The march to Veridell took six days.
It should have taken twelve.
But the Ashen Banner moved with purpose now—not driven by discipline, but belief. Soldiers who once fought for coin now fought to protect the fragile warmth they'd begun to feel again. Mages who once buried their hearts behind glyphs now wore emotions openly, like armor more sacred than steel.
And Ael led them, not at the front…
But among them.
Walking.
Watching.
Learning who they were—not as pieces on a board, but as people.
Because what waited in Veridell was not an army.
It was a wound.
—
They reached the outer hills at dusk.
What they saw below chilled them more than frost ever could.
Veridell—once a city of music, of green banners, laughter, and golden towers—now lay draped in gray. Not ash. Not rot.
Emptiness.
Windows stared blankly like the eyes of the dead.
Streets glimmered with dust that had no wind to carry it.
And the people…
They moved.
But did not live.
Each face was vacant, each step measured, every movement like a puppet tugged by invisible strings.
"They're breathing," Elric whispered, "but there's nothing in them."
Lyra's magic flared faintly. "They're not cursed. They're hollowed."
Ael said nothing.
His eyes were already fixed on the tower in the city center.
It was not there before.
A needle of black glass and mirrored walls, humming with a cold, thrumming power.
"Silence is waiting."
—
They entered the city with caution.
No guards stopped them.
No one even looked their way.
But the moment they passed the outer gate, the air shifted.
Each step forward blurred the edges of memory.
Elric paused suddenly. "Wait. Where were we going again?"
Lyra spun toward him. "Don't speak too much here. This place—it listens."
Ael focused inward. The shards within him pulsed like stars in a storm.
Emotion. Hope. Longing. Trust. Remorse. Faith. Self.
Seven anchors.
He would need them all.
Because Silence had already begun its assault—not with blades, but with forgetting.
—
They reached the central plaza by nightfall.
At its center stood Silence.
The Hollow King's first general.
Mirror-armored. Faceless. Its reflection changed with every glance—Ael saw himself, Lyra, Elric, even the hollowed people behind them.
It spoke without a mouth.
A chorus of voices—his voice, Lyra's voice, Elric's voice—echoed together.
"You walk with weight.""You feel. And so, you will fall.""This city has no need for memories. It is better without pain.""Without pain, there is no love. No failure. No sin."
Ael stepped forward.
"And without love, there is no meaning."
He drew his sword.
The wind screamed.
And the battle began.
—
Silence did not fight like a warrior.
It fought like a mirror maze.
Each swing of Ael's blade was turned back at him.
His own words became weapons.
Memories spilled from cracks in the ground—scenes he wished to forget: the burning of a peaceful village, the cold eyes of a woman he condemned, the final look of betrayal from Aeryn before the war.
Elric and Lyra struggled against ghosts of their own pasts.
Vel—somewhere—vanished into shadow, trying to sever the bindings that kept the city enthralled.
But Ael knew this enemy could not be slain by steel alone.
It had to be faced.
—
He sheathed his sword.
And stepped into the heart of the mirrored plaza.
Silence froze.
Ael spread his arms.
"Show me."
And the world cracked.
—
He stood in a replica of his old throne room.
Alone.
Every mistake. Every failure. Every moment he chose duty over compassion replayed before him like theater.
The room asked a single question:
"Wouldn't it be easier to feel nothing?"
Ael closed his eyes.
And answered:
"It would."
He opened them again.
"But easy never built anything worth saving."
He reached forward.
And shattered the mirror.
—
Back in the real world, Silence staggered.
The city shuddered.
Light returned to the eyes of the people—one by one—like candles being relit.
The tower cracked.
And Silence, for the first time, screamed.
Not a voice.
But a sound.
Like sorrow being forced to feel.
Ael drove his blade into the general's chest.
"Tell your king…"
The shard of self flared in his chest.
"…we are not afraid of remembering."
Silence fell.
And with it, Veridell exhaled for the first time in weeks.
—
As dawn broke, the people began to weep.
They remembered again.
Some fell to their knees.
Some sang.
Some just stared at the sky, whispering names they thought lost.
Ael stood beside Lyra and Elric in the ruins of the tower.
"This is only the beginning," she said.
Ael nodded. "But now they know we can fight back."
And far above them, across the burning sky…
A new rift opened.
And from it, a second general descended—clad in chains of gold and speaking only truth.
The war for the soul of the world had truly begun.