There were now just ten of Derek's men left. Ten.
I could not help but feel like a bringer of death, a curse trailing in my shadow. Ever since the event that drew us here, misfortune had followed.
Derek carried himself with the bearing expected of a man in command, but I could see it—the weight in his eyes, the hope he dragged behind him like a wounded limb. I pitied him.
And then that voice came again. A voice that sounded like me, yet stripped bare of every feeling. Not the system. Not thought. Something else. Reason without humanity.
What am I?
"Are you alright?" Regina's hand landed softly on my shoulder, pulling me back before I spiraled.
"Sir Derek says the church delegates are arriving today," she said.
My stomach dropped. "Church delegates? When did he… reach out to them?"
Her smile was small but steady. "There should not be an issue. We have nothing to do with them.
I spoke with Ambassador Zira—she says we can accompany her. That should give us some immunity."
I nodded, but unease lingered.
Alpha and her sisters worked with the soldiers, keeping the camp running. The Catwoman had vanished.
I turned to Jabari—the Light Elf. He leaned against the wall in shadow, his severed arm slowly regrowing. So it was true—he would heal, but slowly.
The day passed quietly until metal rang from the south. Boots. Wolves.
My breath caught.
Seventy men in steel plate marched forward, mounted on dire wolves. Their armor gleamed charcoal-grey, and their discipline turned the air electric.
"Wow! They're here!" one of Derek's soldiers shouted, excitement breaking through.
One rider moved forward as the gates opened. He dwarfed Derek. If Derek was a man, this was a mountain. His armor shimmered faintly with inner light. His helmet hung at his side; his scarred face bore the marks of long campaigns. Authority radiated from him like a second sun.
"Commander," Derek said, stepping forward, his respect so heavy it nearly bent his back. "I see you have made it here safely."
The Paladin gave only a nod, his eyes scanning everything.
That night, Frost-Lock settled on us again. But this time, with him here, there was confidence. Even the elves treated him with respect. He had greeted Ambassador Zira himself. Just how important is she? I wondered, my gaze shifting between the grizzled Paladin and the calm Moon Elf.
Then the air turned sour.
"Chindi," an elf whispered.
I looked at him. "What's that?"
"The miasma left behind when a person dies," he murmured. "And many have died here."
My heart hammered. The air was thick, stale, suffocating.
Then the fabric of existence ripped open.
Bloodied torsos floated from the rift, wings tattered, viscera still dripping. Some corpses still clung to them. The sight crushed what courage Derek's men had left.
"By the gods!" someone shouted.
But the sanctified—those sworn to the Paladin—did not move. They stood like iron pillars, unshaken.
"Reverend Commander," one of them said, his voice calm. "These are manananggal."
The Paladin only gave a thoughtful hum. Then he raised his voice, booming like a bell across the courtyard.
"What do you believe?"
"We believe in the strength of man's faith!" his men roared back.
"Not in a god who is distant!" he thundered.
"But in our own hands and hearts!" they cried.
"What is the power of humanity?"
"The will to stand against the tide of light and darkness!"
"Who fights this battle?"
"We do! Alone, we endure!"
"Who gave blood that we might stand?"
"Mother Tien—the flesh and blood of our first Saint!"
The ground shook with their voices. The elves watched in solemn silence. Derek's men stared, wide-eyed.
"What light do we carry?"
"Not pure, but corrupted—bent to our will!"
"What do we value?"
"Life! And for life, we will fight!"
"What fruit do we seek?"
"The harvest of struggle and hope!"
"And if you should fall?"
"May others partake of the harvest!"
"Then what is our prayer?"
"Not for salvation, but for victory—so others may live!"
The last words were a battle-cry, a roar that seemed to tear the frost-choked air apart.
The Paladin drew his blade, its steel glinting with faint light.
"May it be so," he said.
And with effortless grace, he drove it through the chest of the first creature.
The courtyard erupted into war.