Date: February 17, 542 since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The evening after the funeral descended upon "Lonely Peak" like a heavy shroud. The Order of Order held no celebratory feasts, even after the greatest victories, and today, when the seven funeral pyres had only just burned out, silence reigned in the citadel. Grak Axe gathered the thirteen surviving knights in the small tactical hall — a room with a vaulted ceiling, its walls hung with maps and shields of those who had once commanded this outpost.
No unnecessary candles were lit in the hall. Only the brazier in the center cast an uneven crimson glow, picking out the warriors' faces from the darkness. They sat around a long table, and the emptiness between them — where their comrades should have been — was almost physically palpable. Kaedan sat with his hands on the table. His right silver vambrace dimly reflected the flames, and the youth caught himself thinking that this gleam seemed too ostentatious in such surroundings.
"We brought back no Relic," Grak spoke first. His voice was muted, lacking its usual commanding ring. "In the official report, I stated the mission was partially completed: we secured the Place of Power, destroyed the guardians, and prevented the enemy from seizing the nexus. The Council of Masters will accept this. But here, among our own, I will say otherwise."
The Commander swept his gaze over the knights. Liana, Elwin, Iskon, Kaedan — and nine other Warriors whose names were now forged together by a shared nightmare. "You passed through the Temple's filter. Those who perished were worthy knights. Those who survived — have become something more. Kaedan, Iskon..." Grak paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the two new Pillars. "Your success in the Temple was not just luck. It is a sign that the Order needs new leaders. But leadership is not granted with a rank. It is forged here, when the battle is over, and you are still standing together."
Kaedan felt each of Grak's words penetrate beneath his silver breastplate. The inner power in his Vessel was stable, but heavy. He looked at Mark and Brand, who sat opposite. Brand, despite the hole in his chest that regeneration had barely closed, sat upright, but his gaze was fixed on the void. Mark kept fidgeting with the edge of his cloak; his fingers trembled.
"We are all that's left," Kaedan thought. "Thirteen out of twenty-one. Iskon became the Temple's chosen, I became a Pillar, but we are still the same group that left the gates six months ago. Only now, between us are not just training sessions, but seven lives for which we are responsible."
Iskon sat at the far end of the table, his figure shrouded in deep shadow. The amber reflections in his eyes had dimmed but not vanished. He was not looking at Grak; he was looking at his own palms, as if still feeling the cold of the Central Crystal on them. For him, this evening was merely a necessary pause before the next surge. He knew that in the Order's hierarchy, they would now be scrutinized, and any weakness would become grounds for doubting the Temple's choice.
"Hear my orders," Grak straightened, steel returning to his voice. "The Seventh Special Squad is officially disbanded for reorganization. You are given two weeks of rest and recovery. Bert, Olaf, Brand — you will be sent to the inner circle hospital under the supervision of master healers. The rest of you are relieved of patrols and missions."
The Commander paused, looking at Kaedan. "After two weeks, a new composition will be formed. Perhaps fresh blood will be added. But the core... the core will remain the same. Use this time to come to terms with your new essence."
The knights began to slowly disperse. Quiet footsteps and the clanking of armor soon faded in the corridor. Only four remained in the hall: Kaedan, Iskon, Elwin, and Liana. They hadn't planned it; none of them was ready to return to an empty barracks and face the silence alone.
"I will not rest," Iskon suddenly said. His voice, cold and even, cut through the semi-darkness. "My Spirit now demands a completely different level of control. The Shadow of Balance within me... it gives me no peace. I will be in the lower halls, with the training dummies."
"I'm with you," Kaedan stood, his silver greaves clinking dully. "My Armor is complete, but I feel it has become heavier. I need to understand how to move in this silver, so I don't become just a stationary target for Harbingers."
Liana looked at her friends, and in her eyes, usually full of light, a sad smile appeared. "You think I'd leave you two to break walls alone? My 'Guiding Branch' needs tempering too. I saw how Arannis controlled the wind... I want to learn to direct my essence with that same precision."
Elwin raised his head. His Spirit of Memory continued to broadcast images of the Temple to him, but in the presence of this trio, the pressure of the past became bearable. "I'll record your training. My memory will help us analyze the mistakes we made in the fight with Mirza. We cannot afford to repeat them."
The four friends exchanged glances. Despite the difference in ranks — two young Pillars and two seasoned Warriors — they felt their bond had grown stronger than any basalt over these days. They were the core that had withstood the pressure of the Temple and had not shattered.
Iskon was the first to head for the exit, his amber gaze fixed on the darkness of the corridor. "Tomorrow at dawn. On the first training ground. Don't be late."
When the door closed behind him, Kaedan felt a strange relief. The mission to the Temple of True Balance was truly over, but their real story — the story of the Pillars destined to change the Order — was only beginning. That night, for the first time in a long while, he didn't dream of ruins. He dreamed of a silvery light flooding everything around, and the loyal hands of his friends gripping his own.