The sun stood still above Elden—as if the heavens themselves waited.
Then the ritual began.
A hum swept across the city like the breath of a sleeping god. From cathedral towers to town squares, a golden radiance bloomed in the air, tracing lines across buildings, seeping through windows and flooding the streets in sanctified brilliance.
Truth Magic. Old. Pure. Unyielding.
The city held its breath.
And then—screams.
People dropped to their knees, clutching their heads. Some burst into tears, confessions spilling from their lips. Others collapsed, shadows writhing around their forms as they thrashed and wailed.
And a few—too few—began to morph.
Skin peeled back into black mist. Faces rippled into featureless voids. Claws emerged where hands once were. Their mouths tore open into jagged maws.
Wraiths. Dozens of them.
"TO ARMS!" a captain shouted.
The city of Elden exploded into chaos.
Ryle dashed through the streets, ducking between panicked citizens and lunging Wraiths. His dragon claws slashed through a mimic wearing the skin of a child. He didn't hesitate. Didn't blink.
A scream cut through the air. Ryle turned in time to see Thea drive both her dual blades into a Wraith's chest, flipping over its shoulder and kicking it into an alley where it evaporated in a flash of sunlight.
Behind her, Kessia leapt from a rooftop, slicing through another Wraith midair with a wild grin.
Tobin held the line at the plaza steps, golden flames roaring from his hands like a vengeful god. "IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE, BURN!"
And then—light. Pure and radiant.
A figure in resplendent gold armor burst into the fray, his greatsword cleaving through a trio of Wraiths like paper. The blade gleamed with the sun's fury, a long weapon etched with runes older than the kingdom itself.
Ryle turned, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell—?"
The man bowed his head. "Glory Knight Albrecht of House Elden. Wielder of the Sunpiercer."
Tobin gasped. "You're the Glory Knight?"
Albrecht's smile was solemn. "My family was slaughtered by Wraiths when I was a boy. I've waited my whole life for this day."
He looked at Tobin with reverence. "And to fight beside the Hero… I am honored."
Ryle blinked. "What about the rest of us?"
Albrecht glanced briefly at Thea and Kessia, then to Ryle. "Your presence is appreciated."
Thea arched an eyebrow. Kessia rolled her eyes.
"Right," Ryle muttered.
Then it hit him—a cold breath against his ear, though no one was near.
"I told you not to fight us… but you didn't listen.
The old Valtoria Castle."
Ryle's blood ran cold.
He turned to Thea. "We need to move. Now."
She nodded. "I heard it too."
Albrecht frowned. "What's wrong?"
"We have a lead," Ryle said. "Old Valtoria Castle. I think that's their stronghold."
Albrecht's eyes widened. "That place is cursed."
Tobin clenched a fist. "Let's go!"
"Wait." Kessia grabbed Tobin's shoulder. "The royal dinner. You were called."
Tobin sighed. "Right…"
Seraphina approached, hair disheveled and face grim. "Take my army," she said. "Albrecht, you lead them with Ryle and Thea. Kessia and Tobin will attend the dinner."
Albrecht saluted. "It will be done, Duchess Elden."
As the army began to gather and march, Albrecht leaned toward Ryle, tone smug. "Don't slow us down, journalist. This is real war now."
Ryle didn't answer. He just kept walking.
Old Valtoria Castle stood like a corpse—blackened stone, windows shattered, towers bent under time's weight. It loomed over the cracked hills like a forgotten god.
Albrecht's troops, two hundred strong, fanned out across the outer courtyard. Ryle and Thea stood ahead of them, blades ready, eyes searching.
"It's too quiet," Thea whispered.
"Yeah," Ryle replied. "I hate it."
They stepped forward.
Then death came.
In one breath, more than half the army collapsed. Some were dragged into shadows. Others combusted from within. Limbs torn. Skulls crushed. Screams barely lasted a second.
"AMBUSH!" Albrecht roared, raising Sunpiercer. "FORM RANKS!"
Too late.
From the darkness emerged four Wraiths.
But these weren't common shapeshifters. These ones wore armor. One held a staff dripping shadow. Another wielded a blade of black glass. The third had no eyes—but floated effortlessly, humming in an ancient tongue.
And in the center, stepping over corpses with a grin—
Dalen.
Cloaked in jet-black silk, his face sculpted, elegant, cruel.
"Ryle," Dalen said. "We meet again."
Ryle's claws shimmered purple. "You won't leave this place alive."
Dalen grinned wider.
"You brought fire to our doorstep," he said. "Now burn with it."
The ground beneath them cracked.