The wind carried the scent of smoke long before the scouts returned. By the time they reached the camp, their faces were gray with fear.
"General," one gasped, kneeling before Baru, "they're coming. The Smart Empire's eastern host—at least a hundred thousand strong. And leading them…" His voice faltered. "A sorcerer cloaked in black fire."
Baru's hand froze upon the map spread before him. The faint candlelight flickered against his scarred face, deepening the lines carved by exhaustion and battle. "So," he murmured, "Karlin has come at last."
The officers surrounding him shifted uneasily. The air in the command tent felt heavy, as though the darkness outside had seeped into their lungs.
Baru rose slowly, his armor creaking, his eyes sharp as cold iron. "Then we meet him on open ground," he said. "No walls, no hiding. If the gods have abandoned us, we'll fight before their empty thrones."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the ranks. "My lord, we're outnumbered five to one!" cried Captain Drehn. "We can't possibly—"
Baru's gaze cut through him like a blade. "And if we run, Drehn, where do we go? To the cities already lost? To the graves waiting behind us? No. We march south, to the Plains of Varsa. Let the wolves die where the wind is free."
No one spoke again.
By dusk, the Silver Wolf Legion was moving. Torches burned like fallen stars as the column wound its way through valleys and ravines, each step echoing against the vast silence of the wilderness. Rain began to fall—a thin, cold drizzle that blurred the line between heaven and ash.
Ray rode near the front, beside the standard-bearer. The once-proud banner of the Silver Wolf now hung in tatters, streaked with soot and blood. Yet when the wind caught it, the torn fabric still snarled against the rain, defiant as ever.
"Feels like the gods are crying for us," murmured Mira, her voice quiet beside him.
Ray shook his head. "No," he said softly. "If they were crying, they'd send sunlight. This—" He looked up at the dark sky, eyes hard. "—this is the world washing away the weak."
Mira said nothing. She only looked at him, and in her eyes was something between sorrow and awe.
They reached the Plains of Varsa at dawn. The land stretched endlessly—grass scorched black by old wars, dotted with the bones of forgotten kings. The horizon shimmered with heat and shadow.
Baru dismounted at the hill's crest. Behind him, ten thousand weary men stood silent, waiting for orders. Before him, far across the plain, the Smart host had already taken formation—an ocean of soldiers clad in black and gold, banners rippling like tongues of flame.
At their center stood Karlin. His cloak of dark fire trailed across the ground without burning it. His eyes glowed faintly beneath his hood—cold, merciless, inhuman. Around him floated orbs of black flame that pulsed like living hearts.
He raised one hand. The air trembled.
Then the world erupted.
A storm of black fire swept across the plain, devouring everything in its path. Trees, rocks, men—everything it touched turned to cinders. The Silver Wolf frontlines broke and scattered, screams vanishing beneath the roar of flame.
Baru's voice thundered above the chaos. "Shields! Mages! Hold the line!"
Ray dove into the mud as the inferno swept past, the heat searing his back. He could feel the earth itself burning beneath him. When he looked up, the sky was red—no, not red, bleeding.
"Ray!" Mira's voice pierced through the din. She was pinned beneath a fallen horse, struggling to breathe. Without thinking, Ray lunged toward her, his cloak catching fire. He tore it free and heaved the beast aside with all his strength.
"Can you stand?"
She nodded weakly, coughing blood. "Run," she gasped. "You can't fight that."
Ray's eyes blazed with defiance. "Then I'll die trying."
He turned, gripping his sword. The blade trembled, glowing faintly—not with fire, but with something deeper, older. The energy that had once stirred faintly in his body now surged like a heartbeat.
Baru saw it too. Even through the smoke, the faint aura rising from Ray's blade gleamed like moonlight through storm clouds. "So," he whispered. "The boy awakens."
He drew his own sword and pointed it toward the horizon, where Karlin's black flames raged. "All units—charge!"
The Silver Wolves roared as one. They plunged into the sea of fire, steel meeting darkness, will defying annihilation.
Ray led the charge. His sword cleaved through the first rank of Smart soldiers, his every movement guided not by sight but by instinct. His aura flared—a silver light cutting through the black inferno.
Karlin's eyes snapped open. "That light…" he hissed. "Impossible."
With a flick of his wrist, a spear of dark fire streaked toward Ray. Time slowed. The heat seared his skin, the ground erupted beneath him—but he kept running. His blade rose high, silver meeting black.
When they clashed, the sky split open.
A shockwave tore through the plain, flattening armies and extinguishing fire. For an instant, all was silence—only two figures standing amidst a world turned to ash.
Baru fell to one knee, watching from afar, his voice barely a whisper. "The world changes tonight."
And above the plains, beneath a sky of blood and smoke, the banner of the Silver Wolf still fluttered—torn, scorched, but unbroken.