March of the Departed
The morning sky over Arkhelm glowed with burnished amber, as though the heavens themselves bowed in honor. Bells tolled from spires carved of iron and rune-stone. Banners bearing the sigil of Arkhelm fluttered like wounded wings in the wind. And through the industrial streets surged a river of people—mechanics, soldiers, children, families—lining both sides of the boulevard known as the Path of Titans.
In the center of it, marching in precision, were twenty soldiers clad in gleaming obsidian armor, titanium blades strapped to their backs, and compact wind gliders slung low across their spines. They moved like shadows with purpose—deadly, silent, resolute. They were the last hope of a continent in collapse.
They were T.E.R.O.S.A.
Elian walked near the front, his footsteps steady but his heart loud in his chest. The cheers were deafening—yet beneath them, he heard something more potent: belief. These people believed in them. Not because they were unbeatable, but because they were all that stood between humanity and oblivion.
Children tossed paper birds into the air—each one enchanted with a rune to shimmer in the sunlight. Dozens flew overhead like glowing spirits as the squad marched beneath them. Old men saluted. Women cried. One girl clutched her father's hand and whispered, "That's the boy who turned into an Ancient… but saved us."
And Elian met her eyes and nodded.
She smiled.
Kael, walking beside Elian, leaned in. "You know, I've flown over war-torn cities, raced collapsing bridges, dodged an Ancient's jaw by a breath… but nothing's scarier than this."
"What?" Elian asked.
Kael grinned. "Getting emotional in front of an entire city. I've got a rep to maintain."
Behind them, Lyra marched in silence. Her eyes stayed forward, face unreadable, but her shoulders weren't as tense as they once were.
At the towering Skyforge Hangar, Arkhelm's pride waited: three massive Glider Ships—floating fortresses shaped like birds of prey, each powered by wind and rune turbines. Their hulls bristled with turrets, launch pads, and tether lines.
Strategos Erina stood at the ramp, flanked by engineers and captains. She raised her hand, and the crowd quieted.
"T.E.R.O.S.A," she said, voice amplified by rune speakers, "you do not walk toward death. You march into legacy. The world has ended once. But as long as one of you draws breath—then this world still has a heartbeat."
She saluted. The entire city did the same.
Then the ramp opened, and T.E.R.O.S.A. boarded.
---
The voyage was long—over fractured valleys, ancient battlefields, and sky-split ruins. For the first time in weeks, there was no screaming, no battles—just sky, wind, and time.
Elian sat on a crate beside the main viewing port, wind glider deactivated beside him. Kael lay across a hammock above, tossing a blade in the air and catching it lazily.
"Tell me something weird, Fyre," Kael said.
Elian blinked. "Weird?"
"Yeah. Something dumb. Human. Before all this."
Elian smiled faintly. "I used to pretend our old treehouse was a military base. Made Sylvie call me 'Commander Fyre.' She charged me rent in pebbles."
Kael cackled. "She sounds like a menace."
"She's everything," Elian said quietly.
Kael nodded, eyes softening. "Then let's get you back to her."
Later that evening, Elian sparred with Lyra on the training deck. No words passed at first—just movement. Her attacks were precise, elegant, cold. But Elian had grown. He matched her pace. Parried. Dodged.
She finally paused. "You don't hesitate anymore."
"I can't afford to."
She nodded, then hesitated. "Back in Vandrel... when you lost control... it wasn't your fault."
Elian stared at her. "But it was me."
"And it'll be you who decides what happens next," she said. "Don't be afraid of the power. Fear what happens if you don't use it."
They stood in silence a moment longer. Not in tension—but in understanding.
By nightfall, Elian had spoken with nearly all fifteen of the other squad members—each with scars, stories, regrets, hopes. A sniper with one eye named Vos. A mute explosives expert who only spoke in hand signs. Two twin sisters who completed each other's sentences. They weren't just a unit.
They were a last stand.
And under the stars, as the glider ships soared over dead skies and forgotten lands, Elian sat on the edge of the launch deck, wind in his face, Lyra beside him and Kael singing some terrible song in the distance.
They were flying toward the apocalypse.
But for the first time...
They were doing it together.