Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The Central Node of the Temple of True Equilibrium approached. Here, where the five great pyramids connected with the base of the main dome, the obsidian corridors widened, becoming majestic avenues flanked by statues of forgotten kings. The air here was surprisingly clean, but within it vibrated such a density of ancient power that an ordinary person's eardrums would instantly burst.
Warrior Bernard's group slowly advanced. Of the four knights, only three remained in formation, and all looked like shadows of their former selves. Armor was chipped, cloaks torn to shreds, and their eyes held the weariness of men who had just escaped the Pyramid of Sound, where every wrong breath could tear their lungs.
"Stop..." Bernard whispered, raising his hand.
Ahead, from a side branch, four more figures appeared. The knights instantly raised their swords, their inner essence flaring, ready for a new battle. But from the twilight came the familiar password of the Order:
"Order in stone, chaos in ash."
Bernard exhaled, lowering his blade. Warrior Thorn's group emerged to meet them. These knights looked even worse: one leaned on a comrade's shoulder, his leg roughly bandaged, and his gait betrayed deep Vessel exhaustion.
"Thorn..." Bernard stepped forward. "I thought you were dead."
"Almost," Thorn laughed hoarsely, wiping blood from his chin. "This place... it drains you dry. We lost two at the very gates. Where's Grak? Where are the others?"
"We were scattered," Bernard replied, shaking his comrade's hand. "We hoped to meet them here."
Seven knights of the Order of Order, battered, wounded, and utterly exhausted, huddled in the center of the corridor. For them, this meeting was a moment of supreme relief—in the endless darkness of the Temple, they had finally found their own. But in this joy lurked mortal danger: relaxed, they stopped listening to the silence.
They didn't notice how the air around them began to smell of forest freshness and bitter pine—an aroma out of place among obsidian and the dust of centuries.
"We must move towards the center," Thorn leaned against the wall, trying to quell the tremor in his hands. "If we wait for Grak there..."
"You'll wait for no one," a voice from the shadows of the upper galleries was melodic and cold, like the ring of a coin falling on ice.
The knights instantly raised their weapons, but their movements were slow, stiff with fatigue. Kaedan or Iskon would have reacted faster, but here were only ordinary Warriors, whose reserves were depleted.
From behind a column, floating a couple of meters above the floor, a figure slowly emerged. It was a Sylvan. His skin had a slight olive hue, and his long silver hair was braided into intricate braids. He wore armor of living wood and obsidian plates, which seemed to breathe in time with his movements. In his gaze, there was no fury—only a deep, age-old indifference to those beneath him.
Behind him, five more emerged silently from the shadows. This was an elite detachment, their inner power hidden by dense veils, but the leader... the leader did not hide. His Herald-level presence crashed down on the Order knights, making them stagger. The air in the corridor instantly became heavy, as if during a thunderstorm.
"The Temple of True Equilibrium is not for those accustomed to measuring justice by the length of the Order's chains," the Sylvan said. His hands slowly lowered to his hips. "The Relic will not be yours. Zanra the Dishonored left this place for those who understand the true price of life, not for fanatics of Order."
Bernard tried to step forward, but the Herald's pressure pressed him to the floor. "Who are you?.." he rasped. "The Order seeks no war with your people."
"You seek what does not belong to you," the Sylvan smoothly spread his arms.
In his palms, from the very air, two long, curved blades materialized, resembling the thorns of a giant plant. The weapons glowed with an emerald light, and sparks of pure, concentrated power ran along their edges.
"My name is Arannis," the Herald said, and his eyes flared with a bright green fire. "And today, I will cleanse this Temple of you."
Arannis took the first step, and the space around him trembled. The knights of the Order of Order huddled together, trying to form some semblance of defense, but they saw the gleam of his blades and understood: this was the last meeting of their lives.