The sunlight filtered through the high windows of the Order's main hall, casting long beams of gold across the smooth stone floor.
The city outside stirred awake—but for Koda and his companions, it felt like stepping into a different world.
They had slept.
Really slept.
The deep, healing kind of sleep that stitched wounds invisible to the eye.
An entire day and night had passed, unbroken.
And when they gathered again that morning, there was a tension in the air that had nothing to do with the looming battle ahead.
The hall was quiet, save for the clinking of plates and the low murmur of voices.
Breakfast was laid out before them—simple fare: bread, cured meats, fruits preserved from the last harvest.
The seven of them sat together around a broad table near the window.
Maia, sitting at Koda's right, her hand brushing his under the table with casual familiarity.
Torren next to her, absently flipping a knife over and over between his fingers.
Elise, quiet, guarded, her plate mostly untouched.
Renn, chewing slowly, her gaze distant, troubled.
Seta, arms crossed, her back to the wall, always watching.
Eno, silent as always, eating mechanically, his expression unreadable.
Koda waited until the first round of food was finished, until the coffee was poured and the second cups of tea were sipped.
Only then did he lean forward, resting his forearms on the table.
His voice, when he spoke, was low but carried across the space with the kind of weight that demanded silence.
"What do you want?" he asked.
No judgment.
No expectation.
Just the raw, honest question.
The table went still.
Forks paused midway to mouths.
Even the flickering torchlight seemed to still.
Koda let the silence stretch.
They deserved time to find their answers.
"There's going to be war soon," he said, his tone gentle but unflinching.
"Real war. Not skirmishes. Not raids."
His gaze moved around the table, meeting each pair of eyes in turn.
"I won't ask you to stay. You've done more than enough.
You helped me survive. Helped me get this far.
If you choose to leave after Callestan is safe—no shame.
No anger."
He leaned back slightly, hands folded.
"But I need to know now."
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Maia straightened, sliding her hand up to rest over his on the table.
Her eyes—bright and unwavering—locked onto his.
"I'm staying," she said simply.
"As long as you fight, I fight."
There was no hesitation.
No need for explanation.
Only certainty.
Koda felt something loosen in his chest.
He gave her a small nod—one of profound gratitude.
Not just for her choice, but for her faith.
Torren snorted, breaking the tension.
"Well, if there's a fight coming, sounds like a hell of a show," he said, grinning.
He twirled his knife once more before slamming it into the wood between his fingers with a loud thunk.
"Wouldn't miss it for anything.
Besides—"
His grin softened into something almost serious.
"Wouldn't mind seeing how many more we can save along the way."
Koda smiled faintly.
Torren, for all his rough edges, had a good heart.
But then the atmosphere shifted again.
He could feel it.
The weight of unsaid words pressing down like a second gravity.
Renn set her fork down carefully, her hands folding in her lap.
She looked at Koda with a sad, bittersweet smile.
"Koda…"
She swallowed.
"I can't keep doing it. Not like this."
Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through.
"I'll stay here. Fight to defend Callestan.
But after that—"
She looked down, breathing deeply before continuing.
"I want to go home.
Back to Oria.
Back to something… smaller.
Something that feels like life again."
Seta shifted uncomfortably.
When she spoke, it was quick, clipped.
"I'm not a hero."
She wouldn't meet Koda's gaze.
"I'm not built for… all this.
Saving the world. Fighting gods."
She shrugged, a hard edge to her voice trying to mask the vulnerability underneath.
"I'll stay and help here.
Fight with you for the city."
Her voice dropped lower.
"But then I'm done."
Eno simply nodded once.
No speech.
No elaboration.
Koda understood.
In the silent man's stillness, there was a simple, unarguable truth.
He had given enough.
Finally, Elise.
The woman who had been with them from the ruins, whose cold edge had always hidden a fierce loyalty.
She looked at Koda steadily.
Her voice was calm, even.
"I'll help defend Callestan," she said.
"But I'm tired, Koda."
She allowed a ghost of a smile to touch her lips.
"I'm not a soldier.
Not anymore."
She paused.
"I need to find my own path again."
For a long moment, Koda sat there, letting it all wash over him.
The acceptance.
The sadness.
The pride.
He looked at each of them again, memorizing their faces—the set of their jaws, the steel in their eyes.
He wanted to remember them like this.
Whole.
Free.
Alive.
He exhaled slowly, nodding once.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Not just for now.
For everything.
For the battles.
The laughter.
The blood and the nights they had survived only by trusting each other.
"You're family," Koda said quietly. "Always will be."
No matter how far their paths diverged.
A low throat-clearing interrupted the quiet.
Varos Deyne, standing respectfully at the edge of the hall, stepped forward.
His face was grave, but not unfriendly.
He bowed his head slightly before speaking.
"There's something you need to know," he said.
Koda gestured for him to continue.
"The knowledge you seek—the full records, the deeper truths—"
Varos's gaze sharpened.
"They could be brought here."
He paused, letting that hang for a moment before adding:
"But part of your inheritance… your mission… awaits beneath the Capital."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"It's sealed.
Protected.
It requires you to open it.
No one else."
Koda felt the words settle into his chest like a key fitting into a lock.
He had known, deep down, that the journey wasn't over.
That the path led forward still—through Callestan, through the coming war, to the very heart of the world.
He nodded once, slowly.
"I understand."
Breakfast lingered after that, slower now, quieter.
Stories were shared—small moments, memories of the road behind them.
Laughter came, soft and real.
Even the farewells, though not yet spoken aloud, hung with a kind of peace.
They had earned this.
The right to choose their future.
The right to say, "enough," and mean it without shame.
When they rose from the table, there were no grand declarations.
No tearful goodbyes.
Just a quiet, unbreakable understanding.
They had fought together.
They would bleed again today.
But tomorrow—
Tomorrow would belong to each of them.
In whatever way they chose to claim it.
The corridors of the Order's inner sanctum were quiet as Koda and his companions moved through them.
The seven of them walked without speaking.
The decisions had been made.
The goodbyes, not yet spoken but understood, lingered behind them.
Now there was only the next step.
Preparation.
The entrance to the Librarium was guarded by a heavy stone arch, etched with runes older than the city itself.
Torches flickered in iron sconces, throwing long shadows across the smooth floor.
Two guards—cloaked in the smoky gray of the mid-tier Order rank—stepped aside silently as Koda approached.
They knew why he had come.
Everyone in Callestan could feel it now—the tension in the air, the gathering of something vast and terrible just beyond the walls.
The Librarium was immense.
Rows upon rows of shelves towered toward the vaulted ceiling, packed with scrolls, ledgers, and bound volumes, some ancient, others newly inked.
Magical lanterns floated overhead, casting a cool, steady light over the work tables below.
The air smelled of parchment, ink, and a faint tang of magic.
Librarians—cloaked and hooded—moved quietly through the aisles, murmuring to themselves or carefully sorting the endless tide of information.
When they saw Koda's group, they paused respectfully, bowing their heads.
No titles were spoken.
No greetings needed.
The Founder had returned.
And with him, the tide was about to turn.
At the central table, an elder librarian waited.
She was small, stooped with age, her hands gnarled but steady as she arranged a series of open scrolls across the polished wood.
Her cloak was trimmed in gold—marking her as a Master Keeper.
"Koda," she rasped, her voice surprisingly strong for her frail form.
"We've been expecting you."
He inclined his head slightly.
"Show us what you have."
The librarian gestured to the scrolls before her.
One depicted the Lich—their broken form, still twisted with the blackened magic of their unnatural existence.
The next scroll showed the faint, blurred sketch of the wraith Koda had seen on the outskirts of their camp—the phantom that had watched them from the mist.
Neither image was clear.
Both were impressions rather than true portraits.
But Koda could feel it—the sameness between them.
The pull.
"They are connected," the librarian said, tapping a long, thin finger against the Lich's hollowed eyes.
"Both driven by the same hunger."
Koda's mouth tightened.
"Greed," he said.
The librarian nodded.
"Greed for life. For existence beyond what was meant to be."
Koda leaned over the table, studying the notes.
Descriptions of sightings.
Accounts of unnatural movements in the fog.
Reports from scouts who had vanished without a trace.
"They're moving closer every night," Renn said quietly, scanning the maps.
She traced the arcs drawn in red ink—the encroaching reach of the undead forces.
"They'll be at the outer wards within days."
Seta frowned, arms crossed.
"Maybe sooner."
Eno said nothing, but his eyes sharpened, tracking every mark on the maps with lethal precision.
Torren whistled low under his breath.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a party coming."
Koda straightened, his mind already spinning through possibilities.
They couldn't afford to wait for the enemy to breach the walls.
If the city fell into chaos, if the civilians panicked—
It would be over before the true battle began.
They needed a plan.
A real one.
Not a desperate stand.
A war map.
He turned back to the librarian.
"How many reports of undead sightings inside the second ring?"
The librarian flipped through a second set of parchments, her thin fingers moving faster than seemed possible for her age.
"None confirmed," she said at last.
"But the fog is thickening.
Patrols are becoming unreliable.
Communications between outer towers are intermittent."
Her mouth thinned.
"If they move under cover of the mist—"
"They could already be inside," Koda finished grimly.
He looked at his team.
Seven of them against whatever horror waited beyond the mist.
And after Callestan?
A march to the Capital.
A journey into the very heart of history's last hope.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight settle across his shoulders like an old, familiar cloak.
"We need to learn more," Koda said.
"Patterns. Movements.
Strengths and weaknesses."
He looked back to the librarian.
"We need records of undead behavior during the first Fall.
Comparisons to now.
Anything that shows how far they've evolved."
The librarian nodded sharply, already barking orders to the assistants scurrying around the edges of the hall.
Scrolls were pulled.
Books dragged from high shelves.
The Librarium came alive with a focused, desperate energy.
Koda turned back to his companions.
"Rest for the day.
Train if you can."
He met each of their eyes—Torren's spark, Maia's unshakable calm, Elise's cool readiness, Renn's battered resilience, Seta's wary sharpness, Eno's silent steel.
"Tonight," Koda said, voice steady,
"we start making them regret ever crawling out of the dark."
The others nodded.
No false bravado.
No cheap cheers.
Only the grim acceptance of warriors who knew what was coming—and chose to stand anyway.
As they moved out into the broad stone halls, Koda lingered for a moment, staring down at the maps.
At the red arcs bleeding ever closer to Callestan's walls.
At the silent promise written there in blood and ink.
The storm was coming.
And they would meet it head-on.