The fourth hour chimed faintly from a distant cathedral tower, a lonely sound in the pre-dawn stillness of the barracks. For most of Aerion, sleep still held sway, but for Henry, the day had already begun. Habit, forged over eight relentless years, pulled him from the thin mattress onto the cold stone floor before conscious thought fully formed. He moved silently through his familiar routine - stretching stiff muscles, pulling on worn training gear. Regardless of the previous day's exhaustion, the horrors witnessed, or the fleeting moments of peace found with Sophia, this discipline was immutable. Rank advancement was slow, uncertain; physical prowess and combat skill, honed through sheer, agonizing repetition, were the bedrock of survival in the unforgiving world of Tehra. It was a truth etched deep into his soul.
Before heading out, he paused, focusing inward. The hidden reservoir beneath the skin of his chest felt settled, full, after last night's ritualistic draining. He activated the power linked to it - the Mystic Sense. Instantly, the familiar spectral map bloomed in his mind's eye, a perfect, three-dimensional overlay of his surroundings extending outwards ten meters. He could perceive the very structure of the room, the sleeping forms of Torsan and Lumos nearby, the dust motes dancing in the airless space, the subtle warp in the floorboards beneath his feet - all rendered with astonishing, intuitive clarity. It was his secret weapon, his hidden burden.
He briefly pushed a sliver of aether into the Sense, feeling the familiar drain as the mental map expanded - twenty meters, thirty. The detail remained constant, only the scale shifted. He knew pushing it to its current limit, fifty meters, demanded a heavy price, depleting his reserves rapidly. It was a tool of perception, not direct combat, but its potential felt vast, evolutionary. The church records hinted as much. Sometimes, when pushing the range to its limit, especially near places of power like the cathedral or even certain leyline intersections he instinctively felt, he perceived something else - a fleeting pulse deep beneath the earth, an ethereal stream of emerald light. It felt ancient, potent, strangely compelling, yet utterly inexplicable. Another enigma in the mystically saturated world of Tehra, he told himself, dismissing the faint thrum of curiosity it always ignited. There was no time for such distractions. Survival demanded focus on the tangible, the immediate.
His rigorous solo training session completed just as the first grey light began to filter through the high barrack windows, Henry joined his assigned patrol unit. Today, it was a routine security sweep through their designated sector of East Aerion, one of the four heavily populated satellite cities encircling the magnificent capital. He walked alongside familiar comrades, soldiers whose faces showed varying degrees of weariness or boredom, their armoured boots echoing rhythmically on the awakening cobblestone streets.
With his Mystic Sense subtly active at its passive ten-meter range, the city unfolded around Henry in layers unseen by his companions. He perceived more than just the tangible - the intricately carved stone facades of merchant houses, the steaming carts of early morning vendors setting up their wares, the flow of sleepy citizens heading towards temples or workshops. He sensed the underlying structure of the space, the subtle currents of air swirling down narrow alleyways, the vibrations of carriage wheels on stone. Occasionally, fleeting waves of emotion brushed against his awareness from nearby citizens - a flare of anxiety from a hurried courier, a simmering knot of anger from arguing neighbours, the cold unease radiating from a figure lurking too long in a shadowed doorway. He could anticipate hazards before they fully materialized - a child darting heedlessly into their path, a drunkard staggering precariously close to the patrol line. The Sense was proving exceptionally useful for maintaining order, for preempting trouble before it began. Yet, he was always conscious of its limits. It offered awareness, not augmented strength or speed. It was a shield of knowledge, not a weapon, and its true potential, the evolution hinted at in fragmented texts, remained locked away, its key unknown.
Their patrol route took them through bustling market squares already coming alive, past stern-faced guards standing sentinel before the headquarters of the East Aerion garrison, and eventually, towards the impressive edifice of the Estath Cathedral. This wasn't the Grand Cathedral in the central capital, but one of its major offshoots, yet still a place of significant power and reverence. As they passed its towering spires and ornate gates, Henry felt the usual faint sense of peace emanating from the holy site, a subtle cleansing effect that seemed to momentarily soothe the rough edges of his spirit, pushing back the lingering darkness from the horrors of the Lykuzt mission. He resolved to return later, after his shift, for his customary prayers, perhaps even to seek out the kindly Envoy Ralph who managed the church's charitable works, an activity that offered a different kind of grounding.
In the afternoon, fulfilling mandatory soldier requirements, Henry found himself seated on a hard wooden bench within a garrison lecture hall, ostensibly listening to a dry recounting of Zephyrosian history and religious doctrine. Zephyros, one of the three great continental powers, a nation uniquely governed by the formidable Supreme Council - eight figures of immense personal power, including the High Commander of the armies, the Pontiff of the Radiant Angels faith, the Holy Knight exemplar, and senior representatives of the ancient nobility. Their word was law, their combined might the bedrock of the nation's dominance.
The lecturer droned on about the First Epoch, the age of terror when Ancient Monsters ruled Tehra. He spoke of the descent of the four great Archangels - Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel - bestowing power and knowledge upon the nascent sentient races, the High Spirits, enabling them to rise up and challenge the monsters. Ten monsters slain, fourteen sealed away across the ravaged lands. The High Spirits, the histories claimed, evolved over millennia into the legendary Guardians, protectors revered across Tehra, forming the basis of another major faith, rivaling even the Radiant Angels in influence in some lands. These Guardians, the lecturer emphasized, were humanity's shield against external threats - Demons, Void Lords, resurgent Great Monsters. Listening to the familiar litany, Henry felt the intended effect - a stirring of loyalty, a reinforcement of faith in the Angels and the nation they ostensibly protected. Yet, juxtaposed against the recent horrors, the talk of ancient victories and divine protectors felt… distant. Abstract. The threats facing them now felt far more tangible, far more insidious.
Just as he stepped out of the lecture hall, blinking in the afternoon sun, a young acolyte from the Estath Cathedral approached him hesitantly. "Soldier Henry? A message for you, relayed from Captain Jacobs. You are to gather at the Dunlyke Tavern at your earliest convenience."
An hour later, Henry pushed open the familiar heavy oak door of the Dunlyke, the welcoming warmth and cheerful noise a stark contrast to the garrison's austerity. He found the rest of Squad 18 already gathered around their usual large corner table, mugs of ale and remnants of stew and bread before them. The atmosphere was relaxed, more like a family meal than a formal military gathering.
"Look who finally decided to show," Jacobs greeted him with a grin, raising his tankard. "Just discussing the odds of your wife making you sleep on the stable floor tonight, Captain," Henry retorted easily, sliding onto the bench beside Sophia. He caught her eye, offering a small smile.
Jacobs roared with laughter. "You're the third one to predict dire consequences! Melly figures I'll get an earful all night - probably projecting her own fears. Torsan guessed I'd be locked out - apparently a common occurrence for him. And you," he fixed Henry with a mischievous glint, glancing pointedly between him and Sophia, "you think Laura will banish me from the bed. Seems you two have beds on the brain lately, eh? Enjoying domestic bliss?"
The entire table chuckled, turning knowing gazes towards Henry and Sophia. Sophia flushed a becoming crimson, suddenly finding the dregs of her fruit beer utterly fascinating. Henry felt his own ears warm, realizing he'd walked straight into the Captain's trap. Time to change the subject.
"Did you gather us here just for the pleasant company, Captain," Henry asked quickly, shifting the focus, "or is there news regarding the Lykuzt mission?"
Jacobs chuckled, letting him off the hook. "Smooth, kid. Very smooth." His expression turned serious again, the earlier levity vanishing. "Alright, listen up. News from Command." He waited until he had everyone's undivided attention. "Our report from Lykuzt… wasn't an isolated incident. Far from it."
The easy atmosphere evaporated. "Command compiled intel from all active recon teams over the past week," Jacobs continued, his voice low and grim. "Over twenty towns and villages surrounding Aerion have reported similar disappearances, similar signs. And where teams investigated further… they found scenes like the one we found. Ritualistic sacrifices. Torture. Bodies drained of life, some even of their souls."
A collective chill went around the table. The horror of the cave wasn't unique; it was part of a widespread, terrifying pattern.
"So, what's Command's conclusion?" Lumos asked, his voice heavy.
"Black Sect activity," Jacobs stated flatly. "Dark cultists. Sacrificing innocents to fuel their power, likely seeking advancement."
"Advancement?" Daniel frowned, looking up from his book, instantly grasping the implication. "To what Rank?"
"Some of these degenerate cults gain power directly from their dark patrons in exchange for sufficient sacrifice," Jacobs explained grimly. "Once they reach a certain threshold of offerings, they can attempt rituals to break through to higher Ranks. Command believes these perpetrators are aiming for Rank 4, possibly even Rank 5."
The tension in the air thickened, becoming almost suffocating, Rank4. Rank 5. Their squad consisted of Rank 1s and 2s, led by a single Rank 3. Against individuals wielding that level of power, especially those fueled by dark rituals, they weren't soldiers; they were potential victims, lambs for the slaughter. The recent dangers suddenly felt terrifyingly personal.
Seeing the fear settle on their faces, Jacobs quickly raised a hand. "But don't panic yet. Command has a plan, already in motion. Starting tomorrow, elements of the Royal Guard are being deployed from the capital to reinforce the satellite cities. High-level dedicated recon units and the Central Investigation Bureau are taking over all missions flagged with potential cult or anomalous activity. These disappearances are officially above our pay grade now."
A collective sigh of relief swept the table, almost as profound as the earlier dread. They weren't being thrown into the meat grinder.
"Our orders," Jacobs concluded, "are to return to standard patrol rotations and low-level recon duties within East Aerion. Keep our eyes open, report anything suspicious, but let the specialists handle the major threats. Stay sharp, stay safe, do your jobs."
The relief was palpable, easing the immediate tension. They were soldiers, accustomed to orders, and being ordered away from a fight against Rank 4 or 5 cultists was an order easily accepted.
Later, walking back towards the barracks under the now luminous city sky, Henry held Sophia's hand tightly, the warmth a small anchor against the vastness of the revelations. Widespread cult activity, sacrifices, Rank 5 ascensions… despite the reassurances, despite the Royal Guard deployment, he felt terrifyingly small, insignificant against the scale of the forces stirring in the shadows around Aerion.
As if sensing his thoughts, Sophia squeezed his hand, her free hand coming up to rest on his arm. "Whatever happens, Henry," she murmured, her voice soft but firm, her amber eyes meeting his in the cool light, "I believe in you. You'll face it. You always do. You'll still be the one who protects me, just like you did before." Her faith in him was absolute, humbling, and terrifying all at once.
He pulled her closer, offering silent comfort, drawing strength from her unwavering presence. He looked up at the seemingly impregnable walls of Aerion glowing under the phosphorescent light, at the symbol of Zephyros's might. Yet, the image of the blood-soaked cave, the implications of dozens sacrificed for dark power, lingered like a chilling poison. A deep, formless unease coiled in his gut. Royal Guards, Rank 5s, even the rumored demigods in the central capital… were any walls truly high enough, any power truly great enough, to hold back the kind of darkness that sacrificed sixty souls without a trace? The fragile peace felt thinner than ever before, stretched taut over an abyss he was only beginning to comprehend.