Moonlight filtered through the gnarled canopy above, splashing silver across shattered stones and vines choking the entrance to the ruin. The Falzath spire loomed like a forgotten god, weathered, ancient, yet humming with latent corruption.
It pulsed faintly beneath the overcast night, red veins running like fire beneath stone skin. Tessara stepped forward, breath calm, the Kagetsu no Men resting upon her face. Beside her, Father Grent muttered a silent prayer, one palm raised, the other gripping the thick leather-bound Codex of Penance. The ruins creaked under the weight of unseen forces, the very stones whispering of old wars and long-buried secrets.
The ruin's maw gaped like a hungry mouth. The air within hung thick with miasma. Tessara's white robes, fringed with starlight embroidery, glowed faintly as her lunar magic responded to the corrupted ley lines.
Her crest, hidden beneath the folds of her cloak, throbbed faintly with each step. Grent's ceremonial gauntlets lit with divine glyphs, casting halos against the broken statues and defiled murals.
They pressed onward with a quiet determination, their footsteps muffled by centuries of dust and decay. The deeper they went, the more the very walls seemed to groan, like a creature waking from slumber.
"Do you feel it?" Tessara asked, her voice barely louder than a breath. Her staff tip traced an arc across the floor, sending ripples of light across unseen glyphs.
Grent nodded grimly. "The soul-rot runs deep here. This place was Falzath long before the war. The land remembers."
The tunnel opened into a wide antechamber, the ceiling supported by thick columns chiseled with images of dragons devouring stars. They passed murals carved by hands long dead—moons eclipsing suns, masked priests offering blood and fire to formless gods. The air thickened, laced with an energy both intoxicating and vile. Their breaths misted with each exhale, despite the unnatural heat radiating from the walls.
At the chamber's core, they found it.
A crystal obelisk.
Or what remained of one.
Shattered. Defiled. Yet still radiating a pulse, Tessara knew all too well.
Voryn.
She knelt, placing her palm on the stone. Her vision blurred. Echoes flooded her mind.
A young man, wrapped in silver threads, kneeling before a mask. A name whispered. A promise broken. A crest ignited—the brand of the Elder. His hands trembled, lips chanting forbidden truths, the light in his eyes fading with every oath sworn in blood.
She gasped and staggered back, eyes wide with recognition and sorrow.
"He's not just a renegade," she whispered. "He was an Elder. A protector. A betrayer. He was one of us."
Grent clenched his jaw, the Codex vibrating in his grip. "Then why return here? Why now?"
"Because he wants to be found. Because something deeper moves him."
A sudden wind howled through the ruin. Shadows coalesced at the edges. Cloaked figures stepped from the dark, blades gleaming, faces hidden beneath arcane masks.
Renegades.
The one in front bore a twisted mask, half-bone, half-metal. It hissed, a sound like grinding teeth. "You shouldn't have come, spirit-bearer."
Grent stepped forward, light gathering in his palms. "You challenge the light, heretic?"
"We challenge false flames," the figure growled. "Your rebellion brings only delay."
Then, a battle erupted.
Tessara flicked her hand, arcs of silver light erupting in radiant spirals. Her spells lashed the dark like falling stars, illuminating the antechamber in waves of searing white. Grent summoned shields of holy energy, his psalms shaking loose the very stones. The ground quaked beneath their fury.
One renegade lunged and struck a pillar. The impact shattered the stone, toppling it into a heap that crushed two others beneath. Magic ricocheted off the crystal shards and ignited craters in the floor. A fireball from one renegade missed Grent and exploded against a defiled mural, causing the wall to cave in. Debris scattered like shrapnel.
Curses broke apart mid-air. The renegades struck with feral fury, their blades singing with void energy. One slipped past Grent's defense, grazing Tessara's shoulder. Blood bloomed, her cry brief.
Her crest flared. Moonlight erupted from her chest, flooding the chamber. Time itself seemed to bend, seconds stretching like taffy. Her mind flashed to Shin's unwavering stance, to Zera's sapphire blade, to Laverna's burning eyes.
And the promise she made.
Not one step backward.
She rose, defiant. Her magic surged, drawing from the lunar veins beneath the ruin. The ground beneath her fractured as vines coiled from the earth, moonflowers blooming in the dark. She summoned a staff that split into wings of light, launching beams through enemy lines. Grent bellowed a sacred verse, his voice rippling through the ruin and bursting the eardrums of those closest. Chunks of ceiling rained down.
Tessara danced through the fray, movements precise, guided by centuries of inherited wisdom. Each strike was a judgment. Each spell, a hymn. She redirected a lightning bolt into a column, which exploded into a rain of stone and fire that engulfed three renegades. The clash of light and shadow became a symphony of war, a testament to faith and fury.
Grent stomped the ground and sent a shockwave of divine energy through the floor. The rupture knocked enemies into the air, where Tessara skewered them with arcs of light. Another spell collapsed the entire northern section of the ruin, burying foes in rubble.
When silence returned, the chamber lay ravaged. Smoke curled from fissures in the floor. Broken columns glowed with residual moonfire. Only one renegade remained—the masked one. He dropped to a knee, blood soaking his side.
"She waits," he rasped. "Beneath the mountain. The Queen. The Crown. The Betrayer. Her time comes."
Grent moved to strike, divine light flaring.
But Tessara raised her hand. "No. Let him carry the message. We're not afraid."
The figure gave a twisted smile, then vanished into the dark like a ghost reclaimed.
Tessara touched the obelisk once more.
Voryn's image shimmered—then faded.
Grent exhaled. "We have names. Faces. Truths. The veil lifts."
Tessara nodded. "And resolve. The West needs them. All of them. If we fall, let it be with fire in our hands."
They exited the ruin together. As dawn broke across the hills, painting gold over ash and stone, Tessara raised her staff.
A beam of light pierced the heavens, unyielding.
Another flame. Another warning.
The rebellion would not fade.
The soul of the West would not be broken.
Not now. Not ever.