The Behemoth's roar of defeat was a sound that would be carved into Kaelen's memory forever. It wasn't a cry of pain, but one of furious, dying rage that shook the very stones under their feet before finally falling silent. The smaller nightmares, without their leader, lost their coordination. They were quickly cut down by the relentless soldiers under Valeria's command.
The sudden quiet that fell over the eastern sector was almost more deafening than the battle. The wailing sirens had stopped. The only sounds were the crackle of dying energy weapons, the moans of the wounded, and the harsh breathing of the survivors.
Kaelen let his shield dissolve. The Umbral energy retreated back inside him, leaving behind a deep, hollow exhaustion. His arms felt like lead, and his head throbbed. He swayed on his feet, the world tilting slightly.
A strong hand gripped his elbow, steadying him. It was Commander Valeria. Her armor was scorched and splattered with dark ichor, but her posture was still rigid, her eyes scanning the battlefield, assessing the damage.
"Medic! Here!" she barked, her voice hoarse but firm.
A woman with a red cross on her sleeve rushed over, but Valeria shook her head. "Not me. Him." She gestured at Kaelen.
The medic quickly checked him over. "Exhaustion and minor energy drain. He'll be fine with rest." She moved on to others who were far worse off.
Valeria's gaze finally settled on Kaelen. There was no praise in her eyes, but there was a new, hard-won respect. "You held the line. You used your curse as the weapon it is. Remember this feeling. This is the duty of power."
She turned away to organize the cleanup, her voice rising again to give orders. The moment of connection was over. She was the Commander once more.
Kaelen looked around. The street was a charnel house. Buildings were smashed to rubble. The air stank of smoke, blood, and the strange, foul smell of the dead nightmares. Soldiers moved among the wounded, and teams already worked to seal the jagged hole in the wall with temporary energy barriers.
He saw Isolde across the street. She was speaking calmly with two of her own agents, her crimson dress untouched by the battle, not a hair out of place. She caught his eye and gave him a small, approving nod. Her message was clear: See what we can accomplish together? Then she turned and melted back into the recovering city, her part done.
Then he saw Elara. She was on her knees beside a wounded soldier, her hands glowing with a soft, green light as she pressed them against a nasty gash on his leg. Her face was pale with effort, her kind eyes full of sorrow for the pain around her. She wasn't just mending wounds; she was sharing the hurt. She felt every bit of it. She looked up and offered him a tired, sad smile before returning to her work.
Three women. Three reactions. Valeria saw a battle won and a tool proven. Isolde saw an investment pay off and a future opportunity. Elara saw the broken people who needed healing.
He didn't know where he fit in any of it. He had just helped save a part of the city, but he felt more lost than ever.
He was put to work. There was no rest for the weary. He helped carry supplies, moved debris to free trapped people, and used his Umbral energy to lift heavy chunks of stone that others couldn't move. The soldiers who had once feared him now nodded to him as they passed. He was one of them now. He had bled and struggled beside them.
As he helped a medic lift a beam to free a civilian, an old woman grabbed his hand. Her face was dirty, her eyes wide with shock. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You were the shadow that stood against the monster. I saw you."
The words should have felt good. Instead, they felt like another weight. She saw a story. A shadow. She didn't see the terrified boy underneath, the one who had almost lost control and killed a fellow initiate just days before.
The sun was beginning to rise, its weak light fighting through the smoky haze, by the time the immediate work was done. Kaelen was filthy, exhausted, and soul-weary. He was dismissed with the other able-bodied fighters to get food and a few hours of rest.
He trudged back toward the Citadel, his body aching. The city was scarred but alive. People were already beginning to rebuild, their spirits resilient.
He understood something now, walking through the broken streets. Havenfall wasn't just a place. It was an idea. It was the stubborn will to live, to build, to protect what little they had left. And that idea was defended by all kinds of strength. Valeria's unbreakable shield. Isolde's cunning webs. Elara's healing hands.
And his own cursed power, which could be a beacon for destruction or a shield for others.
He reached his room and collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to take off his dirty clothes. The face of the old woman swam in his mind. You were the shadow that stood against the monster.
He closed his eyes. The unwanted crown was his to bear. But maybe, just maybe, he could learn how to wear it. Not for Valeria's approval, or Isolde's plans, or even Elara's kindness.
But for the people in the streets. For the idea of Havenfall.
The path to becoming Sovereign was no longer about just surviving his curse. It was about defining it. And the first step was to finally understand where it came from. He needed answers. And he knew there was only one person who might have them. The one who saw him not as a weapon or a key, but as a fascinating question.
He needed to see Lyra again.