Morning broke slowly over the wilderness, spilling soft, golden sheets of light across the horizon. The night's chill retreated inch by inch as warmth crept back into the world, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of dew and damp earth through the tall grass.
Vaelus walked with one hand tucked casually into his green robe, the other clutching a handful of dried meats he'd poached from Morvath's bag. He chewed loudly, munching lazily as they moved. Morvath offered a quiet, weary sigh, but the path simply curved onward toward the rising sun. Vaelus dusted his hands together, finishing the last piece as they wound through rolling fields that glowed under the early light. Birds stirred in the distance, their faint calls echoing across a deceptively peaceful landscape.
Eiden led at the front, his white hair catching the sunlight like strands of spun silver. Behind him, Iris and Selyndra followed, their boots crunching softly against the dry soil. Morvath and Vaelus walked side-by-side—one silent, the other still grumbling about Zeth's endless talking—while Dravien and Seraphaine brought up the rear, their eyes scanning the horizon with constant vigilance.
Then the breeze shifted, and the peace shattered.
Selyndra slowed first, her expression tightening. "Do you smell that?"
Eiden did. A faint metallic tang carried on the wind—subtle, unmistakable. Blood.
Their steps grew quieter and more deliberate. As the path curved to the right, the landscape opened up to reveal a horror illuminated by the morning sun. A field of bodies lay before them, bright white wings sprawled across the dirt. Feathers were bent, stained, and dulled, some twisted beneath their owners and others stretched outward as if frozen mid-flight. Spears and snapped blades lay scattered in the grass, some still gripped in stiffened hands.
Pools of dark red had gathered beneath the fallen, soaking deep into the soil and staining the grass a rusted hue. Sunlight glinted off the gore in fractured patches—a mosaic of gold and crimson. Human soldiers lay among the angels, their armor dented and smeared, arrows spilled across the ground like shards of glass.
Every fallen soul bore the same mark: a single, clean slash across the chest. The wounds were so precise they looked unreal, as if the blade had passed through armor and bone without the slightest resistance. Each cut was identical—cold, mechanical, and hauntingly accurate.
The breeze stirred loose feathers and scraps of cloth, making the battlefield feel disturbingly alive. The smell of iron hung thick in the air.
"This… this wasn't a fight," Dravien whispered, his ears flattening. "This was a massacre."
Vaelus exhaled sharply, his emerald eyes narrowing. "One strike each. Perfectly placed. Whoever did this… wasn't even trying."
Morvath crouched beside a fallen angel, studying the slash without touching the body. "No hesitation. No wasted motion. This was done by someone who knew exactly where to strike." He stood up, and the bag of dried meats slipped from his shoulder, hitting the grass with a soft thud that went entirely unnoticed.
"Yajin…" Selyndra whispered.
Eiden stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the field. He remained calm and unreadable, his understanding sharpened by the carnage. The wind tugged at his cloak, carrying a faint, heavy echo of something divine.
"This is his work," he said quietly. "He passed judgment."
The air seemed to shift as clouds drifted overhead, dimming the sunlight. The trail of bodies was only the beginning, stretching deeper into the Unclaimed Lands toward the castle of the Angel King. Eiden stepped forward again, his boots brushing through the tall grass.
"We must continue walking," he said, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on the horizon. "The castle is near."
The others straightened as the weight of his tone settled over them like a drawn curtain.
"And from this moment on," Eiden added, his hand drifting to his waist, "be very careful… and on guard."
With a smooth, practiced motion, he unsheathed his katana. The blade whispered free of its scabbard, catching the morning sun in a cold, lethal gleam. The world itself seemed to recognize the shift in intent as the air around him tightened.
Morvath nodded once, reaching to his sides to draw his dual fanged blades. Their curved edges reflected the golden light as he spun them lightly to test their balance. Vaelus exhaled, his irritation fading into a sharp focus as he unsheathed his own steel. Selyndra did not draw a weapon, but as she flicked her golden hair back, her aura shifted—poised, shimmering, and ready.
The Great Sages moved forward, their shadows stretching long across the dirt as they marched toward the rising sun and the castle that waited beyond.