Peace never lasts.
At dawn, the Empire made its move.
Across Aerindale, messengers rode through cities and villages, carrying the same decree:
Ethan, bearer of the Fate Mark, is declared a world-level threat.
Any who aid him will be treated as enemies of the Empire.
Bounties were placed. Armies were mobilized.
War had begun.
Hidden in the forest, Ethan listened as the news reached them. His jaw tightened. This wasn't just about him anymore. Anyone near him was now in danger.
"They're forcing your hand," Lyria said quietly.
Ethan nodded. "They want me to surrender."
"Will you?" she asked.
He shook his head. "If I do, they'll never stop. Not with you. Not with others like you."
Soon, they weren't alone.
Exiled knights. Disgraced mages. Villagers who had lost everything to the Empire.
They gathered around Ethan—not because he asked them to, but because they believed in him.
"You fought for us," an old warrior said. "Now let us fight for you."
Ethan felt the weight of leadership settle on his shoulders.
The first clash came at the border town of Valenreach.
Imperial soldiers marched in formation, confident and well-armed.
Ethan stepped forward.
Silver energy wrapped around him, steady and controlled.
"This ends today," he said.
The battlefield erupted.
Spells clashed. Steel rang. Ethan moved like a living storm, breaking the enemy lines—but always pulling his strength back before it consumed him.
By nightfall, the Empire retreated.
Victory came—but it tasted bitter.
As Ethan looked at the wounded around him, he understood the truth.
This was no longer a journey of survival.
It was a war of choices.
And every choice would cost something.