Daine stood alone in the richly adorned chamber, cocooned by the velvet murmur of nightfall.

Silk draperies brushed her arms, and the scent of jasmine and desert sage lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the crisp, salty breath of the sea. The city’s secrets seemed to breathe through the walls, settling over her like a gentle, cloaked embrace.

She moved to the balcony, looking out across the city and feeling its storied depth—half dream, half fortress—unfold beneath her gaze. The rooftops and terraced gardens gleamed faintly, washed in the silvered glow of the moon, each dome and minaret a glimmering echo of ancient splendour as if fashioned from the very fabric of a dream.

Above it all, the dark peaks of the Bloodspires towered. They did not simply stand—they brooded, casting long, shadowed arms over the city. Watchful. The mountains seemed to curve, almost conspiratorially, around Velasir, holding it both sheltered and ensnared, their heights like caverns measureless to man that swallowed the stars themselves.

Far below, where the city met the sea, the narrow isthmus stretched out bridging the island on which the City stood to the mainland. It glimmered in the moonlight a liminal path between worlds.

The sea beyond rippled dark and endless, its waves lapping against the shore with a languid, opiate rhythm. Small fishing boats dotted the water, their lanterns casting specks of firelight across the waves, drifting in a sunless sea beneath the gaze of mountains that looked, Daine thought, as if they could stamp down upon them at any moment.

Inside, her room was steeped in the same balance of comfort and foreboding. The marble underfoot was veined with hues that echoed the dusky cliffs and the darkened sea. It was a room aware of its purpose—a space where warriors, envoys, and dreamers alike had found refuge before stepping into the unknown.

Velasir was unlike any other City she had visited on Tour. It was a place of dualities, poised between the wild and the contained, between mystery and defiance. This was a city where walls and towers were girdled round, a place crafted from the spine of the mountains themselves yet constantly resisting them.

And Daine, standing here once again, felt a familiar blend of comfort and apprehension stirring within her. The City felt like a vision conjured by a poet, both magnificent and strange, imbued with an awareness that its peace was fleeting—a city perched on the edge of its own shadow, both dreaming and awaiting the dawn.

The last time Daine had stood within these walls, it had been on an equally hushed night, though her purpose had been less contentious. She had arrived on Tour to resolve a small yet persistent dispute—an argument over a fishing boundary between Velasir’s fleet and the smaller boats of a neighbouring village.

The skirmish had erupted into a heated feud, with tempers flaring on both sides and several livelihoods hanging in the balance. Mayor Talsoon, seeing the fuss brewing into something larger, had requested her intervention.

She remembered it vividly: how she’d waited by the docks at dawn, listening to each side present their case while the waters shimmered in a soft, grey light. She had enforced a clear division of rights that both parties could agree to, all with the stern authority of her position yet softened by the Goddess’s hand of fair judgment.

Daine had even jested with the village’s elder, who’d remarked that only the Goddess herself could tame Velasir’s quarrelsome mariners.

Talsoon had been in fine spirits by the end of it, chuckling and clasping her arm in gratitude as they walked the City’s ancient stone paths, discussing the strange mix of loyalties that held the West together. She had departed Velasir that morning with a parting toast of the Mayor’s best wine, a soft, spiced vintage that had left her pleasantly warm as she rode out of the city gates.

Yet tonight, none of that humour or warmth met her. Talsoon’s eyes were hardened. The halls of Velasir seemed colder, as though the city itself was holding its breath.

*

Early that evening, the audience chamber of Velasir had held an eerie grandeur. Manalights flickered on the walls, casting wavering shadows that seemed to dance across its intricate mosaics, echoing strange and ancient tales.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, curling up in ethereal wisps like spirits summoned from another age, while the vaulted ceiling arched high above, hidden in shadow—a dark, forbidden paradise at the heart of the city.

Mayor Darian Talsoon’s voice had broken the hush with sudden ferocity, a crack in his usual calm, like a fracture in the serene mask of a statue. He moved back and forth before Daine and Eliud, his robes rustling, sleeves trailing like whispers.

Each time he turned, his eyes flashed, catching the light as he looked upon his unexpected guests with a mix of dread and defiance.

“What would you have me do, my Lady?” Talsoon asked. “Mayor—no, Steward—Elm is a rebel! I have the King demanding his head on one hand, and then that fool Fion Trellec demanding it on the other!” He shook his head, his eyes settling on Daine. “I have no wish to hand him over to either, but now he is here, within my walls, and you are making me choose a side.”

“I am asking nothing of you, Darian,” Daine said. “Taelsin Elm is as much a protector of his people as you are to yours. Whatever loyalty you feel to Velasir should be the same you would show to him and those who have lost their homes.”

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“And what am I to do when the King’s armies come knocking on our gates, demanding answers for why I am harbouring a known traitor? And should I acquiesce, I will find Trellec pounding down my doors, demanding my loyalty to his...‘independent’ West.”

He glanced at Eliud, who stood silently beside Daine, his presence a quiet yet unmistakable threat. “I am not Fion Trellec. I have no ambitions for glory or for grandeur. Velasir has stood apart, proud and free, and I would see it stay that way. But you have brought me a powder keg and set it within my walls, Lady Darkhelm.”

“Your city has indeed remained untouched by the wider squabbles of the Kingdom,” Eliud said, on his very best behaviour. “But there is no standing apart anymore, Darian. This is a time when the lines are being drawn. You can choose to deny them, but when the storm comes, neutrality is seldom an option.”

Darian’s shoulders sagged just slightly at that. “The refugees—yes, I gave them shelter. But imprisoning Taelsin Elm and the King’s soldiers, was that not justified? I have allowed the innocent their succour.” He looked at Daine with a mixture of defiance and regret. “But there are too many sides. Too many demands. I will not allow those who have betrayed the Kingdom freedom behind my walls! I must be able to tell the King that much.”

“I am yet free, Mayor Talsoon. As is the Duskstrider. Are we not equal traitors in your eyes?”

Talsoon barked a laugh, his tone hollow. “Ha! I think even Hanya Rendell would struggle to find fault in me for leaving you free, Daine. But let’s be clear—the men of Swinford, and the deserters from the army, will remain in our cells until I decide otherwise.”

Daine held his gaze, her eyes searching for even the faintest crack in his resolve, some glimmer that might suggest room for compromise. “And do you think the King will hesitate when he learns Velasir turns a blind eye to the Dark God’s creatures clawing their way through the Bloodspires? It could be argued that those who languish in your prisons were accomplishing what you would not: cleansing a rot that threatens us all. There is wisdom, Darian, in choosing a path before it’s chosen for you. And right now, that choice may be the only leverage you have left.”

Talsoon’s face flickered with something—perhaps indignation, perhaps doubt. His voice, when it came, was quieter, but edged with the inner conflict roiling beneath his composed exterior. "What you call wisdom, Lady Darkhelm, others would call treachery. Every choice I make here could turn Velasir into a battlefield—a choice between Rendell’s ire, Trellec’s ambitions and the machinations of the gods."

There had been no talking him around; Darian Talsoon's resolve was iron.

To be fair, even the depths of Velasir's dungeons were a palace compared to the recent trials endured by those now within them. Eliud and Daine had, after a point, been content to let the discussion rest for the evening, acknowledging the futility of pressing further with tempers running high.

Now, Daine stood by her chamber’s window, her gaze sweeping over the dark, restless sea that lay beyond Velasir’s walls. The waves churned under a moonlit sky.

As Daine watched the moonlight ripple across the sea, a chill that was not of the night air crept over her. It was a presence, a voice felt more than heard, settling into her thoughts like cold iron.

You think you know what you have done, the Goddess intoned, her words an echo woven from sorrow and warning. But your insistence on coming here has altered the course I sought to lay for you. Not only you, Daine, but all who have cast their lot with yours—Taelsin, Eliud, even Genoes—all are bound now to this place and to what is coming.

Daine did not say anything. She did not know what to say to that.

I tried to shield you from this,” the Goddess continued, her tone a dark lament. I would have kept you to the shadows, where your hand could guide, unseen, the events to come. But now, by your will, you stand at the heart of it.

“What is coming, my Lady?” Daine whispered, her voice edged with something she had rarely felt before: fear.

The Goddess's presence seemed to grow heavier, an unseen weight pressing down on Daine’s chest.

All the forces in this world, will converge upon Velasir. From the east, the corrupted legions of the Dark God will pour from the Bloodspires, an endless tide of ruin, their hunger for chaos bound only by their master’s will. To the north, Fion Trellec’s mercenaries, led by the Stonehand himself, move already to besiege the city. And from the west, the King’s Chancellor commands a fleet to enforce a blockade—his wrath held at bay for years, now unleashed.

Daine closed her eyes, feeling the enormity of it.

All of them—all of these enemies, these forces of light and dark, order and chaos—drawn to a single point, a final reckoning.

The Goddess’s regret was unmistakable in her voice. I sought to spare you this burden, to keep you from the heart of the storm, but you have chosen your path. And now you, and all who stand with you, will face it. You will be the first line of defence, Daine. You will watch the dawn break over Velasir as war descends.

Daine opened her eyes, and in the dim light, the sea seemed to stretch on forever, vast and indifferent, as if mocking the struggles of those who would fight upon its shores.

Prepare yourself, my Templar. For all the Strength I have given you, for all the Skills you have learned, you will find this test like no other. The endgame is upon us, and there will be no turning back.

Then, just as swiftly, the weight of the Goddess’s presence ebbed away, leaving Daine alone beneath a vast and haunted sky. The silence pressed in, the void where the divine had been—a space that seemed too large for her mortal mind to bear.

Her gaze drifted over the distant shadows gathering in the Bloodspires, down to the faint lights of Velasir below. She could feel the city’s tension as if it were woven into her own nerves, taut and trembling in the dark.

It struck her, then, how small she was in the sweep of it all: a single figure caught between gods and kings, mercenaries and monsters.

She’d fought her whole life against being a pawn, and yet here she stood, trapped on this narrow pass with the great forces of the world barrelling down from every direction.

A sliver of doubt crept in, whispering of her limits, but she pushed it aside, hands clenched into fists. She had chosen this path—chosen it freely, recklessly, maybe even proudly.

And perhaps, in the end, that was all she could hold onto.

Below her, Velasir lay cloaked in uneasy silence, but within her, a fire burned—a beacon against the coming storm. She would stand as a light unquenchable, a flame against the shadows. Let the Bloodspires pour forth their terrors, let men’s armies clash, let the sky itself split and fall—she would not falter.

Let the light scorch those who dared rise in her path.

And when that final hour arrived, darkness would find itself undone by the unrelenting blaze she had become.