The heavy, iron-studded door of the Instructor's private study groaned on its hinges as Rudra pushed it open.
The room was a sharp departure from the sterile, cold stone of the barracks. It was choked with the scent of old parchment, stale tea, and the sharp, metallic tang of sharpening stones.
Wall-to-wall shelves held scrolls containing the forbidden histories of the Land of Life, their edges yellowed by time and exposure to the waning light of the sun.
Instructor Kaelen stood by a large, arched window, his silver prosthetic arm glinting under the pale moonlight that managed to filter through the heavy clouds.
He looked older tonight, the lines around his eyes deepening as he stared out toward the dark horizon.
Standing beside him was a man Rudra had only seen from a distance during the Great Rallies—an Elder Warrior named Varkas.
Varkas was a living legend, a veteran of the First Fracture who had survived three separate encounters with high-ranking Asuras.
His presence was so heavy with Abha that the very air in the room felt pressurized, making it difficult for a normal person to draw a full breath.
"Rudra," Kaelen said, his voice a low rumble. He didn't turn from the window. "You didn't sleep after the battle. I can hear it in your step."
"The dead don't let me sleep, Instructor," Rudra replied, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
He turned his gaze to the Elder Warrior, his posture straight but respectful. "Why was I summoned at this hour? The next shift on the wall isn't for four hours."
Varkas stepped forward, his eyes scanning Rudra like a predator evaluating prey.
He moved with a predatory grace that belied his age. "Straight to the point. I like that. We don't have time for the pleasantries of the Holy City. We have a situation in the Deva Province that requires a scalpel, not a hammer."
Rudra's brow furrowed. The Deva Province was the heart of the Land of Life—the largest, most prosperous kingdom in the realm.
It was protected by the "Golden Walls" and a standing army of thousands. It was supposed to be the safest place left in the world, the jewel in the crown of humanity's survival.
"Reports are coming in that are... unsettling," Varkas continued, unfolding a heavy, leather-bound map onto the stone table.
He tapped a finger on the capital city, a sprawling metropolis built atop a plateau.
"King Hori, the sovereign of Deva, has gone silent. No tributes have been sent to the Fortress for a month. No reports of Fractures. Nothing."
Varkas leaned in, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "But it's what our secret scouts did see before they disappeared that concerns us. There are whispers of a shadow in the throne room. A presence that doesn't belong to the realm of men. A Knight-class Asura."
The air in the room seemed to turn five degrees colder. Rudra's grip instinctively tightened on the hilt of his sword.
A Knight-class was not like the mindless Soldiers or the animalistic Scavengers they had fought on the wall.
Knights were sentient, highly skilled martial artists of the Void. They possessed a dark -signature (Grina - similar to Abha)that could rival an Elder Warrior, and they were known for their cunning.
"A King of men contracting with the Walking Death?" Rudra asked, his voice low. "That's treason against Eternus. It's suicide."
"In this world, 'impossible' died the day the sky broke," Varkas snapped, his eyes flashing with a cold light.
"If Hori is making a deal to save his own crown, or perhaps to gain a power that Eternus denied him, he is inviting a Trojan horse into the largest population center we have left. If the Deva Province falls from the inside, the Land of Life will follow within a week."
The Mission
Instructor Kaelen finally turned around, his expression grim. "The Rakshkas—the three legends—are currently occupied at the Great Rift, holding back a breach that could swallow the continent.
They cannot be moved. We need a small, inconspicuous team to infiltrate the capital of Deva and confirm the truth.
If King Hori is compromised... if he has truly shaken hands with the Void... you are to terminate the contract."
"And the King?" Rudra asked.
"You eliminate the threat," Varkas said bluntly.
"Regardless of the crown he wears. I chose you because your Abha is... different, Rudra. It doesn't leave the same brilliant golden trail as the others.
You have a darkness in your energy that allows you to move through the shadows of the Deva Province without alerting their sensory wards. You leave at dawn."
Rudra felt the violet ember in his chest pulse. It wasn't the warm glow of duty; it was the cold vibration of fate.
Investigating a King and hunting a Knight Asura in the most powerful city in the world—it was a mission designed for a ghost.
"I go alone?"
"No," Kaelen intervened, resting his flesh-and-blood hand on Rudra's shoulder.
"Vane will accompany you. His Agni Arts are too loud for stealth, but if things go south—and they will—you'll need his fire to burn a path out of that city. He's already been briefed."
The Departure
The sun had not yet crested the jagged peaks of the mountains when Rudra met Vane at the fortress's hidden postern gate.
Two "Wind-Strider" horses, bred for incredible endurance and infused with minor Abha to resist the corruption of the terrain, stood waiting, their breath huffing in the chilly morning air.
Vane looked less like his usual boisterous self. The cocky grin was gone, replaced by a tight, anxious line.
He was checking the cinch on his saddle with trembling fingers. "A mission to the Deva Province, huh? I was hoping for a week of drinking and sleeping, not a trip to the most paranoid kingdom on the map."
"Keep your flames hidden, Vane," Rudra said, mounting his horse in one fluid motion.
The black iron sword on his back felt heavier than usual, as if it anticipated the blood it was about to shed.
"This isn't the wall. We aren't looking for a fair fight or a hero's welcome."
Vane looked at Rudra, noting how the violet light seemed to have settled in the younger man's eyes like a permanent, simmering storm.
"You really think he did it? King Hori? He's supposed to be the 'Shield of the East.' He's a hero in the history books."
"The history books are written by the survivors, Vane," Rudra replied, kicking his horse into a brisk trot. "And survivors are often the most desperate people in the world. The Asuras don't just eat flesh; they feed on that desperation."
As they rode out of the long shadows of the fortress, the Great Wall began to shrink behind them.
For the first time in seven years, Rudra was moving away from the front lines and toward what humanity called 'civilization.'
But as he looked toward the horizon, where the Golden Walls of the Deva Province lay, he felt no relief.
The air felt heavy and stagnant, as if the world were holding its breath. The sky above the great kingdom looked clear to the naked eye, but to Rudra's awakened senses, the atmosphere was thick with a greasy, invisible residue.
Behind them, the sun finally rose, painting the world in shades of deep crimson that reminded Rudra of the blood-soaked square of Drita.
Ahead lay the Deva Province—a place of gold, greed, and a secret that could tear the Land of Life asunder.
"Let's move," Rudra commanded, his voice as cold as the iron on his back. "The King is waiting, and the I am also hungry."