The sun was beginning to disappear beyond the horizon.
The golden light slowly shifted into crimson hues.
Within the walls of Arkhel...
Chaos remained.
The Black Wolves swept through the passage like a pack of predators.
Breaking formations and leaving bodies in their wake.
Orders blended with the sound of clashing blades.
Some knights tried to protect the wounded.
Others fought against creatures that seemed to possess no definite form.
The fortified passage had ceased to be a defense...
Now it was a desperate fight for survival.
At the center of that chaos...
Éon and Damian fought a battle detached from the world around them.
CLANG.
The sound of steel echoed through the passage.
The two swords slid against one another.
Neither of them tried to break the contact.
Damian subtly rotated his wrist.
His guard sought to envelop the black katana once more.
Éon released the pressure before the bind could be completed.
The blade withdrew only a few inches.
Enough.
In the same motion...
It came back along the side.
A short cut drove toward the wrist controlling the sword.
Damian abandoned control of the line.
His hand drew back toward his body while the sword rotated around its own guard.
The black edge passed just beside the wrappings around his forearm.
Without finding flesh.
Damian's sword was already returning.
A thrust came up beneath the katana.
Straight toward the center of Éon's chest.
Éon shifted his torso aside.
The point pierced the space before the black armor.
His katana immediately dropped onto the extended blade.
Not to block it.
To prevent it from returning by the shortest path.
Damian released his rear hand from the hilt.
The sword rotated while held only by his leading hand.
The steel slipped free from the katana's pressure.
Before Éon could seize the opening...
Damian's elbow drove forward.
THUD.
Éon merely leaned his body away.
The elbow grazed past him.
Both of them broke the distance at the same time.
Damian advanced...
His sword traced a diagonal slash.
Éon stepped into the strike.
The katana met the sword before the force could fully form.
CLANG!
The blades slid.
Éon turned his hips.
The cut changed direction midway through its path.
The black point rose toward Damian's throat.
Damian was already pivoting on his rear foot.
His head left the line while his sword descended along the outside of the katana.
SCRRK.
Steel scraped all the way to the guard.
With a short shove...
He completely diverted the katana's axis.
Éon abandoned the attack.
He stepped inside Damian's guard.
The scabbard rose toward his ribs.
Damian absorbed the impact with the forearm protected by his armor plates.
THUMP.
Even cushioning the blow, he was forced back half a step.
Éon gave him no time to recover his balance.
The black katana drove down the centerline.
Straight for his throat.
Damian turned his body.
The point passed just beside his neck.
Without interrupting the movement...
His sword met the side of the katana.
CLANG!
He pushed the blade off the line...
while using the momentum of his own turn to slide two steps backward.
Éon did not pursue.
Both remained motionless.
Damian took a deep breath.
His chest rose only once.
"The rumors weren't wrong."
His eyes returned to the black katana.
"Throat. Wrist. Vital points."
"Every movement you make is meant to end the fight quickly."
Éon did not answer.
Damian continued,
"Precision doesn't come from talent alone."
"It comes from repetition..."
A brief pause.
"And from years of being taught that a single mistake means death."
Silence remained between them.
Éon tightened his grip on the katana ever so slightly.
"Who are you?"
Damian slowly turned the sword in his hand.
Its edge reflected the fading sunlight.
"Someone trained to kill you."
Éon watched him for a few moments.
"Then you'll die trying."
Damian did not answer immediately.
He merely adjusted his grip on the sword.
"Everything in life has a price."
Éon's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"If my life is the price required..."
"Then there is no reason to hesitate."
Damian raised his sword.
The tip aligned with Éon's chest.
"The real question is..."
A brief pause.
"...is whether you'll be able to kill me."
"Before the Maiden of the Constellations arrives."
Éon remained silent for a few moments.
He took one step forward.
"I understand."
FWOOSH.
In the blink of an eye...
Damian lost sight of Éon.
Instinct moved his body.
He spun.
CLANG!
His sword met the katana above his head.
The impact forced his knees down a few inches.
The stone beneath his feet groaned.
Before Damian could recover his stance...
Éon abandoned the pressure.
In the next instant...
The slash was already at his flank.
Damian pulled his hips back.
SHLK.
The point opened a cut across his waist.
Not deep.
But enough to stain the armor red.
Damian retreated.
Éon gave him no room.
He stepped exactly into the space Damian was trying to create.
The black point appeared directly before his throat.
Damian tilted his head aside.
The edge sliced through the space where his neck had been an instant before.
SKHK.
A crimson line opened across his shoulder.
The pain had barely arrived.
Damian's sword was already returning.
Not to attack.
To recover the distance.
CLANG!
The blades met once again.
Damian shoved the katana off the line.
He turned his body.
Trying to escape along the side.
Éon followed the movement.
As though he already knew where Damian was going.
A slight turn of the wrist...
Was enough to completely alter the blade's trajectory.
Damian managed to pull his chest away.
But not completely.
SHLK.
The edge carved across his abdomen.
The strike did not pierce through.
It only tore.
For the first time...
Damian realized he had lost the initiative.
Every attack from Éon forced him to respond.
And every response came one instant too late.
Damian stepped back on instinct.
It was a mistake.
In that very instant...
Éon occupied the space he had left behind.
Completely invading his range.
Damian tried to reposition his blade.
But it was already too late.
SKHK.
The black blade pierced his abdomen.
Time seemed to stop.
A thread of blood ran from Damian's lips.
His sword slowly slipped from his fingers.
CLANG...
The steel struck the ground.
Éon withdrew the katana in a single motion.
Blood scattered through the air.
Damian staggered.
One knee struck the ground.
His breathing grew heavy.
Slowly...
He raised his head.
His eyes met Éon's once again.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
Silence remained between them.
Éon raised the black katana.
"May the gods devour you quickly."
The black edge began to descend...
BOOOOOOM!!
The fortified passage shook violently.
Fragments of stone were hurled in every direction.
A violent shockwave tore through the passage.
Before the dust had even risen...
Éon had already stepped back.
The katana rested beside his body.
His gaze remained fixed on the cloud of dust spreading through the air.
Slowly...
The dust began to settle.
A female figure stood motionless between him and Damian.
Her fair skin seemed to reflect the very light rising around her.
Her dark hair, cut just above her ears, moved gently.
Her silver-blue eyes remained fixed on Éon.
The silver armor bore subtle golden details, engraved into delicate shapes that resembled stars, intertwined branches, and ancient sacred symbols.
A long cloak rested upon her shoulders, its edges shimmering softly, as though reflecting the night sky itself.
The silence lasted only a moment.
Her voice echoed through the passage.
"By the light that precedes the ages..."
Luminous filaments began tracing a circle across the ground.
Tiny points of light appeared around her feet.
They began to rise...
Like snow suspended in the air.
"By the stars that never fade..."
The points of light joined together.
Forming a thin luminous veil around her.
The light rose slowly.
As though an immense dome were being woven before them.
"By the firmament that watches over the righteous..."
The dome continued to grow.
Its crystalline surface reflected the glow of dusk.
A Black Wolf lunged.
The instant it touched the light...
Its body began to dissolve into black particles.
Éon's eyes narrowed.
The young woman continued,
"May the Ljóssálfar answer my call."
The spiritual pressure became even heavier.
She raised one hand.
"Holy Dome."
FWWWWOOOOOOM!!
The dome expanded in every direction.
A blinding light swallowed the entire passage.
At that same instant...
Shadows burst from the ground.
Like black serpents, they immediately coiled around Éon's body.
The light crashed against the cocoon of shadows for a single instant.
When the light faded...
The black cocoon began to unravel.
Fragments of shadow dissipated into the air like smoke.
Éon remained motionless.
His eyes swept across the passage.
The Black Wolves had disappeared.
Not a single one remained.
The soldiers were gone as well.
Only the traces of the battle remained scattered across the ground.
Silence once again ruled the passage.
At the same time...
Outside the walls...
CRAAAH.
A single raven with scarlet-red eyes cut across the sky.
Far below...
The scars of battle stretched for miles.
Corpses.
Craters.
Upturned earth.
The raven traced a wide circle.
Then...
Its wings slowed.
Its scarlet-red eyes fixed upon the approaching figure.
Mounted upon a white horse.
The long silver cloak swayed in the wind like folded wings.
Long black hair bore stains of dried blood.
The elegant ivory-white armor, adorned with matte gold.
It carried marks that no ordinary battle could leave.
Deep dents deformed the steel.
Broad scratches scored the metal plates as though gigantic claws had tried to tear them apart again and again.
Even so...
Her posture remained flawless.
Her ice-blue eyes lifted.
They met the raven's.
She remained motionless.
Watching it.
A deep voice broke the silence.
"I thought I'd find you here..."
A brief pause.
"Selvaria."
No answer came.
The ice-blue eyes remained upon the raven for another moment.
"So... you felt it too..."
"Roven."
Only then...
Selvaria slowly turned her gaze away.
To her left...
Mounted upon a brown horse, Roven approached with several soldiers.
His dark brown hair remained disheveled.
Fresh scars marked his face.
A strip of black cloth covered the right side of it.
His armor bore deep cuts, dented plates, and cracks opened by the force of battle.
Even so...
His posture remained relaxed.
As though those wounds were merely another detail along the road.
Selvaria watched him for a few moments.
"I see..."
"Your front was as severe as mine."
Roven's gaze shifted to Zion, who remained mounted just behind him.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"It could have been worse."
Selvaria simply followed the direction of his gaze.
Zion remained motionless atop his gray-coated horse.
The ivory-white longbow was still strapped across his back.
His gloves had torn apart.
Blood-soaked bandages wrapped the fingers ravaged by countless shots.
The arm holding the reins trembled almost imperceptibly.
Even so...
His gaze remained calm.
Before any of them could speak again...
Laughter rolled across the entire plain.
"HAH!"
"So you're still not dead."
Everyone turned toward the same direction.
A gigantic figure approached atop an enormous warhorse.
His heavy pale-steel armor was covered in cracks.
Fragments of stone and dried blood still clung to the steel.
A massive war club rested across one shoulder.
Dust covered his gray hair.
A thin trickle of blood ran beneath his thick mustache.
Behind him...
Other soldiers advanced slowly.
Some supported wounded comrades.
Others carried shattered shields.
Roven let out a faint crooked smile.
"Even half dead..."
"...you still make too much noise, Garrick."
Garrick's laughter only grew louder.
His eyes turned toward the horizon.
Far away...
In the direction where the raven continued circling overhead.
The earth looked as though it had been torn apart.
In its place...
Rose a vast formation of black structures.
Elongated.
Twisted.
Interwoven with one another.
They projected upward at different heights.
As though hundreds of colossal thorns had sprouted from the depths of the earth.
At the center of that black tangle...
One of the ogres remained suspended.
Black branches pierced its arms.
Its chest.
Its legs.
Holding its body completely motionless.
Around it...
Parts of other ogres remained trapped among the black branches.
Scattered throughout the entire expanse of that place.
Like macabre fruit hanging from an impossible tree.
Everything remained still.
Except for the structure itself.
It pulsed slowly...
As though that entire black mass were breathing.
CRAAAH.
The lone raven continued circling above it.
Without moving away.
Like a sentinel watching over something that should never exist.
Garrick watched for a few more moments.
Then he struck the club against his own shoulder twice.
TOC. TOC.
"Very well..."
His voice had lost every trace of humor.
"Which one of you is going to explain..."
"...what the hell that is?"
He looked at Roven.
Then at Selvaria.
She kept her eyes on the black structure.
"I don't know..."
Her voice came out calm.
"But that..."
"...doesn't look like magic."
Roven continued watching the black tangle.
Then he spoke.
"It's not a Boundary either."
His eyes examined every detail.
The structure pulsed again.
The black branches shuddered slightly.
For a single instant...
The ogre trapped among them convulsed.
Then it became still once more.
"It's almost..."
"...like a sanctuary."
Garrick stared at the structure for a few more moments...
Then he raised the massive black club.
A crooked smile appeared beneath his mustache.
"I've never been a man of prayer."
The enormous horse took one step forward.
THOOM.
The earth answered with a faint tremor.
Garrick tightened his grip on the club.
He leaned forward.
He was about to drive the club into the ground.
Then...
"There are places..."
The voice came, calm.
Serene.
"...that were never meant to be profaned."
Garrick stopped mid-motion.
Then he turned toward the voice.
Sèsinmè approached slowly.
Mounted upon a white horse.
Her white robes were marked with blood and earth.
A few discreet tears revealed the violence of the battle.
Her long dark hair, adorned with small crimson tips.
Moved gently in the wind.
Despite her wounds...
Her posture remained upright.
Unshakable.
Her silver-gray eyes rested neither upon Garrick.
Nor upon Selvaria.
Nor upon Roven.
They remained fixed only upon the black structure.
Garrick clicked his tongue.
He rested the massive club back upon his shoulder.
The silence lasted only a few moments.
Then Roven spoke.
"Lady Sèsinmè..."
"What exactly stands before us?"
Sèsinmè continued watching the structure for a few more seconds.
As though reading something invisible to everyone else.
Only then did she answer.
"All I can say..."
A brief pause.
"...is that there is a will within it."
Her eyes left the black structure.
They met Roven's.
"And it answers to the Heir of the North."
Silence fell across the plain.
Roven frowned faintly.
"Then the pri—"
FWWWWMMMM...
An overwhelming spiritual pressure swept across the plain.
Everyone raised their eyes.
Far beyond the walls of Arkhel...
A circle of light expanded above the fortress.
The radiance illuminated the plains for a brief instant.
Then...
FWWMMM.
The light vanished.
Just as quickly as it had appeared.