When they finally emerged to the surface using the still-functioning Lutech elevator, the biting night cold hit them like a whip. Yet the outside chill was nothing compared to the frost of the depths, or the welcome awaiting them.
Lutech floodlights flared to life, tearing through the darkness with their harsh, sterile white beams. Sharp as blades, the lights converged on them, fired from the sentry turrets of the Watchers.
On the defensive bridges overlooking the area, armed men stood ready, their silhouettes stark against the metallic glint of their Lutech rifles, already charged and aimed.
Of the three paths leading to the Shardpoint of the Severance and the edges of the Rift, two were already sealed off, blocked by imposing gates of dark wrought iron, unyielding, impassable.
Only one route remained, and it was guarded.
Aligned with impeccable military discipline, figures stood motionless beneath the ghostly starlight. Black coats bearing the seal of the Lutech Archon shimmered faintly, their bare blades gleaming ominously in the shadows. Steel helmets hid their faces, but their posture left no doubt as to their intent.
At the center, towering above the scene like a banner of war, stood a man cloaked in a cape woven of gold and shadow, majestic, imperial. His gloved hands gripped a scepter forged from dark steel and radiant gold, the unmistakable symbol of absolute authority. His eyes, cold, unreadable, studied Gaël and his companions with chilling precision.
"You took your time," he said, voice deep and laced with dangerous calm. "I feared I'd have to descend and fetch you myself."
Gaël's muscles tensed instantly, the grief over Brann's loss momentarily forgotten, swept aside by a sharp, burning tension.
"What do you want?" he asked, voice low and edged with cold defiance.
A slow, mocking smile curled the Archon's lips. Around them, the night held its breath. The starlight cast long, menacing shadows across the ranks of the Lutech soldiers, each man a statue of discipline and silent threat.
"You return empty-handed," the Archon observed, his tone devoid of emotion, almost bored.
Kaien clenched his jaw, his hand drifting toward the hilt at his side, ready to draw the moment danger flared. Rai remained still, eyes scanning the enemy lines, silently calculating every strategic option. Gaël, meanwhile, wrestled with a gaping void, a deep frustration at his inability to change the tide.
The Archon stepped forward slowly, each step echoing like a fatal metronome against the rocky ground.
"So tell me… where is the one I seek?" he asked, his voice spreading a silence thick with implicit threats.
"He's fallen!" Gaël shouted, eyes locked onto the Archon with searing defiance.
The Archon's smile widened, cynical, cruel.
"Fallen? Now that is most delightful to hear," the Archon replied with palpable satisfaction. "One legend fades, and already, a dozen others will scramble to take its place."
He suddenly burst into a cold, mocking laugh that sent a hot wave of fury surging through Gaël's chest.
"But despite this excellent news," he continued, his voice regaining its calm, "you will not be spared the fine."
"A fine?" Kaien echoed, incredulous and seething, his fiery gaze locked onto the Archon.
"Naturally," the Archon went on, almost lightly. "You entered the Rift without my explicit authorization. The law demands reparation."
"And if we refuse?" Gaël asked, voice like frost, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade.
In that instant, the air cracked with tension. The Lutech soldiers, models of discipline, drew their energy-charged blades in perfect unison, creating a deadly harmony of metal and power.
Gaël didn't hesitate. "Take one step, and it's you who'll pay the price!" he hissed, snapping into a precise and fluid guard stance.
Kaien leapt beside him, his saber flashing free with lethal grace. The usual mischievous grin had vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, sharp resolve. Whether it was the failure of their mission or something else entirely, Gaël couldn't be sure. Even Nono had poked his head from the bag, little eyes crackling with energy, as if sharing their fury.
"That fine's just a pretext. Get ready, kid," Kaien muttered under his breath.
Gaël cast a quick glance toward Rai. The man still hadn't moved, but his razor-sharp gaze was already dissecting the scene, calculating every possible flaw in the net tightening around them.
The Archon watched it all unfold, an expression of near disappointment flickering across his otherwise unreadable face.
"Always so quick to draw blood," he sighed softly. "Is that your answer to law and order?"
Gaël's fist clenched tighter, his rage simmering beneath the Archon's smug, patronizing tone, his arrogant certainty that the outcome had already been sealed.
The Archon slowly raised his scepter… and with implacable authority, slammed it to the ground.
A shockwave rippled through the earth.
And the assault began.
The Lutech soldiers surged forward, their weapons unleashing arcs of searing energy that lit up the night like blades of light.
Gaël dove aside, narrowly evading a whistling strike, and rolled back onto his feet. His sword met a second blow mid-air, just barely, sparks flaring as the impact chipped at his already battered blade.
Rai spun into action, his palm slamming into an enemy's armor with crushing force. Kaien danced through the fray with deadly elegance, his speed blurring as he dodged attacks and incoming projectiles in a flurry of motion.
But there were too many.
Far too many.
Gaël's heart pounded, chaos crashing through his thoughts. They were caught in a deadly trap, each second dragging them closer to a fatal end.
'Why die now, under the weapons of men,' he thought bitterly, 'after surviving the horrors of the abyss?'
And then, he saw him.
A warrior clad in full Lutech exo-armor stepped into view. Towering and radiant with crackling red energy, his silhouette pulsed with menace. His helmet, sculpted into the shape of an eagle's head, glowed with an eerie light. The carved eyes locked onto Gaël… with a predatory hunger.
Gaël tightened his grip on his weapon, pushing every last doubt from his mind. He thought of Bran, of the legacy he had left behind, of the precision in his movements, of the very essence of what it meant to truly cut. His intent sharpened, clear as a blade honed to a perfect edge.
The soldier charged, his weapon crashing down in a deadly arc.
But instead of retreating, Gaël stepped forward, into the strike. Maybe it had only become clear to him after facing the giant, disembodied Brann. For the intent to be pure, he had to let go of all fear, to shed every weight holding him back, even the weapon itself. He had to strip away all defenses, all but the cut. Only the cut mattered.
With a mind purified of all hesitation, he advanced, cold and focused.
Time seemed to slow. He saw every detail of his enemy's face: the grimace of strain, eyes bloodshot and tainted with Umbra, like he'd taken some combat stimulant before the fight, sweat trickling beneath his helmet.
And then, in the final instant, as the enemy's weapon screamed toward him in a blur of metal and torn air, Gaël moved.
It wasn't a wide arc. Not a powerful blow.
It was a dance, fluid, precise, elegant. A single step forward and a breath as light as a whisper, carried by something almost otherworldly.
His weapon, a crude, blunt piece of metal, cut through the air. But his intention… it was clear, crystalline, divine.
A soft murmur rippled across the battlefield, a breath of steel and spirit, followed by a brief flash of light. The soldier froze, stunned, attack halted mid-swing, eyes wide in disbelief. Then his body slowly separated, falling into two perfect halves, like parchment split along a fold that had always been there, waiting to be revealed.
Silence fell, heavy, absolute, broken only by the muffled thud of a corpse hitting the ground.
A strange peace flooded Gaël, even as the Severance's song thrummed through his veins, a melody of blades, sharp but strangely comforting. His soul had finally synchronized with the blade. Now, steel was no longer the only thing that could cut.
He knew, with certainty, that he had grasped the true essence of the nascent blade. In that instant, the blade no longer vibrated.
It sang.
A song carved in steel and intent, echoing softly in his mind.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was unchanged, yet he felt different. Sharper. Clearer.
In front of him, the Lutech soldiers stood frozen, weapons trembling, fear bleeding through the tight lines of their faces. Maybe they had taken him for an easy target at first. But now, that assumption burned in them, a bitter, growing regret.
Then a figure appeared in the shadows, swift as lightning, a dark flash cutting through the night.
"You're not alone," said a voice, deep, calm, unmistakable.
Gaël's breath caught in his throat.
"Nyx?" he whispered, stunned.
On a nearby rooftop, bathed in pale moonlight, stood a slender figure with ebony hair, her silhouette regal, framed by a twilight-colored cape billowing gently in the wind.
'Astraéa ?' And she wasn't alone.
On her right shoulder, Eos, the white ermine, watched the battlefield with eyes glowing with purity. To her left, Nyx, the black ermine, coiled like living mist, ready to strike.
A second shockwave rocked the field. Someone burst from the darkness, driving a soldier back in a flurry of brutal, precise strikes.
"Kaëlan!" Gaël nearly shouted.
The young man gave no reply. Beside him moved another figure, advancing with cool determination: Cassandre Délviane. A luminic blade in hand, she scanned the enemy lines with a gaze as sharp and deliberate as a scalpel.
The Archon hadn't moved, but his gloved fingers tightened around his scepter, polished metal groaning under the strain.
Then Cassandre spoke. Her voice was soft and calm, but it carried the weight of judgment.
"They leave with us, Archon."
A frozen silence fell, then, the Archon smiled, slowly, emptily, without warmth.
"Then you will share their sentence."