The sun rose over Lundar like a reluctant witness.Its pale light crept across a city still scarred from the invasion and shaken by the night’s infiltration. Smoke hung low in the streets, clinging to the rooftops like a stubborn ghost. The horns of morning patrols echoed faintly through the fog, but beneath the surface, a heavier silence lingered — the kind that came when trust had been shaken.Blaze stood at the edge of the guild’s highest balcony, overlooking the rebuilding efforts below. His bandages were still fresh from the battle with the Behemoth, but sleep had evaded him entirely. The encounter in the archives played on repeat in his mind: the siphon ritual, the masked infiltrator, the quiet precision of betrayal.Someone inside Lundar had opened the doors.And that thought burned more than his wounds.“Regal Blaze.”The voice came from behind. Grim emerged from the stairwell, his cloak trailing shadows across the floor. His eyes, sharp as ever, bore none of the exhaustion hi

The storm had passed, but the night refused to rest.Lundar lay beneath a bruised sky, shrouded in drifting ash and the faint, ghostly glow of dying wards. Fires still smoldered in broken towers. The once-proud walls bore gaping wounds where crimson lightning had struck, their edges blackened and curled like burned parchment. The ground itself seemed to remember the Harbinger’s assault — cracks ran like veins through the cobblestone streets, pulsing faintly with residual energy.Blaze stood at the edge of the western battlements, the wind tugging at his tattered cloak. His fists were still stained with soot and blood. Around him, soldiers moved like weary shadows, dragging debris aside, lifting the wounded onto stretchers, dousing flames that refused to die. The air was thick with the scent of iron, smoke, and something else — something sharp, unnatural, like ozone trapped in stone.Behind him, Valor’s boots struck the stone in heavy rhythm. The warrior’s armor was scorched, his hair

The noise hit Blaze first.Not the clang of steel, not the assassin’s whisper, but the sound of people shouting. Dozens of voices blurred into a single, rising roar. His vision swam, shapes melting in the haze. He tried to steady himself, but the world tilted sideways. Warmth spread down his ribs. When he looked, his palm came away slick and red.He staggered once, twice. Then the ground caught him.“Blaze!” Zeldra’s voice cut through the chaos, rough but clear. He was the first to reach him, his injured arm forgotten as he knelt by Blaze’s side. “He’s hit—get the healers! Now!”Boots thundered across the floor. Someone tore strips of cloth from a banner. Grim’s shadows folded around Blaze, slowing the bleeding. “Keep pressure,” Grim snapped, his voice steadier than his eyes.Valor barked orders from the doorway, his voice like a war drum. “Seal the chamber! No one leaves until we know they’re alone!”Hydra’s colossal head lowered from the high alcove, golden eyes flaring. The weight

The night was colder than usual.Rain drummed softly against the stone walls, running down the windows like streaks of ink. The guild keep, usually alive with voices and footfalls, had fallen into a heavy silence. Only the torch flames flickered, throwing long shadows down the halls. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled the third night watch.Blaze moved like a shadow himself.The whispers he had overheard on the balcony still rang in his head—calm, confident, plotting. Whoever had spoken was close enough to know the council’s pulse and bold enough to threaten him without hesitation. That meant one thing: the rot was inside.He reached the end of the corridor and paused, his fingers brushing the cold stone. The Mark on his chest pulsed faintly beneath his clothes, not in battle rage, but in focus. He wasn’t charging into an arena this time. He was hunting.Footsteps approached from behind. Blaze turned slightly.Grim emerged from the darkness, his cloak trailing behind him like sp

The dawn came late to Lundar.A gray light seeped through the cracks of smoke that still veiled the city, spilling over rooftops and broken towers like a tired sigh. The storm had passed, but peace did not follow. There was something unnatural in the silence—a watchful tension that clung to the air. The people moved through the streets quietly, speaking in hushed tones, as if afraid the ruins themselves might be listening.Inside the guild keep, the council’s halls were far from calm. Patrols doubled their rounds. Every corridor shimmered faintly with wards etched overnight by trembling mages. The smell of iron and incense filled the air, an uneasy marriage of ritual and readiness.No one trusted anyone completely—not after the whispers, not after the assassins.Blaze hadn’t slept. He stood at the eastern parapet, eyes fixed on the horizon where the faint outlines of the Ebon Sovereignty’s warships lingered like shadows. They hadn’t attacked again. Not yet. But that was the trick of i