Caelum’s eyes snapped open, breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay,” came Brannet’s soothing voice, low and steady, a hand resting lightly on Caelum’s chest, rubbing in gentle circles. “The dream again?”

Caelum nodded, forcing himself to exhale slowly, feeling the tight coil of panic in his chest loosen just enough.

The nightmare had returned, yet again. He saw his father twisted into something monstrous, his mother’s life ripped away by priest and paladin as he ascended. Each replay cut a little deeper, leaving his chest raw and his hands trembling. It didn’t happen every night, but often enough that sleep had become a thing he approached with trepidation.

Brannet yawned and rolled over, drifting back into slumber. Caelum couldn’t follow. The quiet of the room pressed against him as heavily as the shadows outside. He slipped free from beneath the covers and perched on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the soft edge of the mattress.

His gaze found Brannet, serene and oblivious in sleep, and Caelum let out a long, tired sigh. The last five years had been relentless. They had returned to Serkoth to report the success of their mission, only to find Korriva dead.

It wasn’t just a shock. Korriva had been more than formidable; she had radiated power in every step, every glance. Invincible, unyielding, untouchable. To come back and see her gone left a hollow ache in his chest that hadn’t faded, even now.

Still, there was recognition. He had proven himself on that mission. Even Hana, usually taciturn and hard to impress, had something positive to say. Serkoth’s leaders trusted him.

Now the choice lay before him. He could stay, tied to the city and its people, its burdens and responsibilities. Or he could go, strike out on his own, carry the name he’d earned and see where it would take him.

He shifted, the weight of the decision pressing down as he stared at the shadows creeping across the floor, wondering if rest would ever feel safe again.

Caelum pushed himself upright, muscles stiff from sleep, and crossed the room. His hands shook as he poured water into a cup, the liquid sloshing faintly against the rim. He lifted it to his lips, but paused, letting the cool weight settle in his hands instead.

Even after four years living in and around Serkoth, he still didn’t know what to do with his life. Each day felt stretched thin, listless, like a windless afternoon with nothing stirring.

Part of him burned with a vision he couldn’t abandon. He wanted to dismantle the Aegis clergy, tear down the oppression, and let every soul worship whichever god they pleased. He wanted to lift the Lekine out of the shadows of fear, to free the goblins and see them laugh without hesitation.

But he was one man. One mortal heart against a tide of centuries-old power. The sheer scale of it was enough to make him feel small, impotent, and weary.

Crossing into Aegis territory on land was nearly impossible now. The new barrier made any crusade almost absurd. And then there was the other truth, the one he hadn’t yet admitted aloud: he had tied himself down.

His gaze fell to Brannet, curled in sleep just beyond the bed’s edge. Choices were no longer just about what he wanted; they were about what he could do, what he could risk, and who he could protect.

The cup of water trembled in his hands. He exhaled slowly, but the weight in his chest remained. Even a champion could feel powerless.

Caelum dressed quickly, pulling on the layers that had become second skin over the past years. He paused at the doorway, shooting one last glance at Brannet, curled up peacefully under the blankets, breaths even and soft. The warmth, the steady rise and fall, made his chest ache with something he hadn’t named yet. Then he turned, closing the door quietly behind him.

The inn was one of the finest in Serkoth, a rare indulgence earned after a difficult mission. They had taken down a vicious aetherbeast in the southern outskirts, a creature that had terrorized caravans and farms alike. The payment had been generous, enough to set them up for months, though Caelum felt he hadn’t truly earned it. With his abilities, the hunt had been almost trivial, a matter of focus and will rather than skill or struggle. Still, he accepted the gold without complaint.

Outside, the night pressed in cold and heavy, carrying the scents of woodsmoke, snow, and the faint tang of aether lingering from the hunt. The streets were empty, silent but for the occasional creak of a shutter or the distant howl of a lone wolf. Lanterns swung gently in the wind, casting long, quivering shadows across cobblestones polished smooth by countless footsteps.

Caelum walked without purpose at first, letting the city guide him. His boots crunched softly against the frost, and the quiet seemed almost sacred, a rare pause in a life usually dictated by contracts, missions, and the ever-present weight of responsibility.

Serkoth was a utilitarian city, built not for beauty but survival. Its people were hardy, weather-worn, and carried themselves with the quiet pride of those who had endured. Yet, to Caelum, there was a strange beauty in the simplicity of it all. The sturdy stone homes, their roofs steeped against the snow. The beams and braces dark with age and weather, not carved for show but fitted with care to last through generations. Even the great halls and civic buildings bore little decoration, save for the wear of time and the mark of countless hands that had kept them standing.

It was nothing like Aegis, where churches rose into the sky like sharpened spears, dripping with gold and ornamentation, meant to remind the poor of what they would never have. Here, there was no such arrogance. What mattered was strength, shelter, and unity.

A few souls were already stirring despite the hour. A bundled figure pushed a cart laden with bread through the half-frozen streets, steam curling faintly from the cloth that covered it. A pair of youths hauled crates toward the market square, whispering laughter between them that fogged the air. Every now and then a city guard would march past, armor creaking with frost, their eyes glancing toward Caelum with recognition. Most offered only a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment of who — and what — he was.

Caelum returned the nods absently and carried on, winding his way up toward the walls. The steps were slick with ice, but his footing was steady. He ascended until he stood atop the battlements, the city spread behind him and the endless wilderness stretching out beyond. The wind hit him hard, sharp and biting, pulling at his hair and cloak.

He moved along the walkway until he found a quiet section and perched himself on the bannister. His legs dangled over the sheer drop, hundreds of feet down to the snowy plain. For a long moment, he simply breathed, eyes roaming across the horizon where the first faint blush of dawn was starting to burn away the stars.

The wall was cold beneath him, the stone old but unyielding. Solid. Permanent. It made him feel small, but in a way, steadied him.

“Can’t sleep?”

Caelum looked to the side, startled from his thoughts, to see Tarric approaching.

The man carried himself differently these days. Once, Tarric had been like a spark in a room — quick to laugh, full of strange tangents and bubbling curiosity. He still had the smile, the odd humor, but something in him had dimmed since his mother’s death. His cheer had become quieter, tempered by loss, like a lantern shielded by glass.

“No,” Caelum admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured a walk might tire me out.”

“Sitting in the cold is an odd way to walk,” Tarric said, his grin tugging at one corner of his muzzle. He perched himself on the bannister with casual balance, legs swinging into open air beside the human champion. “But I respect it.”

Caelum just shrugged, eyes returning to the horizon. “Any luck with your latest project?”

Tarric let out a breath that steamed in the frigid air. “Do you know how little that narrows it down?” His grin widened a touch, but the weight behind his words lingered. “If you mean the barrier… no. Not yet. I can’t figure out how they’re powering it, nor how they maintain the stability. They can cross it freely, with some kind of passkey, but its energy signature—” He shook his head. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Caelum asked.

The lekine chuckled softly. “No. Not that I can think of, at least. Unless you’ve been keeping your expertise in enchantment formations a secret all these years?”

“A simple warrior, sorry.” Caelum smirked faintly. “But is there anyone else you could call upon? Another mind? Sometimes a fresh perspective makes all the difference.”

Tarric tilted his head, thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

“What about that goblin who works with Akhenna’s champion? Her weapons, I’ve heard, are powerful. Different.”

Tarric opened his mouth, ready to dismiss the thought, but then stopped. His ears flicked back, then forward again. “Actually…” He tapped his claws lightly against the bannister, considering. “You might be on to something. I’ll go see her soon.”

“Glad I could help,” Caelum said, giving Tarric a wry half-smile.

“Anything I can help you with?” Tarric asked, tilting his head. “Only fair I return the favor.”

Caelum let out a low hum, weighing the question. “No, I don’t think so. Things are… stable. I’ve good coin coming in, and Brannet brings me more joy than I thought possible.” His lips quirked into a chuckle. “Never thought I’d find myself in a romantic entanglement with another man a few years ago, but Aegis represses much.”

“It does,” Tarric agreed, a shadow of bitterness in his voice. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly. “But I also hear something uncertain in your voice.”

Caelum sighed, rubbing his temples before letting his hand fall. “I feel restless,” he admitted. “My goal has always been to free Aegis from the yoke of the Church of Praxus, to make it a place where people can worship freely… or not at all, if they choose. But I can’t do that just sitting here, taking easy contracts, slaying the odd beast. It’s… it’s too small. I feel like I should be out there, taking the fight to them, trying to make a difference.”

He kicked his heels lightly against the bannister, eyes drifting to the barrier shimmering faintly in the distance. “Instead, I feel like I’m circling the problem. Never quite daring to bite.”

Tarric was quiet for a moment, his breath pluming in the cold. His ears twitched, tail curling tighter around the bannister. “You think I don’t feel the same?” he said softly. “My mother died, Caelum. And I… I’m the best exomancer our family has, maybe the best in the world. Yet I couldn’t save her. Couldn’t even be there to try.”

Caelum turned to look at him, surprised at the rawness in his tone. Tarric’s grin was nowhere to be found—only tired eyes, and a weight that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“I tell myself every day I’ll crack that barrier. That I’ll tear down the Sovereignty’s wall and make them pay for every life they’ve taken. But some nights…” he exhaled, gaze drifting down to the snow-slick rooftops below, “some nights I wonder if I’ll ever be strong enough. Or if all I’ll leave behind is a trail of broken promises.”

The champion’s chest tightened. He recognized the same gnawing restlessness in Tarric’s voice that haunted his own heart.

“You’re not alone in feeling powerless, Caelum,” Tarric said at last, voice steadier now. “But power doesn’t come all at once. It builds. Slow. Unforgiving. Painful. Maybe what we feel right now is just… the middle of the story, not the end.”

“You’re right,” Caelum murmured. “My mind knows, but the heart still feels otherwise. I know I’m powerful. I just feel I should be using that power for something, for anything.”

“There will be a time when that power must be used,” Tarric said, his tone steady but not unkind. “Until then… we prepare, and we wait. Patience is as much a weapon as a sword.”

Caelum tilted his head. “Will Serkoth go on the offensive?”

Tarric gave a loose shrug, the motion almost helpless. “Kavren has always wanted to take the fight to them. But High Fang Elrin refuses. We simply don’t have the numbers. Defending from the walls with fewer soldiers is one thing. Marching into their lands, outnumbered a dozen to one, is another.”

The champion let his gaze fall to the glow of lanterns far below. “I still remember the first time I saw you,” he said quietly.

Tarric blinked, then smiled faintly. “Oh?”

“I was in the Aegis army,” Caelum admitted. “You decimated us in minutes.”

“Ah.” Tarric’s ears drooped slightly. “That was the battle led by Champion Darius, wasn’t it?”

Caelum nodded once.

“That was my first time casting that spell,” Tarric said after a pause. “I’d hoped I’d never have to use it. But there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do to protect my home.” His voice was calm, but there was something brittle beneath it.

“I understand,” Caelum said softly. “My point was more… aren’t you an army yourself?”

Tarric let out a small, dry laugh. “In a way, perhaps. But I think during the siege of Serkoth, Vivienne proved she was more of an army than I could ever hope to be.”

“I hope to speak to her again some time, to a fellow champion. There was just little chance between my missions to do so. Now she is in Drakthar and that makes it a bit harder.”

“I suppose it does. She’s a fascinating woman, isn’t she?” Tarric grinned, though there was a nervous edge to it. “Dangerous, though. I don’t know how I would put her down permanently, should it be needed.”

“You think it would be needed?” Caelum asked carefully.

“Maybe. She doesn’t seem the type to care much beyond those she keeps close,” Tarric admitted, his grin fading. “From what I gathered, Serkoth only matters to her because Rava does. If not for that, I doubt she’d spare this place from her hunger.”

Caelum fell silent at that. The thought dug at him, unsettling. Both of them had an aim to undermine the Sovereignty, one way or another. For him, it was about dismantling its leadership, tearing out the rot so the nation might be reborn into something stronger, something fairer.

But Vivienne… what was her endgame? Was her hatred of Aegis as focused as his, or was it broader, indiscriminate? Would her claws find only tyrants, or would she bare her teeth to anyone in her way, innocent or not?

The idea lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind.

 

---

 

Vivienne paced the short stretch of the barrier, her claws trailing lightly along its invisible surface. The air hummed faintly where her touch brushed it, a resonance she had been prodding at for months now. Patrolling wasn’t the right word—this was an inspection, a probing.

Every month since the wall’s appearance, she returned to test its strength, to taste the weave of the spell, to search for even the smallest imperfection she could worry open. It was a ward, not unlike those petty protections thrown up to keep aetherbeasts away from caravans and camps, but magnified beyond reason. Worse, it was clever. People could not cross, yet birds flew over, deer passed through, and vermin scurried beneath with no resistance.

Her lips pressed into a line. She couldn’t move forward with her plans, not while the barrier mocked her.

A low growl rolled across the ground behind her. It was hungry, impatient, and it made her chuckle.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said without turning. “You’ll have your moment.”

When she faced her, Talla had slithered close—one of the many weapons she had birthed of her own flesh  in anticipation for the last war. Her body gleamed, obsidian scales stretched tight across a lean frame, four arms planted into the dirt as her tail coiled and uncoiled beneath her. Her face was all eel-sharp edges and teeth meant for rending. Along each arm, smaller mouths gnashed and muttered ceaselessly, whispering words that overlapped in maddening echoes, none in harmony, none ever truly comprehensible.

Vivienne reached up and brushed her claws against the side of Talla’s head. The monster leaned in like a kitten nuzzling its mother. For all the gnashing, she was still a child.

“Good girl,” Vivienne murmured. “Now let Momma get back to work. Go on, find your sisters and play.”

Talla gave a low hiss that almost resembled a laugh, then uncoiled, her tail dragging grooves into the soil as she went to seek out her kin. The whispers trailed after her until only the hum of the barrier remained.

Vivienne placed her palm flat against the unseen wall again, her black eyes narrowing. “One day, darling,” she said softly, “I will know your secret.”