The rip Steve tore in reality behind The Rusted Lantern wasn't subtle. It sounded like rending leather and smelled of petrichor and deep, ancient stone. Silas stepped through without flinching, the familiar null-magic embrace of the Shattered Expanse's depths washing over him, silencing the storm within his veins. Steve followed, the portal snapping shut, leaving only ozone and damp stone lingering in Moonhaven's quiet alley. Absolute darkness enveloped them for a breath, then starlight torches – fueled by captured fragments of Lunira's glow – flared to life, revealing a cavern vast and echoing. Rough walls of obsidian and basalt absorbed sound. The air hung still, cool, and utterly devoid of Arcanthos's ambient magic. A perfect void for ghosts.
Rows upon rows of figures stood at rigid attention, clad in armor that seemed less forged and more *conjured* from solidified shadow. Matte black, seamless, it devoured the torchlight, rendering the wearers as voids given humanoid form. No sigils, no banners. Only profound silence, thick with anticipation, broken by the distant *drip-drip* of water. Then, a voice, sharp as shattering ice, cut from the front: "Sovereign's back!" The cheer that followed wasn't loud; it was a low, resonant thunder vibrating through the stone – fifty voices bound by iron discipline and fierce loyalty. The sound of a blade clearing its sheath in the dark. Silas raised a gauntleted hand, scarred knuckles stark against the dark metal. Instant, absolute silence. Shadow Death. His shadow. His final, desperate shield, forged in the brutal crucible of the Eclipse Wars.
At the forefront stood Steve's lieutenants, phantoms from whispered war stories. **Garrick** loomed like a fortress, Pyralis heritage evident in the heat shimmer around him and his knuckles – scarred, knotted, like cooled lava from shaping enchanted metal bare-handed. Beside him, **Lyra** seemed to flicker at the edges, her form subtly unstable. Her eyes, visible through her helm's slit, shifted through Duneshade's mirage hues – amber, indigo, obsidian – never settling. On Steve's other side, **Ren** stood coiled like a spring. Once a High Arbiter of Celestria's Luminastra, his fall was marked by the corrupted starlight that crackled fitfully around his fists, a perversion of the pure light he once commanded. Steve clasped Silas's shoulder, his grin visible beneath the helm's shadow. "Told you they missed your sunny disposition, boss. Retirement clearly didn't mellow the edge."
***
Back in The Rusted Lantern, the silence after Silas and Steve vanished was a suffocating blanket. The cheerful clutter of storm-themed mugs and cloud-shaped napkin holders felt like artifacts from another life. Veyra paced near the cold hearth, each step leaving faint scorch marks on the floorboards, tiny embers flaring and dying at her heels. "Shadow Death," she spat, slamming a fist onto a table. The *crack* echoed. "Who *are* these ghosts? Can phantoms guard our families if Malthezar sends his blood-spawned shadows or the Sovereign unleashes those damn Nightshade Drakes?" Her fiery glare swept the room, landing on Corrin, whose water magic coiled like agitated eels around his wrists. Thalia sat unnaturally still, fingers tracing the wood grain, a moonbloom in a nearby vase wilting at the edges. Nyx leaned against the tavern door, shadows pooling and swirling like restless ink around her boots, her usual smirk replaced by grim focus. Fear, cold and sharp, had rooted itself deep.
Kael pushed off the counter, the polished wood smooth under his palms. He felt the weight of their stares – Emma's rigid silence, Veyra's simmering anger, the deep furrow in Rurik's brow. He sighed, the sound heavy. "They are strong enough," he stated, voice low but unyielding. All attention snapped to him. "During the Siege of Starspire… when Malthezar's voidlings breached the lower wards during the Nyxara zenith…" He paused, the memory vivid. "A diplomatic contingent was trapped in the Scriptorium Vaults. Voidlings were peeling the arcane-reinforced doors apart like parchment." His gaze met Emma's, then Veyra's. "From the Luminary's spire… we saw flashes. Black shapes moving faster than thought. Smoke with purpose. Blades that consumed light, cutting voidlings apart like they were made of fear itself. Screams silenced mid-cry." He took a breath. "By the time the Tower guard fought their way down… the vault was sealed. The survivors were inside the Starwell's inner sanctum, unharmed, wrapped in cloaks that reeked of ozone and cold stone. Not one guard saw them enter… or leave before dawn." Rurik grunted, the sound like boulders shifting. He meticulously sharpened what appeared to be a butter knife, its edge gleaming with unnatural keenness. "No boasts. No banners. Just the job done. Ghosts with fangs." The description did nothing to loosen Corrin's coiled serpents of water or relax Thalia's white-knuckled grip on the table edge.
***
Deep within the anti-magic cavern, the fierce welcome settled into focused readiness. Garrick stepped forward, resting his magma-scarred knuckles on the pommel of a massive, unadorned warhammer. "Heard whispers, boss," he rumbled, voice like grinding stone. "Retirement turned you soft. Bet Emma has you dustin' knick-knacks and waterin' posies." A ripple of low, knowing laughter spread through the ranks, a rare warmth in the shadowed place. Silas actually chuckled, a sound warmer than anything heard in Moonhaven for years. "Tried dusting once. Accidentally fused the vase to the shelf. We stick to storm clouds and suspiciously good espresso now." The laughter grew louder, momentarily easing the grim atmosphere. Silas let it fade naturally before his expression hardened, the warmth vanishing like smoke. "Listen sharp," he commanded, voice cutting through the lingering mirth. "Mission is absolute. The families. *All* of them. Guarded like they are the last spark in the Void. You are unseen. Unheard. If a shadow so much as *itches* wrong near them, you *erase* it. No traces. No witnesses." His gaze swept the lieutenants. "Lyra, Ren – with Steve. Moonhaven. The Rusted Lantern needs 'staff'. Seems my café profits weren't funding an army." A faint, ironic twist touched his lips. "Try not to terrify the locals *too* much. And Ren? Keep the lightning off the espresso machine. We need the income." Ren snapped a crisp salute, corrupted starlight flaring briefly on his knuckles. "Finest starbrew in Celestria, Sovereign. Guaranteed not to explode… much." Silas's gaze turned flinty. "Jokes end now. Move like you're made of silence. Breathe like the wind forgot your name. If the Eclipse Covenant, Malthezar, or *any* Tower catches a whisper of you…" He let the devastating implication hang. "We lose it all." Fifty fists slammed against fifty shadow-forged chestplates in perfect, soundless unison. The starlight torches snuffed out as one. In the absolute, consuming darkness, only the faintest whisper of displaced air signaled their departure. When Lyra ignited a tiny, time-slowed spark moments later, the cavern was empty. Only the scent of ozone, cold stone, and unbreakable resolve remained.
***
Back in the café, the nervous energy was a tangible force. Thalia's moonbloom pulsed faintly. Veyra stopped pacing, planting her fists on her hips, glaring at Kael. "Fine. Ghosts with fangs. But how do we *know* they're out there *now*? Watching? What proof do we have besides a war story?"
Emma spoke for the first time since Silas left. Her voice was low, icy, cutting through the tension. "The proof is his word. Flawed, secretive, infuriating…" She met Kael's gaze, then looked towards the door Silas had vanished through. "...but when it comes to protecting what's his? To shielding this broken world? His word is the only stone in the quicksand." She uncrossed her arms, her Lunar Harmony magic causing faint, opposing glows of silver and violet to shimmer around her fingertips. "You won't see them. You won't hear them. You won't feel them. But if Malthezar's shadows reach for our children, if the Sovereign's drakes darken the sky over Moonhaven…" Her eyes, one silver, one deep violet, held a terrifying certainty. "Shadow Death will be the wall between them and the abyss. And then… they will be gone. Like smoke. That is the shield he forged. That is the proof we live by."
Outside, the wind howled with sudden, renewed fury, rattling the shutters like bones. It carried a deeper sound now, woven into the gale – not just wind, but the faintest, deepest echo of thunder. Not from the skies above Moonhaven, but rolling from the east, from the direction where Umbra's perpetual twilight bled against the horizon like a wound. It pulsed with a faint, ominous crimson light – the waxing power of Nyxara. The storm wasn't approaching. It had arrived. And deep within its shadowed heart, unseen blades, honed on Silas Ward's resolve and wielded by ghosts, were already slicing through the gathering dark. The Shield was deployed. The Sovereign was moving. The war for the Twin Moons had truly begun.