Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The ring around the thirteen knights of the Order of Order finally closed. Legate Valerius and Baron Kaelen stood on either side of Grak the Axe, their presence creating two powerful poles of attraction in the space. The air between them crackled with static tension and golden sparks—two great houses were about to unleash their combined might upon the northerners.
Kaedan felt his Vessel, exhausted by recent battles, pulse painfully under this double pressure. His remaining right vambrace and greaves were covered in frost—his essence's reaction to the alien pressure. The young man stood shoulder to shoulder with Iskon, and though they could barely stand, there was not a shadow of doubt in their eyes.
"Time to end this comedy, Grak," Valerius said, slowly raising his sword. "Your Order has always been nothing but an annoying hindrance to progress."
Baron Kaelen merely nodded, his Spirit of the "Golden Aegis" beginning to expand, transforming into a series of sharp facets aimed at the knights. The combined concentrated energy of the two Heralds was such that the slabs beneath the thirteen Order knights began to slowly melt.
Grak the Axe planted his foot forward, his axe flaring with blinding white light. The Commander was preparing his final "Cleaving Strike," understanding that his group had almost no chance of surviving this clash.
But at that very moment, as Valerius was already winding up his blade for the first lunge, the silence of the dome was torn by a sound like the whistle of a falling meteor.
All present involuntarily looked up. High under the dome, among the Temple's artificial constellations, a bright point flared. It descended rapidly, cutting through space with such speed that the air behind it ignited with blue flame.
A second later, the Central Node shuddered with an impact of incredible force. Something heavy slammed into the platform's center, directly between Grak and Valerius. Obsidian slabs exploded into dust, and a powerful shockwave radiated in all directions, forcing even the Heralds to retreat a few steps.
When the dust and debris settled, the knights saw a figure in the center of the fresh crater. It was an old man.
He wore simple, in places torn, grey clothing, devoid of any insignia, but his presence spoke for itself. Long grey hair was disheveled, and his face, etched with deep wrinkles, expressed only mild boredom. The old man slowly straightened up, his spine cracking, and brushed dust from his bony shoulders.
"Oh, my joints aren't what they used to be," he squeaked, and his voice, despite its old rasp, carried throughout the hall, drowning out the roar of Mirza and Arannis's battle. "So far to travel... Zanra always did like building ceilings too high."
Legate Valerius frowned, his sword trembling finely. He sensed that before him was no ordinary old man. The inner energy of this stranger was quiet, like a frozen ocean, but within that silence lurked a power capable of swallowing entire cities.
"Who are you, old man?" Valerius barked. "Leave before we grind you into dust along with this Order."
The old man slowly turned his head. His eyes were piercingly blue, devoid of senile cloudiness. "Attacking two against one is in poor taste, young man," he said, and steel flickered in his gaze. "In my time, that was grounds for losing the right to bear a sword. I am Master Magnus, a member of the Inner Circle of the Agrim Family. And I am here to ensure that the Temple of True Equilibrium does not become a shop for thieves."
Magnus took one light step, and suddenly he was directly opposite Legate Valerius. The space around them instantly stabilized, displacing Alvost's influence.
"You make too much noise, Legate," Magnus clasped his hands behind his back, his Herald-rank figure becoming an immovable barrier. "Why don't you deal with me, and let the Order sort out its own affairs."
Valerius recoiled, his Spirit roaring in response to the threat. Baron Kaelen also froze, unwilling to attack Grak with such an uncertain and formidable force behind him. The Agrim Family had officially entered the game, and this old man had just turned a simple massacre into a complex chess match where the cost of a mistake had risen to the heavens.