When Riku opened his eyes, the world was gray — ash floating through a dying sky.
The air burned his lungs, thick with smoke and the faint metallic scent of soul energy.
He groaned and rolled onto his side, feeling the bruises along his ribs. His vision cleared just enough to see what was left of the battlefield. The cliffside was torn apart, the once solid ground now a crater of molten stone and shattered debris.
And in the center of it all — the dragon's body lay still. The massive beast's scales, once gleaming with ethereal gold, had cracked apart into shards of light drifting slowly into the air.
It was dead. Truly dead.
"W-We actually…" he coughed and forced himself to sit up. "We actually killed it."
A few feet away, Mina knelt beside him, hands glowing with soft blue light as she healed the burns along his arm. Her pale face was streaked with sweat and dust, but her eyes were steady — determined as always.
"You almost killed yourself again, Riku," she muttered, half-angry, half-relieved. "You pushed your soul energy too far. I told you that much power from the spirits would overload you."
Riku smiled weakly. "Guess I'm bad at listening."
"Guess?" Mina frowned, then sighed and smiled slightly despite herself.
Ren's voice echoed from nearby, gruff but alive.
"Hey, we still breathing or what?"
They turned to see Ren sitting against a cracked boulder, his sword stabbed into the ground beside him. His jacket was torn and his left arm hung limp, but his grin was as reckless as ever.
"I can't feel my legs," he said, "but that probably means I'm fine."
Arin walked up behind him, bow slung across her back. Her usually calm expression held a tired smirk. "You're fine, old man. Quit whining."
Ren huffed. "Old man? I'm thirty!"
"Exactly," Arin said flatly.
The four of them laughed — softly, painfully, but genuinely. For the first time since entering these cursed mountains, it felt like they had actually survived something impossible.
But the feeling didn't last.
The sky, once lit by the dragon's burning aura, began to dim. Wind whispered across the rocks, carrying a strange chill that didn't belong.
Mina looked toward the remains of the temple, its ancient walls half-buried beneath rubble. "That dragon wasn't just guarding the path," she said. "It was guarding this place."
Riku followed her gaze. On the wall, revealed by the collapse, strange carvings glimmered faintly — figures etched in gold lines, each towering and faceless. Ten in total.
At their center stood a massive shadow crowned with horns, chains of fire coiling around its arms.
Arin's eyes darkened. "The Ten Generals," she whispered. "I've seen these symbols before — in the valley ruins. Each general rules a layer of this realm."
Ren leaned closer, squinting. "Which one did we just annoy, then?"
Mina pointed to the fourth sigil — a swirling spiral of black and crimson carved beneath the horned figure. "That's the mark of the General of Despair," she said. "The dragon was one of his wardens."
Riku frowned. "Despair…" The word itself seemed to chill the air. "So this general — he controls them?"
Arin nodded. "Or maybe… he creates them."
They fell silent, the weight of that possibility sinking in.
Then Riku stepped closer, brushing dirt away from the lowest carvings. Beneath the generals, lines of runic text pulsed faintly with soul-light — still alive even after a thousand years.
"It says," Riku read slowly, "'When silence breaks, the chained despair shall awaken.'"
The moment the last word left his mouth, the ground shuddered.
A deep, guttural rumble vibrated through the floor, dust raining down from the fractured ceiling.
"Please tell me that's just the mountain settling," Ren muttered, already drawing his sword.
But Mina's face paled. "No," she whispered. "That… that's something else."
The carvings began to glow. One by one, the eyes of the etched generals flared red, and a low hum filled the air — like a heartbeat made of thunder.
A pulse of dark energy burst outward, rattling the ruins. The group stumbled back as frost crept over the floor. Every breath came out as mist.
Then — a voice.
Soft at first, but echoing through the temple like a whisper in every direction.
"So… you've slain my pet."
The words weren't spoken aloud. They existed inside their heads, pressing against their thoughts.
Riku's heart froze. "Did anyone else hear that?"
Arin nodded slowly. "Yeah. Every damn word."
The voice chuckled — slow, deliberate, ancient.
"Such brave little souls. You've caught my attention. Enjoy this moment — it will be your last taste of victory."
The mural's central figure's eyes burned crimson, and a sudden blast of energy swept across the room. The group braced themselves, their weapons flaring with light.
But then, as quickly as it came, the pulse faded. Silence returned.
Ren exhaled shakily. "Fantastic. A demon general just threatened to murder us through a wall. Can we go home now?"
"Not funny," Mina said.
"It's a little funny," Arin admitted, smirking faintly.
Riku forced a small grin despite the tension. "If we start arguing again, he might actually show up to finish the job."
That got a chuckle out of all of them — tired, half-numb laughter echoing through the ruin. The danger hadn't vanished, but the humor helped them breathe again.
As they gathered their things, Mina placed her hand on Riku's arm. "You pushed too far again," she said softly. "That power — you can't keep drawing from those souls like that. It's dangerous."
He looked at her, guilt flickering across his face. "If I didn't, we'd all be dead."
"I know," she said. "But next time, let's make sure living doesn't cost you you."
He gave a faint nod.
They stepped out of the temple into the crisp evening wind. The dragon's essence had faded completely, leaving the sky eerily quiet. In the distance, the mountains stretched like jagged shadows under a pale moon.
Ren stretched with a grunt. "Well, I'm starving. Anyone else want to risk a ghost-rabbit stew?"
Mina rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."
Arin chuckled, slinging her bow. "Better than being dead."
Riku looked up at the dark horizon. Somewhere out there, beyond those peaks, a storm of soul energy was building — and deep in his chest, he could still hear that echoing laughter.
"The General of Despair…" he murmured. "He's coming."
The wind howled through the ruins, whispering words none of them could understand.
And in the shadows behind them, the carvings glowed faintly one last time — eyes opening in the dark, watching their every step.