The light of the late afternoon tinted the field orange and purple, bathing Ereon and Gaia — and also the Viscount and his knights, who emerged from the shadows of the forest like specters. The air vibrated in tense silence; every breath seemed too loud, every second, an eternity. No one dared move.
Ereon broke the silence with a contained sound, almost a moan of pain, muffled as if he did not want to reveal it. Gaia picked up the detail and, cold, commented:
"We are in trouble."
She spoke softly, like someone who whispers a secret the whole field should not hear.
"I cannot stay in Kael's body for long. If I insist, he will break."
And then, with a slight arch of the eyebrow, she returned:
"Nor is mine intact. That blow… fractured ribs. For a moment, I forgot that we no longer have divine bodies."
Gaia smiled without warmth, laden with irony.
"The body of a boy of fourteen or fifteen years cannot withstand excess. I intended to end this war quickly, but I was forced to descend before time."
She breathed deeply, the tone lower:
"I will use the last strength I have left. After that, only in four months. Try not to kill him until then."
Ereon stared at her; tension and doubt reflected in his eyes, but his voice came controlled:
"And what will we do?"
Gaia assessed the field, her voice cutting the silence like a blade:
"He does not move. That means he does not underestimate us. It is the worst scenario. If we could remove him from the board, it would be favorable… but he will not make that mistake."
Ereon took a deep breath, feeling the weight in the air.
"He is apprehensive… because he does not understand what we are capable of."
Gaia raised her head to the darkening sky.
"Do you know what that means?" she said, without waiting for an answer.
She stepped forward; each movement echoed on the ground and she said:
"Echo Vital"
The earth vibrated under her feet, like a beating heart. Ereon closed his eyes, understanding the meaning, when Gaia raised her voice — deep, as if the earth itself spoke for her:
"I am the Earth that welcomed you, the soil that drank your pains. Hear, righteous souls, whose blood watered my roots! — By the Eternal Memory of the Earth, which never forgets those who fell here…
Break the Silence of the Tomb! Rise from the Dust, my Sentinels! Fight once more!"
The ground split into fissures. From the crackling soil rose thousands of soldiers made of clay and root, whole ranks that appeared in a single instant. It was as if the earth had kept the army for centuries, only waiting for the call.
Ereon extended his hand, his voice firm cutting the air like an irrevocable order:
"Obey: manipulation of the shadows."
The ground stretched, dark and liquid, twisting into crows that emerged like a black mantle over the field. Their wings beat hard, echoing muffled thunder in the tense silence of the night.
Then, with a precise gesture, he completed:
"Fly."
The Viscount watched, incredulous, the smile hiding surprise. Two youths, in fragile bodies, transforming the battlefield into something out of nightmares. One of his knights, unable to contain himself, fired an arrow into the air. The projectile exploded as a signal, and soon the forest responded.
A dense mist crawled between the trunks, expanding like a tide. The Viscount lifted his chin, satisfied.
"They have arrived." — And his voice roared: — "Legions of the Eternal Mist!"
From the fog emerged ethereal soldiers, made of smoke and steel. The late afternoon gave way to night, and the tension that hung was broken when Ereon murmured an old word, laden with sentence:
" Katapínō!."
The sky collapsed into darkness. Crows dived, crashing into the knights. At the same time, Gaia's Sentinels advanced, and the crash of the collision echoed like thunder.
The Viscount pulled back his knights, but let his Legion face the wall of clay and shadow. The clash was brutal: mist spears against arms of stone, shadows against fog, everything consuming and recreating itself in spirals of destruction.
Finally, while the knights retreated into the mist, the Viscount threw his warning, his grave voice reverberating like a curse:
"Enjoy this night. It will be the last."
The mist swallowed him, and the field fell silent, leaving only the echoes of the newly-begun battle.
Gaia kept her eyes fixed on the forest, her expression laden with unease.
"He spread his divine energy throughout the forest. We will not be able to track him easily."
Ereon turned, steps firm toward the walls.
"That will not be a problem."
As they crossed the gates of the wall, Kael's body did not hold. He collapsed like a puppet without strings, after Gaia released the thread that held him. The dry impact against the ground made the surrounding silence weigh even more.
From the top of the walls, Doros was already watching. He did not hesitate — he descended in quick steps, his voice echoing in short, precise orders:
"Take him to the castle. Now!"
Mercenaries and the few surviving knights moved without questioning. It was not discipline forged in training, but the raw instinct of those who knew one failure would cost a life.
While Kael was hurriedly lifted, Ereon staggered. Medea approached without a word, offering her shoulder to support him. Her steady presence was a contrast to the almost imperceptible tremor in his breathing.
The night promised to be long. Two pillars had fallen at the same time: Gaia, the spear that guided them in the attack; and Thalia, the wall that held the defense. The air inside the walls was dense, suffocating. Every gaze fell on Ereon — the only one who still stood, even at the brink of the limit.
Arriving at the castle, Ereon was taken directly to a reserved room. Medea, with firm and careful hands, helped him settle, applying the herbs she had brought and preserved since leaving the orphanage. The earthy and slightly sweet aroma of the leaves mixed with the warmth of the chamber, creating a contrast with the cold of the night outside.
Medea's gentle touch helped him stay standing, but there was no room for distractions. A baronate knight knocked on the door with a contained, almost reverent tap, and informed in a low voice:
"Lord Doros awaits you in the war room."
Ereon breathed deeply, approaching a small desk in the room. With still-steady hands, he carefully put on the shirt, adjusting each fold over his fatigued body. Then, he pulled the cloak, covering himself completely, as if preparing not only for the room, but for the weight of everything that awaited him.
Supported on Medea's shoulder, he crossed the corridor in silence. The echo of his steps on the cold stones seemed to amplify the weight of the situation. Each open door, each arched passage, reinforced the feeling that they were entering the beating heart of the baronate, where the fate of many would be decided that very night.
As they followed the knight ahead, Medea broke the silence, her voice laden with surprise and concern:
"During all my time in the orphanage… I never imagined I would end up in the middle of a war like this. That we would end up here… besieged."
Ereon looked at her, firm, each word loaded with determination:
"We will not die here."
A brief silence formed, heavy and full of meaning, before Medea sketched a dry, almost bitter smile:
"Then I think you still owe me for taking care of you while you were unconscious. But, if we survive, I will collect every debt… and every promise."
Upon reaching the war room door, a guard stepped forward and announced in a grave tone:
"Lord Doros awaits… This is where we say goodbye."
Upon entering, the war room revealed itself wide and austere. Detailed maps of the baronate covered dark wooden tables, marked with small pieces that indicated strategic positions, each movement potentially determining life or death. Torches cast flickering light over reinforced walls, while ancient armors seemed to watch every gesture.
Doros remained standing before the table, studying the map with absolute concentration. Upon noticing the entrance of Ereon and Medea, his gaze was for a moment perplexed before her: long straight black hair, falling like a mantle of night; fair skin with a golden touch, always with a slight warm shine; intense golden eyes, reminiscent of the very rising sun.
Ereon positioned himself before them and spoke firmly:
"So… tell me, why did you call me here?"
Doros breathed deeply, recomposing himself, and his tone became grave, laden with responsibility:
"Thalia and Kael were putting together a plan to end this war quickly. But, thanks to… a certain someone, both are incapacitated at the moment. That means the responsibility now falls on you."
He pointed to the map, the authority in his posture evident:
"Get us out of this."
Ereon stared at him for a few seconds before asking, his voice low, yet cutting:
"How many do we have on our side?"
Doros weighed his words before answering:
"Currently, five hundred. If we include residents, maybe more… but only half will be truly useful."
Ereon breathed deeply, his gaze hardening:
"I'm sorry. I'll take the boy and leave the baronate."
He turned, but before he could take a step, Doros's voice cut him like a blade:
"Do that… and I will reveal your origin to our enemy. I'm sure all the empires will hunt him."
Ereon stopped, staring at him with silent fury. Doros kept his gaze firm and completed:
"Kael told me, before leaving, what I should do in case something like this happened. I have already let people know. If I die prematurely, your secret will not last long."
He pointed again to the map, the gesture heavy like a verdict:
"The choice is yours."
Ereon faced Doros, and Doros's brown eyes said without words that there was no bluff there. A cold smile formed at the corner of Ereon's lips:
"Really… showing his origin as Zeus's grandson."
He walked to the table, each step echoing through the hall as if marking the rhythm of a sentence. Doros raised his eyes, firm and relentless, and retorted:
"I'm not doing this for him… but for Thalia. You almost killed her. Every decision has consequences. No hard feelings… but don't forget that."
Silence spread like an omen, reminding everyone that that battle was only the prologue of something much larger.