Elohan's face wore a familiar smirk—but there was something else too. Was it… relief?
"I could be wrong," he said, "but didn't I say no survivors?"
Cane nodded. "You did. But this is an extenuating circumstance. The prisoner is classified—needs to be taken directly to the Archmage."
Elohan raised a brow. "Let's see him, then." He crushed a signal rune. Moments later, a rift shimmered open.
Cane rode through, leading the prisoner on her own horse. He spotted Archmage Telamon speaking with First Knight Meya Rowe—and her young protégé, Violet, Fergis's sister.
Cane:Stay here. Guard the prisoner.
He dismounted and approached the group.
Telamon took one look at Cane's expression and raised a hand, halting the conversation.
"What's wrong?"
"Do you remember XO Brea from Raptor Battalion?" Cane asked.
Telamon nodded. "Presumed dead. Missing in action."
Meya Rowe scowled. "An idiot. Got thousands killed."
"Or a spy," Cane said flatly. "Sent to corral three battalions into one tight position—then flee before the Black Legion wiped them out."
The words landed like a hammer.
Meya flinched. "Cane… Do you have proof?"
Telamon's tone cooled. "That's a serious charge. Even for a dead woman."
Cane tilted his head toward the prisoner. "Why not ask her?"
Meya turned sharply. "What?"
"She's alive," Cane said. "Bagged, gagged, and shackled—but very much alive."
Meya gripped her sword, eyes locked on the prisoner. "It can't be."
"Do we have anyone who can ID her?"
Meya jabbed a thumb at herself. "I spoke with her. I'll know."
Cane:Bring her forward.
Fergis tugged the prisoner off her horse, helping her find her feet. They guided her forward.
Without hesitation, Meya reached up and yanked the hood off.
Rage blazed across her face. She slammed an armored fist into Brea's skull, sending the woman sprawling.
Cane surged forward, catching Meya mid-swing, wrapping both arms around her. A soft glow surged around them, lowering them gently to the ground and pulling them apart.
Telamon's voice was cool but sharp. "Meya… Unseemly. Very unseemly."
Those words hit harder than any reprimand. Meya's head dropped. "I'm sorry. I lost control."
Dhalia was already at Brea's side, healing the crushed cheek and broken jaw.
Cane stood, placing a hand on Meya's shoulder. "I assume it's her."
Meya nodded, still breathing hard. "It's her. Executive Officer Brea. Raptor Battalion."
Telamon's gaze never left the prisoner. "Ungag her."
Cane knelt and pulled the cloth free.
The woman spat on the ground. Her face was calm. Too calm.
Telamon folded his hands behind his back. "What do you have to say, XO Brea?"
She smiled, blood on her teeth.
"I am Sub-Commander Ferine Shaw of the Zuni Empire… and I wish to defect."
Telamon was the only one who didn't look surprised.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You lure three battalions to annihilation, and somehow believe you won't hang."
"I was a soldier on a mission," Brea—no, Ferine Shaw—replied calmly. Her tone was practiced. Rehearsed. "I did my duty."
Telamon waved a hand, and she vanished in a flicker of spell-light.
"First Knight, report this to the King and Senior War Council. I will join you shortly."
Meya bowed. "Right away, Archmage."
As she departed, Telamon turned back to Cane and the team. A soft laugh escaped him.
"I look forward to the full briefing. This was an exceptional performance. I'm elevating your team to first tier. Once the contribution is fully assessed, we'll determine the appropriate reward."
"Thank you, sir," Cane said, his voice steady despite the exhaustion.
"You'll remain in the capital until this is resolved," Telamon added, catching Dhalia's glance. "Yes—all of you. I'll speak to your professors."
After he rifted away, Elohan stepped forward.
"Come with me. We'll write everything down while it's still fresh. The full report and gathered intel go straight to mission control."
Over the next hour, they recounted every detail.
Rita's capture. Her recognition. The uneasy alliance. Every kill, technique, rune, and weapon was documented with care.
By the time it was done, they were mentally drained.
Relen had lunch brought in so they could continue without pause.
Cane eventually stumbled into the shower, then collapsed into bed.
The dream had changed.
Not instructional—but no less important.
An old woman lay dying in a humble room, surrounded by friends and family. A middle-aged priest sat beside her, robed in silver and black, holding a velvet pillow. Atop it: a small spiral of dark iron.
"Though you were rejected by metal as a child," the priest said gently, "in death, all are accepted by Iron. Peace be with you, Tuni Ironclad."
The woman cried out as the priest pressed the spiral into her palm.
The pain faded—her eyes glowed with warmth.
"Finally," she whispered. "I am home."
The dream shifted.
Her body—now wrapped with reverence—was placed atop a block of cold iron.
Cane recognized it.
Priests chanted. Slowly, friends and family joined. The chant became a hymn.
The body sank into the iron as if welcomed.
When the last of her was gone, salt was sprinkled across the block.
And then came the final words—spoken by many, carried on sacred breath:
"We are born in darkness and walk in light…
When our grace is fulfilled,
We return to those who've already passed."
Cane woke slowly.
His limbs felt heavy.
But his mind? Razor sharp.
"I'll do some smith work," he muttered, already rising.
The creaking metal joint of Corporal Madeline (Mad) Yanu's prosthetic echoed through the marble halls. She walked alongside Gera Strong, the last commander of Raptor Battalion before its fall.
"Why are we here, Gera?" Mad asked, her tone plain. She hadn't used her former commander's first name when she wore a uniform—but surviving the Black Legion and destroying it with Cane's Folly had a way of shattering rank. In the aftermath of medals and memory, they'd become friends.
Gera shrugged. "I've been preparing for the western front, so I'm behind on current politics. But if we're both summoned…" Her voice dropped. "It's probably about Raptor. Or the Black Legion."
"Or both," Mad said grimly.
As they neared the council chambers, Mad spotted a familiar figure.
First Knight Meya Row stood still, arms crossed, expression tight.
Another bond forged in fire—Meya had lost loved ones to the Legion. Its destruction had lifted a weight from her soul.
Mad skipped her usual casual greeting. "What's going on, First Knight?"
Meya gave them the facts, keeping her voice level—barely. But the moment she said the name Brea, both Mad and Gera froze. The air around them chilled with killing intent.
"She's alive?" Mad's voice was low. She had argued with XO Brea the morning of the ambush, recommending a route change—but a gut feeling hadn't been enough to alter orders. She hadn't forgiven herself for following them anyway.
Gera's voice broke. "A spy… She manipulated me. Got my people slaughtered."
Gera Strong never hid emotion. She carried the names of the fallen like stones. This news broke something open.
Meya nodded. "She claims she was following orders from the Zuni Empire. Which means she can't be tried for treason—technically, she's a prisoner of war."
Mad's voice chilled. "Then why are we here?"
"The council wants your testimony," Meya said. "You both survived Stoneridge. But—" she hesitated, glancing at the pair—"you can't attack her. The Archmage placed a protection rune on her."
Gera raised an eyebrow. "Did you?"
Meya blushed faintly. "Punched her in the face. Hard. Would've finished her if Cane hadn't stepped in."
"Cane?" Mad frowned. "Why was he there?"
Meya's smile was faint but proud. "His team captured her."
Inside the council chamber, the three women bowed before King Milas Hellion of the Allied Realms and took their seats in the front row.
The council table—long, dark oak—was framed by white-veined marble floors. A dozen lords sat in judgement, six flanking each side of the king.
Off to one side stood Telamon.
Floating beside him, a shimmering holo-image of a bald man radiated darkness.
Mad stiffened. "Isn't that Archmage Lago? What the hell is he doing here?"
"Likely wants Ferine Shaw back," Meya murmured. "He won't be allowed to speak until the end. And even then—briefly."
Before Mad could respond, Telamon raised a hand. A shimmer of magic, and she appeared.
Ferine Shaw—formerly XO Brea—sat calmly before the council, dressed in a pristine Zuni military uniform. Her collar bore the insignia of a Sub-Commander.
The chamber went still.
Not for the magic—but for her.
She answered questions without hesitation, openly admitting she lured three battalions into a trap at Stoneridge. That she fled before the battle began.
Mad leaned close, her whisper sharp. "She doesn't even flinch at Lago's presence. That's not someone defecting."
Gera's jaw tightened. "No. It's more subterfuge."
When their names were called, Mad and Gera stood.
They spoke with clarity, emotion carefully reined. They didn't yell. They didn't weep. But every word hit like steel.
They pleaded for execution.
King Hellion listened in silence. When they finished, he tapped his gavel. "Have we heard from everyone?"
Telamon's voice cut in. "Not quite."
He tapped his cane. A rift opened.
"Come as you are," he said, smiling faintly.
A young man stepped through.
Muscular. Leather apron. A hammer slung in one hand. White and blue stars flared in his wake, pulsing like the heartbeat of the divine.
Cane Ironheart had arrived.