The journey through the Fallen Bridge had been long and bloodied. Over the course of three days, Insignia had carved their way forward through fangs, talons and decay. Now, finally, they had made it to the Western City, one of the five major regions within the Fallen Bridge, alongside the Northern Underground, the mysterious Central, and the battered Southern Village and the Eastern Town.
The Western City stood like a scarred sentinel in the shadow of fractured spires and time-worn ramparts. Massive, thick walls lined with moss and torch sconces flickered in pale orange hues, giving life to the desolate atmosphere. Vultures and dusk-hawks circled the broken towers, and from a distance, the city resembled a wounded beast trying to breathe through the centuries of war and abandonment.
The tension was immediate. The moment Insignia stepped into view, the walls came alive with movement. Archers emerged with longbows drawn, crossbowmen took aim, and mages on the battlements summoned elemental circles. Their chants whispered against the wind.
All of them had literal white skin with pointed ears.
"HALT! WHO DARES APPROACH THE WESTERN BASTION?!"
A voice bellowed down from above.
Obsidian raised her sword vertically as a gesture of parley, but the guards weren't budging. Chrysanthemum muttered something under her breath about mages being too trigger-happy. It was then that Zarvana stepped forward, flanked by Seyna, her armor still smeared with monster blood from the last skirmish. She stepped into the open with a calmness that only her lineage, Northern Chieftain, could carry.
"I am Zarvana, daughter of of the North. These are my allies. Open your gates or face the consequences of denying unity to the Broken Alliance."
There was a pause. Then murmurs. Then movement.
The portcullis groaned and lifted with the heavy screech of rusted iron. The soldiers reluctantly lowered their weapons, some keeping wary eyes on the entire battalion. It wasn't every day six hundred mages, paladins, and assassins showed up at your front gate. Especially not ones this organized.
The city opened its doors and what they entered was something both wondrous and tragic. Cobblestone streets formed patterns leading through marketplaces filled with desperate vendors hawking half-rotten fruit, smithed tools, and makeshift weapons. There were temples with missing domes, houses made of stone and wood patched with mismatched cloth, and townsfolk who paused their routines to gape at the parade of war-ready guests.
At the head of the convoy, Vastarael and Elyonari sat cloaked upon Biolumine, his Divine Creature now taking the form of a radiant white horse. Her hooves made soft notes against the cobblestone. Vastarael's cloak shrouded his face and his long white hair, but even hidden, his presence was a gravity well. People turned and stared. Eyes narrowed. Whispers traveled faster than light.
Behind them, Arletta's wolf moved like a storm beast, three meters tall. On its back rode Shimmer and Runner, gripping Chainless's waist as she kept a wary eye on the streets from under her gaze.
Obsidian and Chrysanthemum marched at the frontlines, flanking the heads with dignity and power. The clinking of armor and soft humming of stored essence from the Insignia's mages and knights made it obvious that this was no merchant caravan.
"Zarvana, are you sure this is wise?" Seyna whispered beside her chieftain, eyes scanning the civilians who watched with a mixture of awe and fear. "We're turning every head in the city."
"I'm aware. But we're not hiding who we are. We've killed things out there that would've devoured this city whole. We're the hope they don't know they needed."
Raika, walking just ahead, glanced at them and scoffed.
"Still feels like we're walking into a hornet's nest."
"Maybe." Veyn adjusted the straps on his shoulder armor. "But we're the hornets."
Then he noticed something else.
Raika hadn't stopped glancing to the front. More specifically, at Vastarael. Her eyes lingered just a little too long, and her gaze would flick away the moment she noticed Veyn noticing her.
"Really?"
"What?"
"You're practically undressing the man with your eyes."
"I am not!"
Veyn didn't say anything, only chuckled and shook his head. He wasn't mad, just… kind of amazed. Vastarael always had that effect on people. Mysterious, terrifying, unshakably calm, and devastatingly good-looking. Even cloaked, he was good-looking.
They approached the palace, which was a citadel carved into stone with gleaming towers that had barely survived the years of siege and war. Guards in knight wear stood at the gates, and word had already reached them. The Western Chieftain was waiting.
Inside the gates, the palace had that feeling of forgotten wars, broken alliances and ancient pacts. Giant banners bearing faded emblems fluttered in the wind. And here, in the heart of this decaying monument, Insignia entered as one.
Vastarael dismounted first, offering a hand to Elyonari. She took it and pulled her cloak tighter. She whispered.
"People are staring."
"They always do," he muttered back. "Try not to stun them too hard."
Elyonari rolled her eyes and sighed. "It's not my fault your daughters keep giving me judging looks."
"They're just assessing whether you're wife material. You're passing."
"Great."
As they passed through the courtyard, conversations began anew. Troops started discussing tactics. Raika and Veyn continued arguing playfully. Obsidian and Chrysanthemum began strategizing deployment routes for Insignia's forces. And Shimmer and Runner? They were already talking to Chainless about how cool it'd be to own a wolf that big.
But above all that, as they approached the throne room where the Western Chieftain waited. All of them knew this was the calm before another storm.
The throne room of the Western City was a vast and shadow-drenched hall, its vaulted ceilings supported by ancient columns carved in the likeness of beast-fangs. Time had not been kind to this place. The burn marks on the stone, the fractures along the walls, and the way some parts of the floor were uneven all spoke of countless battles, both political and literal. It was more war chamber than royal court, yet its age only granted it a certain reverent gravity.
At the end of the hall sat the Western Chieftain, Vuthar, a name that carried weight across the territories of the Fallen Bridge. Vuthar was no old, crumbling king like the rumors claimed.
He bore the body of a predator trained in endless skirmishes with a lithe build, long limbs carved for archery, with shoulders tight like a coiled bowstring. His face was angular, stern, with dark lines of blue tribal ink running down his jaw and neck. His long hair, bound into thin braids, fell like a river of black night down his back, and his eyes watched the procession.
The throne he sat upon was not gilded with gold or trimmed with velvets. It was carved from a single chunk of darkened steel. His vassals stood around him, half in ceremonial garb, the rest armed to the teeth. Dozens of guards formed a living aisle along the length of the throne room, their spears tapping lightly against the ground in unison.
Insignia entered as a tide of elegance and threat.
Zarvana walked ahead of everyone, her cloak fluttering behind her like the banner of her Northern blood. Seyna stood slightly behind her, stiff with attention, while Obsidian and Chrysanthemum flanked the rear ranks. The Insignia mages, knights and assassins stood in formation just beyond the entry arch, weapons sheathed but power humming quietly from them all.
Vastarael remained at the edge of the chamber, still cloaked, with Elyonari beside him. Biolumine had reverted to a smaller form of a small kitten, sitting on his shoulder. Even among so many beings, it was him whom many eyes subtly searched for. Raika noticed a few of the Western archers glancing at the white-haired figure in particular, curious, perhaps, or uneasy.
Vuthar leaned slightly forward, one hand resting on the carved armrest of his throne.
"Zarvana Halgryn, Daughter of the North. You honor us. But tradition states that when you come bearing news of the Broken Alliance meeting, you come with two emissaries and a few bodyguards, not an army."
Zarvana bowed her head respectfully, but her tone bore no softness.
"Chieftain Vuthar Tel'Khaz. I came to inform you that the Broken Alliance Convergence will take place in Central in a few weeks. We've already secured half the route, but…"
Her gaze narrowed.
"The monsters have been acting… wrong. Patterns have been broken. Territories crossed. They're massing in strange locations, retreating from others. Something has stirred them. I brought my forces for protection."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You brought mages, knights and assassins. You've come with war, Zarvana."
"They're not Sentient Krepsunas like you and me," she said, ignoring the bait in his tone. "But they are better than the archers you've stationed along the wall. Monsters are slipping past your perimeter like water through cloth."
The insult was clean, sharpened, and unapologetic. The guards beside Vuthar bristled, hands tightening on spears. One of the vassals—a tall woman with a scar down her cheek—stepped forward with a growl, but Vuthar held up a hand.
"You come to insult my forces… in my hall?"
"I come to speak truth. Your people will die if you do not evolve. And my forces kill what ten of your elites could not. You may not like them, but they are the only ones who will get us through the Bridge alive."
Vuthar stood now. He descended the few steps of the throne, cloak trailing behind him like a stalking shadow. The hall went silent. His eyes scanned the assembly before finally softening, just a little.
"You've stayed too long outside these walls. Your troops deserve rest. Your mounts water. Stay for three nights and no more."
There was an edge to his voice, but it was not cruel. It was calculated. Vuthar was a man of tactics. And now, he was revealing his own hand.
"But if you remain here, I will ask for a favor."
Zarvana lifted her chin. "What sort?"
Vuthar looked toward the cracked ceiling above, where wind howled through the fracture like a whistle from some sleeping beast.
"The Ice Rain comes tomorrow."
A ripple moved through the Insignia mages. Even Chrysanthemum and Chainless looked up in concern.
"The storm drains life from skin, soul from breath. It paralyzes animals, kills the weak in minutes, and encases buildings in frost for years. We usually survive it with warding barriers… but many of my barrier mages died last winter. I want yours just for this storm."
Zarvana crossed her arms.
"You ask for protection. But these aren't my people."
"Yet you've brought six hundred warriors into my domain, and they sleep under my roof."
Zarvana didn't flinch.
"And I brought them for the monsters. Not your political pleas. I'll think about it. But I won't force my army to protect those they don't serve."
For a moment, the air stilled again. Then Vuthar gave a short, sharp laugh.
"I'd expect nothing less from Halgryn's daughter," he said. "You've got his fire. Do not let it burn you before the Convergence."
Zarvana turned with a curt nod, and motioned to Seyna to begin dispersing the formation. The troops began retreating toward the designated barracks and rest quarters.
Vastarael, still silent and hidden beneath his cloak, turned with Elyonari to follow. As they passed under one of the palace arches, he looked back once, silver eyes catching Vuthar's briefly.
The Western Chieftain stared right back at him. And in that shared glance, something unspoken passed. Vastarael only had one thought in mind.
'He is a beast tamer. Not bad..."