The world had already ended once—not with fire, but with a silence that pressed on every living thing like a burial shroud.
Twelve years ago, the Shatterfall had splintered the balance of soul relics—legendary weapons infused with the essence of gods, beasts, and heroes from forgotten mythologies. Across every continent, relics stirred awake, unleashing their wielders into a broken Earth carved apart by sects and sovereign orders. The survivors called it The Reclamation.
Kael cared nothing for relic politics—only for revenge.
Snow drifted down in restless flurries, stinging his cheeks as he trudged through the wasteland. The wind carried the faint scent of ash—remnants of villages burned in relic wars. Each breath came slow and heavy, curling in the air before vanishing into the pale void.
His staff, the Ruyi Jingu Bang, rested against his shoulder. Its golden surface hummed faintly, the sound almost lost beneath the wind's moan. Even dormant, the relic felt alive, as though it watched the horizon with him, waiting.
The wasteland stretched in every direction—a jagged sea of frozen earth where the bones of machines jutted from the snow like the ribs of long-dead titans. Each relic war had left another scar, another ruin swallowed by the cold.
Somewhere beyond the white horizon, his enemy still lived. Kael's grip tightened until his knuckles ached. The snow did not care for vengeance—but he did.
He reached the edge of a ridge, the land dropping into a valley where smoke curled from the husk of what once was a village. The fires were dying, their last heat shivering in the air, but the smoke still clung to the sky like a warning.
Kael descended. The snow thinned here, revealing churned mud blackened by fire. The stench of charred wood—and something worse—rode the wind.
Bodies lay where they had fallen, frozen mid-motion, some still clutching relic fragments. Their auras had long faded, but the air remained heavy with the memory of battle.
Kael did not stop for the dead. The living still owed him blood.
The wind was restless today, shifting in strange currents that carried more than the smell of frost. Somewhere ahead, the air shimmered—not with heat, but with movement too fast for the eye to follow.
Kael slowed. The Ruyi Jingu Bang stayed in his grip, angled low, ready.
Then the shimmer resolved into feathers—golden and black, swirling in a controlled spiral. They cut through the air like blades, snow hissing where they passed. At the center of it all stood a woman, her stance poised, her arms outstretched. In each hand, a curved blade spun so fast they blurred into rings of light.
Sena.
Her hood was down despite the cold, revealing dark, wind-tossed hair and eyes the color of desert stone. Sun-burnished skin contrasted sharply with the pale wasteland, and even standing still, she looked like someone born in motion.
The chakram slowed, revealing intricate carvings along their edges—wings, scales, and the Eye of Ma'at etched in gold. The air around them thrummed faintly, not with heat, but with judgment.
"Kael," she said, her voice carrying over the wind, smooth and certain. "You're late."
"I didn't know we set a time."
Her mouth curved—not quite a smile, but something sharper. "You never do."
She stepped forward, the Feather of Ma'at vanishing in a whirl of light before reappearing on her back, crossed like twin halos.
"What's wrong?" she asked, studying his face. "You only look like that when you've found something worth killing."
"Not something," Kael said. "Someone."
Sena's gaze flicked toward the road ahead, where faint tracks marred the snow. Without another word, she moved to stand beside him, shoulders squared toward whatever lay beyond the white horizon.
The wind shifted again, carrying the far-off sound of shouting. Sena's fingers brushed the chakram handles, her expression calm—almost serene.
Kael tightened his grip on the Ruyi Jingu Bang. Together, they stepped forward.
The shouting grew sharper as Kael and Sena neared the ridge. They moved like the wind—Kael, heavy and deliberate; Sena, quick and quiet, her boots barely marking the snow.
Below them, the road narrowed between two jagged outcroppings. A band of five men in scavenged armor surrounded a lone traveler, their relics sparking with erratic energy. One man's spear dripped with frost; another swung a cleaver crackling with red light.
Kael's eyes locked on the tallest—broad-shouldered, scar over his left eye. Recognition hit like a blade to the gut. Ottalaus's scout.
The name alone made Kael's grip tighten.
He didn't wait for a plan. Kael vaulted down the slope, the Ruyi Jingu Bang lengthening in mid-air, golden edges flashing in the weak sunlight. The first scavenger barely had time to raise his weapon before Kael's staff slammed into his chest, the sound cracking through the cold like a snapped bone.
The others turned—only for Sena to drop among them like a falcon stooping from the sky. Her chakram were already spinning, arcs of gold slicing the air. One ring caught a spear haft and twisted it from its wielder's grip; the other ricocheted off the cleaver's flat side, rebounding perfectly into her waiting hand.
Kael fought with momentum—each swing a hammer blow that left the ground trembling. Sena fought like water—every step, every throw flowing into the next, the Feather of Ma'at never still, never wasted.
A scavenger lunged for Kael's back, but before the blow could land, a feather—not steel, but light—sliced across his forearm. He screamed, dropping his weapon as blood steamed in the cold. Sena didn't even look; her next throw was already in motion.
Two enemies fled, stumbling into the snow. The others lay broken or bleeding. Only the tall scout remained.
Kael leveled the Ruyi Jingu Bang. "Where is Ottalaus?"
The man spat blood onto the snow. "Dead men don't need answers."
Sena's chakram hovered at her side, spinning lazily. "Wrong thing to say."
The man tried to move—too late. Kael's staff struck once, clean and final. The snow drank the sound.
Silence returned, except for the wind and the faint hum of relics settling back to rest. Sena glanced at Kael, her expression unreadable.
"Still think we didn't need a time?" she asked.
Kael said nothing. But as they turned back to the road, his pace matched hers exactly.