The air in the Sanctuary was heavy and stale, thick with the ash of unspoken words and the lingering scent of funerals. Several days had passed since the burial of Maximilian and Lesandra, and Akero spent each one in the same ritual: sitting in the farthest corner of the atrium, his sword resting across his knees as he scraped it with a whetstone in a blank, lifeless rhythm. The sound was steady, mechanical, like the heartbeat of a clock that had no soul behind it.
He did not seek comfort, did not accept condolences.
It was obvious—the man sitting there was no longer the Akero they had known. He had become a vessel for vengeance, and every movement, every glance, spoke of intent that had devoured everything else.
Lucius watched him from the shadows, satisfaction bubbling underneath his mask of concern. The perfect weapon was being forged, and he was the smith. It was time for the next decisive strike. He approached Akero, his steps quiet, calculated, cutting through the monotony of stone grinding against steel.
"Your strength has grown, Akero," Lucius began, his voice low, filled with false respect and understanding. "I can feel it simmering inside you. But the Unknown is cunning—like a fox that's survived a thousand hunts. He hides at the heart of his citadel, shielded by walls of darkness and a legion of servants. A direct assault would be suicide, even for you."
Akero didn't look up, continuing his task.
"Then how do I draw him out? How do I force him to crawl out of his hole and face me?"
His voice was flat, stripped of passion, nothing but cold pursuit of a solution.
Lucius paused, letting the question hang in the air like bait.
"The Unknown is, at his core, possessive. He hates losing what he considers his property. His ego won't allow it."
His gaze slid toward Vexion and Ariela, sitting timidly near the fountain, still trying to find their place in this strange new world.
"He invested time and power into them. They're his creations, his investment. If he senses they're slipping away… not just running, but actively turning to his enemy… it will enrage him. Perhaps enough to intervene personally—to assert his dominance."
Akero finally lifted his gaze. In his icy eyes, there was no doubt—only cold, calculated logic.
"Fine," he said simply, as if acknowledging a weather report.
"We'll do it."
That afternoon, he called Vexion and Ariela to explain the plan. His tone was direct and emotionless, as if giving instructions to weapons—not to two youths barely out of adolescence.
"You will be the bait," he said, not asking for consent but stating a fact.
"You will step into the open, at a location we choose. You will ignite your Sources at full power. The Unknown will feel you. When he comes, we'll be hidden—prepared. We set the trap and strike."
Vexius nodded, serious, his pride bruised and his need to prove himself burning beneath it.
"I understand. We'll do whatever it takes to help and prove our loyalty."
His voice trembled with determination—and with fear he tried to hide.
Ariela, however, shivered, her icy fingers intertwining nervously.
"And if… if we fail? If he catches us before you intervene? If… if he kills us?"
Her voice cracked on the last word, naming her darkest fear.
Akero looked at her. There was no comfort in his eyes. No sympathy.
"That is the risk of the mission," he said coldly.
"Every plan carries risk. If you want redemption, you must be willing to pay the price."
He turned and left without looking back, leaving them to face the weight of their fate.
Nea, who had watched everything, felt her throat tighten, her eyes stinging with tears. She hurried after Akero, catching him in the hallway.
"Akero, please… stop," she whispered, catching his arm.
He stopped and turned slowly. His gaze was empty—no recognition, no warmth, none of the light he once had whenever he looked at her.
"What is it, Nea?"
"They're just kids," she said, her voice trembling. "They're scared and fragile. This… this is cruel. We're using them as bait. If something goes wrong, they'll be the first to die."
"We're all bait in this war, Nea," he answered, his voice flat, unmoved by her desperation. "We're all potential sacrifices. If we want to win, we must take dangerous steps. Sentimentality is a luxury we can't afford."
He turned and walked away, his figure swallowed by the dark corridor, leaving her with the sickening feeling that she had just lost another piece of him—one that might never return.
Lucius had chosen the location carefully—The Ancient Ruins, once temples of time, now just toppled stones where reality was thin and unstable. Perfect for a trap.
As Akero, Kael, and Nea prepared to depart, Alabaster approached Lucius, his pale face shadowed with deep concern.
"I feel uneasy about this plan, Lucius," Alabaster whispered, his gaze sharp and probing.
"We're exposing them to great, unnecessary danger. And Akero… he's not himself. He's not thinking clearly."
"Risk is unavoidable, Alabaster," Lucius replied, placing a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of false comfort. "But their potential sacrifice might secure our final victory and save countless lives. Sometimes we must accept the lesser evil for the greater good."
He leaned in.
"Stay close to them in battle. Your ability to track and predict the movement of shadows could be vital to keeping them alive. Their lives may depend on you."
Another polished lie. Lucius wanted Alabaster there—his instincts were too sharp, his suspicion too dangerous. He was an obstacle that needed to be removed.
The trap was set.
Vexion and Ariela stood within a circle of ancient runes, their Sources blazing like torches against the black stone. The tension was suffocating, the air thick with dread.
And as predicted, the Unknown didn't appear.
He wasn't that foolish.
Instead, the sky darkened with **Shadowborns**, and from the ground, rising like a corrupted titan, emerged Lex—the Lord of Matter—his mere presence warping reality. Stones floated around him; the air thickened under his influence.
"Attack!" Akero commanded—and chaos erupted through the Ruins.
It was a nightmare come alive.
Akero moved through the battlefield with terrifying, almost inhuman precision, slowing time as he carved through Shadowborns, his face unchanging as he dealt destruction.
Kael was a storm of flame and fury, his fire burning red with rage, while Nea healed and shielded desperately—her light the only warmth in the ocean of darkness.
But Lex was too powerful.
He raised his hands and unleashed a torrent of jagged stone, turning the air into a suffocating, heavy cloud that choked their breaths.
Alabaster fought beside them, his dark tendrils weaving into the Shadowborn ranks, slowing them just enough for the others to strike.
"We must retreat!" he yelled to Akero, voice cracking with desperation.
"This is too much! The trap failed—they'll kill us all!"
And in that moment of chaos—Lucius acted.
Hidden behind perfect illusion, he redirected one of Lex's attacks—a sharp, deadly spike of hardened black stone—straight into Alabaster's back.
To everyone else, it looked like part of the battlefield's storm—an accident.
Alabaster jerked, eyes widening in shock and indescribable pain. He felt life draining from the wound.
He looked toward the place where Lucius hid, and in the final, lucid heartbeat he had left, he saw the truth in those crimson eyes—
cold, calculated satisfaction.
"Lucius…" he whispered, voice filled with horror and realization.
Then he fell, lifeless on the cold stone.
"ALABASTER!" Kael screamed, his voice tearing apart, trying to fight his way toward him—but he was buried under enemies, his fire unable to burn fast enough.
Akero, hearing the scream, cut his way to Alabaster's body.
The old man's gaze was cloudy, desperate, trying to deliver one last message.
"Akero…" he whispered, blood pooling at his lips.
"Protect… the truth… He is…"
But the strength left him.
His head fell back; the last breath left his body.
Akero stared into the empty eyes of the man who had shown him the path to redemption.
Lucius appeared instantly, his face twisted in false rage and grief.
"YOU MONSTER!" he shouted at Lex, charging in with glowing staff, pretending to drive Lex and the remaining Shadowborns back.
When the battle finally ended, only bodies and suffocating silence remained.
Vexion and Ariela survived—shaken to their core, trembling, but alive.
Akero stood over Alabaster's corpse.
He did not kneel.
He did not cry.
He showed no anger.
He simply clenched his fists so tightly that his nails cut into his palms, and his frozen gaze grew colder, farther away.
The loss of his mentor—the man who believed in him—only hardened his resolve, turning it into something absolute and dangerous.
Lucius approached, "exhausted," coated in dust and fake blood.
"We've lost him… a good man… but his sacrifice will not be in vain."
He looked at Akero, voice dripping with calculated sorrow.
"The Unknown will pay for this. For Alabaster. For your parents. For everything."
Akero nodded once—sharp, final.
In his mind, now shackled in iron hatred, there was no room for doubt—no space for questions.
Lucius was the only one with answers.
Lucius was the only one who understood the cost of victory.
The only guide in this darkness.
As they carried Alabaster's body back to the Sanctuary—along with the weight of another unbearable loss—Nea watched Akero's back.
She watched him drift away from her, not just physically, but emotionally, building a wall of ice too thick for her warmth to pierce.
And the most terrifying part was knowing—
this time, it wasn't the Unknown who stole a piece of Akero.
It was Akero himself.
And she feared he would never return.