The second general came not with fire…
…but with revelation.
The sky split at midnight.
A second rift, like a vertical wound in the heavens, spilled golden light across the mountains. From it descended a figure not born of nightmare, but something worse—
A promise kept too well.
Clad in gilded chains and robes stitched from oaths and contracts, the being did not walk.
It floated—barefoot above the ground, unblinking, radiant.
Its name was whispered among priests and lawkeepers across the world:
Judicar Solen.
The Hollow King's Inquisitor of Truth.
And it spoke only once, as it hovered above the reclaimed city of Veridell.
"I am the chain of cause.I am the light of what was.I am the end of every lie we tell ourselves.
And I have come to judge you, Ael Rynhart."
—
They met him in the valley below.
The Ashen Banner had grown. Survivors from reclaimed towns. Mages and mercenaries. Broken knights who once served tyrants, now seeking a different kind of war.
But Judicar Solen didn't bring soldiers.
He didn't need them.
His weapon was truth.
And truth could shatter even the strongest bond.
—
Solen raised a hand.
Golden light spread across the battlefield—not as fire, but revelation.
And suddenly, the entire camp began to tremble.
Not from magic.
But from memory.
A woman in the back of the army screamed as her husband looked at her with eyes wide—her secret affair brought to light by no word, no confession… just a gaze.
A commander fell to his knees as the cries of innocents he sacrificed for "strategy" filled his ears.
Vel gasped aloud and vanished into shadow, her voice whispering: "No… not that night. I buried it…"
Even Elric staggered, fists clenched. "He knows…"
Solen's voice rang across the valley, clear and damning:
"All of you march beneath a false banner.Ael Rynhart—the soulless king who once ordered cities burned, families broken, loyalties shattered.Who among you even knows what he was?"
The army turned.
Tens of thousands of eyes upon him.
—
Ael stood still.
He did not deny it.
He did not raise his voice.
He let them look.
Let them remember.
And then—he stepped forward.
"I do not deny my past," he said. "I do not fear it. But I will never again be ruled by it."
He turned to his soldiers—not with a king's command, but with a man's plea.
"You want to know the truth?"
He raised his hand to his chest.
"This is the truth: I was a weapon once. Cold. Empty. Efficient. I destroyed everything that didn't fit in my vision of control. And I felt nothing."
His voice did not tremble.
"But I feel now. I carry that pain. That regret. I walk with it not to erase it—but to make sure I never repeat it."
He looked at Elric, Lyra, the survivors of Veridell. Even the thieves, assassins, mages, and orphans who had joined them.
"I won't lie to you. I don't deserve your loyalty."
He drew his sword—not to point at Solen.
But to plant it in the ground.
"I'll earn it. Every day. One step at a time."
—
Solen narrowed his eyes.
Truth could not pierce what had already been owned.
He unleashed his chains.
The sky glowed gold.
But this time—it was not guilt that answered.
It was resolve.
Lyra stepped beside Ael, her own past flashing in her eyes—of the sister she couldn't save.
Elric stood tall, even as he bled shame for what he did in his father's name.
One by one, soldiers dropped to their knees.
Not in surrender.
But to say:
"We remember. And still—we fight."
—
Solen screamed—not with rage, but with confusion.
For the first time, truth had failed to divide.
And so he attacked.
—
The battle was short—but terrible.
His chains struck like lightning, each blow aimed at a weakness in the soul. But Ael had no weaknesses left to hide.
He wielded not just a blade…
But his past.
He turned every strike into defiance.
Every scar into strength.
Until, at last, he drove Solen to his knees.
"You speak of judgment," Ael said quietly. "But you forgot what comes after truth."
He raised his sword.
"Choice."
And he let Solen go.
The inquisitor vanished into light—defeated not by death, but by mercy.
The battlefield was silent.
And then the cheering rose.
—
Later that night, around the campfires, soldiers spoke openly.
Not of glory.
But of grief.
Of mistakes.
Of the pasts they could no longer hide.
And somehow—it made them stronger.
The Ashen Banner had not only survived the judgment of truth.
It had become something real.
—
Far away, the Hollow King watched from his throne beyond the rift.
His fingers tightened.
And in the void beside him, something older than memory began to stir.
He whispered:
"Very well, Ael. If truth will not break you… Then I will send death."