Silence consumed the training grounds, broken only by the ragged breaths of two combatants as the dust finally began to settle. The morning sun now hung high in the sky—merciless and scorching. Noon.
Blood dripped steadily from Dexter's split lip, joining the trail from other injuries etched into his body. The mocking grin that once curled his lips had vanished, replaced by something far heavier—humiliation, and the unbearable weight of defeat.
Dren stood over him, his twin blades—Rift and Rend—gleaming beneath the harsh sunlight. His breath came steady, his expression unreadable.
Dexter groaned as he pushed himself up, arms trembling under his own weight. The chains on his wrists rattled, echoing the agony stitched into his bones. But the fire in his eyes hadn't died—not entirely. It burned still, though this flame wasn't pride… and it wasn't rage.
It was shame.
"You... you..." he spat, voice hoarse and bitter. "You bastard… you just got lucky."
Dren didn't bother with a reply. He simply swung his blades once, flinging the blood from their edges, and sheathed them with a final, cold click. That sound alone was answer enough.
The gathered recruits, wide-eyed and breathless, began to murmur.
"Did you see that?"
"Those two blades—damn, they're awesome."
"Commander Dren totally dominated."
"He's scarier in combat than the other commander..."
Noob hunters—as they were often called—referred to all superiors as commanders. And now, whispers cut through Dexter deeper than any blade ever could.
His fists clenched as he turned and limped away, each comment from the crowd like salt in a raw wound.
The crowd began to disperse. Recruits returned to their quarters, guards resumed their posts, and Dren made his way towards the gate. From a high window in Vanguard's Keep, a shadowed figure watched, lips curled in a knowing smile.
"It's been a while," murmured Eldrin, the oldest of the Twelve Vanguards.
---
As Dren crossed through the gate toward his quarters, a voice called out to him.
"You fought well, young lad."
"Thanks. He asked for it," Dren replied without slowing.
"So… how do you feel?" the man asked.
"Exhausted," Dren exhaled. He turned, eyes narrowing. "From the sigil on your cloak and your attire, I can tell—you're one of the Dozen. What do you want?"
A beat of silence passed.
"Don't be so stiff. I mean no harm," the man said with a small smile. "Thadeus. Youngest of the Twelve Vanguards."
"I'll ask again—what do you want?"
"I see," Thadeus said, sighing. "Walk with me, please."
He turned toward Heaven's Garden—a sanctuary nestled within the heart of Celestis Rise. It was a haven of unmatched beauty: vibrant flora bloomed in impossible colors, rare creatures fluttered and crawled through peaceful glades, and a stream glistened with the light of both sun and moon. Built into the mountain and nourished by untouched forest, the garden was a realm of serenity.
Dren hesitated, then followed.
"Why the garden?" he asked as they walked.
"You said you're exhausted, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but… what does that have to do with this place?"
Thadeus only smiled. "You'll understand soon enough."
They walked for what felt like miles, and by the time they arrived, the sun was sinking into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fire and rose.
"How do you feel, Dren?" Thadeus asked gently.
"…Relaxed. I guess," Dren admitted, overwhelmed by the garden's peace.
"First time here?"
"Pretty much."
"Some call this the Eden of our era," Thadeus said, voice soft with reverence. "Its beauty… the way it calms the soul—it's sacred."
"No argument there," Dren murmured. "But… how do you know my name?"
"You were once close to Kael. Son of Garrik. Am I wrong?"
Dren's expression shifted. "Y-yeah. That's true. But… how do you know that?"
"I'm a Vanguard. We oversee everything in Celestis Rise. And… Kael's father, Garrik, was a friend of mine."
"You Dozen have friends?"
Thadeus chuckled. "We're still human, believe it or not."
"If you already know so much, then why drag me out here? Far from watchful eyes?"
"Aren't you observant" Thadeus's smile faded. "Because this is about the balance of the world as we know it."
Dren's brows furrowed. "What do you mean… balance?"
"What do you know of the Fractalis?"
"It's what keeps the world from falling into another eclipse," Dren replied. "The only thing that holds the darkness back."
"Not bad. And the Harbinger?"
Dren hesitated, voice lowering. "He was the darkness. The monster from the old war. The Guild's finest went against him in the Battle of the End. They won. He was sealed away in Umbra's End."
A shadow passed over Dren's face. "But… I'm starting to think that seal isn't holding."
Thadeus's expression sharpened. "What makes you say that?"
"I don't know if you already know this or heard something similar… but on my mission to apprehend Kael, I encountered a Fallen."
Thadeus straightened.
"It looked like a malformed child—barely human—but strong. Madly strong. We fought. At one point, it spoke. Said something strange: 'The Harbinger questions her… but she knows nothing… they now speak.' I was… shaken."
Dren's voice tightened. "I severed its head. Inside its tunic, I found a locket. Inside that locket was a picture—Kael… and a woman. I assume his mother."
He looked Thadeus dead in the eye. "So, tell me—how in the hell is that bastard speaking from Umbra's End?"
Thadeus was pale. "So… it's true. Garrik was right…"
"Garrik is alive?!" Dren gasped.
"Keep your voice down," Thadeus snapped. "This stays between us. But yes. We received a letter from him. Yesterday."
"You've got to be kidding…" Dren's voice cracked with sudden hope. "I can still apologize..." he thought
"Dren." Thadeus's voice snapped like a whip. "This information was to stay locked within the Keep. Under no circumstances can it be spoken again."
"I understand, your grace."
"The letter said Garrik was heading for Umbra's End… to see the darkness for himself. To illuminate it, if need be. He also admitted to stealing the Fractalis—but swore he no longer had it."
"What?! Why isn't the Guild sending a party after him?"
Thadeus didn't answer.
"Answer me, damn it!"
A heavy silence followed.
"The Twelve Vanguards," Thadeus finally said, "were once equals. But not anymore. Now, Eldrin—the eldest—rules like a monarch. He alone makes decisions. No discussions. No votes. No dissent."
Dren stared, speechless.
"He ordered us to remain in Celestis Rise. To ignore the warnings in Garrik's letter. But with what you've told me… things are about to change."
"But I'm no hero," Dren muttered. "I returned from a failed hunt. My word will be nothing more than water on stone."
"I know," Thadeus said. Then smirked. "And that's why I don't plan to take the usual route."
Dren narrowed his eyes. "What's on your mind, your grace?"
"It's getting late. Meet me here tomorrow at sunset. I'll tell you then."
"Sunset. Got it."
They went their separate ways beneath a sky veiled in clouds, the moon's light struggling to break through. Yet somewhere, in the cold silence of night, a shred of hope—of purity—still lingered within the Guild.