The morning sun cast its golden glow over Galmora, a city alive with the echoes of celebration. The triumphant return of the Banner of the Claw had left the streets filled with hope and pride. Arlan, however, had little time to bask in the city’s renewed spirit. His mind was focused on the next step—creating a weapon that could shift the tides of destiny itself.

The discussion with Wren the night before still echoed in his mind. "Starshadow has served you well, but this will be something greater," Wren had said. The master craftsman’s excitement was palpable. Plans had been made, materials gathered, and now, the forge awaited them.

Inside Wren’s workshop, the air was already thick with heat and purpose. The forge burned hot, its fire casting deep shadows that flickered and danced across the room. Each strike of the hammer echoed with promise, resonating with the weight of destiny.

Wren stood at the heart of it all, his movements precise and deliberate. Around him, Arlan, Chrysta, Marie, and Lucius gathered, their expressions set with a shared determination. This was no ordinary task. The weapon they were about to create would stand among legends.

“Everything is ready,” Wren said, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the enormity of the task. Before him, the materials gleamed with an ethereal light.

Adamantite ingots, their dense and unyielding surfaces shimmering, sat alongside the Disk of Absolution, which pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. “This will be the greatest weapon I’ve ever forged. But it won’t come easily.”

Arlan stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “We’re ready. Let’s begin.”

The room hummed with latent power. Dwarven-forged machinery hissed and clanked in the background, its mechanisms ancient but reliable. Wren ran his hands over the adamantite, inspecting it for any imperfections. Satisfied, he looked up.

“Adamantite’s strength is its greatest asset,” he began, “but its resistance to heat makes it a nightmare to work with. Without extraordinary measures, this forge alone wouldn’t be enough.”

Marie stepped forward, her crimson aura already flickering to life. Her Lucifer’s Regalia ignited, flames licking at her hands like eager predators. “That’s where I come in,” she said with a smirk.

Chrysta, standing nearby, crossed her arms with an amused expression. “Let me guess—you’ll try not to burn down the entire forge while you’re at it?”

Marie shot her a playful glare. “Funny. Don’t worry, Coldheart, you’ll get your turn to shine soon enough.”

On the opposite side, Chrysta activated her Skadi Regalia. A wave of cold spread outward, frost forming on the edges of the forge’s stone walls. “And I’ll cool it down from the high temperatures,” she said, her tone light but resolute.

Lucius stood near the workbench, his fingertips grazing the Disk of Absolution as though sensing its energy. “When it’s time, I’ll ensure the disk binds perfectly with the blade. It will be the weapon’s heart and soul.”

Arlan remained still, observing the team as they moved with purpose. “Let’s not forget,” he said, his voice cutting through the banter, “this isn’t just another blade. This is for all of us. Let’s make it count.”

Marie stepped forward, her crimson aura intensifying as she activated her [Hellborn] form. Her body radiated fiery, demonic mana. The air around her shimmering with heat. Her eyes glowed with an intense red light, and her flames roared to life, enveloping her arms in blazing infernos.

The temperature in the room climbed rapidly, forcing everyone else to step back. “Here we go,” Marie muttered, her voice carrying a dual tone—her own and a deeper, almost demonic echo. She raised her hands, directing a torrent of molten flames toward the adamantite ingots.

The forge roared in response, amplifying the heat as the adamantite began to glow. “Keep it steady,” Wren instructed, his voice cutting through the roar. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his focus remained unshaken. “We can’t afford uneven melting.”

Chrysta stepped in, her Skadi Regalia flaring as she channeled frost magic to keep the forge’s surroundings balanced. “Marie, don’t overdo it,” she warned, icy tendrils coiling through the room to counteract the overwhelming heat.

Marie smirked through the intensity of her flames. “I’ve got this. Just keep the frost magic ready for when I’m done.”

After several grueling minutes, the adamantite began to soften, its surface glowing with a molten brilliance. The once-unyielding metal now shimmered like liquid fire, radiating immense potential.

“It’s ready,” Marie declared, stepping back. The flames around her dimmed slightly as she allowed the others to step forward. Her Hellborn form faded, though her expression still held its characteristic pride.

Wren didn’t hesitate. As soon as the adamantite reached the perfect consistency, he brought his hammer down with a resounding clang. Sparks erupted with every strike, lighting up the determined faces of everyone present.

Arlan stepped forward, his Monarch’s Regalia activating in tandem. The subtle glow around him intensified as he lent strength to Wren’s hammer strikes. Each blow was purposeful, embedding their combined essence into the forming blade.

“Layer the mithril here,” Wren instructed, pointing to the edges of the blade. The silvery metal, lighter and sharper, melded seamlessly with the adamantite, adding precision to the weapon’s design.

The process was grueling. An hour had passed as Wren and Arlan worked in tandem, their efforts unyielding. Slowly, the raw materials began to take shape, transforming into a blade that radiated both elegance and raw power. Even in its unfinished state, it was a sight to behold.

Once the shaping was complete, Wren motioned for Chrysta to step forward. “Now we cool it,” he said, stepping back to let her work.

Chrysta nodded, her Skadi Regalia activating in full force. Frost spread from her hands, enveloping the blade in a shimmering layer of ice. The hiss of steam filled the forge as the intense heat was rapidly tempered by the frost magic. The process required delicate control, ensuring the blade cooled evenly to avoid any imperfections.

As the blade’s glow dimmed, the room fell silent. The weapon, now tempered and solidified, rested on the workbench, its form pristine and radiant. Wren stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with pride.

“It’s taking shape,” he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion but also pride. He turned to Arlan. “When it’s ready, it will need a name.”

Arlan looked at the blade, his hand brushing against its surface. A faint smile crossed his face. “Not yet,” he said quietly. “We’re not finished.”

Lucius stepped forward, his hands steady as he examined the hilt of the blade. The Disk of Absolution glimmered on the workbench, its energy faintly pulsing like a living heart. He looked to Arlan and Wren. “This part is crucial. One misstep and the disk could destabilize the entire weapon.”

Wren nodded. “We’ll guide you, but this is your expertise.”

Lucius focused, his voice calm but firm. “Chrysta, keep the blade cool. Marie, stand ready in case we need to reforge any section.” His fingers danced over the disk’s surface, carefully aligning it with the grooves in the hilt.

As he pressed the disk into place, a wave of mana surged through the room, lighting up the blade with a brilliant blue-white glow. Everyone froze for a moment, watching as the disk merged seamlessly into the hilt. The hum of energy settled into a steady rhythm.

“It worked,” Lucius said, exhaling deeply. “The disk is stable.”

Wren stepped back, retrieving a vial of perfect-grade solvent from his tools. “The final step: the runes. This solvent will bind the enchantments permanently to the blade.”

Arlan watched as Wren delicately painted the first rune onto the blade’s surface, each stroke glowing briefly before fading into the metal. “These runes will amplify your essence, absorb spells, and ensure the blade’s durability under any condition,” Wren explained.

The group watched in silence as Wren completed the final rune, the blade shimmering with an otherworldly light.

Wren held the finished blade out to Arlan, its polished surface reflecting the glow of the forge. “It’s done. A masterpiece. What will you name it?”

Arlan gripped the hilt, feeling the surge of mana course through him. The weight was perfect, the balance sublime. He looked at his comrades, then back at the blade. “Eternus.”

The word hung in the air, a fitting name for a weapon born from unity and boundless strength. Everyone nodded in agreement, the name resonating deeply with the moment.

Wren grinned, his exhaustion forgotten. “Eternus it is. My magnum opus.”

The weight of Eternus rested comfortably in Arlan's hands, its polished surface glinting in the light of the forge. He stepped into the open training yard in the military district, the Banner of the Claw gathered to watch. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation as Arlan prepared to test the godlike weapon for the first time.

The [Disk of Absolution] pulsed faintly within the hilt, and as Arlan channeled his essence into it, a surge of mana returned into him, unending and relentless. The mana coursed through his veins, supplying his core through his true lanes to a level he had never experienced before.

In the recesses of his mind, Sophia's voice rang out, calm and authoritative. "Eternus is unlike anything you've wielded, Arlan. The [Disk of Absolution] provides infinite mana, but this is just the beginning. As you attune to it, the weapon will evolve, adapting to your core and unlocking capabilities beyond mortal comprehension."

Arlan tightened his grip on the blade. He could feel its potential, like a coiled storm waiting to be unleashed. His Black Draconian Cuirass hummed in resonance, its defensive power syncing perfectly with the offensive might of Eternus. He stepped into the sparring circle and raised the blade, its edges shimmering with latent energy.

"Begin," Arlan commanded, his voice steady but charged with authority.

JD stepped forward, his dual blades at the ready. "Let’s see what this weapon can do."

Arlan nodded and lunged forward. The moment Eternus swung, the air seemed to split. A shockwave of pure energy erupted from the blade, slamming into JD and forcing him back several feet. The crowd gasped as JD barely maintained his footing.

"That was just one swing?" JD muttered, his eyes wide with shock.

Sophia’s voice chimed again. "Even in its early phase, Eternus amplifies your physical and magical abilities. You’re no longer bound by mortal limitations, Arlan. This is your first step toward ascension as the God King."

Arlan took a deep breath, centering himself. He raised the blade again, this time channeling his mana through the runes etched into its surface. A crimson red aura ignited along the edge, a fusion of his core’s power and the Disk of Absolution’s infinite supply.

With a single downward slash, a fissure tore through the ground, the energy dissipating harmlessly before it could cause damage to the surroundings. The sheer force of the attack left the onlookers speechless.

Marie let out a low whistle. "You’ve officially become terrifying, Arlan."

Chrysta added, her voice tinged with both awe and humor, "Let’s just hope you don’t swing that thing in a crowded room."

Arlan lowered the blade and turned to his team. "This is just the beginning. Eternus is powerful. We’ll need every bit of its strength for what lies ahead."

The next day, the Banner of the Claw, united in purpose, began an intensive training regimen to prepare for the challenges ahead. Arlan led the entire unit, overseeing drills that tested both discipline and coordination. The morning began with physical conditioning—running through Galmora’s rugged terrain, sparring, and practicing formations designed for swift adaptability in battle.

"Faster! Keep that shield wall tight!" Arlan’s voice carried across the field as the vanguard practiced under his watchful eye. Sweat poured down their faces as George, Michael, and Kristopher strained to hold their lines. Nearby, JD, Edgar, Savage, Erin, and Lem drilled them relentlessly, sparring to sharpen their reactions and build trust within the unit.

George groaned as he blocked another strike from JD. "You’re supposed to take it easy on the new guy, right?"

"New? You’ve been here for months," JD shot back with a grin, feinting and landing a soft tap on George’s shoulder. "You’re not allowed to complain until you can land a hit on me."

Michael chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "I’ll manage that before George does."

Kristopher smirked but stayed focused, using the opportunity to tighten his guard. Edgar nodded approvingly as he observed. "Good instincts, Kristopher. Don’t let the banter distract you."

Elsewhere, Marie led the mages—Yuna, Lucius, Chrysta, Katalina, and Fiala—in an advanced training session. Her Lucifer’s Regalia burned brightly as she demonstrated a complex technique.

"Master-level mana manipulation," Marie explained, conjuring a radiant flame that shimmered with layers of energy. "This isn’t just about power; it’s about control. Basic leads to intermediate, then advanced, expert, and finally, master. Most mages plateau at advanced, maybe expert."

Yuna, holding a glowing staff, furrowed her brow. "You make it look so easy."

Marie smiled faintly. "It wasn’t. But once you reach master, you’ll understand mana like it’s part of you. That’s the difference. You’ll get there, Yuna. All of you will."

Lucius observed quietly, his analytical mind parsing her every word. "Even reaching expert-level manipulation puts us leagues above most."

Chrysta, standing off to the side, added with a sly smile, "And yet Marie makes us feel like novices. Don’t let it discourage you, Yuna. Use it to push harder."

At the archery range in Galmora’s Military District, Yanie met with her Silvan Rangers, her commanding presence drawing the group’s full attention. The air was heavy with determination as she addressed them.

"The Firane Kingdom is more than a battlefield to me," Yanie began, her voice steady. "It’s my home. And I’ve decided to reclaim it."

Her words hung in the air before Jovann stepped forward. "It’s ours too. My parents were killed during Queen Alveri’s coup. Onas and I fled to Midland with nothing but each other. We’ll fight with you, not just for Firane but for all those who suffered."

Other Silvan Elves murmured in agreement, their resolve palpable. Yanie nodded, her expression softening. "Together, we’ll restore what was lost."

Throughout the day, the training grounds bustled with activity. Katalina worked with younger mages to improve their elemental techniques. Erin, alongside Savage, demonstrated heavy weapon tactics to a group of recruits. Jovann and Onas shared their experiences, instilling pride in the Silvan Rangers while teaching advanced archery techniques.

The atmosphere was charged with purpose, each moment bringing the Banner closer to their peak. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, they were exhausted but resolute, ready to face the trials ahead.

After a long day of training, the Banner of the Claw headed to Galmora’s bustling tavern district. The "Silver Stag," a large and lively establishment, was their destination of choice, its warm glow spilling out into the cobblestone streets. The scent of roasting meats, fresh bread, and spiced ales filled the air, mingling with the hum of chatter and laughter from the patrons inside.

JD pushed open the heavy wooden doors, grinning broadly. "Alright, drinks are on me… as long as someone else covers the second round."

The group poured in, their presence immediately noticed by the other patrons. Cheers erupted from some of the locals who had heard tales of the Banner’s exploits. The tavern keeper, a stout man with a graying beard, waved them over to a large corner table. "You lot earned a feast tonight. Sit yourselves down."

The table was soon laden with steaming plates of food and frothing mugs. JD wasted no time, lifting his ale high. "To the Banner of the Claw! May we be unstoppable!"

"And may your stories actually improve," Chrysta quipped, raising her own glass. The toast drew laughter from around the table as everyone settled in.

JD leaned forward with a gleam in his eye, sensing the perfect moment to take control of the conversation. He stood up, lifting his mug high, calling for the group’s attention. "Alright, I’ve got a tale for you all," he said with a dramatic pause, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "The time Eren and I led the Banner against a band of rebels during the War of the Great Houses."

Eren groaned but couldn't hide the half-smile pulling at his face. "Oh, you’re really going to tell that one?"

"Absolutely," JD grinned, ignoring the mock protests from his companion. "So, picture this: the War of the Great Houses is in full swing. We’re deep in enemy territory, surrounded by rebels who think they’ve got the upper hand. Our scouts were reporting a massive insurgent force, outnumbering us three to one. But here’s the thing—Eren and I weren’t about to let that stop us."

"I still don’t know why you thought splitting our forces was a good idea." replied Eren.

JD waved him off, clearly enjoying the moment. "It was genius. While you took the main force head-on, I led a small team around the enemy’s flank. They never saw us coming."

Marie snorted, barely holding back a laugh. "Flank them? If I hadn’t helped you on that side, you would’ve been way out of position!"

JD chuckled. "Minor setbacks," he said with a shrug. "But the point is, we got there just in time. The rebels thought they had us cornered. They didn’t realize we were already behind them. So, Eren, being the calm strategist, gives the signal to charge. We had them boxed in."

"And what JD neglects to mention," Eren cut in, raising an eyebrow, "is that he gave the order to charge... right into the thick of their strongest forces. I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified."

JD grinned wider, enjoying the back-and-forth. "Well, what’s the point of a good charge if it doesn’t have a bit of chaos? The rebels were so rattled, they didn’t know which way to turn. And while they scrambled to react, we overwhelmed them."

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"And by ‘overwhelmed,’" Eren added, "you mean you almost got us killed running in without a plan."

"Details, details," JD waved it off again. "The point is, we crushed them. Rebel forces scattered, and we secured the battlefield. It was a victory that sent a message across the entire warfront."

Yuna leaned in, her eyes wide with awe. "You really outsmarted all those rebels like that?"

Eren gave a knowing grin, but his eyes twinkled with the memory. "JD’s version of the story is always... slightly exaggerated. But yes, we did win that battle."

The group chuckled, knowing JD’s flair for storytelling, but even they had to admit, it was a hell of a victory.

Edgar groaned, already shaking his head. "Outsmarted? Is that what we’re calling it now?"

Marie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress a smile. "Are we telling shitty stories the whole night?"

The next morning, Arlan’s office was a cozy little sanctuary, tucked away from the chaos of command. The soft light of the late afternoon filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting a golden hue across the room. The air was filled with the scent of old books and parchment, the warm smell of wood and ink blending with the faint musk of leather.

A large wooden desk stood near the window, cluttered with maps, reports, and half-finished letters, all signs of the daily grind. But despite the piles of work, Arlan wasn’t paying attention to any of it right now. He was focused solely on Marie, who was perched comfortably on the plush leather armchair.

Marie had her legs stretched out in front of her, one boot propped up on the desk casually, her hands folded in her lap as she gazed at him with an amused smile. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she tilted her head, breaking the silence.

"So, Arlan," she began, her voice playful, "have you finished the reports yet, or are you going to leave them for another day?"

Arlan paused for a moment, "I think the reports can wait for a little while," he replied, his voice smooth and full of warmth. He stepped closer, his boots softly clicking against the wooden floor.

"Oh?” admitted Marie, “And what, pray tell, do you have in mind that’s so important?"

Arlan leaned against the desk, his eyes locking with hers. "Well, there’s you, for one," he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

Her breath caught for a moment, though she quickly regained her composure, letting out a soft laugh. "Distract you, huh? You’ve been so focused on your work lately, I thought I’d have to remind you that there’s more to life than reports and military strategy."

Arlan took a slow step forward, "I think you just did." He reached out and gently brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, his fingers grazing her cheek ever so lightly. "But you know, your presence here is quite welcomed. The work can wait for a little while."

Marie leaned back into the armchair, letting out a quiet sigh. "You really know how to flatter a girl," she said, though the tone was teasing, a smile playing on her lips.

"Flattery is just the beginning, Marie. You deserve more than that." He leaned forward, his face inches from hers, the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. "But for now," he whispered, "how about a little time just for us?"

Marie’s lips parted, her eyes flicking between his, and she suddenly found herself lost in the moment. She reached up, her fingers lightly brushing the side of his jaw. "Just for us?" she repeated, her voice quieter now, as if testing the words, savoring the intimacy of the moment. "And what do you plan to do with all this time?"

Arlan’s smile turned mischievous, his eyes glinting with a playful challenge. "I think we can figure that out, don’t you?" His gaze never left hers as he leaned in, closing the distance between them.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she met him halfway, the tension between them easing as their lips brushed, a soft kiss that spoke of more than just desire.

The river was serene, the water reflecting the cloudless sky above, creating a tranquil scene that felt almost surreal. Savage, with his usual tough demeanor softened by the quiet surroundings, sat cross-legged on the riverbank.

His large hands gripped a fishing rod, the simple task of waiting for a fish to bite giving him an unusual sense of peace. The river murmured quietly, its gentle current moving past the jagged rocks and smooth stones below, while the distant sounds of the town and the world beyond were muted here in this secluded corner of nature.

Beside him, Edgar was seated on a large rock, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one hand idly toying with the string of his fishing rod. Despite his calm posture, there was an underlying tension in the way his shoulders were set, his usually sharp and alert gaze softened just enough to suggest that even he, the ever-pragmatic strategist, could appreciate the stillness of the moment. The two men had spent hours here, the silence between them stretching comfortably.

After a while, Edgar broke the quiet, his voice low and thoughtful. "I still don’t understand how you find peace in this. You’ve spent your whole life in battle, and now you’re out here, fishing. It doesn’t seem to match."

Savage’s deep laugh echoed across the water, a deep rumble that seemed to resonate with the natural surroundings. "Not everything needs to match," he said, his voice warm but firm. "Sometimes, you need to find a way to still the storm in your head. Fishing’s one way of doing that."

"Stillness... I suppose I could use more of it," Edgar murmured. "But I prefer something more... practical. A fight, a challenge. Even reading a book feels more satisfying than waiting for a fish to bite."

"You’re always looking for a challenge. But peace can be just as rewarding. Sometimes, the greatest challenge is learning to be still."

"You sound like one of those monks who preach about ‘finding your inner peace.’"

Savage met his gaze with a rare, knowing smile. "Maybe I’m becoming one of them. The world’s chaotic, Edgar. You know that as well as I do. But we need to find our moments to rest, to remember that life isn’t all blood and battle."

Edgar remained silent for a moment, the sound of the river filling the space between them. He shifted slightly, adjusting the line on his rod, then looked over at Savage. "You ever think about what happens when the fighting’s done? When the world isn’t at war anymore?"

Savage’s eyes softened as he glanced at Edgar, his usually hardened expression showing a rare vulnerability. "I think about it sometimes. Maybe I’ll find a quiet place to live out the rest of my days, somewhere far from all of this. Maybe I’ll fish every day." He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Or maybe I’ll find a new way to fight."

Edgar nodded thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the horizon. "I think I’d keep fighting. It’s in my blood. But... I get what you mean. There’s more to life than just the next battle."

The two men sat in companionable silence once again, each lost in his own thoughts but somehow connected by the shared understanding that, one day, they would have to leave the life of war behind. The quiet was no longer awkward; it was a bond, a mutual respect for the moments of peace they had now, even if they were fleeting.

The soft hum of nature surrounded JD and Chrysta, the breeze rustling through the leaves of the large oak tree under which the couple had settled. The blanket beneath them was simple, yet comfortable, spread out on the soft grass near the edge of Galmora’s fields. They had a small picnic—fresh bread, cheese, fruit, and wine—all things that gave the afternoon a relaxed, leisurely feel.

JD sprawled lazily on his back, looking up at the blue sky. His usual energy was muted, replaced with a rare calm that seemed almost out of place for him. Chrysta, sitting cross-legged next to him, was more composed, her hands gently picking through the food.

She had been quiet for a while, taking in the peaceful surroundings, but she finally broke the silence with a smile that was both teasing and curious.

"So, JD," she said, her voice light, but there was a definite edge of something more beneath it. "When are you going to ask me?"

JD blinked, sitting up slightly as he looked at her, confusion clear on his face. "Ask you? What are you talking about?"

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "You know exactly what I mean. Wren asked Renia, and now I’m wondering when you'll finally ask me."

JD froze for a moment, his mind racing. He had always joked about things like this, and while he had never shied away from making light of relationships, this time, Chrysta wasn’t playing around. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to form a response. "I—uh, I didn’t think you were the type to rush into things, Chrysta."

She gave him an exaggerated look, crossing her arms over her chest. "I’m not rushing. But you’ve had more than enough time to figure this out. So what are you waiting for?"

JD took a deep breath, trying to maintain his usual cocky grin, but there was something about her gaze that made him pause. "Guess I’m waiting for the perfect moment," he said, his voice softer now. "And I’m still trying to figure out how to top Wren’s whole ‘surprise proposal’ thing."

"If you keep waiting for the perfect moment, you’ll miss it." Chrysta's smile softened, and she leaned in closer, her voice lowering. "But you know, JD, I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to top Wren, just... make it real."

JD’s grin widened, but there was a new sincerity in his eyes. "Alright. I’ll think about it. But you’ve got to admit, a picnic like this is a pretty good start."

Chrysta couldn’t help but laugh. "Maybe. But we’ll see."

Inside the spacious dining hall of the Reeve's manor, the atmosphere was unusually light. The large, ornate table in the center of the room was cluttered with cards, wine glasses, and half-eaten plates of cheese and bread.

Jovann, Lucius, Niren, and Eren were sitting around the table, their faces lit with the quiet intensity of a card game that had grown increasingly competitive as the hours passed.

"Alright," Lucius said, his voice smooth as ever, "Let’s see who’s truly got the best strategy here." He dealt the cards with precision, his fingers barely touching the edges of each card as they slid across the table.

Jovann, ever confident, picked up his hand with a grin. "You’re all playing checkers, and I’m playing chess. Get ready to lose."

Eren, who had been unusually quiet, eyed his cards with a raised brow. "If you keep underestimating us, Jovann, you might be in for a surprise."

Jeanette and Helga moved around the table, refilling wine glasses and serving appetizers. Jeanette’s voice was light, teasing. "My lords, please allow me to witness your unbeatable card game skills."

Jovann flashed a grin at Jeanette as he sipped from his glass. "Of course, Jeanette."

Niren, usually quiet, offered a rare smile. "I’ll take a win. I’m just here for the fun of it."

Lucius, not missing a beat, threw a card onto the table, his smile barely flickering. "We’ll see about that. It’s all about reading your opponents. You have to know when to push and when to fold."

Eren finally spoke, his voice casual but his eyes keen. "Seems like you’re all thinking too much about strategy. Sometimes, the best move is the one you don’t see coming."

As the game went on, the tension grew. Each move was met with sarcastic remarks, light teasing, and the clinking of wine glasses. But for all their competitive energy, there was an underlying camaraderie between them, a shared bond that went beyond winning or losing.

The fields outside Galmora stretched out in all directions, the tall grass swaying gently in the evening breeze. The fading sunlight cast a warm glow over everything, turning the world into a canvas of oranges and pinks, and as the sky slowly darkened, the stars began to twinkle in their familiar places.

Fiala and Yanie sat side by side on a slight rise, the world around them quiet except for the occasional rustle of grass. They didn't need to speak; the peaceful stillness of the moment was enough.

But after a while, Yanie glanced at Fiala, the soft glow of the setting sun catching her features. Her voice was gentle when she finally spoke. "I’ve never really asked you about your brother," she began, her words almost hesitant but filled with a quiet curiosity. "What was he like?"

Fiala's gaze remained fixed on the horizon for a moment longer before she turned her eyes to the ground, the weight of the question settling in her chest. She sighed softly, her fingers twisting the fabric of her cloak.

"Anthony..." she began, her voice thick with memories. "He was... everything I wasn’t. Where I was serious, he was always laughing, always making others laugh, no matter how bad things got. He was the kind of person who made you feel like everything would be okay—even in the middle of a battle, when it felt like the world was collapsing around us."

Yanie's gaze softened as she nodded, her mind drifting back to the times she had fought alongside Anthony. She could still hear his voice, easy and warm, even in the heat of the fiercest battles.

"I remember," Yanie said quietly, her voice carrying a soft smile. "He had a way of making everyone feel like they were part of something important, even if it was just for a moment. Like we were all in this together." Her tone grew quieter, thoughtful. "He made us all feel lighter, like the weight of the world wasn’t so heavy, no matter how dark things got."

"Exactly. And then..." Fiala trailed off, "Then one day, he was just... gone. And all that light he carried? It disappeared too."

"He’s still with you, Fiala," Yanie said, her voice steady. "You carry him in the way you fight, the way you care. It’s like a part of him lives on in you."

Fiala closed her eyes, the sting of the loss fresh and sharp. She leaned into Yanie’s touch for a moment, finding solace in the quiet support of her friend.

"I know," she whispered. "But it’s... it’s hard to feel that sometimes. It’s like there’s this part of me that’s always empty, no matter how much time passes. Like a part of me will always be missing."

"You’re not alone, Fiala," Yanie added, her words warm. "We’re all here for you. You’re not the only one who misses him. I miss him too. I think about him often, about the way he made us all feel like we could do anything."

The memories seemed to hang in the air between them, and Fiala let out a slow breath, the ache in her chest lessened by Yanie’s quiet words.

"I think that’s the hardest part," Fiala said, her voice softer now. "He was always the one who kept everyone going. Without him, it feels like we’ve lost something... something I can’t replace."

"You don’t have to replace him, Fiala. He’s not gone. He’s part of you now, just like he’s part of me, part of everyone who fought beside him. And no matter how much time passes, that won’t change."

"I’ll keep going," Fiala said, her voice firmer now. "For him. For all of us."

Yanie nodded, a small but proud smile tugging at her lips. "That’s what he would want. And I’ll be right here beside you, every step of the way."

The two women sat together, watching as the sun finally dipped below the horizon. The stars filled the sky, one by one, casting a gentle light over the fields. In the quiet darkness, there was peace—peace in knowing that, no matter the distance, Anthony’s memory would live on in the hearts of those who had known him, a quiet light that could never truly fade.

The bustling streets of Galmora were alive with the energy of the night as the sun dipped below the horizon. The once-bustling market square had transformed into a vibrant, glowing night market. Lanterns of every color and size swung gently in the evening breeze, their soft light dancing across the faces of the crowd, painting the street in a warm, amber glow.

The air was thick with the scent of roasting meats, sweet pastries, and spices that tickled the senses, mixing with the sound of laughter and lively chatter from both vendors and customers alike. The streets were crowded, but the atmosphere was filled with a sense of joy and excitement, as families, travelers, and townsfolk alike wandered from stall to stall, their faces alight with the thrill of the evening.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, three familiar figures made their way leisurely through the cobblestone streets. George, Kristopher, and Michael walked together, their steps unhurried, but their presence undeniably drawing attention from the crowd.

George, always the loudest of the trio, led the way with his usual boisterous energy, occasionally calling out to vendors he recognized, or simply grinning broadly at the spectacle of it all.

Kristopher walked with his usual sharp focus, eyes scanning the crowds with a hint of amusement, while Michael, more reserved, lingered slightly behind, his faint smile reflecting the contentment that came with these rare moments of peace.

"I tell you," George said, gesturing dramatically toward a food stall, his voice rising above the noise of the market. "There’s nothing better than a roasted chicken after a long day." He pointed at a vendor who was expertly turning a spit, the mouthwatering aroma drifting through the air.

Kristopher raised an eyebrow and smirked, clearly entertained. "It’s always about food with you, George. Is there anything in this city you don’t want to eat?"

"Hey, I live for good food, alright?” George chuckled heartily, and reached for a skewer of roasted meat, handing it to Kristopher. “You can’t blame me for appreciating the simple joys in life."

Kristopher rolled his eyes but took the skewer without protest, taking a small bite. "It’s a simple joy, alright. Just don’t start talking about food in the middle of a fight. I don’t think our enemies would appreciate it."

"You’re both right,” added Michael from right behind them, “A good meal does make everything better."

As they continued down the market street, the energy around them swept them into the vibrant flow of the night market. Everywhere they looked, there was something to catch their eye—vendors haggling over prices, their voices rising in a mixture of politeness and playfulness, children running between stalls with wide eyes and eager hands clutching coins, and the glow of lanterns bouncing off the colorful fabrics and trinkets scattered across the tables.

The market had its own rhythm, its own pulse, a living thing that thrived on the commerce and camaraderie of the crowd. For a few hours, at least, it was a world that didn’t need to worry about the weight of responsibility or the specter of danger that often loomed over their lives.

George, ever the planner, glanced over at his companions with a mischievous grin. "Alright," he said, nudging Kristopher in the ribs, "Let’s hit the tavern next. You’ve got to admit, nothing beats a good drink after a long day."

Kristopher shook his head, chuckling as he waved his hand dismissively. "You and your plans. You really do live for nights like these, don’t you?"

George shrugged nonchalantly, taking another bite of his skewer. "Who wouldn’t? It’s one of the few times we get to relax and forget about everything. I say we make the most of it."

"I think we’re all in the same boat," Michael said with a soft laugh, his voice quiet but content. The warmth of the market, the laughter of the crowd, and the company of his friends were enough to make him feel at peace for the moment.

The trio continued to wander through the market, now slowing their pace to take in the sights and sounds around them. Street performers had begun to gather at the square, their fire-breathing acts and music drawing a curious crowd.

The atmosphere was full of life, a celebration of the mundane joys of life that they so often took for granted. As they passed by a vendor selling intricately carved wooden figurines, George couldn’t resist leaning in to examine them. "These would look great in our barracks," he remarked, reaching out to touch a small carving of a mythical creature.

Kristopher rolled his eyes, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You’ve got too many trinkets already. You can’t fit them all."

"A few more won’t hurt." George shot back with a wink.

As the night stretched on, the sky above was now a deep indigo, and the lanterns seemed to burn brighter against the growing darkness. The heat of the day had faded, and a cool breeze carried the scent of the nearby river through the streets. The sound of music from a nearby tavern filtered into the market, creating a lively, festive atmosphere that enveloped the entire street.

"Well," George said with a satisfied grin, taking one last glance at the food stalls, "it’s time. The tavern’s calling."

Kristopher chuckled, giving him a sideways glance. "Alright, but only because you’re insistent. I swear, George, you’ve got a one-track mind when it comes to food and drink."

George laughed loudly, unbothered by the teasing. "It’s not my fault I know how to enjoy life!" He clapped Kristopher on the back, nearly sending him stumbling. "Come on, Michael, you can’t say no to a good pint of ale after all this."

Michael simply smiled, his gaze drifting toward the warm lights of the tavern ahead. "I think we’ve earned it."

Together, the three friends made their way toward the tavern, their laughter blending into the symphony of sounds around them. The night was theirs to enjoy, a rare opportunity to forget the responsibilities that awaited them at dawn.

As they entered the bustling tavern, the atmosphere was a perfect continuation of the market—a place full of warmth, stories, and the easy comfort of shared camaraderie. They found a table near the window, letting the noise of the market fade into the background as they raised their glasses to a rare and well-earned break from the chaos of their lives.

In that moment, with the clink of glasses and the crackling warmth of the fire, the world outside seemed to fall away, and all that mattered was the peace they found in each other’s company.

As the gates of Galmora creaked open, the heavy wooden doors slowly pulled back to reveal the open road stretching out before them. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestones as Arlan, riding Kage, led the procession out of the city.

JD, on his own dark stygian steed, kept pace beside him with a grin on his face, his usual confidence matching the speed of his mount. Behind them, the carriage rolled steadily, the steady clatter of the wheels filling the air as it carried the rest of the group, including Emmeline, Yuna, Yanie, Chrysta, Fiala, Marie, and the rest of the party.

The sound of hooves and carriage wheels mixed with the chatter and occasional laughter of the group as they left Galmora behind. The city’s lights faded into the distance, swallowed by the growing dusk.

"Looks like we’re finally out of Galmora," said Frej, his voice cutting through the light chatter. He had been riding alongside Akasha, who was silent as always but alert. "So, where’s our first stop, Arlan?"

Arlan, his eyes scanning the road ahead, answered calmly, "Our first stop is Galdo, just to the west. We’ll rest there for the night, and then south to Auron. After that, further south beyond the Golden Valley is Centa, House Argold’s holding. Once we’ve made our way through there, we’ll move on beyond the Eisanyr."

"You mean the ‘Ruined Eisanyr?’" Lucius raised an eyebrow, his voice filled with quiet intrigue.

"Yeah, it still hasn’t recovered from the Siege of Eisanyr," Arlan replied, his tone somber. "We’ll be passing through there on our way to the borders of the Firane Kingdom. But the destination after that, the final one, is Sylabell—the capital of the Firane Kingdom."

Fiala, riding quietly beside Yanie in the carriage, glanced out toward the horizon. "Sylabell," she repeated, as if testing the name in her mind. "Sounds like we’ll have a lot of work to do once we get there."

"Indeed," Arlan said, his voice low but determined. "But we need to be careful. We’re still not sure if the Malum Incarnate has corrupted any of the Silvan Elves."

Yanie, who had been quietly listening, shifted in her seat. "My uncle in Sylabell will meet us when we arrive," she said, her voice calm yet filled with an unmistakable sense of importance. "He’s been expecting us."

At the mention of her uncle, Chrysta leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "Your uncle? The one you mentioned before?"

"Yes," Yanie replied. "He’s the same uncle Arlan saved when he dealt with an orc ambush. He’s the one who sent the Silvan Rangers before our incursion into Sworan territory during the rebellion, and he’s the one who’ll help us when we get to Sylabell."

Savage turned his head toward Yanie. "That’s the uncle you said you owed your life to?" he asked, his deep voice a contrast to the otherwise light-hearted atmosphere.

Yanie nodded. "That’s him. He’s the one who snuck me out of Firane when my mother was killed. And now, he’ll help guide us. There’s no better person for the job."

"Good to know we have an inside ally," Niren said with a small grin. "I don’t think we’ll be able to trust just anyone in Sylabell."

"Especially given the stakes,” Lucius gave a nod of agreement. “The capital may look beautiful, but I’m sure it hides plenty of political games beneath its surface."

Arlan’s expression grew more serious as he glanced back toward the others. "The Firane Kingdom is going to be our first foray into another Kingdom. Once we step into Sylabell, we’ll need to be sharp. We don’t know who can be trusted, and we’ll need all the help we can get."

Jovann cracked a smile. "And here I thought this was just a road trip," he said with a laugh. "But I get it. We’ll stick together. We always do."

"That’s right," Arlan said firmly, his voice steady as always. "We move as one. And when we reach Sylabell, we’ll have what we need to move forward."

The group rode in thoughtful silence for a while, the sound of hooves and the carriage’s wheels filling the air as they left the outskirts of Galmora. The evening stretched on, and the journey ahead seemed long, but the weight of the mission kept their spirits steady.

As they continued on, the rolling landscape gave way to more rugged terrain, the road narrowing as the sun dipped further behind them. The last light of day filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the path ahead.

For now, though, the group was together, each of them determined and ready for the journey ahead. Arlan, with his eyes set on the path before them, knew that their arrival in Sylabell would be the turning point.

As the final rays of daylight faded, they moved forward—together, ready for whatever awaited them.