Ash drifted like snowfall over the scorched and crumbling ruins of western Laginaple. Smoke curled in the ravaged wind, caught between collapsed towers, blackened stone, and the shattered bones of once-proud architecture. The sky above remained cast in somber twilight, touched not by nature, but by the waning power of a Falzath avatar that had ruled this frontier with monstrous silence. The air tasted of iron and loss. Beneath the fractured glow of a broken moon, the Fourth Talon stood as armored shadows against a dying battlefield, their weapons still wet with the echo of recent combat, breathing heavily but standing unbroken.
In their center, Shin remained unmoving. His black robes, torn and bloodstained, rippled faintly in the gusts. His crystal orb pulsed softly in his hand, each heartbeat of light a whisper from the arcane. The air shimmered around him, thick with lingering resonance. His red eyes swept the landscape—not as a soldier reviewing victory, but as a prophet seeing beyond the veil. Beyond the ruins. Beyond the fire.
"That was no mere Falzath construct," Mira murmured, her rifle still hot in her hands, its muzzle whispering smoke. "It fought like it remembered. Like it hated."
"A projection," Lyssa panted, conjuring a minor barrier to steady her trembling form. Her lightning spells had carved gorges into the ground and into her stamina alike. "But it bled conviction. The kind that doesn't come from enchantments."
Tessara, limping with exhaustion, leaned against Tove and whispered with barely a breath, "An avatar of a fallen will. Something left behind by Tristan. A distorted echo of the king he used to be."
Shin didn't speak. Instead, he reached into the pulsing orb's core and, with a flick of will, summoned Yoshimatsu. The katana flowed into existence like molten steel re-forged from memory and vengeance. It shimmered crimson in the half-light, and the High Frequency hum returned, vibrating in the marrow of every warrior nearby—a solemn dirge of finality and power.
"Yoshimatsu is hungrier than before," Olga growled, stepping to Shin's side, her gauntlets still steaming from her bout with the corrupted titan. Blood leaked from her shoulder, her arms covered in bruises, but her stance spoke of defiance.
"It remembers blood," Shin said, voice calm but heavy. He raised the blade. "It remembers what it means to strike for something greater."
Dalen and Rynn advanced from the flank. Dalen's blade still hissed with fire, while wind whispered around Rynn like an unseen guardian. They were breathing hard, but their eyes burned with clarity.
"We've opened the way," Rynn said. "Laginaple's central ward is exposed. But something else is there. Something old. Watching."
Clarent flared in Zera's grip. The red of her eyes flickered like twin coals. "Voryn's Council. I felt them watching us. Waiting for us to falter."
"Then we won't," Shin replied.
He stepped forward. One after another, the others followed. With each stride, pulses of energy flared from the Crests etched onto their flesh. Laverna's tiger eye necklace glowed beneath her cloak, matching rhythm with the flickering foxfire of Tessara's staff, the steady burn of Zera's Clarent, and the hidden current pulsing from Shin's own Crest—the mark of Elders.
They moved through the battlefield's broken heart. Ash swirled around them, forming ghostlike patterns in the haze. At the shattered wardstone, black lightning leapt across its fractured shell, defiant even in defeat. The air screamed with ancient magic's last breath.
Shin stepped into the ring of ruin and lifted Yoshimatsu skyward. The blade caught the moon's fading light—and flared with righteous fire.
His Crest ignited.
Golden light surged from his palm, spiraling through the sky like a cyclone of sunfire. The light wove itself around the others—Zera, Laverna, Tessara, Olga, Lyssa, Rynn, and Dalen—each one igniting with their own power, synchronized in a chorus of resonance.
The Crests harmonized. Not just power. Not even will.
Unity.
Zera's Clarent erupted with red lightning. Tessara's wandblade hummed sacred hymns. Laverna's jamadhars gleamed with savage dignity. Lyssa's magic cracked the clouds apart. Olga's fists pulsed like living meteors. Rynn and Dalen spun as twin forces, elemental opposites, dancing with deadly grace. And in the center—Shin stood. Arms wide. Eyes ablaze.
The corrupted wardstone shattered.
The earth quaked. Falzath remnants screamed and scattered, devoured by the purifying wind. From the skeletal ruins, the rebel forces charged. Liberated soldiers flooded the western strongholds. Their victory cry rose like thunder rolling across broken stone.
Mira reached Shin's side. "It's done. The western gate is ours."
But Shin's gaze remained skyward.
Because above them, the heavens tore open.
A rift of shadow and glass. A fracture between realms.
Through it—Voryn watched.
Not as a dream. Not as illusion.
He stood atop a platform of impossible symmetry, veiled by eldritch architecture. Rings of forgotten power revolved behind him—glyphs older than the Crests, older even than Soma's first spark of lineage.
His voice came not in sound, but in thought.
"You are early, Master."
Shin's hand clenched tight around Yoshimatsu. "And you are late."
The others raised their weapons, eyes locked on the rift. But the gateway sealed.
Not in retreat.
In promise.
For a moment, the world held its breath. Then—cheering. The rebels knew they had won a foothold. Laginaple's bastion had fallen. The west was theirs again.
But this was only the beginning.
The Talon stood with Shin at their heart. Their bodies were marked by battle—scarred, bruised, bleeding.
But they were whole.
Because they had chosen each other.
Shin lowered Yoshimatsu. Its blade pulsed with twin lights—lunar silver and solar flame. His orb throbbed once in answer, connecting with the foxfire, the Clarent, the wandblade, and every rebel soul in range.
"This land," Shin said, quiet but unyielding, "will not fall again. Not while we breathe."
He looked ahead. Past the victory. Past the fire.
Toward Voryn's core.
Toward the web.
Toward the final war.
And as ash faded into starlight, the Crest of Elders burned brighter than ever before.