The Gate still thrummed faintly, its carved veins glowing with embers of fading light.
Serathis had barely stepped aside when the stone pulsed again. This time, the bond tugged familiarly stronger, firmer, threading toward Karl like a rope with gentle tension.
A second figure stepped through the light, then a third, each emerging with steady purpose as the glow flared and softened in a calm rhythm. One by one, more figures came forward.
First came Talia, knives glinting on her bandolier, crouching as though ready to spring. Borin lumbered out next, his double-headed axe weighing heavily across broad shoulders. Sera followed, rapier in hand, moving with the grace of a practiced dancer.
Varnok emerged silently, crossbow slung across his back, surveying the Sanctuary with a quiet intensity. Rhea appeared with a flicker of fire dancing along her staff.
Gorran, the berserker, let out a low roar, hatchets in hand, muscles tensing with barely contained frenzy. Zyra, hooded and calm, stepped lightly onto the stone floor, bow at her ready.
The Gate pulsed again, heavier this time. Brynna, the Timberjaw Beaver, emerged—its sturdy frame coated in streaks of dirt and glistening water.
Its glossy brown pelt shimmered faintly under the crystal glow, and its broad, flat tail slapped the ground once with a solid thud. Iron-hard teeth caught the light as it shook itself free of debris, droplets scattering like tiny sparks.
A ripple of surprise passed through the Sanctuary. Another beast had joined them—one built not for destruction, but for creation.
Brynna sniffed the air, small eyes bright with alertness, then began patting at the damp earth with its paws as if testing its new surroundings. There was a quiet determination in its movements, a calm focus that spoke of instinctive purpose.
Karl felt the bond form, firm and steady. Images flickered faintly in his mind—wood, water, and mud flowing together into walls and barriers.
"Brynna," he murmured, watching the creature's thick tail sweep through the dirt. "A builder."
He could almost sense its eagerness, the drive to work, to shape, to strengthen. With his inherent nature, Brynna could craft solid barricades and water channels, turning the rough ground into defenses and reserves that could sustain the Sanctuary longer.
The others watched quietly as the beast began to explore, already pressing its paws into the soil, marking the terrain it would soon transform.
And one after another, the remaining figures appeared: Elira, petite and neat, her weaving tools clutched tightly; Fenn, wiry and dust-streaked, hefting a heavy hammer; Lirien, round-cheeked and cheerful, carrying a ladle to her chest;
Torenna, spectacles catching the Gate's glow, mortar and pestle in hand; Vael, thin and meticulous, scanning every corner with sharp, alert eyes; Rorin, rugged and earthy, pickaxe slung across his shoulder; Jessa, young and wide-eyed, stepping forward cautiously; and finally Tomas, steady and dependable, his calm presence anchoring the group.
The Gate's glow dimmed slowly, leaving the newly summoned standing in the Sanctuary.
The air hummed faintly with lingering energy, but none carried the sheer weight and authority of Serathis. A Bronze III warrior.
Karl's gaze swept over them, noting the differences in aura and presence. Some radiated combat potential, some specialized in tasks that would strengthen the Sanctuary, and support the group in preparation for the inevitable clash with Veythar.
The summoning ended quietly, but the weight of so many lives drawn from the Gate pressed heavily on the group.
Karl exhaled, aware that their army had grown significantly—but now he had to ensure he was strong enough to lead and control such power effectively.
He observed Brynna pawing at the ground with surprising focus, Gorran's energy still buzzing faintly even in the calm, and Rorin's steady, grounded presence contrasting sharply with the others' restless auras.
The humans, young and old, male and female, stood alert yet unsure, their wide eyes drinking in the world they had been pulled into.
Karl exhaled slowly. The army had grown—far beyond what he had first imagined—but the weight of responsibility pressed on him.
Each life drawn from the Gate added to his burden. He would need to lead them wisely, guide them carefully, and ensure his strength could match the scale of the force now tethered to him.
The summoning ended quietly, but the weight of so many lives drawn from the Gate pressed heavily on the group.
Karl, aware that their army had grown significantly—but now he had to ensure, he was strong enough to lead and control such power effectively.
Lysa stepped forward, her presence calm but firm. "We have all been drawn from the Summoning Gate in this world," she said, sweeping her arm toward the assembled summons. "Each of us has a role. Together, we can strengthen the Sanctuary, protect it, and fight side by side—for survival, for a new beginning."
The new arrivals listened, some nodding slowly, others shifting uneasily under the unfamiliar weight of responsibility. Karl's eyes scanned the group, noting the mixture of curiosity, caution, and faint hope in their faces.
Then Serathis stepped forward, his greatsword resting across his back, armor faintly gleaming in the soft glow of the crystals.
His voice was calm, deep, and resonant, cutting through the murmurs of the gathered crowd. "Summoner," he said, fixing Karl with an unyielding gaze, "I am aware of my duty. I will follow… but you must prove yourself if you wish me to obey unconditionally."
Hearing that a hush fell over the Sanctuary. Even seasoned warriors like Dreal and Grok exchanged uneasy glances, feeling the invisible weight of his words press against their chests. The silence stretched, heavy and tense, as if the very air had grown thick.
Then a roar shattered the stillness. Ember leapt into the air, wings spreading wide, feathers catching the glow of the crystals. Her golden eyes blazed, and her cry rang sharp and fierce, full of fire and unrestrained fury.
No one understood the words she spoke, yet the meaning was clear to all—she was angry. Angry at Serathis's words, angry that he dared place conditions on his obedience.
Serathis did not move. His stance remained calm, unflinching, as if the flames of her anger barely brushed him. Yet his head tilted slightly, acknowledging her presence, his gaze following her relentless circling.
Ember shrieked again, a sound full of warning and frustration. She swooped close, wings cutting the air between them, stirring dust and leaves all around. Karl took a step forward. "Ember, calm down," he said his voice low and firm, "it's nothing serious."
For a tense moment, Serathis's silver gaze met Ember's, narrowing slightly beneath his helm.
A subtle shift in his posture—a tilt of the shoulders, a small adjustment of stance—was enough to show he recognized her anger.
He did not respond with hostility, but he did not yield either.
Ember hovered a moment longer, talons flexing, wings flaring, radiating controlled tension.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she lowered herself, still glaring, still tense, but no longer overtly aggressive.
Karl exhaled slowly, a momentary balance—was restored and the Sanctuary quieted once more.
The air remained thick with tension and awe, but a fragile understanding had settled, for now. Karl knew this confrontation was far from over. The bond with Serathis would require careful tending, respect earned, and boundaries understood.
Yet Ember's unshakable support brought him relief.
Even if his summons that are more powerful than Serathis appeared, he would not stand alone. Ember's reaction was proof—she trusted him completely, with a loyalty and ferocity only a true bond could muster.
Karl reached up, resting a hand gently on her scaled head, feeling her warmth and the steady pulse of energy beneath his touch. With Ember at his side, he could face any challenge.
Serathis's eyes lingered on Karl, faint traces of respect—or perhaps calculation—passing through his detached expression.
He understood clearly: Ember was not summoned creature and winning her loyalty meant Karl deserve some respect, whether he wished it or not.