The Great Sages continued down the dirt road, leaving the field of fallen angels and humans behind them as the morning sun climbed higher into the sky. The warmth spread slowly across the land, pushing back the last traces of night. A soft breeze drifted through the tall grass, brushing against their cloaks and carrying the scent of dew, earth, and distant water. The world around them seemed peaceful again, but the silence felt heavier now—weighted by the memory of the battlefield they had just crossed.
The road wound gently between small hills, their slopes dotted with clusters of trees whose leaves shimmered like emeralds in the sunlight. Birds perched on branches, watching the Sages pass with cautious curiosity. Every so often, the wind rustled through the leaves, creating a soft whisper that echoed faintly across the open land.
Eiden walked at the front, his cloak trailing behind him as the breeze tugged at its edges. His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, sharp and unwavering. The sunlight caught in his white hair, turning it almost silver as he moved. Iris and Selyndra followed close behind, their steps steady and quiet. Iris's red cloak glowed like embers in the morning light, while Selyndra's golden hair shimmered with each shift of the wind.
Morvath and Vaelus walked side by side. Morvath's expression remained calm, but his eyes scanned the hills with quiet vigilance. Vaelus, though still irritated from their encounter with Zeth, had fallen silent, his emerald eyes narrowed as he studied the land ahead. Dravien and Seraphaine brought up the rear, their senses sharp, their gazes sweeping the fields with practiced precision.
As they walked, the hills grew steeper, rising and falling like gentle waves frozen in the earth. The road curved around them, sometimes disappearing behind a slope before reappearing on the other side. The breeze carried faint hints of smoke now—thin, distant, almost too faint to notice.
But Eiden noticed.
His steps slowed slightly, his eyes narrowing as he lifted his gaze toward the horizon.
"We're getting close," he said quietly.
The others felt it too. The air had changed. The peaceful morning breeze now carried something heavier—something that didn't belong in untouched wilderness.
They rounded another hill.
And the world opened before them.
The peaceful fields ended abruptly.
A vast warfield stretched across the plain, its scars visible even from a distance. The earth was torn and uneven, patches of scorched soil scattered between trampled grass and shattered stone. Broken weapons lay half‑buried in the dirt, glinting faintly in the sunlight. Abandoned shields, snapped arrows, and fragments of armor littered the ground like remnants of a storm that had ripped through the land.
The Sages stopped at the crest of the hill, taking in the sight.
The battlefield was enormous—stretching for miles in every direction. Deep gouges carved through the earth marked where powerful strikes had landed. Craters pocked the ground, some still faintly smoking. The wind carried the lingering hum of divine energy, a faint vibration that brushed against their skin like static.
Dravien's ears twitched. "This wasn't just a battle… this was a clash between monsters."
Selyndra nodded slowly. "Yajin and the Angel King."
Morvath crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "Judging by the damage… they didn't hold back."
The Sages descended the hill, their boots crunching softly against the dry soil. As they stepped onto the warfield, the air grew heavier, thicker, as if the land itself remembered the violence that had taken place here. The breeze carried faint echoes—distant, hollow, like the remnants of screams swallowed by time.
They walked past shattered spears, broken blades, and shields split cleanly in half. The ground was uneven, torn apart by impacts that could only have come from beings far beyond mortal strength. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of old blood.
Vaelus kicked aside a cracked helmet. "Whoever survived this… they're not normal."
Eiden didn't respond. His eyes were fixed ahead, scanning the horizon.
Because beyond the warfield—rising like a dark silhouette against the bright sky—stood a massive kingdom.
Its towering walls stretched across the plain, built from pale stone that gleamed faintly in the sunlight. High spires rose behind the walls, their tips sharp and elegant, reaching toward the heavens like spears of light. Banners fluttered weakly in the wind, their colors muted by distance. Even from afar, the structure radiated an oppressive presence—ancient, fortified, and bracing for war.
The Angel King's domain.
The closer they walked, the more the air seemed to thicken. A faint pressure pressed against their chests, subtle but unmistakable. Divine energy—dense, cold, and heavy—seeped from the distant kingdom like a slow‑moving tide.
Seraphaine's eyes narrowed. "He's there. I can feel it."
Dravien swallowed. "And Yajin?"
Eiden stopped walking.
For a moment, even the breeze fell silent.
Then he spoke.
"He's fighting the Angel King."
The others exchanged tense glances.
The warfield stretched endlessly before them.
The kingdom loomed in the distance.
And somewhere between the two, the Angel King and Yajin were already locked in a battle that could tear the land apart.
Eiden stepped forward again, his cloak fluttering behind him.
"Let's move."
The Great Sages followed, their shadows stretching long across the scarred earth as they walked toward the kingdom waiting beyond the rising sun.