The desert had grown quiet after the chaos, the sun dipping low and painting the sky in bruised oranges and purples. Lucien, Kairo, and Ashveil moved at an easy pace, the occasional crack of their boots on stone and sand the only sound.
"Where do we start looking for the remaining two?" Kairo asked, glancing at Lucien. His tone was casual, but his sharp eyes missed nothing.
Lucien shrugged, hands tucked into his coat pockets, the faint shimmer of the White tracing along his blade. "The world is vast. One thing I've learned—these Revenants don't just sit around waiting. They leave traces, whether we want them or not. Energy, destruction, whispers of the void."
Ashveil tilted his head, cloak trailing like liquid shadow. "Traces are easy to misread. Each void manifests differently. Mine—shadows, echoes, things unseen. Kairo, yours… I've noticed a sharpness, almost like light refracted through steel."
Kairo flexed his fingers, bloodsteel faintly glowing. "And Lucien?"
Lucien glanced down at the subtle currents of the White dancing along his blade and cloak. "The White… it's more than just energy. It shapes reality itself. I can bend small pieces, create… gaps, distort time slightly. But I haven't mastered it fully yet." His gaze drifted toward the horizon. "I can feel it in others. The White chose us, all six of us. But each void has its own will, its own nature. Even the two we haven't met yet—they're different, just like Veythar and Ashveil. Just like me."
Ashveil grinned, adjusting the edge of his cloak. "Differences matter. Otherwise, this would be boring. Imagine six of us all identical… no style, no flair."
Kairo chuckled, swinging his bloodsteel casually. "Style is essential. But seriously, you think the last two are stronger than Veythar?"
Lucien paused. "Possibly. Or at least… more unpredictable. Veythar is controlled, calculated. He wields the void like a blade. The last two? I get the feeling they won't care about control. They'll make their own rules."
Ashveil smirked, kicking a shard of black stone. "Then it will be fun when we meet them. Assuming they don't kill us first."
The conversation fell into silence for a moment, the wind brushing past them like a whisper. Lucien thought of the barren land and the summoner, of the pulse beneath the sands, and of the countless fragments of his own family yet hidden.
"And Veythar?" Kairo asked finally. "He… just disappeared after the fight. Is he coming with us?"
Lucien's lips pressed into a thin line. "No. He's gone for now. Part of him stays behind, observing, preparing. He will resurface when the time is right. That's how he operates."
Ashveil chuckled softly. "And besides… it's not like we needed him holding our hands. We've got this."
Lucien smiled faintly, the wind catching his cloak in a way that made it float unnaturally. "The White is patient. And it has its reasons. We'll find the others when the moment arrives. Until then…" His gaze hardened slightly. "We train, we move, we prepare. Every step, every fight, every lesson is shaping us for the future."
Kairo kicked a small stone into the air, catching it casually. "Future sounds like it's gonna be fun. Or really painful."
Ashveil spread his arms dramatically, letting shadows ripple around him. "Both, naturally. That's the point of being a Revenant, isn't it?"
Lucien chuckled quietly, eyes on the horizon where the last light of day kissed the sands. "Yes. To be powerful… to test limits… and to find kin who can match us."
And so they walked, three of the six. The desert stretched before them, endless, alive with the faint pulse of the void. Somewhere in the distance, the remaining two Revenants moved as well—unseen, unbound, waiting for the paths of the others to intersect.
The world was theirs to explore, to challenge, and perhaps, to conquer.