From their elevated perch, Cassandra and Sentinel stood motionless, their gazes fixed on the floor below. The clash of steel rang through the air, punctuated by sharp breaths and the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground. Their vantage point revealed everything—every faltering step, every desperate parry, every moment where hesitation nearly cost a life.

  Cassandra's arms folded, her nails pressing into her sleeves. Her sharp eyes followed each movement, dissecting the fight with a strategist's precision. "Their skills are still unrefined," she murmured, her voice edged with dissatisfaction. "They're relying too much on instinct, not enough on strategy."

  Sentinel remained silent, his eyes narrowed as Elias barely dodged a brutal downward slash. The impact shattered the polished tiles beneath him, cracks spiderwebbing outward as debris scattered. Thorne lunged in response, but the man deflected him with ease, his blade an effortless extension of his will. Alice's strike followed, swift and calculated, yet he merely shifted his weight, letting the blow glance harmlessly off his side. Lyric, precise as ever, found her attack ignored entirely.

  Their opponent moved with chilling efficiency, his every motion deliberate, controlled. The air around him felt heavier, as if it bent to his will.

  Then, Aiden transformed.

  Cassandra's breath caught as Fenrik's dark form tore into existence, his golden eyes locking onto the enemy like twin embers burning in the night.

  "Now let's see what he—" Her words died in her throat.

  Fenrik turned. And bolted.

  For a heartbeat, Cassandra didn't react. Then, her expression shattered into disbelief. "What?"

  Sentinel exhaled, slow and measured, but the weight in his voice was unmistakable. "He fled."

  Cassandra shook her head as if trying to dispel the impossible. "Why would he—?"

  Her mind struggled to process what she had seen. Aiden—who had endured years of mockery, who had everything to prove—had run.

  The battle below pressed on, merciless. The chosen ones gave everything they had, yet the enemy barely faltered. Every landed strike, every fresh wound—blue blood splattered across the floor like paint flung from a brush—should have slowed him. Instead, he only moved faster. Stronger.

  Cassandra's fingers curled into a fist. "That's not possible..."

  She turned to Sentinel, urgency coiling in her voice. "Sir, every species we've studied, every recorded battle—when wounded, they weaken. That's the law of nature. But this..."

  Sentinel didn't move, his gaze locked onto the battlefield. "He is different."

  A muscle tensed in Cassandra's jaw. "Every drop of blood only makes him stronger. That's not just resilience—that's something else entirely."

  Silence thickened between them. Sentinel's grip on the railing tightened, the metal groaning under his fingers. "He does not fight like anything we know."

  Cassandra swallowed. "Then... where did he come from?"

  The air between them was heavy. Sentinel's voice, when it came, was measured, yet laced with something unreadable. "If he is not from the five worlds we have encountered, then only two possibilities remain."

  Her breath hitched. "Aeridorn... or Terranova."

  The words sent a chill down her spine. Two worlds still shrouded in mystery. Two worlds that should not—could not—interfere.

  A flicker of something unsettling stirred at the edges of Sentinel's mind.

  Vaelthar's voice slipped through, quiet, intrigued. You see it too. He does not belong to the five.

  Sentinel's jaw tightened. Which means...

  Aeridorn or Terranova. A hum of amusement followed. And if that is the case, the rules of this war have just changed.

  Cassandra let out a slow breath, her eyes never leaving the battle. "What is he?"

  Sentinel's fingers pressed harder against the railing. "That is the question, isn't it?"

  Below them, the truth was undeniable.

  The man wasn't just holding his ground. He was dominating them.

  Elias, Thorne, Lyric, and Alice fought with everything they had. Steel met flesh. Every strike sent shockwaves through their aching limbs. Their lungs burned, muscles screamed, but they refused to yield.

  And still, it wasn't enough.

  Their enemy barely faltered. Every slash that cut into him, every blow that should have staggered him, only seemed to refine his movements. Blue blood splattered across the floor, glowing faintly under the flickering lights, but instead of weakening, he thrived. His strikes came sharper, his footwork swifter, his presence—overpowering.

  It defied reason.

  They weren't faring nearly as well.

  Elias's ribs throbbed from the brutal knee strike, each breath sending sharp stabs of pain through his chest. A dark bruise was already forming beneath his tunic, spreading with every movement. Thorne's arm hung limply at his side, his face twisted in agony, while blood dripped from his split lip, trailing crimson down his chin. Lyric clutched her arm where the chain had bitten deep, the metal's energy still lingering in a dull, burning ache.

  Then—Alice acted.

  A sudden flick of her wrist. The sharp tink of glass shattering against the floor.

  A swirl of iridescent mist erupted, bending light and space in fractured patterns.

  Illusion potion.

  "Move!" Alice hissed.

  They bolted.

  Their feet pounded against the cold tiled floor, their frantic breaths ragged in the hallways. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed and flickered, casting harsh shadows that stretched and twisted as they ran. The walls blurred past them, a disorienting smear of motion and adrenaline.

  Elias risked a glance back, expecting—needing—to see their pursuer charging through the passageway, his glowing wounds, his eerie, unshaken form.

  Nothing.

  Not even a shadow.

  That was worse.

  They reached the ground floor, instincts screaming for cover. The first building in sight—a clothing store—became their refuge. They dove inside, but the silence was suffocating. Once filled with life, the shop now stood eerily empty—another casualty of the invaders' presence. The scent of fabric and aged leather lingered, a ghost of what once was. Rows of cloaks and tunics lined the walls, their dark folds casting restless, flickering shapes in the dim light. Mannequins loomed like silent watchers, cloaked in garments that whispered of better days.

  Elias yanked down a heavy cloak from a rack and pressed himself into the shelves, the thick fabric brushing against his arms. His breath came quick and uneven, the bruises along his ribs throbbing with every inhale.

  Across from him, Thorne leaned against a wooden counter, one hand gripping its edge as his shoulders rose and fell. Dried blood crusted at the edge of his mouth where his lip had split, his jaw tight with frustration. "That—wasn't—normal."

  He dragged a hand through his tangled hair, voice raw with disbelief. "We gave him so many wounds. So many. And instead of slowing—"

  "He got stronger," Lyric whispered from her spot crouched behind a stack of folded jackets. She flexed her fingers, staring at the bruises darkening along her wrist, her expression unreadable. "Every hit—every drop of blood—just made him faster. More precise."

  Alice sat on the floor behind a low shelf of leather-bound gloves, her knees pulled to her chest. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. "That's not how it's supposed to work," she murmured, eyes fixed on the faint blue stains on her hands—the remains of his blood.

  Elias swallowed, his pulse still pounding in his ears. "We've studied invaders before." He turned toward them, his eyes dark with unease. "Frostfiends. Gloomshapers. Veilstalkers. Anything that fits."

  Yet even as he spoke, his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance—watching, waiting. As if expecting that man to come after them.

  His throat bobbed. "But that thing back there..."

  No one had an answer.

  A silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken fears.

  Then Thorne exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening against the counter. "And Aiden."

  He lifted his gaze, fury burning beneath the exhaustion. "He ran."

  Across the store, Alice flinched.

  Lyric lowered her head, her grip tightening around the jacket she hid behind

  Elias sat hunched behind a shelf lined with neatly folded clothes, his fingers absently brushing over the bruises forming along his ribs. His jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed on the floor, but he remained silent.

  No one spoke.

  Thorne took a step forward, his voice sharp with disbelief. "How could he do that?" His hands curled into fists. "How could he leave us?"

  The question settled over them like a heavy weight. A truth none of them were ready to face.

  Meanwhile, in the dim interior of a high-end sportswear store, Fenrik stood alone. The scent of new fabric and synthetic rubber lingered in the air, racks of athletic gear casting long streaks of shadow beneath the bright LED lights. His claws scraped against the polished tile floor, breath uneven. He had run—no, they had run. But for the first time, Aiden had no say in it.

  Aiden's voice burned through his mind, trapped, urgent, furious. Fenrik, stop. Listen to me.

  Fenrik flinched but didn't respond. His golden eyes flickered toward the entrance, as if expecting the enemy to emerge at any moment. His instincts screamed at him to run again.

  Aiden's voice sharpened. You shouldn't have left them. We shouldn't have left them. They needed us.

  Fenrik's tail curled close to his body, his muscles trembling.

  Aiden shoved against the bond, clawing for control that wasn't his anymore. People already think we're weak. Cowards. Do you think running away helped that? Do you think this is what a chosen one does?

  Fenrik growled lowly, his throat vibrating. I don't care.

  Aiden's frustration flared. Yes, you do! You know I'm right! We don't get to run, Fenrik. Not from this. Not from them.

  He pushed harder. You and I—we were chosen. Just like them. This fight wasn't just theirs. It was ours, too.

  Fenrik's claws tapped anxiously against the sleek tile, his breath unsteady. You don't understand.

  Aiden's pulse pounded. Then make me understand.

  Silence.

  Then—Fenrik’s voice, low and hollow in their shared mind. He’s too strong, Aiden. We couldn’t even beat the others in our own pack. So how the hell are we supposed to stand against him?

  A pause. A shudder. I’m not like them. I’m smaller. Weaker. I’ve always been the one they laughed at. You know it.

  He hesitated, like admitting the truth hurt more than any wound. How can we possibly win?

  His gaze dropped. And He just kept getting faster. Stronger. Every hit we landed didn’t even matter—he healed like it was nothing. You felt it too.

  Inside, Aiden swallowed hard. His thoughts surged forward, steady but strained.

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  Yeah. I felt it too—he was getting stronger. Every strike just made him faster. Like he couldn’t even feel pain.

  A beat passed. Then— But you know what else I felt?

  His voice cracked in the connection they shared. Our friends… they’re still fighting.

  Aiden’s thoughts trembled, but he didn’t stop. They're struggling too—just like us. Nothing comes easy for them. But they stayed. Kept going. Even when they were hurt. Even when they were afraid.

  A breath, heavy with guilt. We didn’t.

  Fenrik squeezed his eyes shut.

  Aiden's voice softened, but the weight behind it remained. I know you're scared. Hell, I am too. But fear isn't a reason to abandon them. It's a reason to stand with them.

  Fenrik's ears twitched, his body tensed. He was listening now.

  Aiden inhaled. We have to go back.

  Fenrik remained still for a long moment, the flickering lights casting wavering shadows across his fur.

  Then—he shook his head. I can't.

  Aiden's breath caught. Fenrik—

  I won't.

  For the first time since their bond had formed—Fenrik shut him out.

  And he didn't know how to make him move.

  In another part of the mall, the four of them lingered in the dimly lit store, their breaths shallow, their minds racing. The fight had gone wrong—horribly wrong. No matter how many times they struck, their enemy only grew stronger, feeding off their attacks instead of weakening.

  Elias leaned against a display shelf, fingers gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His pulse pounded against his skull, frustration tightening his jaw. "This doesn't make sense. He should be weaker by now."

  Thorne stood a few feet away, hands braced on his knees, sweat dripping from his temple. His teeth clenched as he straightened. "And yet, every hit just makes him stronger." He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "We're only feeding him."

  Alice pressed her fingers into the sleeve of her jacket, where blood seeped through the fabric. Her shoulders tensed, but her voice was steady. "How do we stop something that turns pain into power?"

  No one answered.

  The silence coiled around them, thick and suffocating. Each second stretched, every flickering light overhead making the shadows dance.

  Then—

  A rustle. Faint. Just beyond the broken mannequins near the back of the store.

  Alice stiffened, her breath catching. "Did you hear that?"

  Lyric's fingers curled around the edge of a shelf, her pulse thrumming against her throat. "Something's in here with us."

  Thorne clenched his fists. "Please tell me that was just a rat."

  Elias exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows. "That was not a rat."

  The rustling grew louder. Closer.

  They moved as one, muscles tensed, steps slow and deliberate.

  Then—

  A blur shot out from behind a clothing rack. Arms flailed. A panicked voice broke the silence.

  "PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! I'M INNOCENT!"

  For a heartbeat, no one moved.

  Thorne blinked. "What the—?"

  A boy skidded to a halt, panting hard, his chest rising and falling in frantic bursts. He looked younger than them—maybe fourteen. Too small. Too human.

  His oversized hoodie hung loose on his wiry frame, the sleeves frayed at the edges. Dark brown hair stuck up wildly, strands plastered to his forehead with sweat. Wide green eyes darted between them, flickering with something between terror and sharp, calculating awareness. A fresh bruise bloomed across his cheekbone, dirt smudging his jawline. His hands, balled into fists, trembled slightly—ready to run, but too stubborn to collapse.

  Elias took a step forward, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. His voice came out steady, but edged with caution.

  "Who are you?"

  The boy's wide eyes flickered between them, his breath still uneven from his frantic sprint. Then, with a shaky finger, he pointed at them. "I've seen you before!"

  Thorne scoffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, no kidding. We were just getting tossed around like rag dolls a few minutes ago. You probably saw us eating floor back there."

  The boy shook his head, strands of messy brown hair falling into his face. "No, not there. Before that."

  Elias's gaze sharpened. "Where?"

  Instead of answering right away, the boy inhaled deeply, shoulders squaring as if bracing himself. "Listen to me carefully. I know how to kill that man."

  Silence fell over them, thick with disbelief.

  Then—

  Thorne snorted. "Oh, great. Now a human's going to tell us how to take down that lunatic?"

  Alice arched a brow, arms folding. "Really? And what exactly do you know that we don't?"

  Lyric tilted her head, studying him. "This isn't a joke, is it?"

  Elias, however, kept his gaze steady. "Let him talk."

  Thorne rolled his eyes. "Sure. Let's listen to him. And then, Elias, you can drink his blood."

  The boy paled instantly. "WHAT?!"

  Thorne smirked, jerking a thumb toward Elias. "Didn't you notice? He's a vampire."

  The boy staggered back, panic flashing in his green eyes.

  Elias let out a slow, tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Relax. I'm not going to drink your blood. And even if I were, I wouldn't drink from a kid."

  The boy stiffened. "I'm not a kid! I'm nineteen."

  Four pairs of skeptical eyes locked onto him.

  Thorne's smirk widened. "Ohhh, so what you're saying is, Elias can drink your blood?"

  The boy flailed. "NO! That's not what I meant!"

  Alice groaned, rubbing her temples. "Enough, you idiots." She turned back to the boy. "You said you know how to stop him. So talk."

  The boy hesitated, his fingers clenching into the hem of his oversized hoodie. His next words came low, steady.

  "You can't kill him by attacking. Your weapons won't work."

  Thorne's smirk vanished. "Yeah, we figured that out the hard way. We threw everything we had at him, and he barely flinched. Our weapons might as well have been toothpicks—and, in case you missed it, we don't even have them anymore. So unless you've got a secret kill switch, now would be a great time to spill."

  The boy met his gaze head-on.

  "There's only one way."

  He swallowed, then took a breath.

  "You have to use his own weapon—stab him in the chest."

  Elias's gaze locked onto the boy, sharp and unrelenting. "How do you even know that?"

  His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. "And more importantly—what are you doing in a vampire-controlled area? You're human. Didn't anyone see you? Smell you?" His jaw tightened. "A human has no business being here."

  The boy shifted his weight, his fingers twitching at his sides. His mouth opened slightly, then shut, like he was turning over his words before letting them loose. "It's... a long story."

  He exhaled, glancing toward the wreckage around them—the shattered glass, the toppled shelves, the faint scent of scorched fabric lingering in the air. "I'll tell you everything. But first, you have to trust me. Kill that thing—man, demon, whatever it is. I swear, I'm telling the truth. It's the only way."

  Thorne let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And we're just supposed to take your word for it?" He crossed his arms, his gray eyes gleaming with suspicion. "Humans don't know anything about us—about our kind. And yet here you are, not only knowing who we are but also claiming you know how to kill that thing?"

  He let out a sharp breath, looking at the others. "A creature we've never encountered before—one that shouldn't even exist—and suddenly this human has all the answers? You don't find that suspicious?"

  The boy flinched slightly but stood his ground. He exhaled, his hands balling into fists before he spoke.

  "I get it. It looks suspicious as hell," he admitted, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. "Humans aren't supposed to know about you—about any of this. And I know that makes it hard to trust me."

  His gaze flickered between them, searching for even a shred of understanding. "But I swear, I'll explain everything. Just not right now."

  He took a step closer, his tone sharpening with urgency. "That thing out there—it won't stop. The longer we stand here arguing, the more people will die. So either you take a chance and listen to me, or you waste time second-guessing until there's no one left to save."

  Lyric frowned. "I don't like this either, but Thorne, do you have a better plan?"

  Thorne opened his mouth, then shut it with a frustrated huff.

  Alice let out a slow breath. "We don't have another way to kill him." Her voice was measured, but her fingers twitched against her sleeves. "And if we wait any longer, we don't know how many more he'll kill."

  Elias nodded, his jaw tightening. "She's right. Every second we waste, he's out there taking more lives. If there's even a chance that this will work, we have to take it."

  Lyric exhaled sharply. "And if we're the only ones who can stop him, then we can't hesitate. We can't let innocent lives be lost because we were too afraid to take the risk."

  A long, heavy silence stretched between them. Then, one by one, they nodded. But Thorne was still not convinced, his gaze lingering on the boy with open distrust. His jaw tightened, and deep within him, he felt the familiar presence of his Pyrix stir.

  I don't like this, the dragon's voice echoed in his mind, wary yet measured. But we have no other path. If the human speaks the truth, this might be our only chance.

  Thorne's fingers twitched at his sides. He hated this—trusting an outsider, a human no less. But even his dragon, bound to his very soul, saw the reality of their situation.

  He exhaled sharply, his reluctance evident as he finally gave a stiff nod. "Fine," he muttered, his voice edged with warning. "But listen, human—if this so-called plan of yours fails, and any of us end up dead because of it..." He stepped closer, his gray eyes dark with quiet menace. "I'll personally make sure you regret it. And trust me—when a dragon makes a promise, it's never broken."

  The boy stiffened, his breath hitching as he took an instinctive step back. For a fleeting moment, fear flashed across his face—raw and unguarded. It wasn't just Thorne's words that unsettled him, but the way the air around the dragonborn seemed to hum with barely restrained power, his very presence carrying the weight of something ancient and dangerous.

  But despite the fear in his eyes, the boy swallowed hard and stood his ground. "I-I get it," he said, his voice steadier than before. "You don't trust me. I wouldn't either. But I swear, I'm not lying. We don't have time for doubts."

  His fists clenched at his sides. "That thing—whatever it is—won't stop. So you can hate me all you want after this, but right now, we need to stop him."

  Pyrix let out a low, rumbling growl in his mind. For now, we move forward. But if he deceives us... fire will be his fate.

  Thorne smirked faintly, shaking his head. Guess that makes two of us.

  The boy tensed under Thorne's scrutiny, but after a moment, Thorne turned away, his reluctant approval given.

  Elias took charge, his sharp gaze locking onto the boy. "Stay here. It's too dangerous for you."

  Then he turned to the others, his expression shifting—focused now, calculating. "I've seen something important. His weapon—it's only enchanted when he's holding it. The moment it leaves his hand, it turns into an ordinary blade."

  Thorne's brow furrowed as he processed that. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. "So all we have to do is make him drop it. No big deal."

  Elias's eyes darkened. "No. We have to make him drop it without him realizing why. If he figures out we're after his weapon—" He didn't need to finish.

  Lyric's throat bobbed as she swallowed. Alice's fingers clenched slightly.

  Elias met each of their gazes in turn.

  Thorne smirked. "No pressure, huh?"

  Elias nodded once. "Let's go."

  They turned, ready to slip back into the fray—but Alice suddenly hesitated. Her gaze flicked back to the boy, narrowing as something caught her eye.

  The watch on his wrist.

  "Give me your watch," she said, her tone flat, unreadable.

  The boy blinked. "What? Why?"

  Alice didn't waver. "Just do it. And then leave. Now. If any vampire catches your scent, you won't stand a chance."

  The urgency in her voice must have hit him because he hesitated for only a second before unclasping the watch and handing it over. Alice took it without another word, slipping it onto her own wrist before turning away.

  The boy watched as they vanished into the shadows, his fingers curling around the emptiness where his watch had been.

  Somewhere deep in his gut, a cold feeling settled in.

  Whatever was coming next... was far beyond anything he had expected.

  On the other side of the mall, Cassandra and Sentinel stood on the top floor, watching the scene unfold below. The shattered railings groaned under the weight of the battle that had torn through the upper levels of the mall. Smoke curled in the air, carrying the acrid scent of burnt fabric and metal. The once-bustling shopping center was now a hollow graveyard, its silence broken only by the distant echoes of destruction. Blood pooled in shattered tilework, and the lifeless bodies of fallen vampires lay strewn across every floor—some crumpled where they had fallen, others draped over broken escalators or collapsed against overturned kiosks.

  The invader stood motionless, the illusion still weaving its deceptive hold over him. His unfocused stare wavered—then, too quickly, sharpened into something cold and calculating. His muscles tensed, his fingers flexing like claws itching to tear through flesh.

  Cassandra's breath hitched. "That's impossible... He's already breaking free?"

  Sentinel barely blinked. "It seems so."

  Her grip tightened on the railing. "When we used this potion on Thorne, it took everything we had to snap him out of it. But this man—he shook it off in seconds."

  Sentinel's expression remained unreadable, but his words carried weight. "That only proves how dangerous he is."

  Below, the invader's hand shot out, fingers closing around the fallen blade in one fluid motion. The moment his grip secured, his entire body stilled. His head turned sharply, scanning the ruins around him with an eerie precision, his gaze cutting through the dust and wreckage.

  Cassandra's shoulders tensed. "What's he doing?"

  Sentinel's voice was steady. "He's searching for them."

  Her pulse quickened. "The five?"

  A slow nod. "He knows they are the only ones who can stand in his way. If he eliminates them, nothing will stop the invaders from tearing through this world."

  Cassandra exhaled sharply, fists clenching at her sides. Her gaze flickered across the massacred vampires scattered below, their bodies silent and unmoving. This wasn't just a battle anymore—it was a slaughter.

  "Then we have to stop him."

  Sentinel remained still, his gaze unwavering. "Not yet."

  She turned toward him, eyes flashing. "What? But if they—"

  "They must face this on their own," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Only when they stand on the brink of defeat will they awaken. Only then will they cease being mere chosen ones—and become the protectors they were meant to be."

  Cassandra hesitated, glancing at the invader below. The enemy stood in the empty floor, his piercing gaze sweeping the area. His grip tightened around the blade, the air around him heavy with an unnatural presence.

  "And if they fail?" she asked quietly.

  Sentinel's expression was unreadable. "Then our world falls with them."

  As their gazes remained fixed below, four figures came into view—Elias, Lyric, Thorne, and Alice. They had made their way to the first floor, their presence now undeniable.

  Cassandra's breath hitched. Her fingers tightened against the railing as she hesitated before speaking. "Sir... I think we should help them. That man—he's not like the other demons. Every strike against him only makes him stronger. How are they supposed to defeat something like that?"

  Sentinel didn't look away. His golden eyes reflected below, unwavering in their focus. "That's the difference between the Chosen Ones and us, Cassandra. No matter how impossible the threat, they always find a way. The Eclipse Heart grants them that ability—guiding them, shaping their path. It's their destiny to stand against what we cannot."

  Cassandra exhaled slowly. "Let's just hope destiny knows what it's doing."

  Below, Thorne tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Took you long enough. What's the holdup? Forgot how stairs work, or just scared to come down?

  The invader stood on the fifth floor, his cold gaze sweeping downward toward the four figures below. His expression remained unreadable, but the air around him shifted—like the charged stillness before a storm unleashes its fury.

  Cassandra crossed her arms. "If they've got a plan, I really hope it's solid." She sighed, eyes narrowing slightly. "Because clearly, Thorne thinks sarcasm counts as a battle tactic."

  Sentinel's golden eyes didn't waver. "We'll see soon enough."

  No hesitation. The invader moved in an instant. His body coiled, then sprang forward, launching off the fourth floor. He landed soundlessly on the third. Another leap—faster this time—closing the distance with unnatural speed.

  Elias didn't hesitate. His voice was firm, urgent. "Right now, we don't have the strength of our full abilities—but that doesn't mean we can't fight." He met their gazes, his expression unwavering. "We use what we have, and we do it together. No magic, no powers—just skill, and timing."

  He exhaled sharply. "Our only goal is to make him drop that weapon without him realizing what we're after. Lyric, stay agile—keep him distracted. Alice, strike when you see an opening. Thorne, you and I will keep him off balance, force him to slip."

  Elias's fists clenched at his sides as he looked up toward the figure descending above them. His voice was steady, unyielding.

  "Now's our chance. To prove to everyone—to every single person who ever doubted us, who said we weren't enough, who decided we weren't worthy. To show them they were wrong."

  The air felt heavier, thick with the weight of their unspoken resolve.

  Above them, the invader moved with eerie precision, stepping onto the railings, then launching down in fluid, predatory motions. His dark silhouette flickered in and out of the dim light, his presence an omen of the storm about to break. Every movement was calculated, deliberate—he wasn't charging blindly. He was descending with the quiet certainty of death itself.

  Thorne's breath was slow and measured, his muscles coiled. Lyric's hands trembled only slightly before steadying. Alice's eyes tracked the invader's every motion, sharp with determination.

  Then—something shifted.

  A pulse of light.

  The infinity pendant around Elias's neck flickered—then flared, a brilliant blue radiance bursting to life. None of them noticed, their focus locked on the threat closing in. None except Sentinel, who stood above, his dragon eyes narrowing.

  His gaze burned into Elias.

  But inside his mind, a voice stirred.

  Vaelthar's voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of something final.

  The first among them has been marked.