Not quiet, silent.
plete absence of sound, as if the concept of noise had been temporarily erased.
The void swallowed everything it touched, and Jaenor felt his shields being eaten away layer by layer.
He poured more power into them, drawing from reserves he hadn’t known he possessed. The merged energy flowed like a river, responding to his desperate need with quantities that should have been impossible.
His shields held.
Barely.
When the void finally receded, when sound returned to the world, Jaenor stood in the center of a perfectly circular crater fifty feet across. Everything that had been there, grass, soil, even rocks buried deep, was simply gone.
Erased at the fundamental level.
His panions were safe, protected within his shields.
But he was gasping for breath, his merged power depleted to dangerous levels.
Draelusa stood at the crater’s edge, breathing hard himself. That attack had cost him significantly; even a Sin couldn’t manifest that level of power without consequence.
"We’re both running low," he observed.
"This could continue for hours, with neither of us gaining a decisive advantage. Or we could acknowledge that you’ve proven your point."
"My point?" Jaenor managed, still recovering.
"That you’re not easy prey. That claiming you as a vessel will require more effort than I’m willing to expend today."
Draelusa’s human mask had fully reasserted now, showing nothing but calm calculation.
"I’ll withdraw the legion. Frostvale is safe. For now."
"Why?" Jaenor demanded.
"Why back down when you clearly have more power available?"
"Because," Draelusa said, "killing you is counterproductive. We need you alive for the resurrection. And because continuing this fight draws attention, Magdalyna, possibly even from Ascended beings. I’d rather avoid those plications."
Ascended beings?
Jaenor frowned at that. He heard of them once, beings who had gone past this realm, who had crossed the threshold of mortality. They weren’t interested in what was happening in the realm. They would just sit and watch while the humans and demons fight, as if it was all just a play for them.
Draelusa began backing away toward where his legion waited in an increasingly nervous formation.
"This isn’t over, Jaenor Arkwright. You’ve delayed the inevitable and proven you’re stronger than expected. But you can’t fight all seven sins simultaneously. You can’t protect every village, every person you care about."
"Watch me," Jaenor growled.
Draelusa laughed, genuine amusement mixed with dark promise.
"I will. We all will. And when you finally falter, when exhaustion or bad luck or sheer numbers overwhelm you, we’ll be waiting."
With that, he turned and walked back to his legion.
Orders were shouted, and the massive force began withdrawing, retreating the way they’d e with the same disciplined efficiency they’d shown advancing.
Within minutes, they’d vanished into the forest, leaving only the devastation of the battlefield as evidence they’d been there at all.
Jaenor’s wings faded, his power receding as adrenaline drained away. He stood swaying slightly, and Rena was there immediately, supporting him before he could fall.
"You did it," she said quietly.
"You fought a Sin and drove him off."
"I survived a Sin," Jaenor corrected.
"There’s a difference."
He looked toward Frostvale in the distance, seeing smoke from cooking fires, signs of normal life continuing unaware of how close they’d e to annihilation.
"But they’re safe. That’s what matters."
Morgana approached, her healer’s hands already glowing as she assessed his injuries.
"You’re hurt. Multiple void burns, power depletion, and internal damage from channeling that much energy. You need rest. Days of it, probably."
"We don’t have days," Jaenor said.
"The northern breach—"
"Can wait a few hours while you recover enough to function," Morgana interrupted firmly.
"You’ll do no one any good if you collapse mid-flight."
She was right, and Jaenor knew it.
He nodded reluctantly.
"A few hours. Then we continue north."
They quickly made their way towards the village after resting for a few hours.
-
The village of Frostvale appeared peaceful from the air, nestled in a valley where three streams converged. Wooden buildings with thatched roofs clustered around a central square, smoke rising from chimneys in thin grey lines. Fields surrounded the settlement, currently fallow for winter but showing signs of careful cultivation.
It looked exactly as Jaenor remembered from childhood. Small and isolated, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else’s business.
Home.
But as Ba’narussa descended, circling lower, the illusion of peace shattered.
Military encampments surrounded the village like a noose. Hundreds of tents in organized formations, training yards where soldiers drilled, and supply wagons arranged in defensive perimeters.
And the soldiers themselves—two distinct forces that clearly weren’t cooperating smoothly.
One group wore standard provincial militia uniforms, functional leather armor, simple weapons, and fighters drawn from local populations and given basic training. Perhaps two hundred of them, looking exhausted and nervous.
The other group was different.
Immediately, obviously different.
They wore armor that gleamed golden even from a distance, crafted from materials that seemed to absorb and reflect light simultaneously. The design was ornate but functional, with plates that covered vital areas while allowing mobility, marked with symbols that radiated authority and religious fervor.
And they moved with the coordinated precision of elite forces, every gesture calculated, every formation perfect.
The Brotherhood of Inquisition.
Qu’achi wielders were warriors who channeled a form of aura said to derive directly from their god. They were legendary for their fighting prowess and equally legendary for their religious extremism.
And they hated witches with an intensity that bordered on pathological.
Jaenor felt Morgana tense behind him as they descended, recognizing the golden armor. Raelana went very still, her witch’s instincts screaming danger even before they landed.
Ba’narussa touched down in the land a little far from the village, her massive form drawing immediate attention from everyone in the village and both military camps. Given her colossal body, she crushed everything beneath her feet, so Jaenor made her land in a forest.
Guards scrambled to defensive positions, weapons drawn, clearly unsure whether this powerful beast represented salvation or a new threat.
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