The dawn after the liberation of Kharzad was unlike any before. The sun rose softly through the reddish clouds, its light casting long shadows across the scorched earth.
Broken statues, shattered walls, and charred banners stood as grim reminders of the tyranny they had cast down. Yet amidst the ruin, there was a gentle warmth—subtle, but unmistakable. A promise of healing.
The heat of battle had long faded, replaced by a stillness that bordered on sacred. Smoke still curled from collapsed buildings, but within that haze was the scent of hope.
Shin stood silently before the Soma relic, its jagged structure pulsing faintly with crimson and obsidian light. The relic, now freed of its Falzath tethers, still retained a dark echo, one that trembled beneath its surface like a restrained scream, as if the darkness within refused to truly die.
"It's pulsing," Tessara murmured, her voice tight with unease. Her foxfire flickered faintly in the soft morning breeze. "That isn't just residual energy. Something's watching."
Laverna stepped beside her, her hand resting on her jamadhar's hilt. Her eyes narrowed. "Voryn. It feels like his corruption. Subtle. Like a seed waiting to bloom."
Zera crossed her arms. "Or like the ghost of something that refuses to die."
Shin reached forward and laid his palm on the relic. The moment his crest met the surface, a shockwave rippled through the air. The light dimmed, then flared again—only this time, threads of golden light surged from his crest and wove into the relic's pulse, mixing with the relic's darker hues.
His vision blackened.
A dome of obsidian clouded his mind. Then, from the black, an image appeared: a throne forged of bones and shadow, seated high in a court wreathed in ash. A figure cloaked in layered black robes loomed atop it, a jagged crown like broken antlers upon his brow, his mouth twisted in a smirk of eternal disdain.
"Tristan," Shin whispered, even as the word trembled on his lips.
The court of Laginaple was a vision of despair. Once regal, it had rotted beyond recognition. Where light had once flourished, now only silence and decay reigned. His gaze turned toward the distant horizon in the vision. Only two territories glimmered with color and life: Coralis and Aethelmar.
The rest of the continent had already fallen.
But then, behind the throne, deeper in shadow, something stirred. A ripple of deeper blackness that defied form, its presence primal and ancient. Shin could make out no features, no face, only a whisper.
"All threads return to me. The foxes are loyal, whether they know it or not."
Voryn.
It wasn't just a presence. It was a memory, a voice that echoed across centuries. The Hooded Lord's essence wasn't just a servant to Tristan. He was the shadow between shadows, the puppet master, the weaver of corruption.
Shin reeled back with a gasp as the vision vanished, sweat beading his brow. The others rushed toward him.
"What did you see?" Zera asked, her hand already at his back to steady him.
Shin shook his head, drawing a breath. "Tristan sits atop a throne of ruin. Falzath has consumed the continent. Only Coralis and Aethelmar remain untainted. And Voryn... he's more than just a shadow. He's the one threading it all together."
The group fell into grim silence. They had fought so hard for Kharzad's freedom, yet the true storm still gathered. The threat was not just Tristan. It was what lay behind him—ancient, waiting, calculating.
Maika's voice cut through the tension. "Then we fight. We did not come this far to cower before ghosts."
Tessara looked to the dawn sky. "Even the moon rises in the darkest night. We rise too."
Zera exhaled slowly, her hand resting firmly on her blade. "I made a vow. Not to a kingdom, but to him. To our Master."
Laverna stepped forward and clasped Shin's hand. Her touch was firm, but warm. "This was always our path. Since the day you saved me, since the moment you gave me freedom, this was fate."
Each of their crests began to glow, no longer as quiet flickers, but as radiant sigils of identity and strength. Fire surged along Laverna's abdomen, wind circling her arms like living flame. Zera's chest shimmered with sapphire light, her breath calm and steady. Tessara's back pulsed with soft lunar glow as her silver eyes closed in prayer. Maika's shoulder blazed like the morning sun, light trailing behind her like embers in the breeze.
Shin lifted his hand, and the Master Seal etched on the back had changed. No longer a solitary crest, but a living tapestry—woven with each of their crests, and perhaps, in time, more.
He looked at them, not as warriors. Not even as his Servants. But as family.
Laverna—the firestorm, whose love had become her greatest strength.
Zera—the knight, forged in loss, tempered in loyalty.
Tessara—the moonlight maiden, healer of hearts and guide of shadows.
Maika—the sunfire rebel, whose past gave her purpose.
And himself—Shin Soma, last of his clan. The fox between day and night.
"Then we make a vow," Shin said, his voice ringing out over the still wind. "We stand as one. We fight as one. For Coralis. For Aethelmar. For every soul who has suffered under Tristan's reign."
"And for each other," Laverna added, her voice full of certainty.
The others stepped forward and spoke, not as followers, but as believers.
"For the light," said Tessara.
"For the oath," said Zera.
"For the future," said Maika.
Their crests flared, casting streaks of gold, blue, silver, and red across the crumbled stones. In that moment, Shin felt each of their hearts—through the crest bond. He felt Zera's steady resolve, Tessara's pure love, Maika's raging purpose, and Laverna's unwavering devotion.
But deeper still, something else stirred.
He could sense Voryn's mark lingering within the relic. Not watching—but listening. Waiting.
The battle was not yet over.
Tessara stepped forward and gently touched her forehead to Shin's. "Then this is our Oath of the Fox."
The relic pulsed once more, not with dread, but peace.
In the sky above Kharzad, the clouds finally parted.
And dawn became day.