(Chapter 17)
The weight of his words settled over the camp. Eldhar's jaw tightened, and Viera's eyes darkened.
"This changes everything," Eldhar said quietly, his voice low enough that only those closest could hear. "The cult walks among us—and now they know Ethille is defended."
Azre, standing beside Enix, looked at him with a new measure of respect. He might have been brash, reckless even, but there was a sharpness beneath his easy grin—a calculation born of scars, experience, and instinct. For the first time, she wondered if fate had truly guided him to this place.
The campfire crackled in the center of the Purge Knights' encampment, casting long, warm shadows over tents pitched hastily in the aftermath of the plaza battle. Soldiers moved quietly among the flames, tending to weapons, sharpening blades, and murmuring to acolytes about injuries. For the first time since the wyvern attack, there was no roar of fire, no clash of steel—only the hum of tired men and women preparing for the next storm.
Rowan sat with his boots propped against a crate, gesturing wildly as he retold the plaza battle for what must have been the fifth time.
"And then the flame-swordsman—this guy—" He jabbed a thumb at Enix. "—actually ate the beast's fire! With his sword!"
Thalia rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips twitching in amusement. "Rowan, you make him sound like a feast hall bard."
"It's true! I wasn't there myself… but hey! That's what the people in town said. So I'm pretty sure it's true." Rowan's grin was wide, animated, and just a touch embarrassed.
"He looked like a bloody dragon himself, swinging that thing around," Nilda added, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she sat cross-legged nearby. Her emerald eyes glinted with amusement. "Because that's exactly what the townsfolk said."
Enix groaned, lying back on a hay pile, arms behind his head. "Can't a guy save a kid without turning into a traveling legend?"
"Afraid not," Nilda teased gently. "Heroes don't get to choose their stories, Enix. You're a spectacle now—whether you like it or not."
The group's laughter softened into a comfortable camaraderie, and for a moment, the horrors of battle seemed distant. But Nilda, ever vigilant, leaned forward, her gaze sweeping across the camp.
"There's more to consider than who's talking," she said. "Rowan, Thalia, Seraphine—you need to understand the land we fight for. Etherissia is vast. And knowing it—its people, its nations, its secrets—may save your lives."
Seraphine's eyes widened, curiosity mingling with exhaustion. "I… I would listen," she whispered.
"Good," Nilda said, her voice low and steady. "Etherissia is divided into four great nations, each as unique as the people who dwell there. To the east lies Ragnafiore, the kingdom of mountains and dense, sprawling forests. It is here, in these mountains, that our order first rose—trained by generations of knights sworn to defend the realm. Ethille itself rests in the shadow of these peaks, a city balanced between civilization and the wilds."
Rowan frowned slightly. "Mountains and forests, huh? Sounds like tough terrain to defend."
"Exactly," Nilda replied, nodding. "Ragnafiore's mountains are treacherous. Paths twist like serpents, valleys hide ambushes, and strongholds are carved into the rock itself. Our knights learned to read the land as easily as they read an enemy's movements. And the forests? They hide not just predators, but secrets of those who came before us—the old magic, the old guardians, the old wars."
Thalia leaned forward, listening intently. "And the south?"
"Arvalione," Nilda said, lips tightening with concern. "A coastal nation with rolling seas and fertile ports. Its people are sailors, merchants, shipwrights. But those same waters are merciless—storms can swallow entire fleets, and hidden reefs have taken even the most experienced captains." She paused, letting the words sink in. "If the cult gains influence there, they could strike across the oceans with impunity."
Seraphine shivered, tugging at her simple dress. "The north?"
"Grandelia," Nilda said, her voice firm. "Snowy mountains, glaciers, endless forests of frostbound pines. Armies march through their winters at their own peril. Those who survive are tempered by ice and endurance, but those winters will take their toll on the unprepared."
Rowan's eyes darkened. "Sounds… deadly."
"It is," Nilda admitted. "And the west?"
"The Revheek Empire," she continued, voice dropping almost to a whisper. "Desert lands, sandstorms, scorched plains. Sun-bleached ruins litter the dunes. Its people are cunning and relentless, forged by heat and scarcity. One misstep, and you vanish, and no one remembers your name. They endure what others cannot, and their secrets die with the wind."
Rowan exhaled slowly, taking in the enormity of what Nilda had laid before them. "So… Ragnafiore, Arvalione, Grandelia, and Revheek. Four kingdoms, four lands, all tied together in Etherissia. And all… at risk."
"Yes," Nilda said, eyes reflecting the firelight. "And between them, the world is fragile. Rivers, plains, forests, mountains, coasts—they connect these lands, allow travel, trade, and warfare. But it also means the cult can strike anywhere. One failure in a single town could ripple across all four nations. That is the reality we fight in. And that is why every choice here matters."
Azre's fingers tightened around the haft of her sword. "Then we fight not just for Ethille… but for all of Etherissia."
Enix tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Never thought of it that way. I guess… we're on the big stage now, huh?"
Seraphine looked from one knight to another, gratitude and resolve shimmering in her eyes. "Then I will stand with you, as I can. Not as a fighter… but as a witness, as a guide."
Rowan gave a faint, teasing smile. "And a reminder that sometimes brains are just as important as blades."
Thalia elbowed him lightly. "Careful, or you'll get both blades and brains shoved in your face, loudmouth."
The group laughed softly, a rare moment of levity amid tension.
Viera, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke. "Enough rest for now. You've learned the geography of Etherissia, but survival depends on more than knowing the land. It's knowing each other, knowing yourselves, and trusting your comrades that will save you in the end."
Nilda nodded, her gaze softening. "And remember this: the Apostles are patient predators. They watch, learn, wait. Their strikes will be precise. Any weakness, any hesitation, will be exploited. Tonight, planning and unity are as crucial as steel and fire."
The fire crackled again, shadows stretching across the ground. Enix rolled his shoulders, standing and stretching. "Then we start planning. Who's with me?"
Azre exhaled, placing a hand on her sword. "I am."
Rowan grinned. "Me too."
Thalia's eyes softened as she joined them. "And I."
Seraphine hesitated, then stepped forward. "And I will be here, too."
Nilda's lips curved faintly. "Then we are ready. Not just for the wyvern or Holon's tricks—but for everything Etherissia can throw at us."
The night deepened, Ragnafiore's jagged mountains standing like silent sentinels against the sky. Lanterns flickered in the breeze, illuminating the determined faces of knights and allies alike. Somewhere beyond the hills, the shadow of the Apostles moved closer—unseen, patient, an echo of the storm yet to come.
Azre lingered at the edge of the campfire glow, staring into the embers, lost in thought. Her body ached, and her mind churned with the knowledge that Holon and the Apostles were still out there, watching, planning.
Enix approached quietly, settling beside her on a barrel. He didn't speak immediately, letting the warmth of the fire and the night's stillness stretch between them.
"You fought well today," he said at last, voice low but steady. "You didn't falter… not once. That matters."
Azre glanced at him, caught off guard. "I… I only did what had to be done."
"Still," Enix said, green eyes flickering with something unreadable, "you made a difference. People are alive because of you. Don't forget that."
She nodded slowly, letting a quiet calm wash over her. For a fleeting moment, the horrors of battle, the chaos of the wyvern, the fear of Holon—all of it seemed distant.
But the night was not done.