The rain had not stopped by dawn.
It fell softer now, no longer the wrathful storm that had swallowed the night, but a steady, mournful drizzle that clung to the land like a memory that refused to fade. The battlefield was silent—too silent. The kind of silence that weighed on the chest like grief itself.
Reiji stood in the center of it all, his blade buried tip-first in the mud. The once-golden fields were now black and red, soaked in blood and ash. The Shadow Vanguard moved quietly around him, tending to the wounded, gathering what bodies they could find. There were fewer of them now—fewer than fifty.
Kaede sat by the remnants of a burned wagon, her left arm wrapped in blood-stained cloth. She watched Reiji without a word, rain trailing down her cheek like tears she refused to shed.
He didn't speak either. His eyes scanned the horizon—the direction where the harbinger had fallen. Only mist remained there now, but deep within his gut, he could still feel that strange resonance, like an echo that wouldn't die.
The storm was gone, but its ghost lingered.
"Commander." A soldier approached, his voice hoarse. "We found the Dominion insignia among the dead. But there's something else." He held out a small fragment—metallic, jagged, and humming faintly with crimson light. "It was inside one of them."
Reiji took the fragment, studying it closely. The light pulsed irregularly, almost like a heartbeat.
"Aether residue," he murmured. "They're binding life to metal now…"
Kaede frowned. "You mean—"
"They're making soldiers out of fragments. Out of souls."
The soldier swallowed hard and stepped back. Reiji closed his fist around the shard, the faint heat burning into his skin. For a moment, he saw something in the reflection of its surface—his own eyes, but hollow, empty, framed by lightning and blood. He crushed the shard, scattering it into the mud.
"Burn the bodies," he ordered.
Kaede blinked. "All of them?"
"All of them. Ours, theirs, anyone touched by that light. I won't risk whatever they've done spreading through the ranks."
The soldiers hesitated but obeyed. Within the hour, black smoke began to rise across the plain, blending with the fading mist. The scent of burnt flesh and rain filled the air. Reiji didn't flinch. He watched in silence as the fire consumed both friend and foe, the flames dancing like restless spirits.
Kaede approached quietly.
"Reiji," she said, her tone softer now. "You've been staring at those flames for an hour."
He turned to her slowly, his expression unreadable. "You ever wonder," he began, "if there's a point where the line between us and them disappears?"
Kaede didn't answer immediately. "If you're asking whether we're still human after all this—then maybe not. But we're still fighting to be."
Reiji gave a faint, bitter smile. "Fighting to be. I like that."
The rain thickened again, as if the heavens themselves disapproved of their defiance. The fires hissed beneath the downpour, smoke curling into gray tendrils that vanished into the sky. The battlefield faded into ghostly quiet once more.
That was when they heard the sound—a slow, rhythmic echo of boots against wet ground.
Reiji turned. From beyond the ridge, a column of Dominion soldiers approached. But unlike the chaotic armies of before, this formation moved with precision. Controlled. Purposeful. And at their head walked a man draped in a dark crimson cloak, armor marked by intricate sigils that shimmered faintly with silver light.
Kaede stiffened. "Another harbinger?"
"No," Reiji said quietly. "Worse."
The man stopped several paces away. The soldiers behind him halted in unison. His face was sharp, cold, almost statuesque—too perfect to be ordinary. His right eye glowed faintly red, the mark of an altered one.
"Shinomiya Reiji," the man spoke, his voice calm but cutting through the rain like a blade. "So the shadow of Eryndor's rebellion still lives."
Reiji didn't answer. His hand found the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw—yet. "You're a long way from your empire, commander."
The man smiled faintly, a smile without warmth. "And you're a long way from mercy."
The air grew heavier. Even the rain seemed to slow as tension coiled between them like a drawn bowstring. The man took a step forward, the insignia on his chest gleaming—a fang-shaped emblem, etched into black steel.
"I am Commander Darius Vale," he said. "The Fang of the Dominion. The storm you faced was my test. You survived it. Impressive. The King will want to know."
Kaede's voice cut through. "Test? You slaughtered thousands!"
Darius tilted his head, eyes never leaving Reiji. "Collateral. The Dominion does not weep for necessity. We seek results."
Reiji's grip tightened around his sword.
"And what does your king want from me?"
Darius's smile widened, almost genuine now. "You. Alive, preferably. Broken, if necessary."
That was enough. Steel sang as Reiji drew his blade, the sound swallowed instantly by the rain. Kaede followed, stance low and ready.
But Darius didn't move. He simply raised a hand—and in that instant, the soldiers behind him vanished. Not retreated, not hidden. Vanished.
The world distorted.
For a brief moment, Reiji saw something beyond the rain—chains of light stretching from Darius's hand to the sky, like invisible threads weaving through reality itself.
Then Darius moved.
The first strike came faster than thought. Reiji barely blocked, the impact sending a shock through his entire arm. Sparks exploded between blades, and for a heartbeat, he met the commander's eyes. There was no rage there—only calm, methodical cruelty.
Kaede darted in from the side, her blade aimed at Darius's ribs. But the commander twisted, catching her strike midair with his gauntlet. Lightning crackled across the contact, and Kaede was thrown back, hitting the mud hard.
Reiji lunged again, his motion pure instinct. The fight turned into blur—each strike of Darius's blade like thunder, precise and devastating. Reiji's defense strained to hold, his every movement carved from desperation and focus.
Finally, he saw an opening. He drove his sword forward, catching Darius across the shoulder.
The commander didn't bleed.
Instead, the wound emitted a dim silver light.
He looked down at it almost curiously. "So the shadow bites."
Reiji's jaw clenched. "And the fang bleeds."
Darius chuckled softly. "For now."
He stepped back—and in that instant, Reiji felt the air shatter. A pulse of energy radiated outward, sending him sprawling. When he regained focus, Darius was already walking away, the rain parting around him like curtains.
"This is not the place of your death, Shinomiya Reiji," Darius called without turning back. "But it will come. Every storm has its calm… before the next one breaks."
Then he vanished into mist, as if swallowed by the storm itself.
Kaede limped toward Reiji, clutching her arm. "He could've killed us."
Reiji stared at the fading horizon. "He didn't want to. Not yet."
He sheathed his sword slowly, eyes distant. "That wasn't a battle. It was a warning."
Lightning flashed again, illuminating his face—cold, wet, resolute.
He turned to the remaining Vanguard. "We move at dawn," he said, voice steady despite the exhaustion in his bones. "South still stands. But now we know who hunts us."
Kaede exhaled, pain mixing with defiance. "Then let him come."
Reiji nodded faintly, the rain masking the quiet tremor in his hands.
Somewhere deep inside, he could still feel the echo of that clash—the resonance of steel meeting something that wasn't entirely human.
And in that echo, one thought took root:
If Darius Vale was the Fang of the Commander…
then the next storm would bare its teeth far sharper than before.