The gates of Callestan groaned open.
Beyond them, the city buzzed with energy—soldiers scurrying, civilians peering out from alleys and balconies, whispers trailing like threads through the morning air.
But Koda saw none of it.
Only her.
Maia stood at the gate, her hands clutched tightly in front of her, her cloak snapping softly in the breeze.
Her smoke-gray armor caught the rising sun, glinting faintly.
Her face was pale with exhaustion, but her eyes—
Her eyes were full of fierce, aching relief.
Koda crossed the threshold with slow, deliberate steps.
The blood caked on his armor cracked and flaked away with each movement, leaving a trail behind him like shed skin.
His blades were clean—wiped carefully before re-sheathing, a small ritual of respect.
He stopped in front of Maia, just a breath of space between them.
She looked up at him, and for a long moment, neither spoke.
The world narrowed down to the two of them.
Finally, Maia exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know why you did it," she said, her throat thick with emotion.
"But it's still hard to watch you take it all on yourself."
Her hand rose, hovering near his arm—
then slowly closed the distance, resting lightly against the blood-smeared plate over his heart.
The touch was feather-light.
Anchoring.
Koda smiled, soft and tired.
"They were losing hope," he said simply.
He shifted his weight slightly, leaning into her touch.
"They needed a light."
He shrugged, a faint flash of humor breaking through the weariness.
"Besides… finally leveled up again."
Maia blinked, a startled laugh escaping her lips despite the tension.
"You're unbelievable," she murmured, half in awe, half in exasperation.
Koda only grinned wider—then, with a flick of his fingers, pulled up his status.
The faint shimmer of mana surrounded the projection as it floated between them.
-----------
Koda of the Eternal Guide
Level: 23
Patron: The Eternal Guide
HP: 280/400
Mana: 380/400
Stamina: 120/400
Stats:
Strength: 27 (+13)
Vitality: 27 (+13)
Agility: 27 (+13)
Intelligence: 27 (+13)
Wisdom: 27 (+13)
Endurance: 27 (+13)
Traits:
Balance (Divine): All stat increases apply equally to all attributes. Harmony is growth.
Temperance (Divine): "Power not taken, but earned. Strength not dominant, but in harmony."
– Temperance grants a 50% boost to all abilities, stats, and efficiencies—but only when all core stats are within 1 point of each other.
Skills:
Blade of Conviction – Active: Summon a weapon forged of pure will. The more clarity and purpose you hold, the stronger the blade. Willpower and Wisdom affect damage.
Mantle of Echoes – Passive: Aura forged from experience. Strength scales with Wisdom.
– +Minor Fear (enemies), +Minor Focus (allies)
Unbroken Vow – Passive:
– You do not fall. You do not yield.
– Non-lethal wounds close at a slow pace even during battle.
– Bleeding is reduced. Pain is dulled.
– Healing effects on you are moderately more effective.
-------
Maia scanned the projection, her brows lifting slightly.
"Balance and Temperance," she said softly. "Not bad."
She glanced up at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"You're getting dangerous."
Koda gave a small, tired chuckle.
"Just trying to keep up with you."
They lingered there for a moment longer.
No rush.
No demands.
Only a shared breath.
A promise unspoken.
Movement behind them broke the moment.
A cluster of generals approached, their armor clinking faintly.
The guards who flanked them bore the smoky-gray colors of Callestan's higher ranks.
Each general carried themselves with the iron-backed posture of career warriors—men and women who had seen more battles than they had years left to live.
But now—
Now they looked at Koda with something close to reverence.
They stopped a respectful distance away, not daring to interrupt until Koda turned to face them.
The grizzled lead general—Marshal Varrik, if Koda remembered correctly—stepped forward.
He opened his mouth, searching for words.
Closed it again.
Finally, he offered the only thing that mattered:
A salute.
Fist to heart.
Deep and true.
One by one, the others followed.
No ceremony.
No fanfare.
Only recognition.
"You did what none of us could," Marshal Varrik said, his voice rough.
He glanced back toward the open fields beyond the walls, still littered with the broken remnants of the undead horde.
"Not just the fighting."
He met Koda's eyes.
"You gave them hope."
The general straightened.
"We owe you, Guide."
The title was not formal.
Not spoken from duty.
It was given freely.
An honor.
Koda inclined his head, acknowledging the weight of it.
But he made no speeches.
No false humility.
He had done what needed to be done.
That was enough.
Varrik stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"We're nearing level thirty, all of us," he said, glancing at his fellow officers.
"Training. Experience. Years of it."
He shook his head slowly.
"And none of us… none of us could have stood out there like you did."
The generals murmured agreement, low and solemn.
Koda let out a slow breath.
The acknowledgment mattered—but it didn't change what came next.
They had survived one night.
That was all.
The real fight was still ahead.
He looked past the generals, out across the waking city.
He could see the fear in the people's faces—but also a flicker of something more.
Faith.
Belief.
He turned back to Varrik.
"We have today," Koda said quietly.
"Use it.
Reinforce the walls.
Tighten the perimeter.
Get the healers everything they need."
He glanced at Maia, feeling her hand brush lightly against his side.
"And tell the people," he added.
"Tell them the walls held."
He met the marshal's eyes, steel in his voice.
"Tell them the dead still bleed."
Varrik smiled.
It was a grim, bloody thing.
But it was real.
The generals dispersed, already barking orders, moving with new purpose.
The city stirred around them—workers hauling fresh barricades, smiths reforging broken weapons, runners carrying news from quarter to quarter.
Koda stood still for a moment longer, letting it sink in.
The rhythm of life.
The heartbeat of a city refusing to die.
Maia touched his arm gently.
"You need to rest," she said, her voice firm.
Koda tilted his head, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips.
"Are you going to make me?"
Maia arched an eyebrow.
"If I have to."
Koda chuckled, the sound low and tired.
"All right," he said, allowing her to guide him away from the gate.
"For you."
They made their way back toward the Order's fortress.
The streets were busy but parted naturally for them, civilians and soldiers alike stepping aside with a kind of unconscious deference.
Not out of fear.
Not out of command.
Out of respect.
When they reached his quarters, Maia paused at the door.
"You fought like a god out there," she said quietly.
Koda shook his head, a small, rueful smile tugging at his mouth.
"No," he said.
"I fought like a man who refuses to die."
She kissed him then—
brief, fierce, full of everything she could not put into words.
And for the first time since he had stepped onto the battlefield—
Koda allowed himself to rest.
Not because the war was over.
Not because the enemy had been defeated.
But because tomorrow would demand everything he had left.
And he would not face it on broken legs.
Outside, the city buzzed with preparation.
The mist would rise again tonight.
The enemy would return.
And this time—
It would not be a mindless horde.
It would be Greed.
But Callestan had seen the dawn once already.
And with Koda standing on its walls—
It would see it again.