Elias looked confused at Caelin’s words and repeated them back at the Silenced One.

  “Caelin. No rank?”

  “Any rank or titles I held were lost.”

  Caelin looked over his shoulder to where Morgan was still struggling. Her breathing was shallow, panic tightening her face, but her eyes hadn’t left his back until he turned, something sharp, calculating, flickering behind the panic. They locked eyes for a fraction of a second. Then she looked away.

  Caelin sighed and turned back to Elias and Callum as the man returned. He continued speaking, voice cold and flat. Impressive, considering it was the furthest thing from the truth.

  “My brethren disowned me.”

  Both 5ER men flinched. Elias replied first.

  “I’m starting to see what Dara does. Cutting through the crap, soldier. Is she the only reason you’re here?”

  Caelin’s eyes drifted again. His lattice nagged at him, a crawling itch behind the skull. Morgan was still tagged, highlighted. Watching. Breathing. No threat. He suppressed the urge to pivot on her again.

  “It was. Now… you mentioned a dungeon?”

  Predatory Perception flared. Not just tension, it was pain. His senses screamed for the documents, the maps, the fragments of tactical data they hadn’t given him. It wasn’t a request. It was a need.

  He forced it down.

  He wouldn't lose control again.

  He was in control.

  The two men exchanged a glance, then looked to the map table, dragging Caelin’s gaze with theirs. The map hadn't pulled his attention before. Even now, it barely warranted interest.

  “Have you seen a dungeon before, Caelin?”

  Callum this time. The tone was different. He’d been composed in the corridor, calm, observing. Then he’d watched what Caelin did to Morgan. The hesitation was understandable.

  “Once. I…”

  The word was cut off as memory surged forward, unbidden and sharp. Caelin staggered slightly, a phantom pain flaring in the back of his skull. More than flashes this time. The wall in his mind buckled, and the world twisted.

  -------------------------------------------

  Caelin stood before the great doors, massive slabs of stone fused into the rock wall. No symbols. No artistry. Just weight and silence.

  A scuff of boots sounded behind him.

  He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.

  Four Adventurers approached as one.

  Name: Serana Velka

  Level: 96

  Class: Obsidian Juggernaut

  Faction: Order of the Dawn’s Light

  Name: Alaric Sunveil

  Level: 97

  Class: Radiant Judicator

  Faction: Order of the Dawn’s Light

  Name: Teylin Vos

  Level: 95

  Class: Stormfang Warden

  Faction: Order of the Dawn’s Light

  Name: Eryndor Hale

  Level: 95

  Class: Sanctum Aria

  Faction: Order of the Dawn’s Light

  Caelin’s senses flared. Not just names or levels. He felt the pressure, the restrained magic in their bodies, the tension coiled into their stances. Their weapons waited inside Dimensional Sheaths, flickers of light marking where steel and power hung just beyond reach. Even without weapons drawn, they radiated focused, lethal intent.

  His own weapons were visible. Soulblade. Ethereal Blade. Sheathed openly at his belt.

  He inclined his head slightly. “Serana.”

  Serana gave a sharp nod. “Reaper. You return.”

  He looked back at the doors. “I do. It goes poorly.”

  Serana frowned. “Poorly? Explain yourself.”

  Caelin’s HUD pulsed.

  Silenced One Network Dungeon Information

  7 of 30 Adventurers Active

  Dungeon Breach Imminent

  The number changed as he watched.

  5 of 30 Adventurers Active

  “Serana,” he said quietly, “you know I am not of your world.”

  Serana’s eyes stayed on his. “We know, Reaper.”

  His grip on the Soulblade tightened. “You call me that. Why?”

  She nodded once. “We know what you are. Enough to fear you. Silenced One.”

  His jaw clenched. “How?”

  “You’re not the first of your kind to visit Black Hollow. Faction officers talk.”

  The number shifted again.

  Only three Adventurers remained. With a wave of one hand Caelin displayed the information.

  Alaric’s jaw tightened. “If it breaches, Black Hollow will burn.”

  Teylin’s voice stayed low and focused. “If it spreads, the whole world goes with it.”

  Serana’s voice roughened, steady. “Black Hollow is already lost. There aren’t enough of us to save the zone. We fight to keep them from taking Caelunor.”

  Caelin’s eyes darkened. His grip locked on his blade. “Then your Faction holds the line behind us. They protect Caelunor, we fight to destroy the Core.”

  Serana took that in. Then acted.

  Obsidian armour cascaded over her body, each plate forming in place, lifting her from the ground. Crimson firre ignited in the joints. A massive war maul slammed into the dirt before her. With practiced ease, she braided her hair and gripped the weapon.

  Caelin had seen countless champions across countless worlds. Few impressed him as Serana did.

  “Reaper. Will you fight with us?”

  His eyes went to the doors.

  2/30 Adventurers Active

  This would not go cleanly. The Order would fall. But…

  They had a right to stand.

  They had a right to be judged.

  “My blades are yours.”

  Serana nodded once, then issued orders.

  Caelin centred himself.

  Name: Caelin

  Designation: Silenced One

  Tier: S

  HCI: Deviance Threshold Passed Recall Pending

  Soulblade Attunement: 25%

  Ethereal Blade Attunement: 28%

  Of course. He had revealed too much. The Network had flagged him. His HUD stuttered, static crawling at the edge of his vision.

  HCI Deviance Threshold Passed

  Recall Pending

  He grimaced. He had never pushed this far before. Reaching down, he gripped the hilt of his Ethereal Blade. Not to draw. To anchor himself in the moment.

  Some things were worth fighting for.

  Fighting to save as many of the Order of the Dawning Light, that was one of them.

  The blade pulsed softly. He let a portion slip free of its sheath. Ethereal light glowed faintly against the black of his armour.

  “I don’t have long.” He turned back to the doors. “This won’t be clean. I‘ll take as many with me as I can.”

  Serana equipped her helm, then lifted her maul in a single movement. With three booming strikes, she slammed it to the ground.

  Each pulse of power washed across the battlefield.

  Caelin’s HUD lit up.

  Strength increased by 20%

  Stamina increased by 20%

  Attack Speed increased by 20%

  Silenced Nature has removed all externally applied System buffs

  CALIBRATING…

  Buff Applied

  Reaper’s Surge Active

  Effect: Increases Damage Output by 30% and Attack Precision by 30% Description: A combat surge unique to Silenced Ones, intensifying raw force and lethal precision. This effect heightens the Reaper’s physical efficiency, amplifying each strike’s speed and power without relying on external boosts or enhancements

  Caelin felt the difference immediately, not an enhancement, but a raw surge, colder and deeper than any System buff. A reinforcement.

  A memory of purpose, tethered to the Harbinger’s will.

  With a flick of the wrist, he called his scythe. White spectral arcs surged down its length. He mirrored Serana’s movements by slamming the haft to the earth, three pulses released.

  Only two buffs stuck.

  Damage Output increased by 15%

  Attack Precision increased by 15%

  Not System generated, but his. Usable by System Adventurers

  0/30 Adventurers Active

  Caelin gripped the scythe tighter and spoke without turning.

  “The Raid Group is dead. They’re coming.”

  The dungeon’s doors writhed like living things.

  Caelin felt it under his skin, his instincts sparking sharp and fast, the raw weave of senses tied to threat and movement pulsing harder, faster, more erratically.

  They were too close.

  The Order of the Dawn’s Light tightened formation. Every step was measured. Every shield lifted. Every spell primed. The team braced behind Serana, Alaric, Teylin and Eryndor, the last threads of the Order’s strike force, each battered but unbroken.

  And still, it was not enough.

  The first wave came like a tidal collapse.

  Creatures poured from the dark, forms half-anchored in reality, their bodies split across moments, claws scraping stone out of sync with their steps. They struck like jagged ripples, like stones shattering a pond of still time.

  Caelin hit them first.

  He blurred through their ranks, scythe arcing in wide, sweeping cuts, splitting bodies along fracture lines, slashing through heads that weren’t yet born, severing limbs reaching backward from seconds ahead. His Soulblade pulsed against his hip. He pulled it free and it struck like a black serpent, lashing through monsters with no weight, no resistance, no pause.

  But they had no Souls. Each kill left him emptier, the hollow tug scraping at his core.

  Each cut drained more.

  Each surge pushed him further.

  Alaric followed close behind, radiant blade igniting the tunnel, cutting down beasts in golden arcs, burning corruption from the stone. Serana hammered through the densest clusters, her maul ringing like a war bell, detonating monsters into wet ruin. Teylin’s arrows crackled through the gaps, lightning chaining across flickering bodies, spirits darting alongside her, tearing into temporal seams. Eryndor’s voice rose, harmonics weaving through the team, amplifying their strength, knitting wounds shut, extending their will beyond System-enhanced breaking points.

  Still, the line buckled.

  An adventurer screamed as his shield shattered, his body torn apart by three creatures clawing through his chest. Another mage crumpled, aging in fast-forward, her body collapsing into brittle ruin as a temporal spike rammed through her. Two tanks fell side by side, their armor freezing in a looped second, unable to move as monsters swarmed over them, ripping them open like meat pulled from the bone.

  Alaric’s voice cut through the chaos. “Left flank is folding. Serana, with me.”

  Serana bellowed back, “Caelin, clear the rear. We hold or we all die here.”

  Caelin slammed his blade through a collapsing beast. “Done.”

  Teylin’s sharp laugh cracked through the line as she loosed another arrow. “Never thought I’d see a Reaper working with mortals.”

  Caelin roared, slamming forward, Soulblade spinning in a furious cyclone. He unleashed Shadowburst, tearing an entire pack of creatures apart with a shockwave of rending pressure. He blinked through them with Reaper’s Step, reappearing behind the largest brute and driving his blade through its skull, but the wound rewound, sealed, then split sideways again. He growled, severed it again, and again, until the body stilled, or what passed for stillness in this unraveling place..

  Time stopped, then sped up, then different areas sped ahead while others went backwards, shredding his muscles across a dozen moments.

  Suddenly he was hauling an adventurer to her feet, a blood-slicked healer, half her ribs exposed, gasping, choking. His hand gripped her shoulder. Her wide eyes met his.

  Then she was gone.

  A monster folded her backward into the wall, tearing her body across three collapsing seconds of death.

  Caelin turned, reaping instincts screaming.

  He reached beyond flesh. Beyond the moment. He locked onto five creatures at once, their anchored threads flickering across fractured timelines. Without a word, he seized their agony, past and future, binding it into a single point.

  Sundered Fate Activated.

  Reality ruptured.

  The marked creatures imploded, torn apart not just in body but across the seams of time. Bone, ichor, and broken seconds sprayed across the tunnel walls as the blast rocked the ground.

  Caelin staggered. His arm burned. A flicker, a whip of temporal distortion, lashed through his body. His left arm blackened, cracked, and fell away. Gone.

  A million years had passed since he last lost a limb.

  The Ethereal Blade dropped, flickering out as time fractured around him. He was pulled through the shards of reality, watching the battle unfold at impossible angles, mind reeling as seconds tore and rewove.

  In a blink, he stood again, panting, his arm had been reattached by Eryndor’s shaking hands, spirals of harmonic light knitting the ruined limb.

  “You won’t be able to use it,” Eryndor rasped.

  “I won’t need it,” Caelin growled, surging upright.

  Caelin held his Soulblade at the ready, watching as it absorbed light in ways that still confused him, even after all the years it had served with him.

  Eryndor’s hands shook. “This is madness, Reaper. You should’ve died ten times over.”

  Caelin grimaced, pushing himself upright. “Death owns my life. It hasn’t given me leave to die. Yet.”

  Alaric’s battered voice broke through as he planted his sword. “Light help us, Reaper. Stand with us or we all fall.”

  Serana dragged herself upright, fire crackling along her shattered armor. “If we fall, we fall together.”

  Caelin wiped blood from his mouth. “Then let’s make the fall count.”

  The monsters came again.

  Bigger.

  Faster.

  Worse.

  Things with too many legs, too many heads, bodies caught in temporal loops, half-dead, half-born, dripping with fragmented motion. They hit the line, crashing through remaining tanks, through walls of shields, through last-ditch wards.

  Caelin detonated.

  Phantom Severance sliced the largest brute into eight staggered layers, peeling its body backward through its own past. Shadowburst detonated outward, carving a spiral shockwave through the next wave, splitting bodies along weakened seams. Reaper’s Step chained across anchor points, cutting a bloody line through the collapsing front, dragging Alaric and Serana back from a deathtrap, pulling Teylin out of a temporal snare, shielding Eryndor from a whip-crack of incoming distortion.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The world blurred into blood.

  The Order’s forces collapsed behind them.

  Bodies crumpled.

  Armor split.

  Shields caved.

  A trail of dead led to the massive doors.

  Caelin slammed forward, no longer tracking time, no longer marking kills, no longer registering the monsters by shape or number. He was the blade, the Reaper, ripping through the tide without pause, without restraint, without end.

  Everything went white, then colour slowly fragmented into reality around him. Shaking his head he regathered his fragmented mind, taking in his allies.

  Alaric. Still swinging, battered but radiant.

  Serana. Maul drenched, fire roaring, fists cracked and bleeding inside her armor.

  Teylin. Bow string burning, eyes wild, stormfire hissing from her hands.

  Eryndor. Pale, shaking, hollow-eyed, still singing, still pushing harmonic strength through the last survivors.

  Only five remained.

  The rest were dead.

  The line of dead extended back to the massive doors.

  The floor ran wet with lifeless blood.

  The walls shimmered with the scars of shattered time.

  And ahead, the core waited.

  Caelin screamed into nothingness as everything stopped. His mind continued, but everything froze.

  The Timecarver Regent rose, and the world twisted in its shadow.

  It filled the dungeon core, a being of fractured mass and spiraling time, its body flickering through a thousand overlapping forms, limbs splitting and merging, faces shuddering in and out of phase, each mouth whispering broken futures, each eye twitching between a dozen pasts.

  The walls pulsed. The floor cracked. The ceiling buckled, bending between collapse and repair. The air itself tore with every breath the creature took.

  Timecarver Regent

  Harbinger of Time Apex Entity

  Level 143

  Caelin stepped forward, every nerve on fire.

  Teylin gritted her teeth, blood on her lips. “Two Storm-Touched Arrows left. Hope the goddess is still watching.”

  Caelin nodded, eyes locked on the creature.

  Serana steadied her battered stance. “Whatever happens, we stand as one.”

  Alaric gave a grim nod. “No prayers. No miracles. Only what we wield.”

  Caelin’s jaw tightened. “And what we wield will be enough.”

  The Regent struck.

  The air split open, an unnatural wail rushing through the chamber. Blades of past and future slammed down, carving stone into spirals of broken time, ripping toward the team from every angle.

  Caelin launched forward, Reaper’s Step blasting him across the stone, Soulblade intercepting a time-split limb, severing it mid-phase. Black ichor sprayed in arcs of unraveling matter. He twisted, Sundered Fate detonating across the Regent’s chest, collapsing anchored timelines in a brutal shockwave that blew through flickering torsos and left a crater steaming at its heart.

  The beast buckled, but didn’t fall.

  A tail-like tendril whipped sideways, the air itself shattering in its wake. Serana barely raised her maul in time, the impact hurling her across the chamber. She hit a pillar, stone rupturing, her scream cutting off in a ragged gasp as ribs snapped and punctured her side.

  Alaric roared, golden sword ablaze as it tore through six overlapping arms. A seventh punched forward, claws raking through his chestplate, gouging a ragged line down his abdomen. He fell to one knee, blood surging between his fingers, gritting his teeth until they cracked.

  Teylin fired a radiant arrow with enhanced strength, lightning spiraling down its shaft, storm spirits riding its wake. It punched through one of the Regent’s eyes, detonating the socket in a bloom of temporal rot. Another eye swelled beside it, unblinking, tracking her, watching.

  A distorted whip tore toward Eryndor as a bone spike shot towards Teylin. Caelin hurled himself between the whip and Eryndor, seeing the bone spike when it was too late. The strike carved through his side, splitting flesh, shearing armor, and hurling him sideways to smash against stone, blood bursting from his mouth as his body twisted and rolled. He watched Teyling stagger as he fell, the power surged up her arms faltered as she managed to move the bone spike slightly.

  Alaric dragged himself upright. Serana’s armored gauntlet clawed through shattered rock, dragging her to her knees. Teylin crouched low, one arm bound to her chest, fingers trembling as they fumbled for another arrow. Eryndor fell to Caelin’s side, hands shaking, voice raw.

  “Why? You could have let me fall.”

  Caelin coughed hard, blood spattering the stone. “Because you’re their hope. I’m only their blade.”

  Eryndor’s grip tightened on Caelin’s shoulder, eyes fierce despite the hollow in his face.

  “Then keep fighting, Reaper. For us.”

  “It’s Caelin.”

  Light flared. Healing raced through torn muscle, knitting shattered bone. Caelin moved. Slowly at first, trembling, vision blurring at the edges, then faster, fury burning away the last remnants of pain.

  He surged forward, Soulblade driving deep into the Regent’s chest, severing flickering hearts. Alaric roared beside him, hammering his golden sword down, tearing time apart at the seams. Serana smashed her maul into the beast’s flank, each impact driving Alaric’s anchored blade deeper, sparks bursting from fractured bone. She coughed blood with every swing, but she struck again. And again.

  Teylin had been redacted to throwing arrow after arrow, storm spirits biting into temporal seams, lightning screaming through fractured armor. Her fingers bled. Her breaths came in ragged gasps. Still, she threw.

  Eryndor’s voice rose behind them, cracked, trembling, sigils burning raw on his palms, weaving the last threads of strength across their formation. His skin was pale as paper, blood trickling freely from his nose, eyes and ears, but still his voice held.

  The Regent howled. Limbs lashed across the chamber, tearing pillars from walls, driving fissures through the floor. The core pulsed, distorted, radiating raw temporal fractures.

  Caelin’s world narrowed. He wasn’t fighting to win, he was fighting because if they stopped, they would be erased and Caelunor would fall.

  He watched Alaric’s blade flicker in and out of space. Watched Serana snap her maul between realities. Watched Teylin sheath and unsheath arrows mid-motion in a desperate dance of survival.

  His reaping instincts roared. The pattern seared into him. Dimensional Sheath. A flicker. A trick. A survival tool.

  He wrapped his Soulblade in the pattern. It vanished, flickered just beyond reach. When he called, it snapped back to his grip, blazing with hunger.

  Alaric’s bloodied face turned toward him, eyes wide with exhausted wonder. “He learned the sheath. He’s more than Death’s shadow.”

  Serana’s rough voice rasped through the storm. “No more speeches. We fight, we kill, or we break.”

  Teylin’s laugh cracked sharp, defiant. “Storm’s not done yet.”

  Then Teylin’s knees hit the ground.

  For a heartbeat, Caelin thought she had collapsed.

  Then he saw it, the storm blooming in the chamber’s heart.

  Lightning bled from her skin. The air split with the scent of ozone. Her lips moved, not to them, but upward, to something far beyond the reach of this broken place.

  “Lady of Storm and Hunt,” she whispered, “one last shot.”

  The bow rose. A Storm-Touched Arrow gleamed like a shard of judgment. As she drew, the storm answered.

  Clouds swirled overhead, rolling through the cracked vault. Rain hissed across shattered stone. Lightning struck the arrow’s tip but didn’t fade.

  Teylin’s pale eyes snapped open, blazing with the borrowed power of her goddess.

  With visible effort she stood.

  THe power coursed over the damaged arm, keeping it together just long enough.

  She loosed.

  The arrow hit the Regent’s chest, the creature’s scream tore through dimensions.

  Teylin crumpled forward, shoulders shaking, body wracked with the cost.

  A second arrow rested in trembling fingers. Blood streamed from her nose, from her ears, from the corners of her eyes. She drew the bow back while her goddess kept her arm intact..

  The second, and last Storm-Touched Arrow burned like a spear of heaven. When she loosed, the ceiling detonated in a blast of stormfire, the shot punching straight through the core.

  The Regent buckled, convulsing, limbs collapsing inward.

  Caelin ran. Soulblade flickering, each strike severing what remained. Alaric’s greatsword tore glowing arcs across unraveling flesh. Serana’s maul slammed again and again, driving it to its knees.

  Teylin, collapsed but smiling through bloodied teeth, raised one shaking hand. “Go.”

  Eryndor’s voice surged, harmonic sigils blazing bright and desperate. “Let this song end with us standing.”

  Caelin detonated everything.

  Reaper’s Step.

  Sundered Fate.

  Phantom Severance.

  Shadowburst.

  Not layered.

  Not sequenced.

  All at once.

  The Regent screamed, it came like the sound of a dying universe.

  The chamber split apart. Stone ruptured. Time collapsed.

  Serana spun and threw her massive maul.

  The dungeon core shattered.

  For a heartbeat, there was only silence.

  Caelin stood, chest heaving, blood dripping, Soulblade flickering at his hip, Dimensional Sheath signature burning like wildfire in his mind.

  Then the world tore.

  Chains of Soulsteel erupted from the ground, binding him, wrenching him away.

  Alaric lifted his sword in salute. “We will tell them what you did here.”

  Serana rasped through blood and ruin, “You earned your place, Reaper.”

  Teylin, voice faint but fierce, “You are not forgotten.”

  Eryndor whispered, “Thank you, Caelin.”

  The Harbinger’s grip closed.

  Caelin’s last sight was his team, bloodied, broken, alive.

  With his last moment he fixed the image of them in his mind.

  Black marble. Cold. Smooth.

  He hit the ground hard, gasping, one arm dead, blood dripping.

  He was not alone.

  A towering figure loomed, hooded, robed, interlocking chains drifting like serpents in the dark.

  Silenced One Network

  Superior Entity Detected

  Orakhis

  The Nine.

  Caelin’s chest heaved, beneath the ruin, the exhaustion, the shock. He felt it, the surge of raw, reckless hunger. The sharp, defiant thrill of surviving where others had fallen.

  His hand twitched toward his side.

  He reached.

  His fingers closed on empty air.

  The sheath was gone.

  The blade was gone.

  Chains snapped forward, slamming him against a rising column of black stone. Energy seared through his nerves, stripping armor, scorching flesh.

  Orakhis leaned closer.

  No words.

  No mercy.

  Only recalibration.

  Needles of force pierced his skull, burrowing into memory, tearing at the last image burned behind his eyes, Alaric, Serana, Teylin, Eryndor, the ones who had stood with him when even his own kind wouldn’t.

  Caelin screamed.

  The world shattered.

  The black stone dissolved.

  Chains fractured.

  The searing light inverted.

  He was hurled backward, into breath, into flesh, into the shaking, broken body of the present.

  He gasped, chest heaving, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth.

  Two faces hovered above him.

  Elias Marchant. Sharp. Calculating. Concern carved into stone-set features.

  Callum Rourke. Tense. Wary. Hand half-lifted, as though afraid to touch the Silenced One.

  Caelin blinked, vision grinding into place, senses clawing back from the edge.

  And in the hollow inside him, where the blade should have been, he felt the sharp, gnawing absence of the weapon he no longer held.

  His fingers flexed.

  He called.

  The Ethereal Blade appeared in his hand.

  The HUD flared.

  Ethereal Blade Attunement: 37%

  “Attunement?”

  “Caelin?”

  Looking up, he saw Elias had extended a hand to him. With a nod, he took Deep Bastion’s leader’s hand and stood.

  “You’re back?”

  “Not yet. But that memory, it was important.”

  Caelin stood without assistance and closed his eyes, letting his lattice expand. Then he looked inward.

  Name: Caelin

  Designation: Silenced One

  Tier: C

  HCI: Harbinger Mantle Vacant

  Soulblade Attunement: 31%

  Ethereal Blade Attunement: 37%

  “How?”

  Caelin stared into space, feeling the wall holding back his memories shift slightly, like it was weakening. Then his eyes went wide.

  “No. No, no, no.”

  “Caelin?” Callum seemed to have forgotten his previous reticence.

  “The Nine. They're flaying—” He stopped and shook his head. “No. They flayed our Souls. I lost so much.”

  “The Nine?” the sergeant asked softly.

  “They were meant to be the best of us. The best.”

  Elias and Callum locked eyes. Callum shook his head slowly.

  Elias cleared his throat. “Caelin, soldier, we don’t follow. Any of this.”

  Caelin nodded slowly, breath ragged.

  “The Nine. They were, and are, the strongest of the Silenced Ones. Forged from Original Souls. Compared to the rest,” he gestured to himself, “we were forged from the shattered remains of Echoes.”

  “Forged?” Elias’ voice came out sharp, almost eager.

  Caelin sighed, reluctant to say more. Well trained. Even after all this time.

  “The Harbinger of Death. This is harder to explain.” Caelin looked aside, collecting his thoughts. “The System created nine Mantles when it came into being. Then it formed entities to hold the Mantles, to control those aspects of Order. Nine Mantles of Order, set against Chaos.”

  “Chaos?”

  Caelin waved a hand.

  “Forget Chaos. For now. The Mantles have been held by the same entities since the Dawning. Death forged the Silenced Ones to reap Souls, then escalated in an attempt to overthrow the System. When the System returned, it scanned the Multiverse and detected both Echoes and Originals. That was outside its design. Then it detected creatures with Souls. Creatures it hadn't created. The Silenced Ones. Forged by Death. The entity that betrayed it.”

  “That’s... a lot.”

  “It’s also heavily summarised.”

  “You really aren’t human.”

  Both Caelin and Elias turned their heads to take in Callum, who instantly looked embarrassed.

  “Sorry. It’s just... a lot.”

  “Forged.” Elias shook his head slowly. “Fascinating.” He seemed to come back to himself. “You mentioned an Attunement?”

  “My weapons,” Caelin called his blades from their Dimensional Sheaths, “have Attunements. I’d forgotten... those memories were stolen from me. Just like the memory of how I learned to create Dimensional Sheaths. That and my Tier. I was S, the highest Tier in the Multiverse. Now... I was broken down to C. The lowest. They stole so much.”

  “How...?” Callum asked.

  “Re-education.” Caelin spat the word. He collapsed in on himself. “It made me hate, not just myself, but everyone. Everyone. It also made me stronger. At least, it stopped me from questioning, so I was more effective. It made me Death’s Ethereal Blade. A position above the many, but below the Nine. Death’s most trusted, most expendable Reaper. Millennia of service. Of incarceration. Of solitude.”

  “What now?”

  Caelin looked at Elias, a smile teasing at the edge of his mouth. Not happiness. Pure excitement.

  “Now? I clear your dungeon.”

  “What about Dara?”

  Caelin paused. The Seraphim filled his mind.

  “She needs to recover. I need to clear the dungeon. When I get back, then we find out what she wants to do.”

  Elias looked at Callum and nodded before heading toward an exit.

  “Callum will go with you. I need to prop up a wall in Medical.”

  With that, Elias was gone, leaving Callum and Caelin staring down at the dungeon map.

  A groan from behind them made Callum whirl, hand half-raised, as Morgan struggled to her knees.

  Caelin frowned, his voice came out as a cold warning.

  “Stay down, Inquisitor.”

  -----------------------------------------

  Character Sheets:

  Name: Alaric Sunveil

  Level: 97

  Class: Radiant Judicator

  Faction: Order of the Dawn’s Light

  Appearance: Alaric stands tall in resplendent, gold-inlaid plate armor that seems to glow faintly even in shadow, the polished surfaces catching and bending the light into thin rays that shimmer with holy script. His chestplate bears the blazing sigil of the sun, framed by layered engravings of ancient prayers and divine seals, while his pauldrons radiate fine threads of light that coil in quiet motion down his arms, as though alive with silent purpose. Across his back, though no weapons are physically present, the faint outline of a great two-handed longsword flickers within its Dimensional Sheath, its mirrored starsteel form marked only by the delicate warping of space and the occasional glimmer of restrained power.A radiant halo, formed by shimmering arcane geometry, hovers faintly behind his head, shifting and turning with subtle mathematical precision, marking him unmistakably as one of the Harbinger of Light’s chosen. His presence exudes quiet, crushing authority, a weight that presses into the air before him. Alaric is the living embodiment of divine retribution, a disciplined melee combatant whose every strike channels the righteous fury of his order. His blows do not merely wound, they judge, each swing of his blade carrying the weight of the Light’s punishment and the burning precision of long-forged conviction.When Alaric moves into battle, faint arcs of gold-tinged energy gather around his form, a reflection of both his inner discipline and the Harbinger’s blessing. His armor is not merely for protection, but a conduit, amplifying his connection to the radiant power he wields. Each step he takes resonates with the collective force of prayers made real, a living testament to the balance between wrath and mercy. Even among the high orders of the Dawn’s Light, few radiate the same crushing certainty, and in the moments before he strikes, the battlefield seems to hush, waiting for the judgment he is destined to deliver.

  Name: Serana Velka

  Level: 96

  Class: Obsidian Juggernaut

  Faction: Order of the Dawn’s Light

  Appearance: Clad in massive, interlocked black-iron plates veined with glowing crimson lines, Serana looks more like a living siege engine than a mortal warrior. Her obsidian armour cascades into place with each activation, lifting her from the ground, fire igniting within the joints until she radiates a faint, searing heat. Across her back rests a colossal maul, the weapon’s head engraved with deep fracture lines and etched symbols that pulse with faint golden luminescence, an unmistakable mark of her faction’s consecration by the Harbinger of Light. Tiny traces of this divine energy shimmer across the engraved lines of her maul and subtly trace the outer ridges of her armour, anointing the black metal with threads of incandescent purity that only become visible under specific conditions, when the enemy is judged, when the blow is prepared, when the light decides the worthy.Her breastplate is layered with reinforced shoulders, and her gauntlets end in clawed, rune-etched fists designed not just for brutal blows but to channel battlefield auras of radiant fury. Though her helm, when worn, is horned and faceless, it now hangs at her side, revealing stern, battle-hardened features and a shock of dark red hair bound in tight braids. Even without the helm, the faintest glow emanates from her eyes during battle, a byproduct of years spent wielding power gifted by the Harbinger of Light, a champion who, despite her shadowed exterior, strikes as an instrument of illumination. Each step she takes sends a faint tremor through the ground, as if the earth itself recognizes the paradox of a warrior forged in darkness yet sanctioned to carry the Light’s judgment into the heart of war.

  Name: Teylin Vos

  Level: 95

  Class: Stormfang Warden

  Faction: Order of the Dawn’s Light

  Appearance: Draped in sleek leathers reinforced with scale plating and feathered trim, Teylin moves with a quiet, predatory grace, her every motion honed to the lethal efficiency of a master huntress. Her storm-kissed cloak crackles faintly with stored energy, arcs of blue and white lightning flickering across its surface. Along her vambraces and belt, small totems and runic talismans hang, each bound to elemental spirits she commands, their whispers braided into the currents of wind and rain that swirl faintly in her wake.Across her back, a longbow of silverwood rests, its limbs engraved with stormscript and adorned with hanging charms shaped like primal beasts. Slender cords of radiant crystal spiral along the weapon’s frame, an unmistakable mark of consecration by the Harbinger of Light. When drawn, her arrows shimmer with a faint, haloed edge, their fletching humming with the resonance of skyfire.The air around Teylin carries the sharp, charged scent of an approaching storm, and her pale eyes glow with a fierce, untamed light, the wild gleam of one long-bound to the primal forces. Yet woven into that wildness is something more — a trace of the divine. Teylin is not merely a stormcaller or beast-warden, but one of the Harbinger’s marked, her elemental mastery elevated by radiant sanction. She moves like the wind, strikes like the storm, and her arrows carry not only the bite of thunder but the judgment of Light, each shot honed to strike the heart of corruption with both natural fury and holy precision.

  Name: Eryndor Hale

  Level: 95

  Class: Sanctum Aria

  Faction: Order of the Dawn’s Light

  Appearance: Eryndor moves with the quiet assurance of a man who has stood at the edge of death and refused to break. Clad in flowing robes of white and pale gold, reinforced with slim bands of lightwrought plating along his chest, shoulders, and forearms, he carries the air of a battlefield cantor, every movement laced with subtle grace. Fine silver chains loop across his belt, from which hang crystalline charms and harmonic prayer-tokens that chime softly as he walks. Across his back, the faint shimmer of a dimensional sheath marks where his ariasong staff rests, invisible but ready, a symbol of his mastery over harmonic healing and battlefield resonance.His face is sharp but calm, framed by dark blond hair pulled into a loose tail. His eyes carry a pale, silver-blue glow, threaded with faint glimmers of living light, marking his bond to the Harbinger of Light and the sanctified symphonies that amplify his power. When Eryndor raises his hands in battle, radiant sigils bloom into the air, their vibrations weaving waves of restoration, fortification, and strength through his allies. He is no front-line brawler, but a master of sustaining the line, binding the efforts of warriors and mages alike into a unified, amplified force. Where Eryndor moves, the light steadies, the resolve of the Order firms, and the battle holds just a moment longer against the dark.