Fifteen warriors—the last defenders of Kaijil—stood their ground, the final line between their city and its ruin. By order of their commander, they fought to the death, shielding women and children as twisted horrors pressed in from every side. At the forefront, Byron, the garrison leader, tore through the enemy ranks like a storm, scattering the malformed with each swing of his sword. He was a force of pure wrath, and his strikes echoed across the battlefield, resounding like thunder.

Other warriors fortified by magic raised walls of flame, corralling the enemy in blazing barriers that incinerated dozens. Yet the waves of attackers seemed endless, and each fresh surge shattered their defenses. The warriors felt their strength waning as the relentless onslaught continued.

Byron paused, catching his comrades' eyes. Seeing their commander, filled with fury, defending them so desperately, he was flooded with memories of Kaijil's intense training, those long hours of grueling drills. "Our city must be protected at all costs," Kaijil had insisted back then, sharing ancient spells and combat wisdom so that each of them would be ready for this very moment.

Byron remembered those lively days when he and his friends, Bron and Wailor, would sprint away from training with their mouths stuffed with food, dodging the sharp gaze of their teacher. They'd tear across the fields, laughing, until Kaijil would inevitably find them and haul them back, making them run for miles.

One day, after a particularly intense drill, Byron had bombarded him with questions about magic, a mix of wonder and urgency in his voice. Kaijil, with a gentle smile, had assured him, "Don't worry, Byron. Like my own teacher, Rinor, I'll stand with you all, protecting you, when the time comes."

Returning to the present, Byron bowed his head, whispering, "Our leader has given everything for this city. For the hope he's given us. For Kaijil!" His words filled his fellow warriors with a fierce resolve. They set down their swords and pulled out blood-red beads, each flecked with black. These artifacts, secretly gifted by the master artificer Brile, were for this one last, desperate stand—the Beads of Anubis.

"Forward!" Byron shouted, and, gripping the beads in their fists, the warriors surged ahead like a lethal storm, ready to break upon the enemy.

Meanwhile, Kaijil himself—strength and determination personified—held off thirty enemy mages, leaping across rooftops and dodging spells with feline agility. Between his evasive maneuvers, he hurled fragments of broken buildings back at his attackers. Each strike hit with the force of a thunderclap, while the mages went into a desperate counterattack.

They focused all their fire magic on the people Kaijil was protecting. Instantly, he positioned himself before them, raising a barrier and clenching his teeth as the searing blast struck him. His face was scorched, his hands went numb, but he stood firm. One of the mages, sneering from a rooftop, raised his hand towards Kaijil. "This is the end," he mocked.

Before he could cast his spell, a voice cut through the chaos—Byron's: "For you, it is." He and Bron and Wailor appeared behind the dark mages. Kaijil's gaze flicked to them, reading the words on Byron's lips: "Thank you. Now it's our turn."

"Let the feast begin!" Byron roared, and the beads in their hands ignited. A heartbeat later, a blast shook the battlefield with such force that nine mages were torn apart, while the rest were hurled back dozens of feet.

At that very moment, from the direction of the invasion, a second massive explosion erupted, wiping out half the twisted creatures. Kaijil looked on, his face a bittersweet smile, as he remembered the fifteen young, fearless warriors he had trained. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his eyes blazing with pride and grief alike.

Arianna and Kaldrion joined him, taking up fighting stances at his side. Kaijil spoke, voice steady: "Don't waste time healing me. Find Faris. The advantage is ours now. I won't miss this chance." He activated a spell, his hands glowing with a crimson light. "Flame enhancement. Blood magic."

Sensing the direction he needed, he dashed toward the remaining mages, who were already trying to heal their wounds. They spotted Kaijil and tried to flee, but he, like a shadow, closed the distance in an instant, dodging every attack. Reaching the first mage, he killed him with a single strike. The second met the same fate. Grabbing a third by the throat, he locked eyes with his prey and growled, "If not for you, they would still be alive." With a savage twist, he crushed the mage's throat, letting his body fall limply to the ground.

Kaijil's gaze moved to the rest of the mages—they would not escape him.

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The alley was soaked in the blood of the twisted. Screams and explosions erupted from every side as flames, almost alive, crawled along the walls, wrapping around obstacles and consuming everything in their path. In a partially collapsed corner, Faris sat on cold stones, his eyes wide with horror as he watched the soft, familiar blue glow of his beloved's soul slip from her chest. Something wet and hot was streaming down his face, blurring his vision, but he hardly noticed, his right arm hanging twisted and useless at his side. Pain burned through him, echoing in his head, clouding his mind, and turning everything around him into a hazy nightmare.

He was nearly resigned to his fate when a cold, mocking voice rang out from the darkness: "Seems I arrived just in time." Faris jolted, his breath catching in his throat. Turning slowly, his vision smeared with blood and despair, he saw his attacker. It was Rinor.

"Rinor?!" Faris growled, his face twisted with fury and disbelief. With great effort, he raised his head, staring at his old teacher with a mixture of pain and betrayal. "Your students are fighting to the death. We trusted you! And you…"

Rinor, his face lit by the glow of flames, calmly raised a hand, silencing him. "And I what?" His voice dripped with scorn, and his gaze, once kind and clear, now seemed as dark and frightening as the night itself. "What did I do? Betray you? Deceive you?" he murmured, almost to himself. "I said I'd teach you. But did I ever promise to protect you?"

Faris, clutching at the wall with trembling legs, lifted himself, gripping a sword in his left hand and pointing it toward Rinor. In response, Rinor only laughed—a harsh, grating sound. A pulse of magic struck Faris in the next instant, slamming him against the wall. His vision blurred, but through the fading consciousness, he heard his old teacher's voice, almost gleeful: "You couldn't even stand against him." Desperately clinging to awareness, Faris glimpsed the creature that stood next to Rinor. Grey and formless, it seemed like something not of this world.

"This is Drois, a being from another dimension," Rinor added lazily. "And in his hand, he holds your beloved's soul."

In the moment when his strength was nearly gone, Faris heard another voice, soft but sorrowful. A young man with silver hair and icy blue eyes had jumped down from the rooftop. His eyes glowed in the darkness. "We've taken what we need. Let's go. Remember, we still have something to find," he said, barely glancing at Faris as if he were nothing. "Give me a second, just need to finish him," Rinor added mockingly, summoning a dark spirit with a blade. A small black wraith appeared in his hand, ready to strike, but suddenly a bright light flared up, deflecting the attack.

In a daze, Faris saw Liriana. She knelt beside him, her face filled with pain and sadness. Gently, she touched his cheek and whispered, "Perhaps we'll meet again. Find the twelve coins across the continent of Falorin. He needs them." "Who?" Faris growled, but her eyes only sparkled with tears, and she whispered faintly, "Not Rinor. When the time is right, you'll understand. Find them and hide them, or the end will come, and our souls will be bound in his eternal chains." She leaned forward, leaving a ghostly kiss on his lips, then spoke her last words: "I love you."

"Leave him," the silver-haired man in the mask cut in sharply. "We don't have time." Magic blanketed the alley as they glanced at Faris, and Rinor's voice chilled him with a cruel smile, "It's time." And they vanished into the darkness.

After the battle, a heavy silence fell.

The city had survived, but the cost was unspeakable. The northern wall was scattered with bodies and wounded soldiers, with those who still had strength helping each other. Seeing the healers overwhelmed, Arianna sent Kaldrion to find more help and stayed, tending to the injured and giving orders. A makeshift hospital quickly filled with people, and Kaijil, still conscious but gravely wounded, was brought in, nearly resisting all the way. They bound him down to keep him still, but the soldiers knew he had given everything to protect the city. Not a single enemy mage had reached the walls—Kaijil had destroyed them all.

In the hospital, healers and alchemists worked tirelessly, struggling to save every life they could. Eighty warriors guarded the wall while Brail constructed a new magical barrier using ancient artifacts. Gradually, the sounds of battle faded, replaced by the ragged breathing and groans of the wounded, and an ominous silence settled over the city.

Kaldrion reached the alley where Faris had fought, and his heart sank at the sight. It looked as if a whirlwind had passed through: the alley was littered with the bodies of the twisted, and only Faris remained alive, slumped against the wall, bloodied and barely breathing. In the distance, children were crying over someone. As he drew closer, Kaldrion saw Liriana's body—she lay still, looking peaceful, without a visible wound, yet in her eyes lingered an eternal silence.

Holding back tears, Kaldrion gently closed her eyes, feeling his heart break. In silence, he lifted the bodies of Liriana and Faris, instructing the guards to escort the children to safety. Gathering what strength he had left, he made his way toward the hospital, where they were waiting.

There, among the bandaged and exhausted soldiers, the city mourned its losses. Those warriors who could still stand grieved for the fallen. Forgotten candles flickered in the darkened hospital, and Kaijil, barely regaining consciousness, quietly asked about the fate of his soldiers. He knew they could not be brought back, but he needed to know the names of those who stood by him to the end.

Arianna sat by his side, wiping dirt from his face, whispering, "We're still alive. They fought for a reason, Kaijil. You held firm." Kaijil closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of rest, knowing the city stood only because of the courage of his soldiers and those willing to sacrifice themselves. Each survivor felt a deep emptiness, but they knew that their strength would be gathered once more.