Snow clung to the battered stones beneath their boots, muffling the rebellion's march toward the edge of the western front. Trees thinned with every step, giving way to jagged cliffs and wide plateaus stained with the remnants of Falzath corruption. Smoke no longer rose from conquered outposts. Instead, the wind whispered through silent forests where Renegade banners once flew, carrying no song of war—only resolve.
A temporary camp buzzed with disciplined fervor. Tents had been pitched and war tables unfurled. The map of the Western Continent lay sprawled before the assembled leaders of the rebellion. Valdorne had been liberated. The lands to the west—mountains, valleys, and ruined shrines—were reclaimed. Now all eyes turned east.
Toward Laginaple.
Shin stood at the head of the table, fingers tracing familiar landmarks. His orb shimmered faintly in its holster. Across from him, Laverna's eyes locked onto the map, her tiger eye necklace pulsing in rhythm with the crystal orb. Neither noticed until their hands brushed the parchment simultaneously.
A spark. Not of lightning or flame.
But memory.
The same pulse echoed between them. Not a word spoken. Yet both knew what it meant.
A faint glow emanated from the crests etched into their skin—Shin's on the back of his left hand, Laverna's just above her abdomen. They pulsed once more, in unison.
"Did you feel that?" Zera asked.
"Something's stirring," Tessara murmured, eyes wide. Her own crest shimmered, and for a moment, the table flickered with phantom light—lines across the map showing more than roads and rivers. Paths of fate, old battlefields, sacred sites, and places where the land still wept.
Maika narrowed her eyes. "It's reacting to something."
Shin clenched his fist, the glow subsiding. "No. Someone."
At that moment, a scout pushed through the tent flap. His armor was muddied from the road, breath heavy.
"Word from the north pass. A Renegade defector. Claims he has intel on Laginaple's defenses."
Davis stepped forward. "Bring him."
They waited only moments before the flap opened again. Two guards entered, followed by a lean man draped in tattered robes, half-frozen and barely clinging to consciousness. Scars ran across his face, some fresh, some old. He knelt immediately.
"I'm not here to beg," he rasped. "I came to warn you."
Shin's gaze didn't waver. "Speak."
"The Falzath lords aren't sleeping. They're preparing a blood pact—something ancient. They call it the Crimson Root. It's not just corruption. It's resurrection. The land's bleeding."
Zera frowned. "What's the target?"
"Laginaple," he replied. "But it's more than that. There's someone behind them. The one who taught the Falzath how to breach the veil. The one who wears a crown of shadows."
He looked directly at Shin. "They call him Voryn."
Silence fell.
Shin's orb flickered violently. At the same time, Laverna's necklace burned hot against her skin.
Voryn.
The name was a ghost from a darker volume of their journey. The Hooded Lord. The figure that haunted dreams and illusions alike. A presence they had never fully understood.
Maika's mask was off, but her stare was sharp. "That name hasn't been spoken since the borderlands. Why now?"
The defector shook his head. "Because he's moving. He's drawn to the pacts... and to you."
Grent stepped forward. "And how do we know you're not leading us into another trap?"
"I offered you Voryn's name. That alone is more dangerous to me than any blade. My blood's cursed now, and the Falzath will hunt me till my soul burns."
Shin turned to the group. "He's telling the truth."
Tessara hesitated, then reached forward and touched the man's shoulder. Her mask remained at her side, but her senses opened. "He's stained with fear... but it's not deceit. Only pain."
"Then we plan," said Maika.
She pulled a secondary map from her satchel—detailing the territories surrounding Laginaple. Several strongholds still bore Falzath sigils. Others showed signs of collapse or decay. There was movement, not retreat. A convergence.
"Laginaple is more than a city now," Maika continued. "It's their final sanctuary in the West. If we take it, we cut off their ritual sites and their supply lines. But they won't let it fall easily."
Shin studied the map. "Then we split."
Tessara's eyes widened. "You mean...?"
"We form teams," he said. "Strike simultaneously. Take out each stronghold, then converge on the city."
The Fourth Talon entered just as the words settled.
Mira, Captain of the Talon, stepped forward and gave a curt nod. "We heard the plan. We're in."
Behind her stood the rest of the unit. Tove gave a cocky grin. Rynn and Dalen stood ready, blades already humming with elemental charge. Father Grent joined them without hesitation, while Lyssa and Olga exchanged a solemn nod.
"We'll take the southern flank," Mira added. "We know the ridges better than most. Let us cut the ritual off at the roots."
Shin nodded. "Good. Zera, you're with them. You and Dalen fight well together."
Zera stepped forward, meeting Dalen's gaze. "Let's show them what real fire looks like."
Maika, Tessara, and Laverna remained with Shin. Together, they would take the central corridor through the Mistgrave Forest, leading directly into the outer wall of Laginaple.
It was agreed.
The rebellion would strike as one.
Before the teams separated, the warriors gathered in a wide ring outside the camp. Night had fallen, and the moon hovered low, massive, watching.
The crests on their bodies glowed.
Shin stepped into the center.
"We are bound by blood, by crest, and by will. We have fought through betrayal, loss, and shadows darker than death. But this..." He looked east. "This is where the tide turns."
He held up his left hand, and the mark flared.
Tessara raised her mask. "The land watches."
Maika followed. "The sun burns for us."
Laverna stepped beside Shin. "And our vengeance is swift."
The crests across the rebellion pulsed in unison.
A covenant had been formed. A Crimson Pact, not of evil, but of unity. One last push to reclaim what Falzath tried to rot.
The next morning came with steel.
Each team moved with purpose. The Fourth Talon and Zera slipped into the southern ridges under the cover of fog. Rynn and Dalen carved a path through patrols, blades singing in perfect harmony. Lyssa's magic lit up the skies with violet flares while Olga shattered gates with her bare fists.
In the north, Mira's rifle cracked the silence of dawn with deadly precision. Tove moved like a ghost between trees, picking off scouts with silent arrows.
And in the center, Shin's group descended through Mistgrave.
The forest was thick, twisted. The very air reeked of old curses. But they pressed on. Tessara's Kagetsu no Men revealed ley line traps. Maika's Taiyo no Men burned illusions away. And Laverna's jamadhars sang with every clash.
Then came the gates of Laginaple.
Ruined, but reinforced.
Guards waited—corrupted, faceless, branded by Falzath rites.
Shin drew Yoshimatsu.
The blade came alive, crimson lightning spilling into the air. The hum of High Frequency mode drowned out the whispers of doubt.
Behind him, the crests glowed one final time.
They charged.
Steel met sorcery. Flames met shadow. Cries tore through the battlefield, but above it all rang a single, unified cry.
"For the West!"
Walls cracked.
The shrine at the city's heart trembled.
Somewhere, beyond flesh and time, Voryn stirred.
But so did something older.
And this time, the West would not bow.