The Smoke Before The Flame
A strange stillness had settled over Odessyus.
The air carried a faint weight, as if the sky itself had grown heavier. Sounds didn't echo the same way. Even the wind no longer danced through the rooftops — it crawled.
The Blood Moon's curve, faint and pale red, had become visible even in the daytime. That wasn't normal.
Nothing was.
---
After Neolin's revelation the night before, the group had barely spoken. They trained as usual, followed their lessons, but none of them could shake the feeling that the ground beneath them was slowly beginning to fracture — not physically, but historically. Like something from the past was crawling its way back into the present.
Tom, unusually quiet, stood in the archery grounds with his eyes closed, hand open. A steady flame pulsed on his palm — no longer wild, but centered. Every few seconds, a soft gust of wind swirled around it, feeding it.
He had learned something new, yes.
But it didn't feel like enough.
Susan approached quietly. "You're not burning holes in the grass anymore."
Tom didn't smile. "Doesn't mean I'm ready."
She watched the flame spin gently on his hand. "None of us are."
---
Inside the main hall, Frank sat alone by one of the balcony windows, flipping through his notebook. The runes he had drawn last night still made no sense — not in Triggsen, not in Palecto, not even in Elysian glyph form. But somehow, he knew them.
He had dreamed again — of a city with no name, standing at the edge of a crumbling sea. No sun, no moon. Just a spiral of stars overhead and a broken throne at the center of a silent temple.
He turned the page.
One symbol was scrawled over and over.
Return.
---
By midday, Neolin gathered the seven in the east courtyard.
King Edmund stood beside him — dressed in dark silver armor for the first time in years. A stormbird flew overhead and vanished behind the clouds. The air crackled.
"We've confirmed activity near the Obsidian Scar," Neolin began. "Minor tremors. Sigils flaring and dimming. And two scout teams have gone missing."
Peter's brow furrowed. "You think it's Kazakare?"
"We know it is," the king replied. "One of the scouts managed to send a visual glyph before the feed collapsed. What we saw was… incomplete. But unmistakable."
He waved his hand, activating a small projection rune.
A flickering image appeared: a deep cavern, red-lit, with stone pillars. In the center, something enormous and humanoid was standing in chains — not struggling, just breathing. With every breath, the glyphs on the wall dimmed and then flared again. Alive.
Frank stared at it.
"Is that him?"
Neolin nodded slowly. "Kazakare is no longer sealed. Not fully. The Blood Moon is fueling him — pulling threads through time."
Lucy stepped forward. "How long until he's free?"
"We don't know," Neolin answered. "But I fear he's not waiting. He's calling."
---
That evening, the team sat on the tower rooftop, the city spread out beneath them like a glowing map of golden lights.
No one spoke at first.
Finally, Marcus said, "Why now? After all these years?"
Kitty answered, her voice soft. "Because the Blood Moon wasn't just a myth. It's a clock. And time's running out."
Peter looked at Lucy. "And what if Renex comes back too? After Kazakare?"
Lucy didn't answer.
Jack did.
"Then we make sure Kazakare never escapes this time."
Frank stood and turned to face them. "We stop him. Together."
Tom nodded. "And if we can't?"
Frank looked toward the red moon hanging over the horizon.
"Then we burn trying."
---
Deep beneath the capital, Neolin entered the Vault of Echoes — a long-sealed corridor filled with memory glyphs and spirit runes. He walked to the last chamber, where seven orbs hovered silently, each one glowing faintly.
Each orb was tied to one of the Seven.
He stared at them.
"Too young. Too fast," he murmured. "And yet… they may be the only hope we have."
He opened a scroll from the far wall — marked with the seal of the Restorer.
And on it, a single line glowed in faded silver:
> When the moon bleeds, and the god stirs, the heirs of the flame shall rise — not by prophecy, but by choice.
Neolin closed his eyes.
"Please let them choose right."
---
Far away, beyond the Iron Divide, the Obsidian Scar trembled.
The sky above it cracked with thunder — not from clouds, but from pressure.
Within the forgotten cavern, Kazakare stood still — eyes shut, breathing deep.
He no longer looked like a man.
His body had changed — now cloaked in layered stone-plate and chain, pulsing with molten glyphs that wrapped around his arms and down his spine. His mask, once silver, had turned black. Cracked.
He raised one arm — and the chains shattered.
A whisper echoed through the cavern, one that was not his voice, but thousands woven together.
"I remember."
The glyphs on the walls flickered.
"I remember everything."
The ground split open.
And four sigil-bound demons emerged from the cracks — eyeless, horned, built from ash and bone. They bowed.
Kazakare opened his eyes.
And the world felt it.
---
Back in Odessyus, Lucy jolted awake in the middle of the night.
She had seen it in her sleep.
The chains.
The monsters.
The whisper.
She stumbled out of bed, hands trembling, and ran to the tower balcony.
Frank was already there.
He didn't look surprised to see her.
"You saw it too," she said.
Frank nodded. "He's coming."
Behind them, in the sleeping chamber, the others were beginning to stir — one by one — each touched by the same shared dream.
Peter, eyes wide. Susan, hand to her chest. Tom, breathing heavy.
And Kitty… with her pendant glowing gold against her skin.
---
In the east, lightning struck three times above the hills.
No clouds.
No wind.
Only one truth:
The war had begun.