Dren woke to the golden rays of dawn bleeding through the open window, washing over his face in soft warmth. The distant trill of birdsong echoed through the trees surrounding Celestis Rise, each note crisp and vibrant, like the land itself was exhaling in peace. He blinked against the light, momentarily disoriented, before the tranquility of the morning settled over him like a comforting cloak.
Today was a "free day" — a sacred pause observed once each week in Celestis Rise. No training. No duties. No war councils or weapons clashing in the yards. Just silence… or laughter… or the gentle clinking of pots as people tended to their homes, gardens, or quiet thoughts. The Council had long upheld this tradition to remind everyone that beneath steel and scars, they were still human. Still whole.
Dren sat up slowly, the sheets slipping from his chest. Bruises from his duel with Dexter still ached beneath the surface — faint, pulsing reminders of the clash that had stirred more than just adrenaline. His fingers brushed over a tender spot near his ribs, and he allowed himself a wry smile.
That battle... it hadn't just been a contest of skill or strength. It had unearthed something deeper — something raw, personal, and heavy. Something that rattled cages neither of them had realized were locked.
He stood, stretching as his joints protested, and made his way to the washbasin. Cold water splashed across his face, jolting him fully into the present. The air carried the scent of baked earth, pine, and smoke from early hearthfires. Somewhere nearby, children's laughter rang out — light and unburdened.
By late afternoon, the sun began its slow descent, casting long amber shadows across the cobbled paths. Dren made his way along the outer trails of Celestis Rise, winding through lush overgrowth and carved stone. The air had grown still, heavy with the scent of fading blooms. He approached Heaven's Garden — a sacred, secluded grove just beyond the western wall. Thadeus had agreed to meet him there by sunset.
The older warrior was already seated on the curved stone bench beneath the heartwood tree, where amber leaves fluttered lazily in the breeze. The sun's dying light painted the sky in deep hues of crimson and gold, casting a solemn glow on Thadeus's weathered cloak. His eyes followed Dren's approach — not with warmth, but with the tired vigilance of a man who had seen too many years, too many battles.
"You're late," Thadeus said without turning his head.
Dren came to stand beside him, hands tucked behind his back as he looked out over the garden. "I know," he replied. "Had to think."
"About Dexter?" Thadeus asked, finally glancing over.
Dren nodded. "That fight… I thought I had him figured out. But there was something in his eyes — something more than pride or fury. Regret. Pain. Something old and unresolved."
Thadeus didn't respond immediately. Instead, he watched the sun as it dipped lower, shadows crawling across the garden's stone floor.
"Do you trust him now?" he asked at last.
"No," Dren admitted, but his tone had softened. "But I think I understand him a little better. And I believe he's trying… in his own way."
Thadeus grunted, the sound low and skeptical. "Trying won't save Garrik."
Dren's head snapped toward him. "You've heard from Umbra's End?"
"Not directly," Thadeus said, voice heavy. "But the scouts brought word. Garrik hasn't moved. No letters. No signals. Nothing. It's been too long."
Dren's brows furrowed. "When did you send scouts?"
"Three nights ago — the night the letter arrived," Thadeus answered grimly. "I sent a party of three. Stealth-trained. But if Garrik's in real trouble... that won't be enough."
"We need to send hunters," Dren said, his voice hardening. "Not scouts. A full team — one that can fight, track, and vanish if they must."
"I agree," Thadeus said, nodding slowly. "We dispatch them at first light, two days from now. Fast. Light. Unseen. If Garrik's alive, they'll reach him."
"And if he's not?" Dren asked, quieter now.
"Then they bring back what they can. Whatever that means."
Dren's jaw tightened as he turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the last streaks of sunlight bled into the earth. The sky was now painted in hues of fire and blood.
"I want to go."
Thadeus looked at him then, fully. "You can't," he said. "Not yet. You're too exposed. Too important."
"And Garrik isn't?" Dren shot back.
"He is," Thadeus replied evenly. "But we can't risk both of you. Think, Dren. With your mind, not just your heart."
Dren clenched his fists at his sides, saying nothing more. Logic and duty had never felt so cold.
---
Elsewhere, in the dim solitude of the outer barracks, Dexter sat hunched over, his knees drawn close, eyes locked on the small flame dancing inside a battered metal lantern. The shifting light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp contours of his jaw, the tension in his brow.
The duel with Dren hadn't just bruised his body — it had cracked something open inside him.
He hadn't expected to be moved. To be shaken. But in the space between their blades, he had seen Dren's fire — not just skill, but purpose. A cause greater than pride. A light that made Dexter's own path feel… hollow.
He thought of his tribe. The people he had abandoned. The mistakes he had run from — his arrogance, the blood spilled for the wrong reasons. He had believed leaving was the answer. That the warrior's path could wash it all away.
But now, he saw the truth for what it was: he hadn't been seeking redemption. He'd been hiding.
He rose slowly, his movements deliberate. The decision was made. He would return to his village — not to beg forgiveness, but to confront what he had fled from. To make it right, if he still could.
Celestis Rise had not been the end of his story. It had only shown him where it truly began.
---
That night, beneath a blanket of stars and the hush of wind-touched branches, the Council gathered within the stone-lit chamber. Lamplight flickered across parchment maps and supply ledgers. Strategy was spoken in hushed voices. Names were whispered like prayers.
Dren stood again beside Thadeus, now armored in light travel gear. His eyes were sharp, his expression unreadable.
The decision was final.
"In forty-eight hours," Thadeus announced, "a team will depart for Umbra's End."
There was no cheer. Only resolve.
As the meeting neared its end, Dren spoke, his voice steady but concerned.
"What of Kael and Lyria?"
Thadeus exchanged a glance with another council member before answering. "They've begun their journey south."
"Alone?" Dren asked, his brow tightening.
"They insisted."
A long pause followed.
"They won't go unnoticed," Thadeus said grimly.
"No," Dren agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "They won't."
The silence that followed was colder than stone. The fire crackled softly, but its warmth didn't reach them.
Darkness was stirring on more than one front.
And the true storm had yet to break.