Alliyana Etheria's Perspective
The snow fell quietly.
Not in swirling gusts, not in soft spirals—just a straight, silent descent. Like the sky itself had no more will to fight the weight of what was coming.
We had finally arrived.
And yet… this wasn't what I expected.
The shack was pitiful. Wooden, small, barely worthy of the title. But I knew—I knew—whatever sat inside that structure was anything but demonic.
It felt familiar.
Not in shape or aura, but in weight.
This was divinity. Not a demon. Something older. Something tired.
I stood still, watching as the paladins and bishops made their approach.
Alana knocked on the door—measured, ceremonial. The wind carried the echo like a drumbeat stretched thin.
Then it opened.
A girl. Blue hair. Pale. Skin almost white.
She wore no cloak. No gloves.
The cold didn't seem to touch her.
I narrowed my eyes.
No human is born like that.
Then a scream.
"Somnira!" Isabelle's voice cracked beside me—sharp and guttural.
I turned.
She was already moving forward, wide-eyed.
Somnira?
No. That was impossible.
The Elves' Sleeping Goddess?
She should be far east, cradled by the trees of their sanctuary.
What was she doing here—on the edge of the continent?
Then he appeared.
A man.
Tall. Broad-shouldered, but lean—like strength that had eroded into exhaustion. His hair was black. Eyes unreadable. His presence…
I froze.
He felt like the paladins—but worse.
Not singular. Entangled. Multiple divine strands woven into one distorted coil. A contradiction made flesh.
The paladins bowed. Then the bishops followed.
My hands clenched.
They sensed Aurumor on him. Or traces of him. But they were blind to the rest.
Then Dave moved.
A sudden blur. A divine slash. Holy light carved through the air, just missing the man's cheek.
Isabelle screamed again. "Get away from him!"
White wings erupted from the man's back—graceful, gleaming. Too perfect to belong to this world. He turned, unfazed, and whispered to the girl:
"Get back inside, sister. I'll handle this."
Sister?
Dave pulled Alana back, shouting for a full retreat.
Too late.
Feathers rained down—white, glowing.
They landed gently on the frost.
Then twitched.
Then moved.
What rose from the snow were not beasts. They were creations. Grotesque approximations of divinity.
Four-legged. Angelic, but wrong. Their bodies shimmered with light, but their eyes—those weren't eyes. They were pits. Empty vessels lined with intention.
Demonic and divine.
Isabelle grabbed my arm. "Run!"
I didn't move.
"I'm staying," I said. "You'll need me."
We were already surrounded.
Soldiers scrambled into formation. Shields raised. Swords drawn. The Orell scouts backed into the Aurellian ranks.
The paladins charged the man. Steel and divinity lit the air like falling stars.
He fought them—but he didn't want to.
You could see it. In the way he blocked instead of striking. In how he kept glancing back at the shack.
Then the air shifted.
Colder.
Isabelle was pulling heat from the atmosphere. The snow hissed beneath her boots. Her coat fluttered like fire's echo.
She raised both hands and unleashed a fusillade of flame. Arcs of red and orange split the air, crashing into the beasts with searing force.
They screamed. Not in pain.
In confusion.
Above, the flying ones retaliated—angelic hybrids with wings like glass. They fired beams of divine light.
I stepped beside Isabelle.
"Stay close," I said calmly.
Light beams fell around us like judgment. I closed my eyes and felt each one. Only blocked what would have hit us.
The rest didn't matter.
When the dust settled, we were untouched.
The soldiers stared.
I shouted to them, "Focus on your own battles! She's safe with me!"
They returned to the fray, renewed.
One soldier called out, panicked. "Behind you!"
A beast lunged. I didn't think.
My blade moved.
Its head rolled cleanly onto the snow. Steam rose from the neck like incense.
I stepped back beside Isabelle. She didn't even look. She trusted me. Her hands were already casting again.
"Prioritize the mage!" the man shouted. The ground shook with his voice.
I inhaled.
Let the chaos pass through me.
The beasts charged. One by one. Slashing, gnashing, burning.
I waited until they touched my zone.
And then—I moved.
A step. A cut. A leap. A pivot.
I danced between them. Used barriers as footholds. Bounced like wind between raindrops.
The sky cracked with light.
The ground churned with rot.
I was in my rhythm.
But rhythm is never absolute.
One of them—a flyer—dived low, its wings stuttering unnaturally as if resisting gravity itself. A feint.
I moved to intercept—
—and the real threat struck from above.
A second beast, cloaked in refracted light, plummeted through my blind arc. Too close. Inside my zone.
Its claws scraped the edge of my shoulder.
Not enough to cut.
But enough to steal time.
My heel skidded on the barrier surface. A half-breath off.
I adjusted.
I dropped low, pivoted beneath its wings, and slit its underbelly clean.
The body split mid-air.
The next foothold formed beneath me.
My rhythm returned.
Within my domain—I was untouchable.
The tide turned.
The soldiers—less so.
One by one, they fell. Screams echoed. Steel clanged and fell silent.
The healers tried to flee. Some made it. Most didn't.
Two bishops were torn apart—robes stained with the cost of their delusion.
Dave's breathing grew ragged. His strikes slowed.
Then I heard his voice—panicked.
"Alana!"
She was falling.
A beast's blow had knocked her clean off her feet. Dave turned—
The man struck.
His hand pierced Dave's stomach like paper. Then tossed him aside like weightless cloth.
I killed the two beasts closest to us and turned to Isabelle.
"Run!" I yelled.
"I can't!" she shouted. "I need her!"
The blue-haired girl.
Of course.
I nodded once—and ran.
My barriers formed mid-air. One after the other. I sprinted across them—leaping like stone steps toward the shack.
The girl didn't fight. I grabbed her by the collar and dragged her out.
But he was already there.
He stood between us and freedom. Calm. Still holding back.
I raised my knife and pressed it to her throat. "I'll kill her," I said.
The girl calmly asked, "Why do you resist, child?"
He pointed.
The wave of beasts parted.
One approached. Massive. Upright. Dragging something.
Isabelle.
Blood trailing behind her.
He spoke softly. "You're not in control here. Put her down."
Behind me—the ocean.
Before me—his army.
Isabelle, barely conscious, choked out her plea.
"Take the girl… please… the Elves… they have my daughter…"
The man didn't hesitate. His hand gripped Isabelle's throat. Lifted her.
She didn't struggle. She looked at me.
And I understood.
She was glowing. Heat rippled from her skin. Her core was collapsing. A self-detonation.
One final act.
The man looked at her. "Self-destruction magic?" he said. "Predictable."
His hand ignited in black fire. It wasn't heat—it was absence.
"I'm sorry for what I am about to do, child."
He closed his fingers. And she was gone. No scream. No ash.
Just… gone.
For a moment, there was no world. No snow. No sword. No gods.
Just a silence so complete, my body might forget to breathe.
I lunged. Knife forward.
He swatted me away like an afterthought. I hit the snow hard. Skidded.
Looked up.
He held the girl gently now.
He looked down at me. Voice soft. Regretful.
"This is something I must do," he said.
"I send my condolences."
I believed him.