The brilliance slowly began to fade, revealing the form that had answered their call. Every survivor held their breath.
A figure emerged.
Gasps spread like wildfire across the gathered group. The silhouette solidified into a humanoid warrior, tall and unshakable. The light peeled away to reveal armor pale as silver, faintly luminous, as if forged from the essence of the crystals themselves.
His face remained hidden beneath a helm, smooth and without a slit for eyes, yet the unseen gaze seemed to pierce every soul who dared meet it.
Across his back rested a sword longer than any Karl had ever seen, the hilt etched with runes that shifted faintly in the gate's glow, whispering of power and age.
For a long, silent moment, no one moved or spoke.
The warrior's presence was suffocating—not wild and untamed like a beast, but precise and disciplined, honed through countless battles.
Every movement radiated control, a force tempered by experience. The greatsword pulsed with a faint inner light, the runes flickering softly as though alive.
Bronze III strength radiated from him, refined and battle forged. Not instinct, but deliberate mastery. Not raw chaos, but perfected might.
The survivors watched, frozen in awe. Drael's grip tightened on his spear, and even Sylus, usually unreadable, allowed a flicker of reverent recognition to pass across his features.
"Bronze… III," Sylus whispered, voice low, almost fearful. "From the gate itself…"
The warrior paused just beyond the gate, lifting his head slowly to survey the crowd. When he spoke, his voice rolled like stone grinding, calm, deep, and resonant.
"Summoner," he said, fixing Karl with a gaze that seemed to see straight through him. "You have called me across the veil. I am Serathis, Warden of the Fallen Realms. My blade is yours, should your will prove worthy."
A collective gasp rippled through the survivors. Some instinctively stepped back, overwhelmed. Others sank to one knee, awestruck by the sheer weight of his presence.
The Sanctuary felt smaller, almost fragile, beneath the presence of this single, silent figure. Karl's heartbeat fast. The stakes had just risen higher, and yet, for the first time, he felt a spark of hope ignite—a new ally, more than any warrior they had before.
Karl's hands tightened at his sides, the weight of reality pressing down. For the first time since his arrival, he had summoned a Bronze III. He had known the chance was slim—barely a one percent possibility—but it had happened.
And now, standing before him, was not just a number, but a pillar of power. A soldier whose blade could cleave through despair itself.
The gate dimmed, the veins of light fading to faint embers. The tremor beneath their feet lingered, as if the world itself had paused, acknowledging the presence of something beyond reckoning.
In the heavy silence that followed, a tangle of emotions settled over them—excitement, fear, and hope twisting together like storm clouds.
Serathis had arrived.
The survivors drew shaky breaths, whispers slipping past lips trembling with awe. Even Ember lowered her wings slightly, settling onto a jagged ledge, her golden eyes fixed on the armored figure.
Karl's own pulse thudded in his ears, yet he did not speak. His gaze remained locked on Serathis, watching every deliberate movement.
A faint tug threaded through him—the bond that always linked summoner and summoned—but this one was different. Weaker. Thinner, like a rope stretched too far.
Karl's chest tightened. This wasn't like Dreal… or Thorn… or even the others. Their bonds pulsed strong, tethered to him like heartbeats. But this… this was fragile, almost resistant.
His eyes lingered on Serathis, on the steady weight of that presence. Bronze III. More power than most of them combined. The realization sank sharp into his gut.
Is it because he's stronger than me?
The thought dug deeper, darker. What if… one day… I summon something beyond even this. Stronger than me by far. Will the bond hold at all? Or will such a being simply ignore it, free of my command?
A shiver ran down Karl's spine. For the first time since arriving in this world, the Sanctuary's light felt cold. What if he summoned an ally who refused him? Worse—what if they turned their blade against him?
His grip on his spear tightened until his knuckles ached.
No. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't gamble his fate—or his people's lives—on bonds that might one day snap.
If this situation had taught him anything, it was this: his strength had to rise, and fast. Not just for battle, not just to protect, but to anchor every bond, every summon, every fragile thread tying this growing army to him.
Only then could he call forth greater powers without fear. Only then could he stand unshaken before them.
Karl drew a slow breath, his resolve settling like iron. I need to grow stronger. Strong enough that no summon, no matter their strength, can ever stand above me.