The ground still trembled faintly, whispering of the devastation that had taken place mere moments ago.
Uriel Commes, the vessel of the dreaded Scarlet Raven, now lay encased in a glowing, rune-bound cage—a shell of the monster he once was. His mana core shattered, meridians wasted, and the lesser demon bound in soul-chains, he no longer posed a threat.
The storm had passed.
And at the centre of it stood Amber Nois, the great Archmage, her long robe fluttering gently from the residual energy in the air. With every step she took toward Josh Aratat, the crowd held their breath. Her movements were deliberate, elegant—like a lioness approaching not prey, but a curious anomaly.
The heavy silence was broken only by the clinks of loose debris settling in the distance and the soft rustle of fabric as she came to a halt.
Josh stood tall, despite his ordeal. Thanks to his full recovery, he didn't look as bad as the experience had had. Meanwhile, His once pristine coat was torn, dust clinging to it like ash. The edges of his mask were cracked, revealing part of his jawline and one intense, unreadable eye.
Amber's sharp gaze scanned him.
"What exactly is your identity behind that mask?" she asked, her voice calm, but edged with undeniable curiosity. "And what is your real name? I am truly curious. You're the first non-mage I've ever seen hold off Uriel Commes for that long… and if not for you, many of those still around here would've perished today."
Her words carried weight—not flattery, but truth. The tone of a scholar confronted by a riddle.
A murmur swept through the crowd. Some stepped closer. Even her mage retinue and the scattered generals who had arrived post-battle leaned in, straining to hear. Of all those present, only two knew the truth: Lola, his ever loyal lover, and silent shadow, and Conrad Stan, the loyal general and friend, who had stood beside Josh from the very beginning; Josh had even given his life for him, making him eternally bound.
Everyone else had only ever known the legend—the Black Dragon of Region 32—by his gait, his combat style, and the signature fragrance he wore, one that mingled smoke with cypress and storm.
Josh dipped into a low bow, his posture respectful and steady despite the turmoil beneath the surface.
"My lady," he began, voice smooth yet sincere, "I must ask for your understanding. It is… not yet time for my identity to be revealed."
He raised his head, his single visible eye meeting hers. "But I do hope we'll cross paths again. Without you, El'dan might have burned. We owe you our lives, Oh great Archmage."
Amber folded her arms, her eyes narrowing—not out of suspicion, but amusement.
"You hoping I'll stick around?" she teased lightly, raising a brow. "What is it mister? You planning to ask me out?"
A few laughs broke out in the background. The crowd hadn't expected that. Even Lola, watching from behind a fractured pillar, rolled her eyes with a slight grin.
She couldn't be bothered with the Archmage as a rival, she knew it was a tease, but a slight pang flashed through her heart, 'What if she is serious?' she had to push that thought aside and remain focused on Josh.
Josh's expression didn't shift, but the air around him tensed for a split second—he was clearly caught off guard. The mask hid his face, but not the flicker of surprise in his aura.
"That's not what I meant, my lady," he replied evenly. "I only hoped… we might rely on your strength again, should a threat even greater than the Scarlet Raven rise."
Amber chuckled softly. "Relax. I was only joking. But yes, I'll be around."
She lifted her hand, eyes glowing faintly as she conjured an ancient symbol—an intertwining triangle, pulsing with light and encoded with runes older than the city itself. It drifted through the air like a feather, then struck Josh's left hand with a gentle force.
He flinched, looking down.
The symbol burned briefly before settling into his skin—forming a permanent sigil tattoo just above the wrist. Elegant. Intricate. Unmistakable.
Josh stared at it, clearly baffled.
Amber, noticing his confusion, smirked.
"Trace the lines when you need me. It will alert me instantly," she explained with a subtle wink. "But only if it's important. I don't respond to dinner invites." She joked. "The mark is also a beacon, it will lead me to wherever you are in the world."
Josh straightened and gave a formal nod.
"Thank you, Great Archmage. Truly."
She tilted her head, studying him one last time.
"I still want to know who you are… one day." Her tone was gentle now, not demanding. A request, not a command. "I can wait. But don't take too long—mystery men tend to get boring."
With that, she turned away, her steps slow and deliberate as she walked toward the caged Uriel Commes. As the crowd watched in awe, her figure began to shift—gracefully, powerfully. Her robes fluttered as her body shimmered with ancient magic. Her head elongated, feathers bursting forth as it reshaped into the proud, piercing visage of an eagle. Her arms stretched wide, morphing into vast wings that glistened with arcane patterns, while her legs contorted into razor-sharp talons.
By the time she reached the cage, the transformation was complete. The majestic eagle—massive, regal, and otherworldly—lowered its talons around the unconscious Scarlet Raven. With a single beat of her wings, she rose into the air, stirring the dust and sending it into spiraling currents.
As the dawn light broke over the horizon, she vanished into it, dissolving like mist at sunrise—leaving behind silence, awe, and the lingering pulse of ancient power.
Josh remained still, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the weight of it all. She hadn't tried to force the truth out of him. That, somehow, meant more than any display of power.
Around them, life began to return.
Citizens of El'dan huddled in groups, their voices buzzing with excitement and awe. Children pointed toward the crater where the battle had ended. Traders wept over their ruined stalls, only to stop and cheer once they saw that they were alive.
The name Amber Nois was already being whispered with reverence.
But just as much—so was his.
"Did you see the way he held back Uriel?"
"That mask… Who is he?"
"The Black Dragon of region 32, a legend in the making, they say; he never shows his face."
"I heard he fought in the Border Wars against Amiel Racta, the right hand man of Prince Balek!"
"No—he's a royal exile! That's why he hides his name!"
The stories would spiral, grow, and twist with each retelling. The legend of the masked warrior and the return of the Archmage would become immortal in song and firelight.
But for now, Josh Aratat, the man behind the mask, stood silently—one hand brushing the glowing sigil on his skin, the other curled at his side.
He knew the storm wasn't over.
But at least, for the first time in a long while, they had a guardian.