Valenport never truly slept. Even in the dead hours, when the taverns were quiet and the streets almost empty, the city breathed in whispers. That night, the air felt heavier—like the whole place was holding its breath, waiting for the next strike.
And so was I.
Mira's return had left me reeling. Twenty chapters ago, she'd vanished into the Council's purge like smoke through broken glass. I'd buried the guilt of losing her beneath blood and steel, convincing myself she was dead. But she wasn't. She had endured, scarred but alive, and walked back into my path as if fate itself had dragged her there.
Now she was here, at my side again, fighting as though she'd never left.
But I wasn't the same man she remembered. None of us were.
Ryn had been with me since the beginning, sharp-edged loyalty masking the fractures in her past. She never faltered, never questioned. When the Council named her traitor, she stood taller. When I nearly fell to poison, she carried me through the storm. Mira might have been the ghost I never thought I'd see again, but Ryn was the blade I had relied on when everything else fell apart.
And then there was Loran.
The bastard made his entrance as casually as if he'd been waiting for the perfect moment to irritate me. While Mira and I stood shoulder to shoulder against the shadowspawn in the alleys, while Ryn's daggers danced in arcs of silver light, Loran arrived with that grin of his—half mocking, half daring the world to underestimate him.
"You really know how to pick a fight," he said, swinging his war-axe with brutal precision that split a creature in half. "Couldn't even wait until morning, could you?"
"I don't wait," I growled, parrying a strike that nearly split my shoulder open. "And you're late."
He only laughed. "Fashionably."
Despite his arrogance, Loran fought like a storm given form. Where Ryn cut with surgical precision and Mira struck with magic sharpened by pain, Loran was the blunt force that broke enemy lines. Together, we weren't just four strays bound by circumstance—we were a clan, forged by fire and necessity.
The creatures kept coming, shadows peeling themselves off walls, eyes burning with unnatural hunger. For every one that fell, another stepped forward. My Soul Resonance pulsed hot, warning me that this wasn't random. Someone was pushing them at us, testing our limits.
"We're being herded," Ryn snapped, slashing a foe across the throat. "They want us to burn out before the real fight."
"Then we don't burn," I answered, pushing through the fatigue clawing at my muscles. "We break them first."
Mira glanced at me, eyes reflecting both fear and something harder—resolve. "Kael… you don't have to do this alone anymore."
Her words struck deeper than the enemy's claws. She had every reason to stay gone. Every reason to blame me for not saving her back then. Yet she was here, reminding me that this clan wasn't just bodies on a battlefield—it was bonds, chosen and reforged even through betrayal and loss.
Loran barked a laugh. "Enough speeches. Less talking, more killing!" He hurled his axe into another beast, retrieved it in one smooth pull, and slammed it into the ground. "You want to win this, Kael? Lead."
So I did.
The next clash was different. Not survival, not desperation. Purpose. We moved like one body, four limbs striking in rhythm. Ryn's daggers opened gaps; I drove my sword through them. Mira's sigils burned brighter, lashing enemies with bursts of searing energy that staggered them long enough for Loran's brute force to finish the job.
Minutes stretched into an eternity of steel, fire, and blood. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the assault faltered. The shadows peeled back, retreating into the alleys they had crawled from, leaving only scorched stone and broken corpses.
The silence after was deafening.
I stood there, chest heaving, blade dripping black ichor. Mira wiped soot from her face, eyes still glowing faintly. Ryn's breathing was steady despite the cuts across her arms, her daggers as sharp as ever. Loran leaned on his axe, grinning through a split lip.
"Well," he said, "if that was the warm-up, I'd hate to see the main act."
I sheathed my sword, forcing the tremor from my hands. "That wasn't the main act." My gaze shifted to the rooftops. The air still hummed with an unseen presence, a watcher pulling strings. "This was a message."
Ryn nodded grimly. "Three nights. They warned you. That was night one."
Mira's hand brushed against mine, steadying me even though she trembled herself. "Then we fight through night two. And three. No matter what comes."
Loran spat blood onto the cobblestones. "Fine by me. Let them come. But next time, Kael—don't start the party without me."
I almost smiled. Almost. But the weight pressing on my chest wouldn't allow it. The city was shifting, the Council's noose tightening. Our enemies weren't faceless anymore. They were here, watching, waiting, forcing us into their game.
And yet, for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel alone.
Ryn, Mira, Loran—they weren't just allies. They were my clan. My reason to keep fighting. My reason to tear this cursed Council apart piece by piece until nothing remained.
Night one was over.
The storm was only beginning.