The world fell into a strange stillness in the days following the knight's execution. No further killings, no attacks, no declarations—only silence.
But that silence bred something far more dangerous than action: fear.
Ren made no moves. No cities were razed. No lives taken. He vanished like a ghost, letting the screams of the knight impaled in the heart of the capital speak for him. The last thing people saw was a hooded figure smiling with a twisted grin before melting into the crowd.
Rumors spread like wildfire. The hero had returned. The hero who vanished thirteen years ago, betrayed and slain by his own allies, now walked the world again. Whispers echoed in every alley, in every throne room, in every temple.
"He's alive."
"He's back for vengeance."
"No one is safe."
In the grand hall of the Church of Light, a rare gathering of power convened. The marble pillars seemed colder than usual, and even the ornate glass of the high windows could not scatter the tension thickening the air.
The Pope, draped in white and gold, his expression unreadable, sat at the head. Around him were the Church elders, commanders, and—most importantly—the surviving members of Ren's former party.
Reika sat with her head bowed. Shadows clung beneath her eyes. She hadn't slept in days.
Kaido leaned back in his seat with a cocky smile. "So what if he's alive?" he said, breaking the silence. "He's just one man. We were all strong enough to stand beside him back then. If he comes after us, we'll just kill him again."
Reika's head snapped up. "It's not the same. He... he's different now."
Kaido scoffed. "You're letting fear get to you."
Arin Durel, graceful as ever, gave a soft frown. "Reika might be right. I've heard whispers from the spirits. There's something... unclean surrounding his presence."
Gorim Ironbraid grunted, arms crossed. "The lad's become a ghost story, and I don't like ghost stories. But he bleeds, same as anyone."
Mira Kazehana remained silent, but her eyes narrowed slightly. She had felt the shift in the magical currents. Something dark stirred in the veins of the world.
The Pope's voice finally cut through. "You all remember the cursed blade, do you not?"
Silence.
"The one plunged into his chest by Reika," the Pope continued, eyes now on her. "The blade that halted his healing, a divine relic meant to ensure he never rose again. And yet, he walks."
Reika trembled. "I made sure... I was sure it would work. We all were."
"No man should survive that," one elder muttered. "And yet he did."
After more debate, the group agreed to return to their respective nations and monitor the situation closely. Some dismissed the threat. Others left with unease. Only Reika lingered, the fear burrowing deeper in her chest.
Back in the temple grounds, Reika remained locked away in her chambers. Her meals went untouched. The air around her was stale with dread.
The female vice commander, tall and stern, entered one morning. "Lady Reika," she said gently, "I fear for your safety. I can't always be here to protect you. With the commander dead, I must oversee our troops. You need a personal guard."
Reika shook her head. "I don't want anyone... I can't—"
"A warrior slave," the vice commander cut in. "The strongest from the markets. A beastkin. Half wolf. No ordinary soldier."
Reika flinched. She had always despised slavery. But now? Now her morals bowed to terror.
"Fine," she whispered. "Do it."
Days later, the beastkin warrior arrived. Tall, muscular, silver-furred ears twitching and gold eyes that burned with strength. She said nothing, only bowed before Reika and took her place beside her like a shadow of war.
Reika, for the first time in days, felt a sliver of relief.
One afternoon, she sat in the temple garden, sipping tea. Flowers swayed gently in the wind, birds chirped, and the beastkin stood like a silent sentinel beside her.
High above, on the roof of a distant spire, stood Ren.
Hooded.
Watching.
The moment his gaze landed on Reika, the beastkin's ears twitched. Her head snapped toward the roof.
Nothing. He was gone.
Ren walked through the dark alleys of the city, hands in his pockets. The faint echo of bells rang in the distance.
"She got herself a slave," he muttered to himself, smirking. "Thought she hated those... I guess she's scared. Good."
Then his eyes darkened, just slightly.
"But that one's not normal. I'll have to be careful."
His smile widened as he disappeared into the shadows.
The storm was far from over.