The sky tore itself apart.
A blade of blood—vast, malformed, and impossibly long—unfurled from Kaelen's grasp, stretching farther than a warship. Its edge screamed as it carved through the clouds, crimson mana bleeding in sheets that dripped like rain with every swing.
Alric met it head-on.
Wings of condensed mana flared wide behind him—jagged, burning, barely contained—as he surged forward with a roar. His hammer crackled with raw power. The collision detonated midair. Blood and light collided in a storm of fury, shockwaves rippling outward, flattening treetops far below.
Then Elyndra struck.
From above, she descended like a streak of judgment, her blade wrapped in radiant light, wings blazing white-gold. She cut between the two, steel meeting blood, light clashing with wrath. For a heartbeat, the sky itself seemed frozen—three forces locked together, power screaming, space buckling under the strain.
No ground was gained.
No one yielded.
And while the battle raged unseen below, the war in the heavens continued—unresolved, unstoppable.
The scene shifted.
Outside the dark dome.
The forest around it was warped, trees bending inward as if recoiling, bark blackened, leaves ash-gray and lifeless. The dome loomed like a wound in reality: a vast, perfectly rounded shell of shadow where light simply **ceased to exist**. No reflection. No flicker. Just void.
Knights stood scattered at its edge.
Not in formation.
Not confident.
Armor scorched, blades nicked and dulled, faces tight with unease. They stared at the impenetrable darkness before them. None dared step closer.
Because from within the dome—
Nothing emerged.
No sound of battle.
No screams.
No explosions.
Just silence.
And that terrified them more than noise ever could.
The **Black Wind Vanguard** had gathered. Hundreds of soldiers—knights, footmen, elite archers—stood at attention, eyes fixed on the strange, shimmering barrier that swallowed the center of the forest. Their breaths formed clouds in the cold night air, dissipating into the gloom.
Among them stood **Elira**, the Saintess.
Her posture was perfect, composed—but her grip on her staff was too tight. Knuckles pale, jaw set. Her eyes never left the dome, even as minutes dragged on like hours.
"What… is that thing?" a knight muttered under his breath.
Another swallowed hard. "It's been up too long."
Elira didn't answer.
She *felt* it.
The pressure.
Like standing beside a sealed tomb while something inside still breathed.
A knight shifted nervously. "Should we… inform the captain?"
Before she could respond—
The air **shuddered**.
Not violently. Not in a roar.
Subtly. Like reality itself drawing in a breath.
The surface of the dark dome **rippled**.
Once.
Twice.
The knights tensed instantly—blades raised, shields locking into place, mana flaring unevenly as panic crept through their ranks.
Elira stepped forward half a pace, eyes narrowing.
From between the ranks, **measured footsteps** approached.
Armor darker than the rest—matte black steel traced with faint wind-runes—cut through the clearing. The insignia of a spiraling gale marked the shoulder guards.
The **Black Wind Vanguard**.
Soldiers instinctively parted.
The **First Captain** stepped forward, helm tucked under his arm, sharp eyes scanning the ruined battlefield in a single sweep. Behind him came the **Second Captain**, broader, quieter, one hand hovering near her blade.
They stopped a few paces from the dome.
The First Captain's voice cut through the tension, steady but low:
> "The commander is inside."
The Second Captain nodded sharply, eyes sweeping the ranks.
Elira, Saintess of the order, stood at the front. Her hands were steady, her cloak unnaturally still despite the wind. A faint, golden glow pulsed softly around her—a subtle halo of divine presence, stark against the darkness of the dome. She did not speak, but her eyes read the ebb and flow of energy with careful calculation, sensing the violent forces contained within.
> "We need to hold position," the First Captain continued. "No one goes in until we have orders. That dome… it's unnatural. Whatever's happening inside is beyond our control."
Murmurs ran through the knights, a mixture of awe and fear. The Second Captain's gaze remained sharp, assessing both her soldiers and the dome with predatory precision.
> "Keep your focus," she said finally, calm but firm. "Elira, maintain the wards. No one steps inside without clearance. And the moment that barrier falters… we act immediately. Contain, protect, hold."
The golden glow around Elira brightened imperceptibly—a subtle warning, as if the Saintess herself could sense the violent energies churning within. The knights tightened their grips on weapons, the tension thick enough to taste.
Rain fell harder. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. But inside the dome, the forest remained eerily silent, as if the storm itself had been pushed back by the sheer force contained within.
Outside, no one dared move. They all knew: whatever happened inside had already changed everything.