After leaving the officials behind in their chamber of fear, Thalor Ashenhive emerged into the open square of the city as it approached dawn. The moment his boots touched the stone, the sight before him forced his breath to slow.
The square, once a place of gathering and trade, was unrecognizable. The cobblestones were drowned in blood, slick and dark, reflecting the broken light of fires still burning in the distance.
Pieces of bodies lay scattered, some barely recognizable as human. Shattered carts and abandoned belongings cluttered the edges, crimson-stained fabrics fluttering weakly in the smoky air. The stench of death clung so thick it burned in his nostrils.
Even for a man who had walked countless battlefields, it was difficult to stand here. His jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened as they swept across the ruin. Then his gaze found Reyna.
He narrowed his eyes at her, his voice steady but edged with disapproval. "Seriously? Even with your healing power, you let this much damage happen?"
Reyna turned sharply, her expression as sharp as her words. "Oh, don't start with me, Thalor. I'm not a time traveler, and I can't be in two places at once. How did you expect me to fight and heal at the same time, when I can't even heal myself right now?" Her hand pressed briefly against her side, the faint stain of blood visible against her garments, proof of her exhaustion.
Thalor exhaled through his nose, the edge in his stare softening. He tilted his head slightly, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Fine," he said, his voice gentler, "don't strain yourself."
He stepped closer, the fires' glow catching against the pale strands of his hair. "But still," he added, his tone carrying a dry humor that didn't reach his eyes, "no one invited me to this occasion. I almost feel… sad. And guilty." His smile lingered, faint and unreadable. "But I'll fix it. Some way or another."
The words hung in the air, half a promise, half a warning.
Ms. Reyna clenched her fists at her sides, her thoughts dark and bitter. Why is he so calm? She cursed silently.
With all this noise, all this bloodshed, and an enemy from the nether we still don't understand, how can he stand there like it's nothing?
She forced her gaze upward, drawn against her will to his face. His expression was steady, but it wasn't the unshakable certainty she expected. Behind that calm mask, his eyes carried a flicker of something else; confusion. Even as he claimed he would "fix everything," she saw the truth: he wasn't sure what to do. Not fully.
Her heart tightened, anger and worry twisting together. Curse you, Thalor. You're going to carry the whole burden on your shoulders again, aren't you? Always alone. And then what?
Her gaze lingered on him, searching for some crack in that calm mask. But what she saw only stoked the frustration burning inside her. His expression was composed, almost warm, but behind it was that same confusing stillness. Even he didn't know what path to take next. Yet here he stood, ready to carry everything again, as if the burden belonged only to him.
Her curse lingered unspoken, fierce and desperate. You'll drown yourself in this weight again, and we'll all stand here, uselessly watching.
Before she could stop herself, her eyes lingered too long on him. The blue strands of his hair shifted softly with the heavy wind, their pale hue catching the glow of burning fires behind him. His bright blue eyes locked on the distant horizon, unreadable, and steady in their watch.
Then, without turning to her, his voice broke the silence, calm as ever.
"You know something, Reyna," Thalor muttered, his tone light yet unyielding, "it's not good to curse people in your mind."
The words struck her like a slap, her breath catching in her chest. She thought Thalor wouldn't reach her mind.
Five more figures emerged from the haze, their footsteps heavy on the blood-stained stone. The wind caught at their cloaks, carrying with it the charged aura of power that clung to each of them.
These were not common warriors; they were Shinkari, the pinnacle of Exo-hunters, men and women who had carved their names into history with blood and sacrifice.
At the front strode Serenya Veylor, her dark braids woven with silver rings that chimed faintly as she walked. A scar curved from her temple down across her cheek, old but never hidden, a mark she wore like a crown. Her amber eyes burned sharp and unflinching, the kind that had stared down horrors most would run from.
Beside her moved Kaelith Drovane, quieter, her pale face partly obscured by a hood. When the wind lifted it, her gloved hands came into view, the leather scorched and cracked where once flame had kissed her skin. Rumor said she had mastered forbidden fire to destroy a Netherkin swarm, and the burns were the price. Her gaze was cold, calculating, yet beneath it lingered something brittle.
Behind them towered Tharion Ashveil, broad as a wall, his armor scarred and dented from battles that never gave him pause. His jaw bore a fresh cut, still healing, and one shoulder sagged slightly, a wound that even healing arts hadn't corrected. Yet his stride was unbroken, every step carrying the weight of a man who would not bow.
To his side was Veyndar Kaelros, calm, deliberate, his presence heavy as stone. A faint white scar split his lower lip, and his hands bore the calluses of countless battles with blade and fist alike. His dark hair was tied back in a loose knot, strands falling against his brow as if to soften him, though his eyes – gray and unyielding gave nothing away.
The last, Orryn Draelith, walked with restless energy. He was leaner than the others, his cloak whipping like a living flame behind him. One eye was covered with a black strip of cloth, the other glowed faintly red, a gift from the power embedded in his body. Across his neck ran a jagged scar, so deep it seemed a miracle he spoke at all. His lips twitched with a faint smile, though whether it was amusement or defiance, no one could tell.
Together they closed the distance, five of the seven Shinkari. And yet, for all their scars, their strength, their legend, it was Thalor who stood apart. He alone had remained in the country, though buried in unending burdens no one dared disturb him. Only now, too late, had he come.
The rest of the Shinkari had scattered across the world; some for business, others for the rare chance at leisure. Yet when the news reached them, distance was no obstacle. They had no need for planes or ships.
Each one bent space itself with the 'Telelock,' that forbidden technique of instant passage known only to their rank. In a shimmer of warped light and a crackle of displaced air, they crossed nations in a heartbeat and stepped into the broken square of Elaria.
Now, in the broken square, they stood – six of the seven. And the air itself seemed to tighten beneath their weight.
Tharion Ashveil's jaw tightened as his eyes swept the ruin before him. His scarred hands curled into fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves straining as his voice cut into the air.
"That loose cannon refused to come?" he muttered, low but edged with fury.
The others knew who he meant before the name was spoken, – Toro. The youngest of them: Wild, and untamed. His power unmatched, his discipline nonexistent.
Kaelith's eyes narrowed, her lips tightening. Veyndar's expression remained carved in stone, but the faintest exhale betrayed his agreement.
Toro, the prodigy with enough raw strength to split mountains, had not answered the summons. Instead, he lay at home, sprawled in the wreckage of his own dwelling. Half the walls of his house had already collapsed from the tremors shaking the city, yet he remained there, unbothered, sleeping deeply while fire and screams consumed the streets outside.
Even among Shinkari, his defiance was infamous.
Tharion's jaw flexed again, the muscle twitching beneath his scar. The absence of one of their own in such a moment of crisis burned more than the wounds on the ground before them.
Serenya's voice cut through the roar of distant flames, sharp and demanding. "Thalor, what do we do now? The damage is too great, we don't even know where to start. The more we kill, the more they surge. And it's not just here. It's happening all across Aderfel."
Her purple hair, long and tangled, was streaked with dark blood, strands plastered against her cheek where battle had marked her. Yet her eyes razor-sharp, the amber hue of a predator burned with focus. And she stood like a warrior who had bled but refused to bow.
At her side, Orryn shifted, his lean frame tense, his single red eye glowing faintly in the smoke. He ground his teeth before adding, his voice low but edged with frustration, "We can't use forbidden techniques, not here. with so many people still alive in the city, our attacks are caged before they even begin." His hand tightened on the hilt at his side, the leather creaking.
The words hung heavily. They all knew what he meant.
Forbidden techniques, the pinnacle of their craft. Spells and strikes so vast, so devastating, that when unleashed, they swallowed entire landscapes. A single Shinkari calling forth their forbidden art could level districts, scorch forests, or fracture mountains. Against hordes of Nether-born enemies, they were the surest blade.
But here, in the heart of Aderfel? With survivors still clinging to life among the rubble? To use one would be to burn their own people with the same hand meant to protect them.
That was why such powers had earned the name forbidden. They could never be used recklessly, never without cost. And now, as the enemy multiplied faster than they could cut them down, those very limits chained the hands of the strongest.
"I don't want you to do anything," Thalor said at last, his voice steady, almost quiet against the distant roar of chaos. "Just watch for a while."
The words carried no arrogance, but neither did they soothe. The others heard the command and obeyed, yet none mistook it for leisure. His eyes, those bright shards of blue, were locked on the carnage spilling through the city, and his jaw was set with a tension that betrayed him. He wasn't enjoying the silence, and he wasn't telling them to stand idle for its own sake, he was calculating. Every heartbeat, he was searching for a way to end it all at once.