The march began at dawn—but there was no sun in the sky.
Only the soft glow of ley embers lit the path as Ashwan and his strike team passed the outer gate of the Veil Fortress. Above them, fire lanterns floated like guardian spirits, dim but steady. Behind them, the black walls of humanity's last bastion loomed like a sleeping titan, watching them leave without promise of return.
Only twelve warriors accompanied Ashwan. That was all the Veil could spare.
Ruvana, the one-eyed aerial commander with her twin flame-blades and a loyalty sharper than steel.
Thyrol, the cynical rune engineer carrying explosive mantra glyphs and mechanical traps.
Suda, a silent monk whose body bore ancient Tamil inscriptions that shimmered when danger approached.
Yana and Terin, twin ley archers who spoke through spirit song and shared vision through flame links.
And others—battle-scarred veterans, soul-linked scouts, and mantra warriors with nothing left to lose.
None of them asked why Ashwan was leading this mission.
They all knew.
This was not a strike. This was a wager. A gamble against extinction.
---
As they descended into the Veil Ravine, the sky shifted.
The air became heavy, not with heat or smoke, but silence. The kind of silence that screamed inside the bones. No birds. No wind. Even the echo of their footsteps seemed… stolen.
At the ravine's edge, the world bent.
They had reached the threshold of Kul'tharuun.
It was a wound in reality—an area warped by the endless prayers and rituals of the invading clans. The terrain bled shadow, and the soil no longer accepted light.
Thyrol hissed. "This place shouldn't exist. The leyline here is… reversed. It's draining energy instead of flowing it."
Ashwan nodded. "That's how they hide. Their summoning rituals twist the ley currents, creating a spiritual dead zone."
He placed his palm on the ash-covered ground. The Agniyan Sigil on his forehead flared, and for a brief moment, he saw it—a pulse beneath the land. Like a black heart, beating slow and foul.
> "The vault is three ridges north," Ashwan whispered. "Beneath a false hill. Guarded by silence-bound sentries."
Ruvana drew her blades. "Then let's burn their silence."
---
They moved like shadows across the broken terrain.
The ground groaned with each step, reacting like flesh. At one point, Suda paused and held up a hand. His tattoos flared briefly, revealing a hidden glyph trap stitched into the air itself—a spatial snare that would've shredded them into time-lost fragments.
"Clever," Thyrol muttered, disabling it with a twist of his runegun. "They don't want company."
"And yet," Ashwan said, "we're at their front door."
---
At the base of the third ridge, they saw it—a hill that breathed.
Not literally, but with every few seconds, the ground swelled, then fell. As if something massive slumbered beneath.
"Is that the vault?" asked Terin, his bow drawn.
"No," Ashwan said, voice quiet. "That's the heart."
Suddenly, the shadows shifted.
Dozens of silent sentinels emerged—pale, armorless humanoids with no mouths, no eyes, only runes burned into their skin. They moved like smoke, blades extending from their arms, and surged toward the team in eerie silence.
Ashwan didn't flinch.
"Formation Flame-Two. Do not use sound-based mantras. Silence is woven into their aura. Ruvana—take air. Archers—backline. Suda—front split. Thyrol, prime charge."
In seconds, the team reacted.
The sentinels struck—inhumanly fast.
But flame met shadow.
Ruvana sliced through the air, twin blades igniting as she cut down two sentinels mid-leap. Suda's tattoos glowed bright red as he deflected five attacks at once, his hands weaving old martial forms taught only in ruined temples. Thyrol tossed a mantra mine that detonated silently, releasing pure light that seared through one flank.
Ashwan moved through the chaos like fire incarnate.
He didn't fight recklessly. Every strike with the Vel was precise, economical. His flame wasn't wild—it obeyed.
Then he felt it—a pulse from underground. A call.
"Below us," he said. "The summoning is beginning again."
He drove his spear into the soil—and flame surged down like lightning.
The false hill erupted, revealing a massive spiral seal—a dimensional altar, covered in clan language and demonic sigils. Within its center stood a figure.
Tall. Black-robed. Skin like cracking stone. And in his hand—
A fragment of the Final Flame.
Ashwan's heart dropped.
> "They've already breached the leyline..."