Four days had passed.
Four days of solitary trekking beneath a shroud of bruised gray skies, traversing skeletal fields and hushed forests. The only company Eiden kept was the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath his boots and the low, tectonic hum of divine power simmering in his marrow.
His first destination had been the fortress where Civilar, Yajin, and Ou'weii were meant to regroup. He had scoured every inch of it: vaulted halls, damp chambers, and every lightless corner where a shadow might cling.
Nothing. Not a single footprint in the dust, nor a lingering scent in the air. The castle was a hollow shell of cold stone and absolute silence.
Eventually, he abandoned the search and turned back toward the town. When he arrived, he found himself slowing to a sudden halt.
The town had been reborn.
Colossal stone walls were rising around the perimeter—great rising bastions of gray brick reinforced by massive timber beams. Legions of workers labored in the sun, hammers rhythmically striking scaffolding as shouts of coordination echoed through the air. The streets were swarming; the previous stillness had been replaced by the frantic energy of a burgeoning capital. Merchants hauled crates of supplies, children darted between burgeoning stalls, and new homes were erupting from the earth in a scent of fresh sawdust and mortar.
Eiden moved through the surge of activity, observing the metamorphosis with a detached wonder. The central administrative building was now flanked by sentries—armored men in white-and-gold cloaks, clutching spears that caught the pale light. They bowed their heads in silent recognition and stepped aside as he approached.
Inside, the air was thick with the tension of a war room. Gathered around a massive, map-strewn table were Prinston, Tenadey, Zanme, Bevollo, Pokilo, Dartolio, and Hamphane. Beside them stood Ruby, Lily, Bengie, Laustr, and Mayble. They were all clad in the new uniform of their unity: white and gold plate under yellow cloaks.
The room went quiet as Eiden entered. Prinston's eyes ignited with relief. "Ha! Eiden! You've returned!" He crossed the room in a blur, pulling Eiden into a crushing embrace. "We've hit a wall," Prinston said, stepping back to face him. "As we began identifying abandoned strongholds to secure for the refugees, we reached out to the Angel King."
Eiden raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"We sought an alliance," Prinston said grimly. "He responded by executing our three messengers. So... we're in need of a bit of leverage. Do you think you can help?"
Eiden stepped up to the table, his gaze drifting over the ink-stained borders. "Why is his removal such a priority?"
Ruby crossed her arms, her lip curling. "Because the man is a sanctimonious piece of shi—"
"Language, Ruby," Mayble interjected sharply. She turned to Eiden. "The issue is one of utility. He hoards his influence while the world suffers. He forces his people into a cycle of explosive overpopulation for the sole purpose of instigating holy wars against humanity—wars they inevitably lose. He offers no sanctuary to the displaced." She tapped a specific coordinate on the map. "With the great kingdoms fallen, we need a strategic foothold. We need your strength... and perhaps the strength of another. Do you have any allies left?"
Eiden nodded slowly. "I am known to the clans. Of the Seven Great Chiefs, Fennaro of the Redcrest is the only one I might call a friend. I can speak with him."
Prinston clasped his hands as if in prayer. "Please. We need to restore the balance—the economy, the safety, everything."
Eiden turned and departed without a word.
An hour of walking saw the town's clamor fade into the distance. The sky deepened into a bruised indigo, the first stars shivering into existence. "Damn... all this walking is getting tedious," Eiden muttered to the empty road.
Then, the horizon changed.
A monumental stone wall rose from the plains, encasing a shimmering dome of crimson energy that pulsed like a living heart. The air itself vibrated with the frequency of high-tier magic. At the heavy gates, an elf in a scarlet cloak stood guard, her crimson eyes narrowing as he approached.
"Eiden? What madness brings you to our gates?" she hissed. "To bring more ruin? You and your 'Devils' have bled this world enough. Turn back."
Before she could bar his path, the red dome flickered and dissolved into mist. The massive gates groaned open. A calm, resonant voice echoed from the courtyard beyond.
"Let him pass. Let him pass."
Fennaro approached, draped in flowing red robes embroidered with intricate gold thread. His expression was a mask of practiced neutrality, but his eyes held the weight of shared history. "It has been an age, Eiden."
Eiden stepped into the stronghold, and the gates slammed shut behind him.