The silence after the battle at Mirakai didn't feel like peace. It felt like waiting. The Seven returned to Odessyus only to find the air colder, the sky dimmer. The glyph walls around the tower flickered every few seconds now—not with light, but with static. Like the ley-lines themselves were trembling. Neolin stood at the center of the war hall, hunched over glowing glyph maps, eyes fixed on a red crescent that had begun pulsing near the northern range.
"The next city will fall within a day," he said.
Peter stepped forward. "Which one?"
"Caldris," Neolin replied. "A border fortress built to guard the northern ley-rift. If Kazakare reaches it, we lose more than ground—we lose the line that keeps his infection from seeping into the Frost Ring."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "So we hold it."
Neolin hesitated. "You won't go together."
A chill passed through the room. They had never fought apart before—never faced this war without each other.
"You'll go in pairs," Neolin continued. "Each to a different point in the Caldris ring. The city is built like a triangle—three gates, three battlefronts."
King Edmund stepped forward. "We've called in reinforcements to support your flanks. But you'll be the tip of the blade."
Tom and Peter were assigned to the West Gate at Molten Ridge. Lucy and Kitty would hold the East Gate near Glacier Edge. Frank and Susan were sent to the Central Bastion—the command tower. Jack would travel alone as a scout through the ancient tunnels beneath Caldris. Lucy frowned. "Why separate us now?"
Neolin placed a scroll on the table. The room dimmed, and a sigil flared in the air—glowing red and violet. "This appeared above Caldris two hours ago," he said. "It's not Kazakare's."
The symbol was jagged. Chaotic. Not flame. Not time. Not memory. But void.
Tom stepped forward. "What does it mean?"
"It means," Neolin said, "he's not the only one moving."
The cold in the north wasn't just weather. It was deep. Ancient. The land had always been cursed—even before the glyph wars, before the seals. Snow fell sideways as the wind screamed across the valley. The city loomed ahead, carved from black ice and froststone. Sigil towers flickered faintly, their once-strong glow now pulsing like a dying breath.
Frank stood beside Susan at the top of the central spire, watching over the distant gates. His breath fogged. His coat whipped in the wind. "They'll come soon," Susan said, reinforcing the outer walls with her crystal sigils. "Let's make sure we're ready."
In the west, Tom and Peter crouched behind a collapsed defense tower. Ahead, a massive warbeast—fifteen feet tall, plated in molten glyph-bone—stalked the ridgeline. Its steps left lava footprints that melted through the ice. "We can't just charge," Tom whispered. Peter nodded. "We'll flank. You burn low, I'll shadow-cage it from behind." They moved like smoke, silent and fast. Flames flared, shadows wrapped. The beast roared—and the war had begun.
On the eastern side, Lucy and Kitty stood atop a frozen watchtower. Below them, a swarm of frost-ghouls clawed across the ice, shrieking and cracked, eyes glowing blue from broken glyphs. "Can you freeze time long enough for me to charge?" Kitty asked, her wings already stretching. Lucy nodded. "Five seconds." Time bent, and Kitty dove. She struck like a flash of gold lightning, her light cutting through the shrieking swarm.
Beneath it all, Jack crept through the tunnel systems of Caldris, alone. Narrow paths, wet with ice, lined with old forbidden symbols. He spotted something that froze his blood. A sigil scrawled in blood—not Kazakare's, not the Monster Trio's. A fracture glyph, pulsing with silence. Something was down here that shouldn't be. Something ancient. Something watching.
At the command tower, Frank flipped through his notebook. A page he didn't remember writing stared back at him: Return what was taken. Susan noticed. "What's that?" "I don't know," Frank answered quietly. She looked out at the storm. "What if this war isn't even about Kazakare anymore?" Frank tightened his grip on the page. "It's never just about the war."
Tom and Peter managed to corner the warbeast, Peter's shadow cage holding it long enough for Tom to unleash a spiral of fire. The beast collapsed in a shriek. But then the ridge cracked—and another figure appeared. Not Kazakare. A new silhouette, faceless, wrapped in broken light. It whispered, "The fire never burned clean." Tom stood frozen. Peter grabbed his arm. "Run."
Kitty landed beside Lucy, breathing hard. "The gate's secure." But Lucy didn't respond right away. Her hand trembled. "Did you hear it again?" she asked. Kitty blinked. "Hear what?" Lucy didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the ice field, where something unseen stirred. Something that didn't belong.
In the command tower, Susan suddenly gasped and dropped to her knees. Her diamond glyph cracked across her arm, and blood leaked through the lines. Frank knelt beside her. "What happened?" She gritted her teeth. "We're not fighting Kazakare anymore."
Jack surfaced from the tunnels, racing toward the tower. "Neolin was wrong!" he shouted through the glyph relay. "This wasn't a front—it was a trap!"
Above the city, the sky cracked—not physically, but in color. The red glow of the Blood Moon flickered like a candle being snuffed. A new symbol appeared, angular and black, as if drawn by absence itself. A voice echoed—not screamed, not spoken, but simply there.
"You fought the fire. You fought the god. But who fights the echo that comes after?"
Frank looked up, wide-eyed. Tom staggered back from the west. Lucy's hand dropped her blade. Kitty's wings froze mid-flutter. Because the voice was familiar. Not from battle. Not from training.
From every dream. Every moment of silence. Every memory that ever felt just slightly too distant.
And far away, deep within the Ruined Archive—a sealed relic beneath Odessyus—Neolin stood before an old statue. A woman's figure. Wings folded. Head bowed. Eyes scratched out. He reached out, touched the base, and whispered one name. "Alexa."
The statue cracked.
And bled.