Descent

The field held its breath.

The Bleak pulsed faintly—its barrier rings flickering like dying embers. Knights moved in measured silence, archers resetting wards while mages whispered incantations into the cold morning air. The clouds above didn't drift. They loomed.

Caelus stood at the edge, unmoving.

Behind him, the war camp stirred cautiously. Mimi helped stack spellwood near a shattered pillar. Hoon sharpened his blade with too much focus. No one dared speak loud near the fracture in the land. No one wanted to wake whatever listened beneath it.

Then—

"Still brooding alone, you glittering fossil?"

Caelus blinked once. Slowly.

A man strode across the clearing, cloak snapping dramatically in the stagnant wind. Every thread of his coat screamed importance—gilded runes at the hems, collar high, boots polished despite the mud.

Mimi raised a brow. "Who…?"

"I said, still brooding," the man repeated. "Seriously, Caelus. At least pretend you're happy to see me."

Caelus didn't answer.

The man dramatically sighed. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to call? And for what? This? A leaky Bleak and a tantrum in the sky?"

"Alaris," Caelus said at last, voice flat.

"Good, you remember my name. I was worried you'd forgotten everything since you—what, abandoned the Mandus Court?" Alaris said, smiling too wide. "Or should I not mention that in front of your friends?"

Mimi exchanged a glance with Hoon.

The man turned to them, hands on his hips. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Hoon asked cautiously.

"Oh, you poor little swords," Alaris said. "You've been traveling with him all this time and no one told you?"

He tilted his head toward Caelus. "That's not just some ancient man with bad fashion sense. That's an Aelenev."

Mimi stiffened. Hoon's grip tightened.

Alaris grinned like someone who lived to stir flames. "Oh, did I ruin the surprise? My sincerest non-apologies."

"You've said enough," Caelus muttered.

"Please," Alaris scoffed. "If I wanted to say enough, I would've brought a choir."

A new voice chimed in, lighter. "And if you brought a choir, we'd never get anything done."

A second figure approached the camp, hands in his coat pockets, eyes amused beneath tousled hair. His coat was simpler—white and worn—but the air shifted as he stepped beside Alaris.

"You always cause trouble first," he said to Alaris.

"It's a gift."

Caelus looked at the second figure. "…Kairos."

Kairos gave a small wave. "Hey."

"Another Aelenev?" Mimi whispered.

No one answered.

The three stood at the edge of the Bleak now. Ancient energy coiled around them, barely visible—like old promises trying to remember their names.

Above, the clouds began to move again.

But the wind didn't return.

Not yet.

The war chamber inside the city's inner court flickered with artifact-light, crystal orbs humming above the strategy table. A map of Drevaloth burned in soft red glyphs, its central wound—the Bleak—pulsing gently beneath layers of projected barriers.

Around the table, tension coiled like smoke.

Mimi stood near Hoon, eyes darting between figures that radiated far more than presence. The two strangers who had appeared alongside Caelus now leaned lazily on the table's edge—both striking, but opposite in temperament.

One with fire-red hair tied into a twist of braids, armored in polished silver and bronze, cape flaring like it had something to prove.

The other lounged in black, boots resting carelessly on a broken chair. Golden tattoos curled up his arms, and his expression was too relaxed for someone planning a war.

Alaris was the first to speak, tapping the map with a bored sigh. "So. We break the army, pacify the Bleak, save the nation. Same old song, different verse."

"You never change," Caelus muttered, arms crossed beside him.

Alaris grinned. "And you never talk."

Kairos raised a hand. "Children."

"I'm older than you," Alaris shot back.

Kairos shrugged. "Then act like it."

The King stood across the table, silent but observant. He knew enough not to interrupt beings older than his own lineage.

Caelus ignored them both. He tapped a sigil above the Bleak's location. "I've already marked it. Once we're ready, I can transport us to the outer ridge."

"We split into three," Kairos said. His voice was smoother—measured. "Caelus takes the Bleak. I stay high—above the field. I'll see movement, coordinate our side. Alaris holds the center lines."

"You're trusting him with balance?" Hoon asked before thinking.

Alaris chuckled. "I've done it before, little knight. And with style."

There was a pause. A beat of tension.

"Before?" Mimi asked.

Kairos smiled faintly. "We fought once. All three of us. Long before the First War began."

Flashes of memory stirred in Caelus' mind—dusty roads, a shared fire under the twin moons, laughter that hadn't yet curdled into bitterness. They had been friends once. Not just soldiers. But time and purpose had frayed that thread.

Alaris broke the silence again, tapping the edge of the table. "You still haven't told them what Caelus really is."

Caelus shot him a look, sharp.

"Oh, come on," Alaris scoffed. "You're traveling with him and you don't know? You don't feel it?"

He turned to Mimi and Hoon, flashing a theatrical smile. "You don't know this guy's an Aelenev?"

Mimi blinked. "What—"

Hoon frowned. "Aelenev… as in—"

"Demigod," Alaris said flatly. "And not just any. He's one of the Court."

Caelus said nothing.

The air seemed to dim.

Then Kairos sighed. "Subtle as ever."

Outside, the bells began to toll.

The Bleak was dormant—but only for now.

The moment the spell completed, the world folded inward.

Light fractured, sigils rotated, and then—release.

The three Aelenevs stood upon the battle-scarred cliff, the Bleak roaring faintly below. Demonspawn raged in the valley, clashing against Drevaloth's last defenders. Fire rained in arcs. Sigils scorched the air.

"Same as before," Kairos said, spinning his silver spear. "I'll be your eye."

"I'll hold the line," Alaris added, lifting a delicate bronze scale in one hand and a ring of steel daggers in the other. "Assuming Caelus doesn't disappear again."

Caelus didn't respond. His turquoise flag unfurled, casting a cold shimmer across the field.

He stepped forward and swung it once.

A shockwave rang out.

Then—swords. Dozens. Hundreds. Manifesting in perfect arcs, each forged from summoned light and memory. They hovered like a divine choir before shooting down into the demon ranks below.

Mimi and Hoon gaped.

The battlefield responded.

Alaris moved next. He raised his scale, and one side dropped with a sudden clang. The ground beneath a demon swarm tilted—an illusion made real—and they toppled into nothing. With a smirk, he flung a dagger into the air, then another, and another—each one suspending mid-flight before streaking toward precise targets, severing limbs and cutting through hardened shadow.

Kairos leapt from a high ridge, silver spear glowing in spiral patterns. Every twist of his weapon lit up runes beneath his feet. Where he moved, order followed—corrupted ground restoring just enough for knights to stand again, allies guided to safety through his sigils.

"I'm in position," he shouted.

"Good," Caelus murmured.

At the Bleak's edge, Caelus planted his banner. The turquoise light pulsed out, steady and wide, like a heartbeat.

Then—he stopped.

Something was wrong.

The Bleak wasn't just waking. It was being pulled.

Caelus narrowed his eyes. He raised both hands, sketching a seal of reinforcement midair—then drove it into the earth. The pulse slowed. He caught it.

For now.

But then—all three Aelenevs froze.

Their hands stalled. Their hearts slowed. Their magic paused.

A gaze.

Not a presence. Not an attack.

A watching.

It pressed upon the battlefield like the weight of a dying star.

Mimi and Hoon couldn't sense it, but they noticed Caelus falter. Alaris's scale stopped mid-balance. Kairos nearly dropped his spear.

"…Do you feel that?" Kairos whispered.

"Yes," Alaris said, frowning. "Finality."

Caelus clenched his hand around the banner pole. "Knox isn't here."

"Then whose eyes are those?" Kairos murmured.

"Doesn't matter." Caelus lifted the flag again. "We keep moving."

He stepped into the fray once more—and the summoned swords followed like silent wings.

The battlefield did not stop for gods.

Even as the gaze of Finality loomed—quiet, distant, nameless—the three Aelenevs pushed forward.

Caelus struck first, his turquoise blades falling like comets. Every swing of his banner summoned more—some wide and cleaving, others needle-thin, darting toward precise nerves and sigils. He moved like a storm contained in a body.

Kairos darted past collapsing demons, his silver spear flashing. With each thrust, he carved glowing arcs in the air, guiding soldiers through collapsing terrain, shielding them with short-term stasis sigils.

Alaris stood near the second ridge, his scale rotating in midair, balancing the weight of friend and foe alike. A shift of his hand turned the ground beneath a demon general molten. Another shift redirected a collapsing boulder toward an enemy line. He threw daggers without looking.

None of them spoke of the gaze above.

But each felt it.

It watched. Cold. Detached. As if measuring how far they'd go before they broke.

Behind them, Drevaloth's knights rallied.

Hoon pushed forward through a collapsing hill, his blade catching demon claws mid-swing. Mimi followed, light forming at her palms, weaving small, fast barriers as she rushed to wounded men. Blood sprayed. Screams rang.

Still—they held.

The Bleak pulsed again.

But this time—it cracked.

Not loud. Not violent.

Subtle. A thin line across the core. Caelus turned, eyes narrowing. His right eye—the opal one—flashed. "It's started."

Kairos jumped beside him. "How soon?"

"Too soon," Caelus answered.

From the chasm, something crawled—not a demon. Not a body.

A shadow.

Not black. Colorless. It moved like oil but shimmered like glass, curling along the broken rim. It had no shape, no cry. But the moment it rose, every nearby soldier stopped breathing.

"What is that?" Mimi asked.

Caelus lowered his banner. "A prelude."

"To what?"

"To when the Bleak fully shatters."

The shadow didn't attack. It just stood. Watching them back.

Kairos stepped forward. "I can clear it."

"No," Caelus said. "Not yet. That thing's not alive. It's a trigger. If we touch it, the Bleak accelerates."

"Then what's the plan?" Alaris called from afar.

Caelus glanced toward the scale-wielder. "Buy time. I need another minute."

Alaris sighed. "Do you ever just need ten seconds?"

Caelus didn't smile.

Then, with a sudden gust, the Finality gaze vanished.

Like a curtain drawn.

Kairos let out a quiet breath. "It's gone."

"No," Caelus murmured. "It simply blinked."

And behind the Bleak—

Another crack formed.

The ground near the Bleak splintered again—hairline fractures reaching out like veins. The colorless shadow near its edge thickened. Then it moved.

Not crawled.

Not floated.

Shifted—as if space itself turned it inside out.

And from within that formless mass, a shape emerged.

A crown of horns.

Eyes like sunken lanterns.

A demon lord—but incomplete. Bound by threads of reality it could not yet tear. Its chest heaved like it remembered how to breathe, even if it didn't need to.

The soldiers faltered. Some dropped weapons. Hoon stepped in front of Mimi, blade raised.

Caelus didn't blink.

He reached backward with one hand.

"Alaris," he called.

"Already watching," Alaris replied.

"Kairos?"

"Go."

Then—Caelus vanished.

Turquoise light flared, then folded, swallowing the three Aelenevs into a ring of floating sigils. The spell spiraled downward, pulling them into the Bleak—not physically, but metaphysically, into its core.

The moment they entered, the outside stopped.

To those watching, the trio simply flickered—gone.

Inside…

Everything was still.

No ground. No sky.

Just an expanse of fractured time—ribbons of memory, broken prophecy, and tethered thought looping endlessly in slow motion. It felt like drowning in someone else's unfinished dream.

Kairos breathed in. "...Always hated this part."

Alaris spun his dagger slowly. "Didn't think we'd be doing this again."

Caelus walked forward.

Before them, a door stood, made of nothing but chains and glyphs. Behind it pulsed a steady, sickly rhythm—like a heartbeat that wanted to stop.

"This is the core," Caelus said. "This is where it started."

Alaris frowned. "You mean the fracture?"

"No," Caelus replied. "The idea."

Kairos tilted his head. "Of Strife?"

Caelus nodded. "This Bleak doesn't just hold cracks. It remembers what caused them."

From the far end, the demon lord's voice echoed—not from a mouth, but through the trial space itself.

"Three Aelenevs in one Bleak? Must be serious."

Alaris growled. "You're not even whole yet."

The voice laughed. "Neither are you."

The glyph-door shuddered.

A trial was beginning.

Caelus raised his banner, now faintly glowing, and pressed the tip against the first lock. It clicked—partially.

"One trial," he said. "Three of us."

Kairos grinned. "Let's try not to die this time."

The flare of turquoise vanished.

And so did they.

Caelus, Alaris, Kairos—gone in a blink, leaving only a ring of scorched earth and three faint afterimages still burning in the air like smoke clinging to memory.

The battlefield fell silent.

No thunder. No clash.

Only the sound of the Bleak thrumming louder than before.

"…Where did they go?" Mimi whispered.

Hoon's sword didn't lower. His eyes remained locked on the place they'd vanished, scanning for any sign of breath or distortion.

"I don't know," he muttered.

Caeron stepped forward, removing his helm. His brow was drawn, mouth grim. "They entered it."

"You mean the Bleak?" Mimi asked.

"No," Caeron said slowly, "not quite. That wasn't teleportation."

More soldiers gathered behind him, forming tighter lines. The mages looked uneasy—too many of their protective wards were blinking or failing altogether.

Serenthiel appeared near the front, rain slicking his hair to his cheek. His usual amusement was absent. "This is bad. He didn't even explain."

"Because he couldn't," Caeron replied. "Whatever that was—it's not a spell from this plane."

A sudden scream split the rear.

Everyone turned.

From the farthest ridge, a soldier stumbled back, his armor smoking. Shadows had begun pooling from the edges of the Bleak again—slow at first, then rising, climbing like oil up unseen walls.

Something had noticed the absence of Caelus.

And it was testing the silence.

"We're exposed," Caeron said quickly. "Shields up. All mages to the line."

A ring of runes began spinning around the formation, slow and unsteady.

Mimi stood still. Her hands glowed faintly—healing magic pulsing through Hoon's minor wounds from the earlier clash—but her eyes never left the center.

"They were just there," she whispered. "And now…"

"Maybe they died," someone muttered behind her.

"No," Hoon snapped. "If Caelus had died, we'd all know it."

As if answering him, the Bleak pulsed again—once.

The sound of chains tightening echoed through the clouds.

Serenthiel's gaze narrowed. "This place is trying to fall apart."

"No," Caeron said quietly, "it's trying to change."

The skies refused to clear.

Even as the Bleak quieted again, the air remained taut—pulled thin as wire. Everyone felt it: a pressure not quite pain, but close. Like something ancient holding its breath just beneath their feet.

Mimi knelt near a soldier with a scorched chestplate. Her hands hovered over the wound, light trickling like mist from her fingers. It wasn't fast. But the burn eased. The pain dulled. And when she moved to the next soldier, a few others—wounded, groaning, stunned—lifted their heads.

"She's doing it," one murmured.

"She's healing all of them."

Hoon stood nearby, eyes flicking between the edges of the camp. He didn't trust the silence. Not here. Not now.

"They're not coming back yet, are they?" he muttered.

Caeron shook his head once. "I don't think they can. Whatever space they entered… it's closed now."

"No," Hoon said. "It's sealed."

Behind them, Serenthiel stood with his back to the Bleak, face unreadable. "And yet the enemy hasn't moved. Why?"

Caeron didn't answer immediately.

Then: "Because they're waiting."

"For what?"

"For the right piece to break."

Hoon glanced at Mimi. She hadn't stopped. Sweat clung to her brow, but her hands moved with conviction—slowly sending wave after wave of energy out into the resting soldiers. Some sat up. Some breathed easier.

"She's never done this before," Hoon said softly.

"No," Caeron agreed. "But she's not the same girl who entered Drevaloth."

"She's not a girl at all," Serenthiel said, eyes narrowing. "She's something else now."

Hoon's jaw tightened. "You mean like Caelus?"

No one answered.

But in that pause, a thought echoed too loud to ignore: What even is Caelus?

From the ridge, the sky cracked—not thunder, but stone grinding above them. It passed quickly. But everyone flinched.

"Commander," a voice called from the front line. "We've spotted movement. No breach. Just… circling."

"Eyes up," Caeron ordered. "No one acts without signal."

The entire warcamp exhaled at once—tension bleeding like smoke, thick and slow.

Mimi finally looked up.

Her hands trembled, but the battalion around her breathed easier. Twenty. Thirty. More than she'd ever managed.

But she didn't smile.

She stared at the Bleak.

Then whispered, "Where are you?"