First light touched the spires of Valdorne like fingers from a sleeping god. The horizon, painted in hues of gold and fire, marked more than the coming of a new day—it marked the first step into the unknown, the threshold of a fate sealed not by bloodlines but by bonds.
The city buzzed before the sun had fully risen. The clang of armor, the barked orders of commanders, and the steady rhythm of hooves and boots against cobblestone echoed from every street. Banners unfurled in the wind—each sigil once fractured by politics or pride now joined beneath one name: Soma. Children waved from balconies. Elders stood hand-in-hand, whispering prayers to gods old and new.
At the central staging grounds, thousands of rebel soldiers stood in rows, weapons sheathed but spirits high. The Fourth Talon, now known as just 'Talon,' stood nearest the command platform, backs straight with earned pride. The Guild banners flanked them, a testament to the silent alliance once forged in shadow. Townsfolk gathered in every nook and vantage point, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear, admiration, and hope.
Guild Master Davis stepped forward first. The grizzled warrior carried a greatsword strapped across his back, his battered cloak fluttering with every gust of morning wind. His voice, gravel-thick with years and war, burst with the unmistakable cadence of the West—thick with the rolling burr of a Highland tongue.
"Aye... I've fought through two wars, lost three brothers, and buried a son I'll ne'er forget. But never—not once—have I seen a force more unified than what stands here now. Not in Valdorne, nor the far reaches o' the West."
He paused, sweeping the assembled crowd with a glance that carried the weight of a lifetime. His gaze lingered on smiths, farmers, former slaves, scholars, and nobles alike. "Some among ye stood on opposite ends o' the battlefield not so long ago. Now look at us—all here, all ready."
He took another step forward. "They said we'd break. Said we'd scatter like dry leaves in the wind. That a bastard cause like ours could ne'er bind hearts. But today... Today proves 'em wrong. Today we stand not as scattered clans or exiled houses, but as one tribe."
With a sharp ring of steel, he drew the greatsword in one clean motion and hoisted it to the sky. The morning sun caught its edge, flashing light across the ranks.
He stood before the gathered host, shoulders broad, voice echoing like war drums on stone. "We march not just for vengeance, nor for glory. We march for freedom. For memory. For tomorrow."
He turned, gesturing to Shin with the weight of generations in his hand. "I stand behind this man—because he reminded me what it means tae hope." Then, eyes ablaze, voice rising like fire from the forge. "An' if I'm tae die, I'll do it wi' a blade in hand an' a fire in my chest—better that than live one more day cowerin' in chains!"
The ground seemed to vibrate with silent conviction.
A hush fell over the crowd as Shin stepped forward.
He was no longer just a warrior, but a vision—a living myth. Clad in full Kitsune regalia, midnight black armor laced with crimson tracings hugged his form. His nine fox tails billowed like living banners behind him, each movement imbued with silent power. His golden-ringed ears twitched slightly in the breeze. His orb floated just behind his right shoulder, glowing with a celestial radiance. Yoshimatsu rested at his side, its blade quietly humming in sync with his heartbeat.
This was the first time he revealed himself to the world, not as a man in hiding, but as a fox-kin. For the first time, Shin felt a rare tremor of nerves, a ripple of uncertainty. His Kitsune form, once concealed for survival, now stood exposed under the light of dawn. He felt every eye on him, not just the admiration, but the question. Who was he, truly?
His companions felt it.
Through the Master Crest, each of them sensed his unease. The pulse that bound them tightened like a comforting hand.
Laverna reached out, her fingers brushing his hand. "You are exactly who you need to be," she whispered, placing herself firmly at his right side.
Zera moved to his left, her proud stance as unyielding as her spirit. "Let them see our king," she said, flashing him a confident smirk.
Tessara stepped forward next, settling beside Zera. Her graceful presence radiated poise and strength. "You carry us all, Shin. But remember—we carry you too."
Maika crossed her arms with a grin, striding up beside Tessara. "So, this is the big reveal, huh? Damn, Shin. You clean up better than I thought. Don't worry, your tails make you look more badass."
Alexandra came last, her footsteps deliberate, her voice soft yet full of power. "You are not alone in this moment. You never were," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle, grounding.
Together, they formed a circle around him. His trembling faded as the bond between them pulsed stronger than ever. Shin lifted his chin, eyes ablaze with quiet defiance and hope. The golden accents of his armor shimmered like sunlit ink, catching every heart that gazed his way.
Laverna stood to his right, her tiger eye necklace glowing softly, the jamadhar hilts glinting with divine steel. Zera to his left, the proud sigil of House Dragonheart etched across her chestplate. Alexandra raised her hand, golden glyphs spiraling into existence around her throat. Her voice shimmered with power as she invoked her Voix de Commandement.
"All forces—listen!"
Her voice thundered across the valley like a rolling drum, echoing off stone, trees, and bone. Even birds paused mid-flight. Every soldier turned.
Then came Shin's voice—low, unwavering, carried with the weight of countless fallen.
"To those before us—our friends, our mentors, our fallen—we march to honor your memory.
To those behind us—our families, our children—we march to protect your future.
To those beside us—my comrades, my kin—we march to stand together, or not at all.
This war was not born of ambition. It was forced upon us by tyranny. And we—we-the living, the loyal, the bound—will be its end."
The words hung in the air, heavy and sacred. No one dared to cheer. Instead, they answered with a collective silence more powerful than any warcry.
Zera raised her sword high, eyes burning with a knight's oath. Laverna lifted her jamadhar hilts, blades kissed by fox-fire, reflecting Shin's chosen inscription: Never Alone. Alexandra bowed her head with reverence, a flush of emotion painting her cheeks.
Tessara stepped forward, knelt, and laid a single lotus flower into the wind. "For every soul taken too soon."
Maika grinned and threw a punch into the air. "Let's give 'em hell. And then some."
Even Father Grent, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with suppressed tears, murmured a prayer. "Saints bless this day of reckoning."
The march began.
Boots struck the dirt beyond Valdorne's gates, columns forming and stretching like a river of steel toward the horizon. The sounds of drums, hooves, and breathing men and women rose like an anthem. Every step was a promise.
From atop the final hill, Shin turned for one last look.
He saw not a city, but a family—watching, believing, weeping, praying. He saw the echoes of the fallen, standing between the living, smiling.
Then he turned forward, toward Laginaple.
In the far distance, barely visible through morning mist, its castle spires shimmered in red.
Not the red of dawn.
But of danger.