The tension cracked again—but this time, it wasn't fear. It was something heavier. Like the air itself had shifted.
"Wait… have you guys been hiding and watching us this whole time?" Tamsin asked, her tone sharp with disbelief.
"Long enough to see you four crawl out of that building," Caspian replied, his voice casual, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.
Peter stepped forward, his boots crunching against the rubble as he faced Stan. "What you just said now… you mean it, right?"
"Yes," Stan replied, his tone firm, unwavering.
Peter's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then say it clearly."
Stan met his gaze. "Arthur was right. We can't keep running from them forever. At some point, we'll have to fight back—and I want us to start going on the offensive."
The air shifted. The others exchanged quick glances, the weight of his words hitting them hard.
"However," Stan continued, his voice steady, "bloodline power can only be used when there's no other choice—only against a stronger foe. That rule still stands."
Peter's face broke into a grin. "Wow… that's good news. It means we can finally start taking them out." He clenched his fist and slammed it lightly into his palm. "About time."
But before he could take another step, Caspian suddenly moved, slipping in front of him with quick reflexes.
"Hold up a second," Caspian said, stretching an arm out to block Peter's path.
Peter frowned. "What's your problem now?"
Caspian tilted his head, smirking faintly. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Peter said nothing, so Caspian continued. "He said we can only engage when we have no option. But we do have an option right now—we can leave."
Peter's grin faded, his brows drawing together. "Wouldn't that still be running away?"
Caspian's smirk dropped. "Maybe. But running and surviving are sometimes the same thing."
Cressida stepped forward then, her tone calm but firm. "Caspian's right…" she said, her voice carrying quiet authority.
The group fell silent, the weight of her agreement landing heavier than any argument.
"Thank you for that," Caspian said, his tone sincere, though his usual humor had faded.
Cressida nodded, steady as always. "The kids aren't in good condition. We need to get them back to the base for treatment," she said, her eyes flicking to Gwen and the others.
Stan crossed his arms. "Peter, I think that's the right move. This isn't over—but we won't keep hiding anymore."
Peter didn't reply right away. His fists tightened until his knuckles went pale, veins bulging against the strain. He gritted his teeth and looked up toward the clouds, thunder flashing above like a mirror to the anger boiling inside him.
"Fine," he muttered, the word sharp and low.
Stan gave a small nod. Caspian bent down and pulled out a compact metal device—the same type they'd used earlier to open their portal. He placed it on the ground, pressing a small emblem at its center.
A low hum filled the air as glowing rings spun outward, forming a swirling blue rift in front of them. The portal shimmered, unstable but strong enough to get them through.
"One last sweep?" Caspian asked.
"No time," Stan said flatly.
Without hesitation, the group stepped into the portal—one after another, vanishing in a flash of light.
A second later, the device on the ground sparked violently and exploded like a grenade, scattering shards of metal across the ruined cliffside.
The thunder above roared again. Lightning cracked, striking dangerously close to where they had stood seconds ago.
Moments later, a blinding column of light slammed into the base of the cliff. The ground shook under its force, smoke and dust clouding the air.
When the light faded, three figures stood at the impact site.
"Now look at this…" one of them said, his tone casual but sharp as his eyes swept the destruction. "This looks exactly like a place the Pendragons would've visited."
---
Meanwhile, at a far distance from the Vornshade Clan's base, at the bottom of a mountain, a man lay half-buried in snow—injured, bleeding, and barely breathing.
A low, painful groan escaped his lips as he struggled to move. The cold bit deep, freezing the blood that trailed down his arm.
His right forearm had a hole clean through it. The flesh around the wound was blackened, infected, and pulsing faintly with dark vines that crawled up toward his shoulder like living poison.
It was Lucius.
"Shit…" he hissed, his voice breaking with pain.
'What kind of attack was that? I can't even feel my hand,' Lucius thought bitterly.
He had been shot by Merrick.
The earlier qi bullets had barely scratched him—he was a Stage 7 warrior, after all. But that last one… it was different. He didn't understand what kind of energy had been mixed with it. It wasn't just qi. It burned deeper—past flesh, past bone.
Now, no matter how much he tried to circulate his energy, the wound wouldn't close. His body refused to heal. The pain kept eating into him, sharp and relentless.
'Is this… how I die?' Lucius asked himself, his breath fogging in the freezing air.
'I don't even understand what hit me… and the worst part—it came from someone two stages below me.' His fingers twitched weakly, snow melting beneath them. 'Damn it… I haven't even completed my mission…'
While he struggled to stay conscious, two faint figures appeared in front of him—out of the blinding snow.
Lucius could barely lift his head. The pain ripping through his body had drained everything he had left. His vision was blurred, his breath shallow. He'd fought in countless battles, but nothing had ever hurt this bad.
Still, through the haze, he managed to make out the silhouettes standing before him. They didn't look anything like the ones he had fought earlier. Their presence alone felt heavier—ancient, almost divine.
"Jovisrax was right," one of them said, his tone low and calm. "There's someone here."
"Yeah," the other replied, stepping closer to Lucius. "But it doesn't look like he'll stay alive for long. We better take him back before it's too late."
Even in his fading state, Lucius caught fragments of their words. His heart skipped.
'Jovisrax...? As in the Jovisrax... one of the divine beings?' he thought weakly.
But before he could think any further, darkness crept over his vision.
The cold wind blew over his still form as the two figures exchanged a glance—then disappeared with him into the blizzard.