Sophia's whispered words hung heavy in the sudden silence that descended upon their corner of the Dunlyre Tavern. Attack one of the satellite cities… Or even Central Aerion itself. The cheerful noise of the tavern seemed to recede, replaced by the chilling weight of her realization, a logical conclusion drawn from Haziel's grim explanation of the Rank 5 ascension ritual's horrifying requirements. The threat, which had seemed like a distant wildfire licking at the edges of Zephyros's territory, now felt poised to strike directly at its heart.
A palpable tension gripped Henry, cold and sharp. He saw his own unease mirrored in Sophia's wide, frightened eyes and even in the tightening of Haziel's jaw. Haziel, privy to high-level intelligence, gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, confirming their fears.
"That," Haziel said, his voice low and somber, "is precisely what the Supreme Council and the Archbishop's inner circle are most deeply concerned about. The sheer scale required for such a ritual narrows the potential targets considerably. If these cultists are truly aiming for Rank 5, and if they are desperate or fanatical enough… then yes, the satellite cities, with their dense populations, are the most logical, horrifying targets."
Henry felt a cold dread seep into his bones. Damn it all. First, the worry about some peripheral village, then the realization of a widespread cult, and now the potential for an assault on the capital's very doorstep. The danger felt like it was rapidly closing in, shrinking the world around them.
Sophia took a shaky breath, trying to regain her composure, her analytical mind searching for alternatives. "But… surely, advancement isn't their only possible motive? Could they be targeting something else within the cities? An ancient artifact, perhaps? Or plotting an assassination? Attempting to cripple a vital military installation?"
Haziel sighed, running a hand through his short black hair. "Those possibilities are all being considered, Sophia. Believe me, the advisory council, the Cathedral's strategists, the members of the Supreme Council themselves… they are working around the clock, analyzing every scrap of intel, every historical precedent, trying to discern the enemy's true objective beyond the obvious power grab. But the scale of the sacrifices already committed… it strongly suggests Rank ascension remains the primary goal, however insane it seems."
The conversation had spiraled rapidly from distant disappearances to horrifying massacres in desecrated caves, and now to the potential for catastrophic attacks on major population centers. It felt like being caught in an accelerating vortex of darkness, each revelation hinting at a conspiracy far more complex and sinister than a few scattered cultists seeking power. Henry reached under the table, his fingers finding Sophia's, squeezing gently. She responded instantly, her grip tight, a silent acknowledgment of their shared fear, a reminder that they faced this, like everything else, together.
Despite the silent reassurance, Sophia couldn't entirely mask the worry clouding her features. "But Aerion… the satellite cities…" she murmured, her voice laced with anxiety. "It feels so overwhelming. What can possibly be done against such a threat?"
Haziel leaned forward, his sharp brown eyes softening slightly as he looked at his two oldest friends. "Listen," he said, his voice regaining a measure of confidence. "There are operational details I cannot discuss, protective measures being enacted that aren't public knowledge. But I need you both to trust. Trust in the strength of Zephyros. Trust in the Supreme Council, the Cathedral, the Royal Army. We are not unprepared. We are not weak." A faint, resolute smile touched his lips, a reflection of his own deep faith in the nation's power. "Aerion is the heart of an empire, Sophia, Henry. It will not fall easily."
He lowered his voice further, sharing information clearly meant to reassure, perhaps even impress upon them the gravity with which the threat was being treated. "As we speak, a formidable reinforcement army, drawn from the central legions, is being urgently deployed to the capital region. They will assume primary responsibility for the outer defensive cordons. Within the four satellite cities - East, West, South, North - the elite Royal Guard battalions, supplemented by the local defense forces like yours, will be responsible for internal security and rapid response."
He paused, letting them absorb the scale of the mobilization. "And within Central Aerion itself… command is taking no chances. Pope Vincent and the Radiant Prince Alfie will personally oversee the city's defenses."
Henry and Sophia both drew sharp breaths. Pope Vincent, the spiritual leader of the Radiant Angels faith, and Prince Alfie, the legendary Holy Knight - both were figures of immense power, whispered to be true demigods, Rank 7 individuals whose might could reshape battlefields.
"Alongside them," Haziel continued, his voice filled with conviction, "will be a standing force of over three hundred high-ranking individuals stationed within the central district - veteran officers, battle mages, Cathedral Templars - ranging from Rank 5 to Rank 6. Aerion is mobilizing a defensive force unprecedented in recent history."
The sheer scale of the defense Haziel described was staggering, far surpassing anything Henry or Sophia had ever imagined. It was meant to be reassuring, proof of Zephyros's might, yet it had the opposite effect on Henry. A defense that massive… what kind of terrifying threat did Command truly anticipate, to warrant stripping legions from other duties and concentrating such overwhelming power, including two demigods, solely on protecting the capital? It felt less like reassurance and more like a confirmation of impending doom. This isn't easing my mind, Henry thought grimly, it's twisting my gut.
Sophia, however, seemed to find some solace in the numbers. "I understand," she said softly, a measure of calm returning to her voice. "With such a formidable defense… surely no mere terrorist group could hope to succeed."
Right, Henry conceded internally, forcing down his unease. Demigods, hundreds of Rank 5s and 6s, the Royal Guard... maybe those lunatics aren't that suicidal. He allowed a sliver of relief to penetrate the gloom. Perhaps sleep might actually come tonight.
Sensing the heavy atmosphere had lingered long enough, Haziel offered a wry, slightly forced smile, attempting to inject some levity back into their reunion. "So," he said, raising his mug, "my advice? All you lovebirds should take advantage of these relatively quiet moments together. Live a little. If the worst does happen, at least you won't have any regrets, eh?"
Henry nearly choked on his ale, shooting Haziel a dark look. You crazy bastard, he thought furiously. Joking at a time like this?
Sophia, however, simply glared at Haziel, though a fetching blush crept up her neck despite the inappropriate timing. Eager to move past the morbid jest, she quickly asked, "So, what about you, Haziel? What are your immediate plans, now that you're back?"
Haziel set his mug down, his expression turning serious once more, but this time touched with personal ambition rather than grim duty. "Firstly, I've been recalled to Central Aerion for processing. Seems Command is accelerating promotions for those eligible." He allowed himself a small, proud smile. "I've finally accumulated enough field experience, aether saturation, and logged merits. I'm undergoing the Rank 4 ascension ritual the day after tomorrow."
"Rank 4?" Henry felt a genuine pang of admiration, momentarily forgetting his anxieties. "Haziel, that's… congratulations! Truly." He felt a complex mix of pride for his childhood friend and a sharp awareness of the widening gulf between their paths. Haziel, his contemporary, was about to surpass even Captain Jacobs, a man a decade their senior.
"Thanks, Henry," Haziel nodded, the pride clear in his eyes. "It's… necessary, given the circumstances. Command wants as many reliable officers at Rank 4 and above as possible right now." He took another drink, then met their gazes, a new resolve hardening his features. "And after the ascension… I have my next assignment. Once the reinforcement army is fully deployed here, Zephyros is sending an elite Rank 4 contingent - fifty of us, newly promoted or proven veterans - straight to Natsmunda. I'll be going with them."
The name dropped into the conversation like a thunderclap. Natsmunda. Both Henry and Sophia stared, eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and profound respect. He's really going, Henry thought, awed despite himself. They truly see him as the future.
Natsmunda. Even the name carried legendary weight throughout Tehra. It wasn't a kingdom or an empire in the traditional sense, but a single, colossal city-state, unique and utterly bizarre. An entire nation contained within one city, built vertically, dozens of stories tall, piercing the sky like a magnificent, impossible spire. Its peculiarity didn't end there. Every three years, Natsmunda endured the 'Monster Tide' - a terrifying onslaught where countless ferocious monsters from the vast, untamed surrounding wilderness surged towards the city in relentless, overwhelming waves.
Most nations would view such an event as an unmitigated disaster. Natsmunda, however, had turned catastrophe into commerce, and survival into a brutal, highly sought-after training regimen. They didn't actively exterminate the beasts beyond what was necessary for defense, nor did they plead for aid. Instead, protected by nigh-impenetrable walls and layered magical formations, they profited. They sold a strictly limited number of "Monster Extermination Permits" - licenses to enter the lower levels and surrounding kill-zones during the Tide - to the other nations of Tehra. Only seven hundred permits in total were issued globally every three years, with the great powers like Zephyros allotted a mere one hundred each.
For the soldiers granted these permits, Natsmunda was both a crucible and an opportunity. It was four months of near-insane, high-intensity combat against overwhelming odds, a relentless meat grinder where survival depended on skill, luck, and pushing oneself far beyond perceived limits. Those who endured, who fought and survived the frenzied sea of monsters, returned transformed, tempered in a fire few could imagine. They progressed in Rank and combat prowess at an astonishing rate, their skills honed to a razor's edge. Veterans of Natsmunda were highly valued upon return, often fast-tracked to important positions, their names joining the rolls of legends.
Haziel being chosen for the Natsmunda contingent, especially as a newly promoted Rank 4, spoke volumes about the expectations Zephyros placed upon him, underscoring the whispers of "The Fifth Divine Monarch."
Henry chuckled softly, recalling the darkly humorous sayings popular amongst soldiers regarding the legendary city-state. "One permit to Natsmunda costs the same as training a hundred Rank 3s." "Four months of madness there is worth ten years of regular missions." And the most cynical: "Natsmunda sells everything - sometimes, if you're rich enough or desperate enough, you can even buy your own survival there!"
The conversation lingered for another half hour, filled with congratulations for Haziel, shared anxieties about the future, and promises to stay in contact. Eventually, Haziel had to depart, recalled to Central Aerion to prepare for his ascension and deployment. Watching him leave, Henry felt a complex mix of pride for his friend's ascent and a stark awareness of his own comparatively stagnant position, fighting tooth and nail just to maintain his Rank 2 duties.
He and Sophia walked back towards the barracks in a more subdued silence, trying to temporarily set aside the fresh anxieties Haziel's revelations had stirred. Scarcely had Henry stepped back into the familiar, spartan confines of his dormitory when a runner brought welcome, if slightly anticlimactic, news. Official confirmation: the reinforcement legions were arriving within two days. Effective immediately, all scout squads were stood down from anomaly investigations; those missions were being transferred to the incoming specialists. Squad 18 was to resume standard patrol schedules.
"So," Henry murmured, sinking onto his cot, a wave of profound relief washing over him, "we're finally off the hook from that particular brand of insanity." At least for now.
The following days in Aerion unfolded with an unsettling, almost unnatural tranquility. The elite reinforcement troops arrived with disciplined efficiency, their presence bolstering the city's defenses visibly. Checkpoints were stricter, patrols more numerous, the gleaming armor of the Royal Guard a common sight in the satellite cities. Yet, beneath the surface calm, an undercurrent of tension remained. No riots erupted, no suspicious activities were reported, but the peace felt fragile, temporary.
Henry threw himself back into his routine with renewed focus, perhaps seeking refuge in the familiar. Grueling physical training before dawn, meticulous weapons maintenance, long security patrols through his assigned sector, quiet moments of prayer and contemplation within the cool sanctuary of the Estath Cathedral - sometimes assisting Envoy Ralph with distributing aid to the city's needy, finding a different kind of purpose in simple acts of charity. He even attended the mandatory history and religion lectures with slightly more attention, seeking anchors in the grand narratives of his nation and its faith.
And in every spare moment, in the quiet solitude of his bunk late at night or during brief lulls on patrol, Henry continued his secret exploration. He cautiously delved into the deeper strata of his Mystic Sense, pushing its range, observing its nuances. The detailed spatial map it provided remained consistent, but one peculiar detail now captured his unwavering attention, growing more insistent each day.
Whenever he focused his will, extending the Sense to its maximum fifty-meter radius, the ethereal band of emerald light would silently materialize deep beneath his feet, seemingly independent of the surrounding earth and stone. Initially, weeks ago, it had been a faint, fleeting shimmer, easily dismissed as a trick of perception or a strange energy fluctuation. But now, its appearances were more frequent, its luminosity intensifying whenever he reached for it with the Sense, becoming undeniably clear, vibrant, almost beckoning.
A strange resonance began to stir within Henry whenever the emerald light manifested. It wasn't merely a visual phenomenon within his mind's eye; it carried an almost irresistible pull, an unseen yet potent current that seemed to tug at his very spirit, like a mystical tether silently binding his awareness to its source. The light possessed an otherworldly beauty, a fresh, vibrant green that pulsed with latent life, yet simultaneously felt profoundly ancient, veiled in deep mystery. It felt… inviting.
The more Henry observed it, the more an intense, almost obsessive curiosity bloomed within him. It wasn't simple interest; it was a deep-seated yearning, a pressing need to understand the origin and meaning of this wondrous, enigmatic light. It felt like a half-heard whisper echoing in the hidden recesses of his mind, a gentle yet captivating invitation to… something.
Strangely, the emerald band seemed anchored not to a place, but to him. As long as he actively scanned at that fifty-meter range, it would silently manifest directly beneath his feet, regardless of his location within the city, a cryptic companion always shadowing his steps. It felt patient, waiting, an irresistible allure humming just below the threshold of perception. The compelling sensation grew stronger with each passing day, an unseen current relentlessly surging through his metaphorical veins, making it increasingly difficult for Henry to tear his focus away, to ignore the silent, luminous beckoning from the depths.