The Chasm gates of Bastion Vrael opened at first light.
No horns blew. No banners flew. Just the low grind of stone as the seal lifted and the Crucible released its survivors.
One by one, they stepped into the open air. Their armor was worn, dented, and marked by fifteen years of trials inside the Chasm, though only five months had passed in the outside world.
They looked older. Harder. Something behind their eyes had changed.
They didn't speak. The way they walked, shoulder to shoulder, different legions moving as one, said everything.
Five percent had been lost inside. The rest returned not as heirs or commanders, but as something else entirely.
Lord Qiu drew attention immediately. He had entered the Crucible at sixty, a man known more for his tactics than swordplay. Though once an enemy strategist who led campaigns against the Gale forces, he had never defeated Altan. He had advised the Zhong Emperor to seek peace, the only one to do so. When he emerged, he looked no older than forty. Hardened. Sharper. A strategist who now understood war from the front.
He passed Altan without a word. They exchanged a nod—mutual, measured.
In the courtyard, fires burned low. Tables were arranged in a loose ring. The food was plain: meat, bread, water, and beer. Enough to fill the belly and warm the fingers.
Altan stood beside the firepit, cloak loose over one shoulder. The steward stood nearby.
When the last man crossed the threshold, Altan spoke.
"You returned. That's enough."
The gate sealed behind them.
Some Stormguard on leave mingled among the newly returned. There were greetings, nods, shared drinks. Others kept their distance, watching.
Bruga made his way to Ghoran Skarnulf and his sons. His steps were heavy, his grin quick.
"You stubborn old bastards really came out alive."
Ghoran grunted. "Takes more than ghosts and cold to kill us."
Bruga clapped his father's arm, then bumped shoulders with his brothers.
"Proud of you," he said. "There's stew. Eat before I finish it all."
Nyzekh approached Queen Velarath and Yezari. His eyes lingered briefly on both.
"Didn't think I'd see you back in one piece."
Velarath arched a brow. "Is that a complaint?"
"Just an observation," Nyzekh said. He looked to Yezari. "You holding together?"
"More or less," she replied.
He gave a small nod and turned toward the fire where Stormwake stood.
Nyzekh stepped beside him. After a pause, he asked, "What was it like?"
Stormwake kept his eyes on the flames.
"You'll find out."
Wen Tu and Kael moved through the courtyard with quiet recognition. Kael handed a cup to a younger officer.
"You'll stop hearing the echoes in a week. Maybe two."
The younger man nodded. "Appreciate it."
Soldiers gathered, ate, and drank. No speeches. No titles.
They had all passed through the Crucible. That was enough.
—
Later, the firelight faded and a meeting was held in the upper chamber. Altan stood at the head of the war table. Around him were Queen Velarath, Ghoran Skarnulf, Lord Qiu, and Stormwake. Others stood nearby: Nivak, Bruga, Kael, Ryoku, Nyzekh, and Wen Tu.
Altan laid down a set of scrolls.
"You've all seen what's ahead. We start preparing now."
He opened the codex marked with silver thread.
"This is Stormtide. Navy and marines. Not Stormguard. Recruits will come from the Free Cities and the freedmen's realm. Standard units, not elite."
He unrolled schematics for the naval base at Jadeheaven.
"They'll train here. Lord Qiu will take command as Fleet Marshal."
Qiu raised an eyebrow. "Naval command?"
"You studied the doctrine in the Crucible," Altan said. "You didn't waste time. This will need structure and vision. I want you leading it."
Qiu gave a dry chuckle. "So, Prime Minister and admiral?"
"Until you groom a replacement for the cities," Altan replied. "One that fits what we're building."
He turned to Velarath and Ghoran.
"The rest of your forces will begin preparing for the northern campaign. I need two legions from each of your realms. Not Stormguard—but trained enough to move beside them when the time comes."
Ghoran said, "We'll start picking them tomorrow."
Velarath replied, "They'll be ready."
Altan opened another codex.
"We'll need one thousand of your Stormguard graduates each. They'll form the backbone of the Blacktide Spear Corps."
"This is the Blacktide Spear Corps. Coastal shock force. They move first. Hit fast. They don't hold. They break enemy lines and fall back once ground is secured."
He laid down the doctrine scroll. They all read the words:
We do not land. We rise.
Altan looked to the side as Yezari stepped forward.
"I want in. With the new Stormguard."
He glanced at Velarath.
"She's ready," the queen said.
Altan nodded. "Then you'll lead the Stormguard Hospitaliers. They'll need someone who can fight and mend."
He looked to the Warden nearby.
"Train her personally. Surgery. Fieldwork. Everything."
The Warden bowed. "Yes, Commander."
Altan stepped back and let his words settle.
"The war with Dazhum is coming. We move in five months. What we build here must be ready. No exceptions. No delays."
The room was quiet.
Then Bruga stepped forward. "Let's get to it."
Kael cracked his knuckles. "About time."
Wen Tu nodded. "We'll need instructors. I'll start assembling mine."
Altan didn't smile, but his tone had sharpened.
"Good. We're not here to celebrate. We're here to prepare."
The feast was over.
The war was waiting.
Altan looked across the room once more, then spoke as the others began to step away.
"Stormwake. Nivak. Stay behind."
The others paused only a moment before filing out, leaving the chamber to them