Morning broke slowly over the wilderness, the first rays of sunlight spilling across the horizon in soft, golden sheets. The night's cold retreated inch by inch as warmth crept back into the world. A gentle breeze drifted through the tall grass, carrying the scent of dew and earth, brushing lightly against the cloaks of the Great Sages as they walked.
Vaelus walked with one hand tucked casually into the folds of his green robe, the other holding a small handful of dried meats he'd taken from Morvath's bag. He munched lazily as they moved, chewing loudly enough for Morvath to sigh under his breath. By the time the path curved toward the rising sun, Vaelus dusted his hands together, finishing the last piece.
The dirt path stretched ahead of them, winding through rolling fields now glowing under the early sun. Birds stirred in the distance, their faint calls echoing across the open land. For a moment, it felt peaceful — almost deceptively so.
Eiden walked at the front, his cloak swaying with each step, white hair catching the sunlight like strands of silver. Iris and Selyndra followed close behind, their boots crunching softly against the dry soil. Morvath and Vaelus walked side by side, the former quiet and observant, the latter still grumbling under his breath about Zeth's endless talking. Dravien and Seraphaine brought up the rear, their eyes scanning the fields with practiced vigilance.
The breeze shifted.
And the peace broke.
Selyndra slowed first, her expression tightening. "Do you smell that?"
Eiden did.
The faint metallic tang carried on the wind — subtle, but unmistakable.
Blood.
The group continued forward, steps growing quieter, more deliberate. The path curved gently to the right… and then the landscape opened.
The Sages stopped.
The morning sun illuminated a field of bodies.
Bright white wings lay sprawled across the ground, feathers bent, dirt‑stained, and dulled. Some wings were twisted beneath their owners, others stretched outward as if frozen mid‑flight. Spears and blades lay scattered around them, some snapped, others still gripped in stiffened hands. Beneath many of the fallen angels, pools of dark red had gathered, soaking deep into the soil and staining the grass a rusted, uneven color. The sunlight glinted off the blood in fractured patches, turning the field into a mosaic of gold and crimson.
Human soldiers lay among them, their armor dented and smeared, their bows still strung, arrows spilled across the ground like scattered shards. Some had fallen on their backs, others on their sides, but all bore the same mark:
A single, clean slash across the chest.
The wound was so precise it looked almost unreal — as if the blade had passed through armor, cloth, and bone without resistance. The cuts were identical, each one placed with the same cold, mechanical accuracy.
The breeze swept across the field, stirring loose feathers, strands of hair, and scraps of cloth. The movement made the scene feel disturbingly alive, as if the battlefield itself were breathing. The smell of iron hung thick in the air, mixing with the morning dew and the crushed grass beneath the bodies.
Dravien's ears flattened. "This… this wasn't a fight. This was a massacre."
Vaelus exhaled sharply, emerald eyes narrowing. "One strike each. Perfectly placed. Whoever did this… wasn't trying."
Morvath crouched beside a fallen angel, careful not to touch the body. He studied the slash, his expression tightening. "No hesitation. No wasted motion. This was done by someone who knew exactly where to strike."
As he stood, the bag of dried meats that hung over his shoulder slipped free and dropped into the grass with a soft thud, unnoticed at first, overshadowed by the weight of the scene before them.
Selyndra's voice dropped to a whisper. "Yajin…"
Eiden stepped forward, gaze sweeping across the field — calm, unreadable, but sharpened by understanding. The wind tugged at his cloak, carrying the faint echo of something distant — something heavy, something divine.
"This is his work," he said quietly. "He passed judgment."
The air seemed to shift around them, the sunlight dimming slightly as clouds drifted overhead. The path ahead led deeper into the Unclaimed Lands.
And the trail of bodies was only beginning.
Eiden stepped forward again, boots brushing through the tall morning grass as the breeze curled around him. The sunlight caught the edge of his cloak, turning the fabric a soft silver as it fluttered behind him.
"We must continue walking," he said, voice steady, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "The castle is near."
The others straightened, the weight of his tone settling over them like a drawn curtain.
"And from this moment on," Eiden added, his hand drifting to his waist, "be very careful… and on guard."
With a smooth, practiced motion, he unsheathed his katana.
The blade whispered free of its scabbard, catching the morning sun in a sharp, cold gleam. The air around him tightened, as if the world itself recognized the shift in intent.
Morvath nodded once.
Without a word, he reached to his sides and drew his dual fanged blades, their curved edges reflecting the golden light. He spun them lightly in his hands, testing their balance, his expression sharpening into something predatory.
Vaelus exhaled through his nose, irritation fading into focus. He unsheathed his blade from within the folds of his robe, the steel ringing softly as it left its sheath. His emerald eyes narrowed, scanning the path ahead with renewed intensity.
Selyndra didn't draw a weapon.
She simply flicked her hair back over her shoulders, golden strands catching the sunlight like fire. Her aura shifted — calm, poised, but unmistakably ready. The air around her shimmered faintly, as if responding to her presence alone.
The Great Sages moved forward again, their shadows stretching long across the dirt path as the morning breeze swept past them.
Ahead, the land of bodies waited.
And the castle of the Angel King loomed somewhere beyond the rising sun.