The sea wind howled cold and sharp, carrying with it the scent of salt and the mournful roar of waves crashing against the hull.
Golden light shimmered across the surface of the water, reflecting a morning sky so still it felt as if the entire world was holding its breath before the coming storm.
The old wooden ship drifted lazily over the sea, its timbers groaning with each swell.
At the bow stood Kael, cloak fluttering in the wind, his eyes fixed on the horizon — where the mainland slowly emerged through the haze, distant and veiled, yet heavy with an unspoken weight pressing against his heart.
Behind him, Sill was checking the bundles of supplies the island villagers had gifted them:
dried bread, sea salt, a few jars of clear honey — humble offerings from those who lived between tides.
When they departed, the village elder had spoken only one cryptic line, both blessing and warning:
"Remember… the forest never forgets those who touched its memory."
Renar had only chuckled at that.
"Sounds half like a blessing, half like a curse."
Senki, biting into a piece of tough dried fish, grimaced.
"As long as it doesn't start growing roots on me, I'm fine."
Laughter broke out among them.
It carried over the waves, light and fragile — the kind of laughter that could vanish at the next gust of wind.
After all they had endured, this moment of peace felt like a dream that might dissolve any second.
Kael glanced around at his companions — faces that had survived the depths with him.
Renar lounged against the mast, lazily whistling a tune.
Senki sat beside Sivall, who slept soundly, while Senmi etched faint runes into a plank of wood, each glowing softly like a flickering candle.
Sill rested by the railing, both hands cupped around a softly glowing fragment — the last remaining piece of the Memory Mushroom.
Under the pale dawn, it glowed with a gentle gold, a tiny lantern in the mist.
She stroked it with her fingertips, whispering,
"With this… I can save my mother. Right, Ly?"
Kael heard her, but said nothing.
He didn't want to break that fragile dream.
His eyes lifted to the horizon — clouds splitting apart, half bathed in light, half buried in darkness.
"We're almost back on the mainland," he murmured, "but I can't shake the feeling… things won't be the same anymore."
Renar snorted. "Don't tell me the forest followed us home?"
Kael shook his head. "Not the forest… People."
The wind shifted. The salty air grew faint, replaced by a subtle, acrid tang — the scent of iron burning.
Senki frowned. "Anyone else smell that?"
Sill's grip tightened around the glowing fragment.
Far ahead, from the line of the horizon, a thin black streak of smoke was rising — small at first, then spreading wide across the sky.
Kael narrowed his eyes.
"Smoke… and lightning?"
Meanwhile, on the western border of the continent — the frontier of Darama.
The ground quaked under a rhythm of marching feet.
Ranks upon ranks of soldiers moved like waves of steel, red banners whipping in the wind, spears gleaming beneath the rising sun.
The air was thick — with dust, with heat, with the metallic stench of war waiting to begin.
At the head of this army, atop a colossal war beast clad in black armor, sat King Rio II, towering like a slumbering volcano.
His armor was carved with burning runes, glowing like molten rock; every step of the beast cracked the earth beneath.
Behind him thundered legions of Darama's war machines — giant magic-powered engines, gears spinning, smoke hissing like thunderclouds.
A general rode forward, kneeling on one knee.
"Your Majesty! The vanguard stands ready. With your command, we'll cross into Sylveris!"
Rio II raised his ceremonial sword, its ruby-studded blade flaring crimson light.
He looked east, toward the distant mountains of Sylveris shrouded in morning mist.
"Do you hear it?" he said softly, yet his voice rolled like thunder.
"The gods are silent. And when the gods fall silent… it means we are permitted."
He thrust his blade forward.
"Commence the Divine Judgement Campaign!"
A war horn blared — deep, draconic, earth-shaking.
The sea of soldiers roared into motion, steel glinting like a tidal wave under fire.
Above them, vast flying fortresses ascended, blotting out the sun. Their crimson glow turned the fields below into rivers of flame.
Darama's magi raised their staffs, summoning an enormous arcane sigil that burned in the sky.
A low hum shook the air, then— a blinding explosion of red light.
It rained down upon the horizon like the blade of a god descending to earth.
"For the glory of Darama! For the decree of the King!"
Hundreds of thousands of voices rose as one — a sound so vast it shattered the silence of heaven itself.
Rio II's laughter echoed through the battlefield, his eyes blazing with divine madness.
"Not just you — I, too, shall march! I will tear down the walls of Sylveris myself, and lay Esix III's crown beneath my heel!"
His war steed roared, iron hooves striking sparks against the ground.
The gears of war began to turn once more — and the world trembled beneath their weight.
At that same hour — the Royal Capital of Sylveris.
Morning light spilled through the towering stained-glass windows, glinting off the silver throne where King Esix III sat motionless.
The news from the western border had just arrived.
The grand hall was packed with generals, their expressions a storm of anger and fear.
"Your Majesty!" cried Rysaz, kneeling before the throne.
"Darama has broken the peace accords! Allow me to lead our armies in retaliation!"
But Esix III did not answer.
He looked up toward the rays of light filtering through the vaulted ceiling. His voice, when it came, was low but steady:
"Retaliate? And drown another thousand in blood? No, Rysaz… this isn't merely a war. They've declared battle against our very faith."
He rose from the throne.
The Sword of Dawn's Dominion — the ancestral blade of kings — gleamed in his grasp, its edge catching the first flash of the morning sun.
"Darama fights in the name of the gods," he said, eyes burning.
"Then I shall fight in the name of mankind.
And we shall see — which of us the heavens dare to judge."
A thunder of voices filled the hall as the soldiers knelt, striking their fists against their hearts:
"For Sylveris! For the King!"
War drums thundered through the city.
Along the walls, mages lit the defensive wards, while columns of silver-armored knights raised their banners high.
Above, the red glow from the west bled into the golden light of morning — dawn and dusk merging across the sky, heralding a new age of fire.
In the heart of the capital, crowds gathered at the central plaza.
They looked west, toward the burning horizon where Darama's skyships blazed like suns.
The cathedral bells tolled — low, mournful, heavy as a dying heartbeat.
An old priest stepped onto the marble steps, holding a lantern whose flame was flickering weakly.
Its light trembled across the deep lines of his face.
"My children of the divine…" his voice quavered.
"The gods remain silent.
And when the gods are silent… it is time for mankind to listen to its own heart."
The flame went out.
The crowd knelt, wordless — no tears, no screams — only the sound of silence bowing to darkness.
Out at sea, Kael's ship drew closer to the mainland.
The eastern sky was turning red; waves surged higher with the rising wind.
Sivall squinted toward the coast.
"That's not storm cloud… that's smoke."
Sill clutched the glowing mushroom fragment, whispering,
"Out of one abyss… and into another."
Senki gave a dry laugh. "At least this time… it's a human abyss."
Kael said nothing.
He raised his gaze as a crimson beam split the clouds — the divine lightning of Darama's first strike.
The wind tore at his cloak, the red glow reflected in his eyes.
"War has begun…" he whispered, voice lost to the waves.
"…and this time, perhaps even the gods will not stand aside."
Far on the horizon, the blade of light descended once more, embedding itself into the heart of the continent — marking the dawn of a new era:
The Age of Judgement.
When the gods choose silence, humanity becomes their thunder.