The gray light of dawn bled through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, turning the dust motes in the air into swirling embers. Bima didn’t move from the observation slit for a long time, his eyes burning as he watched the violet-eyed silhouettes melt back into the shadows of the ruins. The horde had turned away at the last second, deterred by something Bima couldn't see, but the pressure in his chest remained—a phantom weight of the impending war.He turned away from the wall. His hands were still trembling, not from fear, but from a residual electric hum vibrating beneath his skin."Okay," Bima muttered, his voice raspy. "First things first. If that’s what a pack looks like, this gate is just a toothpick."He marched toward the foyer. The reinforcement beam he’d installed under the system’s guidance was still holding, but the wood around the hinges was pulverized. It wouldn't survive another heavy assault.The sound of footsteps crunched on the gravel outside. The heavy metal door

The adrenaline of the previous night had left behind a strange, hollow ache in Bima’s bones. He stood in the center of the dusty, sun-drenched courtyard, watching the five volunteers Mariana had gathered. They were a ragtag bunch—men and women who had spent their lives hiding, not fighting."Look, I’m not asking you to be soldiers," Bima said, his voice echoing off the surrounding concrete walls. He gripped a wooden training staff, his knuckles steady. "I’m asking you to stay alive. If you can’t hold a line, you’re just bait."Pak Salim wiped sweat from his brow, his hands shaking as he gripped a heavy piece of pipe. "Bima, this is... it’s not our nature. We’re laborers, not warriors. You saw what those things were. How are we supposed to stand against that?""By doing exactly what I tell you," Bima countered, his tone sharp. "Salim, feet apart. Plant your heels. You’re top-heavy, and the first time one of those things hits your shield, you’re going to fall backward and get your throa

The air in the settlement was thick with the scent of ozone and scorched earth, a grim reminder of the fight that had just transpired. Bima walked through the courtyard, his boots dragging slightly in the dust, the weight of the System’s latest notification pressing down on him like a physical burden. He stopped only when he reached the rear of the communal workshop, where the rhythmic clink-clink of a hammer against cold iron provided a steady, grounding beat.Pak Darman, the village’s unofficial blacksmith, didn’t look up as Bima approached. The older man’s face was a map of deep-set wrinkles, perpetually smudged with soot, and his arms were thick with corded muscle earned through decades of toil."I heard the commotion at the perimeter," Darman said, his voice like gravel grinding together. He didn't stop hammering, but his posture stiffened. "They say you killed an Alpha. A big one."Bima leaned against the doorframe, his breath still coming in shallow, ragged hitches. "It’s dead.

The blinding violet light erupted from the statue’s eyes, pinning Bima to the cobblestones. The air grew frigid, the scent of ozone replaced by something metallic and ancient, like the taste of blood on a rusted blade."Bima! Get away from it!" Mariana’s voice sounded miles away, distorted as if heard through deep water."I can’t move!" Bima gritted his teeth, his entire body locked in a paralytic tremor. His skin felt like it was being flayed by invisible needles.The light reached a crescendo, turning the world into a canvas of absolute, sightless white. Bima felt the ground disappear. The sensation of falling—not into a pit, but into an abyss of memory—overwhelmed him.“Connection to the legacy of Týr: Phase Two,” the System chimed in his mind, but it sounded different now—distorted, layered with an echo of a thousand dying voices. “Identity verification… Scion of the Broken Blade.”Bima slammed onto solid ground. The silence was absolute. He looked up. He wasn't in the village any

The man in the gas mask took another step, his boots crunching rhythmically on the debris-strewn asphalt. He didn't look like a scavenger; his gear was military-grade, clean, and terrifyingly well-maintained. Behind him, the vanguard of the Scorchers fanned out, their rifles leveled at the gatehouse with practiced lethality."Bima," the man repeated, his voice grating against the quiet. "Don't be dense. We’ve seen the way your energy signature spikes. We know you’ve got something tucked away in that pit of yours. Hand it over, and we don't have to turn this place into a furnace."Bima stood behind the gate, his fingers tracing the cold iron of the bolt. Beside him, Kanya was as still as a statue, her hand hovering near her hidden blade."You really think you're going to get anything out of us?" Bima called out, his voice steady despite the adrenaline firing through his nerves. "Look around, friend. We’re starving. We’re barely keeping the rot out of our lungs. You’re shaking down a to