The flight home was silent. Renn stared out the window, watching Atherion's ruined landscape shrink behind them until it became nothing but a scarred memory beneath the clouds. Ian rested his blade across his knees, replaying the ambush in his mind again and again. Optimus sat beside Draykor, still tense, ready to spring if another demon dared appear.
When they finally landed at Iron Summit, the great city was already abuzz with reporters, senators, and military liaisons trying to decipher what had happened. Draykor stepped off the transport first, his coat whipping in the wind. He turned to Ian and Optimus with a relieved smile, an expression he rarely showed.
"You saved my life today, both of you." He placed a hand on Ian's shoulder. "Thank you. Truly. The public needs a statement immediately, so I must go prepare it. But know this, your actions won't be forgotten."
Without another word, Draykor hurried toward the Treasury Chamber, flanked by guards. Ian watched him go, expression unreadable.
Optimus crossed his arms. "He'd better use that speech to actually support us this time."
Ian didn't answer. Silas Verin's Descent Across Iron Summit, far from the polished towers and Senate halls, Silas Verin walked alone through a quieter district. The midday glow gave way slowly to iron-gray shadows as he moved deeper between narrow alleys and old stone houses.
Silas glanced around, made sure no one followed, then slipped inside a seemingly abandoned home. The interior was silent, stale. Dust floated in the slivers of light that leaked through boarded windows. Silas stepped across the creaking floorboards until he reached a door hidden behind a rotting curtain.
He opened it. A staircase descended into darkness. He went down without hesitation. The basement beneath the house was no basement at all; it was a temple, carved into the earth long before Iron Summit was built. Flickering candles illuminated symbols etched into the walls, the kind that didn't belong to humans.
Cloaked cultists knelt in a circle, whispering low prayers in a language that tasted like ash. On a throne at the far end sat a demon, its body half-shadow, half-corporeal, its eyes burning with ember-light. The air around it warped like heat rising from a furnace.
Silas stepped forward, irritation sharp in his voice. "You cultists were reckless. Our goal was to show how powerless the STF is, not how strong they are."
One of the cultists raised his voice, trembling. "B-but sir, we were only following orders, and—"
The demon spoke, its voice a rumble that shook the stone beneath their feet. "Enough."
Silas froze. The cultist fell silent instantly. The demon leaned forward, its grin slow and cruel. "Silas, I need you only for one thing: intel. You will continue lowering the Empire's defenses at your own pace."
The shadows around its throne writhed as it spoke. "But never lose sight of the main objective."
Silas bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord. But only two men stand in our way now, Ian, and Optimus."
The demon's grin widened, fangs glinting. "Ian… the empire's little swordmaster. I have a plan for him." Its claws tapped the armrest with a metallic scrape.
"We will lure him out at night, alone. And when he comes, I will crush him. Slowly. Publicly."
The cultists murmured with excitement.
Silas kept his voice steady. "And Optimus?"
"Once Ian falls, the big one will break easily. Remove the shield, and the hammer collapses next."
Silas nodded again. "Then I will ensure Ian's demise."
The demon's eyes glowed brighter. "See that you do."
Silas turned and ascended the steps, leaving the whispers and heat behind. The door closed, sealing the darkness below.
A Quiet House, A Growing Storm. Silas returned to his personal residence in Iron Summit, a polished stone townhouse overlooking the merchant district. He removed his coat, loosened his tie, and poured himself a glass of red wine.
He sat by the window, the city humming peacefully beneath him, soldiers marching, senators debating, civilians enjoying their day under the false comfort of safety.
He watched the sun slowly dip behind the mountains. "Just a few more hours, Ian…" A cold, calculated smile touched his lips. "Tonight is the beginning of your end."
Silas leaned back in his chair and waited for nightfall.