The city of Elandor basked in the gentle warmth of a waning sun, its towering spires and cobbled paths bathed in amber light. For the first time in what felt like ages, Kael Fael wasn't preparing for war. The scent of roasting spices drifted through the air as the market streets buzzed with the chatter of civilians and the low hum of street performers.
But none of that noise mattered right now.
Because Leiya was laughing—soft and carefree—and Kael found himself watching her instead of the horizon.
She danced ahead of him, her long black hair swirling behind her like a ribbon of midnight. "Kael, hurry up!" she called, waving him over to a glowing vendor stand.
"You know I'm not exactly used to 'date day,' right?" Kael muttered, but a smile tugged at his lips as he caught up.
"Oh, I can tell," Leiya teased, her voice bubbling with mirth. "You haven't smiled this much since you broke three ribs fighting that Pyre-tier lizard in the Myrrhfen Wastes."
"Four ribs," Kael corrected with mock seriousness. "And I was smiling. Just internally. Between screams."
She giggled and pressed a glowing, frost-dusted fruit into his hand. "Then try this. Guaranteed to make you smile externally."
He bit into it. Sweet. Cold. And followed by a sharp zing that lit his tongue with a surprising spark.
His eyes widened. "What in the Storm was that?"
"Ice-kissed sparkfruit," Leiya said proudly, popping one into her mouth. "I figured your Lightning Essence needed a snack."
They wandered the city until dusk, stopping at every odd little corner Leiya found interesting—artisan spell-crafters, floating pet shops, illusion painters who shaped memories in the air. Kael didn't mind. Her hand in his, her joy contagious—he didn't even notice the hours slipping away.
On the second day, they left the city for the sea cliffs south of Elandor. The wind carried salt and freedom, and Leiya stood at the edge, arms outstretched like she could fly. Kael watched her from behind, eyes tracing the curve of her silhouette as her hair fluttered in the wind.
She turned to him with a serene smile. "I know what you're doing."
"What?"
"Burning this into your memory," she said softly, stepping toward him. "In case we don't get many more days like this."
Kael's voice caught in his throat. He didn't answer—not with words. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly, forehead resting against hers as the sea crashed far below.
"I'll come back," he whispered. "No matter what. I'll come back to you."
⸻
The morning of the third day, Kael found himself walking through the quieter halls of the outer barracks, where the clang of training steel still echoed in the distance. Arlen was waiting for him in the forge chamber, hammering a blade that glowed with ember veins.
"Still pretending to be a blacksmith?" Kael asked, folding his arms.
Arlen looked up, his brow slick with sweat, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Still pretending you don't like my blades?" He placed the sword down and wiped his hands. "Figured you'd show up before heading off to fight a gods-damned Origin-tier monster."
Kael stepped closer, the familiar weight of his brother's presence grounding him. "I needed to see you."
They sat on the edge of the forge bench in silence for a long moment.
"You ready?" Arlen finally asked.
"No," Kael admitted. "But I'm going anyway."
Arlen nodded slowly. "Good. That's how I know you are ready. You're scared, but you're still stepping forward. That's how Dad was before the Siege of Vaelthorn. That's how you've always been."
Kael looked down at his hands, flexing them as if feeling the Essence pulsing just beneath the skin. "This one's different, Arlen. If I mess up—"
"You won't," Arlen said firmly. Then, after a pause, he added, "But if you do… just make sure you do it trying to save someone."
Kael smiled faintly, bumping his shoulder into Arlen's. "You've always been a better brother than I deserved."
Arlen ruffled his hair like he used to when Kael was a kid. "Damn right I have."
They laughed.
'This is what I'm fighting for'
⸻
By dusk, the mood in Elandor had shifted. The skies darkened as Essence pressure thickened across the city like a stormfront rolling in from all sides.
Kael stood in the center of the war room, surrounded by commanders, Essence tacticians, and scouting leads. A massive map of the terrain east of Myrrhfen Wastes had been laid across the table, where markers shaped like miniature beasts pulsed faintly with light.
"The Varnok has entered Cataclysm class," one of the strategists said grimly. "It moves like a stormfront, devours mana fields, and twists local terrain."
Kael's eyes locked on the red Origin-tier marker that pulsed slowly in the northeast quadrant.
The lead commander pointed at a ridgeline. "This is where we draw it. We've prepared suppressor pylons—some powered by Eclipse-tier cores. We can weaken it, but not for long. The main assault team will be deployed here."
Kael stepped forward, his presence anchoring the room.
"What do you need from me?" he asked.
The tactician paused. "To survive long enough to finish it."
Kael's jaw tightened, and his mind drifted for the briefest second—to Leiya's voice in the wind, to Arlen's steady grip on his shoulder, to the home he was fighting for.
He nodded.
"I'll be ready."