The wind doesn't blow in the Wastelands. Not unless it's dragging ash, blood, or secrets with it.
A cave, nestled in the jagged crevices of a long-dead battlefield, trembled slightly under the weight of steps.
"You smell that?" came a smooth, low voice laced with venom and vanity.
She strolled with confident sway, each step echoing down the silence like a challenge to the world itself. Lust or her known by her given name, Mascara, a sin of anguish. A woman that the gods themselves likely cursed with too much beauty. Pale skin kissed by moonlight, wavy black hair trailing down her back, and a tight, black dress that could shatter men's resolve in one glance. The Fated mark etched into her sternum pulsed faintly under thin lace. Mauve eyes scanned the world with a mixture of boredom and hunger.
Following her like a shadow that didn't know how to die was Envy or also known by his given name Jinx was green, hunched, flickering in form like a candle's last breath. Sometimes he wore a human face, one stolen from a Dicarthan merchant he'd skinned weeks ago. Other times, he revealed more of his true self, a malformed creature with eyes too knowing, a body like melted wax, and a voice that scratched the inside of your skull.
"I smell it. War," Envy hissed, licking cracked lips.
They were waiting. For what? For the fateweaver.
And like prophecy itself, he arrived.
Elric. Ash-black hair, cut neatly like a soldier who never left the battlefield. Horns curved just above his ears, a sharp contrast to the sharp beauty of his red eyes. His coat was pure obsidian, fluttering without wind as if moved by the arrogance he carried in his veins.
He dropped a stack of leather-bound documents onto a nearby rock like it was a desk. "Passports. Clean. Undetectable. Their real owners won't be needing them anymore."
He didn't say "dead." He didn't have to. The detainers saw to that.
Lust picked up one, flipping through with manicured fingers. "Hmm. Wouldn't mind being an Asolden noble for a bit. Might even make a scandal or two."
Envy giggled. "Can I be someone ugly? I want to see what it feels like to be pitied."
Lust rolled her eyes. "You're already doing that."
Elric ignored their antics. "None of the other Sins are posted here. Wrath's currently with Ito in the Realm of Death."
"Figures. Wrath always was dramatic," Lust purred, leaning against the cave wall. "And what of our dear adversaries?"
Elric smirked. "Still scattered. But they're watching."
And just like that, he was gone. No smoke. No drama. Just a blink, and empty air.
Meanwhile, across the continent…
[Selene's POV]
"Grandmaster Hellstrom, your tea."
I placed the porcelain cup gently on her cluttered desk, careful not to spill. Winnie Hellstrom, Dicartha's top investigator and my mentor, was a woman that demanded perfection from everyone except herself. She looked like she walked out of a demon-hunting opera—long boots, dark blue uniform, gloves that clicked when she adjusted her belt.
"Thanks, kid," she muttered without looking. Her eyes were scanning documents on the parade happening in Asolde. A unification event, Dicartha, Asolde, and Servantia. Peace on parchment. But ink doesn't stop swords.
"You attending the parade?" she asked casually, still reading.
I nodded. "I think I need to."
"Damn right you do," she said, setting her tea down. "You're a Valeria. You represent something now."
I left her office soon after and returned to mine. It wasn't much. A window. A desk. A shelf full of grimoires. But in the corner sat a framed photo of me, Shinzo, and… Ryuji.
I smiled, touched the edge of the frame.
"You don't know how badly I miss you, Ryuji... If only I could tell you about my day. Would you be proud of me?"
My voice cracked. No one was around to hear it.
[Ryuji/Rye POV]
Back in Asolde, the sun didn't shine in the Forest of Wisdom. It shimmered. Like the trees themselves filtered light and truth.
We walked deeper in the forest of wisdom,
The trees weren't just tall, they were ancient. Silver bark glistened like metal, and their leaves shimmered in hues that didn't exist anywhere else on the continent. This was the heartland of the Frost Elves, reclusive, arcane beings who had every right to hate humans.
Prince Gray stepped ahead of me and Merlin, hands behind his back, cloak trailing through mossy roots. His eyes, usually light with pride and nobility, were solemn now.
Merlin was quiet, unusually so. Not because he was uncertain, but because the air here demanded it. Magic hummed beneath the soil. This place was old enough to remember our sins.
The Frost Elves emerged without a sound.
Their leader, Valtherien, was the first to show himself, tall and lithe, skin like porcelain dusted in blue frost, and eyes as sharp as sculpted ice. Around him were five others, some armed, all wary. They were dressed in crystalline armor made from snow-imbued ore, woven into their culture, their identity.
Valtherien's voice was music over broken glass."Asolde dares to step foot in the Grove again?"
Gray raised a hand in respectful greeting. "We come not as monarchs or mages, but as allies seeking union."
Valtherien's jaw tightened. "Your ancestors called us monsters. Your scholars wrote us out of the treaties. And your armies drove us into the cold. "His gaze shifted to me. I felt it like a blade across my throat.
"And now you bring a Fate-touched among you?"
How.. just how were they able to sense my connection to fate? These elves weren't just oppressed arcane beings from elder times but they definitely have some sort of connection to my special ability. Do they know I'm the Sovereign of Fate?
I didn't speak. I let Gray and Merlin carry this weight. For now.
Merlin stepped forward, drawing a faint line of light from his grimoire to the air, shaping a visual record, burning villages, a crater in Servantia, and the image of a red-eyed man: Zedd.
"Fateweavers are returning," Merlin said. "War is inevitable. If we don't unite now, there won't be a continent left to fight for."
Valtherien narrowed his eyes. "Why not go to the dwarves? The hawkfolk of the mountains? Or the western tribes? Why come to us, your 'forgotten ones'?"
Gray answered, voice steady: "Because we forgot you. And that was our crime."
He removed his sword belt and placed it on the ground between them. Winston, the ceremonial blade of House Asolde, a weapon only drawn for war… or justice.
"I offer you this," Gray said. "Not as a prince. But as someone who can't afford more enemies. We'll grant you full citizenship, equal voice in the continental accord, and access to the Mage Assembly. No more hiding. No more exile."
A silence hung, heavy like frost before the fall.
One of the elves whispered something to Valtherien in their tongue, the language of Erwashnin. I only caught fragments. "If they lie… we disappear again."
Valtherien turned toward Merlin."And if this alliance costs us lives? Will your kingdom bleed for our children as we bled for yours?"
Merlin answered with a rare flash of emotion."
I've bled too much for kingdoms. I bleed for peace now."
A gust of wind passed, soft, unnatural. The trees shivered. And slowly, Valtherien extended his hand.
"Then let the Frost rise beside Fire once more."
Gray took it firmly. "Together then."
But peace is fragile.
Just then, a tear in the air split the silence. Shadows coiled and twisted until a man emerged from nothing, white hair tied behind his head, skin pale, dressed in deep crimson. A glowing Fated mark shimmered down his forearm.
Detainer.
His voice dripped mockery:
"Merlin Reyleigh. Prince Gray. What a divine pairing."
Gray drew Winston instantly. "You're trespassing."
The Detainer tilted his head. "Oh? I'm taking a stroll. And now look, I get to test legends."
I knew I had to stay back. I wasn't part of this fight. Yet every part of me wanted to burn him down.
The battle was chaos in clarity.
Merlin's hand flicked upward, columns of pure light burst from sigils in the air, forcing the Detainer back. The elf guards tried to strike, but their blades passed through illusions.
Gray moved like a blur, Winston cutting through magical wards the Detainer raised. Ice arrows flew. Crimson snapped them in half with a glance, then conjured shadows into spears.
But Merlin was older than any of us knew. He caught the spell midair, reversed it, and slammed it into the ground. The forest lit up, branches turning to crystal, vines wrapping around Crimson's limbs like sentient ropes.
And Gray?
He was at his throat in seconds.
Winston glimmered inches from the Detainer's neck. Blood welled where the edge kissed skin.
Still, the bastard smiled.
"This was never meant to kill. Only to taste."
He vanished with a pulse of black smoke.
Gone. Again.
Merlin wiped blood from his brow. "Gray, write up everything. We need to start documenting these bastards. Their limits. Their strategies. Everything."
Later that evening, I had decided to stay up to finish grading papers and starting research for my Potions and Emblems class. On my desk was the list of students I considered for the mentorship program as I only had a few days left until the Torching Sun would start. The mentorship program was designed by the mage academy to help improve the attributes of students that the professors deemed skilled enough to have on the job training in the five branches of the continental code.
Swordsmanship, Diplomacy, Magic, Craftsmanship, and Economy. However the program more or less focused on creating mages.
Tess knocked twice and entered my office.
"Boss, you decided on your mentorship picks?"
I leaned back, watching the fog roll beyond the window. "I have a few in mind. Damien Danitz. Artemis. And... Shino Abukurabe."
Tess nodded, adjusting her clipboard. "Solid choices."
Just then, a glyph shimmered above my desk. A message from Gray, cast through arcanian script. I read it once. My expression didn't change. But something in me stirred.
"Tess, tell my class Professor Dorian is on leave. Instructor Perez will substitute."
"You're heading out again?"
I stood, grabbing my coat.
"Apparently there's been a development in the Zedd investigation.. and I'm a big part of it.