The shard pulsed with a heartbeat not its own.
Wrapped in black silk and sealed inside a relic-case on Teren's back, the Fifth Seal fragment radiated whispers. Not words—instincts. Pressure. The feeling of being watched even when alone.
Each night since Drelthane's Spine, Syaoran dreamed of chains in the sky, of a golden tower rising from an ocean of ash.
And always, at the end of the dream:
A man in red armor, sword slick with Veilblood, saying..
> "You failed me, boy"
---
They traveled east, across the Wyrmglass Expanse, a canyon-strewn wasteland veined with glowing crystal and cracked bones of fallen airships. Once a battleground during the Floating Wars, now home to nomads, scavengers—and worse.
Kira led them through narrow cliff trails. Aris scouted ahead in silence. Teren mapped residual magic currents, eyes constantly flicking over his shoulder.
And Syaoran…
Syaoran felt it before anyone else.
A presence approaching.
Not from the ground.
From above.
---
They took cover in a narrow ravine surrounded by jagged stone spires. The wind howled through them like ancient drums.
Kira readied her windblade. "How many?"
Syaoran closed his eyes. The lightning inside his blood flickered.
"Four riders. One more ahead. Strong. Cold. Familiar."
Teren paled. "Sky hunters. Cult warband."
Aris stepped up beside him. "And their leader?"
Syaoran looked up.
A crimson streak across the sky. A winged beast of bone and chain descending fast.
On its back—
A man cloaked in warsteel and flowing scarlet, helm crowned with gold. A jagged blade pulsed at his side.
His voice boomed before he even landed.
> "Veilborn"
> "We meet again"
---
The man dismounted without effort. The skybeast vanished in a shimmer of black mist.
Kira hissed. "You know him?"
Aris's eyes widened. "I do."
Syaoran said nothing.
But inside, something broke loose.
A name. A memory.
---
A battlefield.
Lightning crashing across firelit skies.
Screams.
A sword in Syaoran's hand—
Blood dripping from its edge.
A man standing before him, laughing.
> "Strike me down, boy.
Just like you did her"
---
Syaoran stepped forward. "What do you want?"
The red-armored man smiled beneath his helm.
"I am Orrin Kael. Warlord of the Hollow Flame. Oathbreaker of the Third Seal. And I have come for what belongs to my king."
Teren gasped. "He's the traitor who destroyed the Third Seal…"
Kira drew her weapon. "We're not handing over anything."
Orrin laughed. "You misunderstand. I don't want the fragment."
He pointed at Syaoran.
"I want him."
---
In a blur, the cult riders struck.
Four blades flashed from the cliffs above. Arrows hissed. Voidflame ignited the canyon walls.
Kira met them midair with a cyclone.
Aris vanished in a blink, reappearing behind one rider—slicing his throat with a single strike.
Teren dropped the relic-case and threw up a barrier as fire licked toward him.
Syaoran and Orrin clashed.
Steel rang. Lightning sparked.
Orrin's blade was jagged, heavy—but fast. Too fast.
Syaoran barely blocked each strike, his arms burning with effort.
"You don't remember," Orrin sneered.
"But I do.
You fought beside me once.
You watched her die, Veilborn.
And you did nothing."
---
Syaoran exploded in fury.
Lightning surged, brighter than before—blinding, wild, cracking the canyon floor.
Orrin flew backward, slamming into a spire.
But he only laughed.
"Better," he coughed. "You're waking up."
---
The cult riders were falling—one by one.
Kira stood over a shattered corpse, blood dripping from her blades.
Aris wiped ash from her face. "More will come."
Orrin rose, blood leaking from his lip.
"I'll find you again, Veilborn," he said. "And next time, I'll bring your memories with me."
He vanished in a burst of red flame.
---
The canyon grew silent again.
Teren retrieved the shard.
Kira looked to Syaoran. "What did he mean? That you fought beside him?"
Syaoran stared at his hands.
"I think I was one of them" he whispered.
"Once"