Morning came gray and cold. Everett awoke with a start, his body trembling as he sat up. The chamber was dim, lit only by faint crystal veins running along the stone walls. His skin glowed faintly even in the gloom, his runes pulsing slowly like a heartbeat.Kael lay on the bed beside him, his breathing shallow but steady. Someone had cleaned his wounds, wrapped them with fresh bandages, and placed water nearby. For the first time since the dungeon, Kael looked less pale, though still fragile. Everett exhaled, relief softening his chest. He brushed a hand against Kael’s arm. “You’re safe… for now.”But then the memory of the night returned, Varik’s words, the glowing eyes of the soldiers, the way everyone had called him Warden. His stomach turned. His body felt heavy, as if the dungeon’s fire still lived inside him. A knock came at the door. Sharp. Controlled. Everett stiffened. “What is it?”The door opened, and two soldiers stepped inside. Their armor gleamed faintly with crystal

The stronghold woke at dawn. Crystals along the walls pulsed brighter, lighting the camp with a cold green glow. Soldiers marched in formation, their boots striking stone in unison. Smiths hammered weapons at the forges, sparks falling like rain. Children carried buckets, moved supplies, or stood in silent rows, their glowing eyes too calm for their age.Everett stood at the edge of it all, arms folded across his chest. His runes pulsed faintly under his skin, hidden beneath his torn shirt. He felt the eyes on him, everywhere he went, people whispered, soldiers stared, some with awe, some with unease, others with open resentment. Warden.The word followed him like a shadow. He hated it. His mind replayed yesterday’s trial again and again, the prisoner’s pleading eyes, Varik’s calm voice, the soldiers’ cold stares. He had chosen mercy. He had kept the man alive. But it hadn’t felt like victory. It had felt like a trap closing around him.He could still hear Varik’s words. Power is

The stronghold breathed with a rhythm of its own. Crystals pulsed in the walls like veins in a living body. Soldiers marched in perfect lines across the courtyards, their boots striking stone as one. The clang of hammers from the forge rang out in steady beats, sparks glowing against the dull light.Everett walked among them, his body sore, his chest heavy. His runes still pulsed faintly under his skin, each throb reminding him of the fire that burned inside.Everywhere he went, eyes followed him. Whispers stirred behind his back. Some looked at him with awe, others with resentment, and many with a cold curiosity that made his skin crawl. “Warden.” The word clung to him, heavier than the chains he once wore.Beside him, the prisoner he had saved walked nervously, glancing around with wide eyes. His face was pale, his steps unsure, as if every soldier might strike him down. Yet every few moments, he whispered the same words. “Thank you… thank you for sparing me. I owe you my life.”

The stronghold shook. Stone cracked and dust rained from the ceiling as the rumble deepened. The glow of the crystals embedded in the walls flickered wildly, pulsing like frantic heartbeats. Outside, shouts echoed, soldiers barking orders, boots pounding against stone, weapons clashing in the distance.Everett’s body tightened, his runes flaring under his skin. His eyes locked on the prisoner.The man knelt in the corner, clutching the shard like a sacred relic. His lips trembled with a smile that was more madness than joy. “They’re here,” he whispered again, his voice breaking. “They’ve come for me. They’ve come for you.”Everett’s fire sparked, the heat filling the chamber. His fists clenched. “What have you done?”The prisoner’s wild eyes gleamed with the shard’s faint glow. “I only called them. They were already coming. They always come for the Warden.”The word stabbed into Everett’s chest. He staggered forward, grabbed the prisoner by the collar, and hauled him up. “Stop calli

The horn shook the battlefield. Low and deep, it rolled through the smoke like thunder, silencing blades and voices alike. The clash of steel paused, screams dimmed, even the Shroud’s chants faltered. Every eye turned toward the broken gates of the stronghold.Everett’s chest heaved. Fire flickered faintly around his arms as he stood with Kael leaning against him. His glowing eyes scanned the battlefield, searching through the haze. The horn sounded again, and then, they came.Figures marched through the smoke, not rushing, not screaming, but moving with steady discipline.Their armor was dark steel, polished, without crystal veins or jagged corruption. Their helmets covered their faces entirely, masks of iron with narrow slits for eyes. Their weapons were not jagged crystal blades, nor Varik’s rune-marked rifles. They carried long spears, crossbows, and heavy shields etched with strange symbols.At their head walked a tall woman. She wore no helmet. Her hair was braided back, her