The Pyroguardians fall one by one, their flames snuffed out by the shadows I've learned to wield. I can feel the pulse of the Gnosis nearby—closer now, just ahead in the mountains of Natlan. But as the last of the guardians crumples to the ground, I know this battle is far from over.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the shift. Another presence.
Figures step from the trees, cloaked in shadow, their movements unsettlingly smooth. Their masks are familiar—these aren't just mercenaries, not just random soldiers. I know them by reputation.
The Ashen Hand.
I've heard whispers about them—an organization of shadowy figures, interested in forbidden knowledge, secret arts, and the acquisition of dangerous artifacts. The Gnosis is exactly the kind of thing they would covet.
I feel a surge of power welling up inside me, but I hold it back for now. The fight is still on.
The leader of the Ashen Hand, a tall figure draped in black, steps forward, removing their mask. I recognize the man beneath—Ishmael, the one who has long been rumored to be the mastermind behind the Ashen Hand's operations. His eyes gleam with dark intelligence, and the smile on his lips is nothing short of sinister.
"You've done well, Capitano," he says, his voice smooth, almost condescending. "But the Gnosis belongs to us, not the Fatui."
I take a step forward, my hand twitching instinctively toward the shadows that dance at my fingertips. "Not while I'm here."
Ishmael's grin widens. "You're not the only one with allies in this game. And you're certainly not the only one who's staked a claim to this relic."
His words linger in the air as if he's daring me to do something. And I would—if I wasn't so sure there's something else lurking in the depths of this mountain.
That's when I feel it. Her presence.
Before I can even react, the ground beneath us shifts. The temperature drops suddenly, and a whirlwind of energy spirals from the entrance of the Gnosis' chamber. My heart skips a beat, and the shadows around me flare as if in response to this new power.
Out of the storm of wind and fire, she emerges.
Mavuika.
Her eyes are cold, calculating, and fixed directly on me. I can feel the weight of her gaze as it locks onto mine. She doesn't speak immediately. She doesn't need to. Her presence alone speaks volumes. Mavuika is not just any guardian—she is the guardian of the Gnosis.
She's standing between us and the power we've both come for.
"Capitano," she says, her voice laced with an edge I can't quite decipher. "You've come for the Gnosis, but I can't let you take it. Not after all that's happened."
My grip tightens on the hilt of my sword. "And I can't let you keep it. Not after all that's happened."
There's a brief moment of tension. Both Ishmael and Mavuika stand poised, ready for conflict. Their powers are undeniable—Mavuika's command over fire is as intense as the land she guards, and Ishmael… well, his faction is no stranger to manipulation and dark magic.
But then something shifts between us.
I look at Mavuika—really look at her—and I see it: the same determination in her eyes that I feel in mine. We may have been enemies once, but we are no longer fighting just for ourselves. The Ashen Hand isn't here for the Gnosis—they're here for something darker, something worse. And I can see that Mavuika knows it, too.
I step toward her, slowly, cautiously. "You're not working with them, are you?"
Her lips twist into something that could almost be a smile. "You don't know much about me, do you, Capitano?"
I glance at Ishmael and his faction. "I know enough to know that we have a common enemy right now."
The tension in the air is thick, suffocating. And then, as if on cue, Mavuika's eyes flash with a decision.
"You're right," she says, her voice cool and steady. "The Ashen Hand wants to control the Gnosis. But they'll stop at nothing to take it from us. From everyone. They've already tried once before, and they failed."
She pauses, her gaze flicking between Ishmael and the group of cloaked figures standing behind him.
"They've been watching you, Capitano. Watching me," she continues, her voice low. "And now… they think they can control the Gnosis."
Ishmael steps forward, shaking his head, a wicked laugh escaping his lips. "You think I'm the problem here? You are the problem, Mavuika. And so is he. You've made your choice, but in the end, the Gnosis will belong to us. It always has."
I feel the weight of the decision pressing on me. It's not just about the Gnosis anymore. It's about the future. About what the Fatui—or the Ashen Hand—might do if they get their hands on it.
The air crackles, and I take a step back, turning to Mavuika. "So… what now?"
Her eyes narrow, and I see the conflict there—she's not ready to trust me. I don't blame her. But she's not willing to let the Gnosis fall into the wrong hands either.
She nods, slowly. "We set aside our differences for now. We fight them together. And after this is over… we settle things between us."
I feel a strange, uneasy relief. She's right. We don't have time for personal vendettas. The Ashen Hand can't get their hands on the Gnosis.
"We don't get to choose the enemies we face," I say, taking a deep breath. "But we can choose how we fight them."
Mavuika turns to face Ishmael and the Ashen Hand, her fiery aura flaring around her. "Then let's show them why they shouldn't have come for this."
I raise my hand, the shadows swirling at my fingertips. The Ashen Hand won't know what hit them.
And for the first time since I arrived in Natlan, I feel like I might just have a chance of surviving this.