A rogue faction had risen in a lesser realm—beings who defied celestial law. Kazh and his squad were to secure the area, eliminate any remaining resistance, and restore order. It was deemed a low-risk mission, barely worthy of his commander’s attention.

  Kazh had received his orders without question, as he always had. Yet something about them unsettled him. It wasn’t fear—he had faced fear before. This was something else. Something colder.

  “Rebels,” his commander had said. “They oppose the will of our realm. Do not mistake them for anything else.”

  And so they descended.

  The skies of the celestial realm were not skies at all.

  They were an expanse of shifting radiance, a never-ending flow of golden light that bent and curved to the will of the Great Order. Structures rose from the nothingness, floating spires of brilliant architecture, forged from condensed energy and held aloft by forces unseen. Below, the vast citadel stretched endlessly, its surface smooth and immaculate, untouched by time.

  This was the domain of the Ascended, those born of light and duty. Every being had their place. Some were sentinels, some record keepers, others lawmakers, but the warriors—those like Kazh—were the hand of the Great Will itself. They did not lead. They did not question. They enforced.

  Kazh had never thought to wonder if that was wrong.

  But something had changed.

  —

  The battle had already passed.

  The air was thick with the acrid scent of charred wood and burnt flesh. Smoke curled around broken beams and smoldering ruins. A village—small, worn by time—had been reduced to ash and silence. Its wooden homes were blackened husks, the streets littered with the fallen.

  Celestial soldiers, wrapped in radiant armor, moved through the wreckage like wraiths of judgment, their faces emotionless as they dragged out survivors. Chains of light bound those too weak to resist, looped around wrists, necks, even children.

  Kazh stepped over a broken cart, his boots kicking up ash.

  He had expected warriors, defenses, defiant cries.

  Instead, he found weeping.

  A woman knelt in the dirt, clutching a child who would never wake. Her face was smudged with soot, but her tears cut clean trails down her cheeks. An elder slumped against a collapsed wall, his breath ragged, his eyes hollow. No armor. No weapons.

  Only fear.

  Kazh swallowed hard. This wasn’t a battlefield.

  It was a slaughter.

  His hand curled into a fist.

  Nearby, a soldier yanked a wounded man to his knees. The man's robes—once ceremonial, maybe even holy in some forgotten way—were torn and stained crimson. His body trembled with exhaustion.

  Kazh turned away.

  But then, the man coughed. A hoarse rasp, barely a whisper.

  “Why… are you doing this?”

  Kazh froze.

  The man's eyes, glassy and fading, locked with his own.

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  “We were no enemy…” he wheezed. “We only wished… to be free.”

  Kazh’s breath caught in his throat. He looked around again—this time not as a soldier, but as a man. Truly seeing.

  The village was no fortress. The people were no army.

  His grip tightened on the hilt of his weapon.

  He turned toward his commander, who stood on a rise overlooking the devastation. His gilded pauldrons caught the smoke-diffused sunlight like mockery. Indifferent.

  Kazh marched up the slope.

  “Commander.”

  The officer did not look at him. “Report.”

  “This… was not a battle,” Kazh said, voice low but clear. “These people… they had no way to fight back.”

  The commander exhaled slowly, as if annoyed by a minor inconvenience. “And?”

  Kazh hesitated. “You said they were a threat.”

  “They were.”

  “To who?”

  Now, the commander turned to face him.

  “To order. To the stability of our realm. And to everything we stand for.”

  Kazh’s jaw tensed. “They were civilians.”

  “They were defiant,” the commander replied flatly. “And defiance, no matter how small, is a seed. One we cannot allow to grow.”

  Kazh’s stomach churned.

  The commander stepped closer, his voice cold and calm. “Tell me, soldier, do you believe peace is maintained through kindness?”

  Kazh didn’t respond.

  A beat passed.

  “They refused our authority,” the commander continued. “And if one realm is allowed to defy us, others will follow. This—” he gestured to the ruin “—is what must be done.”

  Kazh shook his head slowly. “We were told they were rebels. But they were only defending their home.”

  The commander’s gaze sharpened. “Mind your place, soldier.”

  Kazh stood taller. “This isn’t justice.”

  A long silence stretched between them, drawn taut as a blade.

  The commander leaned in, lowering his voice. “Listen to me, Kazh. You are a soldier. Nothing more. You do not decide what justice is.”

  Kazh’s hands trembled.

  “I gave you orders,” the commander said. “If you have doubts, let me offer clarity.”

  He turned, pointing toward the dying man in the dirt—the one who had spoken.

  “Finish him.”

  Kazh blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  The man was barely breathing. Killing him now would be an execution.

  Kazh reached for his weapon. His fingers brushed the hilt.

  And then stopped.

  “No.”

  The word slipped out like breath.

  Around them, the air changed. Soldiers turned, some in confusion, others in disbelief.

  The commander narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”

  Kazh drew a breath, deeper this time. “No,” he repeated, louder. “This isn’t war. This is conquest.”

  The commander’s tone dropped to a dangerous whisper. “You would defy the will of your realm?”

  Kazh met his gaze, steady, unflinching. “If this is its will… then it is wrong.”

  Time held its breath.

  Then, coldly:

  “Seize him.”

  The command cracked through the air like lightning.

  Hands gripped his arms before he could move. Kazh fought back, his fingers glowing faintly as he summoned his power—gravity flaring around him like ripples on the ground.

  But it wasn’t fast enough.

  Chains of radiant light snapped around his wrists.

  The pain came instantly—burning, searing into his skin like fire and weight combined. His power buckled. He collapsed to his knees, breath ragged.

  The soldiers forced him down.

  Above him, the commander watched. “Pathetic.”

  Kazh gasped as the chains constricted further. They weren’t just bindings. They were punishment.

  The commander knelt beside him. “You were never strong, Kazh,” he whispered, voice like poison. “Just a soldier. And a soldier with no power… is nothing.”

  The chains pulsed with each breath he took, as if mocking the dim light within him.

  And in that moment, Kazh knew:

  His war had only just begun.