Birds chattered sharply under the forest canopy, their cries slicing through the mist.
Casco carried Rynel carefully, each step over twisted roots and fallen leaves feeling heavier than the last.
The weight on his shoulders wasn't just the child—it was every life touched, every death, every failure from the bridge.
He clenched his jaw, thoughts dark and unyielding:
This burden… it's mine alone to bear, every life lost, every scream heard from the bridge.
None of this—none of the blood, the pain, the endless fighting—would have happened if the elders hadn't taken his sisters.
Tarvan carried Sinatara carefully, muscles taut under the strain, eyes flicking downward as she rested against him.
Her goals—sharp, unyielding, relentless—clashed violently with everything he believed in.
Every step reminded him that her path might lead to ruin, even if she didn't yet see it.
From the far end of the canyon, the Kharuun warriors moved steadily through the forest.
Steps measured as they headed back to the West Tribe, the mist thinning behind them.
Jaless carried the unconscious Doran carefully, muscles straining, eyes flicking toward Gareth as he was carried.
Gareth's Veil… it was unlike anything he'd ever seen—strong, precise, unstoppable.
He tightened his grip, voice quiet but certain:
"Gareth's all asleep now. He must be tired from the fight. I'll make him my friend soon and we'll explore the forest more."
Beside them, Ember moved carefully, cradling Nessy's unconscious form against his chest, eyes soft and distant.
He whispered, almost to himself, voice low but filled with awe:
"Her wit… sharp as any blade, her calm… unshakable even in chaos, and that energy… it pulls everyone forward."
"She's… incredible. Always a light, even when the world's covered in shadow."
The group finally reached the West Tribe domain, the wooden palisades rising through the thinning mist.
Shuna shifted Gareth slightly in her arms, grunting under the weight.
"Ugh… he's ridiculously heavy," she muttered, voice strained.
"Does he even have any bones in him, or is he just solid muscle?"
They entered a large building within the West Tribe domain, its stone foundation and front facade sturdy and imposing.
The upper floors were timbered, the roof slightly sloped with layered wooden tiles.
Small stone carvings added subtle flourishes.
Inside, the room was a resting chamber for warriors—spacious, sparse.
Reinforced windows let in faint light, the air thick with the scent of sweat and wood smoke.
Shuna heaved Gareth onto the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight.
She sank onto the edge, chest heaving, exhaustion painting her features.
"Ugh… you're such a jerk," she muttered, glaring at him, then pushed herself up and walked away, leaving him to rest.
Ember gently laid Nessy onto the bed beside Gareth, adjusting the blankets so she rested comfortably.
Jaless set Doran down on the opposite bed, muscles tense as he watched Shuna fling Gareth onto the mattress.
His jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes, and without a word, he followed Shuna out of the room.
The next day.
Doran knelt before Elder Cael Ardentis, reporting the result of the mission.
Cael's eyes blazed with fury; in a swift motion, he struck Doran, sending him crashing to the ground.
Calmly, almost coldly, he said, "The West needed that lake's Veil… and now they have it."
Cael leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as he listened, voice sharp and commanding:
"Tell me about that boy's fight," he ordered, tone leaving no room for hesitation.
Doran swallowed, then spoke carefully, "It… seems Gareth can use his Veil without the contract… or the potion Sir."
Cael laughed aloud, a deep, echoing sound that filled the chamber.
A grin spread across his face, eyes glinting with excitement.
"We've got a strong champion this time," he said, voice rich with approval and anticipation.
Gareth's eyes fluttered open, meeting Ariela's worried face leaning over him.
He tried to push himself up, muscles trembling, but a sharp, searing pain shot through his body.
With a groan, he sank back onto the bed, clutching his side, unable to move.
Ariela leaned closer, teasing lightly, "You know, sleeping like that isn't very heroic."
The banter stirred Nessy awake; she blinked at the scene, then noticed Ariela and smiled softly.
"Hello," Nessy greeted, her voice gentle.
Ariela returned the smile, nodding warmly, "Hello, nice to meet you."
Their eyes shifted to Gareth, and Ariela nudged him, "Introduce her to me. That's good manners, you know."
Gareth sighed, reluctant, but managed, "This… is Nessy."
Gareth's gaze softened as he studied Nessy, worry tugging at his chest.
"Why… why are you injured?" he asked, voice low, heavy with concern.
Nessy shifted slightly on the bed, her expression calm despite the bruises.
"I fought too," she admitted, eyes flicking to the faint scars and blood on her arms.
"And… I was knocked out, just like Rynel."
The misty light from the windows cast long shadows across the room.
The air thick with the scent of wood and faint Veil energy, grounding them in a world still trembling from battle.
The door creaked open, and Jaless stepped into the room, eyes immediately locking on Gareth.
A wide grin spread across his face, warmth and relief shining in his gaze.
Without hesitation, he moved forward, strides confident, as if closing the distance could make everything right again.
Jaless stopped near the beds, chest still rising from his brisk walk, and raised a hand in greeting.
"I'm Jaless," he said, voice firm but friendly, eyes sweeping across everyone in the room.
"It's good to meet all of you," he added, a warm smile lingering as he acknowledged each person individually.
Gareth's brow furrowed, voice quiet but piercing:
"Jaless… why are you smiling so much?"
Jaless leaned back slightly, relaxed, shrugging with easy confidence.
"I just… want to make you my friend," he said, calm and genuine.
Gareth shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"That's no reason to smile," he said, voice dry but amused.
"…But anyways," he added after a pause, "I'll become your friend."
Gareth's gaze drifted to the window, where the sun peeked through the trees, casting golden light across the room.
He stood slowly, muscles stiff, and said, "I'm going for a walk… Jaless, you coming or what. Ariela, Nessy, talk among yourselves for now."
Stepping outside, they entered the bustling Western streets, the sounds of warriors, merchants, and training filling the air.
Jaless practically bounced with excitement, pointing at buildings and people as he explained eagerly.
"This is our tribe's heart—everyone here trains, works, and lives together. That house over there? Veteran warriors. And that courtyard? The best place to test your Veil."
Gareth glanced around, eyes taking in the activity, and asked, "How is everyone ruled here?"
Jaless smiled, pride in his voice as he replied,
"We're ruled by a complex system called the
DIEMERCY CRUSADE."
He gestured broadly, encompassing the streets and buildings,
"It keeps order, trains warriors, and makes sure the tribe survives—no matter what."
Jaless continued, voice matter-of-fact, pointing to the bustling streets:
"There are five stages of power and position here."
Rulers are the first power. They are also called Sovereign Of The Veil.
Political crusader are second. They are called Crimson council.
Then the warrior's are third and also called
Nightborne Sentinels.
The doctor's are fourth they are nicknamed
Ebon Healers.
The last ones are the farmers they called
Dawnforged Keepers. "
The western streets buzzed softly with life.
Traders sat cross-legged beneath hanging cloth shades,
black-ink banners swaying gently in the morning breeze.
Smoke rose from small cooking pits.
Spices, metal, leather — all mixing into a warm, earthy scent.
Children ran between stalls, laughing, darting past hunters still in armor.
Gareth walked beside Jaless, taking it all in.
Every step felt like walking deeper into a living tribe.
Shadows and sunlight cut across the stone paths in sharp, shifting patterns.
Jaless stopped suddenly.
He unclipped a heavy belt from his waist — lined with black, faintly glowing rings.
Without hesitation, he snapped two free and handed them to a trader.
The rings pulsed once, then dissolved into thin smoke.
The trader nodded in satisfaction, sliding wrapped monster-meat skewers across the table.
Jaless grabbed them and turned with a grin, holding one out to Gareth like an offering.
"Breakfast fit for a champion," Jaless said proudly.
"Best you'll find on this side of the valley."
Gareth accepted it slowly, breathing in the wild, rich scent.
Gareth took a bite, the smoky flavor spreading warmly across his tongue.
His eyes drifted over the sprawling lines of stalls, the endless stone paths, the crowds weaving through the market in every direction.
"How massive is the West Tribe, really?" he asked, still watching the flow of people.
Jaless laughed under his breath — proud, almost smug.
"Massive," he said simply.
"Bigger than you think… and deeper than most ever see."
They kept walking, weaving through the flow of people until the street opened into a small smithing yard.
Sparks snapped through the air.
A broad-shouldered blacksmith leaned over a strange metal frame—half-tool, half-weapon—welding rods of dark alloy together.
The glow of molten metal lit his face in harsh flashes.
Gareth slowed, eyes drawn to the steady rhythm of the man's work.
The heat, the grit, the focused craftsmanship… something about it tugged at an old memory.
Janus would've liked this, Gareth thought.
He would've spent hours here—taking the whole thing apart just to see if he could rebuild it better.
The memory hurt, but in a quiet, familiar way.
Jaless nudged him lightly with an elbow.
"Cool, right?" he said. "Our smiths work day and night. Weapons, tools, gear… they make everything that keeps the West alive."
Gareth nodded silently, still watching the sparks fly.
Far to the east, in a vast, dimly lit cell, Cassiel and Teramon leaned over the edge of the platform, eyes fixed on the strange device below.
The machinery pulsed with red energy, a heartbeat of molten power that had guided them for hours.
Now, the glow dimmed.
Both of them froze.
It's turning off, Cassiel thought, voice silent in his own head. He must be close.
Close enough to reach us, Teramon realized, a cold thrill running down his spine.
The tension hung like a blade over their heads.
Then a sudden presence: a female Valerian, tanned and beautiful, stepped into the chamber.
Her gaze swept over everyone assembled, her voice steady, but carrying the weight of a blow no one could ignore.
"Janus… has… unfortunately died," she announced.
The red glow from the device had vanished completely, leaving a silence so heavy it pressed against their chests.
Eyes widened. Breaths caught.
The threat, the promise, the impossibility of what was coming—everything waited in that moment.