The weeks that followed were a blur of training, strategy, and sleepless nights.
The council decided to build a fortress at the edge of the Rust Sea a bastion from which to fight the Hollow King's forces. Volunteers poured in from every nation, every clan, every desperate corner of Tenmon. They built with stone and steel and soul fire, raising walls that could withstand demon claws and roofs that could block out the whispers of the Hollow King.
Lee trained constantly not just with the sword, but with his light. He learned to shape it, to focus it, to use it as a weapon and a shield. Onyx Tempest guided him, pushing him harder than he'd ever been pushed before.
You're not ready, the sword said one night, as Lee collapsed from exhaustion. Not yet. The Hollow King will destroy you.
"Then I'll get ready," Lee gasped. "I'll train harder. I'll fight harder. I'll "
You'll die. That's what you'll do. You're trying to fight a god with the body of a boy.
"Then I'll become more than a boy."
How?
Lee didn't have an answer. But he kept training.
Inyocha trained too not with Lee, but separately, with Ren. The half demon taught him to fight without shadows, to rely on his body and his mind instead of the darkness that had once defined him.
"It hurts," Inyocha admitted one day, rubbing his bruised arms. "Fighting without power."
"That's the point," Ren said. "Pain reminds us we're human. Pain reminds us we're alive."
"I'm not sure I want to be reminded."
Ren smiled. "That's the first honest thing you've said all week."
Inyocha laughed a real laugh, surprised out of him. "You're a strange teacher."
"I'm a strange person. It comes with the territory when you've lived as long as I have."
"How long have you lived?"
Ren's smile faded. "Long enough to know that hope is precious. And fragile. And worth fighting for."
He put a hand on Inyocha's shoulder.
"Don't waste it," Ren said. "The hope Lee has given you. Don't waste it."
Inyocha nodded. "I won't."
He went back to training.
And somewhere, in the depths of the Sunken City, the Sleeper stirred in its sleep dreaming of the Hollow King, dreaming of the coming war, dreaming of a boy with gold and silver eyes.
Wake up, the Sleeper whispered to itself. Wake up. It's almost time.
But it didn't wake.
Not yet.