In the dimly lit strategy room of the Order's base, maps, sigils, and parchment reports littered the long table. A low murmur of knights discussing supply routes faded as Arasha entered, her steps brisk, her expression solemn. The room silenced instantly, awaiting her command.
Sir Garran handed her the newest missives. "Arrived less than an hour ago. Cassian's seal."
Arasha raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she took the sealed envelope.
The familiar swirling crest of Cassian's merchant guild was stamped in red wax, and as she broke the seal, a delicate silver charm clinked gently into her palm—intricately woven mithril threads coiled around a glimmering gem, humming softly with potent restorative magic.
Leta whistled low. "Now that's not your everyday trinket."
Kane, leaning on the far end of the table, crossed his arms. "Tch. Show off, isn't he?"
No one missed the scoff in his voice.
Leta let out a small laugh.
Arasha examined the charm with a thoughtful glance. "The enchantment… it's tier seven. Advanced regenerative healing. Rare and expensive."
Kane rolled his eyes. "And conveniently timed with his detailed intel. Charming."
Sir Garran looked at Kane, then shook his head.
But Arasha was already unfolding the report, eyes scanning swiftly through Cassian's meticulous documentation.
Charts, coded warnings, and detailed maps outlined the increasing anomalies across the continent—freak magical storms, signs of monster migrations from sealed regions, abrupt disappearances of small border villages, and, most concerning of all, growing unrest in religious sects tied to the old prophecy.
"He's right," she murmured, frowning. "It's accelerating. More than just monster hordes. The pattern… It's like a net tightening."
Garran nodded grimly. "Cassian has eyes in places we don't. He's giving us up-to-date information, which is highly appreciated."
"We'll need to reinforce the eastern pass, and I want the Raven unit ready to move west within the week," Arasha continued, already flipping to a blank page to draft deployment orders. "If the temples are stirring, we'll need emissaries we can trust—start with the coastal cities. They're vulnerable."
While she commanded with steady efficiency, Kane's expression darkened by degrees. The charm sat on the table like a silent, glittering reminder.
"You're not going to say anything about the charm?" he asked, trying for lightness and missing the mark entirely.
Arasha, already three steps into outlining a regional defense grid, glanced over distractedly. "Oh. It's useful. I'll keep it on me during missions."
Kane blinked. "That's it?"
She didn't register his tone—too focused, too consumed by the weight of responsibility.
Leta, watching the tension build like a storm cloud over Kane's head, slid closer to him and bumped his arm lightly.
"Aw, don't pout, little hero," she said in a teasing murmur, barely audible. "She notices. Just… not the way you want, yet."
Kane muttered something incomprehensible, but his shoulders eased slightly. Leta offered him a wink.
"She trusts you to be here. He's far away with fancy gifts. That tells you something."
Kane didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
And in the center of the room, Arasha continued to move chess pieces across the map, preparing for a storm no one else could see clearly, the charm now tucked in her pocket—not for sentiment, but as another tool in her war for peace.
Late into the afternoon, sun filtered in golden beams through the high windows of Arasha's war chamber, casting a soft glow over the stone walls and stained glass depicting old battles long past.
A faint hum of magic from the enchanted sigil mirror echoed as Arasha made contact with one of her most distant but vital allies.
"Commander Alvin," she greeted, her tone composed but urgent.
The mirror shimmered, revealing the familiar figure of the silver-haired paladin, resplendent even through the hazy projection, his white-and-gold armor still flecked with dust from his latest campaign.
He bowed his head, a small smile on his lips. "Commander Arasha. It is always an honor. I was just thinking of you."
Arasha didn't waver. "Then let's put that to use. We've confirmed cultist activity intensifying near the rift-boundary lines. They're growing bolder—and more coordinated."
Alvin's expression darkened at once. "We've seen the same. They've infiltrated border chapels and are corrupting smaller faiths. I assume you're calling to form a united holy barrier?"
"I want a permanent ward structure built across the west border. You have the divine anchors—we have the mageforce to fortify them. It needs to happen before any surge," Arasha stated, precise and focused.
"Then consider it done." Alvin nodded. "I'll send my best units. And perhaps," his voice softened slightly, "you and I can discuss more when the tides settle."
Arasha offered a calm, professional nod. "For now, let's focus on surviving what's coming."
From the other side of the chamber, Kane, who had entered quietly midway through the conversation, stood frozen.
The moment he heard Alvin's name, his mood instantly sank.
His posture stiffened, and his jaw tightened.
That name again. That ever-so-perfect, high-paladin, handsome gentle—
Kane didn't finish the thought. He merely turned on his heel and stalked toward the outer hall.
Sir Garran, who'd watched the change like a hawk, followed. He caught up just as Kane reached the stairs leading to the courtyard.
"You know," Garran said casually, folding his arms, "it's a good thing Commander is able to rely on others."
Kane halted but didn't turn. "I never said it wasn't."
"You don't have to," Garran replied. "We've all seen that look. You don't hide it as well as you think."
Kane exhaled sharply. "I just—" he hesitated. "I know how capable Alvin is. How polished he is. Noble-born. Glorious war record. Blessed since birth."
"And yet," Garran said evenly, "he wasn't the one who comforted Commander in her weakest moments. You did."
Kane finally turned, eyes narrowing. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Garran said, voice quiet but firm, "you've done more for her than you realize. Commander but keep in mind that she isn't blind to other's kindness and warmth. She sees the weight others carry—and she chooses who she trusts. Don't mistake her professionalism for indifference."
Kane stared at him.
The weight of Garran's honesty left no room for petty brooding.
Just then, Leta strolled by, clearly having caught the tail end of the exchange.
She leaned on the nearby post with a smirk. "Besides," she added, eyes twinkling, "you know you're the one she talks about when she's tired and distracted. You should see how she lights up when she mentions you—especially when she thinks no one's watching."
Kane flushed crimson, looking away quickly.
"Oh, don't get shy now," Leta teased, grinning. "I'm just saying—Alvin may be blessed by the gods, but you? You're cherished by Commander. That's rarer than any blessing."
Kane grumbled something under his breath and stalked off, but this time the brooding fog in his steps had lifted ever so slightly—his heart a little lighter, even if he'd never admit it aloud.
****
The moment the encrypted sigil flared to life with Duke Lionel's personal crest, Arasha was already moving to answer it.
His image flickered into form—disheveled, armored, blood staining his fine doublet, and behind him the unmistakable glow of a rift tearing the sky asunder in the heart of the northern duchy's capital.
"Arasha," Lionel said urgently, breath ragged, "it opened—in the center of town. We had no warning, no flare, nothing from the diviners. The cult must've cloaked the signs. We're trying to hold them back, but civilians are dying by the dozens, and my elite guard is scattered thin—"
"Say no more," Arasha cut in, voice steel. "We're coming."
The moment the connection closed, her commanders were summoned without hesitation. In the great war room of the Scion Order's base, her tone was crisp, focused.
"Crow Unit, assemble your strike team—twenty of your best. Noir Unit, I want a mobile ward team with high-level support casters ready in ten. This isn't a standard breach—we're heading into a rift zone inside civilian territory."
Sir Garran stepped forward, frowning. "I should accompany you. The rift in Lionel's territory—if it's central, the cultists may have embedded structures—"
Arasha placed a hand on his shoulder. "I need you here, Garran. The reports from the northeast and the marsh provinces—too many things are moving at once. If this is a concerted attack… we need command anchored."
Garran's brow tightened, but he gave a nod. "Understood."
Before Arasha could issue another order, her communication talisman pulsed—a new connection forming. She touched it, and Kane's voice came through.
"I'm near Frosthaven's northern border," he said, breathless but eager. "I saw the signs in the sky and made for the town. I'll be there in minutes."
Arasha's heart eased slightly at the sound of his voice. "I'll meet you there. We're teleporting in."
She unfurled a cloth-wrapped case Kane had personally crafted months prior—rune-etched talismans specifically forged for high-risk teleportation.
She touched the center sigil, her knights already circling close behind her. The air around them shimmered as the spell activated.
A flash of light. A thunderous snap of air being displaced.
And then—
They arrived.
The town of Frosthaven lay in chaos.
Buildings half-swallowed by the maw of the rift, an eerie purple-red light spiraling into the sky.
Screams echoed through the broken cobblestone streets.
Monsters—twisted, corrupted beasts of shadow and bone—poured from the heart of the tear in reality.
Without pause, Arasha unsheathed her sword and pointed toward the square.
"Form up!" she shouted. "Ward teams, set up the perimeter! Crow Unit, to me—we cut through and reach the town center!"
From the other side of the square, a glowing arc of flame erupted—cleaving a path through several shadow beasts.
Kane emerged from the smoke, coat scorched and spells already crackling in his palms.
He met Arasha's eyes through the chaos, and for a moment, their presence steadied each other.
"About time," he shouted with a breathless grin, moving to fight back-to-back with her.
"We're just getting started," Arasha replied grimly.
And with blades flashing and runes blazing, they plunged into the heart of the riftstorm—two forces of will standing against the tide of darkness.
The tide of battle had turned.
Arasha's command rang like war drums through the devastated square, her blade a blur of silver light as her knights, well-trained and unyielding, pushed the rift-spawn back.
With Kane's quick-thinking and expansive magical arsenal, he erected emergency wards and distributed potent healing potions to the most critical among the wounded, allowing the few stationed healers to conserve their strength for deeper triage.
The rift began to waver—its spiraling core flickering as the Order's best knights and Kane's reinforced barrier spells worked in tandem.
It was working.
But then—
A soundless pause.
The world stopped. No wind. No breath. No heartbeat. Not even the flicker of flames moved.
Everything—everyone—froze.
Except Kane.
His chest heaved, startled as his hand, still mid-motion from passing a potion to a wounded soldier, kept moving.
Around him, Arasha was suspended mid-swing, her black cloak like a still painting in the stilled air.
The rift, mid-collapse, pulsed with an unnatural shimmer as if it, too, was caught between heartbeats.
A tone echoed, ethereal and ancient, and then:
[System Online: World Stasis Removed. World Events Initiating… Great Catalyst Begins]
Kane's blood ran cold.
[Warning: Upgraded Difficulty +137%.]
[World Thread Stability at 67% — Primary Thread Detected: Arasha [Seraphine] Dawnbringer. Time Line Path Altered Now Online…]
He staggered back, breathless.
It was the system.
It was back online.
No…
And worse—active.
Kane's gaze snapped to the figures around him.
Knights frozen mid-charge.
Crumbling buildings frozen mid-collapse. And just ahead of the collapsing rift… Arasha.
Too close.
Much too close.
She was right at the eye of the rift's shifting mouth, her body instinctively angled as a shield, her sword half-lifted to strike. She couldn't move. Couldn't defend. Couldn't run.
"Damn it—" Kane didn't waste another breath.
He ran.
The air between him and her felt dense, like wading through molasses. The pressure of the system weighed on him, reality resisting his motion.
The system's text continued to flicker in his periphery, spitting out warnings and unreadable sigils, but Kane ignored it all. His only focus was Arasha.
And then—time snapped back into motion.
With a thunderous bang, the rift surged, unfurling like a blooming nightmare.
Dark energy screamed out from its widening mouth.
The barrier spells screamed in protest.
And the riftspawn surged forth anew—larger, faster, more vicious than anything prior.
Kane was still too far.
Arasha moved the instant she could.
She raised her sword and slammed it down into the stone, a radiant pulse of her divine blessing erupting from her like a shockwave, burning the nearest riftspawn to ash.
Her eyes glowed with light, and her stance widened, absorbing the impact of the monstrous horde that followed.
"Fall back behind me!" she commanded, voice iron-willed, unwavering.
Kane shouted her name, but his voice was lost to the chaos.
Spells lit the sky. Monsters shrieked. Knights rallied behind her.
But Kane—he felt it in his bones. The change. The escalation.
Kane's boots pounded across bloodied stone and scorched earth as he surged toward Arasha—his heart hammering, breath ragged, and magic flaring dangerously at his fingertips.
The air around the rift warped with otherworldly pressure, arcs of wild energy crackling outward like skeletal limbs.
Arasha stood at the center of it all, a lone bastion between order and annihilation.
Her armor was scorched, rent at the seams, her breath labored. But still, she stood.
Her sword, glowing with her divine blessing, was buried into the stone, acting as a conduit and anchor.
Her aura, bright and defiant, flickered like a guttering candle, refusing to die.
Then—it happened.
Kane's foot skidded to a halt just before the rift as a foreign heat surged through his veins, far more potent and undeniable than anything he had ever felt before.
The system's sigils spiraled across his vision, golden now, rising.
[Awakening Achieved: The Chosen Path Unsealed.]
[Riftwalker Authority Established. Permissions Granted.]
[Skill Unlocked: Absolute Seal — Threadbinding Initiated.]
Kane didn't think—he acted.
He raised both hands, his eyes glowing bright sapphire as countless arcane rings spiraled around him.
His magic pulsed in synchrony with the system, fusing his will with the fabric of the world.
The rift, a screaming mouth of madness, shuddered as Kane's awakened presence bore down on it.
"—Close." Kane's voice, deeper and resonant with layered echoes, rang like an ancient edict.
The rift convulsed violently before its jagged edges buckled inward.
Screams from within were abruptly silenced as if snuffed out by a divine hand.
With a thunderclap of energy, the monstrous maw collapsed in on itself, vanishing into a pinpoint of light—then nothing.
The world stilled.
A beat of silence.
Then the cheers erupted.
Knights, soldiers, townsfolk—those barely hanging onto hope moments before—shouted Kane's name.
They cried in joy, wept, and some even dropped to their knees in prayer.
[Congratulations! Great Catalyst Success!]
[Reward: Upgraded Swordmaster Skill Ascended]
He stood at the center of it all, his cloak whipping around him in the dying wind, eyes dimming as the system's glow receded.
The system unattended, Kane ignored it.
Kane wasn't listening.
His gaze was on her.
Arasha had dropped to one knee, her blade slipping from her hand with a heavy clang.
Her smile—soft and strained—reached him as their eyes met.
Her lips parted as if to say something, but she only exhaled.
Gently. Peacefully.
Kane rushed forward, catching her just as she collapsed.
"Arasha!" His voice broke as he lowered her carefully, cradling her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world.
Her body was battered, bruised, and her skin cold beneath her armor.
He reached for a potion—his potion, the one he spent weeks perfecting, layered with healing, resistance, and warmth.
But her hand stopped his, trembling yet firm.
"I have… Cassian's charm," she murmured with half a breath, her amber eyes fluttering. "Save yours. You worked hard on that, didn't you?" she teased weakly.
Kane's heart twisted. "I don't care about that—"
"Just… let me rest. A little."
He bit his lip, torn between worry and respect for her stubbornness. But he nodded.
Carefully, he slid his arms under her, lifting her with reverence.
Her head lulled against his shoulder, but he felt the slow, steady rhythm of her breath.
The moment he stepped into the medic's tent, silence fell again. Knights stepped aside, healers rushing forward, but Kane gently shook his head.
"I'll place her myself," he said, and none dared to argue.
He laid her onto the cot like a prince laying down a queen.
Her hand still curled weakly around the charm Cassian had gifted, the faint glow of its enchantment pulsing like a heartbeat.
Kane stared at it a long moment, his jaw clenched—but then he looked at her face.
Her expression—so peaceful, so tired, but unafraid.
He sat beside her, unmoving.
The cheers and chaos outside became a distant hum.
Kane brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and whispered, "…You can lean on me too, you know."
And Arasha—already slipping into sleep—smiled.