The STF ship descended into Hero's Valley, a vast stretch of emerald plains scattered with gilded mansions, herds of wild horses thundering across the horizon. The wind carried the scent of grass and old stone, a place untouched by the chaos of the galaxy, a sanctuary where legends rested.
Ian and Blade stepped off the ship, their boots crunching against the marble path that led to the largest of the estates, a colossal, gilded-age mansion, older than most nations, its walls etched with runes of protection and banners from wars long past. Ian raised a fist and knocked against the massive golden doors.
They opened on their own with a deep groan, revealing a towering hallway lit by shafts of sunlight. The walls were lined with paintings of the Great Wars, soldiers clashing with demons, fleets in flames, and the Greats themselves immortalized in brush strokes. Blade slowed as his eyes locked on one of the portraits.
Blade, smirking, "Ian… is that you in one of the paintings?"
Ian, flatly, "Yeah. When I was younger."
They reached the end of the hall, where a double staircase curled like the arms of a throne. From the top descended Musana Masa, the First Great. His long, jet-black hair flowed to his traps, his orange eyes glowing faintly like embers. His scarred arms were massive, a living monument to every war he had fought. His tan skin bore the map of battles past, every line carved in blood and fire.
Musana's presence alone made the air feel heavier.
Ian, respectfully, "How's it going, Musana?"
Musana, deep voice, "Been a while since you visited me, boy."
Ian, "Been… busy."
Musana, with a grin, "Busy saving the galaxy. Sure. And Blade, don't think I don't know who you are."
Blade tilted his head, smirking. Blade, "Oh yeah? You've heard of the fastest man alive."
Musana's eyes narrowed, not in disapproval, but like a lion sizing up a cub.
Musana, "I've heard you're reckless. Let's hope Ian keeps you alive."
Ian cleared his throat. Ian, "Anyway… we need your opinion on something."
Musana crossed his arms.
Musana, "So you only come to me when there's a problem. Fine. Let's talk it out with my brother."
He called out, and descending the opposite staircase came Derdric, the Second Great, the Death Angel. His short frost-white hair contrasted sharply with his dark blue eyes, eyes that had stared into death and made it blink. His pale skin seemed almost ethereal against the golden light of the mansion, but the aura around him was suffocating, colder than the grave. Blade muttered under his breath.
Blade, "So that's the Death Angel…"
The four moved into a vast living room, the ceiling arched high above, with a panoramic window overlooking the valley where wild horses grazed under the rising sun. Ian explained the situation, describing The Light, the walking army, and his decision to send Stark and Steel.
The First and Second listened without interruption. Finally, Musana spoke, his voice calm but grave.
Musana, "Steel and Stark… they're capable. Stronger than most men alive. If anyone can stand against this 'Light,' it's them."
Derdric's cold gaze cut into Ian like a blade. Derdric, "But don't confuse strength with certainty. Demons like this… they are storms. You don't beat storms. You endure them."
Blade shifted uncomfortably, for once without a witty remark. Musana leaned forward, resting his scarred hands on his knees.
Musana, "You're right to be cautious, Ian. But don't let fear control you. Trust them. And when the storm comes for you, as it always does, remember that even the Greats bled to keep this Empire alive."
The brothers stood, their words final. Ian bowed his head, gratitude mixed with unease, and Blade followed suit. As Ian and Blade boarded their ship to return to the capital, the valley stretched behind them, eternal and serene. Yet the weight of Musana's and Derdric's warnings pressed on Ian's mind like chains.