The city of Valdorne greeted them like a flame catching new breath. Its skyline was braced with fresh scaffolds and banners of resistance, a thousand small signs that the rebellion had begun to stand tall.
Weeks had passed since the fall of the Orahm warlock. Word had already spread. The city's gates were lined with soldiers—many new recruits eager to glimpse Shin Soma, the Guardian Regent of a sealed kingdom.
As his caravan rolled in, the crowds didn't cheer. They watched. Silent, reverent, as if witnessing prophecy unfold.
Alexandra, hooded and beside Laverna, whispered, "Your legend walks ahead of you now."
Shin dismounted, his party falling into step. The council was waiting.
Inside Valdorne's war room, a grand circular chamber lined with obsidian maps and floating runes, tension pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Guild Master Davis was already present, standing before a magical projection of the known continent. Colored glyphs marked advancing enemy positions, twice as many as last month.
Zera narrowed her eyes. "Tristan's reach is growing."
Lyssa updated the western coast. "This blot here—used to be a neutral zone. Now it's Falzath-red."
Maika's brow furrowed. "We weren't gone that long."
Davis turned. "That's the trouble. Wi' every day we bide our time, more nations crumble. Their lords take tainted gifts, an' their folk see nowt but hunger an' dread."
Shin folded his arms. "And loyalty fractures?"
Davis nodded. "Three factions in the Eastern Allied Guild've gone silent. Could be they're parleyin' wi' Tristan's emissaries as we speak."
Alexandra's voice was cold. "Then they are already lost."
"But we're no'," Davis said. He motioned to the southern quadrants. "We still hold the vital choke points. The real question is—how fast can we move afore morale crumbles tae dust?"
Shin stepped forward, the amulet at his chest glowing faintly. "Then we stop waiting."
He turned to the floating map's interface, fingers tracing the map. "I want to deploy mixed teams to these three junctions—Valley of Sareth, the Iron Steppe, and Nura's Pass. Rynn, Tove, and Olga will lead them."
Father Grent raised a brow. "That leaves you and your party without forward cover."
Zera smirked. "We are the forward cover."
Later that evening, Shin stood in the inner courtyard's sparring ring, the same one Davis had once trained him in.
The Guild Master approached slowly. "Yer still up? Not takin' a moment tae rest, lad?"
"I can't," Shin said. "Not when I'm still behind."
Davis chuckled. "Yer far ahead o' the rest, lad. Most cannae hold a candle tae ye."
"Not you." Shin stepped forward. "Not yet."
The old master tilted his head. "Aye... you're serious. That's my boy."
"I have to be. I carry Orahm now. I carry my servants' lives. I carry rebellion."
Davis unsheathed a dull training blade. "Then come prove it, lad. Let's see if the fire in yer eyes burns as fierce as yer blade."
They bowed once—teacher and student—and stepped into the ring.
The sparring began slow, ceremonial. Shin mirrored each of Davis's early drills, the same ones he was once bruised into learning. Blocks. Rotations. Timing. The routine ignited memories: Davis adjusting his footing with a stern grip; the silence that lingered after each mistake.
Then it changed.
Davis lunged with feints, pressing Shin into motion. Shin responded, blade a blur, breathing steady. Their clash became a dialogue of steel. Wind rippled around Shin's feet with each pivot. Crimson sparks flickered at the edge of his orb. Their silhouettes danced like shadows etched in moonlight.
Davis swept low. Shin vaulted back, flipped, and landed hard. But instead of retreating, he charged forward—eyes fierce.
The moment locked.
Strike. Parry. Step. Lunge. The rhythm turned fierce, yet not angry. It was a storm of discipline and memory.
"Again!" Davis barked, driving forward.
Shin met him. "Not until I can look him in the eye."
"Who?"
"My father."
The words left him with a pang. For a heartbeat, he saw the faceless silhouette of a man who never got to teach him what Davis did. Every movement now was for that shadow.
"You've already become more than him, lad. You just cannae see it yet." Davis said quietly, pressing harder.
"No. I've become who I needed him to be."
Finally, Shin knocked Davis's blade from his hand. The wooden sword clattered to the stone.
Davis didn't flinch. He looked up at Shin from one knee, breathing hard. He smiled through bruised ribs, eyes glistening with pride, not defeat. "Then surpass me, lad… and don't ye dare look back."
In the weeks that followed, preparations intensified. The women of Shin's party each took on pivotal roles that echoed not just their skills, but their growth.
Laverna trained field scouts in stealth and counter-enchantment. Her brutal experience as a former slave turned assassin made her a living example of endurance. She taught not only how to vanish in shadow but how to weaponize pain. Scouts left her sessions sharper, faster, deadlier—and loyal. She even smiled now and then, though she always denied it.
Zera led drills with rebel knights, her posture regal and voice uncompromising. Every swing of Clarent reinforced a discipline that transcended mere swordplay. She molded raw recruits into shield walls, their stances unified under her fierce gaze. And for those who dared challenge her, she broke them—gently, but decisively—with a warrior's grace only a knight-princess could carry.
Maika taught pressure-point combat and anti-magic movement. Her kunoichi agility and mastery of Sunfire were unrivaled. She demonstrated how to disable a mage before a spell left their lips, how to disappear between heartbeats. Soldiers whispered her name after sessions, both in fear and admiration, some swearing her blades never touched the ground.
Tessara helped decode fragments of the scroll. With her Moonflower Mask enhancing her senses, she interpreted the magical syntax behind each glyph. Her insights shaped military planning, revealing layers to the prophecy others overlooked. In moments of stillness, she would hum softly—her lullabies calming even the most battle-worn commanders.
Alexandra formed a diplomatic channel with eastern rebel states, sending messages through wind-linked sigils sung with her Voix de Commandement. She met emissaries, nobles, and outlaws alike, bending their will with a single note. More than once, entire battalions pledged allegiance after hearing her voice.
The scroll fragment's prophecy became clearer:
"When the Nine converge, the world reshapes—by their will or by their ruin."
Nine. Not six.
Shin stood in the war room days later, staring at the line, lips set in a thin line. "Then there are more of them."
"Or more of us," Alexandra offered.
By the end of the month, Shin sat atop Valdorne's high battlements. Below, fires glowed where tents once stood. The rebellion was no longer hiding—it was moving.
Laverna climbed beside him. "You look like you're waiting for something."
He glanced upward. "For the ember to catch."
Maika approached from the rampart's stairs. "It already has."
Tessara, Zera, and Alexandra joined, their crests glowing faintly.
Behind them, Valdorne's gates opened—and scouts rode out in threes, banners high.
The forge had been stoked.
And war was no longer on the horizon.
It was here.