The wind had died, leaving the battlefield in a haunting stillness. The scorched remains of the Sentinels lay crumpled across the clearing, their metallic husks steaming under the early sun. The acrid scent of burnt Auren oil lingered, mingling with the faint crackle of residual energy.

  The group gathered around the subdued Black Armor mercenary, sprawled in the dirt, still reeling from Verona’s crushing blow. His once-polished armor was dented, scorched, and smoldering. When he stirred, shuddering and dazed, Kaelen sent a jolt of electricity through him—just enough to make him speak.

  “The Black Sun Cult… they hired us to retrieve the shard. Top priority,” he croaked, eyes wide with the memory of Verona’s wrath.

  A cold silence fell over the group.

  Marrec’s eyes narrowed. “The Black Sun Cult… they used to visit the foundry. Always poking into Black Jackal affairs, inspecting our… ‘merchandise.’” His sneer was bitter, the word dripping with distaste.

  Lira’s expression hardened, jaw set. “I used to hear the guards whisper about them. Cruel, twisted people. I never saw them myself, but their name always made my skin crawl.”

  Kaelen ran a hand through his hair, brow furrowed. “Why does it always come back to them?”

  Luka crossed his arms, face unreadable, and grunted. “Doesn’t matter right now. We need to get back to base. Lira, Marrec—what about you two?”

  Marrec’s jaw tightened. “We can take care of ourselves now.”

  Lira shot him a sideways glance, raising a brow. “Don’t kid yourself, Dad. We’d be far safer with them. Besides… we owe them.”

  Reluctantly, Marrec exhaled through his nose and nodded. “Alright. Can we come with you?”

  Verona smiled faintly, her beast form long faded, voice warm and steady. “Don’t be strangers. We welcome you to the Dawnbreakers. Honestly, we could use an Auren engineer around. Our gear could use some love.”

  Marrec gave a dry look. “Let’s talk about that later.”

  Kaelen stepped forward, eyes bright with wonder, and looked up at Marrec. “Mister Marrec… do you think you could make me an Auren armor?” His voice trembled with unrestrained hope, a boyish gleam in his eyes.

  Before Marrec could respond, Lysera rolled her eyes, resting a hand on Kaelen’s shoulder. “Not the time, Kaelen. We need to move before someone else drops by.”

  Luka nodded, already heading toward the tree line. “She’s right. Let’s go.”

  Kaelen slumped his shoulders, letting out a dramatic sigh. “But it’s so cool…”

  Lysera chuckled softly and nudged him. “You don’t need armor. You can literally summon storms, remember?”

  Kaelen grumbled under his breath, pouting. “Still want it, though…”

  Lira gave a light laugh, and even Marrec allowed a small smirk. But the moment of levity faded quickly.

  Footsteps crunched softly on ash and gravel as the group moved, leaving the mercenary groaning behind them. The woods held an unnerving silence, as if the forest itself were watching.

  Their laughter vanished, replaced by a shared unease they dared not voice. The Black Sun Cult was no longer just lurking in shadows—they were reaching out, claws sharpened, eyes fixed on the shards.

  And this was only the beginning.

  The group moved swiftly through the quiet corridors of the Dawnbreaker base, their footsteps echoing off the stone floors still damp from the night’s rain. The battle had drained them, but there was a lightness in their steps—the kind that came only from surviving something brutal and coming out stronger.

  They ascended the spiral staircase to Master Caelum’s office. The heavy door groaned as it opened, revealing the familiar chamber: tactical maps sprawled across the walls, glowing charts pulsating faintly, and Caelum himself hunched over notes at his desk. He looked up immediately as they entered, his stern gaze sweeping across them, lingering on soot-smudged faces and frayed cloaks.

  “I was worried you were outnumbered,” he said, rising slowly. “I was about to go myself.”

  Kaelen grinned, brushing ash from his sleeve, eyes sparkling with mischief and pride. “You underestimate us, Master Caelum. We got Luka! He cut down a guy in advanced Auren armor like it was nothing.”

  Verona folded her arms, raising an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Hey, I could’ve beaten him faster than Luka.”

  Luka, leaning against the far wall, shot a dry glance. “Sure, tell yourself that.”

  Caelum’s gaze shifted past Kaelen’s grin and Verona’s smugness, resting on Marrec, who stepped in quietly. Beside him, Lira’s eyes were wide, drinking in the grandeur of the office, her curiosity sharp and bright. Caelum’s brow creased slightly.

  “You completed the mission… you got Marrec. But who is that girl?”

  Marrec squared his shoulders, standing taller than he had in years. His voice was steady, layered with emotion.

  “My daughter. They saved her.”

  Caelum didn’t press further. He simply nodded, recognizing a man who had endured more than he would admit. But Marrec wasn’t done. Slowly, reverently, he reached forward and grasped Caelum’s hand, fingers trembling, tears welling in his tired eyes.

  “I thank you, sir… You not only saved my life but hers as well. I would’ve been a slave—making weapons to hurt people—and she… she would’ve been a puppet to control me. Barely seeing sunlight. You have no idea the hellscape you freed us from.”

  Silence settled over the room, heavy and real.

  Marrec then turned to Kaelen and Verona, clasping their hands firmly. “You showed me hope when I had lost it. You could’ve dragged me away, done your job, and left. But no—you chose to save her. And risked your lives to do it.”

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  Kaelen’s grin faltered, replaced by stunned quiet as the weight of the gratitude settled in his chest. After a pause, a small, sincere smile appeared.

  “Sir… you can now choose your life—live freely with your daughter. You can be at peace.”

  Marrec shook his head, fierce determination flashing in his eyes. “No. You’re fighting a war no one else dares. Against a force so vile they stoop to the worst methods imaginable. You’re going to need Netharial’s finest engineer and…” He glanced at Lira, half-hiding behind his shoulder, and his grin widened. “…his assistant.”

  “Lira, do you want to help them?”

  She rolled her eyes dramatically but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at her lips. “I’d be eating my words if I said no. Of course, Dad.”

  Kaelen’s eyes lit up, like a child spotting the ultimate birthday gift. “Wait, then can you build me an Auren armor?!”

  Marrec chuckled. “I can—but I’ll need the materials and gear.”

  Caelum folded his arms, voice warm with quiet authority. “If you offer your services, everything you need is here. We have Auren and steel already in the back.”

  Marrec’s pride flared, a smirk of renewed excitement crossing his face. “Then shall I show you what a master at work looks like?”

  Caelum’s rare smile was soft, approving. “I am honored to house someone of your talents.”

  He gestured toward the exit. “Lysera, Kaelen—show them to the smithy. Luka, Verona—hang back. I need a detailed mission debrief.”

  Kaelen practically bounced, already throwing out ideas for his dream armor, but Lysera grabbed his arm before he could sketch in mid-air. “C’mon, Stormweaver. Let’s not keep the genius waiting.”

  Lira giggled as the four of them exited, footsteps fading into the forge corridor.

  Verona exhaled, preparing herself for Caelum’s questions. Luka remained still and unreadable—but even he allowed a faint nod of respect toward Marrec’s back as the door closed.

  Kaelen practically skipped down the hall, excitement crackling in his stride as he led the group toward the Dawnbreakers’ smithy.

  “Let’s gooo—woohoo! I’m finally getting armor!” he shouted, eyes wide and sparkling.

  Behind him, Lysera rolled her eyes, arms crossed, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Who says you get to have it? I desperately need an upgrade.”

  Kaelen spun around, walking backward with a grin. “I thought you weren’t interested, Lys.”

  “I never said that,” she shot back, jabbing a finger at him. “I just wanted you to stay focused on the very dangerous mercenary with a burning sword—which, by the way, you didn’t.”

  Marrec chuckled from behind, hands clasped behind his back like a patient schoolteacher. “Be patient, children. If there’s enough, I can make both. Okay?”

  Lira giggled, trailing alongside her father, her voice teasing. “No need to fight. You two are like kids squabbling over a toy.”

  The smithy came into view—a cavernous chamber with reinforced walls and the amber glow of forge lights casting dancing shadows across the room. Neatly stacked piles of raw materials gleamed: steel bars polished to a dull shine, shimmering auren ingots, and a bulky reactor humming with low energy in the corner.

  A forge burner roared to life, the crackling fire casting orange light over anvils, scattered tools, and disassembled armor frames. Marrec moved with precise, practiced motions, inspecting the reactor, brushing dust off the auren supply, and tapping steel bars with the back of his wrench.

  “From what I see here… I can make one Auren Armor and one Auren Weapon,” he said, measured and calm.

  “Really?” Lira’s eyes widened. “Then… who should get it?”

  That question was a match thrown into a room of dry kindling.

  Kaelen and Lysera immediately locked eyes, and the air practically vibrated with the tension of a cold war about to erupt.

  “You don’t need it, Lys. You already have your bow and daggers,” Kaelen said, arms flailing slightly in his excitement.

  “You’re one to talk,” she shot back, raising a brow. “You literally have a relic of the gods. You don’t need it.”

  Kaelen jabbed a finger toward the auren armor frames. “Yeah, but it’s metal armor that can fly, shoot stuff, and look epic!”

  “If anyone should have gear like that, it’s the sharpshooter. That’s my territory,” Lysera countered, voice sharp but playful.

  “I don’t care, Lys! That’s way too cool to give up on!”

  “Don’t be childish, Kaelen. You know I’d put it to better use.”

  Their voices rose, echoing like dueling battle drums off the forge walls. Lira and Marrec shifted awkwardly between them, eyes darting like tennis balls caught in a high-speed rally.

  Finally, Lira stomped her foot and threw up her hands. “ENOOOOOOUGH! If you two don’t behave—none of you are getting anything!”

  The forge fell silent. Kaelen and Lysera froze mid-bicker, eyes wide as if caught red-handed by a headmaster.

  “Sooooorry, Lira…” they muttered in perfect unison, sheepish and almost comical.

  Lira crossed her arms. “We’ll let Master Caelum decide. He’ll know who deserves it most.”

  Kaelen’s lips parted in horror, a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Oh no… he’s definitely going to give it to Lysera…”

  Lysera shot him a sideways glance, lips curling in a smug, self-satisfied smirk. “You know it’s mine.”

  Kaelen’s mental state imploded. He turned toward the forge wall, pressed his hands together like a priest at an altar, and whispered to the ether.

  “Oh god… I know I’m not perfect. I promise—if I get this armor and weapon, I’ll train harder, be better… I’ll even clean the kitchen without being asked!”

  Lysera sighed, leaning against the forge wall with a smirk. “You’re going to hurt even more people with that stuff.”

  “Leave me alone, Lys. I’m praying,” Kaelen muttered, eyes squeezed shut.

  Marrec chuckled softly under his breath, while Lira covered her mouth, shoulders bouncing with quiet laughter. Lysera’s satisfied smirk never faded as Kaelen continued to mutter his prayers, the amber forge light catching the gleam of sweat on his forehead.

  The group waited, the forge’s soft glow wrapping around them, anticipation humming in the air, for Master Caelum to arrive—and render the final verdict that would determine who would walk away with the coveted Auren armor and weapon.

  While the others headed to the forge, Luka and Verona remained behind, standing at attention in Master Caelum’s office. The warm golden glow from a hanging lantern stretched long shadows across the room, casting Caelum’s stern features into sharp relief.

  He stood with his arms clasped behind his back, eyes tracing the map pinned to the wall—lines, red markers, and shaded territories scattered like wounds across the land.

  “So… the cult hired the Black Jackals to go after Kaelen’s shard,” he said, voice gruff, thoughtful.

  He turned slightly, narrowing his eyes. “They’re getting anxious. His talent… it’s already as great as his father’s.” The name hung in the room, heavy with history and expectation.

  Caelum’s jaw tightened. “I’ll need to train that boy more. The enemy’s stepping up their game… I’m withdrawing him from missions for a while.” His tone brooked no argument.

  Verona shifted subtly, clearing her throat. “But sir… Kaelen acted very professionally. He uses his abilities at the right times.” Her voice was firm yet respectful, the trace of concern in her gaze evident.

  Luka nodded, arms crossed, calm but resolute. “He’s useful, sir. Creative, too. Learning to think on the fly.”

  Verona added, “He created a wind bubble that blocked sound… even a pseudo-tornado.”

  Caelum’s brow furrowed, hand stroking his chin as he considered their words. “Hmm… he is improving,” he murmured, voice low, almost reluctant to admit it.

  Stepping toward the window, he peered through the blinds at the training grounds beyond, the sunlight glinting off the sparring dummies and obstacle courses. “But not strong enough. Not yet,” he said, voice dropping to a dark, cutting edge.

  Turning sharply back to them, eyes hard as steel, he continued, “I’m training him personally. What if the next one they send isn’t a Jackal or some mercenary—but a cult leader?”

  His finger pressed to the floor, gaze locked on Verona. “That boy… will die right there and then.”

  Silence filled the room, thick and absolute, the kind that pressed against the chest with weight.

  “He stays here. End of discussion.”

  Luka and Verona exchanged a brief, subtle glance—mutual concern flickering in their eyes—but neither dared argue further. They straightened their posture, offering reluctant nods.

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison, voices steady but quiet.

  Caelum gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the edge softening just slightly in his expression. “Now… let’s go check on those rascals. See how they’re treating our new members,” he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  Cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow, he moved toward the door. Luka and Verona fell in step, the air around them still heavy with unspoken worry, their minds lingering on Kaelen even as they followed their master.

  ? 2025 Damien Shard. All rights reserved. This story and all characters are original creations of the author. First released on Royal Road. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or publication in any form is strictly prohibited.