lantern fragments into the water. Townsfolk screamed, pointed, then the fighters were gone again, swallowed by darkness.
---
Serena reached the forest edge breathless but unbroken. She pressed her back to a pine, felt the rough bark through her cloak. Somewhere beyond the next ridge, bells answered the wind.
She smiled, small and sharp.
< 24 days remain >