The southern gulch shivered—not from cold, but from tension.
Ashwan stood alone near its narrowing bend, his flaming Vel spear gently smoldering beside him. Smoke curled around his shoulders like coiling snakes, and his eyes glowed faintly, reflecting both the light of the leyline fire beneath the ground and the burden of a soul marked by retreat.
Across the distance, the Silver Maw emerged.
Its true body was concealed beneath coils of white-scaled armor, but the faces—fifty silver masks, each etched with a different human expression—moved like a choir of puppets. Some smiled, some cried, others twisted in rage.
It slithered forward like a demon-king returning from a feast, speaking through its front mask in a voice of shattered glass.
> "Flamekeeper... coward of the rear... You are the one they send to die first?"
Ashwan didn't reply. He stabbed the Vel into the cracked ground, crouched, and placed his palm flat against the soil.
"Ruvana," he whispered. "Ready?"
> "Wings drawn. Archers in place," came her voice through the Fire Line Link—a spell allowing direct mantra communication between commanders. "They don't see us. We have four seconds after your mark."
Ashwan closed his eyes. The leyline trembled beneath him. So close to the Veil Fortress, the flame was strong—but it was no longer pure. The invading clans had corrupted the outer veins with chaos aura and void essence. The leyline wept for war.
And now, it would be used to end one.
---
The Silver Maw's mask twisted, splitting open to reveal an inner void filled with broken teeth and a swirling tongue made of runes. "You fear death, rearling," it hissed. "You will not be reborn in fire like your ancestors. You will be consumed—body, soul, and karma!"
Ashwan stood and plucked the Vel from the ground. He didn't reply.
Instead, he moved his hand over the air and whispered:
> "Vayuthiran Varalai... Strike."
In a second, the soil beneath the Silver Maw's army collapsed.
The hidden soulfire charges embedded in the leyline vein—planted over two weeks ago under Ashwan's direct orders—detonated in a spiral pattern, igniting the gulch.
The marching demon battalions had no chance to react.
Fire erupted like a divine serpent, swallowing the front ranks. Ashwan's trap wasn't a simple explosion. It was a battlefield sigil formation—a sacred design of fire and mantra, one that targeted soul essence, burning even those immune to flame.
The Silver Maw reeled back, screeching in fifty voices. Its outer masks melted, revealing the raw face beneath—an eyeless skull etched with cursed scripture.
From the skies, Ruvana's aerial archers soared into position, raining down lightfire arrows, each infused with the ashes of blessed dead.
"Cover him!" Ruvana ordered.
Ashwan stood motionless as the flames roared around him. In the center of the gulch, his body glowed orange-gold, the sigil on his forehead pulsing like a second heart. He was one with the battlefield now—a general who commanded not through numbers, but through timing, placement, and resolve.
---
But the Silver Maw would not fall so easily.
Its core mask cracked, releasing a wave of dark aura. The flames bent around it unnaturally. The air twisted.
A summon mark appeared behind it—one of the Outer Fang rituals.
> "You thought this was the army?" the demon mocked. "I am the herald, human. I am but a whisper. You triggered your trap too early."
And from the void, it began to pull through something massive—a skeletal beast covered in bone armor, with four arms and seven mouths. A Clanscourge Beast, born from collapsed dimensions.
Ashwan's jaw clenched. "So... the Silver Maw's real plan was to bait me."
Ruvana's voice snapped in his ear: "That thing's off the charts, Ashwan! We need to fall back—"
"No," Ashwan said coldly. "If it crosses the gulch, the gates fall."
He looked up at the sky, where embers were beginning to fall like ash snow.
Then whispered the oldest of mantras.
> "Agniyin Kural... Thudikkattum.
(O Voice of Fire... Let the Heart Burn.)"
The Vel spear cracked with divine energy. His soul began to burn—not in pain, but in clarity. His body became light. The battlefield bent around him.
If he had to stand alone again, he would.
Because the flame must not retreat.