The battlefield had fallen unnaturally quiet.
The angel captain had fought long enough to recognize the difference between silence earned and silence imposed. This was not the hush that followed victory, nor the weary stillness after a hard-fought retreat.
This silence pressed back.
Blood soaked the ground beneath his boots, warm and slick, sinking into soil already ruined by divine force and mortal desperation. Broken weapons lay scattered like discarded memories angelic spears snapped clean through, blades twisted where they had struck something that did not break.
Too many had struck.Too few had survived.
Behind them, the cliff rose like a final judgment. Jagged stone bit into the sky, its edge sheer and unforgiving. There would be no retreat. No regrouping. No descent.
The remaining angels knew it too.
Their wings twitched nervously, feathers torn, soaked, or missing entirely. Some could no longer lift them at all. Exhaustion burned through the captain's core, but he forced himself upright.
A commander did not falter first.
Then the mist arrived.
It spilled across the ground without warning, rolling low and fast, swallowing the earth before climbing higher. It curled around shattered steel and fallen bodies, sliding over armor and pooling between stones like a living thing.
The captain felt his core tense instinctively.
Nothing answered.
No elemental fluctuation.No ambient magic disturbance.No hostile resonance.
That's not possible, he thought.
"There's… there's nothing," one of his men whispered, voice trembling. "No magic at all."
The mist crept closer, brushing against their greaves. It was cool, damp—but empty. Not dead. Not alive.
Just present.
"Hold formation," the captain ordered, sharper than he felt. "Do not let it separate you."
His spear felt heavier than it should have.
He tightened his grip, wings fluttering once as a gust of wind pulled loose blood-matted feathers from their place. Heavenly steel gleamed faintly, divine script along the shaft responding to his resolve.
Or trying to.
"Not a step forward," he called, raising the spear. His voice echoed across the ruined field. "Show yourself. I wish to know who you are."
If this was a demon, it would answer.If a god, it would assert itself.If a monster, it would attack.
Silence answered instead.
Then the mist moved.
Not forward.
Back.
The captain's breath caught as it withdrew not dissipating, not thinning, but retreating, peeling away from the ground in smooth, deliberate streams. The battlefield reappeared inch by inch, until the air stood clear once more.
No residue lingered.
No trace of magic remained.
Cold fear slid down his spine.
Something stood where the mist had been thickest.
The captain hadn't seen it arrive. There had been no shift, no displacement, no sign of movement.
The figure had simply been revealed.
A man stood alone amid the wreckage.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Still.
Dark armor covered his frame, scarred and dulled by time rather than neglect. Black rags hung from his shoulders and waist, stirring faintly in the breeze like funeral cloth. A massive greatsword rested in his hands, its blade chipped and worn, stained so deeply it swallowed light instead of reflecting it.
The captain's gaze rose.
Messy black hair framed a pale face unnaturally white, yet undeniably alive. Color touched the man's cheeks. His breathing was steady. Calm.
Human.
That realization struck harder than any divine blow.
He's human.
And chained over his left eye...
A rose.
Metal vines coiled around the stem, binding it tightly in place. The petals were dark, untouched by blood or age. It did not wilt. It did not move.
Several angels shifted back without realizing it.
The captain reached out instinctively with his senses.
Nothing.
No magic.No soul pressure.No outward energy at all.
It was like staring at a hollow space shaped like a man.
And yet his instincts screamed danger.
There is a soul there, the captain realized slowly. A powerful one.
But it turned entirely inward.
Like a blade held point-first against the wielder's own heart.
"So who are you?" the captain demanded, forcing strength into his voice. "Most enemies of the heavens have already been documented. I do not recognize you."
The man moved.
Not quickly.Not threateningly.
He shifted his stance.
Mud crunched beneath his boot, the sound sharp and final in the stillness. The greatsword lowered slightly, settling into a position so balanced, so practiced, the captain felt his core tighten in response.
This was not arrogance.
This was certainty.
"I am the Rose Knight," the man said.
His voice was calm. Flat. Unimpressed.
"The last remaining citizen of the Kingdom of Eternal Bloom."
The captain felt his breath stutter.
That kingdom…
Records sealed.Names erased.A divine campaign never officially acknowledged.
"That kingdom fell centuries ago," the captain said, the words tasting wrong in his mouth. "Its people were-"
"Dead," the Rose Knight finished. "Yes."
No anger.No bitterness.
Just fact.
The captain's spear trembled despite his effort.
Impossible, he thought. If that kingdom still had survivors, the throne would-
"W-wait," he blurted, discipline finally cracking. "Please. Surely we can come to an agreement-"
The Rose Knight took a single step forward.
The ground compressed beneath his foot.
Not shattered.Not enchanted.
Compressed like the earth itself had yielded.
The captain felt his core scream.
Move, every instinct begged him. Fly. Run. Anything.
Before the blade could fall, darkness surged between them.
Space twisted.
Shadow folded inward, collapsing and reforming into radiant white. An angel descended without touching the ground, his form ethereal and flawless, his presence crashing down like a physical weight.
The captain dropped to one knee without realizing it.
Artifacts hovered above the angel's head, orbiting in perfect, measured paths.
The throne's rings.
An authority-level angel… here? the captain thought, equal parts relief and terror.
The Rose Knight stopped.
He tilted his head slightly, studying the newcomer.
No magic stirred around him.
But something inside him sharpened.
"And who," he asked mildly, "might you be?"
Another presence slammed into the battlefield.
This one struck the ground with force, boots splashing through blood-soaked mud. The impact sent a dull shock through the captain's legs. White hair hung to the angel's neck, matted crimson at the ends. Icy blue eyes swept the field, sharp with irritation.
Loose white garments clung to his frame, gemstones embedded along the fabric. A crucifix rested against his chest, faintly cracked.
"Really, Anor," the second angel said, voice edged with annoyance. "Was it truly necessary for you to appear personally?"
Anor blinked then smiled.
"Oh," he said cheerfully. "Hi. Didn't know you were deployed here too, Astra."
The Rose Knight exhaled slowly.
Two throne-level angels, he noted.
Not ideal.
But acceptable.