Around the afternoon, a woman's boots crunched over blackened soil as she descended the cracked ridge. The sky loomed gray. Charred wind blew across what used to be a small village—quiet, remote, insignificant on any political map. But the flames that destroyed it hadn't been natural. Not even demonic.
The woman could feel it. The stillness was too quiet. Guild dispatch had been vague: investigate abnormal elemental residue, confirm cause, report back. But she knew what this was when she saw the perfectly symmetrical burns and the spiraling scorch marks carved into the stone walls—burns in perfect symmetry. It was controlled destruction, not chaos. It wasn't demons, no, it was something worse.
The woman with twin blades crouched near the center of what used to be a square. A parietal symbol was burned into the foundation, barely visible beneath ash layers. A crescent shape, flanked by two curved blades. She touched it, and a pulse of latent elemental residue shocked her fingers. It wasn't aligned to any one Element. It was fragmented. Artificial. That was new.
The woman stood and turned toward the wind. Behind her, the faintest shuffle of movement. She spun, one blade unsheathed in a blink. Out from the burned archway stepped a figure in deep gray—a traveler's cloak covering all but the mouth, which curled in a faint smirk.
"You're early, Regalia Lionheart," he said.
She leveled her sword. "You're not part of the guild."
"No," he admitted. "But I admire how quickly you put the signs together."
Regalia stepped forward slowly. "Who are you?"
The figure laughed softly. "A thread. Nothing more. But you can call me Ashen Bishop. We've been watching you."
Regalia's grip tightened. "Zenith."
He nodded. "Very good. Not many still recognize us without the blood trail."
"Why destroy this village?"
The man spread his arms. "We didn't destroy. We cleansed. This place was a testing ground. Not for monsters, but for loyalty."
"Loyalty?" she echoed.
"To change. To the truth. To the Gatekeepers and the seal that binds us all."
Regalia's pulse quickened. "You're trying to break it."
"Not yet," he said, almost kindly. "But the time approaches. The chains weaken. And your academy? It breeds tools. Puppets. Or worse—Gatekeepers pretending to be heroes."
His eyes glistened beneath the hood. "You already have one in your midst, don't you?"
Regalia didn't flinch. "Say his name and I will end you where you stand."
The Bishop tilted his head. "Oh, I won't say his name. But I will watch him."
Behind the hood, she sensed a dangerous calm. No fear. No intent to fight. He wasn't here to kill her. He was here to warn her.
"Zenith isn't scattered anymore," he said. "We're a net now. Spinning quietly. The moment your academy starts to win the people's trust again—snap."
Then he raised a finger—and vanished in a flicker of purple light. Illusion? No—Soundstep. She lowered her blade, lips pressed tight. This wasn't just about the Gatekeepers anymore. Zenith was rebuilding. Not with brute force, but with strategy. Subtle. Patient. Dangerous. And Daniel... She closed her eyes briefly. You're walking into a spotlight they're already watching.
Regalia began to search the burned-to-the-ground village for anyone, anything. Alas, she ended up with empty hands. This place looked like any typical village, but deep down, they worshiped a sinister group that was once for the people. Regalia clenched her fists in the town's rubble, then walked away.
Regalia scanned the horizon again. The wind had shifted—sharper, heavier. Something wasn't right. She turned to leave. That's when the ground beneath her cracked. A tremor surged through the charred ravine, and from the ridge above, something massive landed with a deafening boom—the earth buckling beneath its weight.
A towering beast—over twenty feet tall—emerged through the settling dust. It had a jagged, plated body of scorched obsidian, with molten seams glowing between the joints. Its arms were long and grotesque, ending in clawed stumps like blackened blades. And where a face should have been, there was a mirrored mask—warp, polished and reflective like glass slicked with blood.
Its eyes did not blink. Because it had none. Regalia's jaw tightened. "...That's not just a monster."
She stepped back slowly, blades rising. A voice echoed from around her—not from the beast, but from the air.
"Do you like our pet?" The Ashen Bishop's voice was smooth again, carried by Sound manipulation. "We call it Veilgrim. An apex construct. Not born. Made."
Regalia's eyes narrowed. "Apex threats aren't controllable. Not without Elemental insignias or ancient bonds. That thing should be rogue."
"And yet... it kneels to us," the voice replied.
The monster raised its massive, clawed hand and pointed at her—its body surging with cursed energy. She felt it instantly: this creature wasn't just dangerous. It was programmed to kill elemental users. Powerful ones. Especially her. With a single roar that shattered the ravine's edge, Veilgrim lunged, and Regalia moved.
Steel flashed. Her blade struck first, carving across its arm—but it didn't bleed. It didn't flinch. Its molten veins rippled in response, absorbing the hit, and retaliated with a sweeping blow that sent a shockwave through the cliffside. Regalia rolled, twisted mid-air, and landed low, skidding backward. She whispered something. Her blade shimmered
"Twilight Blade Art — Dawn Stance."
The world around her lightened slightly—her shadow stretching and flickering unnaturally. Her footwork changed. Her blade began to hum, perfectly in tune with her heartbeat.
"Alright, monster," she whispered. "Let's test your leash."
Veilgrim charged again. This time, she didn't dodge. She rushed in to meet it. The clash lit up the broken world around her—steel, light, and dark against an unnatural abomination, a group named Zenith had no right to command.
Veilgrim's claw crashed into the earth, carving a trench where Regalia had just stood. Stone cracked and flared with molten energy, the sheer impact vaporizing dirt into steam. But by the time Veilgrim managed to hit, Regalia was already gone, moving too fast to track with eyes alone.
She slid under its next swing, blades dragging along its molten spine in a controlled arc. Sparks flew, but the monster didn't fall. Not yet. Veilgrim twisted, responding with a backhanded swipe laced in corrupted soundwaves. The force shattered a cliff behind them. Regalia landed on a high ledge, breathing steadily.
She realized that this isn't brute strength anymore. It's adapting. The air shimmered around her boots. Twilight energy coiled faintly around her limbs—still contained but rising. She brought her blades to her sides, angled low, the tip dragging lightly behind her. Her entire posture changed—fluid, curved, almost lazy. But her eyes narrowed to razor slits.
"Dawn was for offense," she whispered. "But Dusk is for the ones who won't fall."
The moment she stepped forward, the world seemed to bend. Her shadow elongated unnaturally, splitting into three. Her footsteps left faint impressions of herself behind, half-images that trailed her movements like illusions—yet they were real. "Twilight Blade Art — Dusk Stance." This was a form not taught, not shared, only used. Where Dawn was clarity, Dusk was subversion.
She moved again, and her blades didn't strike directly this time. Instead, they cut the flow of movement, slicing into Veilgrim's limb just as the creature committed to its attack, forcing its own weight against itself. A tendon-like groove split open, disrupting its balance. Regalia vanished and reappeared at its flank, striking again. Then above, Then below.
To the average observer, she looked like a ghost—never in the same place twice, each strike stealing just enough power to make the next one lethal. Veilgrim roared, furious now. It flailed and struck the cliffside, causing a minor quake, but its movements were out of rhythm. Regalia had begun to undo it.
She stood again, directly before its warped mask, her blade crackling with residual energy. "Do you feel that?" she said coldly. "That slow unraveling of your own strength?" Veilgrim raised its arm to crush her, but her stance shifted. Her shadow froze in place behind her. She lunged forward, and her shadow followed, delayed by a half-second, crashing through the opening just as she struck the apex of her arc.
Steel met corrupted crystal. Veilgrim screeched. Its arm split at the joint, collapsing into molten slag. Regalia landed several feet back, blades held at her sides, shoulders rising and falling. It wasn't from exhaustion. It was a focus. Above, the sky had darkened slightly—not night, but like something ancient had shifted—a presence.
It was a warning. This group, Zenith, had done the impossible, and Regalia had just survived. But only barely. She narrowed her eyes. "If they're commanding this now..." she whispered, "then the Ascension Clash isn't the only thing coming." She turned away, her cape flickering behind her, leaving the shattered monster behind. It twitched once more—then stiffened. And the web continued to spin.
Several days later, rain pattered lightly against the tall windows of the Headmaster's tower. The room was dim, lit only by a few enchanted blue-glass lanterns and the crackling embers in the hearth. Regalia Lionheart stood before Evelyn's desk, arms folded behind her back, posture rigid—but her eyes, for once, betrayed fatigue.
Evelyn sipped from a glass of redroot tea and waited until Regalia was done speaking. She set the cup down slowly. "You're sure?" she asked.
Regalia nodded once. "Positive. The village wasn't just destroyed—Zenith cleansed it. And they sent someone to meet me directly. Called himself the Ashen Bishop."
Evelyn's lips pressed together. "I've heard that name before. Hidden war records. Internal security lists."
"There's more," Regalia said. She stepped forward, her voice low but sharp. "They unleashed an apex-class construct on me. Not feral. Not corrupted. But Controlled."
Evelyn didn't blink. "Apex-level creatures aren't supposed to obey anything short of divine bindings."
"That's why I'm telling you. This wasn't a field test. It was a demonstration. They wanted me to find it. Survive it. And they wanted me to bring the story back to you."
Evelyn leaned back slightly, eyes dark with calculation. "They're ready to move."
"No," Regalia corrected. "They already are."
A long silence followed. Only the rain whispered. Then Evelyn spoke, her tone quieter. "Did they mention him?"
Regalia hesitated. Then gave a slow, grim nod. "Not by name, but they know. And they're watching."
Evelyn closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, the firelight in her irises looked dimmer. "The Gatekeepers are waking," she murmured. "And Zenith is setting the stage early."
Regalia walked to the conference table chair and sat down. "We should pull Daniel out of the spotlight. If he flares, even once—"
"No," Evelyn said, gently but firmly. "We do nothing."
Regalia's eyes narrowed. "You can't be serious."
Evelyn looked up. "We trained him for a reason. You trained him. If he's not ready now, he never will be."
Regalia's voice dropped to a near-growl. "You're gambling with more than his life, Morte."
"I'm investing in his survival," Evelyn replied. "And when he comes to this office, asking for permission to fight—I want you to remember that. Not because he wants to win."
She leaned forward, tapping her fingers once on the desk. "Because he needs to become the kind of fighter Zenith will fear."
Regalia stared at her for a long moment. Finally, she exhaled through her nose. Quiet. Reluctant. "...Understood." She stayed in her seat, quiet after that, her expression unreadable.
Evelyn continued to sit in her chair. Her fingers steepled, and her expression was also unreadable. The fire crackled softly behind her. Then, a faint knock was heard between the two of them. Evelyn spoke up.
"Come in." She said as she pressed a button on her desk. The doors opened. It was Daniel Reyes. He bowed as he entered and looked to the two as if he was here to say something.
"Well, well," she said, sipping her tea. "Speak of the devil... and he flames."