The fire cracked softly, its light chasing thin shadows across the ruin walls. Sena sat cross-legged near the flames, polishing the edge of her chakram with a cloth that caught the gold light in flickers.
Kael sat apart, his back against the wall, the Ruyi Jingu Bang resting across his knees. The relic was silent now, but his grip on it wasn't.
Sena glanced over without lifting her head. "You've been somewhere else since we saw that scout."
Kael didn't answer at first. His eyes were fixed on the fire, but what he saw wasn't flame. It was the reflection of a golden pendant, lying in the snow. A woman's hand—his mother's hand—limp beside it.
Leafa's voice came to him in pieces. The sound of her laugh when the first snow of winter fell. The way she hummed when cooking over an open flame. The way she had looked at him that day—calm, even as Ottalaus's blade rested against her throat.
Kael's jaw tightened.
"He killed her," he said, the words low, almost lost beneath the fire's hiss.
Sena didn't speak. She didn't need to.
"He didn't do it to win a battle," Kael went on. "He did it to break me. To make me a warning." His fingers traced the staff's engraved patterns. "He was wrong."
Sena set the chakram down. "Then we find him before he makes anyone else into an example."
From beyond the ruin walls, a distant horn sounded—three sharp notes. A signal. Kael rose instantly, the Ruyi Jingu Bang extending with a smooth metallic whisper.
Sena caught her chakram in a single motion. "Lead the way."
Kael's gaze drifted briefly toward the horizon, where darkness pooled between the peaks. Somewhere out there, Ottalaus moved, confident and untouched.
Not for much longer.
They stepped into the snow. The fire behind them guttered and died.
The sky was the color of steel when Kael and Sena reached the edge of the ruined bridge.
Below, a frozen river wound like a serpent through the canyon, its surface fractured into jagged panes. The wind here was sharper, cutting across Kael's cheekbones.
A figure stood in the middle of the bridge, motionless. His armor was deep green chased with gold, the sigil of a branching tree engraved over his chestplate. A long spear rested across his shoulders—not Gungnir, but patterned to mimic it.
"Yggdrasil's Order," Sena murmured, her voice tightening.
The man's eyes found Kael first. He smiled, but it didn't reach his gaze. "Kael of the Northern Ash. I was told you'd be taller."
Kael's grip on the Ruyi Jingu Bang tightened. "And you are?"
"Merodach," the man said with a slight bow. "Envoy of our Sovereign Leader, Ottalaus." The title rolled from his tongue like a claim no one dared challenge.
Sena's chakram shifted in her hands, but Merodach didn't flinch.
"He sends his regards," Merodach continued, "and a reminder—your mother was not the first to fall in his ascent, nor will she be the last. He bids you stop your little hunt before it becomes… unpleasant."
The words landed heavy.
Kael stepped forward, each boot crunching on the snow. "Tell Ottalaus this—he didn't break me when he killed Leafa. And he won't live long enough to try again."
Merodach's smile finally shifted into something cold. "Then you've chosen the hard road."
In a single motion, his spear came off his shoulders. The bridge seemed to shrink between them.
Sena's chakram flashed into motion. Kael's staff extended with a metallic whisper.
Snow swirled in the wind's teeth. The envoy struck first.
The first strike came like a spear of lightning.
Merodach's weapon—a blackened metal shaft tipped with a blade shaped like Yggdrasil's root—moved faster than Kael expected, carving a hiss through the air.
Kael blocked with the Ruyi Jingu Bang, the impact sending a sharp tremor up his arms. This wasn't Gungnir, but it carried something dangerous—unnatural precision, as if the weapon anticipated his defense.
Sena's chakram spun in golden arcs, their hum deepening as they closed in on Merodach. At the last instant, one slowed, the other surged forward—the scales of Ma'at judging the man's heart and finding it heavy. The fast blade clipped his pauldron, sparking against enchanted steel.
Merodach laughed, shoving Kael back. "You think your relics make you gods. This one—" he spun his spear, the metal leaving a faint green afterglow "—was forged without a myth. Born in a foundry, not a legend."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "An artificial relic."
Merodach's grin sharpened. "One of many. Soon, we won't need the old gods' castoffs."
He lunged again, his movements unpredictable, feinting high then twisting low. Kael's clones burst into being around him—four perfect reflections, each wielding the golden staff. They struck together, driving Merodach back a step for every blow he parried.
But the artificial relic adapted—its glow shifting, its rhythm changing with each clash.
Sena darted in from the side, her chakram colliding mid-air before splitting apart again, one heavy enough to smash through a frost-coated railing, the other so light it whistled harmlessly until it curved back toward Merodach's exposed flank.
The envoy caught it with the haft of his spear and twisted, flinging it away. "Not bad," he said, "for relics chained to the past."
Kael surged forward, his clones converging, staffs striking in a perfect storm. The bridge shuddered under the force.
Merodach slid back toward the center, boots grinding ice. For the first time, his smile faltered. "Tell Ottalaus…" Kael began, staff raised high, "…this is just the beginning."
The final blow sent the envoy sprawling, his artificial relic skidding across the ice. But before Kael could seize it, the weapon dissolved into a shimmer of green light—recalled by a master far away.
Merodach's body faded with it, his voice echoing through the snow. "He's waiting for you."
Only the wind remained.