A sharp whistle interrupted the conversation, and all eyes turned to Anna, who pointed skyward. There, thirty-eight stars of vibrant colors burned against the night, their brilliance outshining the countless distant stars behind them. Some clustered themselves into familiar shapes but most were scattered about. Bright hues of purple, green, blue, and yellow danced in the darkness, some flickering playfully while others held static in brightness. It was immediately clear what they were, having materialized out of nowhere; their presence hadn’t existed moments before. The artificial stars of the Signalflares.

The group exchanged glances, before their focus shifted to Owen. “Well? What does it say?” Claire asked, her voice hinted with urgency.

“Give me a minute. I’m still reading. It takes time,” Owen replied, staring at the flickering display with narrowed focus. “It’s from Team One. Oathbreaker found, engaged in combat. Requesting help. Dangerous, and their current location. That’s it.”

“They could have sent the message before attacking the thing,” Michael said disapprovingly, a frown creasing his brow.

“Maybe they stumbled upon it during their search and had to fight immediately?” Anna suggested with concern.

“Doubtful. Remember what Lord Kenneth said back at the hall? It avoids people. Maybe it didn’t come in swinging. Thomas’s group is just trying to hog all the glory for themselves. Now they’re asking for help because they overestimated themselves,” Michael scoffed, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Were you actually paying attention during the meeting?” Claire asked, her tone incredulous.

“The lord also mentioned that the oathbreaker mauled all the hunting parties that went after her. They could have been the ones attacked,” Raid interjected, his voice calm. “But speculation is pointless.”

“Enough! We need to move. Or are we going to remain here and idle?” Nova said, her tone leaving no room for objections.

“Hold on, let me reply,” Owen said, opening a side pouch attached to his belt. “I’ll let them know we received the message and that we’re on our way.” He pulled out seventeen small black spheres, each about two centimeters in diameter.

“Is this what you use to create those stars?” Raid asked curiosity.

“Yes,” Owen answered, his expression serious.

“Strange to think that such small objects can produce such bright lights. What are they made of?”

“It’s called Flare's Blood. These balls just initiate the process, it's the aura that does most of the work, like the brightness. They’re primarily made of brimstone and bitumen, encased in hard resin, substances that love to burn.”

“Now's not the time for a lecture Owen,” Nova pressed with impatience. “Get it done.”

“Right, my bad.” Owen closed his eyes and concentrated, channeling his aura until all seventeen of the flare’s blood glowed with an ethereal bright pink. Moments later, they began to float, rising into the sky, ascending in increasing speed with each passing second.

“Wow, that’s cool. They’re like ember moths,” Anna breathed, her gaze fixed on the ascending lights, a look of awe etched across her face.

“What the hell are ember moths?” Michael chimed, confused, mirrored by Raid and Claire’s equally puzzled expressions.

“Oh. You guys don’t know about them?”

“Are you done, Owen?” Nova’s voice cut through the chatter, firm yet measured. The group fell silent, their attention shifting to her. Despite her calm demeanor, an undeniable intensity radiated from her, a noble-like quality matched with a serious expression, as though she were an anchor in a storm.

“Yes, I’m done. My stars will show in a minute,” Owen replied, slightly breathless.

"I see using your aura takes quite a bit of effort," Nova observed. "Will this hinder our run?"

"No..." Owen answered unconfidently.

“Good. Which way?”

Owen pointed eastward. “It’s quite a distance, but as long as I can see the other signalflare’s stars, I’ll know exactly where they are, assuming they haven’t moved.”

“Then let’s go! Everyone! Move!” Nova ordered, her voice ringing with urgency.

The group sprang into action, the sounds of snapping branches and rustling bushes blending into a chaotic racket around them. It was barely a few minutes before Owen started struggling to keep up, on the verge of gasping for breath.

“I don’t think I can maintain this pace,” Owen said, voice straining as he felt his lungs burn. “You all need to slow down.”

"Keep talking and you'll run slower. Just point the way," Claire replied.

“We’re not even using our aura! This is as slow as we can go with you. Any slower and we might as well be jogging. How are we going to reach the fighting if we barely cover any distance?” Michael complained, frustration creeping into his voice.

Seeing Owen’s pace falter, Charlie slowed down until he positioned himself directly in front of him, adjusting his stride to match Owen’s. He turned his head to meet Owen’s gaze, trying to silently communicate something through the brief moment of eye contact, an effort that Owen couldn't quite grasp.

“What is it, Charlie?” Owen managed to ask.

“Get on,” Charlie voiced with forced effort, his words harsher than intended.

“What?”

“My back,” Charlie emphasized, his tone strong. “Get on…”

“Oh! Charlie, that’s a brilliant idea!” Michael’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Owen, jump on his back! Charlie will carry you.”

“I’m not getting on anyone’s back! I can run just fine. Just slow down, will you? I refuse to ride on a man’s back.”

“This isn’t the time for pride, Owen!” Nova shouted, running at the forefront alongside Anna, far ahead of the lagging Owen, her voice cutting through the distance.

Just then, Raid, slowing down to join on Charlie's plan, zipped around behind Owen. And with a swift motion, he enhanced his body and lifted Owen as effortlessly as an empty sack.

“Ra-Raid! What ar—” Owen began, but before he could finish, Raid flung him toward Charlie, who caught him with surprising agility. Owen uncharacteristically squealed in protest, his voice reaching an octave he didn’t know he possessed as Charlie secured him on his back, wrapping his arms around Owen’s legs.

“Raid! You bastard!” Owen spat in anger.

“Nova! He’s on! Let’s go!” Raid yelled, a triumphant grin spreading across his face, near laughter.

“Everyone! Full sprint! Charge at the fire!” Nova commanded in response.

Within a split second, everyone accelerated, reserves drawn, aura flaring within them, enhancements snapping into effect, then the forest blurred around them.

Claire darted to the side, narrowly avoiding a thick trunk. Her breath caught. “Shit! We can’t go any faster! Everything's in the way!”

Before she could even finish, a massive branch, wide as a man’s torso, appeared in front of Michael. He didn’t have time to swerve. With a sickening crack, he barreled straight through it, sending splinters flying in every direction.

“In Yore’s name Michael!” Raid's laughter rung, sharp and disbelieving. “You fucking rammed right through that!”

Michael, wild-eyed, threw back his head and cackled. “Did you fucking see that shit?! My aura actually reacted!”

“How much did you lose from that?!”

“My reserves dented a bit but barely anything! Think I can plow through a tree next?!”

“Maybe a small one!”

"What about a sapling?!"

The both of them laughed even harder.

Ahead of them, Claire and Nova exchanged irritated glances, before redirecting their gaze at the two boys with disapproval.

“Single file, everyone! Don't spread out!” Nova shouted. “We need to avoid the trees! Stay in line and follow Anna’s exact footsteps!”

“A little to the left!” Owen pointed. “We're veering off course!”

Claire growled under her breath, dodging another branch. “It’s impossible to tell if we’re going straight with all this damn brush in the way!”

Time seemed to stretch as the group sped onward, minutes slipping past in the rush. Soon, the 38 stars appeared much closer, but dimmer, signaling that their radiance was near its end.

"Owen! Our guiding stars looks like they're about to burn out! Can you still find way once they're gone?!" Claire asked.

"Don't worry we're getting close! They'll still be around for a few more minutes, we'll be there by then!" Owen replied.

"And if we don't?!"

"Worse case I'll just signal a few more stars and request the location!"

"Which cost time!" Michael yelled. "We just need to run faster!"

"And how exactly are you gonna do that with all this shit in the way?!" Claire retorted.

“How come we haven’t seen a response from Oscar’s team?!” Raid asked. “They should have had their signalflare reply by now along with ours! How come I only see ours and Thomas’s in the sky?!”

“Maybe they’re too far away to see?!” Michael suggested.

“So far they can’t see the damn stars?! Are they even paying attention to the night?!”

“They went much further west! The tree cover is so thick there, even the moon struggles to shine through!” Anna said. “I think they just can’t see!”

That’s when the sounds of a low rumble reached them. Distant thunder, distorted and ominous, despite clear skies.

“You hear that?!” Raid’s eyes widened.

“Yeah,” Michael’s tone darkened, grinning. "Aura impacting aura! Sounds like a fight alright, we're getting close!"

“Owen!” Nova called. “I think we’ve got it from here! We’ll just follow the noise! You okay if we drop you here?! Find the other signalflare if you can, he should be nearby!”

“Go! I’ll be alright! If I can’t regroup with you once the fight’s over, I’ll see you at camp!” Owen answered.

“You sure you won’t get lost?!” Claire asked.

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“I’ll manage!”

Charlie slammed his foot against the ground in rapid deceleration, kicking up a cloud of dirt. He was the only one who halted; the others continued sprinting, their figures disappearing, the tension of the oncoming battle pulling them like a current toward whatever awaited in the darkness ahead. Owen felt his stomach churn, his momentum nearly crashing him into Charlie's back. The contrast between the knight's powerful form and his own unenhanced body was jarring, the violent inertia leaving him breathless.

As soon as Charlie came to a complete stop, Owen dropped to all fours, gasping for air, his insides roiling as he fought the urge to vomit.

“You… you alright?” Charlie asked, concern etched across his face.

“I'm never doing this again,” Owen managed, his voice shaky. “Fuck you guys… I don’t get how you run so fast. I’m not made for this.”

Charlie didn’t reply, his eyes still fixed on Owen, worry deepening the lines on his forehead.

“Go. Kill the thing,” Owen urged, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “As I said, I’ll manage. You’re wasting your time.”

Charlie nodded and, without a moment's hesitation, turned around and vanished into the distance to rejoin the others who had sprinted far ahead, moving with a speed that left Owen feeling even more isolated in his struggle.

As Nova and the rest of the group continued for another minute or three, their feet echoed in the forest, punctuated only by the rustle of leaves. Charlie had just rejoined them when an unsettling silence swept over the group.

“Hey!” Claire called. “Why don’t I hear anything now?!”

“Did the fighting end?!” Michael added.

Raid squinted ahead, spotting a faint, dim green glow flickering in the distance. He strained to see through the dense foliage, the ever-changing thickness of the vegetation obscured his view. Yet, he was certain it was the glow of an artform. They were close, real close. But if they were this near, why had the sounds of combat stopped? And why was there only one glow? A team consisted of six knights. Was the fight over? The trees and leaves were clearly in his way, so maybe this was all he was allowed to see. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. There was only one way to find out.

With a subtle gesture, Nova signaled Anna with two fingers, pointing twice to her right. After a brief nod, Anna confirmed her understanding, that's when Nova glanced at Raid.

"We're breaking off! The fight should be right in front of us! Raid, you take over, or anyone, it doesn’t matter! Even if the fight is finished, I want us to be safe!" Nova declared. And without waiting for a response, she and Anna broke off from the team, vanishing into the trees.

"Alright! Let’s do this! I’m the leader now!" Michael shouted, a spark of pride in his voice.

“My name was clearly called!” Raid replied.

“She said anyone!” Michael cheered. “Forward!”

Their once-light steps transformed into heavy thuds, enhanced bodies propelling them forward with raw power, imprinting their footsteps deep into the dirt.

They raced past fallen trees, splintered branches, some still oozing sap. Tree trunks freshly torn from their roots, with others split entirely or marked with clean cuts and large holes, like someone had punched right through them. The ground bore craters of all kinds, stains of explosive impact, but still no sounds of combat.

“Yeah, this is knight combat alright! In every forest we fight in, we always end up becoming lumberjacks!” Michael said. "Looks like a maneuver battle, constant movement, dancing around and shit! We should follow the damage!"

“This looks a lot more intense than your average forest fair!” Claire replied. “Look at those craters and the damage! It looks like a large-scale battle, but we know for a fact there aren’t that many of us here!”

“I guess they’re not holding back their aura then!” Michael replied, his excitement mingling with unease.

"Bad feeling…” Charlie murmured.

“Look!” Michael exclaimed. “I see the green again! Someone is still using their airform!”

The dim green glow before them brightened for a moment, followed by a single sharp crack of thunder. The rupture the sound made was so intense they could almost feel it.

“They're still fighting…” Raid muttered.

"Where are the other colors?!" Claire asked, scanning around for any signs of their allies.

“She's right!” Raid pressed. “Where are the other colors?!”

“Leave it! We’ll know once we arrive! Keep moving!” Michael replied.

As they ran, their pace shifted from a frantic sprint to a jog, and then abruptly halted. The four of them stood frozen, wide-eyed at the scene unfolding before them.

The initial impression they received was that a field lay ahead of them, a field in the middle of a forest? But it was not a field but a graveyard of trees, a clearing that had been savagely carved from the heart of the forest. The once-dense canopy had been shattered, leaving countless jagged stumps thrusting upward like the broken teeth of some great beast. Twisted trunks lay scattered across the ground. Leaves, once vibrant and alive, now lay crushed beneath their feet, a lifeless carpet mingled with shards of wood.

Deep craters marred the earth, gaping wounds in the landscape that bore the explosive force that had ravaged this place. It was a scene of utter devastation. An entire patchwork of forest has been completely leveled here.

A single woman stood at the center of this newly formed field of stumps. She was small-framed, dwarfed by the surrounding destruction. Light brown hair hung in disheveled strands, a pale face, and light blue eyes. She wore a soiled white tunic that had once been pure, now grimy and torn, paired with dark brown, tight-fitting pants and battered black boots. Bandages swathed her body like a second skin, their once-pristine white now a dark, filthy gray, caked with dirt and long aged blood. It was clear that the bandages were neglected of change, weeks or possibly months of use. Anyone who saw her without her titles would pity the thing of its condition.

Littered around her were the corpses of five knights, their bodies bruised and torn. Her gaze, hollow and distant, fell upon a man kneeling before her. He loomed large, three times her size, a titan brought low, encased in dented steel plate armor from neck to toe. A massive shield hung limply from his left arm, while his sword, once radiant with power, now flickered with a dying green glow, the light ebbing as if mirroring the life within him.

The scene resembled a cruel mockery of a knight’s ceremony, swearing loyalty to their clan in duty, kneeling before an altar or representative and receiving their tags for the first time. But in this case, the representative was an Oathbreaker, and the knight before her bore the heavy weight of despair. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, pooling on the ground like a final, tragic offering. His head hung almost lifelessly, and the expression on his face reflected a grim acceptance of defeat.

There was an eerie stillness. The seemingly fragile woman stood amid the remnants of violence, while a once-mighty knight knelt in surrender, both caught in a moment suspended in time.

"That steel plate… Dead god's curse, that's Thomas!" Michael exclaimed in disbelief.

"Shit! We have to save him!" Claire shouted, her sword flaring as she drew it. She lunged forward, but Raid’s hand gripped her shoulder like iron, his gaze never leaving Thomas.

"Don't," Raid said, his voice low. "It's too late."

Claire wrenched free from his grasp, her eyes burning with rage. "Too late?" she almost spat. "He's still alive Raid! You expect me to abandon him?!"

Raid’s expression didn’t change as he gave a barely perceptible nod toward Thomas. Claire, boiling, shifted her focus. Thomas knelt with a faint, twisted grin, his lips moving in silent conversation with Annette. The oathbreaker’s face was a mask of cold indifference. Even with their enhanced senses, Raid and the others couldn’t hear what was being said. It was like the world had sealed itself off around the two of them.

Claire’s body tensed, her sword glowing with vibrant yellow, but Raid’s words echoed through her mind, stopping her just short of charging in. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to take a breath. Soon, understanding settled over her like chains, forcing her in place. "A knight's honor... The final song," she whispered in realization.

“He’s lost his fight,” Raid murmured, almost to himself. “There’s no life in his eyes. He’s asking for an end, Claire, a favor. Intervening now would only damn him.”

Thomas stared into Annette's cold ocean eyes, giving a slow, deliberate nod. His face was still stretched in that strange grin. Without hesitation, she stepped closer, her hands gently covering his eyes. The moment her palms touched him, his body went slack. His grin remained, but his life left him in an instant, his limp form collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

Raid exhaled, a breath heavy with resignation. For a long moment, no one spoke. Michael stood frozen, caught between conflicting urges, to act, to honor, to doubt. His mind spun as he glanced at Raid, knowing why the man hadn’t intervened, why none of them had, and yet... was it right?

Charlie, sword now in hand, but not yet linked, remained poised as if at any second he'd spring into action. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face, a blank mask that had always made him unreadable to Michael.

And Claire... Claire was seething, a storm barely contained. Her eyes locked on Raid, filled with a fury that seemed ready to erupt. Every muscle in her body trembled with the urge to lash out.

Raid finally met her gaze, calm, which only angered her more than the oathbreaker did. "You held back," he said quietly, "and that took more strength than swinging your sword. I'm glad you respected Thomas enough to hold yourself back, even when you wanted to act. We had a chance to speak with him at Calden, remember? The three of us," he emphasized. "You know how much he valued his honor."

"This won’t happen again," Claire said through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with controlled rage. “I won’t let it.” These words were a promise, not just to Raid, but to herself. She swore it on her honor.

"I don’t get it. Why didn’t we step in?" Charlie’s voice wavered as he stared at the aftermath.

“You really don’t know?” Michael’s eyes widened, slight disbelief etched on his face.

“I understand honor, but not this kind.”

"Thomas adheres to slightly older traditions. He staked his honor and requested his final song. The victor has the right to finish him if a duel is called," Raid explained. "We’d be spitting on his grave if we had interfered."

“Oh,” Charlie whispered, the weight of it sinking in. "Then I do know this... The victor’s rights. It’s called the final song here? But how did you know this was a duel?"

"He was kneeling," Raid answered. “Who does that in front of an oathbreaker? Knowing Thomas, he would have rather torn his own limbs with the last of his strength than kneel, if not for his song.”

“This... I don't know.”

“Welcome to the Rose I guess,” Raid continued. “As a foreigner myself, I’ve at least learned the Rose’s heritage. It seems you need to catch up, Charlie.”

“Well? Are we going in or not!?” Michael demanded. “It’s over, time for revenge!”

"Wait." Raid held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"For what?! The thing is right in front of us!" Claire snapped, fury barely contained.

"Anna and Nova. I’m waiting for them to signal they’re ready," Raid replied calmly.

Micheal's jaw clenched, agitated by Raid's almost nonchalant response, Charlie and Claire also glaring in displeasure.

"I'm sorry, but did the three of you come up with a plan and forget to tell the rest of us?" Claire asked in clear irritation.

"No, it’s just a feeling..." Raid said quietly. "At the very least, I know Nova well enough to guess."

"A fucking what?! A feeling?! You're joking?!" Claire yelled before taking a breath in restraint, knowing that her anger was getting the better of her, yet failing to realize that it was also clouding her judgment. "Fine, do what you want, stand here for all I care, but I’m going in. Look! The oathbreaker’s watching us now! I'm going! Michael, Charlie, are you with me?”

Raid was conflicted, at the edge of decision, doubt brewing inside him. Claire’s voice echoed in his ears, demanding, reckless, and half-right. He agreed with her, at least in part, but feared voicing that agreement. One word from him, and she’d plunge headlong into the fray, dragging the others with her. Yet he also felt the pull to wait for Nova’s signal, which could come in any form, or not at all. Caution was screaming in his mind. The fight would be far less dangerous if he could be certain that Nova and Anna were ready to strike. But that certainty was elusive, and Raid had no idea if they would stay hidden or offer any signal at all.

His body, however, didn’t care for the indecision. Every nerve was alight with the familiarity of fear and adrenaline, a physical tension that often hit him before battle, even more so after seeing this sight. But he wasn’t afraid, at least not in the way a novice would be. No, this was his body’s way of preparing, sharpening him, urging him to survive. His instincts told him to run, yet his mind knew better, this was what kept him alive. If the day ever came when his body was dull before a fight, when he no longer felt the anxiety tightening around his spine, when the raw edge of panic didn’t threaten to cut him, that would be the day he died.

Even a decaying corpse, they say, avoids the gaze of the Fair Maid. Fearlessness is only a foot away from foolishness, and bravery the embodiment of struggle.

Raid had seen it, seasoned warriors who no longer feared the end. They fought like ghosts, indifferent to life or death, and it was always the same, they met their fate in silence. If Raid, fighting on a battlefield, lost his body’s sense of fear, then life itself would become his hell. Death drives all creatures to pursue life, to evolve and progress. Knowing that time is limited, that it can be cut short, pushes us all, even those who avoid the thought their entire lives. To lose that fear would be to imprison oneself in stagnation.

His focus narrowed. The noise around him, Claire’s rising tone, Michael’s simmering anger, faded as his eyes locked back onto Annette. Her icy blue gaze reflected the pale light of the moon, her expression unreadable, but her body language spoke volumes. She seemed to have no intention of fighting, and maybe his assumption was correct. One cautious step, then another, as Annette began to retreat backwards, slow and deliberate. Watching them closely with her wary eyes, calculating, cold, and void of hate. It was obvious. She had no will to fight.

But Annette's declaration of peace meant nothing to Claire and Michael. Their voices stilled as they noticed her movement. In silent fury, they drew aura into their blades, preparing for the inevitable clash. There was no way they would let her escape, not after she had taken six of their own. Claire’s teeth clenched, her face twisted in rage, while Michael’s sword began to glow hot green, anticipation and resentment flaring in his eyes. And then there was Charlie, stoic on the surface, except Raid could see it in his stance, the barely restrained energy coiling beneath the calm exterior. His control was fraying, his desire for combat clawing to the surface.

Raid’s gut twisted. They were losing themselves. In the end, most knights were combat fanatics. It was all they were bred for, trained for, the most sensible option before any talk. A knight's worth was measured by the corpses beneath them, how many mountains they could pile before they died atop, and right now, Annette was the sole focus of it all.

But had they forgotten? In their rage and bloodlust. That she had killed six of their own, and from what Raid could see, she bore no injuries herself. If they rushed in blinded by rage, they’d meet the same fate. And then what? More bodies, more senseless deaths.

"Calm down! We need to be careful, use our damned heads!" Raid’s voice rang out, sharp and desperate. But it was too late. He could see it in their eyes, they weren’t listening. They were too far gone, too eager for the fight. Ignoring him completely. Realizing this, he reluctantly drew his own sword, the weight of it familiar but heavy. Gritting his teeth, frustration gnawed at him, but there was no turning back now. “I’ll join you,” he muttered, intending to shout, but his voice came out all wrong. “Just… think for a moment.”

“What’s there to think about?” Claire argued, the words rolling off her tongue like acid. “We can take it head-on!”

Raid opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. In the distance, at the edge of the field, something moved. He saw it before anyone else, an arrow slicing through the night air, glowing in a streak of yellowish green, cutting a clean arc from the treeline. For a heartbeat, time seemed to still as he watched it, the sense of foreboding settling in his chest like a stone.

The signal.