The streets of Velmire burned.
Orange light danced on the soot-streaked stone walls, casting long shadows across the alleyways as smoke choked the air. Syaoran's lungs burned with every breath, but he didn't stop. Not with Rinna's shallow breaths against his side. Not with Teren half-limp on his shoulder.
Not with the chanting behind them getting louder.
"Ash to flame… flesh to Maw… let the gate be opened…"
The cultists' voices were low and guttural, like the earth itself was whispering through them.
And the sound was getting closer.
---
Kira darted ahead, scouting the path. She held her curved blade in one hand, a flickering wind spell in the other, eyes sharp as daggers. "Just ahead," she said. "There's a rebel cachehouse near the old well. Reinforced doors. We can hold out there."
"We won't make it," Syaoran said.
She looked back, and in that split second, she saw what he did.
Figures approaching—dozens of them—moving through fire and smoke like shadows come to life.
Cloaked. Masked. Some with glowing tattoos. Some with no faces at all.
And at the front, a tall figure with molten-black armor and a helm shaped like a beast's skull.
A Voidspeaker.
The cult's executioners.
"Keep them moving," Syaoran said, lowering Rinna and Teren gently behind an old overturned cart.
Kira frowned. "What are you—"
He stepped forward, blue lightning already cracking across his arms.
"I'm ending this."
---
The Voidspeaker raised one gloved hand and the cultists stopped.
"Veilborn," the figure said, voice distorted, layered with a deep, echoing resonance. "The Maw calls to you. Why resist your blood?"
"I'm not yours," Syaoran growled. "And I'm not afraid of your god."
"Not yet," the Voidspeaker replied. "But you will be."
He raised his staff.
Voidfire ignited the sky.
And Syaoran answered with lightning.
---
The blast ripped through the alley with the roar of a thunderclap. Blue arcs exploded from Syaoran's outstretched hand, splitting the stones underfoot, tearing through two cultists instantly. The others scattered—but the Voidspeaker stood firm, raising a wall of dark flame to absorb the impact.
Kira pulled Teren and Rinna into cover. From behind a crumbling wall, she watched Syaoran step forward, eyes glowing with Veil-born light.
The sigil of the Eye—the one from the pedestal—now shimmered faintly across his collarbone, like a tattoo branded from within.
The Voidspeaker laughed.
"You have power. But no training. No control."
Syaoran raised his hand—and called lightning from the sky.
A bolt cracked through the stormclouds above Velmire and slammed into the street, vaporizing another cultist and shaking the nearby buildings.
"I don't need control," Syaoran said, his voice cold. "I need them safe."
---
The Voidspeaker roared and surged forward, Voidfire swirling around him like a serpent of black flame.
The two clashed—lightning and darkness, thunder and silence. The air warped around them, power grinding against power.
Syaoran fought like someone who had nothing left to lose.
And for a moment… he didn't.
---
In the final blow, Syaoran gritted his teeth, planted his feet, and pushed every spark, every thread of Veil energy he could summon into one final strike—his arms glowing, his eyes burning.
"Get out of my city!"
The bolt he unleashed cracked the Voidspeaker's armor and flung him into a burning wall. Screams echoed from the cultists as they scattered, fleeing into the smoke.
The Voidspeaker did not rise.
---
Kira approached, breathless. "That… wasn't magic. That was war."
Syaoran turned, knees shaking, blood dripping from his nose.
"No," he said
"That was a warning."