The sun had not yet risen, but the heavens above the Laginaple frontier had already begun to glow with a bluish silver mist, casting an ethereal shimmer over the jagged ridgelines and broken battlements. The battle from the night before still lingered in the smell of charred stone, blood, and the cracked bones of Renegades strewn along the ruined valley pass. Smoke curled lazily from the shattered parapets of the stronghold where Maika and Rynn had made their final stand. Even the crows were silent, as if mourning what had transpired.
Beneath the pale twilight, Shin stood alone atop a crag of blackened rock that overlooked the war-torn expanse. The wind tugged at the hem of his cloak, revealing flashes of crimson beneath like silent warnings. His eyes, one golden and the other red, were fixed on the horizon—not merely watching, but piercing through it, searching for something far beyond. In his hand, the orb pulsed erratically, veins of moonlight-threaded ki crackling against his palm like living veins of energy. His breathing slowed, drawn from the deepest core of his being, as he exhaled to summon the power that now surged inside him like a rising tide.
The orb vibrated violently.
A fissure of lightning carved through the atmosphere, momentarily splitting the sky in two. From the expanding glow of raw energy, Yoshimatsu emerged in his hand. The blade sang with ancient fury as it materialized, vibrating at high frequency, crimson arcs spiraling out from the katana's edge like wild spirits unchained. The ancient mithril gleamed, catching the low light and casting flickering reflections across Shin's solemn expression, each flicker revealing a warrior shaped by loss and resolve.
His Crest of Elders flared brilliantly against the back of his left hand.
A wave of force radiated outward, trembling through the rocks, uprooting shattered grass, and echoing like a battle cry carried by the earth itself. The blade hummed in harmony with the crest, resonating with a clarity that felt older than time, as if it too had felt the tremors of legacy and fury rising in tandem. And in that moment, Shin saw the threads of Tristan's corrupted light echoing through the Crest of Elders. Not in physical space, but in the quiet metaphysical glow of the mark they both bore—a shared wound, and a shared destiny.
"I see you," he whispered, his voice low, cold, and resolute. "And I'll cut through your lies."
Far below, Laverna jerked her head upward, amber eyes wide with sudden recognition. The jamadhars at her side quivered like blades awakening, and the tiger eye necklace at her throat flared with a burst of warmth, responding to something ancient and familiar. She staggered under the intensity of the feeling, then steadied herself, her hand reflexively clasping the gem as if drawing courage from the memory it held.
"Shin..." she murmured.
Next to her, Mira cocked an eyebrow, rifle slung across her back, scanning the ridge above with seasoned precision. "You felt that too?"
"His pain," Laverna said. "His fury. The crest is resonating with everything he is."
Mira knelt, pressing her hand to the scorched ground, feeling the lingering current that had surged through the earth like a pulse. "Then the time's right. We strike Laginaple with everything we've got. He's ready. And so are we."
The wind howled as Shin sheathed Yoshimatsu, the blade's energy retracting into his orb like blood flowing back into a heart after battle. He descended from the crag, his footsteps steady and purposeful, each one setting the earth slightly trembling beneath him, as though the world itself recognized his march.
Father Grent met him at the base. The priest's massive frame had weathered countless battles, his armor dented and his robes frayed, but his eyes now carried an edge of old wisdom—seasoned by faith, not just war.
"You summoned it again," Grent said. "The sword remembers."
Shin nodded. "And so do I. He's close. I felt him closer than ever."
"The betrayal still stains the Crest," Grent murmured, fingers brushing the ancient symbol. "But yours... still carries light. And hope."
Laverna joined them moments later, her presence as swift and quiet as a predator in the dark. She met Shin's gaze with the intensity of someone who had already decided that her path ended wherever his did.
"He's not the only one carrying light," she said. "I'll see this through with you. Until the very end."
Mira and Maika arrived behind her, followed by Rynn and Tove. Their armor bore the marks of battle, their eyes the fire of unyielding resolve. The outposts around Laginaple had fallen one by one, each victory a spark in the wildfire of rebellion. And now, the inferno had reached its peak—the time to strike the heart had come.
Rynn stepped forward, the fire blade at her side flickering with unspent wrath even in the still air. "What's the plan?"
Shin looked at each of them. His allies. His family. Each bore a crest. Each had endured suffering, spilled blood, and walked the brink of death. Their pain and victories weren't just shared—they were etched into his soul.
"The crests... they're connected," Shin said. "Not just to power. But to purpose. Ours glows when we stand for what we believe in. Against the darkness that stole everything. Tristan. Voryn. The Soma path... it all ends in Laginaple."
They gathered around a map etched into the earth, lines drawn with Mira's bayonet, reinforced by Dalen and Lyssa's earlier reports. The regions of Laginaple remained under Tristan's malignant influence, but the Renegade outposts had been fractured by weeks of calculated and unrelenting assault.
Mira tapped a region near the coast. "This gate controls sea trade. Take it, and the supply line chokes."
Maika gestured to a highland fortress. "They've fortified it with Falzath-born mages. I'll take Rynn and Olga. We'll reduce it to ash."
Grent nodded, placing a steady hand over his chest. "And I will cover your wounded. None fall today. Not on my watch."
Shin turned to Laverna, his hand briefly brushing hers, and in that touch, the tiger eye necklace between them glowed faintly. The warmth it radiated was not just magical, but shared.
"Tristan will be there," he said. "He'll feel our approach like thunder."
Laverna's eyes hardened to steel. "Then let him feel it. Let him know we're coming to end what he started—and what we will finish."
And the plan took shape: coordinated strikes through three critical regions, culminating in a final assault on the corrupted palace of Laginaple. A place that once held light, now twisted beyond recognition by Falzath's shadows and Tristan's madness.
The night before the attack, Shin stood alone again. This time, not in pain. But reflection.
He remembered the days when he was just a nameless wanderer with an orb and a scarred heart. When Yoshimatsu was but a whisper of promise, a dream forged in forgotten fire. When the names Laverna, Maika, Zera, Mira, Tessara, and all the others were still distant stars scattered in his destiny's sky. And now, they were constellations—guiding lights in his chosen night.
Yoshimatsu shimmered softly at his side, its vibration harmonizing with something deep within.
"Resonance," he whispered, eyes lifting to the stars. "Not just of power. But of people. Of purpose. Of legacy."
And the stars blinked in agreement, their silent light cast down upon the warriors below.
The war for Laginaple had begun.