The sky split. A towering mushroom cloud of earthen qi surged upward in the far west, painting the clouds a bruised violet and blood-red. The wind howled unnaturally, as though a thousand spirits were fleeing its source.
Elder Vash stood at the summit of Sky needle Spire, his weathered eyes narrowing.
"A soul fire detonation! … and something else," he whispered. Beside him, the Spirit-Seer clutched her obsidian scrying bowl, the surface boiling over with intent static. Her voice trembled.
"He's done it. The forge… it's gone."
Elder Rhun's staff pulsed. "But at what cost?" They all turned west, the wind screaming now like a wounded beast. Beneath their feet, the mountain trembled slightly—echoes from hundreds of miles away.
"Ash," Vash said grimly. "May the ancients shield your soul. You are far beyond the reach of clan or kin now."
Stormcall Clan — Zephyr wind Mesa.
Warding bells rang all at once.
High Priestess Alenya staggered as the Spirit Winds burst into a blizzard of raw crackling animus. It snaked madly through the shrine chamber, then burned midair in a flash of violet animus. "What in the name of the Sky Ancestors was that!?" gasped one of the wind-scribes.
The air pressure shifted. The Grand Tempest Oracle held his ear to the wind. "A strike," he said. "An impossible strike. Someone just severed the sky."
Thunder jaw Nomads — On the Move.
A line of wind riders paused their stride as their thunder-drakes shrieked and reared. One by one, the veteran riders turned their gaze westward. A tower of ruin bloomed on the horizon like a second sun, then dimmed into a thunder-wrapped funnel of dissipating qi.
Captain Reeg's eyes widened. "That came from the Red-Cap warfront."
Another rider spit into the sky. "I've only heard talk of one hunter in that region crazy enough to dive into the forge alone."
"Ashriel Embr coil," they all said in unison.
Then silence.
Dusk Bane Outpost — Watchtower Perch
Seung Lee Kim dropped her tea. The ceramic shattered against the floorboards as she gripped the tower railing, staring west. Behind her, a scroll flared with wild energy before vanishing into ash. "That was a soul-rending ripple," she murmured. "High-tier animus. No… higher."
Her lips thinned.
"What did you do, Ash?"
Claw of Stone Enclave — Deep Warding Cavern
Even underground, they felt it.
The runes carved into the cavern walls screamed and lit up in a deep red pulse, one by one. Ancient guardians stirred, statues twitching as though awakening from eternal slumber.
Warden Krug bellowed: "This is no natural quake. That was a life force-burst!"
A novice monk whispered, "Should we retreat?"
Krug spat into a fire pit. "No. We pray."
Back to Sky needle Summit – Moments Later
A younger scout dashed up the slope, panting, carrying a fresh signal shard.
"Word from the Blood wind Riders! Red-Cap forces are scattering. The war forge has collapsed. The terrain itself is warped!"
Elder Vash took the shard and crushed it in his palm. "He did more than sabotage. He changed the outcome of the war."
He turned away from the summit, his robes whipping in the storm-churned air.
"But now… he's alone."
The sky was still bleeding light. From their high vantage point above the mist-cloaked ridges, Torren stood motionless, the wind raking through his cloak, blue frost aura unconsciously coiling around his shoulders. His eyes, fixed westward, reflected the dying swirl of life fire light that had lit up the heavens just moments ago.
The blast had come without warning—an expanding storm of raw animus and destruction that painted the horizon in blinding hues of red, gold, and blue.
None of them said anything at first. They didn't need to. But the silence couldn't last. Kaelin Wind strike stepped forward, breaking the hush. Her eyes were wide, her windswept hair barely brushing her cheeks. "That wasn't natural qi… not even close. That was animus, condensed and detonated.
A spirit-man's kill strike. But no—" She swallowed hard. "That was Ash. Wasn't it?"
Torren nodded slowly, jaw tight. "It was him." His voice was low, like it cost him something to admit it.
Taryn, ever practical, crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "That distance... the Forge was nearly three hundred miles from his camp. You're telling me he infiltrated it alone and did that? Was that the Forge collapsing? Or just him?" Soren shadow claw—who'd been quiet all this time, his tattoos faintly pulsing along his neck—finally whispered, "I felt his spirit flicker… just before the blast. Something went out."
His hands clenched into fists. "I don't feel him now. That's not good." Lira, standing nearest Torren, was watching him rather than the blast site. Her voice was gentler than the others'. "He knew this would happen, didn't he. Thats why he helped you. Thats why he helped all of us."
Torren gave a half-nod. "He told me the mission was critical. That the forge was a key board piece. He didn't think the clans could get there in time."
His voice tightened. "So he went alone. Said it had to be done."
The hilltop went quiet again, the echo of Ash's sacrifice still settling into their bones.
Taryn was the first to reorient. "We need to look ahead; I won't let Ash's sacrifice be in vain."
"No!" Torren snapped, sharper than he intended. He closed his eyes, took a breath, then corrected himself:
"Not yet. I don't believe he's gone." Kaelin glanced back at him. "You think he survived that?"
Torren pointed toward the blast site. "I know Ash. He didn't die easy."
Soren stepped forward, his eyes suddenly distant. "If he's alive…then he's somewhere broken. Maybe lost in spirit."
Lira added, almost reverently, "Ash..."
Torren took one last look west.
His breath came out in jagged frost. He clenched his hand tightly at his side.
The chamber pulsed like a rotten heart. Mechanized tubing slithered in and out of bone-walled arteries. At the center of the cavern, beneath a lattice of fossilized spires and twitching qi-filaments, stood Red-Cap. His red cap was pulled low as ever, shadows casting his face in perpetual mockery of innocence.
The WHHRRR–CLICK of his wheeled sabatons echoed in tandem with the pulses of the dying forge—each one fainter than the last.
A silver-wired projection flickered before him: aerial surveillance from his qi Spires. Footage stuttered, distorted by animus feedback. A blossoming inferno of violet and gold.
The death-throes of his Forward War Forge. And the corpse-flicker of the war engine brute being torn apart mid-pulse.
For a moment, Red-Cap said nothing. He simply stared.
Then he tilted his head…and giggled.
"Ohhh...you clever little wormling you..."
"You spoiled the batch. You even snipped the smith before he finished the siege engines."
A pause, above distant gears ground to a halt. Then his voice turned hollow. The gleeful edge dropped like a mask into rot.
"Fine. You've bought your mongrel clans…time." He lifted a muscled hand and waved once. Below the floor, war-beast incubation pods hissed and sank back into the Deep.
"Pull the Brood below."
"Reseal the Deep-Tread Corridors. Strip the next front for Animus and bone." Mechanical shrieks echoed into the gloom. Dozens of lord-tier soul cores flickered briefly within the dark, then vanished into containment.
"He'll come again," Red-Cap murmured, turning from the fading display. "And next time, I'll be ready. Next time…he'll join the choir."
Then Red-Cap's voice grew soft, almost sing-song.
"Drift little spark... drift down the river. Let the current remake you."
And then he was gone, melting into shadow, as the War Below went quiet… but only for now.