In the first week, the pain was unbearable.
By the second, it had turned to rage.
And then came the silence.
The kind of silence that engulfs everything. The house. The fields. The memories.
The desperate attempt with Ziek's brother—the risky ritual, the broken circles, the ancient words that burned on their tongues—ended in failure. An unstable portal, an explosion of light, and nothing but magical dust and disappointment.
But they didn't stop.
Ziek buried himself in ancient scrolls.
Eira sought out sorcerers who shouldn't even be alive.
Saphira risked allying with secret orders.
And Lino… Lino just trained. Always. Until blood coated his arms.
They didn't know if Jin and Marcus were dead.
Or worse than dead.
But they never stopped searching.
For two years, they faced monsters, infiltrated libraries hidden beneath deserts, clashed with clerics, and bargained with entities.
Nothing.
Not a trace of the inferno.
Not a crack in the veil of the world.
Two years passed.
Night fell over the capital like a thick, silent cloak. The streets, once bustling, were now filled with calm, determined footsteps.
At the top of an ancient tower, used by heroes for generations, eight figures gathered once more.
Kaellia arrived first, the silver crest of the capital's main force gleaming on her shoulder. She now carried herself with the posture of someone bearing responsibilities greater than her own life—and perhaps because of that, she smiled less.
The room was silent, save for the distant crackling of the fireplace's wood. Shadows from the flames danced across the stone walls until the door creaked open slowly.
Allan was the first to enter. He was taller now, his body shaped by royal armor, his brown hair cropped short, and his gaze as steady as steel. He walked toward Kaellia with a half-smile but lowered his head in respect as he approached.
"Sub-leader," he said in a deep voice, placing his fist over his chest.
Kaellia, seated at the table, smiled, her hair now tied in a tight bun, a thin scar running across her left eyebrow.
"No need for formalities, Captain," she replied calmly, though their mutual respect was palpable.
Tolen entered next, wearing a dark blue cape of the guard, his posture impeccable. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed sleepless nights, and the way he scanned his surroundings suggested he still couldn't relax.
"Vice-captain," Allan murmured, clapping his shoulder as he passed.
Tolen nodded silently, his eyes immediately seeking Kaellia for instructions.
Mireya appeared next, shrinking between the two. Her hair was short now, and her simple dress contrasted with the delicate court brooches pinned to her collar. She clutched a thin grimoire to her chest.
"Still my shadow, Mireya?" Kaellia asked with a genuine smile.
"Sub-leader's assistant," she replied with pride, though her voice remained soft.
Lyn was next. She wore light robes with golden embroidery, the royal family's insignia pinned to her cloak. Her hair was tied in an elegant braid, and her eyes, once vibrant, now carried more responsibility than youth.
"Official healer of the princess," Tolen teased as she approached.
"Only if I manage to sleep tonight," she replied, rubbing her neck with a tired smile.
Saphira appeared shortly after, dressed in a dark cloak that concealed most of her body. Her eyes still held the restless spark of childhood, but her steps were too confident for an ordinary mage.
"The prodigy mage," Mireya whispered to Allan as she passed.
"Does anyone even know where she came from?" Lyn whispered back.
No one answered.
Ziek entered almost unnoticed, his hair longer, tied in a low ponytail, and a sword larger than most men could carry slung across his back. A new scar ran across his jaw, and there was something wild in his eyes—as if he'd been too far from civilization for too long.
"The kids in the city line up to see you," Allan commented. "Legendary hero and all."
Ziek merely shrugged, leaning against the wall as if he didn't want to take up space.
Finally, two arrived together.
Lino was unrecognizable. The blond hair that once fell in soft strands was now short, shaved on the sides. There was a hardness in his gaze, in his calloused hands, in his tense shoulders. No insignia, no title. Just presence.
"Gone for two years…" Lyn muttered softly.
"And came back like this," Allan finished, impressed.
Beside him, Eira. Her black cloak hid part of her face, but her green eyes shone as always—intense and wary. Her light armor, marked by cuts and repairs, told stories of solitary battles. No group, no crest.
"The shadowy adventurer," Ziek said dryly. "They say she takes the missions no one dares touch."
Eira raised an eyebrow and replied firmly, "They say a lot of things."
Silence fell again, but now there was something electric in the air.
They were all there.
Changed. Stronger.
And each carrying their own ghosts.
---
At the base of the tower, in the main hall, Ziek's brother was already waiting for them.
A gaunt man with sunken eyes, a scruffy beard, and hands that trembled faintly even when still. His name was never spoken aloud—everyone simply called him "Ziek's brother," as if he carried a burden too ancient to need an introduction.
He greeted them with a brief nod and got straight to the point:
"A report was sent to the guild from a small village in the Muni Islands."
Allan raised his eyebrows.
"That's far. How did you get word from there?"
Ziek's brother ignored the question.
"Doesn't matter. The report said: 'A small crack appeared in a resident's house in the city of Digo. Blood constantly seeps from it. Shadows seem to be drawn into it.'"
A heavy silence fell over the group.
Ziek crossed his arms.
"We won't know for sure until we check."
Kaellia cleared her throat, hesitant.
"It's just a theory, but—"
"We'll figure out what to do when we get there," Saphira interrupted firmly.
No one disagreed.
And so, as they had two years ago, they set out together.
But now… they were no longer the same.
And the Muni Islands awaited them.
The central square in front of the royal mansion buzzed with final preparations.
Kaellia gave short, firm instructions while Allan and Tolen organized the supplies.
Mireya adjusted documents alongside Lyn, and Saphira, standing apart, watched in silence, her eyes restless.
Ziek chatted with some children who approached him.
Lino sat beside Eira, gazing at the sky.
The activity ceased. Vendors fell silent, sentinels stood at attention. Even the birds atop the towers stopped flying.
Kaellia's group, gathered in the square, was preparing to depart when a metallic clank echoed through the air.
The main gate of the royal mansion opened with a dull thud.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
From the shadowed portal emerged the first figure.
No fanfare, no trumpets.
Princess Eriane Althair.
Her dress was white with golden accents, but the fabric seemed to float around her, as if the air itself avoided touching her. Her dark blue hair cascaded in perfect waves, her clear golden eyes glowing with divine serenity.
Beautiful as a living legend.
Each of her steps echoed with precision, yet softly.
The entire square seemed to bow in silence to her presence.
The air grew heavy.
Slowly, people began to kneel, as if an invisible hand pressed down on their shoulders. It wasn't just respect—it was instinct. Fear. Submission.
Then a voice rumbled from behind her.
"Sister…" said a hoarse, powerful voice, "…I've told you not to go out so casually."
Prince Kaeron Althair emerged next, his impact as violent as a hammer strike.
Tall, with muscles defined as if sculpted by a divine artist. His dark blue hair was long yet elegant, and his eyes—one golden, the other blood-red—seemed to pierce straight into the soul of anyone who dared meet his gaze.
Each step made the ground tense, as if space itself bent beneath him.
"I need to fetch my dear little sister…" Eriane replied with a delicate smile. "And who would be foolish enough to attack me with Father nearby?"
Her gaze turned backward.
The world seemed to freeze.
King Aserion Althair emerged calmly, with slow steps.
Tall as a marble pillar.
His movements were silent, but each one reverberated like contained thunder. White hair like snow, eyes red as fire, a well-groomed beard, not a single scratch marred his skin. He didn't need to say anything. His presence crushed like gravity.
Beside him appeared Queen Lyssandrel.
Tall, with a slender, sublime posture. Clad in a dress dark as obsidian, she moved with the grace of a living shadow. Her dark blue hair was tied in delicate braids, her golden eyes unblinking. Her dress molded to her body like mist.
Her beauty was untouchable, her eyes too deep to hold for long.
Kaellia knelt immediately, as did Lyn, Allan, and the others. Even Ziek lowered his head slowly.
Eira didn't move.
She stood there, arms crossed, watching.
The king stopped before Kaellia. His voice was deep and resonant.
"You're leaving?"
Kaellia kept her face lowered.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I'm searching for a lost companion."
Aserion narrowed his eyes. His aura grew heavier—a field of pure will crushing everything around.
"You don't have time for that."
The queen remained silent, but her gaze fell on each member of the group, as if measuring their lives with a single thought.
The prince spoke with an arrogant tone.
"I bet it's just another piece of trash you lost on the battlefield."
Eira lowered her head.
The king raised his hand.
"Lyn. Allan. Kaellia. The order is to come with me now."
Allan seemed about to speak, but a single glance from Aserion silenced him. His fist clenched until it trembled.
Eriane's soft voice rang out unexpectedly.
"Are you taking good care of my little sister?"
She walked slowly toward Lyn, running her hands through her hair.
Lyn blinked.
"Little sister…?"
All eyes turned to the princess.
Saphira let out a frustrated sigh and stood.
"Eri… I told you not to say anything."
The silence was absolute. The weight of the revelation crashed over the group like a boulder.
Royal blood ran through Saphira. Her demeanor, her mannerisms, her restrained posture. The two years of minimal contact. It all made sense now.
Eriane approached and took her hand gently.
"Come, Saphi. We still have much to do."
Eira snorted, almost laughing, as if mocking the scene.
The king merely looked at her.
"Sorry for the rudeness… I just never learned to grovel near royalty."
Kaeron turned slowly, a smile still on his lips. He took two steps, stopping before Eira.
"Lower your head when addressing the king, you insolent brat."
Eira didn't blink. Her eyes locked on his, icy.
"I was talking to him. You'd better not open your mouth again while I'm still asking."
The silence turned to pure tension.
The prince smiled.
The sound of metal leaving its sheath was sharp, violent.
Kaeron drew his sword.
"Your sentence is death. Rejoice—I'll make it painless."
He lunged, fast as lightning.
Aserion's aura exploded—the ground cracked beneath his feet, a crushing pressure descended on the square.
Everyone fell to their knees. Even the guild guards behind them staggered, choking.
But Eira stood firm, her knees unbent.
Kaeron was inches away, his blade arcing toward her neck.
Then, *clang*.
Lino caught the sword with his bare hands. Blood dripped between his fingers, but he didn't flinch.
The prince saw his head rolling on the ground.
He blinked.
It was just a vision.
"I have no intention of starting a war with the crown…" Lino said, his voice low and firm.
He released the sword and faced the prince.
The prince's face darkened.
"And who are you?"
Eriane paused at the entrance with Saphira by her side. She looked deep into Eira's eyes.
"My brother's an idiot… but don't think he's weak."
Then she turned away.
Lino did the same.
"Let's go, Eira."
Eira hesitated for a moment, then looked at the king and spat on the ground beside her.
"Sorry about that… but we need your precious pawns."
Kaeron gritted his teeth, ready to attack again.
The king's voice cut through like a blade.
"Enough."
He stared at Eira as if marking her name forever.
"I'll let this slide… for today. We're in an informal setting. Next time, you won't leave this square with your head."
Ziek approached Lino and Eira, then looked at Kaellia.
"We'll handle this."
Kaellia looked at them, a lump in her throat, then bowed her head to the king.
"I'm sorry. I leave it in your hands, Ziek."
The group split apart. The atmosphere, shattered. The cracks forming in that moment would spread across the land.
Ziek was about to follow the others when Aserion's firm voice reached him:
"You've become known for your strength, boy."
He stopped. The air seemed to catch in the group's throats.
"Yes…" Ziek replied without turning. "Just stories."
The king walked slowly toward him, his steps reverberating like muffled drums.
"We'll need your help too."
Ziek turned, facing him directly, his eyes narrow and tense.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but someone important to me is in danger. I need—"
"You're mistaken," Aserion interrupted, his voice as sharp as a blade. "I'm not asking. You *will* come with me."
The air seemed to tremble. Then *she* spoke.
The Queen.
Her voice was calm, like a night breeze, but it carried an authority none of them would dare defy. Gentle, yet… terrifyingly commanding.
"Let's be kind to each other, shall we? The whole group helps the kingdom… and then the kingdom helps the group. What do you say?"
Kaellia smiled, lifting one corner of her lips with diplomacy.
"Your Majesty."
But Lino took a step forward, his expression rigid.
"And why us, exactly?"
The king looked at him coldly, almost bored.
"You're nothing special, boy… Just civilians in my eyes."
A murmur cut through the air, but the queen intervened with glacial elegance:
"But we recognize that you're strong together."
The king nodded, as if it had already been decided before they were even summoned.
"All the guild's groups have already been called. You're the last ones left."
Ziek clenched his fists. His once-calm eyes now burned beneath half-closed lids.
Aserion met his gaze with something between a warning and an order:
"This isn't a request… You're coming with me too."
Silence.
The group stood motionless for long seconds. Until the wind blew through Eira's hair, and a single thought cut through their minds like a cold blade:
War was no longer a distant shadow.