The air in Silas's office was different this evening, still and cold like a cave before a collapse. The curtains were drawn, the lights dimmer than usual, casting shadows across the polished wooden floor.
Bren stepped inside, boots echoing faintly with each stride. His heart drummed steadily, a rhythm that betrayed his calm exterior. Every instinct told him this wasn't a routine debrief.
Silas sat behind his curved steelwood desk, posture perfect, fingers steepled before him. On either side stood Sergeant McEvoy and Sergeant Moon. Both unreadable and both armed.
"Well, this isn't a casual meeting," Bren thought, straightening instinctively. His gaze flicked to the wall-mounted weapons, then back to the still silence of the room.
"You've been making quite the impression," Silas said without preamble, voice low but crisp. "Your actions during the last portal mission have not gone unnoticed."
Bren gave a short nod. "Just doing my job."
"Some would call it surviving," Moon muttered with a dry edge.
Silas's smile flickered, almost fond. "Which, as you'll learn, is often more valuable than victory."
A pause followed, heavy and intentional. Then Moon stepped forward, gaze direct, boots scraping the stone.
"I'm stepping down."
Bren blinked. "What?"
"Personal reasons," Moon added flatly. "It's not up for discussion."
McEvoy said nothing, arms crossed, face like stone. Him and Silas must have known about this.
"I've already submitted my request to the board," Moon continued. "But I made a condition. I want you as my successor, Bren."
The words hung heavy in the air. Bren's eyes widened.
"Me?" Bren asked, stunned. "But I..
I'm barely past E-Rank. I've only been..."
"You've survived more than most do in their first year," Moon interrupted. "You have instincts. You adapt fast. And... you listen."
"That last one," McEvoy added with a smirk, "is rare."
Silas rose from his chair, silent until now. His presence filled the room like a second gravity.
"But I'm still classed as an E-Rank. That won't look good on the Guild." Bren panicked.
"We will schedule a re-rank. This is only usually done with hunters with modified abilities, the plus. Moon will remain your advisor until you're properly certified."
Bren opened his mouth, hesitated. "Why the rush?"
Silas's eyes gleamed, silver slivers of calculation and warning. "Because you've already attracted attention. This gives us an excuse to keep you close... and teach you how not to die."
Moon grunted. "Consider it training under fire. Either you rise to the role or burn with it."
Bren exhaled slowly. The weight was already settling on his shoulders.
"Ahh, talk about filling me with confidence..." he thought. Then he replied. "If it means keeping the Guild and my squad alive... I'll do it."
Moon clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm, grounding. "Good. I'll keep you alive until you stop needing me."
Silas gave a slight nod. "McEvoy, Moon. Dismissed."
The two sergeants left without further words. The door clicked shut behind them. Silence returned, but it wasn't peace. It was the calm before something worse.
Bren's gaze followed them. Then he quickly turned to Silas... nervous.
Silas pushed a badge across the table. Bren glanced down.
"You're new badge to show you're new role." Silas responded.
Bren approached the desk and picked it up. A golden name tag with the Guild's crest and role. Similar to his original, bronze with name, Guild crest and role.
Bren picked it up and replaced his old ID badge with the new.
He nodded to Silas.
When Silas spoke again, his voice had shifted. Softer. Personal.
"I didn't bring you here only for the promotion."
Bren raised an eyebrow. His guard rose again.
"There's someone I want you to protect."
That caught him off guard. "Someone...?"
"Myla."
The name struck like a weight to the chest. A pulse of something deep and strange echoed in his ribs.
"She's part of your squad now. Officially, it's about ensuring team cohesion during the Vale Guild's political realignment. But unofficially," He leaned forward. "I believe she's being watched. Maybe even targeted."
Bren's brow furrowed. "Why me?"
Silas smirked slightly, something unreadable in his gaze. "Because you're the only one who could stop what's coming... and because she trusts you, even if she doesn't know it yet."
He reached into his desk and produced a small silver blade engraved with a delicate angelic insignia. It shimmered faintly with holy runes.
"I want you to swear an oath. Here. Now."
Bren's hands curled into fists. The second he laid eyes on the blade, something within him pulled taut. His chest constricted and heat flooded his limbs.
Something about that blade...
Nythor stirred violently in his core, heartbeats pounding through his ribs.
"What are you doing?!" Nythor hissed, voice scraping like metal on stone. "You invoked their laws. Their chains. I warned you not to bow to angels again. But you, fool, are blind to the bindings you forge."
Awkward silence stood between them.
"I don't take oaths lightly," Bren said quietly.
"I know. That's why I'm asking."
"Don't do it!" Nythor growled.
Again silence stretched between them. Then, with a breath, Bren reached forward. He took the blade, hands trembling slightly.
He drew a shallow line across his palm. Silver blood mixed with red.
"I swear..." he said as he gaze shifted from his hand to Silas. "I will protect Myla Vale. With my life if I must."
Bren clenches his hand into a fist.
[SYSTEM NOTICE: Oathbound — Divine Protection Initiated]
• Unbreakable vow recognised. Rule of the Angels invoked.
• Failure to uphold oath will result in spiritual fracture.
The silver glow faded, leaving only a faint warmth in his palm. But deep within Bren's chest, something thrashed.
"Weakness." The word curled in Nythor's voice like smoke. "A tether to a dying world. But…"
There was a slight pause.
"Perhaps this will amuse me. To watch how long you cling to that frail light before it snaps and shatters beneath your true nature."
Nythor paused once more...
"Why do I linger?" he wondered, voice quiet beneath the storm of his usual scorn. "Because in him… in this wretched human shell, I see a spark. A memory long buried beneath ash and regret... And I will not let it die without a fight."
Outside, the evening air was sharp with the scent of metal and frost. Squad Twelve waited in the courtyard near the west wing barracks, lanterns casting gold glow on their faces.
Leia gave him a short nod. "Sergeant."
He blinked. "Already?"
"You've got the golden badge," she replied with a hint of amusement.
Kovan elbowed him. "If you start ordering me around, I'm tripping you in front of the new recruits."
Bren grinned despite the weight still pressing on his ribs.
Then his gaze found Myla.
She stood apart from the group, arms crossed, half in shadow. Her eyes met his briefly, then she looked away.
Still distant. Still unsure.
Before he could say anything, the horn sounded. A long, single note.
"All Hunters to attention," a voice boomed across the field. "The Starfire Guild has arrived."
They entered like royalty. Bren and the rest of the squad approach them.
The Starfire Guild moved in formation—six members, all polished, flawless, and fused with energy. Their uniforms shimmered with crimson and gold. Their weapons gleamed unnaturally.
But for one of them... their aura was wrong. Bren felt it immediately. A pressure in the air. Like the scent of blood beneath perfume.
"She smells wrong," Nythor growled, low and full of contempt. "That woman wears the stench of rot masked by sweetness..."
"...A poison wrapped in a velvet glove. Yet there is something familiar beneath that veil…"
Bren's eyes flickered over the arrivals, trying to figure out which one Nythor was talking about.
"Ahh... Interesting. This parasite may yet prove a worthy plaything."
Guildmaster Seraphin stepped forward, tall and graceful. His handshake with Silas was warm, too warm. A mask of unity.
"My team will be training alongside yours for the upcoming operations. Cooperation is key."
Then he gestured to the back. "This is our newest and youngest recruit, Lily. She'll be joining Squad Twelve for training."
She stepped forward.
Bren's breath caught. Something about her... she must be the one Nythor was talking about.
Weirdly she looked like Myla. Not identically but the same bone structure, posture, even tone when she smiled and said, "Wow, you must be Bren. Myla told me about you."
Her hair was long and deep crimson, almost black in the moonlight. Eyes brown, rimmed in shadowed lashes. Her voice was soft, sing-song, like a lullaby meant to distract before drowning.
Myla blinked. "I... didn't tell you anything."
Lily giggled. "Oops. Maybe I heard wrong. You're just so pretty though, your like a twin."
Bren narrowed his eyes. Alarm bells were already ringing.
Silas lead Seraphin to his office. The other Guild members mingled with the rest of Forest Vale Guild.
Then Lily stepped closer to him, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. "So you're the strong silent type then, Sargent?"
He stiffened instantly.
"Don't let her touch you," Nythor warned. "Her magic is subtle. Seduction. A parasite's lure hidden in perfume."
Bren stepped back just enough to make the message clear.
"Welcome to the squad." He said bluntly.
She pouted, but didn't push further. Not yet.
Later that night, Bren sat alone on the rooftop of the barracks, legs dangling over the edge. The sky above churned with clouds, slow-moving like waves.
Below, near the woods, he heard humming. Faint. Melodic. Familiar.
That tune…
His sigil flickered faintly on his forearm. Demonic residue. Weak... but unmistakable.
He stood, about to move, when Nythor surged.
"Let me take over."
Bren froze. "No!"
"You need my sight. My power. Something is wrong with that girl. Let me—"
Bren interrupted. He knew exactly what Nythor wanted. "You just want control."
Nythor Laughs. "And you want to die blind? She's not what she seems."
"I can handle this." Bren bites back.
Nythor's voice dropped to a hiss. "You're still shackled by their games... swearing oaths, playing guardian. You weren't born to protect. You were made to destroy."
Bren gritted his teeth. "I won't become you."
"Foolish pride. But I will savor this—watching you fight yourself until you break or become what you hate."
"The shadows wait, Bren. Remember, I am always here—patient, watching, waiting to claim what is mine." Nythor continued.
Bren clenched his fists, the night swallowing their silent war.
The balance was shifting. And whatever came next, nothing would ever be the same.