By the time Tine and Roku vanished into the arteries of the city, twilight had already begun to claim the sky.
The sun sank behind the outer rings of the Bastion, but darkness never truly arrived here. Streetlamps bloomed awake one after another, fed by contained Axiom cores sealed within iron housings. Their light was steady, tireless—white and clean, casting long reflections across polished stone roads etched with faintly glowing channels.
Above us, bridges suspended between towers hummed softly with rune-powered transit lines. Far higher still, the imperial ward lattice stretched across the sky like a transparent dome, its runic geometry so vast it was easy to forget it existed at all—until you felt the air press back just a little too evenly.
The city breathed.
And with that breath—
People began moving.
Not rushing. Not fleeing.
Gathering.
A subtle current formed, drawing bodies toward a single direction as conversations thinned and footsteps aligned.
Yna noticed first.
"Should we… see what is happening?" she asked, her voice low but curious.
I followed her gaze. The way people flowed with expectation rather than urgency set my nerves on edge.
"…Yeah," I said. "Let's check it out."
The city square revealed itself all at once.
We passed through a final corridor of stone buildings—and suddenly space exploded open, vast and circular, paved in pale stone carved with concentric runic rings meant to stabilize large Axiom gatherings.
At its far end stood the palace.
Not ornate. Not indulgent.
A fortress crowned with authority.
Its balcony thrust outward like a blade over the square, and floating throughout the air were translucent projection panels—Axiom constructs, perfectly stabilized, each one mirroring the balcony's view so the entire city could see.
The crowd swelled.
Whispers sparked and spread.
Then—
A figure stepped forward.
The city erupted.
Cheers thundered against stone and sky, a sound so immense it vibrated through bone. Some raised fists. Others clasped hands to chests. A few openly wept.
"A pleasant evening to you all," the man said.
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
It filled the square with authority alone.
"I am His Majesty—King Eeza of Mythril."
He was not young, nor frail. Silver threaded his hair, his posture upright but not rigid. His eyes carried the weight of someone who had watched thousands march away—and fewer return.
His expression darkened.
"Tonight," he said, "I do not stand before you in celebration."
The crowd quieted, breath held.
"I stand before you in mourning."
Images flickered across the projections—blurred silhouettes of soldiers, folded banners, pyres burning low against darkened skies.
"Due to my own negligence," the king continued, voice steady but heavy, "recent expeditions to reclaim Blight-corrupted territories have failed."
The word failed struck harder than any scream.
"Lives were lost," he said. "Sons. Daughters. Companions. People who believed in this empire enough to die for it."
His hand closed slowly over his chest.
"I claim that weight."
Silence pressed down.
Then—
"But."
The word cracked through the square like steel striking stone.
"But I will not allow their sacrifice to be meaningless."
His gaze hardened—not with rage, but resolve.
"The future expeditions of Mythril will not be blind marches into annihilation," he declared. "They will be calculated. Purposeful."
A breath.
"And glorious—not because of bloodshed, but because they will endure."
The crowd stirred, emotion swelling dangerously close to worship.
The king stepped aside.
Another man emerged.
And the square reacted instantly.
"That's him—!"
"The Steel General!"
"General Ignis!"
The man wore armor scarred by use rather than ornament. Dented plates polished smooth by years of repair. Yellow hair tied back, his face lined not by age—but by consequence.
He did not smile.
He simply stood.
And the square went silent.
"I am General Ignis," he said.
No amplification flared.
His voice carried anyway.
"I will not promise you safety," he continued. "Nor survival."
The honesty cut sharper than any heroic speech.
"What I promise," he said, "is purpose."
He gestured toward the unseen horizon—toward lands devoured by contradiction.
"The Blight does not retreat because we beg it," he said. "It retreats because we advance."
His fist struck his chestplate with a ringing clang.
"The 516th Military Exercises of Mythril will commence soon."
A collective intake of breath rippled outward.
"All who seek to fight," he continued, "not for glory—but for continuation—step forward."
His gaze swept the crowd.
"We do not march because we are fearless."
A pause.
"We march because we are afraid—and refuse to kneel."
The square exploded.
Cheers. Tears. Hope sharpened into something dangerous.
Beside us, two men spoke in awe.
"That's General Ignis… my first time seeing him."
"I heard he doesn't even use magic."
"True. Still climbed that high."
I frowned slightly. "No magic?"
The man nodded eagerly. "None. Just discipline. Will. Steel."
I looked back at the balcony.
Magic wasn't everything.
But will alone couldn't stop decay forever.
By the time we searched for lodging, night had fully claimed the city.
Three inns turned us away—overflowing with recruits and hopefuls.
The fourth accepted us.
"One room," I said. "Two beds."
Coin exchanged hands.
The clerk smirked. "Lively night, huh?"
"Seems so," I replied.
"Whole continent's here for the exercises," he said. "You joining?"
Yna glanced at me.
"…I'm considering it," I answered.
"You should," he said. "Body before regret."
I nodded. "Yeah."
The room was simple.
Two beds. One table. A lantern crystal humming softly between us, its light pulsing faintly with each stabilized Axiom cycle.
No luxury.
Only necessity.
Yna sat on her bed, hands folded carefully in her lap—not tense, but restrained, as if she were holding herself together by habit rather than comfort.
"So," she said quietly. "We are joining?"
"Mm," I replied. "It's the only way I can gather intel. And train my body more."
She hesitated, eyes lowering for a brief moment. "…Then I will join too."
I shook my head immediately. "You shouldn't."
Her gaze snapped back to me, sharper now. "Why?"
"You deserve peace," I said. "To live."
She smiled faintly, but there was sadness in it. "While you suffer alone?"
Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.
"I want to know," she continued. "I want to understand what hurts you. I want to share it."
I clenched my fist, then loosened it.
I pulled the flyer from my coat, the paper still crisp, the ink smelling faintly of metal and Axiom-treated dye.
"I'll enlist as All-Around Offensive Corps," I said. "You—Mage Corps. Be a Magus."
She opened her mouth, already ready to object.
"No," I said firmly. "Listen."
I inhaled slowly.
"You're strong," I said. "Stronger than most beings in this world."
Her eyes softened—but I wasn't done.
"You're a goddess, Yna," I continued quietly. "Or you were."
She stiffened slightly.
"Since the day you were extracted from that dungeon," I said, voice lowering, "your body hasn't been the same."
The lantern hummed.
"You were never meant to exist outside pure Axiom saturation for this long," I said. "Back there, your form was reinforced by the dungeon itself—by sealed logic, by constant definition."
I looked at her hands.
"Out here… your body has to contain that Axiom instead of being supported by it."
She said nothing.
"I see it," I continued. "The way your breathing shortens after casting. The way your fingers tremble when you suppress output. You can still wield immense spells—but every time you do, it eats away at you."
My jaw tightened.
"Your body became frail not because you're weak," I said. "But because you're carrying too much."
...Memories surfaced unbidden—
Yna collapsing after a high-output cast, brushing it off with a smile.
Her bleeding nose she tried to hide.
The nights she stayed awake while I slept, regulating her own flow so it wouldn't rupture her vessel.
"You burn yourself so I don't have to," I said quietly. "And I won't allow that anymore."
She looked away.
"You belong in the Mage Corps," I said. "Not because you're fragile—but because you need control. Precision. Regulation."
I exhaled shakily.
"And I need you alive."
The words lingered heavier than I intended.
"Power without control destroys," I continued. "Even gods."
...Memories flooded in—
My body screaming as Axiom tore through muscle fibers.
Veins glowing violently under my skin.
My knees giving out as output exceeded tolerance.
Yna stepping in—again and again—shielding me, stabilizing me, paying the cost I should have borne.
"I'm half impure," I whispered. "Axiom fights me as much as it obeys."
My hands trembled openly now.
"I have a massive axiom pool," I said. "But no refinement. Every time I push, I hurt myself."
I laughed quietly—bitter, breathless.
"I'm not strong," I admitted. "I just refuse to fall."
She looked at me for a long moment—longer than before.
Then she nodded.
"I understand," she said softly. "And when the time comes… we will fight side by side again."
The lantern flickered, briefly dimming, then stabilizing.
Weakness acknowledged.
Not denied.
Not romanticized.
And for the first time since entering Mythril—
I felt the weight honestly.
We were not ready.
We were not invincible.
But we were still standing.
And for now—
That was enough.