The oppressive weight of the Silver Gryphon’s presence bore down on the battlefield like a suffocating tide, pressing the breath from every chest. Soldiers and nobles alike trembled under its overwhelming aura, their willpower sapped by the sheer force of its existence. Even the seasoned Soulweavers found themselves struggling to remain upright, their knees trembling against the weight of the creature’s ethereal might.

Amidst this chaos, one man stood unmoved. Cloaked in his menacing wooden mask, Sullivan observed the spectacle with sharp, calculating eyes. The nobles nearest him, including the now still alive Five High Elders of Amberheart, struggled to keep their composure under the immense pressure.

Sullivan cast a strange look at the winged abomination, and his eyes glinted behind the mask.

Then, to the surprise of those around him, he muttered dryly, “Well... That’s convenient.”

The High Elders glanced at him, their already tense expressions twisting into incredulous scowls. High Elder Tyris, easily the youngest of the bunch, was unable to contain his disbelief. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped short when a black spear materialised in Sullivan’s hand out of thin air and without any warning. The weapon was tall and ominous, its dark surface pulsating with faint crimson veins as if alive.

The weapon looked dreadful and awesome, sure, but the High Elders were more astounded by how it had appeared in Sullivan’s hands out of nowhere.

“What the—” Tyris blurted, his voice cutting through the muted chaos around them.

Ignoring him entirely, Sullivan’s spirit pressure flared to life like a sudden storm, radiating outward in a crushing wave that pushed back the suffocating weight of the Gryphon’s presence. The nobles near him gasped audibly, their breath returning for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The black spear crackled as Sullivan infused it with Spirit Energy, its surface glowing faintly with arcs of invisible energy that rippled and hummed with untamed might. The air around the weapon twisted unnaturally, charged with power so intense it seemed to distort the very fabric of reality. With deliberate calm, Sullivan raised the spear above his shoulder, its tip pointing toward the beast—a silent but unmistakable challenge.

For a fleeting moment, the crowd dared hope, shifting their gazes toward him with a mixture of relief and awe. But their hope quickly turned to dread as they realised the implications of his actions. Whispers of curses and disbelief rippled through the onlookers.

“B-Brother, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tyris stammered, his voice barely steady.

Sullivan turned his masked face toward him, his eyes burning with a cold, unyielding intensity that silenced the High Elder mid-sentence. Tyris flinched under the gaze, his words catching in his throat. High Elder Irin, standing nearby, stepped forward and pulled Tyris back by the arm, his voice low but firm.

“Leave him. He knows what he’s doing... I hope.”

The Gryphon’s molten-gold eyes, full of ancient fury and intelligence, locked onto Sullivan. Its gaze sharpened, the ethereal glow in its eyes intensifying as it recognized the threat before it. The creature screeched once more, the sound so piercing it seemed to rattle the very souls of those who heard it. The pressure redoubled as if the Gryphon sought to crush Sullivan under its might alone.

From above, Edward’s voice roared across the battlefield, laced with desperation and command. “Guardian, end this farce. Kill them all."

The creature’s body tensed at the order, its talons curling mid-air. But it didn’t move. Instead, it trembled, its head shaking violently as if resisting the command. An ethereal collar shimmered into existence around its neck, glowing with cruel, jagged runes. The collar tightened, and barbed protrusions erupted from its surface, piercing the Gryphon’s flesh and drawing thin rivulets of blood.

The crowd recoiled at the sight, their terror briefly replaced by a mixture of horror and fascination. The mighty beast screeched again, this time in pain and fury, its resistance visible to all.

Edward’s face twisted with frustration as he shouted once more, but his voice was drowned out by the creature’s wrathful cries.

The Gryphon’s gaze turned back to Sullivan, now brimming with unrestrained malice. Its wings flexed, sending gusts of wind rippling across the battlefield as it prepared to strike.

But just as the Gryphon lunged, a second surge of spirit pressure erupted from the city’s western side, colliding with the creature’s aura like a crashing wave. The opposing force sent shockwaves rippling through the air, momentarily pushing back the oppressive weight of the Gryphon’s power.

All heads turned toward the source of the disturbance. A figure leapt into the air from the rooftops of a distant building. The man was masked, his features obscured by an intricately carved wooden faceplate, eerily similar to Sullivan’s. However, this mask bore a cruel smile, its jagged edges exuding malice. Though his visage was hidden, the air around him radiated undeniable authority, commanding attention with an almost palpable weight.

“Now, now,” the man’s graceful yet leisurely voice rang out, amplified by Spirit Infusion and startlingly cutting through the chaos. “No need to be so hostile. Let’s talk for a bit, shall we?”

The Gryphon’s head snapped toward the newcomer, its golden eyes narrowing with a mix of confusion and rage. The masked man, undeterred, extended his foot and stepped forward—not on solid ground but on compressed Spirit Energy. The air beneath his foot rippled as if solid, and he began to walk upward, each step taking him higher into the sky.

Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd as they watched the man ascend, his every step defying the natural order. Within moments, he was face-to-face with the Silver Gryphon, though he kept a safe distance.

The beast let out a low, rumbling growl, its feathers bristling with tension.

Its claws flexed, and its wings flared as if preparing to strike the intruder. But the masked man raised a hand in a placating gesture, his tone almost playful.

“Easy there,” he said, his voice calm yet commanding. “I’m not here to fight you... not yet, anyway.”

Before the masked man could say more, Edward roared again from the gardens, his voice seething with rage. “There’s nothing to discuss! Kill him! Kill them all, you cursed beast!”

The collar around the Gryphon’s neck flared to life, its jagged runes glowing brighter as it tightened further. The Gryphon’s eyes glinted murderously, a clear sign of its pain and its forced compliance.

But the masked man didn’t even glance at the prince. With a flick of his wrist, a compressed burst of Spirit Energy shot forth like a cannonball, slamming into Edward and his Soulweaver guards with explosive force. The group was hurled backwards into the wall of a nearby building, leaving behind cracks and bloodied bodies.

The battlefield froze as the masked man’s Spirit-infused roar echoed across the city. “Keep your damn mouth shut!” His voice, stripped of its earlier grace, was thunderous and terrifying, making even seasoned warriors shudder where they stood.

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Edward groaned weakly from where he lay crumpled on the ground, his once-arrogant expression replaced by shock and fear, as he was claimed by unconsciousness. The collar around the Gryphon’s neck dimmed, its oppressive glow fading as the prince’s influence waned.

The masked man clicked his tongue in annoyance, his voice returning to its calm, almost amused tone. “This beast-controlling method... so old, so crude. I expected better... Hmm, but then again the ancestor lived quite long ago.”

The Gryphon growled low, its gaze flickering uncertainly between the two masked men.

Sullivan, still holding his black spear aloft, watched the interaction with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Beneath his mask, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“Wait,” he muttered to himself, “This might just work.”

Down below, the majority of the combatants remained frozen, paralyzed by the overwhelming pressure. Most were on their knees, gasping for air, their faces pale and sweat streaming down their temples. Even those capable of moving were too cautious to act under the circumstances, unsure whether their actions would bring salvation or ruin.

Meanwhile, high above the chaos, the man in the wooden mask floated in the air, his serene demeanour starkly contrasting with the battle-torn landscape below. With a casual motion, he folded his legs and appeared to sit on nothing but air. His gaze shifted to the massive gryphon hovering nearby, its golden eyes blazing with rage and a hint of confusion.

The man exhaled softly, the pressure around his vocal cords shifting as he reduced the spirit essence supplied to them, lowering his voice so that only the two of them could hear. “Shall we start with introductions?” His tone was calm, almost conversational as if he were speaking to an old acquaintance rather than a beast of fury.

Slowly, he reached up and removed his mask, placing it on his lap. Beneath the mask, his face bore the weathered elegance of experience, his mature features marked by faint scars that told stories of battles long past. His brown hair, slightly unkempt yet dignified, framed his piercing blue eyes, which carried both warmth and wisdom. A faint smile tugged at his lips, softening the ruggedness of his appearance. “My name is Tannin Raet,” he began, inclining his head slightly as a gesture of respect. “And you?”

The gryphon’s murderous glare deepened. It bared its razor-sharp beak, feathers bristling with uncontained fury.

Tannin chuckled softly. “I know you can speak,” he continued. “You’re an arcane beast. Your exact tier eludes me, but your presence speaks for itself. So, what is your name?”

The creature hesitated, its fierce eyes scrutinising the man. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackling of the not-so-distant fires. Perhaps it was the solitude imposed upon the gryphon by countless cycles of summoning and banishment, or perhaps something about Tannin’s presence demanded acknowledgement.

Finally, in a voice that rumbled like thunder, the gryphon answered. “I am Kalreet.” Its words echoed with pride and defiance, the sheer power of its voice resonating through the battlefield below.

Tannin smiled, his tone light. “A good name. Kalreet.” He let the name linger on his tongue for a moment. “But I must ask—can you lower your voice a bit? My ears are buzzing.”

Kalreet blinked as though surprised by the request, and then, to everyone’s astonishment, it inclined its head slightly. “Very well,” it said, its voice softer, though no less commanding.

Down below, the stunned crowd could only gape in disbelief. The proud gryphon, known for its unyielding ferocity, was speaking and acquiescing at the behest of this enigmatic figure.

But then suddenly, the gryphon’s molten gaze briefly shifted to the remnants of the flames still flickering at the Royal Palace. It let out a sharp snarl, spreading its massive wings wide. A powerful gust followed, rippling with latent arcane energy, and the flames were snuffed out as though a giant hand had smothered them. Only smoke and embers remained in their wake.

Tannin’s eyes gleamed with a spark of intrigue dancing within their depths.

“Quite audacious, aren’t we?” he remarked with a faint chuckle, his tone carrying a mixture of admiration and amusement. Leaning slightly forward, he added, “But that’s fine. I need to head in there anyway.”

Kalreet’s feathers ruffled, a subtle sign of irritation at the man’s lack of fear, but it did not speak. Instead, it observed him with a wary and calculating gaze as though trying to determine what game this man was playing.

Unfazed by the beast’s scrutiny, Tannin tapped a finger idly against his knee, his posture as relaxed as if they were sharing idle conversation over tea. “Now that introductions are out of the way, Kalreet, how about we move on to why we’re here?” he asked, his voice calm yet underpinned by unyielding confidence.

His smile widened as he leaned forward slightly. “ I have a proposal for you, Kalreet.”

The gryphon’s golden eyes narrowed with suspicion. “A proposal?” it rumbled, its tone wary.

Tannin nodded. “I can free you from the contract that binds you, the one that forces you into this cycle of summoning and banishment. No more chains, no more servitude.” He spread his hands in an open gesture. “It won’t be easy, but with your cooperation, it’s possible.”

Kalreet’s gaze grew sharper. “And what would you demand in return?”

Tannin’s expression didn’t falter. “Simple,” he replied. “You would become my contractual beast instead. Ah! but don’t worry, we’ll be equals in the contract.”

A cold gleam returned to Kalreet’s eyes, and it let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Do you take me for a fool, human?” it snarled. “Why would I climb out of one pit only to leap into another?”

Tannin chuckled, unperturbed by the gryphon’s hostility. “Ah, I forgot to mention,” he said, his tone growing sly. “The bloodline of the Fire Sage flows in my veins as well.”

Kalreet stiffened, its massive form tensing midair. Its wings beat slower, the rage in its eyes momentarily replaced by something akin to caution.

“Now you understand,” Tannin continued, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. “The contract imposed upon you prevents you from harming me. If you try, your soul will perish.” His gaze locked with Kalreet’s, unyielding. “Truth be told, I intended to summon you myself, even if the Remingtons hadn’t. I need your strength, Kalreet.”

The gryphon snarled, its beak snapping audibly. “Even if my soul perishes,” it growled, “it won’t be instant. I’d rather die than serve you, and I won’t go down without a fight.”

Tannin sighed, a hint of impatience creeping into his expression. “You shouldn’t be so hasty to decide.” With a swift motion, he drew a blade and slashed his palm. Blood welled from the wound and floated toward the gryphon, suspended in a shimmering sphere of spirit essence.

“The blood of the Fire Sage runs pure in my veins, maybe even the purest in the world.” Tannin said, his tone calm but commanding. “It would greatly supplement your growth.”

Kalreet hesitated, its gaze fixed on the floating blood. Its golden eyes flickered with indecision, the temptation evident in its posture. After a moment, it opened its beak and swallowed the blood.

Tannin couldn’t help but ask, “Well… How is it? No ordinary lineage can offer you such power.”

A long silence followed as the gryphon contemplated. Finally, it spoke, its voice steady. “And what if I refuse?”

Tannin’s blue eyes turned cold, his earlier calm replaced by a sharp, dangerous edge. “This is my final offer,” he said, his voice as icy as the grave. “If you refuse, then you will die here, Kalreet. Slowly. Painfully. And your name will be forgotten, lost to the sands of time…” He then sighed and said, “You might be able to take me on in a one-on-one situation... Hell, maybe you could win as well...

Then Tannin pointed at Sullivan and said, “But the two of us will certainly be the death of you, I can assure you that much.”

Kalreet stared at him for a long moment, its massive form rigid with tension. Finally, it inclined its head, a reluctant acceptance in its eyes. “Very well,” it said, its voice tinged with bitterness.

Tannin’s smile returned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good,” he said. “We’ll deal with the contract later. For now, I need to head into the palace.”

As he turned to head down, Tannin’s voice rang out once more, sharp and domineering. “Right… Do me a favour and release the pressure on my allies,” he said, “but maintain it on our enemies.”

The gryphon relented and the oppressive force bearing down on Tannin’s allies lifted, allowing them to rise. At the same time, the royal guards and their Soulweavers remained pinned, their struggles futile.

Tannin replaced his mask and began his descent, gliding gracefully toward the palace gates. Behind him, the battlefield remained tense, the air thick with unease.

Sullivan, standing among his allies, seized the moment. “Surround the frozen soldiers and the Soulweavers who can still move,” he commanded. “No mercy for anyone who resists.”

The tides of the battle had turned, but the tension in the air was far from dissipated. Tannin’s arrival had changed everything, and the shadow he cast over the battlefield promised that the end was near.