The light of the sun bathed the forest in golden and cold tones.
Brianna advanced in silence, the torn cloak waving among the trees. The ground still held the marks of the army's passage — footprints, dried blood, the trail of chaos.
Fragmented thoughts echoed like blades inside her mind. The words she heard before leaving still weighed, cutting deeper than any wound.
She knew. She knew the Marquisate would not withstand a siege of twenty thousand men.
Even so, she did not slow down. She did not allow herself rest. Each step was a silent vow — not for glory, but for duty.
On the way back, something caught her attention.
Among the trees, a horse adorned with golden armor remained motionless, as if waiting for its master. The scene made no sense — no royal soldier would leave such an animal adrift.
Brianna stopped, her eyes shining in pale tones. A breath of wind cut through the air… and then she moved by instinct.
The sound of the blade tearing through space passed close to her ear. She spun her body, landing silently on the leaves.
In front of her, a woman emerged.
Short black hair, cut with precision, framed a face of fine and deadly features.Honey-colored eyes, with a burning glow — almost golden under the light — bore the weight of someone who had already seen war and death.
Her black armor reflected fragments of the sun, and the red cape dragged on the ground like a trail of blood.
The sword in her hand did not seem made to win. It was made to annihilate.
A heavy silence fell between the two.The woman took a step forward, her voice firm and sharp.
"How long it's been, Brianna… I see you've been well."
Brianna remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the stranger. For an instant, nothing beyond the sound of the wind through the leaves. Then she replied, in a low and controlled tone:
"Have we met before?"
Brianna rose slowly, her gaze fixed on the woman ahead. The sun reflected on the leaves and made the dried blood on the ground shine like rust.
"By your garments… you're on the side of the Central King."
The woman smiled faintly, the sound light, but heavy with threat.
"More or less. Our goals have aligned — until now. But…" she tilted her head, studying Brianna as one studies a rare prey "I'm here because of you, Brianna."
She did not answer immediately. She straightened her body, took a deep breath.
"You know… I'm starting to get tired of meeting so many new faces."
The woman drove the sword into the ground. The metal vibrated, echoing among the trees.The red cape slid from her shoulders and spread like fresh blood.
"For you, it may seem like the first meeting." The voice sounded calm, too calm. "But for me… you are an old friend."
"And I know you wouldn't believe just words. So… I will show you."
Brianna did not wait. She moved like a shadow.
The first impact was almost lightning. Brianna advanced with a spinning leap, attempting a high kick that the woman dodged with a slight tilt of the body.
The air seemed to hold its breath. Each step, each spin, each jump was an extension of her muscles and instincts.
The woman attacked in response, spinning and using Brianna's own strength against her, throwing her to the side.
Brianna rolled, stood up in a single motion, keeping her guard high, eyes fixed on the adversary.
An elbow strike that Brianna tried to land was blocked with precision. A low kick was deflected by mere centimeters.
They clashed, rolled, and rose, the clearing now marked by the confrontation — crushed leaves and small cracks in the ground.
Brianna jumped over a fallen trunk, spinning in the air to attack from an unexpected angle.
The woman leaned backward, grazing Brianna's hair tip, and fell into a spin that placed her exactly behind her opponent.
With a fluid turn, she tried to grab Brianna's waist to throw her against a tree, but Brianna grabbed the adversary's arm and, using the momentum, spun her body, launching herself backward and landing softly on her feet.
The rhythm intensified. Jumps, rolls, spins — each movement was calculated, each reaction natural and immediate.
Brianna tried to create openings, improvise, vary the height and angle of the attacks, but the woman seemed to mirror every move with the same fluidity, blocking strikes before they were fully executed.
A frontal kick grazed the woman's shoulder, but she spun, fitting in a reverse punch that Brianna dodged by mere centimeters.
Brianna rolled, stood, spun in the air, and launched a spinning kick that grazed the opponent's side.
The woman crouched, using Brianna's force to spin her, but Brianna grabbed her ankle and made a quick twist, sending her crashing onto her back.
The dust rose. The sound of bodies hitting the ground mixed with the heavy breathing of both.
Each breath seemed synchronized. Each reflected blow resembled a deadly mirror.
Brianna advanced again, twisting her body, sliding across the ground and striking from impossible angles. The woman jumped, rolled, used her own hand as support to spin and return the attack.
A sequence of kicks and elbows passed within inches of hitting, each one anticipated and neutralized with surgical precision.
For a few seconds, they stood face to face, breathing fast, muscles tense, eyes locked. Then, as if waiting for the right moment, the woman spoke, her voice low and firm:
"Now… you will try the spinning kick… followed by a feint with the left leg."
Brianna froze for an instant, realizing that every movement of hers was known, predicted, decoded.
Even so, she advanced, trying to break the pattern. But the woman grabbed her leg, spinning her body and throwing Brianna against the trunk of a tree.
The impact tore the air from her lungs, and for an instant she stayed there, pressed against the rough bark.
The woman slowly walked toward her sword.
"I know you, Brianna. Every step, every feint, every hesitation."
"Because I am what you left behind."
Brianna wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and raised her incandescent gaze.
"Then it's time to see… what's left of me."
Brianna breathed with control, her body still tense after the confrontation.
The woman, with a serene gaze, picked up the sword from the ground and sheathed it in a single motion before taking the cape again.
"I didn't come to fight you," she said, her voice firm but without hostility. "I'm leaving the Tupania Empire and came only to warn you."
Brianna raised her gaze, suspicious.
"Warn me?"
"Whirok."
The name fell like a blade in the air.
Brianna's face remained expressionless, but the gleam in her eyes betrayed discomfort.
"I have no reason to worry about a dead man."
The woman laughed softly, the dry sound echoing among the trees.
"Yes, you do. He is hunting everyone involved in the Higanbana Project of the Hive." She took a step forward. "You must have already noticed… the way we fight, the way we think. We are exactly the same."
For an instant, the silence weighed. Brianna said nothing — only watched, cold but attentive.
"If he were someone easy to kill, I wouldn't be running until now," the woman completed, with a faint, tired smile.
Brianna finally spoke, in a restrained tone:
"I saw him burn."
The woman nodded slowly.
"Brianna... the only way to kill a reincarnated divinity definitively is by ripping out the heart — the source of its essence — or decapitating it, breaking the link between body and immortal soul."
She paused briefly, her eyes fixed on Brianna.
"And when that happens, a mark is left. The world reacts. Nature and the spiritual plane enter momentary collapse to record the event. That mark is not just symbolic — it leaves a scar in reality."
Silence returned. Brianna absorbed each word, cold but thoughtful.
The woman then walked to the horse, took something from the bag, and threw it at her feet — a book with a worn cover, almost a diary.
"I'm fulfilling the promise from three years ago," she said, in a lower voice. "And another thing... don't go near the Eastern Kingdom."
Brianna raised her gaze.
"Why?"
The woman pulled up the hood, already walking away into the twilight.
"I heard there are two creatures reigning there... Jörmungandr and Fenrir." She made a short pause, her eyes cold as steel. "I don't know where they came from, nor who brought them, but I know they are connected to the right-wing Democrats. And they call themselves... Abyssaes."
The breeze blew, carrying the last words away.
When Brianna raised her gaze again, the woman had already disappeared — leaving only the distant sound of leaves and the weight of revelation.
The silence of the forest was all that remained.
Brianna stood still for a few moments, observing the point where the woman had disappeared.
Then, without a word, she bent down and picked up the diary. The cover was rough, smelled of iron and dust — like something torn from a tomb.
She stored it and resumed the path.
The following hours dragged on.
The sound of the wind among the treetops and the crack of branches beneath her steps were the only witnesses of her passage.
The pain in her ribs denounced the confrontation — the tensed muscles, the short breath, and the memory of the name Whirok echoing like an ancient whisper.
She did not allow her body to falter. She had long learned that pain was only another way to remember she was alive.
As she advanced, the smell of smoke began to dominate the air.Ashes danced with the breeze.
The army's tracks became clearer: wheel marks, dried blood, torn pieces of banners.
The terrain expanded as she left the forest, a little before the Marquisate — the sun was already completely risen, shining at its peak, tinting the horizon in tones of gold and red, announcing that it was already midday.
Brianna stopped for an instant — what she saw froze the blood in her veins.
The Marquisate of Tiresias — or what was left of it — burned.
The first wall had been taken. Collapsed towers, smoke rising like black columns, and the distant sound of screams and clashing steel.
The king's soldiers advanced like a living tide, breaking gates, scaling ruins, stepping over the dead without hesitation.
The wind brought the smell of blood and smoke.And, for an instant, Brianna felt the weight of it all.Time was slipping away. The siege had begun.
Her cloak swayed in the wind, her cold and determined gaze fixed on the distant field.
She adjusted the cloak over her shoulders and took the first step toward the ruins — each movement a silent vow: if Tiresias were to fall, she would fall with it.