The horizon stretched endlessly before Kael, painted in muted shades of red and gold as the sun dipped low. He stood at the edge of his square, the faint hum of the blue walls a constant reminder of his confinement. For days now, there had been no intrusions, no flicker of red signaling invaders. He had expected more. More invaders, more struggles, more signs of the world pressing against his small patch of land.

But the days had come and gone uneventfully. The silence was eerie, like the calm before a storm. Even Skrindle, with his usual sharp-tongued humor, seemed puzzled by the silence.

The walls around the square shimmered faintly, their blue hue beginning to drain away, replaced by the dull gray of neutrality. The gathering was starting. Kael turned from the horizon, his thoughts heavy as he adjusted the simple robes he wore. They were clean, practical, a far cry from the grandeur he had once imagined for himself. But they would do.

The portal appeared at the center of the square, its edges rippling with light. Kael hesitated, his hand drifted to his waist, where his sickle hung loosely by a makeshift loop. The blade was still stained with the blood of his first kill, the reddish-brown streaks etched into the metal like scars.

“First Blood,” Kael murmured to himself, the words surprisingly hollow on his tongue. The achievement had been a joke, no doubt, but the sickle had earned it nonetheless. It had cut deep, drawn life from another’s veins, and with that act, Kael had begun to understand his role.

“Firsts are always special, aren’t they, Master?” Skrindle had said, his voice laced with mockery. “First kill, first defeat, first step toward something greater. Or something worse.”

Kael slipped the sickle into his waistband, the weight of it grounding him as he turned toward the portal. The gray light bathed his green skin, and for a moment, he hesitated. The gathering was no place for comfort or peace. It was a realm of calculation, of alliances and rivalries, of whispers and screams that could shape a Master’s fate. With a steady breath, Kael stepped forward, the portal’s energy rippling as it swallowed him whole.

The hall was just as vast and imposing as before, its vaulted ceilings stretching high into darkness, the edges of the room illuminated by faint, flickering light. The orb at its center was massive, a pulsating sphere of magic that seemed to hum with life. Masters of all shapes and forms filled the space, their voices a blend of murmurs, laughter, and quiet scheming.

Kael’s arrival went unnoticed, his robes simple, his form unassuming compared to the others. Nearby, a Master with golden armor that shimmered like the sun stood in deep conversation with another who was entirely made of shadows that seemed to consume the very light around them. Across the hall, a serpentine figure hissed softly as it inspected a collection of glowing artifacts.

Kael’s eyes swept across the crowded hall, his gaze searching the throng of Masters. He didn’t see her at first. The crowd was too dense, the motion too chaotic, but then, a glint of light caught his eye. It wasn’t the ethereal glow of the orb or the flicker of a will-o’-wisp. No, it was something metallic, something deliberate. His gaze followed the shimmer until he found her.

Lira.

She stood near the far edge of the hall, her deep red skin gleaming faintly in the low light. Her form was adorned with jewelry now—bracelets that shimmered with tiny gems, a necklace that caught the light with every movement. But what drew Kael’s attention most was the pair of mechanical wings strapped to her back, their intricate gears and delicate framework a marvel of engineering. They rose high above her, catching the faint glow of the large orb, their edges tipped with silver that gleamed like freshly forged steel.

She turned, her sharp eyes scanning the room until they found him. A wide smile spread across her face, and she waved, the motion causing the wings to shift slightly, the soft whir of their mechanics audible even from a distance. Kael raised a hand in return, his expression calm, though his curiosity burned.

Lira made her way over, her movements light and quick, her wings swaying with each step. When she reached him, her smile widened further, and she gestured proudly to the harness that secured the wings to her shoulders.

“Kael,” she said, her voice bright and filled with excitement. “Look at this! What do you think?”

Kael studied the wings closely, his gaze tracing the intricate details of the machinery. The craftsmanship was undeniable—every gear, every joint, every plate was perfectly aligned in a seamless blend. “They’re impressive,” he said, his voice steady. “A gift?”

“A reward,” Lira corrected, her grin softening into something more thoughtful. “For joining his conclave. Avaris said it was a way to thank me for my loyalty, and… well, he knew how much flying meant to me.”

“And how do they feel?” Kael asked.

“Wonderful!” Lira said, her voice filled with genuine excitement. “I’ve been practicing with them all week. They’re not perfect—not like real wings—but they’re a start. Avaris says that as I grow stronger, I’ll be able to replace them with the real thing.”

Lira’s dream had always been to fly, to soar through the skies as she had confessed during their first meeting. But to see her now, with those artificial wings… It stirred something within him. Admiration, perhaps. Or jealousy.

“And you believe him?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s done more for me than anyone else has. And these are proof that he keeps his word.”

Lira’s smile faltered slightly, but only for a moment. Kael studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The jewelry, the wings, the confident way she carried herself now—it was a far cry from the nervous, unsure Master he had met at their first gathering. She seemed happy, radiant even.

“They suit you,” Kael said at last, his voice even.

Lira’s smile returned, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. She hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering her voice. “And you? How have things been in your square?”

Kael hesitated, absentmindedly scratching his horn. He had wanted to tell her about Blue, the will-o’-wisp whose light danced through the night. The thought had filled him with pride earlier, the small spark of life he had called forth. But now, standing before Lira and her shimmering mechanical wings, the words caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Kael said, then looked away. The words were coming quicker now, though they still carried the weight of his reluctance. “I shouldn’t have questioned you about Avaris. I shouldn’t have doubted you. You seem… happy. And I’m truly glad for you.”

Her expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand on his arm. Her touch was light, reassuring. “It’s all right, Kael,” she said. “I know how it must have looked, joining Avaris’s conclave so quickly. But it’s been good for me. Really. And I think you’d like it too, if you gave it a chance.”

Kael’s jaw tightened, though he kept his tone measured. “I’ll think about it,” he said. It wasn’t a lie—he had thought about it, more than he cared to admit. The offer of guidance, of protection, was tempting, but something about Avaris’s branding had set Kael’s teeth on edge.

Lira smiled, her wings shifting slightly as she leaned closer. “He might bring it up again today,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If he does, just hear him out. He’s not as bad as he seems.”

Kael felt the sickle at his side again, the faint stain of blood on its edge a quiet reminder of his choices. He wanted to show it to her, to tell her about his First Blood achievement, to share something that might bridge the gap between them.

Before he could speak, the hall erupted into chaos.

The crowd parted like water before a charging beast, voices rising in a cacophony of shouts and gasps. Kael turned, his hand instinctively gripping his sickle as a massive figure stormed through the gathering.

Vor.

The demon ogre was impossible to miss, his towering form encased in ornate armor that seemed to pulse with molten veins of lava. "The only part of his face visible beneath the massive helmet was his eyes, burning like embers, consumed with rage. He moved with the force of a hurricane, his heavy steps shaking the very floor of the hall.

“Out of my way!”

Lira took a step back, her wings twitching nervously. “What’s he doing?” she whispered, her voice tight.

The tension in the hall was palpable as eyes turned to Vor. Masters whispered among themselves, their voices hushed and uncertain.

Kael shook his head, his grip tightening on the sickle. “I don’t know,” he said, though his instincts screamed at him to be ready for anything.

“Pathox!” Vor roared, his molten eyes blazing. His massive gauntlets flexed as he shoved past a group of Masters, sending them sprawling like children before a charging bull. The hall seemed to shrink around Vor’s towering presence, his wrath consuming every corner of the space. And for all his imposing size, there was one glaring absence.

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His sword. The weapon of molten fury, the blade that had cleaved through the Golden Legion and set entire squares ablaze, was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until Vor reached the center of the gathering that Kael saw what he was after. Among the shifting crowd stood Pathox, the second name on the leaderboard—a strange, childlike figure barely reaching Vor’s knee. His pale, sickly skin seemed to glisten under the hall’s light, and his back was adorned with an array of grotesque tendrils, a confusing mix of plant and flesh that swayed with an unsettling rhythm.

Vor moved with terrifying speed, his massive hand closing around Pathox in an instant. The smaller Master barely had time to react before he was hoisted into the air, dangling like a doll in Vor’s iron grip.

Pathox, for his part, appeared unbothered. His tendrils twitched faintly as he tilted his head, his dark, sunken eyes meeting Vor’s burning gaze with an eerie calm. “What’s the matter, Vor?” he asked, his voice soft and almost playful. “Something troubling you?”

Vor’s grip tightened, the sound of metal groaning under his gauntlet reverberating through the hall. “You know damn well what’s the matter,” he snarled. “My army—my elite army—turned into mindless beasts. Flesh-warped monstrosities that tore each other apart before my very eyes.”

The hall fell silent. Masters exchanged uneasy glances, their curiosity mingling with fear. Even the orb at the center seemed to dim, its glow muted as if to match the weight of the moment.

Pathox let out a quiet hum, his small lips curling into a faint smile. “Ah,” he said softly. “That.”

Vor’s molten eyes flared, his rage spilling over as he began to squeeze, and the tendrils on Pathox’s back writhed in response, their movements almost playful as they swayed in the air.

Pathox, however, remained unnervingly composed. “It was a test,” he said, his voice strained but still eerily calm. “You wanted the strongest army, didn’t you? I merely helped weed out the weak.”

Vor roared, the sound shaking the very walls of the hall. “You poisoned them!” he bellowed. “They were mine—mine to command, to lead. And you turned them into... into things!”

“Things? You mean elite flesh beasts that are now rampaging through your square. Far more interesting, don't you think?”

Vor let out another roar, lifting Pathox higher, his gauntlet closing tighter around the smaller Master. “You dare to mock me?” he snarled. “I’ll end you here and now.”

Vor’s grip on Pathox was tightening. The tendrils flailed briefly, and for a moment, Pathox appeared to struggle. But then, the swaying tendrils shifted. Their movements became deliberate, coiling back like snakes preparing to strike.

Kael stiffened as he watched, the tendrils suddenly lashing forward with lightning speed. They pierced through Vor’s ornate helmet and armor like knives through cloth, the sound wet and sickening as they punctured flesh.

Blood flowed down Vor’s armor, the dark crimson blending with the molten red. The fire in Vor’s eyes appeared extinguished. For a moment, it looked like Vor had been defeated.

“He’s still breathing,” Skrindle whispered, his tone equal parts awe and disbelief as he hovered near Kael. “That demon’s built like a fortress.”

With a guttural roar, Vor’s eyes reignited, his grip tightened further, the sheer strength of his fists crushing the biomancer’s small frame. Then, with terrifying ease, Vor slammed Pathox into the ground.

The hall echoed with the sound of the impact, a sickening crack that reverberated through the gathering. Dust and splinters of wood erupted from the floor, and several Masters gasped, stepping back as the tremor rippled underfoot. But even as Vor’s immense strength crushed him, Pathox’s tendrils softened the blow, weaving into a net-like cocoon to absorb the impact.

“Still squirming, little worm?” Vor growled, his molten eyes burning as he raised Pathox again and hurled him at a nearby wall.

The tendrils moved like serpents, curling and twisting mid-flight to brace against the collision. Pathox hit the wall but rebounded with surprising agility, his black eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “You’re relentless, Vor,” he said, his voice smooth despite the carnage. “It’s almost admirable.”

“Save your words,” Vor spat, his fists raised, glowing faintly with heat. “I’ll rip those tendrils off one by one.”

Pathox landed on the floor lightly, his childlike frame dwarfed by Vor’s looming presence. His tendrils swayed, their movements hypnotic, like a predator poised to strike. He tilted his head, his black eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and calculation.

Pathox’s tendrils lashed out, coiling toward Vor with unnatural speed. The demon warrior dodged the stabbing strikes at the last moment, his movements surprisingly nimble for someone of his size. He caught two of the tendrils in his massive hands, their slick surfaces writhing and twisting as he pulled them taut.

With a growl, Vor yanked the tendrils, swinging Pathox toward the floor again. This time, the impact cracked the polished wood, leaving a jagged dent in the floor. Vor swung again, slamming Pathox into the wall, then the ground, again and again, each strike resonating with the hall’s architecture.

As Vor tightened his grip, the appendages detached themselves from Pathox and came alive, twisting and writhing around his forearms like snakes. They slithered up his arms, coiling tightly, their ends reaching for his throat. Vor snarled, his molten eyes flaring as he released Pathox to claw at the strangling tendrils.

Kael stood near the edge of the crowd, his hand gripping the sickle at his waist. His green skin glinted faintly in the light, but his usual calm was nowhere to be found. His heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts racing as he watched the clash unfold.

They were beyond him—Vor, a massive wall of armor and rage, and Pathox, a small but lethal figure shrouded in writhing tendrils. Their power filled the hall, oppressive and undeniable, a stark reminder of just how far he had yet to climb.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” Skrindle muttered, his translucent form flickering faintly. “Not here, not during the gathering. They’re breaking the rules.”

Kael said nothing. His grip on the sickle tightened, though he knew it was useless. Against these Masters, he might as well have been holding a twig. He might as well be a twig.

Pathox had used his severed tendrils as a distraction to slip free. More tendrils sprouted from his back, replacing those he had lost. He crouched briefly, then darted around the hall, a blur of motion, his tendrils lashing out at Vor’s ankles and legs in quick, precise strikes. Vor moved to intercept, but the smaller Master’s speed was maddening, his movements like a shadow just out of reach.

The damage to the hall grew with each clash. Cracks snaked through the floor, walls splintered where Vor’s blows landed, and fragments of wood and stone littered the ground. Masters who had gathered to watch the Sunday meeting now scrambled to avoid the destruction, their shock and disbelief palpable.

The other Masters looked on with a mixture of awe and unease. Whispers rippled through the crowd, voices hushed.

“They’ll destroy the hall.”

“Vor won’t stop until he’s killed him.”

“A thousand gold that Pathox will win.”

“Is this what it means to be a Master?” Kael thought, his sickle trembling in his grip. “Is this what lies beyond the walls?”

Vor’s molten eyes burned with fury, his towering frame hunched forward as he prepared to charge again. Pathox crouched low, his tendrils coiled ready to strike, his black eyes glinting with that unnervingly calm gaze. The hall had become their battlefield, its grandeur marred by the scars of their ferocity.

And then, cutting through the storm of their rage, came the slow, deliberate clap of hands.

“Ah, the mighty Vor and the ingenious Pathox,” came a voice, rich with mockery and amusement. The crowd turned as one to see Avaris stepping into the center of the hall, his granite skin gleaming like polished stone. His single eye, sharp and glittering, scanned the destruction with a faint smile. “The first and second on the leaderboard, exchanging blows like common brutes in a tavern brawl. How... fitting.”

Vor snarled, his burning eyes snapping toward Avaris. “Stay out of this, Gearsmith,” he growled, his fists tightening at his sides. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Avaris tilted his head, his smile widening. “Oh, but how could it not concern me? You’re making quite the mess, and you know how I detest disorder.” He gestured lazily to the cracked floor and splintered walls. “Not to mention, you’re breaking the rules. Fighting during the gathering? Tsk, tsk.”

Pathox straightened slightly, his tendrils flicking lazily in the air. “Always the mediator, aren’t you, Avaris?” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Do you plan to fix this with one of your little machines?”

Avaris spread his hands in mock surrender, his smile never faltering. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t dream of interfering in such a... spirited debate.” His gaze flicked to Vor. “But you, Vor, should dream of restraint. Unless you’d like Zibbit to wake up and ruin your fun.”

As if on cue, the orb at the center of the hall pulsed brightly, its glow filling the room. The murmurs of the crowd ceased instantly as Zibbit’s voice boomed out, calm yet laden with authority.

“Enough.”

The word echoed through the hall, cutting through the tension like a blade. Vor froze, his molten eyes narrowing as he glanced toward the orb. Pathox’s tendrils stilled, their writhing ceasing as if commanded by an unseen hand.

“Sit. The gathering is a place of order. Any further violence, and punishments will be dealt. Swiftly.”

Vor let out a low growl, his fists clenching and unclenching as his shoulders heaved with barely contained fury. But he obeyed, turning away from Pathox with a snarl. The massive demon stomped toward the far end of the hall, the crowd parting before him like grass before a storm. He muttered something under his breath, his molten eyes glaring at no one and everyone.

Pathox, for his part, gave a theatrical shrug, his tendrils retreating back into place as he strolled toward a nearby bench. His small frame seemed to radiate satisfaction, his black eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned back, as though he hadn’t been seconds away from being torn apart.

Zibbit raised a hand, and the damage to the hall began to repair itself. The cracks in the floor smoothed out, the shattered wood reassembled itself, and the splintered walls returned to their former pristine state. The orb’s glow faded, the room settling into a hushed calm once more.

Kael exhaled slowly, the sheer power on display, the casual way it had been wielded, left him feeling small and exposed. He glanced around, the sea of Masters now returning to their seats, their whispered conversations buzzing like a swarm of bees.

“Kael,” Lira’s voice called softly. He turned to see her standing a few paces away, her mechanical wings shifting faintly as she glanced between him and Avaris.

Avaris, who had taken a seat near the center of the hall, gestured to Lira with a faint smile. “Come, Lira,” he said, his voice smooth. “We have much to discuss.”

Lira hesitated, her eyes lingering on Kael. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Kael interrupted, forcing a faint smile. “Go.”

She gave him a small nod, her gaze soft with concern, before turning and walking toward Avaris. The Gearsmith greeted her warmly, his one eye glinting as he leaned in to speak with her.

Kael’s grip on his sickle tightened as he watched her go. He had wanted to speak with her, to tell her about Blue, his achievement, to share something—anything. But now she was with Avaris, her laughter soft and easy as she settled into the granite Master’s shadow.

Kael stood alone, the weight of the hall pressing down on him. The murmurs of the other Masters swirled around him, but they felt distant, irrelevant. He looked at the sickle in his hand, the blade still faintly stained with blood, and thought of his square, his slimes, his tiny patch of earth.

******