Azazel's fist never landed.
It stopped an inch from my face.
At first, I thought he was savoring it. He'd done that before—pausing just long enough for you to understand how powerless you were. But then the chamber trembled.
Not from impact.
From something else.
It rolled through the cracks in the stone like a tide reversing direction. Heavy. Oppressive. Not jaki—something older, denser. My skin prickled as if the air itself had decided to push back.
Azazel's eyes shifted.
Mine widened.
Whatever this was… it wasn't normal.
The class stirred behind me, confusion bleeding into relief. I heard someone choke out a laugh—half hysteria, half hope.
"Reinforcements…?" Seraphyne whispered.
I wanted to believe it.
But my hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Not because of Azazel.
Because something worse—or greater—was coming.
The ancient doors at the far end of the chamber exploded inward.
Wind screamed through the room, a violent gale that tore at rubble, banners, loose stone. It knocked everyone flat. Even Azazel skidded back, claws carving trenches through the floor as he dug in.
And then—
Red fabric surged forward.
Two figures stepped in first, boots braced, holding aloft a massive banner.
The Lionhearth flag.
But not green.
Red.
I didn't register that part at first. All I saw was the lion. All I felt was the crushing weight on my chest finally lifting. My throat closed, and before I could stop it, tears blurred my vision.
We weren't alone anymore.
Azazel straightened slowly, eyes narrowing as he took in the banner.
A low chuckle rolled from his chest.
"Ah…" he said, voice echoing through the ruined hall.
"So the lions bare their fangs at last."
A third figure stepped through the doorway.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. His presence alone seemed to push the air aside. My vision swam—I couldn't make out his face through the blood and haze.
Sir Zenite…?
No. Something felt different.
Instructor Aldred sucked in a sharp breath.
"…Sir Adranous."
The name hit harder than any blow.
I tried to push myself up, failed, then crawled—dragging myself back toward the others. Arion was there immediately, panic flashing across his face.
"Rain—don't move," he said, hands already glowing. "You took the worst of it. It's a miracle you're even conscious."
He pressed his palm against my side. Flowers bloomed instantly, weaving together, sealing the worst of the gash. The pain dulled enough for me to breathe again.
"Thanks," I muttered. "I—can't see him. Who is that?"
Kai laughed.
Actually laughed.
Even now.
"That's Sir Adranous," he said, grinning through blood and dust. "One of the Ten Knight Captains."
My heart skipped.
"A… captain?"
Liam nodded, eyes never leaving the figure at the doorway. "People argue rankings between him and Sir Zenite. Strength-wise, they're interchangeable."
"But Adranous is different," Liam continued.
"How?" I asked.
"Well… most knights use aura. Holy knights use divine channels by ether." He hesitated. "Adranous uses both aura, and he borrows from the God's."
My breath caught.
"An invoker?"
Varein nodded grimly.
I forced my eyes to focus.
Golden-red hair like living flame. Polished armor unmarred by battle. A crimson cape resting easy on his shoulders. A sword at his hip—not drawn yet.
He looked at Azazel like one might look at a stain on stone.
"I can't believe it," Sir Adranous said calmly, voice carrying without effort. "An ancient demon, festering beneath Newoaga."
Azazel laughed. "It was only a matter of time. Just like the old days."
Sir Adranous smiled.
Then he drew his blade.
It wasn't like ours. The metal glowed red, etched with words that burned themselves into my vision.
Child of the Second Sun.
Light flared.
An orb of radiant force bloomed around us—me, the class, Aldred. Warm. Solid. Safe.
Azazel tilted his head. "Protecting the livestock?"
Sir Adranous didn't miss a beat.
"It is a captain's duty to protect the academy's students," he said lightly.
"You wouldn't know that, would you, demon?"
Azazel snarled.
Only then did I realize something was off.
"Why…" I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. "Why is it just one captain?"
This was an ancient demon.
Even a captain—
Before I could finish the thought, the world vanished.
They vanished.
Not blurred.
Not fast.
Just—gone.
The space where Azazel and Sir Adranous had been collapsed inward, air screaming as if it had been ripped out of reality itself. A fraction of a second later, the sound caught up—a thunderclap so violent it split the chamber's remaining pillars straight down the middle.
I flinched despite myself.
Not from fear.
From scale.
I couldn't track them. Not even close. My eyes tried, my aura tried—but whatever plane they were fighting on now wasn't meant for students. Or knights. Or anything that still measured time in breaths.
Another impact detonated above us.
Stone rained down. Not chunks—powder, turned to dust by heat alone.
The orb around us pulsed brighter.
Sir Adranous hadn't just protected us.
He'd isolated us.
"Stay inside," Aldred rasped, gripping the edge of the barrier as if anchoring himself. His voice was steady—but his eyes weren't. "Do not step out. Not for any reason."
As if we could.
A shape smashed back into view.
Azazel.
He tore through three walls in a straight line, carving a molten trench through ancient stone before twisting midair and landing in a crouch. His claws dug into the floor—steam hissing where demonic flesh met heat-warped marble.
For the first time since we'd met him—
He looked irritated.
Not amused.
Not curious.
I saw it in the way his wings flexed wider, in how the jaki symbols along his skin flared erratically instead of rhythmically.
Then the air behind him burned.
Sir Adranous stepped out of nothing.
Not descending. Not arriving.
Just there.
The flames around him didn't lash or roar—they obeyed. They curved away from his armor, coiling like banners in a wind only he controlled. His sword hummed at his side, the inscription glowing brighter now.
Child of the Second Sun.
I swallowed.
Azazel laughed, but it was thinner now. "You captains always love grand entrances."
Sir Adranous tilted his head slightly. "Should a demon whose bleeding be running his mouth?"
He moved.
I didn't see how.
One moment Azazel was there—the next, Sir Adranous was already past him, blade drawn and resheathed in the same breath.
Azazel froze.
A line of white heat split across his chest.
Then the chamber screamed.
Flames erupted upward, not outward—a column of solar fire that punched through the ceiling layers above us, vaporizing everything in its path. The pressure alone forced the breath from my lungs.
Azazel staggered back, claws scraping furrows into the floor as smoke poured from the wound.
"…Solar authority," he muttered. "So the gods finally decided to intervene."
Sir Adranous didn't respond.
He raised his hand.
The Lionhearth flag behind him flared brighter—the red no longer fabric, but symbol, radiating command. The two flag bearers didn't move, didn't falter. They stood like anchors while the world burned around them.
The flames answered.
They condensed.
Focused.
Azazel's eyes widened.
"Wait—"
Too late.
The fire struck him like judgment.
Not explosive.
Not wild.
Precise.
Azazel was driven backward, slammed through another wall, his roar cut short as the flames followed, clinging, consuming, refusing to let go.
I stared.
My hands were shaking.
Not from pain.
From understanding.
This was the difference.
Not strength.
Authority.
Kai exhaled weakly beside me. "…So this is what a real captain looks like."
Liam didn't reply.
Neither did Seraphyne.
None of us did.
Because deep down, we all realized the same thing:
If Sir Adranous hadn't come—
We wouldn't have slowed Azazel down.
We wouldn't have delayed him.
We wouldn't even have mattered.
The flames finally dissipated.
Azazel emerged from the smoke, scorched, one wing torn, his regeneration slower now—strained.
He grinned anyway.
"Oh, this is delightful," he said hoarsely. "You brought a sun to drown an ancient demon."
Sir Adranous stepped forward.
The floor melted beneath his boots.
"Wrong," he said calmly.
"I brought judgment."
The heat intensified.
The orb around us flared again, shielding us from what came next.
And for the first time since this nightmare began—
I allowed myself to believe something impossible.
That we might live.
Not because we were strong.
But because someone stronger had decided we were worth saving.