"Even the darkest shadow trembles before a light it cannot consume."
The car jolted along the broken road, wheels spitting gravel into the night. Inside, silence pressed heavy, broken only by the low hum of the engine and ryvash's ragged breaths.
They're getting closer,he muttered, knuckles white on the steering wheel. "We're in danger now.
Even as he spoke, he felt it—the barrier around the car. Once steady, humming with protection, it now flickered like a dying candle. Threads of light unraveled across the windshield, fraying apart.
His grip tightened. "Sister… why is the barrier weakening?"
No answer.
His chest tightened. "Sister?" His voice rose, sharper this time.
Ryvash… it's gone… Her words fell heavy, truth laced with despair. His face went blank. He knew exactly what she meant.
He risked a glance at the rear-view mirror. His stomach dropped. Her head was bowed, chin against her chest, unmoving. The lamp in her lap—its flame, her strength—was extinguished.
Her eyes remained open, but distant, glassy. Memories clouded them: a husband's final cry, a home swallowed by fire, the warmth of everything she had lost. Grief crushed her, hollowing her from within.
And in that moment, she knew.
The last flame was gone.
The last hope… had slipped away.
Beside her, Sumit pressed his forehead to the window, body rigid. His small hands trembled against the glass. Outside, shadows moved. Rows upon rows. An army. Grotesque shapes clawing toward them, scraping the earth.
Ryvash yanked open the glovebox and pulled out a battered radio, its casing dented from years of use. Bringing it to his mouth, he said through clenched teeth:
"We are almost here."
Then, with a snap of his fingers, sparks rippled through the car, testing a range unseen. His gaze cut to his sister.
"This isn't the time to drown in memories. We couldn't save your husband. But your son—we can still save him. We need you now."
She didn't move. Not a flinch. Lost in silence.
The barrier shuddered once more, then broke. Like shattered glass, its fragments fell away—and the demons surged. Shadows slammed against the car, claws screeching across steel, cracking glass, tearing at the roof. The vehicle rocked under their weight.
Sumit cried out, clutching his mother, trying to shield her with his small frame. Teeth scraped steel, maddening and shrill.
And then—Ryvash smiled.
Slow, deliberate. His lips curved, eyes burning with blue fire.
Right on time, he murmured.
Above, the night split. A streak of light—sharp as fire—cut through the clouds. Ryvash snapped his fingers again.
The arrow fractured into a thousand shards, scattering across the sky like falling stars. With a third snap, each shard erupted into a spear wreathed in blue flame.
They fell, one after another, raining down like fragments of a shattered sky, piercing demons clinging to the car, devouring shadows before they hit the ground.
For a moment, it seemed the tide had turned—until more emerged. From the road, the forest, the air itself. Endless. For every one that burned, three more clawed forward.
Dozens of spears circled the car, glowing faintly, holding the swarm at bay. Beyond that fragile shield, the tide pressed closer.
Ryvash's brows drew tight. "Even thousands aren't enough…"
The glowing barrier groaned, cracks splintering its surface.
And then—it happened. What Ryvash had been waiting for all along.
Far ahead, the horizon quivered, bending like glass. A shimmer rippled through the air—at first only a blur, like heat rising from stone. Then, piece by piece, reality shifted. Walls bled into being. Towers climbed out of nothingness. A colossal gate, vast enough to scrape the heavens, carved itself into existence.
Not a village. A fortress.
Ryvash's eyes narrowed, calm yet burning with urgency. Finally.
He pressed the radio to his lips, voice cutting through the chaos.
"Open the gate."
Static answered. The fortress stood silent, its colossal doors shut tight, as though testing his resolve.
"The village," he growled, more to himself than anyone else. "Don't keep me waiting now."
And then—he felt it.
Eyes Watching.
High above, cloaked in darkness thicker than smoke, a figure loomed. Tall. Faceless. The night itself bent around him. He did not move. He did not need to. The world bent for him.
Zeratos.
His presence pressed down like a mountain, heavier than a thousand demons. Even the spears flickered in fear.
"Sumit!" Ryvash barked. "Duck! Pull your mother down—now!"
The boy obeyed just as steel screamed.
The roof tore open like paper. Spears shattered, breaking like fragile toys. Moonlight spilled through the jagged wound—only to be drowned by a voice, low and cold, above.
"Tch. Right on time. I missed my shot."
Red eyes burned through the darkness. Spears lashed at him, arcs of blue fire blazing, yet each strike scattered harmlessly. Zeratos did not flinch. Did not bleed.
For the first time, Ryvash's smirk faltered.
The car shook. The demons howled louder. From the distance came a groan of iron—the gate. Its heavy doors creaked open, spilling light into the chaos. Ryvash's eyes darted toward it—but before he could speak, she appeared.
A woman stepped through, stride calm, commanding. Her armor bore the scars of countless battles, dulled but unbroken. A sword rested at her side, edge humming with restrained power. She was not delicate beauty—she was a storm made flesh.
Her gaze locked with Ryvash's, ignoring Zeratos as if he were smoke.
"Ryvash…" her voice cut sharp through the chaos.
This is the last time I let you face danger alone. Get inside those walls—or once you do, I swear, I'll break your face for making me worry.
She lowered her weapon, tip kissing the earth. Her lips moved, each syllable a strike.
"Astrael Sanctum."
The world split. Light erupted upward, a pillar devouring every shadow. Wings unfurled—dozens, then hundreds. Soldiers in white armor marched from the brilliance, halos blazing like suns.
An army of angels.
She raised her sword, pointing at the horde.
"Go. Save them."
The host obeyed, wings tearing the night as they descended.
The swarm faltered. Darkness recoiled before the flood of light.
But Zeratos… smiled.
For a moment, it was the same smile he had worn countless times before—cold, assured, untouchable. Yet as his gaze swept across the battlefield, something flickered in his eyes.
The angelic host pressed harder. Their radiance poured like a tide, spears of light piercing the swarm, wings carving through shadow. His army, once unshakable, faltered beneath the brilliance.
A memory clawed at him—of the last time he had been forced back, driven into the void by light he could not consume. His smile thinned.
Still, his eyes never left the car. Never left Sumit. His voice slid through the chaos like a curse:
"You will choose your fate… as your ancestors once did."
The words froze Sumit's blood. His small frame trembled, heart hammering. He did not understand, yet the weight of the words sank into him—ancient, inescapable.
But this time, something was different. The angelic host was winning. The radiance surged, devouring his shadows. His forces crumbled, dissolving into ash and smoke.
Zeratos's smile lingered—thin, sharp. A retreat, not defeat.
Not today… but soon," he rumbled, his words echoing like a curse etched in stone. His gaze burned into Sumit, unblinking, eternal. "If not this night, then the next… I will lay you at my master's feet, a gift of blood and fate.
Shadows surged around him, swallowing his form. One by one, his army collapsed into smoke, vanishing with him.
And then—silence.
Not peace. Never peace. Only the promise that the storm had just begun.