The wind howled over the broken ridges of Black Hollow, carrying with it the ghostly whispers of the past. Once a thriving settlement of craftspeople and scholars, the place had been reduced to ash and ruin during the Fire Wars. Now, it was a graveyard of stone and silence—exactly the kind of place Dravak would choose to make his final stand.Kairo stood at the front of the warband, his cloak whipping around him, eyes fixed on the shattered remnants of the old town ahead. The morning sun fought through layers of mist, casting long shadows that danced across collapsed rooftops and scorched walls. The enemy hadn’t made their presence obvious, but Kairo could feel them. The Hollow wasn’t empty. It was waiting.Behind him, Ayame and Reina moved in silence, their faces set with grim resolve. The rest of the force—Silent Blades, rebels, and a handful of surviving Order loyalists—formed a loose formation along the cliffs and gullies surrounding the town. Every step forward felt like a descen

The morning sun rose lazily over the new monastery grounds, casting long, golden shadows over stone and timber. The structure, though far from complete, was taking shape. Voices filled the once-hollow halls—not with the shouts of warriors or the whispers of scheming lords, but with conversation, laughter, and even song.Kairo stepped into the training courtyard, where a handful of young recruits stood in uneven lines. Their eyes widened as they spotted him.He smiled faintly. “At ease. I’m not here to bark orders.”One of them—a boy of about sixteen with shaggy hair and a determined expression—stepped forward. “Is it true, Master Kairo? That you took down Lord Ethan in single combat?”Kairo raised an eyebrow. “I had help. No one wins a war alone.”The boy grinned, undeterred. “But you led them. You gave us hope.”Kairo paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “Hope,” he repeated. “It’s not given. It’s built. Like this place. Stone by stone.”He picked up a training staff and handed

The morning sun crept through the high mountain mists, casting golden light across the Silent Blade monastery. But despite the calm in the sky, unease settled like a cloak over the warriors within its walls. The scroll Ayame and Reina had uncovered stirred more than fear—it stirred old memories, of legends once whispered around fire pits, stories dismissed as folklore.But now, they could no longer afford to ignore them.Kairo stood at the center of the training grounds, watching as younger disciples practiced under Reina’s sharp eye. He didn’t interfere, though his presence alone sharpened their focus. His mind was elsewhere—on the prophecy.“When the Blade is reborn, the Old Flame shall rise again…”He had barely begun rebuilding the Order. Was this to be their fate? To win peace only for a greater evil to rise from the ashes?A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.“You’re not alone in this fight, Kairo,” Ayame said, stepping beside him. “We face it together. Like we always

The wind howled through the mountain pass, carrying with it the distant echoes of war drums. From every direction, warriors converged on the ancient grounds of the Silent Blade’s fortress, their armor clanking like an orchestra of purpose. Snow had begun to fall, light at first, but steady—blanketing the land in pale silence before the storm.Kairo stood at the monastery’s northern wall, watching the horizon darken. In just a week, they had done what many thought impossible—rallied enemies, strangers, and survivors under one cause.But unity was fragile, and time was not on their side.Behind him, the old training hall had been converted into a war chamber. Maps were spread across tables. Strategists from the different factions argued over terrain, movement, and rituals. Ayame sat at the center of it all, unmoved by the noise.“We can’t split our forces,” barked Commander Toma of the White Serpents. “Divide and we die.”Reina, ever calm but commanding, countered. “If we focus everythi

The fires from Mount Vermillion had died down, but their memory lingered in the scorched earth and soot-stained skies. The land bore the scars of battle—rivers once clear now ran murky with ash, and the trees surrounding the mountain stood like silent sentinels mourning the fallen.Kairo stood quietly by a simple stone marked with symbols from the Silent Blade—symbols of honour, sacrifice, and rebirth. Beneath that stone lay the warriors who had fallen in the final siege. They had died with blades in hand, protecting not just their brothers and sisters, but a future they would never see.He knelt down, brushing away the dry leaves that had begun to gather. There were no tears left in him. Only gratitude. Only silence.Ayame approached from behind, her steps light but firm, always alert even in peace. “We’re gathering at the old camp,” she said softly. “Reina’s already there. The council wants to speak with you.”Kairo rose to his feet, eyes still on the grave. “I’ll be there.”“She wo