The path narrowed as Adlet and Polo continued their ascent, the air thinning and sharpening like a blade against their lungs. The slopes of the Rokh Mountain grew steeper with every step, and the world below gradually dissolved into a distant haze of clouds and broken stone. Above them, the vault of rock shimmered faintly—its embedded Stars pulsing with a cold brilliance that marked the limits of the world itself.
Despite the silence, neither boy relaxed. On this mountain, even the wind felt predatory.
They climbed in rhythm, boots scraping over jutting stones, hands occasionally gripping edges polished smooth by centuries of Apex talons.
After a time, Adlet exhaled slowly and broke the silence.
"Polo," he asked, glancing over his shoulder, "how do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Your tentacles," Adlet clarified, tapping the air behind him. "You control them like extra limbs even though they sprout from your back. I can barely manage a clean strike with my hands."
Polo huffed a small laugh. "Well… I've been training that way since I was a kid. Manipulating Aura precisely is kind of my thing."
"Kind of?" Adlet smirked. "You move those things like they're extensions of yourself."
"Touching," Polo replied dryly. "But it's just practice. And… I've always had an easier time manipulating Aura than most Protectors our age."
Adlet felt a familiar twist in his stomach—part embarrassment, part motivation.
"Great," he muttered. "So you make it look effortless, and I'm still figuring out the basics."
"Oh please," Polo scoffed. "You're improving faster than I ever did."
Adlet blinked, genuinely surprised.
"You really think so?"
"I know so." Polo nudged him with an elbow. "At this rate, you'll be keeping up with me sooner than you think. Maybe I should start worrying."
Adlet grinned, letting his teasing nature slip through.
"Don't worry, Polo. When I catch up, I'll still let you feel useful."
Polo rolled his eyes. "Wow. How generous of you."
They shared a quiet laugh—thin but sincere, like a small fire flickering against a storm. The tension didn't disappear completely, but it eased enough for their legs to feel lighter.
Then the next section of their climb swallowed their attention once more.
For days they advanced along the mountain's unforgiving spine. They slept little, ate quickly, and kept their senses strained for any sign of the young Rokh Falcon whose deadly prank had nearly crushed them earlier.
None came. But its absence felt worse than its presence.
Still, as hours bled into nights and nights back into mornings, the two boys kept ascending. The cliffs sharpened. The air grew colder. And the oppressive awareness of being watched followed them like a shadow.
To keep spirits from sinking too deep, one of them would occasionally crack a joke—usually Adlet, whose taunts at the wind or at random rocks never failed to earn Polo's exhausted snort.
It wasn't enough to dispel the tension—nothing could—but it helped them breathe.
On the fifth day, as they neared the upper reaches of the mountain, the world changed.
A shockwave of Aura slammed into them like a thunderclap.
Adlet stumbled, his heart stopping for a beat. The air trembled. The stones underfoot quivered as if alive. A surge of unimaginable power rippled across the sky—raw, overwhelming, ancient.
Polo's eyes widened.
"That level… Adlet—"
"I know."
Lucien.
Linoa.
It could only be them.
The thought struck like lightning.
Without another word, they broke into a run, forcing their bodies up the final incline. Every breath burned. Every step felt like a battle against gravity, the wind, and the crushing pressure of the Aura clash above.
But they pushed through.
When they crested the final rise, the world opened before them—and the sight rooted them to the ground.
They had reached the summit.
The top of Rokh Mountain wasn't a peak but a vast, carved plateau—an enormous expanse of stone and fractured cliffs, marked by colossal nests gouged into the rock itself. Each was the size of a village house, filled with tangled branches and shredded foliage. The ground was littered with bones—thousands upon thousands—some so large that Adlet couldn't imagine the creatures they once belonged to.
And far above, dominating the sky…
A white titan.
The adult Rokh Falcon soared with devastating majesty, its six wings unfurling like curtains of light. Each beat sent whirlwinds spiraling across the summit. Its feathers shone with an immaculate brilliance—pure white, almost celestial.
Facing it, suspended in the air with blazing intensity—
Lucien.
Wings of golden Aura radiated from his back, each feather-shaped construct shimmering like liquid starlight. His presence was overwhelming—raw force sculpted into human form. Adlet had never seen anyone expand their Aura across such a vast range… or with such crushing intensity.
Even from this distance, the pressure pressed on his chest, slowing his breath.
Lucien and the adult Rokh clashed in midair—every collision sending shockwaves that cracked stone and split clouds.
Adlet's knees nearly buckled at the sight.
He tore his gaze away only when movement below caught his eye.
A second battle raged much closer.
Linoa—her two wings of white Aura beating with a dancer's grace—fought a younger Rokh. Its size matched the one that had toyed with Adlet and Polo, but its movements were sharper now, more lethal, its playfulness gone.
Linoa and the younger Rokh spiraled through the air like twin comets. Their fight wasn't the brutal exchange of Lucien's confrontation—it was something else entirely.
A dance.
Every motion Linoa made carried precision, elegance, and terrifying efficiency. She moved like wind woven into human form—dipping past talons, twisting around strikes, and countering with attacks delivered through her legs.
Her Aura sharpened at each kick, forming a spear-like point that extended from her shins. Each strike flashed with deadly promise, turning her into a whirling array of blades.
Even Adlet, breath caught in his throat, nearly forgot it was a battle.
It looked like a choreographed spectacle—an art form shaped by survival.
Until it wasn't.
The younger Rokh's wing snapped outward in a vicious arc, faster than anything it had shown before.
Linoa twisted—but not enough.
The blow crashed into her side.
Her gasp of pain was lost in the howling wind as her body spiraled downward, Aura flickering wildly around her.
Adlet's heart lurched.
The dance shattered.
Reality crashed back in.
And the air above the summit turned razor-sharp with danger, urgency—
and the knowledge that everything was about to change.