The battlefield was quiet now.
But it wasn't peace.
It was recovery.
Ashwan sat against a crumbled pillar near the edge of the gulch, his body wrapped in faint smoke. His robes were torn, charred in places. The Vel spear had dimmed, its golden fire reduced to a soft ember. And within his soulspace, the voice of Agniyan had faded, retreating into silence like a slumbering volcano.
Every part of him ached. Muscles screamed. Bones hummed with residual flame energy. The cost of wielding a fragment of the Dharma Flame was steep.
He'd only survived because he didn't burn all the way through.
> "That was reckless," came Ruvana's voice.
She descended the cliff edge, her boots crunching ash-coated stone. Behind her, a squad of medics rushed down the slope to tend to the fallen and search for survivors among the smoldering remains of demon corpses.
Ashwan didn't respond. He was too busy watching the sky.
Even now, the fractured clouds above still rippled with signs of other dimensions—silver cracks, flickering stars from alien skies, and strange echoes that made even birds stay away.
> "This was only one wave," Ashwan muttered. "They're testing the wall."
Ruvana knelt beside him, her face serious. "That wasn't a test. That was an assassination attempt. That thing—they sent it for you."
Ashwan nodded slowly. "Then it failed."
---
Back inside the Inner War Hall, the air was thick with tension.
Maps hovered in the air above the council table—dotted with rune markers indicating clan movements, leyline disruptions, and Flame Beacon status.
The command unit had gathered: Ruvana, High Engineer Thyrol, Flame Priestess Yalini, and two of the remaining tacticians from the eastern front.
Yalini was the first to speak. "Ashwan, this makes the sixth dimensional surge this month. The leyline under the Veil is stirring. It won't stay dormant forever."
"The demons are waiting for us to exhaust it," said Thyrol, wiping soot from his brow. "Every time we tap it—whether it's for defense, healing, or your… 'burn-throughs'—we bring it closer to awakening."
Ashwan stared at the flickering map. His mind spun—not with panic, but with calculation.
"If we don't use it, we die sooner. If we do use it, we bring the Final Flame closer to eruption. Either way, they win… unless we break their pattern."
Yalini frowned. "What do you propose?"
Ashwan looked up, eyes cold.
> "We stop reacting. We strike first."
The room went still.
One of the younger tacticians leaned forward, nervous. "But we don't know where their staging grounds are, not without sending scouts beyond the Mist Ring, and—"
"I already did," Ashwan interrupted. He slid a scroll onto the table, inked with detailed maps and movement predictions.
"Three days ago, I sent two flame-scouts through the eastern leyline whisper paths. One didn't return. The other marked this."
He pointed to a dead zone—an area devoid of spiritual energy, terrain readings, or visible movement. A place where even leyline whispers refused to flow.
"The Clans call it Kul'tharuun. Their silence vault. It's where they summon things like the Clanscourge Beast. And it's only a week's march from the Veil."
Ruvana's eyes widened. "That close…? And we never sensed it?"
"They cloak it using soul distortion magic," Ashwan said. "But not anymore. The Clanscourge's death pulse disrupted it temporarily. If we strike fast, we can collapse their vault—and delay their next assault by a full cycle."
Yalini stood. "A preemptive strike… into a dimensionally corrupted zone?"
Ashwan rose too, though his limbs were weak.
> "We don't fight to win anymore. We fight to buy time. Every hour we steal is another refugee escorted to Yalapuri. Another leyline node fortified. Another chapter of humanity remembered."
He turned to the map.
"I'll lead the strike."
Ruvana looked ready to protest—but something in his voice stopped her.
---
That night, as the fortress dimmed and the Fire Priests began their low chants, Ashwan sat alone on the high wall, looking into the distant dark.
The Veil stood tall behind him.
But ahead…
Lay Kul'tharuun—the silence within the scream.
And he knew, deep in his scorched heart, that this war would not be won with heroes.
It would be won by those willing to burn quietly in the shadows… for others to live in light.