“How much longer do we have to stay here?” one of the warriors yelled over his shoulder.

Ulrich waited for a break in the blasts of the Horn. “Not long, now,” he replied.

The fight around the relic had been near-constant since they arrived. One of the Elite Guard already lay limp against its base, the wound in his stomach draining the life from him. Ulrich watched, eyes strained and burning at the edges, as a second figure finally joined the first far up the side of the mountain. The two approached one another but lingered for several moments. Ulrich he clicked his teeth in agitation. They didn’t have the time for Aerich to explain it to the boy. He cursed the delay but forced the tension from his shoulders as he recalled the sacrifice about to be made. Raegn was only taken to inherit the ring. The boy had no idea what was to come.

Ulrich turned from the scene and erected a barrier to block a void blast. The voidborne charged, swinging downward wildly with a halberd. Ulrich raised his axe to meet the attack and caught his opponent’s blade with his own, locking their weapons together. He dropped a hand and fired a Light lance through the armored chest. As the voidborne toppled, Ulrich shrugged the halberd off his axe and delivered a thunderous swing through two leaping voidlings. Another voidborne forced a quick recovery to block the sword aimed at his throat. As their blades clashed, a nearby warrior drove her spear through the gap in the armor along his foe’s side.

Raelle grinned at him from beneath her helm. Ulrich started to shout a warning, but the girl found teeth in her shoulder and a voidling clinging to her back before his words could form. She screamed and fell forward under the weight. Black blood splashed from the voidlings mouth as Ulrich grabbed the beast by the neck and crushed it in his gauntlet. He cast the voidling aside and drug Raelle back against the base of the Horn. The wound oozed a red too deep to be hers alone. Their armor could protect against some attacks, but not all. The teeth had been sharp enough to pierce her pauldron and chain.

“This will burn,” he said, pulling his glove free.

“Not the first time I’ve been wounded, Old Bear. I’m well aware.” Raelle clenched her teeth and groaned through a closed jaw while Ulrich pressed a finger into each of the punctures, burning away the Void within her. Still panting, she waved away his offer of assistance and began to stand on her own, shaking her head as if to clear the pain from her mind.

Ulrich turned and looked upward to find the figures on the mountainside. He squinted, unable to discern the movement, but it appeared as though one was helping the other back onto their feet. The rattle of a scabbard behind him broke his focus. Raelle had drawn her sword and headed back out into her position.

“The will of a hundred,” he mused. The legends of Bastion’s warriors told that each held an unbreakable spirit. Little Lady Leonhardt had certainly grown into such a warrior. Raegn had been half right—she might equal him were she not also preparing to take her father’s role as the Lord of Coin. In truth, it was a sign that she may already be better for at least she realized the importance of being a leader off of the battlefield as well as on it.

The Void continued to charge them, each moment increasing the risk that they would soon be overwhelmed. After felling another pair of voidlings a helmet rolled into Ulrich’s foot. His eyes followed the arcing trail of blood it had left as it meandered in his direction. It’s wearer, the guardsman blowing the horn, dropped to their knees, body limp from a missing head. Ulrich grimaced as he fired a blast through the falling warrior and into voidborne on the other side. They were running out of time if any of them were to survive by the time Raegn arrived. The order the boy carried would be that of a retreat, but how steep must the price be for their victory?

Once more he glanced at the mountain, but this time his eyes widened. The weight of a lifetime of death caught up to him and his shoulders dropped, the axe hanging limp in his hand as one of the figures drove a sword into the other’s chest. The wounded of the two collapsed into the other before disappearing onto the ground.

“Flee,” he muttered.

Raelle turned to look at him over her shoulder. “What?!”

“Run! Get out of the city! All of you, flee!” Ulrich bellowed as he took several large strides over to the Horn. When he reached the first step of the platform on which the relic rested he was pulled to a halt by a hand on his arm. Raelle looked up at him when he turned but did not release him. Her eyes beneath her helm darted between his own.

“Why are we retreating?” she asked.

“Because the battle is about to end. Seek an audience with Lord Dunstan Edelgard in Bulwark. Tell him…” Ulrich searched for the words. The relic was known to only a few, but Dunstan would understand. “Tell him his brother has fallen and Lord Raegn has assumed the final duty of their lineage. Tell him the family fought with honor.” Ulrich paused again and stared at the mountainside. Raelle turned to follow his gaze. “Tell him Bastion has fallen.”

The lone figure stepped towards the obelisk and placed a hand against the stone. The mountain disappeared behind the light of a star set ablaze on its slope. Raelle released Ulrich’s arm to cover her eyes against the brightness.

“Go. Carry the final message of our city,” Ulrich said and gave her a reassuring nudge. Raelle looked at Ulrich and tears pooled in her eyes. Her lip quivered, but she bit down on it before calling out to the others. The group fled the area, charging through voidlings as they disappeared down the city’s streets.

Ulrich reached out into the aether and asked for one final blessing. What little amount of visible skin he had beneath his armor began to pulse like the coals of a forge. The old warrior’s groan turned into a throaty roar as he struggled to maintain the Light held within him. His bones cracked and muscles tore as his soul spilled over into his physical form. When his body was about to be torn asunder by the very power that made him, he unleashed his burden. The shockwave vaporized the Void within the square and reduced the exterior walls of nearby buildings to rubble.

He forced his broken form to crawl up the final steps to the Horn and lifted himself up by the curved pieces of metal. The relic was undamaged by the blast, just as he had prayed. There was a brief moment of relief to be found in the cold brass of the mouthpiece pressing against his lips, but he had little time to enjoy it. Ulrich stretched his failing lungs, filling them with Light and emptying them through the retreat melody. The wave of sound shook the city and vibrated the very core of the rock within the valley. Legend said that, used by one with enough affinity, the Horn could be heard all the way from Bulwark. Ulrich tested the tale, willing the sound to carry his comrades out of the city as he let the Light overwhelm him.

“You must!” Aerich pleaded, stumbling from the effort of throwing his arm to the side. “This corruption has poisoned me for too long! It prevents me from performing our sacred duty! But I will not allow us to fail in this. Protecting the Realm now falls to you, Raegn.”

“No. Father, there has to be another—”

“There’s not!” his father yelled. “The ring is bound to the soul and is required to activate the stone. Rise, as Lord of Bastion. Empower the relic. Fulfill our family’s charge. Protect the Realm!”

Aerich placed his hand on Raegn’s, guiding it to the hilt. Slowly, Raegn allowed his father to help draw the blade while he left his head hung toward the ground.

“My son,” Aerich said, weakly lifting Raegn’s chin as he looked at his battered child. “The night you were born the very stars shone brighter, as if the Light itself was raining down upon you. I have watched as you have grown into a living weapon against the Void. But there could have been so much more for you in life than this. I have failed you. I pray that you find salvation.”

For the first time in years, Raegn saw life in his father’s eyes, but that life was full of grief. Of regret. His own filled and spilled over, carrying away bits of the grime that coated his face and leaving lines of cleaner skin along his cheeks.

“Honestum mori, father,” Raegn whispered, raising his head towards the sky.

Aerich wore no armor and the sword slid through him easily. The Lord of Bastion slumped and leaned into Raegn’s shoulder, heavy despite his gaunt frame.

“I am…sorry,” Aerich sputtered before he slid to the ground.

Raegn let his father fall, the sword following soon after and clattering against the stone. He stood motionless and watched the dark clouds swirl over the city, unwilling to look at what had become of the gallant leader of Bastion. Below, the Horn sounded as if to remind him of his responsibility. He crouched, glancing at his father’s hand only long enough to pull the ring free. The band was just as plain as he’d remembered. How foolish, that one must die over a simple piece of jewelry.

Unsure of which digit it would fit on, Raegn started to slide the band over the knuckle of his left index finger. The farther he pushed the more the band tightened around his flesh until it was snug on the digit. Inhaling sharply, he turned to glare through blurred eyes at the stone looming over the city. This time he need not visualize anything to draw the Light to him. He simply tore the power from the aether and pulled it within him. Fatigue and pain were small annoyances in his mind as he strode to the pillar and struck his fist against the smooth white surface as if to plunge it off the mountain.

The sigil flared before the stone itself exploded with Light. Raegn didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them he found himself lying halfway back to the mouth of the cave. The ache throughout his body had returned in full and he groaned as he sat upright. He began to slowly force himself to stand only to freeze midway, mouth agape at the sight where the obelisk once stood.

A figure knelt there, covered in ornate golden armor and a long red cape that spilled off of its back. Dense smoke, or perhaps steam, radiated Light and billowed around the figure, echoing its movements. A thick sword shone pure white and was embedded halfway into the ground, the blade’s crossguard and pommel adorned with golden rings. Two pieces of armor extended from the back of the figure’s shoulders and from them spilled dozens of ethereal tendrils made of white-blue light that waved like long flags in a gentle breeze. Raegn knew the figure from paintings and pictures in old books.

Before him knelt Camael, the Aspect of War. He had summoned an Archangel. Camael alone had laid waste to entire armies of darkness during the Void War. They would be saved.

The Divine being raised its head to look at Raegn, the gaps of its helmet beaming with Light. “What foul sorcery is this?!”

Raegn clutched his temples in agony when the Archangel spoke. Each word rang as if it were the smith’s hammer and his mind the heated steel. The voice was not human. It couldn’t possibly be with the power it wrought, yet it still sounded distinctly male.

“Help us,” Raegn groaned, struggling to stand. “Help us turn the tide of battle!”

“I will not.”

The words brought him back down a knee, but were slightly less disorienting than before. Even so, they struck out like a punch to the gut and deflated Raegn’s spirit.

“Why?” he managed.

“We have forbidden ourselves from entering your world, though it seems your Angels have conspired against that end.” The Archangel rose as it spoke and drew its sword free from the ground with ease. The smoke that followed dissipated, dulling the white glow. “I will destroy this pass and prevent the Void from further contaminating your realm,” Camael said and turned to look out over the city.

“What? No!” Raegn cried. The battle was not yet lost. The Archangel was too quick to abandon them. “Bastion fights on! Fight with us!”

“You are too naive to see that what you ask is impossible. I will stop the Void. That is all that matters.”

Raegn was able to stay upright through Camael’s words now, unsure if he had gotten used to the sound or if the Divine being was making an attempt not to crush his mind. “You’ll kill all the people still in the city!” he yelled.

“Your concerns are misguided against the threat, a symptom of your...humanity. You would waste your life, the blessing we have given you, debating me?” The Archangel strode over to him, ethereal wings flowing behind. With a single arm it lifted Raegn into the air by what remained of his breastplate. Camael seemed to study him now that they were closer, but Raegn could hardly breathe and grasped at the Archangel’s arm. “Tell me, why do you fight the Void?”

“To protect the Realm,” Raegn grunted. His own bodyweight betrayed him and he struggled to fill his lungs. Camael leaned in and Raegn could feel heat on his face from under the helm.

“A lie through ignorance. Answer honestly, mortal.”

For a moment there was almost silence, nothing but the dull hum of Camael’s wings drifting in the air and his own haggard breaths. The Horn broke through from below, rattling the side of the cliff on which they stood. The Archangel wanted him to confess? To what, his pride?

“Hatred and glory,” he managed to choke out.

Camael seemed to study him further, but looking at the openings in the Archangels helm made Raegn’s eyes water and there seemed to be no face beneath.

“Admirable, but short-sighted,” came the echoing reply. “Harut’s foul spell may have worked to summon me, but I will not do her bidding. Or yours.”

Raegn managed to get a solid grip on Camael’s gauntlet and earned himself a single full breath before the Archangel turned southward. The movement jostled Raegn’s position and once again his legs and arms thrashed, searching for a reprieve. Through the Archangel’s wings he could see a ripple appear and a small, dull light tore through the air to hover where the obelisk once stood. The Archangel paused and turned its head to look over its shoulder. There was a hum, deeper than that of Camael’s flowing tendrils and more like a long, soft rumble of thunder. Camael tensed at the sound, but the tear stitched itself closed and vanished. In that brief moment a small hope was born inside Raegn’s mind, that the Archangel might have a change of heart. It vanished when the Divine Being’s attention turned back on him.

“I see no value in your death. Your world has forgotten its purpose. You are unprepared for the war to come—unaware of your enemies. As price for my mercy, I now charge you: Seek the truth and become a banner of the Light. Prove that humanity was worth our blessing.”

As the Archangel finished his words, Raegn felt the Light pour into his soul. It was far more than he ever dared to hold and though he tried desperately to suppress the raging storm that grew within he found that he had no control. He opened his mouth to cry out in pain at the molten iron in his veins but the air was too hot for his throat to shape the sound. The Archangel raised him slightly higher and, with no more than a release of his grip, Raegn was flung through the sky.

He attempted to look past his feet at the mountainside where he had been moments ago, but the world blurred as pain overwhelmed him. He let out a hoarse scream, half begging, half cursing the Archangel. Consciousness escaped him as a star flared to life on the side of the mountain. The pulsing light grew until it exploded, collapsing the peak into a massive landslide and sending the pass into the abyss.