The cathedral lay in ruins, cloaked in an eerie stillness that stretched far beyond the broken walls. Not a single echo stirred. No voice, no wind, no distant sound—only silence. It wrapped around the devastation like a funeral shroud.
At the center of it all, Indra stood—bruised, battered, blood running down his arms—his breath shallow, his body trembling. Gabriella lay limp beside him. Her armor, battered and cracked, caught the first pale light of morning creeping through the gaps in the cathedral's roof.
He knelt at her side, pressing two fingers to her neck. Her pulse fluttered, faint but steady. Relief washed over him, enough to loosen the fear gripping his chest. He touched her cheek, his thumb tracing away a line of ash.
"Gabriella," he whispered. "Can you hear me?"
For a long moment, she didn't move. Then her eyelids twitched. Her gaze found him—dazed, unfocused, searching for clarity through the ache. She tried to sit up, but her body refused to answer. A quiet groan slipped from her lips.
"Easy," Indra said, steadying her shoulders. "Don't push it."
She gave a faint nod, her breath shivering. "Are… we safe?"
He looked around the hollowed cathedral—collapsed pillars, scorched pews, and the aftermath of chaos. The demon witch was gone, and the only thing left was ruin.
"For now," he said. "But we need to move. Can you walk?"
Gabriella tried to answer, but her arms buckled as soon as she pressed against the floor. She winced, frustration in her eyes. "I… I don't think so."
"Then let me."
Indra slipped her arm over his shoulder, pulling her gently to her feet. She leaned into him, every step a struggle. The silence pressed in as they made their way through the devastation—no birdsong, no wind, just the distant tap of water dripping through the broken stone.
Step by step, they crossed the remnants of the sanctuary. The once-sacred space felt unrecognizable, hollowed by violence and scorched by power beyond reckoning. Indra's own legs felt weak, his vision swimming at the edges. But Gabriella's weight kept him grounded. Each time she faltered, he tightened his grip, refusing to let her fall.
They moved through a corridor caved in by falling beams, the only light a shaft of sun streaming through shattered glass. It painted the dust in shifting patterns—ghostly remnants of what this place once was.
As they limped along, Indra's mind raced, searching for a way out. Every path looked blocked, every exit choked by stone. He swallowed, bracing himself for another effort.
Then a warmth spread through him—a gentle, unmistakable presence that seemed to fill the emptiness around them. It was as if sunlight was shining directly onto his soul, easing the ache in his chest. The sensation was impossible to explain. It wasn't sight or sound, but a deep certainty, a reassurance that settled his nerves and cleared the fog in his head.
"Indra," a voice whispered, as steady and kind as memory itself.
He froze, glancing over his shoulder. Gabriella's eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. The world remained silent, but the voice echoed in his mind, soft as a breeze, unmistakably real.
"Do not be afraid. I am here to guide you. There is something you must see."
Indra took a shaky breath, glancing at Gabriella. She showed no sign of hearing the voice. He didn't question it—somehow, in the exhaustion and haze, it felt natural, even necessary.
"Where?" he murmured under his breath.
The warmth pressed gently at his back, nudging him toward the eastern side of the cathedral. Indra adjusted his hold on Gabriella, following the guidance with slow, careful steps. They moved deeper into the temple, through a half-collapsed archway, the shadows stretching long and strange.
He turned down a narrow corridor lined with shattered icons and scorched murals. The voice whispered again, gentle but insistent.
"You're close. Just a little farther."
They came at last to a small chamber at the very end of the hall—a room untouched by battle, its air strangely still. At its center stood a pedestal of white stone, smooth and ancient, dustless despite the centuries. Resting atop it was a slab of midnight-blue crystal etched with swirling patterns, glowing faintly in the gloom.
Indra paused, his breath caught. The presence in the room felt heavier, as if the very air were humming with quiet power.
Gabriella opened her eyes, struggling to focus on the strange object ahead. "What… is that?"
Indra carried her closer, lowering her gently onto a fragment of broken bench. "I don't know," he admitted. "But it feels… important."
She squinted, her face pale but intent. "I've only heard stories," she whispered, "but if I had to guess… that could be an Azurelith. I've never seen one. I don't know how to read it."
Indra studied the swirling symbols, running a hand across the surface without touching. The patterns glowed, shifting beneath his gaze. "I can't read it either."
The voice spoke in his mind again, soft but now carrying the weight of promise. "Place your companion down. Approach the tablet alone. All your questions will be answered, if you wish it."
Indra hesitated. He looked at Gabriella, her eyelids already fluttering with fatigue. She managed a faint smile. "It's all right. Go."
He made sure she was stable, then walked to the pedestal. He could feel his heart pounding as he stopped before the Azurelith. The light from the crystal danced across his face, filling his eyes with blue fire.
The presence in the room pressed closer, warming his skin, steadying his breath.
"Before you proceed, you must make a choice," the voice said. "The knowledge here is not just wisdom—it is power. It is a responsibility. Do you accept what comes with it?"
Indra looked down at his battered hands, then back at Gabriella. He remembered every face he'd ever tried to protect, every loss, every moment of doubt. He swallowed.
"I want to help people," he said quietly. "I want to understand. I don't care about power, but I won't run from it if it means I can make a difference."
The voice was silent for a heartbeat, then spoke again—gentler than before.
"Then touch the tablet, and what you seek will be given to you."
Indra reached out, laying both palms against the Azurelith.
A rush of warmth and energy surged up his arms, through his chest, flooding every corner of his mind. Images, memories, knowledge beyond words filled his senses—centuries of stories, secrets of the Velari, echoes of divine voices, and the names of ancient powers. He felt a piece of the world's design settle into his heart. It was overwhelming, but it did not consume him. It felt like being anchored—finally, completely.
His breath shuddered. He stepped back from the pedestal, the light fading from the tablet, his head spinning. The sense of presence withdrew, leaving him in the ordinary world once more.
He turned, ready to share the experience with Gabriella—only to see that she had slumped sideways, her body limp. She'd slipped into unconsciousness, exhausted beyond what her body could bear.
Indra hurried to her, kneeling at her side. He checked her pulse—still there, faint but steady. He scooped her up into his arms, holding her close. The weight of the new knowledge in his mind pressed down, but so did the urgency to get Gabriella somewhere safe.
He left the Azurelith chamber behind, retracing his steps through the ruined cathedral. Every wall seemed taller, every shadow heavier, but something inside him had changed. The fear was still there—but so was a new certainty.
He carried Gabriella toward the broken archway, past the place where his world had almost ended, past the battered memories of violence and loss. He stepped out into the pale morning, the weight of the Azurelith's secret burning quietly in his chest.
And for the first time since the battle, hope seemed possible.
The world had shifted.
Rain hammered the earth in relentless sheets over a battlefield carved into mud and ruin. The storm drowned out all color, making the world feel gray and old. Everywhere Fyla looked, there was destruction. Blood pooled with rainwater, soaking into shattered earth. Valkyrie swords and shields—prized, once sacred—lay broken beside their fallen owners. Twenty bodies or more, motionless, silent, faces pressed to the ground or lost beneath the battered banners.
In the center of this devastation, Fyla knelt alone.
Her armor was fractured and scored, hair plastered to her cheeks. Blood streaked her arms, some hers, some not. The sword she'd led with lay snapped beside her, only the hilt left in her trembling grasp. She stared at the ground, shoulders hunched against the cold and the silence.
The storm's grip broke suddenly with the slap of boots through the mud. Seven figures sprinted across the wreckage, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. Araya reached Fyla first, dropping to her knees so fast she splashed mud across both of them.
"Commander!" Araya's voice cracked, strained and desperate.
Fyla did not answer. She barely seemed to hear.
Araya's hands clung to her shoulders, shaking her as if to summon her back. "Fyla! Please—say something!"
Fyla only blinked, rain washing over her hollow gaze.
The others gathered in a loose circle, forced forward by the shock of what they saw. Kalanie stood a few steps back, paralyzed, unable to cross the final gap. Malayna, hands shaking, stared at Fyla's wounds and the blood dripping from her gauntlets. "She's… she's bleeding so much," she whispered, numb.
Cici stood near the edge of the field, her voice so soft it barely carried. "Is anyone else alive?"
Ai was already kneeling beside one of the fallen, two fingers pressed to a pulse point. After a moment, she looked up and nodded, relief and fear mingling on her face. "They're breathing. But they need help. Fast."
Val and Parka approached last, faces carved from stone, shock etched into their every movement. Val crouched next to Araya and rested a hand on Fyla's shoulder, gentle but firm. "Fyla… it's over. We're here. You're not alone."
There was the faintest twitch in Fyla's hand. Her grip tightened around the broken sword. Slowly, with visible effort, she lifted her head.
Her eyes were empty. Haunted.
"They were counting on me…" Her voice was a whisper, hoarse, meant for no one. "And I couldn't stop him."
She scanned the battlefield, seeing only her fallen sisters—her responsibility, her burden. She tried to speak again, but her voice was brittle and raw. "I led them here. I told them we could win. And now…"
Kalanie looked away, tears brimming. The rain hid nothing.
Val leaned closer, her voice steady and true. "Don't take that blame alone, Fyla. They followed you because they believed in you. And they're alive because of you."
Fyla shook her head, body trembling with shame. "No. They're alive because Sinso let them live. He wanted me to see this. He wanted me to know I couldn't stop him."
Parka spoke next, her usual boldness faded to something gentle. "You did what you could. He's a monster. None of us could have stopped him alone."
Araya gripped Fyla's arm, her voice fierce. "We're still here. That's because of you. You kept us together. You kept us fighting."
Fyla's control broke; her words cracked open with pain. "I couldn't protect them. I couldn't protect anyone."
A silence fell—a silence so deep that even the rain seemed to respect it.
They moved quickly after that, gathering the wounded, carrying the broken. The sky slowly brightened, but the sanctuary they retreated to felt darker than before.
Inside, the air was thick with worry and exhaustion. Healers hurried between rows of battered Valkyries, voices low, hands glowing with what little magic remained. Cici and Ai sat together on the marble steps, both silent, staring at their hands. Kalanie paced near the entrance, back and forth, never settling. Malayna hovered nearby, helping as best she could, her face blank with shock.
Fyla sat alone in the farthest corner, beneath the long shadow of a marble column. Her broken sword lay across her lap. She didn't move, didn't speak, didn't look up. She just stared into the dimness, her breath shallow, as if the battle had never truly ended.
Val and Parka watched her from across the sanctuary, hearts heavy with helplessness.
"She takes it all," Parka said quietly. "She always has."
Val nodded, sadness etched into every line of her face. "She carries it for everyone."
Suddenly, the sanctuary doors slammed open. The echo filled the room. Rika stumbled in, armor cracked, blood streaming from a deep cut in her side. Kalanie rushed forward and caught her before she could fall.
"Rika! Stay with me—what happened?"
Cici and Ai jumped to their feet, faces paling as they hurried to help.
"Where's Kiyuri?!" Cici demanded, her voice on the edge of panic.
Rika looked at them, her face twisting with grief. Tears streamed down her cheeks, cutting lines through the blood and dirt.
"Kiyuri… she's gone," Rika choked. "Killian—he… he killed her."
A hush gripped the sanctuary. Cici dropped to her knees, sobs wracking her body. Ai covered her mouth, eyes wide and unblinking. Kalanie stood in shock, her voice lost to the air. Malayna sank against the wall, unable to do anything but cry.
Rika collapsed, clutching Kalanie's sleeve, her apologies tangled with her grief. "I tried—I tried to save her—I wasn't strong enough—I'm so sorry…"
Across the room, Fyla heard every word. She did not turn. She did not move. But her hands, lying still on her knees, began to shake.
Her fingers curled in, knuckles whitening.
"Kiyuri…" she whispered, so softly that only the broken sword heard it. "I'm so sorry."
The whole room seemed to hold its breath.
Val approached, kneeling quietly beside her. She didn't force comfort, only sat close. "We'll get through this," she said. "But we need you, Fyla. Everyone here needs you."
Fyla didn't respond. She kept staring into the shadows, lost in a storm that hadn't yet passed.
And all around her, every Valkyrie could feel it—that nothing was truly over. The battle had ended, but the storm inside their commander was only beginning.