Azriel rose in the dead of night. Sleep evaded him, as it had been since Frenel's death. With his mind heavy and the stars distant, he decided to walk further down the road—unknowingly straying into Burrowmaw territory.
Burrowmaws—massive underground beasts native to Neuraleth. They spat acid, could move earth like water, and worst of all… they hunted in packs.
Azriel, raised in Evascera, had never even heard of them.
Three kilometers in, the ground rumbled. Cracks split through the soil as five adult Burrowmaws erupted from below—each the size of a small home, all eyes and jaws and claws built to crush.
Azriel drew his blade, breath steady but pulse racing. One charged at him, absurdly fast for its bulk. He parried with a sharp clang, skidding back from the force. Before he could react, the other four disappeared—burrowing beneath again, surrounding him in moments.
Like clockwork, they struck—one from above, one from beneath, two on the flanks. Acid hissed through the air, splashing across the ground. Azriel blurred from spot to spot, dodging narrowly, but he was overwhelmed. Their coordination was impeccable—clearly a pack that had hunted together for years. Every time he tried to strike, acid forced him back.
He was cornered, until he noticed something—
They moved on instinct.
Predictable, if you knew what to look for.
Azriel leapt high into the air—a move he hadn't used yet. The moment his feet left the ground, they spat acid again. But this time, he was ready. He spun, sword glowing with frost, and in a clean arc—one Burrowmaw collapsed, neck torn clean.
The others shrieked, diving after him—but before they could reach, a sharp whistle pierced the air.
A cyclone of wind burst from the shadows, catching two of the beasts mid-jump and slamming them against the rocks. A hooded figure stood at its center, staff raised—
Another figure charged in from the side, swinging a giant axe that cleaved clean through one of the remaining beasts—
The surviving Burrowmaws hesitated, then retreated with bone-rattling shrieks.
Azriel stood frozen, sword lowered, panting hard. At first, he felt fear—then relief.
"You two scared the hell out of me," he muttered, as the figures lowered their hoods.
Lysara and Gio ran toward him. Lysara pulled him into a firm, quiet hug. Gio didn't hold back—he grabbed Azriel by the collar, tears welling in his eyes.
"You dumbass!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I told you to reach out!"
Azriel, caught in the moment, could only manage a shaky laugh.
But in that broken space between grief and joy—their reunion was complete.
They spent the night walking beyond Burrowmaw territory, the sky slowly lightening into dawn. Though Azriel's heart still ached for Frenel, the presence of Lysara and Gio beside him brought him a strange comfort. They were his family—maybe the only real family he had left. And of all the people in the world who could've found him… he was glad it was them.
As the three sat down to rest beside a creek, Azriel finally broke the silence.
"So... how did you guys find me?" he asked, curious. He could sense how much stronger they'd become—stronger than even Lucia had been. Part of him wondered if they'd awakened new abilities.
Lysara adjusted the cloth around her staff and gave him a small, amused glance.
"We didn't know it was you at first. I heard the Burrowmaws roar through the wind." She smiled faintly. "It whispered of danger, so we followed it. Thought it was just a lost traveler—until I saw that blur of yours."
Azriel chuckled, but Gio spoke next, his voice gruff but warm.
"Lysara wasn't gonna stop me either way. Any excuse to swing the axe lately."
"You almost took my head off, old man," Azriel muttered playfully, rubbing his neck.
Gio laughed, a deep, chesty sound.
"Would've built you a new one."
They shared that laugh, a needed one, but it faded soon after.
Azriel's eyes drifted up to the starless sky. "Frenel died saving me. He... he gave everything. I can't let that be for nothing."
Lysara placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "He believed in you, Azriel. That alone means something."
"He believed you'd live, and you'd fight back," Gio added. "Just like we are."
Azriel nodded, clutching the hilt of the sword Frenel left him. "Then let's make sure none of their sacrifices go to waste. Ever again."
The wind picked up. The fire crackled low. In that quiet night, they weren't just travelers.
They were survivors with a purpose. A resistance reborn.
Meanwhile…
"STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!"
Velmira screamed, her voice echoing off the cold stone walls of her chamber. She laughed—a high, broken sound—then slammed her fist against the desk, splintering the wood. Tears streamed down her face, but they weren't the kind that sought comfort. They were venom—madness distilled into emotion.
"If only I were like Invidia," she muttered, pacing in circles, her manic laughter giving way to envious whispers. "So composed, so cold, so... perfect."
She stopped.
Her eyes locked on a crude sketch pinned to her wall—Azriel.
A twisted smile pulled at her lips as she stormed toward it.
"You fucked up. Was I wrong about you, Azriel?" Her voice cracked between fury and obsession. "Four of my underlings... DEAD."
She laughed again, sharp and shrill, as she traced his face on the parchment with a blood-stained fingertip.
"Too bad I saw you the second time." Her voice dropped to a hiss. "You think you're safe, but I've seen you now."
Velmira spun around and stormed out of her chamber, pushing open the grand doors to her balcony. Below her, an ocean of black armor—ten thousand soldiers—stood at attention, their silence like a blade waiting to strike.
She raised her hand, and her voice, cracked and venomous, thundered across the stronghold.
"I WILL FIND YOU, AZRIEL!"
"And when I do... I will unmake you."
The next morning, the trio finally reached Heiard, weary from travel but relieved to arrive. They walked through the city's quiet streets toward the new base of the resistance—until Azriel froze.
"A… wanted poster?" he muttered.
He stared at the wall, his own face sketched in ink, branded with a heavy bounty.
Lysara's eyes widened. "That's your name… and a reward that high?"
"They're trying to make a statement," Gio said grimly. "Let's move. Now."
Without hesitation, Gio threw his coat over Azriel's head, obscuring him from view, and they darted through the narrow alleyways. Reaching a seemingly abandoned wall near the old chapel, Gio knocked in a rhythmic pattern. A small metallic lens blinked once—Renzo's work—and a hidden door slid open.
Inside, they were immediately surrounded by familiar faces.
"Well, if it isn't our savior?" Corren greeted, extending his hand to Azriel.
They fed him, shared drinks, and caught up on everything they had missed—but despite the laughter, there was tension in the air now. The bounty on Azriel's head wasn't just an insult—it was bait. A trap waiting to be sprung. The resistance's guard was up more than ever.
Then—panic.
Kessle stormed into the room, breathless, sweat dripping down her temple.
"Kessle, what happened?" Corren stood up quickly, concern etched across his face.
She was pale—shaken.
"Velmira…" she stammered, "she has a new army. Ten thousand knights."
The room fell silent.
Everyone exchanged glances. They had all seen horrors—but for Kessle to panic?
"Ten thousand?" Gio asked slowly.
"Describe them," Lysara added, tense.
"They wore black armor," Kessle said. "It gleamed like obsidian—no metal I've seen before."
Renzo's brow furrowed. "Black iron? That's rare. Absorbs energy. And it's a pain to forge."
Kessle hesitated before adding the worst part.
"And for training… they were killing each other."
A quiet gasp.
The horror was real—but this was Signo. They were used to pain. To cruelty. Yet even by Signo's broken standards, this was too far.
"They're not just soldiers," Corren muttered, "they're monsters being forged into something worse."
"And they're coming," Azriel whispered.
He clenched his fists.
"For all of us."