The royal sector of Alzharan was always quiet at night. Not peaceful—just quiet. The kind of silence born of too much control. Streets were swept, windows shuttered, and even the lamps glowed with soft enchanted light that dulled their presence more than illuminated anything.

  That made it all the more noticeable when the elite Dustguard units marched through the dark like wolves on patrol.

  Thessia crouched behind the low wall of a merchant’s veranda, just outside the ward where the correction facility met the noble quarter. Her ribs still ached. Dust from the earlier collapse clung to her legs, and her shoulder still burned from the earlier scuffle.

  But her sword was steady.

  “Two,” she whispered to herself, watching the shadows move below. “No… three. One on the roof.”

  She didn’t hesitate. A flash of metal—her boot connected with the overhead beam, and she swung herself onto the roof.

  The Dustguard on patrol didn’t even turn in time.

  One swipe.

  One grunt.

  A crumple.

  The other two spotted her only as their comrade fell.

  “It’s her—!”

  She didn’t let the shout finish.

  The air burst with tension as Thessia darted forward. Sword low, her movement cut a clean line through the sloped roof tiles and straight into the first guard’s gut. His armor sparked and hissed, magic etched into the plates deflecting some of her blow—but not enough.

  He flew backward over the edge.

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  The third guard released a flurry of enchanted needles, twirling his short spear like a conductor’s baton. The magic in them crackled silver—paralysis enchantment. Thessia ducked and rolled, but one grazed her thigh. Numbness spread immediately.

  “Tch… figures.”

  She pivoted her blade into a low guard. She couldn’t afford to get hit again.

  The Dustguard charged.

  But so did something else.

  From the rooftops behind—

  BOOM.

  A blur of shadow and silver fur crashed down between them.

  “Miss me?”

  Ko Mala.

  The Blessed Beast landed with enough force to crack the street below. His spectral bracers glowed faintly under the moonlight, and his white mane caught the wind as he turned toward Thessia, grinning.

  “About time,” she muttered, barely suppressing a smile.

  The Dustguard panicked.

  Two of them turned to flee, but Mala was already moving. A single leap carried him past one and onto the back of another, crushing armor and spine in one sickening crunch.

  The third swung wildly—only to find his weapon caught in Ko Mala’s hand.

  “Nah.”

  The beast twisted and hurled the elf like a ragdoll across the road. The remaining few tried to regroup, but Mala leapt into the air and crashed down again in front of them, the shockwave flattening half the street.

  Thessia moved with him, flanking the enemies as they staggered back to their feet. Her blade sang. Ko Mala’s fists thundered.

  It was over in seconds.

  The dust settled.

  The street was quiet again.

  Thessia panted, leaning against a wall for balance. Ko Mala stood beside her, chest rising slow and steady.

  “You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now.

  “Yeah,” she said. “That medallion actually worked.”

  Ko Mala smirked, tapping the golden disk around her neck.

  “Only if you believed in it.”

  ?

  Time Passed: Meanwhile – Northern Courtyard, Royal Castle

  Rell, Neyxa, and Lirah reached the edge of the garden-lined court beneath the palace steps. Trees cut into perfect spirals lined the outer rim, their trunks enchanted to shift with the moonlight. Statues of fallen elven generals stood like forgotten watchers, each cloaked in vine and dust.

  They didn’t make it to the doors.

  Not before—

  Zeven.

  He stood between two pillars, body upright, gaze dead.

  But his aura twisted.

  His movement… stiff. Wrong.

  “Zeven!” Neyxa called out. “Hey—!”

  He didn’t answer.

  The shimmer of illusory magic flickered faintly around him, skin reflecting like water, eyes glowing faint white beneath the surface.

  “Somethin’ wrong,” Rell muttered. “That… not him.”

  Zeven’s hand moved. A single seal twisted into the air, his fingers forming a pattern Rell recognized—

  An advanced clone-tech illusion spell.

  Then he vanished.

  Then there were five of him.

  All moving at once.

  “Back!” Neyxa warned, stepping in front of Lirah.

  The illusions attacked.

  Rell lunged forward, blocking a strike with his forearm. One clone dispersed. Another kicked him across the jaw. Neyxa parried with her daggers, rolling under a sweep before stabbing upward into one’s shoulder—only for it to burst like smoke.

  “Can’t hurt ‘em. They fake,” Rell snapped.

  “Then find the real one!” Neyxa shouted.

  But even as they moved, the real Zeven weaved between his mirages—flickering, dancing, reacting with unnatural speed. There was pain in his eyes… and fury.

  He wasn’t fully gone.

  But whatever was controlling him—was winning.

  “Zeven! It’s me—Rell! Fight this!”

  No answer.

  Only a final surge forward. Blade raised.