The screams rising from Aramoor tore the morning apart.
From the temple balcony, the High Priest looked down in horror as dark shapes moved through the streets, corrupted dream-born, falling from the sky like broken shadows. Fire burst from overturned stalls. Mortals fled in all directions. Soldiers rushed into the chaos, shields raised, pulling terrified citizens behind them while others tried to organise barricades.
Erias gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Varos… what's happening?"
Dream seized his arm.
"We are leaving."
Erias stumbled after him as Dream dragged him toward the temple interior. The High Priest followed, robes whipping behind him.
They reached the main hall, but the heavy doors were shaking soldiers slamming them shut as something large clawed at the outside.
Dream moved faster.
But when they neared the inner corridors, the High Priest suddenly raised a hand.
"Not that way."
He pressed his palm to a mural depicting Torvas's scales.
The wall split open.
A hidden passage descended into the dark.
"This exit is known only to the High Priest," he said. "Follow me."
Dream ushered Erias inside.
But before Erias could take three steps into the passage—
A priest burst through a side door.
His robes were torn, his eyes wild. And his hand clutched a bloodied knife.
He spun into the dark passage and looked around desperately.
"Where where is he!?" the priest shouted. "Where is the High Priest?!"
His face twisted, madness and hatred fighting for dominance.
He did not see the three of them deeper inside the passage.
Dream pulled Erias back, silent as a shadow. The High Priest did not move.
Eventually, the priest stumbled away, searching other corridors.
In the quiet that followed, the High Priest exhaled slowly.
"And now," he said, looking at Dream with ancient weariness, "you understand what I meant."
Erias shivered.
Dream's eyes hardened.
They pressed deeper into the corridor.
The hidden hallway opened into a carved stone passage running beneath the temple. Torches flickered on the walls, lit by magic that did not waver.
Erias tried to breathe steadily, but the air was heavy and damp.
They turned a corner
and a figure stepped out of the shadows.
The mid-level priest who had escorted them earlier.
His eyes glowed faintly with corruption. His smile was wrong.
"High Priest," he said, voice trembling with rage, "do you know how long I've served this temple? How long have I waited for your throne to crack?"
He lifted a dagger.
"I should be High Priest. Me. Not you."
Erias froze.
"Your jealousy blinds you," the High Priest murmured. "And it has corrupted your soul."
"How dare you!" the mid-level priest screamed, lunging forward.
Dream moved to intercept but another blur of motion cut through the corridor.
A sword flashed.
Steel struck flesh.
The mid-level priest gasped, looked down at the blade protruding from his chest, then collapsed to the floor.
Standing over him was a man in dark crimson armour, marked with the blazing emblem of Torvas.
The High Priest exhaled.
"Blade of Torvas," he said.
The warrior bowed his head.
"High Priest. I sensed betrayal in the halls."
Erias stared, trembling.
The High Priest rested a hand on the warrior's shoulder.
"This man," he said to Erias and Dream, "is the Blade of Torvas. He was raised from infancy by the church. Trained in the sacred arts of justice. His loyalty is unquestionable."
The Blade nodded once.
"The spark lives within me," he said. "A gift passed down from the founders. The fire of Torvas burns in my veins."
He wiped his blade clean on his cloak, stepped past the fallen priest, and motioned forward.
"This way. The city is lost. We must reach the sanctuary."
Dream and Erias followed.
They emerged into the temple stables a vast chamber hidden behind stone walls. A caravan of horses and armour stood ready.
The Blade opened the carriage door.
"Inside."
The High Priest climbed in first. Dream guided Erias after him.
The Blade mounted a horse and took the reins of the caravan.
"Hold on," he warned.
They thundered out of the hidden tunnel, racing through back alleys as Aramoor burned behind them. Smoke curled into the sky. Screams carried across the rooftops. Soldiers clashed with shadows in the streets.
Erias clung to Dream tightly.
"Where are we going?" he shouted over the wind.
"To sanctuary," the High Priest answered. "A place built long ago for this very calamity."
They reached the city gates
but a soldier barred their way.
His armour bore the emblem of Torvas. But his eyes were wrong. His sword dripped with blood.
The Blade of Torvas halted.
The corrupted soldier pointed his sword at him.
"I've always wanted to be the Blade," he snarled, voice shaking. "Always been better than you. Stronger than you. But the High Priest never chose me."
He raised his weapon.
"If I can't have the title… I'll kill you and take it myself!"
The Blade exhaled steadily.
"You envy the position. You covet the glory. But you never understood the purpose."
The soldier lunged.
Steel clashed.
The Blade dodged the first strike with practised calm.
The corrupted soldier swung again faster, stronger, empowered by something dark and unnatural.
"You are stronger than before," the Blade acknowledged. "Corruption gives you power. But not wisdom."
Their swords met again.
And again.
Erias watched, terrified.
Dream did not move.
Finally, the Blade stepped back, inhaled deeply, and whispered:
"Blade of Judgment."
His sword ignited with a golden flame.
Before the corrupted soldier could react, the Blade struck once, clean, swift, and final.
The soldier collapsed, eyes wide in disbelief.
The Blade knelt briefly.
"You lost," he said softly, "because you wanted the title… not the service that comes with it."
He stood.
"Let us go."
They rode into the countryside, leaving Aramoor behind. Smoke rose in black pillars from the city, staining the sky. The screams faded with distance, replaced by an eerie silence.
Eventually, the Blade guided the caravan into a clearing beneath towering pines.
"We rest here," he said. "The horses can go no farther today."
The High Priest stepped out, leaning heavily on his staff.
Erias climbed out next, staring at the distant city burning orange against the horizon.
Dream stood beside him.
The boy whispered:
"Varos… is Aramoor… gone?"
Dream looked toward the flames.
The rift still pulsed in his spirit. Seros's armies still marched. The Fallen's shadow stretched over the land.
And he answered
"No. Not yet."
But his eyes said what Erias could not understand:
The war had only just begun.