The rain fell heavy against the wall.
Thick, unbroken, without rhythm — as if the sky had given up on measuring its own weight.
Beneath it, hundreds of Drakkouls stood motionless.
Their black skins absorbed the water like living stone, and red eyes stared into the empty space ahead without blinking.
No weapon was raised.
No step advanced.
They waited.
The silence that formed did not come from the absence of sound — it came from restraint.
Behind the last rank, something occupied space.
It did not move.
It did not need to.
The shadow was too large to ignore, and the ground around it seemed denser, as if reality itself had thickened at that precise point.
When the light of the rain reflected against its form, it revealed skin black as living basalt — thick, irregular, carved with golden and scarlet veins that pulsed slowly, like divine energy forcibly compressed inside matter.
Water ran over that body and veered away before touching the ground, dispersing into brief vapors, unable to decide whether it should fall or retreat.
Long, bristling hair floated lightly, not at the mercy of the wind, but under an invisible pressure that kept every strand in constant suspension.
Spiritual sparks appeared and vanished among them — too brief to illuminate, too long to be ignored.
The eyes burned.
Incandescent red.
There was no fury in them.
There was permanence.
In the right iris, an ancestral runic symbol pulsed with its own rhythm — the seal of the primordial wind, etched as if the very concept had consented to be marked.
The wind did not blow.
It merely inclined itself.
The creature remained just below the wall's entrance, behind all the Drakkouls.
Still.
Like a verdict awaiting its reading.
Atop the wall, the Black Fury slowly turned her gaze.
A brief smile appeared on her lips.
Soft.
Courteous.
"Such a delicate moment…" she said, her voice low, clear, crossing the rain without effort. "The Tormentor seems on the verge of settling something ancient."
A pause.
The rain continued.
"Matters between father and daughter usually require… privacy," she went on, in the same gentle tone.
The smile remained.
"It would be impolite to interrupt."
Light brown eyes settled on the figures who had stopped meters ahead of the Drakkouls.
"In the meantime…" she said, almost in confidence, "I ask that you wait… for now."
The silence closed in again.
But it was not empty.
Not this time.
The wave of energy that coursed through the Golden Walls was not subtle.
It pierced stone, steel, rain — and reached everyone still standing.
Zeph felt it first.
Not as pain.
As an omen.
Neriah brought a hand to her chest at the same instant.
Lys and Iaso exchanged brief looks.
Kaelir, Skýra, and Rynne stood still, too alert to deny what they had felt.
Something was happening inside the walls.
Something none of them could see.
And they all thought the same thing.
Until the next dawn… no one would know how that fight would end.
The rain continued.
Heavy.
Constant.
Zeph took a step forward, facing the armed creatures blocking the path.
"It seems…" he said, his voice low but firm, "that we'll have to separate here."
Neriah turned to him at once.
"So that's it?" she asked, the rain mixing with the tension in her voice. "You really think you can face him… when even Lord Karna couldn't?"
Zeph did not look away.
"No," he answered, honest. "I don't."
She frowned.
"Then why?"
He took a deep breath.
"Because I have to go," he said. "Only that way can we give thanks… for everything he did for us."
Neriah stepped forward.
"I'm going with you."
Zeph turned, surprised.
"They need you here."
She gripped his arm tightly, as if the rain might carry him away if she let go.
"We don't know where Ryden is.
"Lord Karna is gone."
Her voice faltered for an instant, but it did not break.
"I can't lose you too."
The silence between them was filled only by rain striking stone.
"Then promise me," Neriah said, lifting her gaze to him. "No matter what happens… don't go beyond your limits."
Her hand tightened around his.
"Promise me you'll come back. Safe and sound."
Zeph placed his hands over hers.
The touch was firm.
Present.
"I'm still Lord Karna's strongest disciple," he said, with a faint smile.
His eyes gleamed, reflecting something beyond the rain.
"I'm going there to do… what he couldn't."
He leaned his forehead until it touched hers lightly.
"I'll count on you to take care of everyone here."
Neriah closed her eyes for a second.
Then nodded.
"Then come back," she said. "Because I'll be waiting."
Zeph released her hands slowly.
Cast one last look at the group.
And then turned toward the wall.
The rain kept falling.
But for a brief instant, it seemed to respect the decision that had been made.
Zeph took a step forward.
The air around him changed.
There was no explosion.
No light.
The rain simply… veered away.
The wind withdrew for an instant — and then, when it returned to existence, Zeph was no longer there.
As if he had been carried by intention itself.
He reappeared a few meters from the Black Fury atop the wall.
The ground did not tremble.
The air merely adjusted to the new presence.
The Black Fury turned her gaze slowly.
Unhurried.
Unsurprised.
Light brown eyes settled on him, assessing not his body — but the space he occupied.
A slight smile appeared.
"I must say…" she spoke softly, "that takes courage."
Zeph maintained a relaxed posture.
The wind remained around him, constant, obedient.
"I wouldn't dare approach," he replied calmly, "if your intention were truly to kill us."
The rain fell between them.
"From what I feel in the vibrations of the wind around you…" he continued, "we are not the target."
He inclined his head slightly.
"But rather Prince Éon."
A brief silence.
The Black Fury smiled a little more.
She did not contradict him.
Her eyes shifted, resting on the colossal creature behind the army.
Which remained motionless.
But the world around it did not.
"Curious," she said, with an almost affectionate gentleness. "You are not afraid that this creature… might kill your friends?"
The rain slid down the wall as if it wished not to hear the answer.
"After all…" she continued, "Ghatotkacha is not a being to be underestimated."
Zeph averted his gaze just slightly.
Not out of fear.
Out of respect.
"He carries the prāṇa of Vāyu in his blood," he said. "That much I know."
The wind around him answered, almost imperceptibly.
He lifted his eyes.
"But there are differences in what the wind grants.
"In him, the prāṇa remains. In me… the blood of Vāyu continues."
The Black Fury tilted her head, as one listening to something interesting.
The smile remained.
This time, more attentive.
The wind bowed between them.
And the rain kept falling.
The Black Fury held her gaze on Zeph for another moment.
As if engraving an interesting detail.
Then she looked away.
Not toward the humans.
But toward the immobile army below.
The rain touched her shoulders — and flowed.
She opened her mouth just enough.
Her voice was not loud.
Not harsh.
It was ancient.
"Procedant."
A single word.
And the world answered.
The Drakkouls advanced.
Not as a chaotic wave — but as an inevitable block.
Weapons rose at the same time.
Heavy steps struck the ground in unison.
The earth vibrated beneath the black march that surged against the human line.
Behind them…
Ghatotkacha remained.
Still.
Colossal.
The wind still inclined itself before him.
The Black Fury watched the separation with attention.
"So be it," she murmured, almost satisfied.
Zeph looked away one last time.
He saw the Drakkouls advancing.
Saw Neriah, Lys, and Iaso bracing for impact.
Saw soldiers closing ranks, even knowing they would be crushed.
The wind stirred around him.
"Trust her…" he murmured, to no one in particular.
And then he vanished.
There was no sound.
No trace.
Only the sensation that the air itself had been taken with him.
The impact was immediate.
The Drakkouls collided with the front line like a living wall.
Metal against metal.
Cries swallowed by the rain.
The first soldier was hurled backward as if he weighed nothing.
"Now!" Lys shouted.
Neriah advanced in the same instant.
The water around her rose, forming unstable blades that cut down three Drakkouls at once.
Iaso placed his hands on the ground, channeling energy into an arc that exploded against the earth, opening space for the survivors to retreat.
The battlefield ceased to be waiting.
It became chaos.
Kaelir felt it before he saw it.
A sudden shift in the air above.
He lifted his gaze in time to see only the emptiness where Zeph had stood seconds before.
"He's gone…" he murmured.
There was no time for more.
A shadow fell over him.
A Drakkoul leapt from the ranks, weapon raised, descending like a black projectile.
Kaelir spun by instinct.
The blade passed centimeters from his face, tearing the air where his head had been a second earlier.
He dropped to his knees, rolled — felt the rain, the mud, the weight of the world.
And then he rose.
The battle had begun.
And above them all…
Ghatotkacha remained still.
Watching.
As if waiting for the exact moment when he, too, would decide to move.