Narrated by Veyren
Weeks passed since our return.
The capital hadn't stopped celebrating. Drums. Banners. Crowds in the streets chanting our names like we'd slain history itself. The people believed peace had been carved into stone. That the demons were gone. That the war was over.
It wasn't.
We hadn't brought back victory.
We'd brought back a sealed threat.
We'd brought back the Scale.
And we'd brought back a Fifth.
Auren Nocthyr.
Tenshyrian by blood. Fallen angel by lineage.
Silent, unreadable. A walking presence more than a man.
No one truly knew what he was capable of. Not even us.
He hadn't shown it.
But every soldier, noble, and servant that passed him stepped aside without command.
Because something in him said: this is not someone you survive twice.
While the city drank and danced, I kept to the upper chambers alone.
Studying scrolls. Writing tactical reports. Tracking every unnatural pulse the Scale gave off. It didn't pulse often. But when it did, I felt it not in the air but in the stone. Like something scratching to get out. Like a voice screaming in a tongue too old to name.
I didn't sleep well.
But I wasn't prepared for what came next.
It started suddenly.
The air changed. Thicker. Heavier. A wrongness to it like metal stretched too far.
Guards began reporting tremors. Static crawling up the walls. Sparks flickering in the halls like fireflies made of anger. Some said they heard whispers under the marble.
I dismissed it.
Until the screaming started.
Then the castle began to panic.
The door burst open.
Caelith stood there, armor half-fastened, eyes locked wide. His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the edge in it.
"You need to see this."
We moved fast.
Down the corridors, past shouting guards and fleeing palace aides. The stone beneath our feet trembled as we reached the eastern terrace.
Then we saw it.
The sky was red.
Not sunset. Not fire.
Red like a wound.
Slashes of black streaked through the clouds like blade marks. Wind howled through the courtyard below, but the air felt… wrong.
Down in the streets, people screamed. Some ran. Others just stood still, their eyes locked skyward in horror.
Fathers calling for sons. Mothers dragging children into alleyways.
Chaos without rhythm.
"What in the gods' name…" I muttered.
"I felt it hours ago," Caelith said, voice grave. "Didn't know what it was. Now we do."
I turned sharply toward the courtyard as more guards flooded the area.
Then came Nyavell calm, poised, blood on her sleeves.
"The vault is under siege," she said plainly. "But not from the outside."
Ruzakai followed, knuckles bloodied, rage already simmering behind his grin.
"Something tore through the priest's circle. Stone's cracking like ice. It's coming from below."
Then the wind changed again.
I felt it not around me, but inside me. Like a heartbeat that didn't belong to me. A pull. A rhythm. Deep and violent and ancient.
"The Scale," I said.
No one argued.
We turned.
Far beyond the palace walls beyond the city the mountains glowed.
Deep molten red.
Not natural. Not volcanic.
Like a forge in the heart of the world had awakened.
But closer rising from the central tower, a flare of dark crimson light cracked into the sky like reversed lightning.
Auren's tower.
We saw it first.
A blur of black and crimson tore from the upper window. Auren.
Flying.
Without wings.
Moving like a blade loosed from heaven itself, he streaked across the sky toward the Cathedral Vault.
The vault's great doors shattered outward stone and steel hurled like dust.
Guards were thrown.
Priests screamed.
Then Auren hovered above the ruins of the holy chamber, suspended mid-air like a judgment made flesh.
His arms dropped to his sides.
His eyes normally pale, distant glowed white-hot, then shifted to deep red.
The markings on his skin spread like fire, racing along his arms and neck. His veins went black. His mouth opened, releasing a growl I felt in my bones.
And then…
The Scale rose.
No hand touched it.
No chant was spoken.
The runes that sealed it screamed then broke. Magic peeled like rotten flesh. The jewel lifted itself… and floated toward him.
"He's not in control," Caelith muttered.
"No," Nyavell whispered. "He's being consumed."
Ruzakai's fists clenched. "Then we stop it. Right now."
But I held him back.
The ground shifted again.
The earth let out a low, horrible noise that came from deep beneath the capital.
Another growl.
But not from Auren.
From below.
The courtyard cracked.
I grabbed the railing.
The castle itself trembled beneath my hands.
People screamed. Guards shouted.
And across the palace grounds, a shockwave hit.
A blinding flash erupted from Auren's chest. Every window within sight exploded outward.
"MOVE!" I roared.
Caelith was already running.
Ruzakai tore down the steps.
Nyavell vanished into smoke.
I followed, boots hammering the stone as the wind howled through the shattered halls.
The sound rose higher and higher.
A scream.
But not human.
Not even close.
Back above the vault, Auren hung suspended.
His face was blank.
The Scale hovered inches from his chest.
A pulse of black-red fire ignited the air.
And then…
The sky split.
Not a portal.
Not a spell.
A wound.
And from that wound something watched.
Something waited.
Something woke.
The sky was still bleeding when the bells began to toll.
Not the temple bells.
The catastrophe bells.
Twelve heavy strikes. One for each seat on the Council.
By the sixth, palace runners were already sprinting across the inner grounds. Sigil-bearers ignited their emblems. Horns sounded along the outer ward not for battle, but for collapse.
Caelith and I didn't stop running until we reached the western tower, where the King's chamber guards were forming ranks.
They parted when they saw us.
The chamber doors were already open.
Inside, the Council had assembled in partial panic. Robes askew, hair loose, armor half-worn but they were there.
And at the center of it all, seated on the obsidian throne with shadows curling under his cloak, was King Halvar Thorne.
Older now than when the war began. Pale, sleepless, eyes ringed with fatigue but still regal. Still terrifying.
His gaze locked on mine.
"Report," he said. No preamble. Just a command that sliced through the room like a blade.
I stepped forward.
"The Vault's been breached. Not by force but by resonance. The Scale responded to something… internal."
"Internal?"
"Auren Nocthyr."
That name still caused silence.
The Council shifted. A few glanced toward the southern wall, where firelight flickered against stained glass.
Lord Eriven, head of the Circle of Wards, spoke first.
"Are you saying the Fifth has taken the Scale?"
"No," Caelith said. "The Scale took him."
Soft murmurs followed. A few gasps.
The King didn't move.
"Clarify," he ordered.
I exhaled.
"The runes binding the Scale ruptured without contact. Auren approached it suspended mid-air and the artifact lifted itself into connection with him. His body transformed. His magic amplified. We believe he's acting under the influence of something awakened through the Scale."
"And the sky?" asked Lord Themar, his voice sharp. "Is that his doing?"
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "But it started before he moved."
"Where is he now?"
"Still above the Vault," Caelith said. "Suspended. Motionless. Watching nothing. Or everything."
Then Nyavell stepped forward, her robes still streaked with ash.
Silence hung in the chamber after I gave my answer.
The King didn't speak. He didn't need to.
We were the Blades.
There were only ever five.
And now one of us hung above the ruins of the holy vault, possessed by a power none of us understood.
And the other four were the only ones left to stop him.
Caelith's jaw was set.
Ruzakai paced like a caged beast.
Nyavell stood still as carved obsidian.
And me?
I felt the weight settle across my chest like chainmail dipped in blood.
"Auren's too strong for a direct assault," Nyavell said finally. "Not unless we catch him off balance. If the Scale is feeding him, his reserves are bottomless."
"We're not trying to kill him," I said. "We bring him down. Bind him. Break the connection."
"Then we'll need a suppression weave," Caelith replied. "And someone fast enough to deliver it."
"Me," Ruzakai said, cracking his knuckles.
"It'll take more than brute force," Nyavell snapped. "He's not fighting, he's radiating. Get too close and you burn."
"Then throw me in the flames," Ruzakai growled. "I'll still land the hit."
"No," I said. "We do this together. Coordinated. Blade to Blade. Like we trained. Like we swore."
They looked at me, and in their eyes I saw it
Not doubt.
Not fear.
Grief.
Auren was our brother.
Now, he was the battlefield.
The four of us stood in the eastern antechamber, overlooking the courtyard where the Vault lay in ruins.
Auren still hovered above it.
The Scale pulsed at his chest.
The wound in the sky hadn't closed.
Ruzakai fastened his gauntlets. His fists glowed faintly with the rune-blood etched into his skin.
"We drop him hard, then cage him fast."
"I'll weave the sigil-net," Nyavell said, eyes closed. "But I'll need seven seconds of uninterrupted channeling."
"I can buy her four," Caelith said, tightening the straps on his spellbind cloak. "Maybe five."
I stepped to the edge, watching Auren hang in the air like the ghost of a fallen god.
"I'll go to him," I said.
All three turned toward me.
"No," Caelith said instantly.
"I'm the only one he might listen to," I said. "If there's still a sliver of the man we fought beside… I can reach it."
"And if there's not?" Nyavell asked.
I drew my sword.
"Then we finish this."