The village still smelled like fire.
Not the kind that burned wood—but the kind that lingered after magic had touched the earth.
Caelus stood just beyond the gate, staring into the trees where no more monsters waited. The Varn'Kai had been reduced to ash, and yet the silence that followed felt heavier than their screams.
He didn't need thanks. He didn't wait for it.
But they came anyway.
The elder, staff in hand, stopped a few steps behind him. Hoon and Mimi followed close, though neither spoke at first. The villagers gathered from behind fences and doorways, wide-eyed and wary.
"Will you be staying?" Elgrin asked, the words simple, but cautious.
Caelus didn't look back. "No."
A pause.
"You've done more than enough," the elder added. "But this land's getting worse. If you could stay a night or two, even—"
"I'm looking for something," Caelus interrupted. "Or someone."
The words were calm, but not dismissive.
"You mean another village?" Mimi asked. "There's one east of here. Bigger. Trade routes and… guards. Maybe a king. Or whatever's left of one."
Caelus didn't answer. He just shifted his weight slightly, as if already preparing to leave.
Mimi looked up at Hoon. He said nothing, but she could read it in the way his jaw tightened.
"We'll come with you," she said suddenly.
Caelus finally turned to look at her.
"As thanks," Hoon added, stepping beside her. "You saved us. Let us help you back."
"I don't need help."
"Doesn't matter. You're getting it."
They stared at each other in the haze—glowing eyes against tired defiance.
Then Caelus turned away again. "Suit yourselves."
He walked a few paces toward the gate, then stopped.
Without a word, he lifted a hand.
The villagers tensed—but there was no light, no sound, no spectacle. Just a faint shimmer that spread outward from his palm like a ripple in fog. It passed through the gate, over the houses, into the earth.
The wooden palisades groaned as something settled into them—an invisible pattern, like script scrawled beneath the bark.
Elgrin's eyes widened. "What did you—?"
"A ward," Caelus said, already walking. "Nothing will cross it unless it's welcomed."
No more was said.
Mimi followed, quick to catch up. Hoon lingered only long enough to nod once at Elgrin, then went after them.
The elder watched them disappear into the misted road. Rain began again—soft, steady, light.
Inside the village, for the first time in weeks, no one ran for cover.
The prayer room was empty, save for one man.
He knelt beneath a ruined banner—its emblem faded from too many years and too little peace. The stone beneath him was cold. Rain echoed through the broken ceiling, dripping between shafts of pale light.
His voice was low, steady, quiet.
"Send us someone."
He didn't ask for a savior. Just someone. Someone who could hold a sword. Someone who wouldn't die by morning.
"We are down to less than thirty," he murmured, fingers curled against the marble floor. "We've lost more to the war than the Bleak itself. And now... they're crawling in again."
He opened his eyes.
No answer.
Just silence, and the sound of water running through cracks in the walls.
The king rose slowly.
Not in gold, not in armor—just a heavy cloak, damp with age and duty. His crown sat forgotten beside an unlit brazier. He didn't wear it anymore. Not in a place where kings bled like commoners and faith came cheap.
A knight stepped in, breathless. "Your Grace. News from the outer ridge. One of the smaller villages survived an ambush. Varn'Kai—wiped out."
The king turned.
"Survived?"
"All of them. The scouts said they saw light fall from the sky."
He was quiet.
"Find out who it was," the king said. "If they're human, send thanks. If not—send a priest."
The woods were thicker now.
Branches hung low and heavy. The storm had passed, but Drevaloth's damp clung to the skin like a warning.
Caelus walked ahead, quiet. Mimi trailed behind him, Hoon close beside her.
"You didn't have to protect the village," she said, watching the way the mist bent slightly around Caelus' shoulders. "I mean, you were leaving. Most people don't do things for free."
"I'm not most people."
She rolled her eyes. "That's obvious."
He said nothing. She took that as permission to keep talking.
"Your spell… was it divine?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"Mine."
She frowned. "That's not an answer."
Hoon stepped in. "Don't push him."
"I'm not pushing—"
"You're pushing."
Caelus didn't stop walking. "If it matters, I wouldn't have let the village fall. Even if you didn't follow."
Mimi blinked. "...So you do care."
"I didn't say that."
Hoon muttered, "I think that's as close to caring as he gets."
Caelus didn't disagree.
They walked on in silence. Trees creaked above them, old and listening. Somewhere far off, thunder rolled again. But not close enough to matter.
Eventually, Hoon broke the quiet.
"You're headed to the main village, aren't you?" he asked. "Not just wandering."
Caelus gave the faintest nod.
Hoon grunted. "Figured."
"You're not trying to stop me?"
"You saved us," Hoon said simply. "Doesn't mean I trust you. But I owe you."
Caelus glanced back. For once, there was no glow in his eyes. Just tiredness.
"You don't owe me anything."
"Too late."
They kept walking.
Somewhere ahead, the path split. And far beyond that, a ruined city waited.
The path narrowed between withered trees, roots jutting like old bones from the soil. Fog curled around their ankles. The sun didn't break through here—if it even still existed.
Caelus walked without urgency, gaze steady on the trail ahead. His hands stayed at his sides. The charm at his hip swayed lightly with each step, catching no light.
They were being watched.
Hoon noticed it first. A shift in the leaves. A scrape of rusted metal. Then—
A blur.
Three figures dropped from the branches—cloaked, masked, weapons drawn. Two more stepped from the underbrush. Their armor was patchwork. Eyes hollow.
Marauders.
"Drop your gear," the leader said. "And the girl walks away."
Caelus didn't stop walking. He only said, quietly, "They owe me. Not you."
He stepped aside.
Mimi blinked. "Wait—what?"
Hoon was already unsheathing his sword. "He's serious."
"You're not fighting?" she asked Caelus.
"I'm not trying to make a scene. Handle it."
The bandits laughed.
"Handle us?" one sneered. "You're gonna let a child and a rusted knight fight your battles?"
Caelus stopped walking.
"They're not mine," he said. "They're theirs."
Hoon moved first—fast, sharper than expected. His blade met one of the raiders with a sound like breaking glass. Mimi ducked low, hands flicking through motions—drawing a rune mid-air, fast and rough. Sparks burst from her fingertips.
One assailant screamed.
Another lunged—and Caelus didn't even look.
Mimi's second spell hit him in the chest, flinging him back into a tree with a thud.
They were clumsy. These weren't soldiers. They were scavengers, broken people feeding off more broken people.
It ended fast.
Hoon stood over the last man, blade to throat. "Tell anyone about us, and you'll forget how to breathe."
The man scrambled back into the woods, bleeding and swearing.
Mimi exhaled, hands still twitching. "You could've helped."
"I could've," Caelus said. "But you needed to learn something."
"Learn what?"
"If you follow me, you fight too."
He stepped back onto the trail. "Next time, I won't warn you."
Mimi glared after him. "You're unbelievable."
Hoon wiped his blade clean. "He's right."
She groaned. "Don't agree with him when he's being a jerk."
They followed again.
But this time, not behind him—beside.
The wind scratched at the palace windows.
Beyond the stone archways of the war room, night had fallen like a wound. Lanterns burned low. Maps covered the table, but none offered solutions.
The king stood with his back to them.
A scout knelt. "Name came through. From the outer ridge."
The king didn't turn. "Whose?"
"A traveler. The one who erased the swarm."
There was hesitation.
"Speak," the king ordered.
The scout's voice dropped. "Caelus. He called himself Caelus."
The silence stretched.
The king closed his eyes. His hands curled slightly, then relaxed. For a moment, he looked younger—like the boy who once hid under the floorboards while a man of turquoise light held off monsters no knight could face.
"…It's him," the king murmured.
"Your Grace?"
"Nothing," he said. "Leave me."
The scout bowed and left.
The king looked down at his hands. They were shaking.
"Why now?" he whispered to the dark. "Why come back?"
They didn't reach the main village.
The road had narrowed into broken stone, too steep and too haunted for travel after dusk. Caelus had stopped at the edge of an abandoned outpost—a ruin no longer marked on maps. A collapsed shrine, a dead well. No firewood. No roof.
They camped anyway.
Mimi sat near a flickering spell-light, arms curled around her knees. Hoon leaned against a crumbled wall, half-dozing. Caelus remained standing, watching the treeline.
"You knew we were going to be ambushed," Mimi said.
Caelus didn't deny it.
"You could've told us."
"I did," he said, voice low. "By not stopping you."
She frowned. "That's not the same."
"No," he agreed.
She looked over at Hoon. "You think he's always like this?"
Hoon muttered, "I think this is him."
Caelus didn't react. Instead, he spoke after a long pause.
"You both hesitate too much. One of you waits for openings. The other tries to make them too early."
They looked at him.
"You're saying we're bad at this?" Mimi asked.
"I'm saying you're not what you will be," he replied.
"…What's that supposed to mean?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, his gaze drifted toward the horizon. The trees had gone still again. The land held its breath. Something deeper stirred beneath the soil—but not near. Not yet.
"You saw it, didn't you?" Hoon said, quietly. "The ambush. Before it happened."
Caelus nodded once.
"You see more than just the present."
"I see enough."
Mimi looked at him—really looked, for once. "Then why are you here at all? If you already know how things go?"
"Because foresight doesn't change what still needs doing," Caelus said. "Even if I hate doing it."
He walked away from the firelight. Sat down alone.
The night deepened.
Mimi didn't speak again. Hoon kept watch. And Caelus—he watched the stars, not to read them, but to remember something.
Or someone.
The trees here leaned too close.
Their bark peeled like burned skin. Fog swam low between roots, threading through mud, pooling like breath that had nowhere left to go.
Caelus slowed.
Mimi didn't like the silence. Drevaloth was never truly quiet—but this stillness was alive. Waiting.
Then the mist split.
A figure stepped out. Seven feet tall. Gaunt, blackened limbs, horns like rusted blades curled back across its skull. No shadow fell behind it.
The demon smiled.
"You carry Judgment at your side," it said, voice dry as parchment. "But pretend restraint makes you harmless."
Hoon stepped in front of Mimi. "Back."
"Smart of you," the demon said, eyes flicking to him. "A knight who doesn't believe in the thing walking beside him."
It took another step forward. "Tell me, does he bleed? Have either of you seen it?"
Caelus didn't respond. His hand hovered near his hip.
The demon grinned wider. "They don't know what you are. What you've done. Only what you let them see."
Its gaze turned to Mimi. "He's not like you. He's not even near you."
She flinched. "You're lying."
"Am I?" the creature said gently. "Ask him what name the stars once whispered."
That was enough.
Caelus reached to his hip—and the flag answered.
Light burst outward as the pole formed mid-air, solid and humming with layered sigils. A banner unfurled, not cloth but radiance, colorless and wrong in this shadowed place. It made the fog retreat.
The demon stopped smiling.
"You'd draw it here?" it rasped. "You'd break the stillness over them?"
Turquoise light flickered under Caelus' skin. "You speak too much."
He raised the pole, but—
The demon dissolved, ash pulled backward by an unseen force—vanishing with a final, quiet hiss.
Gone.
Caelus stood frozen, flag still glowing faintly. Rain hadn't fallen, but everything was wet.
Behind him, Mimi whispered, "What was that?"
Hoon answered, voice rough. "Something that knew him."
Caelus didn't turn. The banner faded from his hand.
He walked ahead.
No one followed right away.
Elsewhere...
A lone rider slowed their horse at the forest edge. Cloaked in navy, the seal of the King pinned to their collar. They watched the spot where light had flared a moment ago.
They said nothing.
Just took a breath, then turned back to report.
The Aelenev had returned.
And he was not alone.