Rain barraged against the roof of the Vanguard quarters in Dunmore, each drop like a hammer on the sagging roof. Water drops pored through ceiling cracks, dripping into dented tin buckets in the corridor with a rhythmic plink-plink sound that was swallowed by the storm's roar outside.
Inside the room, a single torch sputtered weakly on the wall, casting shadows that danced across the clutter of bunks, gear crates, and a scarred table with maps and half-empty mugs on it.
Finn lolled in a creaky chair by the flickering torch, one leg swaying over the armrest. He toyed with a dented iron mug, spinning it on the table. He popped his head up lazily, glancing at Lyra.
"Aric's dead...you know it. Widowmakers don't let prey slip away, not after he played bait like that."
Lyra sat on a bunk across the room, one leg tucked under her, the other one swinging casually. Her fingers worked a whetstone against her dagger's edge, the scrape of steel on stone cutting through the drumm of the heavy downpour.
She shrugged as her hazel eyes stayed fixed on the blade. "Maybe. Finn, you're always certain...doesn't mean you're right. Aric's stubborn and might've outrun 'em."
Finn leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a wide sneer revealing his chipped tooth. "Outrun Widowmakers? In Yrengoth? You're dreaming, Lyra. He led them away...hero stunt, sure...but he's meat now." His chair creaked under his weight as he leaned back.
Lyra paused mid-swipe, she looked at him, her knuckles whitening around the dagger's hilt. "And you let him go...didn't even try to stop him. Don't act like you care now."
The door burst open, a gust of stormy wind almost snuffing out the torch's flame for a heartbeat before it flared back. Caden stepped in first, his dark hair wet and plastering to his forehead. His cloak now a sodden weight pulling at his shoulders.
Nessa followed, her own cloak clinging to her small frame, its hood fallen back. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her cloak's edges, squeezing out a small stream of water that splashed onto the floorboards.
Finn's smug smile returned as he spun the mug again. "Well, well...prayers didn't work, did they?" he drawled, eyeing Caden and Nessa. "Aric's still not back. Guess Ilona isn't listening."
Caden's head snapped at him, water dripping from his chin. He stepped further into the room, soaked boots squelching on the floor. "Shut your mouth, Finn...hope's all we've got. He's alive, I know it."
Nessa closed the door behind her and pulled off her cloak, it slapped wetly onto a crate as she dropped it. Her brown eyes gleamed with unshed tears.
"I prayed too...but I hate that you all let him draw away those Widowmakers. You should've stopped him." She hugged herself to create a bit of warmth as she walked about in the room.
Finn scratched at his stubble and shrugged, his tone defensive. "Thought he'd make it...Aric's a cat, nine lives and all. But maybe I was wrong."
He looked at the floor, tapping his foot in a slow rhythm before looking up. "Wasn't our call, though. You know how stubborn he is...he would've done it anyway."
Lyra deliberately set her dagger down, the clink drawing attention, her fingers splayed wide on her thighs. "Enough...a search party's heading out at dawn. Best we can do is find what's left of him...bones, flesh, whatever."
The door suddenly creaked open again, slower this time, and Aric staggered in. He stood rain-soaked, his cloth plastered to his toned frame, water flowing from his long dark hair and pooling at his boots. His face was pale with exhaustion, but alive—undeniably alive.
Nessa gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes flaring open as she rushed forward, almost slipping on the floorboards. She threw her arms around him in a tight embrace, moisture mingling between them as she buried her face in his chest.
"Aric...you're alive!" Her voice broke into a sob, she quickly regained control of her emotions and stepped back, smiling.
Caden grinned with disbelief and joy, raking his hand through his wet hair, water flicking out. He walked towards Aric, relief settling on him. "How do you keep pulling this off... cheating death like it's nothing?"
He clapped Aric's shoulder, then gripping his hand with a form handshake. "Had me worried sick."
Aric shrugged sluggishly, exhaustion tugging at his limbs, taking unhurried steps towards his bed. "Just lucky...tired as hell. Need rest," he rasped.
Finn clapped his hands on his knees as he rose. He walked to Aric and poked him in the shoulder with his finger. "A ghost, huh? Thought the Widowmakers had you for breakfast...guess miracles happen, even for unbelievers."
Caden shot Finn a side-eye, his hand still on Aric's shoulder, then turned back to Aric. "Rest, yeah...you've earned it." His grip tightened briefly before letting go.
Lyra shifted on her bed, stretching her limbs. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and holding her blade above her eyes like she was trying to read it. "What happened out there, Aric? How'd you even survive?"
Aric sank into his bed, the frame creaking. He rubbed his hand over his face as he exhaled heavily. "Nothing much... I'll spill when I get dry."
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Back at the Wane Ritual, the air vibrated with ancient power. Inside Faleir's glassy forcefield, Lugh shuddered, resting on his knees, eyes burning bright. The staff was beginning to slip out of his sweaty palms but he subconsciously whispered the words—"Aetheris lux, Wane porta, Balmeir anima".
A faint mist began to drift out from his mouth, taking shape as it curled upwards. It solidified into Balmeir's echo, a tall broad, unclad wraith.
"Who dares awake me from eternal sleep?" Balmeir's form hovered, tilting his head up and looking around as if he was searching for something.
Duvran stepped forward, chin up and posture straightened. His voice cut through the spectral hum. "Can't you see who stands before you?"
Balmeir's echo looked around obliviously. "I literally cannot...do you not know how echoes work, Duvran? We hear. We speak. Nothing more." His voice echoed as if he was in a cave.
Duvran's jaw tightened, he exchanged a glance with Faleir before speaking. "It is I, Duvran, Lord of the Night and Weaver of Dreams, who summoned you...do I have your audience?"
Balmeir's form frowned, folding its arms. "What gives you the right to drag me from the Wane?"
Duvran's eyes flashed with impatience that broke through his otherwise calm demeanor. "Spare me your theatrics and protests. I need answers, Balmeir."
He stepped closer, his tone low and commanding. "Where is the Aether shard?"
Balmeir's echo shook its head, eyes staring emptily. "Hmmmm...Why do you seek it?"
Duvran looked at the chaos around him. "If I told you, I'd break the Wane's law...echoes cannot know the events of their summoned timeline, lest they be corrupted by such knowledge."
"I'm doing you a favor, Balmeir...keeping you pure."
Outside the forcefield, far off in the barren field, the Grymloch's was locked in a fierce fight. Macha wrestled with its maw, her hands gripping its upper and lower jaws, holding them apart as it strained to crush her, its horrid breath warm in her face.
Macha's boots dragged across the black soil, as the beast pushed her back with all its weight. Her spear stood meters away, its blade sunk embedded into the earth, glinting in the moonlight.
Her arms burned, muscles fatigued, but her smirk never faltered, feeding on the chaos. "Big mistake," she snarled. She reared back and slammed her forehead into the Grymloch's snout, a nasty headbutt that cracked bone. The beast flinched in pain and its jaws loosened. Macha quickly ducked under its chin and drove her fist up into its throat. The impact sent out a brief shockwave as the Grymloch staggered backwards.
Wasting no time, Macha sprinted toward her spear. The Grymloch recovered and roared as it charged after her. She extended her hand towards the spear, fingers spread out. The spear quivered in response, then jerked free from the earth, flying into her hand with a metallic hum. She caught it mid-motion and turned around, twirling it with swagger and smiling with murderous intent.
"Let's dance," she growled, planting her feet in the ground as the beast closed in on her.
The Grymloch swiped at her, its massive claw the size of her whole arm. Macha evaded it, thrusting her spear into its foreleg. Black blood sprayed out as she yanked the spear free and dodged its large horn. She immediately lept onto its shoulder, driving her spear into its back but it's thick hide resisted her blade.
Macha tried to hold on but slipped as she couldn't find any footing on its back. Before she even landed, the Grymloch's tail lashed at her, lightning-fast. The bulky whip of muscle struck her in the torso, sending her flying across the field. She hit the ground hard, skidding across the black soil, sand and dust rising around her. Unscathed, she rolled to her knees, spear still in her grip, her smile showing that she was enjoying this duel as much as the Grymloch did.
Belenos, dispatching Skulks nearby, caught the sight at the corner of his eyes and chuckled. "Sloppy," he remarked with a deep growl.
Swarms of Skulks surrounded him, dozens of charging at him with loud feral shrieks. He swung the chain in a wide arc, the double-pronged hook catching a Skulk mid-leap, piercing its in the chest—lava sizzled through its flesh. Belenos yanked the chain, flinging the corpse into another skulk.
Noticing the ones that were getting too close, he stomped his boot on the ground, sending forth a burst of molten magma from the ground, three feet high, melting dozens of Skulks into ash.
Another one lunged at him, its claws scraping his armor. He caught its throat with his flaming fist, fire engulfing it in an instant. He then hurled the charred husk into the approaching swarm. The Skulks kept coming, relentless, but Belenos continued to decimate them effortlessly.
Within Faleir's barrier, Balmeir's echo had long digressed into a story. "After the mortals welcomed me, they built altars and temples, worshipped me day after day. I taught them magic...fire to warm their hearths, water to grow their crops. A golden age, until…".
Duvran glanced at his hand, noticing a small tear in his skin where black smoke curled from the seam—the Titans' curse corroding his essence. He snapped. "Enough of your tales, Balmeir...get to the point."
Balmeir's echo went silent and then continued. "Very well. As a parting gift, I passed the Aether shard to my mortal followers...its power was a legacy for their devotion."
Duvran's voice rose. "You gifted a cosmic artifact to mortals? Do you know where they kept it?"
Balmeir's ignored the change in Duvran's tone. "I wouldn't know...such a relic isn't stashed away like gold. It's handed down, generation to generation, by those who followed me."
Duvran's gaze shifted to Faleir. "Nothing more, then. Close the Wane." His tone was final.
Faleir nodded and began to walk around Lugh, whispering the closing incantation—"Wane clausum, anima redite" ("Wane closed, soul return"). He continued chanting the words as Balmeir's echo faded, the mist twisting back into Lugh's open mouth. Lugh slumped forward on his knees, sand clinging to his sweaty hands, the glow in his eyes dulling out and his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Duvran's expression darkened as he strode towards the infernal gate. "A dead-end...the Aether shard still as elusive as the Aetherion itself.
Faleir straightened, trailing behind him. "At least we know it's in the mortal realm. Muiric has kept mortals inland since their creation...the shard's never left this land. It's not over yet, Lord Duvran."
Lugh pushed himself up, a wry grin forcing its way through his exhausted features. "Yeah...plenty of time to chase shadows."
Across the field, Macha was still engaged in her duel with the collosal beast. The beast charged and swung its claw at her with unnatural speed, she ducked under, rolling in the sand but the sharp tip grazed her arm. A deep gash opened, crimson blood spurting out—she misjudged its speed.
Unfazed, she extended her hand and her spear, lodged in the Grymloch's hind leg, dislodged itself and whizzed through the air into her grip. She caught it, and lept a few yards away from the Grymloch's reach, bracing herself for the kill.
The Grymloch roared, charging with horns. Macha jumped, landing on its back and driving her spear into its spine with superhuman strength. The galloping beast bucked as the blade sank through its tough hide with ease. Black blood sprayed on her face, but she rode it, and then twisted the spear free.
The beast thrashed violently, whipping its tail at her—she anticipated and lept off it's back, narrowly dodging, and landed a few feet away. The Grymloch bellowed in agony unaware of her position as black ichor poured out from the wound on its back—she seized the opportunity, hurling her spear with such velocity that the air itself seemed to shatter around it. The spear sank deep into its thick foreleg—almost piercing through completely, cutting through tendons and ligaments causing the Grymloch to buckle to the ground.
She sprinted at the beast with a snarl, placing her foot on the exposed shaft of the lodged spear and propelling herself onto its head. The Grymloch sensed it and thrashed about weakly but she held fast to it's horn.
Macha gripped the horn with both hands and wrenched it sideways until bone snapped. The beast shrieked in pain as she tore the horn free from its skull, bathing her in black viscous blood.
Raising it like a dagger, she drove it deep into the Grymloch's eye, twisting it far into its head until its roars died in its throat. It collapsed to the ground, its body convulsing violently before going still, the dirt sizzling with warm gore that exuded faint vapors.
Duvran standing before the infernal gate, looked back at her, nodding with approval. "Savage artistry," he remarked, before walking through the rippling portal. Faleir's gaze lingered shortly on her, expressionless, then he walked through.
Macha collapsed on the lifeless hulk of muscle and bone, chest heaving as she stared up at the starry sky, Grymloch ichor coating her completely and blood oozing from her arm injury. Exhaustion coiled around her limbs, but her smirk never left.
Belenos, nearby, had thinned the Skulk swarm to a scattering of stragglers. He planted his hands on the ground and strained, his bulky muscles flexing under bronze armor, unleashing a wave of fire. Flames burst from the earth, spreading thirty feet wide around him, scorching the remaining Skulks to ash, smoke drifting into the air. He stood, dusting his hands with a satisfied grunt.
Lugh limped over to where Macha lay, his face pale and his mismatched eyes dull. He extended a hand. "You look like hell...worse than me, and I'm the one who lost a few hundred years."
Macha rasped a dry chuckle, propping herself up on her good elbow. "You're a mess too."
She winced, clutching her bleeding arm, then grinned. "This? A sign that my mom really misses me...she always nicked me to get my attention."
Lugh grasped her hand, pulling her up. "Fair point...go see her. That was a close one though."