The week had passed in a blur of preparation, the summit buzzing with the restless energy of warriors readying for battle. Tents lined the jagged cliffs, their canvas flapping in the biting wind that swept down from the peaks. Forges roared day and night, hammers ringing against steel as smiths mended armor and sharpened blades. Warriors trained in the shadow of the crystalline building, their shouts and the clash of steel a constant rhythm, a heartbeat of defiance against the looming trial.
Shun adjusted the last clasp of his armor, the polished plates catching slivers of morning light as they glinted with resolve. His silver Jian rested calmly at his hip, glowing faintly with stored ether, as if it too were preparing for the journey ahead.
Xin stood a short distance away, arms crossed, watching silently. He didn't speak, he didn't have to. The tension between them was already heavy with what was unsaid.
Shun looked over his shoulder, then walked to Xin with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his weathered face. He opened his arms without hesitation.
"Come here you!," he said.
Xin stepped into the hug, wrapping his arms around the older warrior. Shun's grip was strong, steady, and warm like an older Brother anchoring his brother before a storm.
As he pulled back, Shun placed a hand firmly on Xin's back and gave it a pat.
"You know…" Shun said with a low chuckle, his eyes softening, "it's only been a couple of years since we first crossed paths. And yet… you remind me of my wife. Fierce spirit. Sharp mind. Quiet when it matters, but always watching."
Xin blinked, caught off guard. "Your wife? You've never mentioned her before."
Shun's smile turned gentler, his voice dropping lower. "I'll introduce you someday. When we make it through this storm. Family deserves to meet family… little brother."
Xin frowned, flustered. "What? We're not even related."
Shun's gaze held steady, unwavering. "Blood or not, we're dragonborne. We've survived trials most couldn't imagine. That makes us kin."
Before Xin could answer, a voice rang out beyond the courtyard walls.
"Shun!" Lira's voice was strong and clear. "Formation's ready. We march in five!"
Shun turned his head toward the gate, then glanced back at Xin. His expression carried both resolve and affection.
"That's my cue," he said with a crooked grin, sliding his sword into his belt.
Xin inclined his head, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Be safe out there. They're lucky to have you at the front."
Shun tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "And I'm lucky I can march without fear—because you'll be here, guarding what matters."
Xin swallowed, then allowed a small smile. "See you later… brother."
Shun's smirk softened into something closer to pride. With a final nod, he turned toward the gate.
Xin remained for a moment, then quietly climbed one of the nearby buildings, leaping from beam to ledge with practiced ease until he reached the rooftop overlooking the main road.
From his perch, he saw them—rows upon rows of soldiers clad in various pieces of mismatched armor, weapons slung across backs, faces hardened by resolve. At their head stood Shun, armor gleaming, Jian sheathed with purpose. Lira called the cadence, and the gates began to open.
The march began.
Shun stood at the head of his chosen fifty, their armor gleaming under the dim, ethereal light of the crystalline building that loomed before them. The structure was a relic of a forgotten age, its translucent walls pulsing with a faint, otherworldly glow, as if the crystal itself breathed with ancient strength. Its facets caught the fading sunlight, refracting it into prismatic shards that danced across the gathered warriors. At the chamber's heart stood a massive altar—a slab of obsidian veined with silver, its surface etched with runes that seemed to writhe when caught in the corner of the eye. The air around it hummed with latent energy, a pressure that pressed against the skin, making every breath feel heavy, deliberate.
The soldiers stood in disciplined ranks, their faces a mosaic of resolve and fear, each one a survivor of the theare's endless trials. Kate, her dark hair tied back, stood with silent intensity, her hand resting on the hilt of Whisper, the blade that had carried her through countless battles. Her green eyes held a flicker of something deeper—a dream she kept hidden, even from herself. Beside her, Joren adjusted his grip on his weapon, confident smirk. His eyes gleamed with purpose, a fire that had been kindled through years of survival. Habari and Bahari, the twin pillars of the group, stood shoulder to shoulder. Habari's massive shield was a bulwark of steel, its surface scarred but unyielding, while Bahari's presence was as sharp as his protruding spikes. Their bond was unspoken but unbreakable, forged in the fires of shared battles.
The chamber grew bigger as they went inside, it stood still as the altar began to shift, its stone grinding with a deep, resonant grinding sound sound that vibrated through the floor. A seam appeared, splitting the obsidian slab, and from it rose a gateway—a yawning maw of darkness that seemed to breathe with a life of its own. The air grew colder, the light dimmer, as if the gateway drank in the warmth and radiance of the world. Beyond it lay the underground ruins, the path to the second stage—a labyrinth of ancient stone and forgotten horrors, where the cycle's secrets were buried, and where the hope of a new world would be tested.
Shun stepped forward, his presence commanding, his armor scarred but polished, the weight of his Jian slung across his back. The blade, forged from a metal that seemed to drink in the light, was a relic in its own right, its edge marked with runes that pulsed faintly in time with the altar. His amber eyes swept over the gathered soldiers, taking in each face, each story etched in their scars and their resolve. He had led them through the first stage, through blood and loss, and now he stood before them, not as a commander, but as a beacon—a man who had seen too much yet refused to break.
The murmurs of the soldiers fell silent as Shun raised a hand. His voice, deep and resonant, rolled through the crystalline chamber, each word deliberate, imbued with a fire that stirred the hearts of those who heard it.
"Warriors of the summit," he began, his voice like thunder, steady and unyielding.
"We stand at the precipice of destiny. For too long, the theatre has bound us—chained us to an endless dance of blood and ash. It has taken our kin, our hope, our very souls, and offered nothing but despair in return. But no longer! Today, we defy the gods who forged this prison. Today, we carve our own path!"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers, meeting their eyes one by one. Kate's green eyes flickered with her hidden dream, a spark of hope she dared not voice. Joren's sharp gaze burned with purpose, his usual smirk replaced by a fierce determination. Habari's stoic nod spoke of unyielding loyalty, his shield a silent vow to protect those beside him. Bahari's grin held a spark of reckless defiance, his glaive twirling briefly in his hand before coming to rest. The fifty stood as one, their breaths synchronized, their hearts pounding in the silence that followed Shun's words.
"We are not mere pawns in this cosmic game," Shun continued, his voice growing stronger, a beacon in the gathering dark.
"We are the fire that burns through fate, the steel that shatters chains! The second stage lies before us, a trial that will test our courage, our strength, our unity. The underground ruins hold secrets older than the Fall, dangers that would break the weak and scatter the faithless. But we are neither! We are the summit's heart, forged in battle, tempered by loss. Together, we will face the abyss and emerge victorious!"
He drew his Jian, its blade catching the crystalline light, refracting it into a cascade of colors that illuminated the chamber. The runes along its edge flared, a silent promise of power, a testament to the battles it had seen. Shun raised the blade high, its weight a comfort in his hands, a reminder of the burdens he carried.
"I do not promise you safety, nor ease, nor glory without cost. But I promise you this: follow me, and we will break the cycle of death. Follow me, and we will forge a future where our children know peace, where our blades rest, where our hearts are free! Will you stand with me?"
A roar erupted from the soldiers, a surge of defiance that shook the chamber. Blades were raised, their edges glinting in the crystalline light. Shields thumped in rhythm, a drumbeat of resolve. Voices united in a single cry, a wave of sound that seemed to push back the darkness of the gateway. Kate's hand tightened on Whisper's hilt, her heart pounding with the weight of her secret hope, a dream of a world beyond the cycle. Joren's rapier gleamed as he saluted, his smirk replaced by a fierce determination that matched the fire in Shun's words. Habari's shield rang as Bahari struck it with his hands, their laughter mingling with the war cry, a testament to their unbreakable bond. The twins' eyes met, a silent vow passing between them—whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.
Shun lowered his sword, pointing it toward the gateway. The darkness within seemed to writhe, a living thing that whispered of ancient fears and forgotten promises. But Shun did not falter. His amber eyes burned with an unyielding resolve, a fire that had carried him through the cycle's trials and would carry him through this one.
"To victory!" he bellowed, his voice a clarion call that cut through the oppressive silence. "To the second stage! For the fallen! For freedom!"