The morning sun rose slowly over the obsidian towers of Zeth's castle, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The air was cold and sharp, carrying the faint scent of dew and stone. The castle's black walls glimmered like polished onyx, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it—a fortress carved from night itself.
The Seven Sages stood together at the base of the grand staircase, cloaks brushing against the stone as they prepared to depart. The carriage waited in the center of the courtyard, its dark wood gleaming, horses pawing at the ground with restless energy. Around it, the escort of mounted mages formed a protective ring, their white and blue cloaks fluttering in the morning wind.
Zeth descended the steps slowly, his crimson eyes scanning each of them—not as a lord addressing guests, but as a guardian watching over his own. "You all know what lies ahead," Zeth said, voice steady but heavy. "The gods do not summon lightly. Whatever awaits you beyond that gate… it will not be simple."
The Sages stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder. Vaelus stepped forward first, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "We'll be fine. We've handled worse."
Selyndra approached next, her golden eyes softening. "We'll return. All of us."
Zeth nodded, though his jaw tightened. "See that you do."
Morvath crossed his arms, trying to look indifferent. "You're acting like we're going to war."
"You might be," Zeth replied without hesitation.
Dravien clung to Eiden's sleeve, ears drooping. "Do we really have to go…?"
Eiden placed a hand on his head, gently ruffling his hair. "We'll be back."
Zeth's gaze shifted to Eiden—and for a moment, the courtyard felt colder. "You especially," Zeth said quietly. "Be careful."
Eiden blinked. "Why me?"
Zeth didn't answer. He didn't need to. Seraphaine stepped forward, bowing her head. "Thank you for sheltering us."
Zeth waved a hand dismissively. "Don't thank me. Just survive."
Iris approached last, her book tucked under her arm. "We'll bring back whatever answers the gods give us."
Zeth's expression softened—just slightly. "Good."
The mages on horseback straightened as the Seven approached the carriage together. The horses snorted, hooves scraping against the dirt. The wind brushed past the obsidian walls. The castle seemed to watch them—silent, ancient, protective.
Eiden paused at the carriage door and turned back. Zeth stood at the top of the steps, arms crossed, cloak whipping behind him like a shadowed banner. His expression was unreadable—but his aura pulsed with something fierce and unspoken.
"Zeth," Eiden said. "We'll return."
Zeth's crimson eyes narrowed, but his voice remained steady. "You better."
The Seven climbed into the carriage together—Eiden, Vaelus, Selyndra, Morvath, Seraphaine, Dravien, and Iris—their cloaks brushing against one another as they settled inside. The door shut with a soft thud. The horses reared, then began to move.
As the carriage rolled forward, the massive gates of the castle opened with a deep, echoing groan. The escort of mages tightened their formation, surrounding the carriage as they rode out into the dead plains. The Sages leaned out the window for one last look. Zeth stood alone at the top of the steps, cloak billowing, eyes glowing faintly in the morning light.
The gates closed behind them. The castle grew smaller. The world ahead stretched into pale morning light and endless dead grass.
The carriage rumbled steadily along the dirt road, its wheels grinding softly against the dry earth. Dead grass stretched endlessly on both sides, brittle and pale beneath the pale morning sun. The landscape looked drained of life—a vast, colorless plain where the wind carried only dust and silence.
Behind them, Zeth's massive black castle grew smaller with every passing moment. Its obsidian towers rose like jagged fangs against the horizon, shrinking slowly as the carriage moved farther away. Even from a distance, the castle looked alive—a dark monolith watching them leave.
Surrounding the carriage was an escort of mounted mages, their white and blue cloaks fluttering in the wind as their horses trotted in disciplined formation. Their staffs were strapped to their backs, glowing faintly with protective enchantments. The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed across the barren fields, a steady heartbeat of the convoy.
Inside the carriage, the air was warm and dim, lit only by the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Eiden sat near the window, watching the dead grass sway as the wind brushed past. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp—thoughtful. The four hilts at his waist and back glinted faintly with each shift of the carriage.
Dyuke sat across from him, hands folded neatly in his lap, studying Eiden with a mixture of curiosity and respect. "Seems you have four swords now," Dyuke said, his tone light but edged with interest. "But that reminds me… do any of you remember what happened to the Sword of Judgement?"
Eiden tapped the hilt at his waist—the one that had once belonged to Yajin. "It's now the blade of Eiden," he said calmly. "Or the blades of Eiden."
Dyuke's brows lifted. "I see… you've converted it into your own. Taking ownership of it. What other things have you done with it, if I may ask?"
Eiden shifted slightly, the carriage rocking beneath him. "I understood how it works," he said. "How to… I'm not sure how to explain it simply. But as you know, when wielding it, all spells meant to harm you don't affect you whatsoever."
Dyuke nodded slowly. "Correct."
"I examined the properties behind that immunity," Eiden continued. "How the blade rejects all magic. I embedded that same property into my hairbow and the rest of my blades."
Dyuke blinked. "And… yourself?"
Eiden nodded once. "Yes. Currently it's on—and always will be on. And I've now mastered the ability to turn this power on and off."
Dyuke leaned back, exhaling softly. "You are very smart. The stories about you are very much true indeed… You are more powerful than you were just about a year ago."
Eiden looked out the window again, watching the dead grass ripple like waves beneath the wind. Outside, the mages rode in silence. Inside, the carriage hummed with quiet tension.
The carriage continued forward, the wind brushing against its wooden frame. And then—the landscape changed.
Up ahead, rising from the dead plains like a monument carved from pure light, stood a massive white gate. It towered above the land, impossibly tall, impossibly wide, glowing with a brilliance that made the air shimmer around it. A colossal barrier wrapped around the gate like a dome of condensed divinity, its surface rippling with white energy.
The convoy slowed. The carriage came to a stop. The Sages stepped out one by one, boots crunching against the dry earth. The wind carried the faint hum of the barrier—a sound like distant chimes echoing through a hollow world.
Dyuke remained seated inside the carriage, offering a small nod. "Good luck, you Seven," he said. "I'll be going now."
He closed the door, and the carriage lurched forward again. The mages on horseback followed, their formation tightening as they rode away, leaving the Sages standing alone before the radiant gate.
The Sages watched the convoy disappear into the distance. The wind grew still. The barrier pulsed.
Then—
"Eiden."
A voice called out, deep and resonant, vibrating through the air like a divine chord. The Sages turned sharply. And standing before the gate, materializing from the white light itself, was Larry.
Standing there.
The wind died. The world stilled. The white barrier hummed with divine pressure as the Sages turned toward the voice that called Eiden's name. And there he stood.
Larry. Not perched on a throne. Not lounging. Not disguised. Not softened. But standing on the earth itself—a black, muscular cat whose very presence warped the air around him. His emerald eyes glowed like twin stars, sharp and unblinking, cutting through the world with predatory clarity. His fur shimmered like obsidian under the barrier's light, each strand reflecting a faint green sheen that rippled with every subtle movement.
The ground beneath his paws bent inward, as if gravity itself bowed to him. Reality refused to touch him. The wind refused to brush him. The world refused to ignore him.
Even standing still, Larry radiated the pressure of a silent storm waiting to break—a divine force compressed into the shape of a cat, yet more terrifying than any demon or god the Sages had ever faced.
The Sages froze. Not out of fear—but out of instinct. A primal, ancient instinct that whispered: This is a being who could erase a universe by accident.
Eiden's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't step back. Larry's gaze flicked to him, and the air tightened. The dead grass around them flattened in a perfect circle.
Larry's voice echoed—not loud, not shouted, but resonant, vibrating through the bones of everyone present.
"Eiden."
Just his name. But the weight behind it felt like a divine decree. The Sages straightened unconsciously, their auras tightening, their bodies reacting before their minds could catch up.
Larry took a single step forward. The earth cracked beneath his paw. His emerald eyes glowed brighter, reflecting Eiden's silhouette within them.
"You've arrived," Larry said, his voice calm, deep, and impossibly steady. "Good."
The barrier behind him pulsed in response, as if acknowledging its master. Larry's gaze swept across the Sages—each one stiffening under the weight of being evaluated by a god whose standards were beyond mortal comprehension. Then his eyes returned to Eiden.
"You and Morvath were summoned," Larry said. "The Council awaits."
The wind finally dared to move again, brushing past the dead grass in a trembling whisper. Larry's tail flicked once—a motion so small, yet the barrier rippled outward like a shockwave.
"Follow me."
He turned toward the gate.
The barrier parted for him like water.