The nuclear bomb sat like a sleeping beast in the cavern, its metal skin gleaming under floodlights. Daniel hadn't moved from it since unveiling it to his companions.
He stared at it, jaw tight, eyes hollow. His mind replayed battles — soldiers burning, screams echoing, the Guild's banners rising again and again. He could already see their armies marching back, stronger, endless.
Behind him, Kael's voice broke the silence.
"You're preparing to fight forever."
Daniel turned. Kael stood firm, arms folded, his expression calm but edged with something sharp.
Seris leaned against the cavern wall, bow at her side, eyes narrowed. Bran sat on a crate, hammer across his knees.
None of them looked impressed.
"You've built an army," Seris said. "More soldiers than any kingdom could dream of. You've crushed the Guild's outposts, burned their supplies, scattered their men. And still, you look at that thing"—she nodded at the bomb—"as if none of it is enough."
Daniel's fists clenched. "It isn't enough. They'll come back. Armies always come back. And next time, they won't underestimate us."
Bran's brow furrowed. "Or maybe they won't come at all. Maybe they've seen enough to know you cannot be touched."
Kael stepped closer, his voice steady. "Or maybe you're haunted by battles already fought. Maybe you're seeing enemies in every shadow because that's all you've ever known."
Daniel froze.
"You think I'm wrong?" he asked quietly.
"I think you're tired," Kael said. "Tired, and carrying weight alone. But ask yourself this—what if the Guild isn't planning to strike right away? What if you're building weapons to fight a war you've already won?"
Seris's voice was sharp. "What if you're overthinking? What if this endless preparation is just fear wearing armor?"
Daniel's jaw clenched, but he couldn't meet her gaze.
Bran sighed, heavy and slow. "Then maybe it's time you consider another path. One that doesn't end in ash."
Daniel finally looked up. "And what path is that?"
Bran gestured with his hammer. "You've shown the Guild you're untouchable. You've shattered their pride. What if instead of waiting for their next army, you call them to the table? Make them sit across from you. Make them admit you're not a threat to erase but a power to respect."
Kael nodded. "A treaty. A pact. If they fear you, use that fear. Bind them with words before you're forced to bind them with fire."
Seris's eyes never left him. "Because if you keep building, if you keep preparing for the end of the world… then one day, you will make it happen. Not because of them. Because of you."
Daniel's breath hitched. His chest felt heavy, his heart pounding in his ears.
He wanted to argue. To shout that they didn't understand, that war always came back, that the Guild's silence would only ever mean plotting.
But he saw the truth in their eyes.
Kael, steady and unflinching. Seris, sharp and unrelenting. Bran, patient but unyielding.
They weren't soldiers, not like him. They weren't haunted by foxholes, by ambushes, by the sound of brothers dying in the dark.
But maybe that was why he needed to listen.
Daniel turned back to the nuclear bomb, his reflection staring back from the steel casing.
A weapon to end worlds. A weapon he had sworn to use only if forced.
And behind him, his companions offered something else — a chance, however slim, to end the cycle before it consumed everything.
He closed his eyes.
"Maybe," he whispered. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time to see if peace is even possible."
But in the back of his mind, the soldier in him still whispered:
And if it isn't…
Daniel stood in the command bunker, his companions flanking him. The canyon hummed with life outside — thousands of soldiers drilling, engines rumbling, jets screaming overhead.
It was a fortress, a war machine, but his companions' words still echoed in his chest.
A treaty. A pact. Maybe you're fighting a war you've already won.
Daniel leaned on the table, knuckles tight against the map.
"All right," he said finally. "We'll give them a choice."
Seris raised an eyebrow. "A choice?"
Daniel nodded. "They can come to the table. Or they can come to the grave. But one way or another, this ends."
He conjured an envoy for the task: a small squad of soldiers, unarmed, bearing a white banner marked with a symbol he carved into existence — not the eye from his patch, not any sign of Earth. Something new.
A stylized phoenix, wings spread in fire.
Rising from ashes.
"Carry this to Caelborne," Daniel ordered. "Deliver my words: I request a parley with the Guild Council. No ambushes, no tricks. If they refuse…" His voice hardened. "Tell them they'll face the fire they've already tasted."
The envoy saluted and departed, engines growling as their convoy rolled west.
Daniel watched them go, the weight in his chest heavier than any weapon he had ever conjured.
Days passed. The canyon drilled, fortified, and expanded, but Daniel's thoughts kept circling back to the envoy.
Kael trained beside the soldiers, but found him pacing at night. "You don't trust them."
Daniel shook his head. "I've seen too many ceasefires broken. Too many hands shaken with knives hidden behind backs. Treaties last until the first shot's fired."
"Then why try?" Kael asked.
Daniel looked up at the stars. "Because if I don't… I'll become exactly what they say I am. A monster with endless weapons, waiting for an excuse to burn the world."
On the fifth day, the envoy returned.
The convoy rolled into the canyon, battered but alive. The commander saluted Daniel, dust still clinging to his fatigues.
"They'll meet," the man reported. "Three days' time, at the neutral valley outside Caelborne. The Guild Council themselves."
Daniel's companions exchanged glances.
Seris muttered, "Or a trap."
Bran grunted. "If it is, they'll learn what it means to set snares for thunder."
Daniel's jaw tightened. "Trap or not, I'll go. If they're willing to talk, I'll give them that chance."
The next three days were uneasy. Daniel drilled his army harder than ever but also prepared a smaller convoy for the meeting.
A pair of Humvees.
A single Abrams in the rear, "just in case."
Kael, Seris, and Bran at his side.
Daniel stood in the canyon on the morning of departure, gazing one last time at the F-22 hidden in its cavern, at the nuclear weapon sealed behind steel doors.
He whispered to himself, "Not unless I have to."
Then he climbed into the Humvee, and the convoy rolled west.
The road to Caelborne stretched long and silent, fields and forests watching as engines growled past.
Daniel's heart beat steady, but his hand never strayed far from his rifle.
In three days, he would sit across from the Eternal Guild — men and women who had already tried to erase him once.
His companions believed in peace. Daniel wanted to believe too.
But deep in his chest, the soldier in him whispered still:
If they betray you… burn them to the ground.
The convoy rumbled west for three days, engines growling over dirt roads and through villages that had only ever known hoofbeats and wagon wheels.
Children ran to the roadside to stare at the armored beasts, their wide eyes following the tanks and Humvees. Farmers paused mid-harvest, whispering and crossing themselves as helicopters roared overhead.
Daniel rode in silence most of the way, Kael beside him in the Humvee. Seris leaned against the door, bow across her lap, Bran squeezed in the back, his hammer resting against his knee.
"You're quiet," Kael said at last.
Daniel's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. "I don't trust this."
"You never trust peace," Seris replied. "That's why we're going."
Daniel glanced at her. "And if they're setting us up?"
"Then you'll do what you always do," Bran grunted. "But maybe, just maybe, you'll talk before you shoot."
On the dawn of the third day, the convoy rolled into a wide valley outside Caelborne.
It was a natural amphitheater: grasslands stretched wide, ringed by hills. A single stone dais sat in the center, old and cracked, marked by weather and time.
The Eternal Guild was already there.
Dozens of crimson-cloaked guards ringed the valley, their shields gleaming with enchantments. At the dais sat the Council:
A Bronze elder, scarred and gaunt, representing the lowest rung.
An Iron-clad captain, steady and grim.
A Gold merchant-lord, robes heavy with coin and jewels.
A Diamond knight, armor blazing with runes.
And at the center, robed in shimmering crimson, the Red Iridium Guildmaster himself.
Daniel's jaw tightened. So it's the whole damn ladder.
Engines cut. The Humvee doors swung open. Daniel stepped out, rifle slung but not raised. Kael, Seris, and Bran flanked him, each watching the Guild with eyes like hawks.
The Guildmaster's gaze swept across Daniel's convoy — tanks gleaming, soldiers in neat rows, helicopters circling above.
"You are real," the Guildmaster said at last, voice cold but steady. "Not rumor. Not illusion. You are a blight of steel and thunder."
Daniel met his eyes. "Name's Daniel Mason. I'm not a blight. I'm a soldier. And I'm here because my people don't want another war."
A murmur rippled through the councilors.
The Iron captain spat. "You slaughtered thousands of our men!"
Daniel's voice cut sharp. "They came to burn my home. What did you expect me to do? Lay down and die?"
The air thickened. Kael laid a hand on Daniel's shoulder, steady.
Seris's voice was calm but firm. "This is why we're here. Not to trade accusations. To talk."
The Guildmaster's gaze lingered on Seris, then returned to Daniel. "Then speak, soldier. What do you want?"
Daniel took a breath, forcing himself not to snap, not to spit the anger that coiled in his chest.
"I want a treaty. I want you to leave my people alone. I don't care about your kingdoms, your ranks, your Guild. But if you march on me again, I'll fight you until one of us is gone."
The Gold merchant-lord sneered. "And why should we recognize you at all? You are no Guild. No rank. No law. You are chaos made flesh."
Daniel's eyes hardened. "Where I come from, power doesn't come from ranks or marks. It comes from the men beside you, from the ground you stand on, from the will to survive. You call me chaos? Fine. But chaos just beat your army into the dirt."
The Diamond knight bristled. "Through tricks! Machines! Weapons no hand forged!"
Daniel stepped forward, voice rising. "And your swords aren't tricks? Your magic shields aren't tricks? Every weapon is just a tool. The only difference between mine and yours is that mine work better."
The Guildmaster raised a hand, silencing both sides. "Enough."
The Guildmaster's eyes bored into Daniel.
"You are an anomaly. You upset the balance of this world. But perhaps… balance can be rewritten. You propose a treaty. Very well. The Council will consider. But know this—peace will bind you as well. No more raids. No more marches on our depots. You stay in your canyon, and we stay in our halls."
Daniel studied him for a long moment, the soldier and the commander warring in his chest. He wanted to say no, to spit in his face, to dare the Guild to come.
But Kael's steady presence beside him, Seris's sharp gaze, Bran's quiet weight reminded him why he was here.
"Then let's write it," Daniel said finally.
The valley held its breath as parchment was brought forward, quills set, seals prepared.
Daniel sat across from the Red Iridium Guildmaster, two men from different worlds, different laws, different wars — about to carve words into history.
He didn't know if the treaty would hold. He didn't know if the Guild would keep its word.
But for the first time since he had arrived in this world, Daniel Mason wasn't just fighting for survival.
He was negotiating for a future.
Weeks passed, and the Guild's armies did not march.
The parchment signed in that neutral valley was carried back to Caelborne under guard, sealed with the mark of the Red Iridium. And for the first time since Daniel Mason had arrived in this world, the horizon did not thunder with enemies.
The Eternal Guild had bent — not broken, not surrendered, but paused.
And in that pause, Daniel's canyon began to change.
What had started as a canyon fortress was becoming something more.
Barracks gave way to houses for families.
Fields spread wide beyond the riverbanks, tended by farmers Daniel had conjured.
Schools rose, where children and recruits alike were taught language, numbers, history.
Markets formed, traders from nearby villages venturing in, drawn by safety and curiosity.
Walls still towered high, bristling with weapons, but inside them life pulsed with more than drills and gunfire.
Daniel walked the streets at dusk, listening to the murmur of voices, the laughter of children, the crackle of cooking fires. For a moment, it almost felt like peace.
Almost.
Kael drilled soldiers daily, but his role had shifted. He walked the walls, inspected patrols, spoke with captains. He was not just a shield anymore — he was a commander.
Seris surprised Daniel most. She insisted on meeting villagers, traders, anyone brave enough to step inside the canyon. She listened to their concerns, negotiated trade routes, smoothed fears. Her sharp tongue became an asset, and soon she was called "the Voice of the Phoenix" by outsiders.
Bran built ceaselessly. Hammers rang day and night as he oversaw homes, bridges, waterworks. He spoke little, but when he did, it was always of making the canyon not just strong, but livable.
Together, they turned Daniel's army into a society.
But Daniel himself struggled.
In the bunker, he sat at a table not of maps and war plans, but of grain tallies, trade agreements, and school rosters. He stared at them like they were alien scripts.
Kael entered one evening to find him scowling at parchment.
"You look like you'd rather fight ten Guild battalions than read that," Kael said.
Daniel grunted. "At least I know how to fight battalions. This?" He tapped the papers. "This is… politics. Budgets. Civilian crap. Back home, I never had to think about any of this."
Kael leaned against the wall. "Then learn. Or trust those who already are."
Daniel's jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly.
Word of the treaty spread like wildfire.
Merchants whispered of a warlord who commanded thunder and steel yet had bent the Guild to the table. Nobles scoffed, but quietly shifted their guards.
And then the envoys came.
First from a small border kingdom, carrying gifts of grain and silk. Then from another, offering ore and timber. Some came in curiosity, some in fear, some in the hope of alliance.
Daniel met them in the canyon's new council hall, Seris at his side.
"You are not a Guild," one envoy said cautiously. "What, then, are you?"
Daniel thought of the phoenix banner, of his companions, of the city rising from stone.
He answered simply: "We're survivors."
At night, Daniel stood atop the highest wall, the city glowing below, the stars burning above.
For now, the treaty held. For now, the Guild watched but did not strike.
But peace was fragile. It always was.
Daniel clenched his fists, the soldier in him restless.
Maybe Kael was right. Maybe Seris was right. Maybe this peace could last.
But deep in his chest, he knew the truth:
So long as the Eternal Guild lived, war was only ever one breath away.