The storm had not passed—only changed its color.
Where the divine light once blinded the heavens, now shadows painted the clouds like ink spilling from unseen wounds. The world below seemed to shiver beneath it, every city and valley holding its breath.
At the edge of the rebel stronghold, Lyn stood in silence. The air smelled of metal and rain, and the distant clang of forging echoes filled the mountain caverns below.
Umbra loomed beside him, its form more stable now, its wings rippling like the night itself. The two of them watched as the army gathered—a thousand tamers, rogues, and beastkin sworn to no banner but rebellion's breath.
Rhea approached, her armor blackened from the last battle. "They've begun to call you by a new name," she said quietly.
Lyn didn't look up. "A name changes nothing."
"This one might." Rhea's eyes flickered with a mixture of awe and concern. "'Wings of the Forgotten.' They say you carry the crests of every tamer the gods erased."
He let out a small, humorless breath. "Then they see me too clearly."
Umbra's voice rumbled softly in his mind. —They see what they need. A symbol is heavier than a sword.
"Symbols can break too," Lyn murmured.
A quiet descended between them as the first dawn light broke through the clouds. The sky was fractured—half golden, half void-black. Beneath that bleeding horizon, banners of different factions fluttered, stitched together from remnants of fallen guilds.
Every one of those tamers had lost someone. Every one carried a bond scarred or broken. And still, they followed him.
Rhea turned toward the forges. "We'll have enough mana cores to reinforce the front line by dusk. The others are calling a council. They want your decision, Lyn—whether we march to the northern citadel or wait for the next Seal's pulse."
He finally looked at her. "Waiting never saved anyone."
A flicker of movement caught his eye—a messenger running toward them, half-bowed with exhaustion. His crest flickered violently, like it was about to tear itself apart.
"Commander Lyn!" he gasped. "The sky over the northern citadel—it's opened! The beasts are flying again!"
Rhea's expression hardened. "Flying? As in—"
"Wings," Lyn interrupted, his tone quiet but sharp. "The forgotten ones."
Umbra's wings spread wide behind him, black lightning arcing between its feathers. —The Celestial Beasts. The ones who vanished when the First War ended.
"No," Lyn said, his voice deepening. "Not vanished. Bound."
He stepped toward the cliff's edge, the wind whipping at his cloak. Beneath the clouds, he could almost see them—vast shapes of light and shadow breaking through the atmosphere, their cries echoing like thunder.
"They're awakening because of the Fourth Seal," he realized. "They remember freedom."
Umbra's eyes glowed. —Then they will come for the one who broke it.
Rhea drew her blade. "So, what do we do?"
"We fly."
Her eyes widened. "Lyn, we don't have enough sky-tamers to—"
"We don't need tamers." He turned to Umbra. "We have a bond."
Umbra's laughter was like rolling thunder. —Then let us remind the heavens why they once feared the dark.
He leapt.
The bond flared, crest igniting across his body like molten light. Umbra's wings folded around him, and together they soared into the sky—breaking through the storm, slicing through the clouds as the army below watched in stunned silence.
The wind screamed, the air trembling under their speed. Ahead, flashes of silver and crimson filled the horizon—beasts of impossible size and grace circling the citadel's heart.
Rhea followed moments later, mounted on her spirit falcon, her voice carried by the wind. "Lyn! That citadel's surrounded by divine runes!"
"Then we'll tear them down!" he shouted back. "If the gods want their seals guarded, we'll make them regret choosing the sky!"
As they broke through the clouds, the battlefield unfolded below—airships burning, tamers locked in midair duels, celestial beasts screeching against mortal wills.
Umbra's shadow rippled, spreading across the storm. —Lyn… do you feel it?
He did. Beneath the chaos, the pulse of the Fourth Seal still beat faintly—but now there was another rhythm joining it.
A new heartbeat.
"The Fifth," he whispered.
Umbra's tone grew grim. —Then the war of bonds has truly begun.
Lyn raised his hand, his crest blazing bright enough to burn through the storm. "Then let's show them what rebellion looks like when it learns to fly."