Chapter 99 — Wheels of Fate
So many world-shaking things were unfolding at once.
Reyn, alongside Liora, Amber, and Kael, pressed onward—yet not simply as wanderers. Every campfire along the road became a proving ground where new trials were set, each one meant to test the limits of Reyn's divine artifacts and weapons. What began as experiments were becoming the foundation for an armory that could shape the future of the Empire itself.
In the south, the Triarchy sharpened its blades and banners, steeling itself for open war against the royal family. Armies gathered, coin flowed, and spies whispered—Caelum's throne was no longer secure.
In darker places, far from any light, demons crept and plotted. Their purpose: to undo the seals of the Demon Lords. Every shadow they passed carried the promise of calamity, each ritual tugging at the locks that spirits and divine beasts had fastened in ages long forgotten.
And beyond all of this, another tale unfolded upon the open roads of the Empire. The most famous adventurer of the western dukedom, Garrett—the man who bore Reyn's first masterpiece, the colossal Buster Sword—was no longer content to let his legend rest in one corner of Caelum. Just as Reyn had suggested, he had set out to expand his name across the land. His journeys now carried him not only through the western dukedom but deep into the southwest and southern lands, where he would make his name known.
For three weeks now he had ridden, astride Fenrir—the wolf-shaped motorcycle Reyn had built whose thunderous engine turned heads in every village and city he passed. Garrett, however, had not been born to ride. At first, the motorcycle was a beast as wild as any dragon. Controlling Fenrir's speed, its balance, and its sheer power had nearly thrown him off more than once. The first week of travel saw him cursing and swearing at the contraption, earning laughter from Theo every time he swerved or stalled. Yet, slowly, he learned to tame the machine. The great adventurer who had slain beasts and toppled bandits now faced a new kind of challenge—mastering the road itself. At his side rode his apprentice, Theo, a bright-eyed boy who carried not just hope but steel. Reyn, amused at Garrett's choice of pupil, had taken the Buster Sword and shrunk it down to fit the child's height and strength. Though smaller, the blade was no less a masterpiece, gleaming with the same fire as its original.
Theo sat proudly in the sidecar shaped like a wolf pup, clutching his shrunken Buster Sword across his lap. His eyes were wide with wonder as Fenrir devoured the roads before them, each mile another step toward a legend of their own making.
The wind rushed past, tugging at Garrett's long coat as the motorcycle thundered onward. A piece of the new Fusion Sword rested against his back, gleaming faintly with the morning sun.
Still, the road was not all laughter and learning. Each morning before they set out, and each evening after they made camp, Garrett and Theo trained. The sparring sessions became ritual, hammering skill and discipline into the boy just as the fire of a forge tempers steel.
Each morning, as the mist still clung to the fields, and each night when the campfire's glow pushed back the dark, Garrett and Theo turned the earth into their arena.
The boy stood firm, his smaller Buster Sword gleaming in the firelight. Across from him loomed Garrett, his full-sized blade resting on his shoulder, a wolfish grin pulling at his lips.
"Alright, Theo," Garrett called, his voice booming like a war drum. "Don't hold back. If you can't push me here, how'll you stand against monsters out there?"
Theo tightened his grip, heart hammering in his chest. Then he lunged.
CLANG! Their blades collided, sparks scattering like falling stars. Garrett didn't budge an inch, absorbing the blow with casual strength. Theo ground his teeth, twisted his hips, and swung again—this time faster, sharper. Garrett met him blow for blow, his great blade a wall of steel, his movements deceptively fluid for a man his size.
"You're getting quicker," Garrett barked, parrying and sending Theo stumbling back. "But speed without control is wasted. Again!"
Theo roared, charging in low. The boy's blade cut upward in an arc, the steel glinting with firelight. Garrett spun his own weapon, deflecting it with a CRASH that shook the air, before countering with a downward strike heavy enough to make the ground quake. Theo braced, both hands gripping his sword, his knees nearly buckling under the pressure. Dust swirled around them as their blades locked.
For a heartbeat, Theo's eyes widened—his master's strength was overwhelming. But then, with a cry, he shifted his weight, rolling to the side. Garrett's blade slammed into the earth with a thunderous crack, dirt and embers spraying upward.
Theo seized the chance, twisting mid-roll and slashing at Garrett's side. The strike was clean, the sound of steel against steel ringing out as Garrett barely caught it in time. His grin widened.
"That's more like it!"
The fight surged again—Garrett pushing with raw power, Theo darting in with youthful agility. Sparks flew with each clash, their shadows dancing wildly against the firelight. Theo launched a flurry of strikes, each faster than the last, his voice echoing with each cry of effort. Garrett blocked them all, but his boots skidded back through the dirt, the boy's spirit pushing him harder than expected.
Finally, with one mighty swing, Garrett shattered Theo's momentum, their blades colliding in a burst of light that sent a shockwave rippling through the clearing. Theo was thrown back, landing on one knee, panting, sweat dripping down his brow.
Garrett planted his blade into the earth, laughing. "You've got fire, boy. Keep feeding it, and one day you'll swing that sword without me needing to hold back."
Theo, despite his trembling arms, lifted his blade once more. "Then… let's go again!"
The night air filled with the sound of clashing steel, sparks painting the darkness like stars, the master and pupil locked in a dance of legend.
The stone roads led Garrett and Theo deep into the wilds before the Southwest Dukedom, where jagged cliffs split the land. Strange veins of crimson light pulsed in the rocks, as though the land itself still bled from some wound.
Rumors had spread in the villages they passed:
A beast walks at night.
A monster with hide like molten steel.
A behemoth that devours flame, leaving only ash.
When the two arrived at a mining settlement built against the cliffs, they saw the fear firsthand. Half the homes were abandoned, wagons overturned, mine entrances caved in. Only a few stubborn families remained, their faces weary but defiant.
Theo tightened his grip on his sword. Garrett only grinned.
"Sounds like our kind of problem."
They descended into the mine that night, Fenrir's headlamp cutting through the dark. The deeper they went, the hotter it grew—air shimmering, rocks glowing faintly red. Then, the tunnels shook.
It emerged.
The Crimson Behemoth was no ordinary monster—it was a living furnace, a hulking beast plated in obsidian hide streaked with glowing cracks. Its eyes burned like molten gold, and every breath it exhaled filled the cavern with waves of blistering heat.
Theo froze, heart pounding.
Garrett revved Fenrir. "Kid—stay close, and remember what I taught you. Big targets fall hardest when you find the right crack."
The Behemoth charged, walls collapsing as it barreled forward. Garrett wheeled Fenrir sideways, sparks flying as steel tires bit into stone, his Buster Sword cleaving across the monster's flank. Theo leapt from the sidecar, blade raised, and struck true—but his smaller sword barely pierced the hide.
The Behemoth roared, swiping with molten claws. Theo was thrown back, armor sizzling, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself up.
Garrett planted his sword, shouting over the chaos. "Don't fight it head-on! Watch the pulse in its chest—it's gatherering power!"
Theo steadied his stance, recalling every lesson under firelight. As the Behemoth reared, exposing its glowing chest, Theo sprinted—faster than fear, faster than doubt—and plunged his blade deep into the fissure.
The beast howled, its body cracking apart as flames poured from within. Garrett followed, driving his own blade down like a thunderclap, shattering the core.
With an earth-splitting roar, the Crimson Behemoth collapsed, the mines quaking until silence returned.
When they emerged, the miners and their families wept with relief. The foreman pressed a crystal into Garrett's hand—a shard of the Behemoth's molten core, said to contain the fire of the earth itself.
Theo held his sword high, trembling but proud. For the first time, he felt not like a boy with a blade, but a warrior who had earned his place beside Garrett.
And so, the legend spread further.
Garrett, the wolf-rider, and Theo, the flame-slayer, who brought down the Crimson Behemoth.
Yet far ahead, in the lands where their wheels now turned, shadows gathered. Beneath a forgotten shrine wrapped in thorn and silence, runes etched by divine hands flickered faintly as cracks spread through them. The air quivered with the sound of a lullaby, so faint that only the stones themselves seemed to hear it.
There, sealed in a cradle of divine instruments, lay a figure of impossible beauty—her face the perfection of longing, her form carved to inspire devotion, her voice once said to kill kings and bring armies to their knees.
The Mother of Endless Cradle Songs, Lyseris, stirred.
And as Garrett and Theo raced unknowingly closer, the first notes of her freedom began to seep into the world.