The mountain pass was narrow, choked with sharp volcanic shale and shadowed by sheer granite cliffs that blotted out the midday sun. Mist rolled off the upper peaks, swirling in dense grey sheets through the ravine. It was a natural choke point and an ideal killing floor.The party moved in a tight, practiced diamond formation. Jayd walked at the point, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the Aegis-Breaker. Behind him, Julian walked alongside Master Corvus, keeping the old scholar between them, while Lyra brought up the rear with her massive tower shield braced over her shoulder. Alysia picked her way along the higher boulders, her sharp eyes scanning the fog-shrouded cliffs above.Suddenly, the wind died down. The natural rustle of mountain pine gave way to an unnatural, suffocating silence.Alysia froze on her perch, her silver hair whipping around her face as her ears twitched. "Ambush! Upper ridge—"Before her warning could echo through the gorge, black-feathered crossbow

The silence inside the ruins of St. Jude’s Abbey was deafening, broken only by the crackle of dying embers and the persistent, howling gale outside. The golden embers of the messenger bird had vanished, but the choice it left behind hung over the altar like a heavy blade.Eight thousand imperial troops. Dark siege engines. Abyssal mortars. Oakhaven Citadel—the heart of the southern resistance, the shelter housing their supply depots, their allies, and the families of the militia—was surrounded.Yet beneath the central plaza of the Imperial Capital, one hundred thousand civilians walked the streets unaware that they had been herded into a giant butcher’s pen, waiting for the celestial syzygy that would turn the moon red in seventy-two hours.Lyra was the first to break the stillness, her hand clenched so tightly around her broadsword hilt that her knuckles turned white. "We can’t let Oakhaven burn, Jayd. Gerald’s men are fighters, but against an army of eight thousand with Abyssal s

The eastern aqueducts of the Imperial Capital rose out of the mist like the skeletal ribs of a long-dead titan. Towering arches of moss-draped granite stretched across the sunken marshes, funneling mountain water toward the city’s lower districts. But the city before them bore no resemblance to the shining metropolis of Julian’s youth.Reaching the foot of the outer wall, the party reined in their exhausted mounts beneath the shadow of the eastern bastion. The colossal iron-studded oak gates were sealed shut, reinforced with heavy iron crossbeams and surrounded by deep, newly dug trench-lines. High above on the ramparts, patrolling corrupted guards moved like silhouettes against a sky wrapped in churning, crimson clouds.Worse than the steel and soldiers was the magic. A translucent, flickering barrier of sickly purple shadow-veil stretched over the entire perimeter wall, humming with a high-pitched, nauseating frequency that vibrated through the stone and set the horses on edge.

High atop the blood-carved altar, Lord Naj stepped forward beside the Magistrate. The shadow-plate encasing his massive arm shifted with an oily, unnatural slickness, the obsidian crystals grinding together like breaking bones. He looked down at Jayd standing alone in the center of the arena floor and his face twisted into a mocking sneer."Look at you," Naj rumbled, his voice carrying the deep, grinding resonance of sliding tectonic plates. "Standing there in your polished bronze, holding the dead sword of a forgotten age. You truly believed you were a hero, didn't you? A champion marching to shatter the darkness."Naj let out a harsh, barking laugh that echoed off the vaulted stone tiers, drawing cruelly amused chuckles from the hundreds of hooded cultists perched in the galleries."You fought so hard across the eastern reaches, Jayd. You bled at Oakhaven. You breached our lines. You ran yourself ragged trying to save every pathetic, worthless soul in your path," Naj taunted, le

Jayd had vanished before the dust settled over the sunken palace grounds.He had left no message, no track for Lyra’s sharp eyes to follow, and no lingering trace of his divine aura. The once-blazing guardian of Midgard, whose presence had held back the dark had retreated into the cold isolation of his own shattered mind.In a forgotten, windowless stone watchtower perched high on the northern cliff-faces overlooking the marshlands, Jayd sat in complete darkness. Jayd stared at his calloused hands in the dim moonlight filtering through the arrow-slits. For the first time since inheriting his Valhalla core, he felt nothing—no warmth, no divine certainty, only a hollow, suffocating emptiness that threatened to crush his chest.Naj’s mocking laughter still echoed in his ears, louder than the howling wind outside. He had played the dutiful champion, marching where he was needed, bleeding for every village, saving every soul he could reach. And every single step had been calculated by