The marsh lit with lightning and flame
Syaoran moved like a phantom through the fog, the Veilforged blade humming in his grip. Each swing cracked with arcs of blue energy, slicing through the twisted husks that lunged at him with inhuman shrieks.
But they didn't bleed.
They cracked—like dry clay breaking apart, their bodies brittle and hollow, carved with ancient Warden runes that once stood for protection… now corrupted into something else.
Teren watched in horror. "They were Wardens…"
Kira fought beside Syaoran, wind swirling around her, blades moving with ruthless precision. "The cult took their oaths and turned them into prisons. Their souls are trapped in those runes. Controlled."
A creature lunged at her—she ducked, spun, and sliced its head cleanly from its shoulders. The body shattered before it hit the ground.
"This isn't just defense," she spat. "This is punishment."
---
Syaoran felt it every time his blade struck—resistance not from muscle or bone, but from memory. The husks were bound by the Veil, and each one carried fragments of what they once were.
They remembered their oaths.
They remembered failing them.
As he cut down the fifth, he heard a whisper through the Veil—not in words, but in feeling.
Regret. Shame. A plea.
End us...
---
By the time the last husk fell, the swamp was quiet again. The fog thinned, the runes on the broken Seal flickering like dying stars.
Teren staggered forward, kneeling by one of the crumbled husks. "These Wardens weren't just guardians. They were part of the Seal itself. The cult shattered them to force it open."
"Then the second Seal is gone," Kira said grimly. "What was it holding?"
Syaoran stared at the runes carved into the mossy stone.
They pulsed once… then died
"I don't think it was meant to hold something in," he murmured. "I think it was meant to keep something out."
---
That night, they burned the husks
A quiet fire, watched in silence
Syaoran sat apart from the others, the Veilforged blade across his knees
He could still feel them—those broken Wardens. Their oaths hadn't vanished. They had passed to him. Marked him.
And as the fire flickered, the runes on his sword began to change.
New symbols etched themselves in lightning.
One down. Five to go
---
Far away, in a chamber of blood and stone, the cult's high priest stood before a growing flame.
"The second Seal is broken," he whispered.
Behind him, a chained creature stirred.
Veins of black fire pulsed beneath its skin. Its eyes opened—empty, bottomless pits that had never known light.
The priest smiled
"Soon, O Ilarum," he said
"Soon you shall feed"