—The General Rests—
I didn't notice when the drizzle began.
"General Kael," I said, my voice steady despite the cold mist clinging to my skin. "The king and countless soldiers—their spirits still guard this land. Time itself has given you their answer. Though your body was lost long ago, I've prepared a worthy resting place. May you sleep here and continue to watch over England."
Aurelius turned toward me. His eyes were depthless, chilling. I couldn't read his thoughts—only felt that gaze piercing through me, stirring a faint doubt in my own resolve.
After a moment, he spoke, each word measured and clear. "If the king remains, so shall I. Do not fear. From this day, I will guard this place. Here, I will rest."
It was done.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, yet it felt unreal—this was the Nightmare General, the one who had defied every master and mystic, and I had persuaded him to lay down his wrath. It was like waking from a dream.
It was past two in the morning. If the binding hadn't been completed before three, we'd have to wait another day. And who knew what tomorrow would bring? I had to move.
"General Kael," I said, gesturing toward the array laid out with thirty-six coffin nails. "Please."
Aurelius rose, hefted his war-axe, and strode into the center of the formation.
He stood there, unmoving.
But he didn't fade.
Something was wrong.
My chest tightened. This was my first time laying this array, but The Meta Codex was clear: if he willed it, the formation should have activated, guiding him to rest. Why was nothing happening?
"A moment, General," I said, moving forward to check each nail.
Every one was in its precise, calculated place.
Nothing was out of order.
Then how—
A voice cut through the silence.
"It's because of my Eight-Ghost Funerary Array."
Elias Rowan.
I turned sharply. He emerged from the shadows not far off, walking quickly toward us. He looked thinner than he had days before, a dusting of stubble along his jaw.
"Who are you?" Aurelius's voice turned cold, the edge of his axe glinting faintly crimson.
"He's a son of England, General," I said quickly. "He's here to help."
Aurelius studied Elias in silence, then slowly sat cross-legged on the ground, saying nothing more.
Elias showed no fear, only a calm nod in my direction.
"Mr. Rowan," I said. "Your assistance."
He waved a hand dismissively, then knelt, pressing his palms flat against the earth. He began to murmur an incantation—low, guttural words that sounded less like speech and more like the ground itself speaking.
Several minutes later, he pushed himself up. "It's done. Proceed."
I focused, drawing the energy once more.
This time, it took.
At my gesture, the thirty-six nails glowed, their light weaving together into a coffin-shaped lattice of light. It enveloped Aurelius, growing brighter and brighter until we had to shield our eyes. From within the brilliance came a deep, resonant thud—like something heavy settling into the earth.
When the light faded, the nails were gone.
So was Aurelius.
The drizzle had stopped.
I looked down. The cracks in the ground remained. The derelict Prime Minister's Hall still stood, as if nothing had happened at all.
"He's gone!" Jasper rushed over, breathless. "Rhan, he's really gone."
"Yes," I said, exhaling slowly. "It was finished."
---
—The Hundred-Family Robe—
"Young man."
Elias's voice was quiet. He walked toward me, an unreadable, almost-smile on his face.
Jasper stepped in front of me. "What do you want?"
I gently moved him aside. "It's all right. Mr. Rowan is a friend." I clasped my hands toward Elias. "Thank you for your help."
"The thanks should be mine," he said, his gaze intent. "You're young, yet you have a courage I rarely see. It... impresses me."
"You honor me too much."
"I don't offer empty praise," he replied, his tone serious. "Another man, learning he faced a thousand-year-old Nightmare General, knowing his history—that man's courage would have failed. Yet you spoke with him. You earned his trust. You convinced him to rest, willingly, and to keep his vigil. For that alone, you have my respect."
His expression softened. "A millennium ago, my ancestors could not make him rest willingly. They could only suppress him. You... you made him accept it. That took a fortitude my lineage—the Ghost Craftsmen—never mastered. I thank you, on behalf of all who came before me, for fulfilling their unfinished purpose."
Then, to my shock, he bowed deeply—a full ninety degrees.
I caught his arm. "Please, I can't accept this." Whether by age or skill, I was nowhere near worthy of such a gesture from a master craftsman.
"Mr. Rowan, you're..." I noticed the pack on his back. "Leaving?"
"After you departed the other day, I thought it over," he said, looking into the distance. "You were right. My family waited here for this day—for the Nightmare General to truly rest. My mother is gone now. It's time for me to leave as well. To revive our craft."
This was the Ghost Craftsman I had hoped to see. Their tradition had been dormant too long.
"This," he said, reaching into his pack, "is for you."
He handed me a robe.
A Hundred-Family Robe.
The fabric was a patchwork of colors and textures, worn but carefully stitched. Each piece came from a different household—a hundred fragments, a hundred blessings. Among the ancient practitioners of the Meta Order, only those of profound virtue and respect ever earned the right to wear one.
I stared. "This is too generous. I can't accept it."
"You think it's too shabby?" A faint smile touched his lips. "My grandfather and father spent their lives gathering these pieces."
"No—it's not that. Every practitioner dreams of such a robe. But my skill is still shallow. I haven't earned it."
"If you'd asked me days ago, before I watched you send General Aurelius Kael to his rest, I might have agreed," he said, his eyes steady. "But now? You've earned it. More than earned it. Take it. I have little else to give. It's of no use to me, but for you, while your foundation is still settling... it will be a help."
There was nothing more to say. I took the robe in both hands.
It was lighter than I expected, yet it carried a weight beyond measure.
"It's late," he said, turning to go. Then he paused. "If you ever find yourself in need, put this on. Stand beneath the eaves of your home and strike the wood three times with something of the forest. Within three days, I will come."
"Where will you go?"
He looked up at the sky and smiled softly. "The world is wide. There's always a place."
Which meant he had no destination. "If you're willing," I said quickly, "you could travel with me."
He met my eyes, held them for a long moment. "The time isn't right. When you truly need me, I will come."
With that, Elias Rowan turned and walked away, his figure receding into the shadows with the untethered grace of an old-world wanderer.
I watched him disappear, feeling a pang of regret. To have his guidance, even briefly, would have taught me more than I could learn in years.
But as I was now, I was still beneath his notice.
---
I lifted my gaze to the distant, silent peak known as General's Summit, then let it sweep across the empty film lot before settling on the place where Aurelius Kael had vanished.
He came, to protect this land.
He left, still protecting it.
---
End of Part Three.
The story continues in the next volume.