The weight of General Zalogr's scrutiny lingered long after Henry had left the oppressive confines of the command tent. It was a cold, calculating pressure, a reminder that his carefully guarded secrets were perhaps not as secure as he had hoped. The close call left him feeling exposed, unsettled, the fragile peace of the past weeks shattered. Seeking a measure of solace, a place to quell the gnawing unease churning within him, Henry found his steps leading him, almost unconsciously, towards the familiar, soaring spires of the Estath Cathedral.
He passed through the garrison gates, merging with the steady stream of afternoon city life. Here, away from the stark functionality of the barracks, East Aerion pulsed with vibrant energy, yet even the bustling crowds and overflowing market stalls couldn't entirely dispel the shadow Zalogr's interrogation had cast. Reaching the cathedral square, Henry paused. The massive stone edifice rose before him, a testament to centuries of faith and architectural grandeur. Intricate carvings adorned its façade, depicting angels and saints in stoic repose, their stone eyes gazing out over the city with serene indifference. He often found a strange comfort within its hallowed halls, the scent of incense, the hushed reverence, the way sunlight streamed through the vast stained-glass windows, painting the cool flagstones in shifting patterns of jewel-toned light - it offered a temporary respite from the harsh realities waiting outside.
As he approached the imposing main entrance, intending to lose himself for a while in quiet prayer, a figure standing near the ornate gates caught his eye, instantly recognizable despite the intervening years and the different paths their lives had taken.
The man was lean, wiry, clad in gleaming, perfectly fitted officer's plate armor that spoke of high status and demanding duties. He wasn't imposing in sheer size, but he radiated a potent aura of contained power, a deep, resonant thrum of aether barely concealed beneath the polished steel. Short, neatly trimmed black hair framed a resolute face, angular features etched with a quiet determination and strength that Henry remembered well. Sharp brown eyes, intelligent and decisive, scanned the square with the practiced alertness of a seasoned warrior, Haziel.
A genuine smile, rare and unforced, touched Henry's lips. Haziel - his first true friend made amidst the grit and grind of their early years in the Aerion military, long before Squad 18 had even formed.
Seeing Henry approach, Haziel turned, and a corresponding smile - broad, relaxed, instantly erasing the formal military bearing - spread across his face. "Henry! By the Angels, it's good to see you!"
"Haziel," Henry returned the greeting, clasping the offered forearm firmly. "Thought they'd finally exiled you to some gods-forsaken border post. Haven't seen you around the East Garrison in months."
Haziel laughed, a rich, easy sound Henry hadn't realized he'd missed. "Not exiled, just… busy. Command keeps sending my unit further afield these days. Seems trouble is brewing everywhere." His smile faded slightly, a hint of weariness touching his eyes. "But I just got back yesterday. Short leave before the next deployment."
"Mission-free for a day then?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't hurt to grab a drink at the Dunlyre? Catch up properly? Unless," he added, feigning seriousness, "your exalted rank now forbids consorting with lowly Rank 2 scouts."
Haziel clapped him hard on the shoulder, the impact solid through Henry's lighter gear. "Don't be an idiot. Of course. Drinks are definitely required. My treat." His eyes twinkled. "But only if Sophia joins us. It's been far too long since the three of us actually sat down together."
Henry felt a familiar warmth spread through him at the easy camaraderie, a reminder of simpler, if harder, times. "She'll be there," he promised.
Later, settled into their usual secluded corner booth at the noisy, familiar Dunlyre Tavern, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat, spilled ale, and woodsmoke, it felt almost as if no time had passed at all. Sophia sat beside Henry, her earlier concern replaced by a soft smile as she listened to Haziel recount some recent, undoubtedly embellished, training anecdote. The easy chemistry between the three of them, forged in shared hardship and youthful misadventures, remained strong despite their diverging paths.
Henry looked at Haziel, truly looked at him, perhaps for the first time in years. The boy he remembered scrubbing latrines alongside him was gone, replaced by a confident, powerful officer. The whispers Henry had heard were true then - "The Fifth Divine Monarch," they called Haziel in some circles, acknowledging a terrifyingly rare potential projected to reach the demigod tiers, Rank 7 or even beyond. It was a destiny that had placed Haziel on a fiercely accelerated development track, groomed for high command, privy to intelligence far beyond Henry's own clearance. Yet, here, now, sharing ale and banter, he was still just Haziel.
The table groaned under the weight of the food Haziel had insisted on ordering, a feast far exceeding their usual celebratory splurges. Spicy salt-and-pepper grilled river fish, deboned chicken stuffed with roasted root vegetables, a rich minced-meat and egg pie with a golden crust, and a platter piled high with glistening, oven-baked sweet-and-sour pork ribs.
Henry surveyed the spread and chuckled. "Since when does a Captain's pay stretch this far, Haziel? Trying to impress us humble scouts?"
Sophia echoed his sentiment, her eyes wide with mock surprise. "Seriously, Haziel. This spread could probably cover our entire squad's wages for a week. What secrets are Command teaching you?"
Haziel waved a dismissive hand, though his grin was pleased. "Consider it back pay for all the times you two covered for me during basic," he joked. "Besides, it's not like I get many chances to spend my salary. I'm either in the field or confined to Central Command barracks. Living expenses are covered." He winked broadly at Henry. "Saving up. Got to have a hefty gift ready for your wedding, after all."
Sophia flushed crimson, suddenly finding her mug intensely interesting, while Henry burst into genuine laughter. "Hah! Trying to bribe your way into being best man already?"
Haziel narrowed his eyes, his smile turning knowing. "Judging by the way you two were looking at each other back at the cathedral gates, it's getting close, isn't it? Don't keep her waiting too long, Henry. A woman like Sophia won't stay unattached forever, not even for you."
"Hey!" Sophia protested, though the blush remained. "It's not like anyone's actually proposed!"
"Give me time," Henry grinned, taking Sophia's hand under the table, earning another blush. "Maybe when I hit Rank 4? Need to be able to afford a battalion of Henry Juniors, after all."
"You're being utterly ridiculous," Sophia muttered, though she didn't pull her hand away. "Honestly, put you and the Captain or Haziel together in a tavern, and you revert to being about twelve years old."
Haziel roared with laughter, slapping the table. "Exactly! That's how you know it's real friendship, Sophia! Comfortable enough to be idiots together!"
The lighthearted banter continued, a welcome balm after the tension of the past weeks. They reminisced briefly about their early days - the shared misery of scrubbing pots and mucking stables, the terror and exhilaration of their first fumbling missions, the time they got hopelessly lost chasing a farmer's escaped goat and ended up spending a night treed by angry tusk-boars. Memories tinged with youthful folly, yes, but foundational stones of a bond that had endured promotions, separation, and the constant shadow of war. They spoke of Sophia declining the prestigious offer from the Church hierarchy to train as a Sacred Maiden years ago - a choice Haziel admitted he still didn't fully understand but respected, his gaze flickering briefly towards Henry. They spoke of Haziel's grueling specialized training, the immense pressure that came with his "Divine Monarch" potential, a potential Henry couldn't truly comprehend.
But eventually, as the mugs were refilled and the initial exuberance subsided, the conversation inevitably shifted, the weight of the present situation settling back upon them. Henry leaned forward slightly, his earlier levity gone, his gaze meeting Haziel's directly across the table. "Enough joking, Haziel. Things feel… tense in the city. More than usual. How bad is it, really?"
Haziel gently placed his heavy mug on the scarred wooden table, his expression mirroring Henry's shift, becoming sharp and serious. The easygoing friend vanished, replaced by the grimly knowledgeable officer. "It's… escalating," he admitted, his voice low. "You felt it on your last mission, didn't you? The Lykuzt incident wasn't isolated. Command has confirmed similar patterns - disappearances, ritualistic killings - in over twenty settlements ringing Aerion."
He paused, letting the number sink in. "The missions specifically targeting these… anomalies… have increased tenfold. My own rapid response unit has been temporarily merged into a larger task force operating directly under Central Command. We're talking multiple strike groups, thirty elite soldiers per group, each led by a Rank 5 officer." His eyes held a grim light. "In the eight years I've been in the regular army, Henry, I've never seen a deployment of high-rank personnel on this scale focused solely on internal threats around the capital."
"Rank 5 commanders…" Sophia breathed, her hand tightening instinctively on Henry's beneath the table. "Then the threat… Command believes the perpetrators are trying for Rank 5 ascension?"
Haziel shook his head slowly, decisively. "Not Rank 5. Not yet. That's the consensus from the analysts and the Archbishop's advisors."
Henry frowned, leaning closer. "Why so certain? If they're sacrificing dozens for power…"
"Because reaching Rank 5 through those kinds of dark pacts isn't just about the number of sacrifices," Haziel explained, his voice tight with grim certainty. "It requires a specific, complex, and massive ritual. The exact requirements vary depending on the entity being appeased or the specific strain of dark magic, but historical records unearthed by the Church scholars are consistent on the core components."
He took a slow sip of his ale, gathering his thoughts. "First, you need the initial fuel - a staggering number of life forces extinguished through ritual sacrifice. We're not talking dozens, Henry. We're talking thousands. Likely ten thousand or more, accumulated over time, to even begin fueling a Rank 5 ascension attempt."
Henry and Sophia exchanged a horrified glance. Ten thousand. The scale was sickening.
"And that's just the preparation," Haziel continued grimly. "The final stage, the ascension itself, requires a specific environment. It needs to be performed in a place considered 'solemn' or holding significant ambient energy - like near a temple, a nexus point, or an ancient ruin - but critically, the immediate surrounding area must be simultaneously plunged into absolute chaos, terror, and madness. These raw, negative emotions become the catalyst, the final surge of power the ascendant absorbs to break through the Rank 4 barrier."
Henry processed this, frowning. "The conditions sound specific, but… achievable, surely? Besieging a large town, inciting panic and slaughter… couldn't that create enough chaos?"
Haziel shook his head again, dismissing the idea with grim authority. "The scale is still wrong. To generate enough raw chaotic energy, enough focused madness and despair for the final absorption, you need a critical mass of terrified populace concentrated in one area. Think thousands packed together, witnessing horrors, breaking down simultaneously. A typical large town might have, what, five, maybe seven thousand people? Scattered? It's not enough concentrated psychic trauma. A village is completely insignificant for this purpose." He leaned forward, his eyes dark. "To successfully fuel a Rank 5 dark ascension ritual, according to all reliable historical precedents… you need to target a population center numbering in the tens, if not hundreds, of thousands."
A chilling silence fell over their corner booth, the cheerful noise of the tavern fading into a dull roar. Henry felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Concentrated in one place.
Sophia took a sharp, unsteady breath, her face paling beneath the warm lamplight, her amber eyes wide with dawning horror as the inevitable conclusion struck her. "Then… dear Angels… then that means…" she whispered, her voice trembling, "if they truly intend to ascend to Rank 5… they would have no choice. They would have to attack one of the satellite cities. Or…" Her voice broke. "Or even Central Aerion itself."