The fires of the Crimson Crusade had faded, but their echoes lingered.The snow-covered plains were once again silent — save for the low hum of forges and the howl of distant wolves.
Wintercrest Fortress stood proudly amidst the frozen expanse, its banners fluttering against the northern wind. The people rebuilt swiftly, their spirits unbroken.
Yet in the calm, Arden felt it — the faint tremor beneath the world.A storm unlike any before was forming, not from kingdoms or empires… but from above.
In the council chamber, the air was thick with tension.
Selene spread a new map across the table, its surface dotted with sigils glowing faintly red. "The aftermath of the crusade has stirred something. Entire regions to the west are reporting divine anomalies — earthquakes, strange lights, and falling stars."
Elyndra's brows furrowed. "I've heard whispers from the border towns. People claim to see angels and demons walking among them."
Aranelle added, "The Empire's silence is even more suspicious. Their armies are licking their wounds, but the Church… has gone eerily quiet."
Arden leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "That means they're preparing something worse."
Before anyone could respond, the heavy doors of the chamber creaked open. A soldier entered — pale, shaking.
"D-Duke Arden! Someone has appeared at the southern gate!"
Selene frowned. "A messenger?"
The soldier hesitated. "No, my lady… an assassin."
The room fell silent.
Arden stood. "Bring her to me."
Moments later, in the great hall, the doors opened again.
A figure stepped through — clad in dark leather, her hood low, a faint scent of steel and moonlight following her. She moved with the grace of a panther, every step silent, deliberate.
When she lifted her head, everyone saw her face — beautiful, sharp, and emotionless. Her silver eyes gleamed like blades.
"I come bearing no ill will," she said softly. "Only a message — from the dead."
Arden's eyes flickered. "From the dead?"
She nodded, then drew a dagger from her belt. The blade shimmered faintly with black runes. "This is Nocturnis, the blade that slew the God of Shadows during the War of Divinity."
The room tensed instantly. Mira's ears twitched, ready to move. Elyndra's hand hovered over her bow.
But Arden raised a hand. "Let her speak."
The assassin's lips curved faintly. "I am Ryn Ashveil, once a blade of the Empire's silent corps. But I no longer serve their light. The gods you defied, Duke Vale — they are not asleep. They are falling."
Arden's gaze sharpened. "Falling?"
Ryn nodded. "The war between Heaven and the Abyss reignited when you shattered the Church's ritual and took the Saint. Fragments of divine beings are descending into mortal vessels — kings, priests, and warriors alike. The world is becoming a battlefield for broken gods."
Lyra's expression darkened. "So that's what the divine tremors were…"
Selene muttered, "The Church must be using the Empire to gather these fragments."
Arden's voice was low but steady. "And you — what do you want with me?"
Ryn's silver eyes softened slightly. "To offer an alliance. My master was among those who fell resisting the gods' control. Before he died, he spoke your name. Said you would be the one to 'crush heaven twice.'"
The words sent a faint chill through the room.
Arden exhaled slowly. "Crush heaven twice… I see."
He studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "You carry truth in your eyes, and blood on your hands. You'll fit right in."
Ryn blinked — momentarily surprised. "You… trust me that easily?"
Arden's smile faded, replaced by calm certainty. "No. But I trust your intent — and your hatred burns brighter than most prayers I've seen."
Later that night, Ryn stood on the northern walls, the moonlight bathing her in silver. She watched Arden approach quietly, the crunch of snow beneath his boots breaking the silence.
"You've built quite a fortress," she murmured. "Stone, steel, loyalty. All things the Empire lost long ago."
Arden joined her at the edge, gazing into the endless dark. "I built it so my people could sleep without fear. So that those who once had nothing… could finally have a home."
Ryn's expression softened. "And yet, even now, you look beyond it. Toward the next war."
He gave a faint smile. "Habit."
She chuckled — a rare sound from her lips. "Then let me be your blade, Duke of the North. I've spilled blood for tyrants and kings… let me spill it now for something greater."
Arden turned to her, golden eyes reflecting the moon. "Then you fight not for me — but for the world we'll forge after it burns."
Their gazes held — a spark of unspoken understanding between two warriors forged by violence.
By dawn, Wintercrest was alive with movement again. Scouts prepared for new missions, mages fortified barriers, and the Direwolf Riders patrolled under the pale sun.
Selene approached with new intel. "Our spies report movement to the east — a gathering of sects calling themselves the Children of the Fallen. They claim to serve a reborn god."
Arden folded his arms. "Another piece of the storm."
Lyra looked to him with concern. "If the gods are truly descending, what can mortals do to stand against them?"
He gazed over the snowy plains, the wind tugging at his cloak. "Mortals built kingdoms. Mortals defied death. Mortals forged heaven itself into legend."
His voice lowered, fierce and resolute.
"If gods fall again… it will be mortals who bury them."
Ryn smiled faintly from the shadows. "Then let the heavens tremble, Duke Vale. The real war begins now."
The first rays of dawn broke across the sky — crimson, golden, and cold.
The North had survived the Empire.Now, it would face the wrath of the divine.