Amphitheater B filled like a cistern: slowly, but to the brim. The air smelled of damp stone, chalk, and a faint trace of metal—the subtle taste that betrayed the presence of mana. Footsteps echoed, benches scraped, murmurs merged into one.
Ash slipped into the middle rows, choosing a seat that let him see everything without being seen himself. To his right sat Kaelen Veyran — Academic Rank: Beta | Power: D (mid). He flexed and unflexed his fingers as though warming an invisible blade. A few rows ahead, Mira Kest — Gamma | D (low) read and reread the same annotated page she already knew by heart. Further off, Tovan Rhyl — Beta | C (low) rolled his shoulders in silence. Darian Hrolf — Gamma | D (low) puffed out his chest for reasons no one else shared.
The rear door slammed.
— Silence.
The voice was not loud, but it was sharp. Magistra Liora Voss — Instructor | Power: A (low) — descended the central aisle like a diagonal cut across a map. Her dark cloak drank the light, fine scars tracing her neck like glass scratches. She set a crystal upon the lectern. A bluish veil rippled across the stone at once.
— You think you know your world, she began without preamble. You know only its edges. Today, we name its contours.
She took chalk and drew two columns so straight they seemed carved.
— Two grids. Academic, and Universal. Confuse them, and you'll die for the wrong reason.
On the left column: Omega — Gamma — Beta — Alpha.
— Academic ranks. They measure your ability to learn here—your discipline, your regularity. They decide your training slots, your access, your ration of crystals. Ash — Omega | F (mid). Kaelen — Beta | D (mid). Darian — Gamma | D (low). That tells you where you stand inside these walls, not what you're worth outside them.
A snicker rose from the back. Voss only lifted her gaze; shame strangled it silent.
She struck the right column. Chalk etched: F – E – D – C – B – A – S – SS – SSS, then above all, Divine.
— The Universal Scale of Power. Valid for all: humans, Ælvari, Drakhen, mercenaries from elsewhere… and things that need no name to kill. In short:
F: armed civilian, no usable mana.
E: newly awakened; enough to disturb a Gate, not a wall.
D: operational hunter; culls E-rank beasts, holds a simple perimeter.
C: competent user; destroys modest structures, threatens a solid patrol.
B: regional power; razes a building, collapses a bridge, bends a garrison.
A: national elite; erases a district, warps local weather.
S: strategic; splits a mountain, leaves craters, turns the tide of a campaign.
SS: calamity; ravages entire regions.
SSS: myth in motion; shakes continents, boils oceans.
Divine: alters reality. If it needs explaining, it's already too late.
A hand shot up, too stiff to be calm.
— Magistra… the highest confirmed rank on Earth?
— SS, she replied. SSS are fragments of tales, traces, shadows in archives. I don't wish you the chance to verify them.
A chill rippled beneath the benches. Kaelen exhaled, Mira swallowed, Tovan sat still. Ash noted without writing.
— Sub-ranks: low — mid — high for each letter. Example: D (low) → D (mid) → D (high) → C (low). It's a staircase, not a springboard. You don't skip a step by shouting louder.
The chalk hissed, opening a third section on the board: Styles.
— Three families. Martial arts: body, breath, rhythm breaks. Weapons: spear, sword, bow, staff—with or without runes. Magic: matrices, conduits, elemental or advanced schools. Most of you will be hybrids. Note this: your spells are also ranked on the Universal scale. A Lightning Bolt [D (low)] won't stop a C (mid) in charge. Profiles are already forming:
— Kaelen Veyran — Beta | D (mid): sword/shield + minor fire.
— Mira Kest — Gamma | D (low): minor healing, light, support.
— Tovan Rhyl — Beta | C (low): martial arts + rudimentary earth; strong guard.
— Darian Hrolf — Gamma | D (low): brute sword; structure yet to build.
— Ash — Omega | F (mid): runed spear, economical movements. To observe.
Necks turned toward Ash. He blinked slowly, nothing more.
— Simple question, Voss continued. Can you defeat a rank above your own?
She pointed at the scale. No one answered. So she did.
— In duel: no. Except genius and perfect conditions. In team: a D (high) well-coordinated with four D (mid) can bring down a C (low) by cutting its breath, saturating its angles, and forcing an error. Remember the prohibition: an E (high) who believes he's a C ends face-down—and drags his line with him.
She wiped her hand on a cloth, shifting mental pages.
— Why do these ranks matter so much to us? Voss asked. Because mana did more than awaken humans. It twisted fauna and flora.
The crystal on the lectern projected silhouettes into the air: a wolf whose shadow bore fangs, a plant whose flowers snapped like jaws, a hawk with wings etched by natural runes.
— Magical beasts. Born of mutation. Some never rise past F–E. Others reach C, sometimes A in saturated zones. The difference from what comes out of Netherys? Beasts attack by instinct. Demons attack by choice.
The word dropped into the hall like a stone in a well.
— And these threats come through the Gates.
Chalk drew a circle, then another beside it, an arrow between. Beneath, she wrote: I – II – III – IV – V.
— Two families. Standard Gates and Avernian Gates. Standard ones connect Earth to other worlds: Ælvari forests, Drakhen plateaus, unknown plains, ruins of civilizations you'll only hear of by fragments. Avernian Gates open into Netherys. The ranking I→V marks density, stability, and danger.
She laid it out, mechanical:
— Standard (empirical rule):
I → fauna D–C (low); local threat.
II → C (low–mid), occasional B (low); regional danger.
III → B (low–mid), risk of A (low); planned intervention.
IV → A (low–mid), edge of S (low); squads only.
V → S (low–mid) with SS (low) incidents; evacuate if protocol breaks.
— Avernian (by caste):
Rank I–II → lesser demons; minimum D universal. Even a "small" demon devours an E without chewing.
Rank III–IV → high demons (B–A). Survival depends on discipline and chain of command.
Rank V → Demon Nobles (S, some near SS). If a Noble is suspected, protocol says retreat. You don't see a Noble—you endure its presence.
Backs stiffened. A pen dropped; someone snatched it up too quickly.
— Foreign races now. You'll cross them here and there. Ælvari who breathe light as you breathe air. Drakhen who make strength a language. Others, less talkative, more interested in our soil and skies. Where do they study? Tier 1–2, mostly. That's where elites are trained. Here, Tier 4, you are the last brick in the wall. You're not the golden ornament of the gate; you're what fills the cracks.
— Charming, Darian muttered under his breath.
— Realistic, Kaelen replied without turning.
Voss didn't need to hear; she knew.
— Since we're speaking of walls, let's speak of masonry. Gates aren't doors you shoulder open. You anchor. You observe. You close.
She unfurled a cloth showing three training stakes.
— Tri-anchorage. Three stakes. Balance rune to stabilize, lock rune to prevent expansion, resonance rune to link them. Three signatures. Without a triangle, no entry. Then observation team: four posts—two marksmen, two sensors. Then entry team: shields in front, polearms at the flanks, channelers at the center, healers in the rear, closure at the tail. Healers never go first. Those who "rush to save" end up choosing who they don't save.
She underlined three words on the cloth: Anchor — Observe — Close.
— Different approaches:
Standard → terrain reading, simple traps, ecosystems. You don't chase a C (low) beast through a forest where your line collapses.
Avernian → anti-corruption (anyone touched too long goes into mana quarantine), no negotiation, strict chain. Demons sometimes talk—but only to stall.
A hand rose in the first row; an Alpha few liked but everyone listened to, because strength has that flaw.
— At Tier 1, they sometimes force a II without tri-anchorage, he said lightly.
— At Tier 1, Voss replied without raising her voice, they have A-ranks to cover mistakes and medicasters worth our cafeteria's yearly budget. Here, Tier 4, you are responsible for the line you draw. You force nothing. You hold it.
She returned to the columns.
— Case studies.
Case #1 — Standard Gate I, wet plain: fauna D (low), capricious mana fog. Team: two D (mid), three D (low). Clean tri-anchorage, twelve minutes observation, entry in pairs, closure at fifteen. Zero casualties. Why? Patience and rhythm.
Case #2 — Standard Gate II, dense forest: fauna C (low). One Beta wants to "prove himself." No tri-anchorage. Direct entry. Chase after a beast. Two "eliminated," and they "forgot" to call healers. The world doesn't stop to pick up your pride.
Case #3 — Avernian III: you won't go. Just know even with B–A in lead, they isolated a high-rank demon with a sealing net and anchor-break. They came back exhausted. I prefer exhausted survivors to fresh names on a stone.
The murmurs rose again—less nervous now, heavier. Voss's sentences stacked like flat stones; all they had to do was step carefully.
— Two common corrections, she added. One: don't confuse "defeating" with "surviving." Your role at Tier 4 is to hold long enough for someone stronger to close behind you. Two: don't dream of "feats." Dream of alignments: Mira's flash (light E/D), Tovan's earth wall (D), Kaelen's fire slash (D high), and suddenly a comrade's spear strikes through. The world responds better to sentences than to screams.
She let silence drink her words, then lowered her tone.
— Foreign races (continued). They are on Earth. Sometimes embassies, sometimes companies, sometimes clans. You'll see them in Tier 1–2. Here, rarely. Keep eyes open, mouths shut. A bow is worth more than an opinion.
The crystal pulsed; wall runes answered. The amphitheater itself seemed to breathe slower.
— Finally, Voss said, recent history. Carry it like a sack, not like a cape. Mana flooded our planet generations ago. The Awakened appeared. The Gates opened. Allies and enemies from elsewhere set foot here, with their maps and their lies. We built academies. Tier 1–2 for elites and foreign races seeking exchange. Tier 3–4 for those the wave would not carry—but who could still learn to hold a line. You are the latter. And that is not an insult. It is a mission.
She set down the chalk. The two columns—Academic and Universal—seemed closer now, as if the board itself understood.
— This afternoon, Master Corven will have you drive stakes and carve runes until your wrists understand better than your heads. Tomorrow, a simulation. The day after, if your triangles hold, you'll see the shadow of a real Gate from a secure perimeter. I don't want you brave. I want you solid.
Her gaze swept the hall and paused, briefly, on Ash. Nothing passed there but a fact: a face, two gray eyes, a clean uniform. Then she moved on.
— Homework: a personal sheet. Primary and secondary style. Estimated Universal rank—without cheating. Weaknesses; you all have them. Those who write "none" will scrub thresholds for a month. Thresholds teach humility to hard heads.
A cautious voice rose mid-rows:
— Magistra, if a Noble… if someone suspects a Noble is near, and the order is to hold the line?
Voss didn't smile.
— You hold the line around those you can save. You withdraw if the line becomes a trap. And you signal. Any other choice has a name: involuntary sacrifice. I do not train sacrifices. I train bricks.
The bell boomed, heavy. Files snapped shut, benches groaned upright, voices rose again—quieter this time. Kaelen turned to Ash.
— She said "bricks." I don't like the image… but I think I'd rather be a wall than a flag.
— A wall lasts longer, Ash replied.
— What'll you put on your sheet? Mira asked as she gathered her notes, her voice still trembling but steadier now.
Ash thought a second.
— Runed spear. Martial arts. Light/Darkness magic: unstable. F (mid). Low reserve. Economy too late.
Kaelen smirked sideways.
— Sounds honest. I'll put "fire," "sword," and "rushes too much." Tovan will put "rock." Darian will put "no weaknesses," bet you anything.
— I have no weaknesses, Darian declared as he passed, as if summoned by the joke. Seeing their stares, he added: Well… not many.
— You'll get thresholds, Kaelen laughed.
The hall emptied. Ceiling runes dimmed, the lectern crystal dulled. Voss stayed alone for two heartbeats, reread her columns, brushed off a speck of chalk she'd left there on purpose, then left.
Ash rose in turn. The chalk had given names to stones. The rest, as always, would be done with hands.
In the corridor, a fresh notice shone on the board: Exceptional Transfer — Tier 2 Academy. An Ælvari name followed, a cleanly written B (mid). Two students gaped at it. Kaelen glanced, shrugged.
— Let them have their glory. We'll take the line.
A gust swept through the high windows, carrying chalk dust into the air. Outside, the world kept beating. Here, they learned to count their beats without losing them.
The afternoon bell tolled, summoning the students to the great training yard. The sky, veiled with gray clouds, cast a pale light over cracked flagstones. Statues of fissured stone—remnants of past generations—watched in silence as new recruits gathered.
Ash followed the group without a word. Some still buzzed from Voss's lecture, others nervously anticipating the chance to test their flimsy knowledge.
A low rumble cut through the chatter. Master Corven stood waiting. His armor, worn yet intact, was etched with faded runes, the mark of a life spent on the field. His steel eyes swept the students as if weighing their worth in a single glance.
— Line up, he ordered.
The students obeyed, some clumsy, some too eager to push forward. Ash found himself beside Kaelen, who held his short sword and round shield as though born with them. Mira clutched her healer's staff, visibly tense. Tovan flexed his massive arms, his runed gauntlets whitening his knuckles. Darian grinned, trying for confidence but achieving only hollowness.
Corven planted three rune-stakes into the ground, carving symbols they had seen that morning with Voss. The runes lit with a cold blue glow.
— Tri-anchorage, he said. Without it, you don't cross a living Gate. Here, it will channel the summoning.
He stepped back, arms folded.
— Squad Eleven. You're first.
A ripple ran through the line. Kaelen clenched his jaw, Mira swallowed. Ash, impassive, stepped forward with them.
— Form the triangle, Corven commanded.
Tovan drove the first stake down with brutal precision, striking stone as if to split it. Mira knelt, carving the balance rune with feverish focus. Darian handled the lock rune… and botched it. The lines wavered, unstable.
— Idiot, Kaelen hissed.
Ash moved forward, correcting the shaky lines with a precise stroke. The rune stabilized, resonating with a low hum that vibrated in their bones.
Corven watched, expression unreadable.
— Not perfect. But enough.
The veil opened within the triangle. A silhouette burst forth, snarling: a corrupted canis, a mana wolf larger than a horse, its glowing green eyes burning with hatred.
Mira stifled a cry.
— Rank D… high, Kaelen breathed.
— Nearly C, Ash corrected.
The beast charged.
Impact.
Kaelen raised his shield, sword igniting with flickering fire. The blow nearly broke his arm. The canis snapped its jaws inches from his face.
Tovan slammed his fists into the ground. Stone spikes jutted up beneath the beast, making it stagger. Mira cast a flash of golden light, blinding it for a heartbeat.
Ash lunged. His spear darted for its throat—but the hide was iron-tough. The tip cut only shallowly.
— Tch…
Darian screamed and charged, his sword hacking into fur without reaching flesh.
The wolf spun, striking with brutal speed. Its paw smashed into Darian, sending him tumbling meters away.
— Darian! Mira cried.
She rushed to him, hands already glowing with healing.
— Focus! Ash barked, dodging fangs that would have torn his throat.
The beast lunged again. Kaelen blocked, shield denting under the impact. Tovan tried to grapple its hind legs, runes blazing—but a swipe dislocated his shoulder with a sickening crack.
— Shit!
Mira's healing light enveloped Darian, closing wounds, but sweat already slicked her brow.
Ash circled, every step calculated, spear striking joints, seeking weaknesses. But the canis was too fast. Its claws slashed past Mira; Kaelen dove in front of her, shield raised. Blood burst from his side despite the barrier.
— Hold on!
His flaming sword scorched the beast, the smell of burnt fur filling the air.
Forced Coordination.
— We need to trap it! Ash shouted.
— How, genius? Tovan growled through clenched teeth.
— Triangle! You pin it. Kaelen left. Darian right. Mira—prepare a strong light!
They hesitated—until the wolf's roar forced them.
Tovan raised an earthen wall behind the beast. Kaelen slashed left, fire tracing arcs. Darian, limping, swung from the right.
Ash charged head-on, spear leveled.
Mira's staff pulsed; a sphere of light flared, dazzling the canis.
Ash struck. His spear pierced its eye. The wolf's howl shook the walls. Kaelen's blade sank into its shoulder, Tovan hammered its knee with a crunch, Darian stabbed its flank.
The beast collapsed—wounded, not dead.
Escalation.
Its veins glowed brighter, mana saturating the air.
— It's… getting stronger! Mira cried.
It blasted them apart. Kaelen crashed against stone, sword shattered. Tovan lay groaning, arm useless. Darian knelt gasping, weapon too heavy to lift.
Ash alone stood, spear in hand.
The canis lunged. He rolled aside, thrusting into its flank. It screamed, but its claws tore his arm open. Blood ran freely.
— Mira! he barked.
The girl, pale and drained, raised her staff one last time. A burst of blinding light erupted.
Ash leapt. For a heartbeat, his eyes burned red. His spear drove straight through the beast's heart.
The canis howled, then dissolved into mana dust.
Aftermath.
Silence fell. Mira collapsed, spent. Tovan groaned, clutching his shoulder. Kaelen swayed on his feet, bleeding at the side. Darian lay bruised, barely conscious.
Ash stood still, spear planted in the ground, gray eyes fixed on drifting motes of dust.
Corven strode forward, his steps like hammer blows.
— Mission complete, he said coldly.
His gaze swept them.
— Mediocre coordination. Too much panic. Too much fear. But you lived.
His eyes lingered on Ash a moment longer—but he said nothing.
— Remember this: that was only a D (high). In a real Rank II Gate, you'd already be dead.
The silence afterward was heavy. Ash's hands trembled on his spear—not from pain, but from what he had felt.
The portal's veil shimmered between the three anchoring stakes. Corven's carved runes glowed cold blue, casting metallic reflections on the nearby stone. The air smelled of rain and ozone, with the sharp tang of copper that heralded a bad day.
— Squad Eleven, Corven said. Standard formation. Kaelen and Ash in front, Tovan on the right, Mira center, Darian rear flexible. Objective: neutralize the central threat, Rank C (low). Identify the nest. Secure a closure perimeter. You exit when I say. Not before.
He activated the seals. The veil opened like an eyelid, revealing a forest sickly green. A low mist crawled across the ground.
They stepped through.
On the other side, the light felt heavier, as if filtered through a diseased lung. Trunks twisted like bent scaffolds, their bark oozing dark sap. Every step slid on leaves varnished by mana. Blue-striped insects buzzed, scattering whenever a branch cracked too loudly.
— Reminder, Kaelen whispered. Mark every twenty paces.
Tovan hammered a rune-nail into a trunk; Mira traced a faint line of light across it. Darian pretended to yawn, but his grip on his sword was far too tight.
Ash said nothing. Spear aligned with his spine, he advanced reading angles, shadows, and breath. Each step measured. Each ear tuned.
A clump of ferns exploded ahead. Three mana-rats, each the size of mastiffs, burst out, snouts bristling with quills.
— E. Don't waste mana, Ash warned.
Kaelen smashed one with his shield's edge. Tovan crushed another with a gauntleted hook. Ash's spear sliced the third's throat, scattering it into hot dust. Mira swept residual venom with a brush of light, dissolving its acidic hiss.
— Too clean, Kaelen muttered. We're being watched.
They left the small ashes behind.
Further in, crows with glyph-veined wings circled. Mira scattered them with a cone of light. The ground split in damp fissures, bleeding like wounds. The forest itself seemed unwilling to let them pass.
Then the ground trembled—not a quake, but a breath. Heavy. Rhythmic.
— Short halts, Ash said. We fall back if it's above C (low) behavior.
— It is C (low) behavior, Tovan muttered. Hear how it fears nothing.
The canopy tore. Leaves rained down. Something vast shoved aside a rotting trunk as if it were paper. Branches snapped. Ammonia stench mixed with scorched sap.
The corrupted Fangbear emerged.
Twice and a half the height of a man. As broad as the entire clearing. Black fur striped with glowing green veins, as though an aurora was trapped beneath its hide. Tusks curved like sickles, acid dripping from their tips, eating holes into moss. Its red eyes never blinked.
— C (low) confirmed, Kaelen breathed, dry-mouthed.
— We don't push it. We bend it, Ash said.
The Fangbear charged.
Impact.
Kaelen braced, shield lit with minor fire. The blow hurled him into a tree; the rim of his shield cracked and split. Tovan slammed his runed fists to the ground, raising a stone wall—shattered in a single swipe. Shards cut Mira down; she dropped to her knees, shoulder bleeding.
Darian roared and lunged, blade sinking into fur but not skin. A paw swatted him aside, spine cracking against a stump. Mira scrambled, light spilling from her hands, half-closing the wound but paling fast.
Ash slid into the wake of the blow, spear darting for the shoulder joint. The tip pierced a glowing vein—mana-blood hissed along the shaft. The Fangbear roared; the clearing shook, leaves raining down like knives.
— Hold it! Kaelen shouted, staggering upright, arm trembling.
Ash levered the beast's leg half a step aside—not enough.
The maw opened. A breath of green rolled out, burning moss to black. Mira raised her staff, a bell of light flaring. It held two beats, wavered on the third.
— Fall back! Ash ordered.
They retreated three paces. The Fangbear followed, unconcerned—king of its domain.
Its attacks were rare but devastating, each blow predicting where their escape would land. Twice, Kaelen barely survived. Tovan, drained of stone, managed only stubs of spikes, which the beast crushed like reeds.
— It'll wear us down, Tovan gasped, lips split. I'm down to D (low) shards. The ground's saturated.
— Then we use grammar, Ash replied calmly. Balance. Lock. Resonance. We move it.
Mira, pale, fumbled for chalk. Darian staggered upright, wobbling.
— Tell me where to strike, Kaelen rasped.
— There, Ash pointed at the rear leg. Cut its turn.
They moved as one: Tovan raised earth plates, Ash traced resonance, Mira placed a shaky balance, Darian scrawled a crooked lock. Kaelen became a living anchor, shield in front, flame at its edge.
The Fangbear resisted. The runes faltered. Mira's voice cracked, Darian's hand shook. Ash filled gaps, spear serving as ruler, his hand steadying trembling lines.
— Now!
Kaelen slammed forward, rib fractured, refusing to yield. Tovan pinned a joint, Ash yanked the beast into the triangle. The seal held—a full second. Enough.
Kaelen's blade, fire focused, cut deep at the neck. Ash's spear struck the wounded shoulder, bursting another glowing vein. Darian screamed and drove his sword into its flank. Tovan hammered down with his one good fist.
The roar bent the treetops. The Fangbear stumbled back, brume spilling from its jaws.
— Cover! Mira!
— I… only this…
She cast a dim light sheet, diluting acid barely enough.
— Don't let up, Ash ordered. Or we don't leave.
They pressed, step by step, until Ash saw it: a natural portico of leaning trees, resin dripping in sticky stalactites.
— Tovan, break it when I say. Mira, give me light. Kaelen, left flank. Darian—you're bait.
— What?! Darian balked.
— Noise.
Darian blanched, then bared teeth. Fine.
He screamed curses, drawing the Fangbear's rage. Ash and Kaelen flanked. Tovan struck; resin collapsed in sticky torrents. The beast thrashed, caught. Fire leapt from Kaelen's blade into resin, spreading flame. Ash speared its eye, red and green spatter spraying. Darian flew from a headbutt, vomiting bile on impact.
The resin burned. The beast rolled, smothering flames, coating itself in soot—its glowing veins hidden.
— I can't see the lines! Kaelen shouted.
— Then listen.
Ash closed one eye, syncing breath to the heavy, irregular pulse of mana in its chest. The next surge, the next opening.
— Three. Two. One.
He lunged. Spear slipped under the jaw, piercing thin flesh near the sternum. The beast recoiled, nearly wrenching the weapon free. Acid breath erupted.
The world blinked gray—no light, no color, just absence. Acid unraveled midair, falling harmless. Ash's eyes flared red—then dulled.
— What was that…? Kaelen gasped.
— Nothing. Move.
The beast bled heavily but glared sharper, pain clearing its mind. It aimed now. Its swipe cracked Kaelen's arm; Tovan's pillar slowed one paw enough for Ash to cut tendons in rapid strikes.
— Mira! A line for Kaelen!
She obeyed, ragged, barely closing pain. Kaelen lied—I'm fine—while swaying.
Darian, bruised and burned, returned. His arrogance gone, he met Ash's eyes. Tell me where.
Ash pointed—an unseen hollow under its collarbone. Darian struck. The blade sank half a turn. The Fangbear howled.
— Again! Ash cried.
Together they hammered—Kaelen, Tovan, Darian, Ash—striking rhythm over fear. Mira wept but still guided threads of light.
The beast staggered.
Ash shouted: Close your eyes.
They obeyed. Acid hissed harmless against an unseen barrier as Ash's eyes burned again.
The opening came. Tovan raised last pillars. Kaelen breathed flame into its throat. Mira flicked a needle of light into a nerve. Darian stabbed into the marked hollow. Ash vaulted, spear inverted, and drove it through the Fangbear's palate into its mana core.
Crack.
The Fangbear collapsed, shaking the clearing, brume ripping apart. A cold wave of mana prickled across their skin. Then silence.
The body withered—fur into ash, veins into fading filaments. At its core rolled a mana nucleus, black with green streaks. Ash speared it carefully, sealing it in a cloth pouch.
— Status, Kaelen croaked.
— Standing, left arm gone, Tovan muttered.
— Alive, nearly empty, Mira whispered.
— Whole, Darian rasped. That's a lie, but it sounds good.
— Standing, Ash said simply.
They gathered, silent, and retraced steps along Mira's faint light marks.
Kaelen glanced back once at the pile of ash that had been invincible minutes ago. His hand tightened on his broken shield, then let go.
— We're going home.
Ash nodded, already sorting what belonged in the report, and what would stay between their breaths.
Behind them, the forest sighed, pretending to be what it had always been.
The portal waited, an eye of glass between stakes. Within it, five tired silhouettes walked—lines frayed, but still holding.
End of Chapter 2.