Clayton stood upon a circular marble platform adrift above a boundless ocean. The air was still, the water below stretching endlessly, reflecting a sky that looked like a storm that had spent all its fury and fallen into uneasy calm. He turned slowly, searching for any sign of life.
"Hello?" His voice echoed outward, swallowed by the silence.
No answer.
A cold wind stirred, brushing against his skin—not sharp enough to bite, but carrying a loneliness that sank into his bones. On the horizon ahead, a pale blue light shimmered, distant yet inviting. Something deep within him recognized it—not with his mind, but with his soul. It was the feeling of coming home after a long absence, the warmth of a place he had loved before he even had words for it.
He turned.
Far behind him, on the opposite horizon, burned an orange light—dull yet heavy, like smoldering embers beneath ash. A wave of unease rolled through his chest. Though no scent carried on the wind, his nose wrinkled in instinctive disgust. The orange glow did not simply repel him; it felt wrong, dangerous in a way that seemed older than time.
The marble beneath his feet shifted. Slowly at first, then with growing certainty, the platform began to rise—not toward either light, but upward, into the waiting clouds. The wind intensified, forcing Clayton to brace himself, his hair whipping about his face. Moisture clung to his skin as the fog enfolded him, cool drops running down his neck.
For a moment, the world was nothing but grey haze. Then, the marble broke through—and Clayton found himself surrounded by the brilliance of the stars.
They were enormous and impossibly close, suspended in the vast black tapestry. His chest swelled with awe, and he reached out instinctively, half expecting to touch one and feel its warmth in his palm. A smile tugged at his lips as memories bloomed—his father taking him to a clearing beyond their hometown, lying side by side in the grass, watching the stars dance until dawn. The same joy filled him now, as though the universe had reached back to give him a piece of his childhood.
Planets drifted in silent orbits around a golden sun, each glowing world once a home to the ancestors of the peoples now living on Alberain. The air here was weightless, pure—
A thunderclap tore the silence apart.
Clayton's eyes snapped to the horizon, where a dark, massive shape moved along the inner edge of what seemed to be a great stone wall encircling the solar system. Even from this distance, he felt its attention fix upon him. A primal instinct told him that whatever it was, it wanted him—and not for anything good.
"I don't know what you are," Clayton shouted into the cosmic expanse, gripping the hilt at his side, "but I will not be taken without a fight!"
His hand closed around the sword—no, the broken blade he had used against the Gultonk and Panagiot.
A voice slid into his mind like oil seeping through cloth.
Oh, I can't wait to meet you in person, little knight.
Clayton's jaw clenched. He rushed to the edge of the platform. "WHY WAIT? I STAND HERE NOW!"
A cold pressure pressed against his spine. Every muscle in his body locked, every instinct screaming at once. Slowly, he turned.
A figure stood there, cloaked and hooded, its presence seeping dread into every vein.
"You are very loud," it whispered.
Clayton didn't just hear the words—he felt them, as though they had been spoken directly into his soul.
"You must leave now." The figure's hand pressed lightly against his chest. The touch was gentle, yet it pushed him backward off the platform as if the stars themselves had shifted.
He fell—through cloud after cloud—until the cold ocean swallowed him. The water clung to him, pulling him downward into its black depths. His lungs screamed as he opened his eyes, staring into the abyss below.
A pale hand reached out from the darkness.
Just before it could seize him, heat bloomed across his cheek, sharp and stinging.
Clayton's eyes snapped open to the sight of Kira and Francisco leaning over him.
"Good," a voice said, warm and familiar. "I wasn't too late."
Clayton blinked. "Will… William?" His voice was weak, uncertain.
"Yes, my dear friend, it's me."
Francisco's voice was tight with relief. "We thought we lost you. You stopped breathing, Clayton—your eyes rolled back—"
Clayton slowly sat up, wincing at the ache spreading through his body. "I… I saw something," he whispered. "A place not of this world. And something in it saw me back."
Kira's gaze flickered, her expression guarded. "Then whatever it was… it knows you now."
Clayton's chest tightened—not from fear, but from the strange, lingering pull of that blue light. "I think," he said quietly, "I was meant to choose."
William's voice softened, as if speaking to a boy instead of a grown warrior. "And what did you choose, Clayton?"
Clayton stared at the ground for a long moment. The sound of the waves beyond the shore whispered in his ears. "I chose to come back."
Kira's shoulders eased, but Francisco still looked unsettled, as if he could feel the shadow of whatever had brushed against Clayton's soul.
William studied Clayton for a moment longer, then placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Then we'd better make that choice worth something."
Kira's gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of exhaustion clear in her eyes. "I'm sorry... I can't help you right now. My power's completely drained. I need to rest before I can do anything more."
Clayton struggled to his feet, every movement reminding him of the numb pain along his side. "Don't apologize. You found them—that's all that matters. More than helping me."
Before he could brace himself, a heavy, friendly slap landed squarely on his back. Diomede stood there, grinning like a bear who just found honey. "Spoken like a true knight of Umar, little cub," he teased with a rough chuckle.
Lily stepped forward, eyes sharp and business-like. "Let's get everyone together. We need to figure out what to do with the survivors."
Francisco nodded. "Can't just leave them hanging, right?"
Kira shook her head, voice pained but resolute. "I know they need help, and it breaks my heart to say it, but I can't stay. I have to go north."
Clayton blinked. "North? What's up there?"
Kira glanced toward Diomede, silently asking him to fill in the blanks. Clayton could feel the tension in the air — whatever was north was not something to say aloud. He gently pulled the group away from the crowd, toward a ruined dock by the river.
Silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Clayton finally broke it. "Look, whatever you're after up north, I think you owe me the truth."
Diomede gave a slow nod. "Your call, Kira."
Kira's voice dropped to a whisper, eyes locked on Clayton's. "I'm looking for someone important—Orcsha the Blade."
The name hung in the air. Clayton scanned the others' faces — Lily shrugged, clueless. Francisco and Diomede exchanged a glance that said, Oh, this just got serious.
Clayton squinted. "Is he a Boarkar too?"
Kira nodded. "I'm from the north. The only Orcsha I ever heard of lives as a hermit in the woods behind my father's tavern."
Suddenly, she grabbed Clayton's shoulder. "Wait—what do you mean hermit? Is there a big tree where you're from?"
Clayton gently shook her hand off. "Big-ish, I guess. There's a tree deep in the woods."
Kira turned to Diomede, hopeful. "You don't think it could be him, do you?"
Clayton, Lily, and Francisco all looked at Diomede, waiting.
Diomede gave a slow, knowing smile. "Honestly? I wouldn't be surprised."
Inside, a secret stirred in his mind.
"Well then, little cub," Diomede said with a grin, "looks like you're leading us home. It's our only lead."
Clayton's confusion deepened. "Leading you? I'm supposed to make sure the survivors reach the outpost. It's four days away."
He jabbed a finger at Kira. "Besides, there's no way it's the same Orcsha. She's the first Boarkar I've seen this far north."
Diomede opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off.
"Excuse me?" William's voice floated over from a few feet away.
The group turned to the cleric.
"I couldn't help overhearing. Young Clayton, you can't come with us to the outpost."
Clayton stepped forward, heart pounding. "Why not?"
William placed a hand on his shoulder, heavy with the weight of the news. "The Holy Knights sent a message ahead. You're branded a traitor—a dangerous heretic."
The words hit the group like a thunderclap.
"How? Even if they sent a messenger right away, the outpost's too far," Clayton said, disbelief bleeding into his voice.
Suddenly, it all clicked—Sending Stones. If only they had one pure stone, they could have reached the inner capital in a heartbeat.
Clayton's face drained of color. Cold dread settled deep in his chest.
"We know differently," Diomede said quietly, "but convincing them otherwise? Forget it."
"How do you know?" Diomede asked William.
"My Holy item received the message," William replied.
Diomede nodded sharply at Francisco. "Take the others back."
Francisco quickly ushered Kira, Lily, and William away.
Clayton stood alone, staring into the river's black depths.
"What did I do?" he whispered. "Did I cause this? Or fail to stop it?"
Diomede sighed, voice low and rough. "Life's got a way of knocking you down—and then dropping whole mountains on you to keep you there."
Clayton began peeling off his battered armor, each piece slipping from his grip and clattering into the river with a splash.
"I lost my brothers-in-arms to some giant beast. I lost a whole village to a necromancer's curse. Now... I'm a traitor and heretic."
He chuckled bitterly, watching the pieces sink. "Well, look at that."
All that was left was his broken sword. He drew it from his belt, held it up like an old friend, and gave a wry smile.
"Guess I don't have a choice anymore. I'll go north with you. If we're headed to my hometown... maybe this was all meant to be."
Diomede clapped a rough hand on Clayton's shoulder. "I get it, cub. Sometimes you can't fight the current—you just have to drift with it."
Clayton turned, the weight of his losses heavy but his spirit steeling.
Back at the village, survivors packed wagons with what little they could salvage. Lily, Kira, and Francisco stood ready.
Passing a wagon, Diomede spotted his bearskin cloak lying on a crate of dried fish. He grabbed it, pulling it around his shoulders like a familiar shield.
Kira stepped forward. "We're ready to move north. Are you?"
Clayton didn't answer—only nodded slowly.
Diomede gave a sharp nod. "Then let's go."
Lily tossed Clayton his broken sword. "You're going to need this."
He caught the hilt, sheathed it, and turned.
Together, the five walked toward the forest, the path ahead winding into the unknown, carved by fate itself.
Suddenly, a voice called out: "Wait!"
They turned to see a survivor holding a small chest.
"It's not much, but we scavenged what we could."
Francisco took the chest and tucked it away.
The man looked at Clayton with earnest eyes. "Please take care of yourself."
Clayton clasped the man's hand firmly. "You stay safe—and keep them safe."
With that, the man disappeared into the crowd.
The five crossed the village and reached the hilltop.
Clayton paused, glancing back at the place he had come to call a second home.
Diomede whistled softly. "Come on, little cub. Time's wasting."
Clayton gave one last look before turning, stepping into the forest with the others, toward whatever awaited.