The capital still burned, but the fighting had turned into a purge.

  Across the shattered city, what remained of the undead were being hunted down with brutal precision. Rhydan and his sons carved through the lower districts—fiery arcs splitting ghouls in half, the Warlock Emperor’s ughter rolling down the alleys. A bolt of white light smmed down behind the younger son, erasing a lunging ghoul before his brother’s bde could intercede. The prince clicked his tongue; Rhydan only grinned, already moving on.

  In the heart of the city, the Emperor advanced street by street, his soldiers forming and breaking wedges at a word. His sword fshed with radiant Vaylora, reducing tight knots of undead to ash. As the formations shifted, a thin line of lightning skimmed low over their helms—popping “dead” bodies that had in still with feigned ruin. Corpses that would have ambushed the rear ranks convulsed and smoked where they y, and the line pressed forward unbloodied.

  At the Cathedral square, the Pontifex braced the holy barrier with both hands, light fring from the sigil at his breast. Ghouls smmed and smeared against the shimmering wall; those that began to climb each other into a grotesque dder were swatted from the air by three clean, surgical strikes—lightning stepping across the ward without so much as a ripple, culling the press before it could crest.

  Above the tiered rooftops, Morgan and Selene coordinated the mage cadre from a Vaylora ptform. Morgan’s commands cut through the din—teleport sigils fred, healing rings fell, fire-lines swept intersections clean. Selene stood beside her, precise and relentless, ncing pressure-points in the city’s flow—one gesture to blind a cluster with mirage, another to detonate a strafing line with condensed fme. Lucen blinked past them once, twice—leaving only the ozone bite of his passing—then reappeared briefly over the next block, erasing a pack trying to circle behind their position.

  On the western ridge, Isolde floated above an avenue choked with undead, wind curling off her in controlled bands. Lucen snapped into pce at her fnk without preamble. For a single breath, their gazes met; then Isolde lifted her hand and called the air into a tight spiral while Lucen ced the vortex with needles of white. The two forces braided—wind bearing, lightning binding—and a miniature storm bloomed outward, clean and lethal.

  The front rank of ghouls withered in an instant, the second rank crisped as the spiral sheared through. Isolde released, the winds settling with surgical precision that spared the rooftops. Lucen tipped her a sharp, appreciative nod, threw a wink in Selene’s direction across the rooftops—and was gone again, a line of light crossing the city in three heartbeats.

  Lucen was everywhere—appearing, vanishing, erasing the rot.

  Bodies littered the marble courtyard—nobles, knights, and courtiers alike—each one marked by a dim, red sigil still glowing faintly through torn clothing. Darius stood among them, Devotion burning low in his hand, the sword’s white fire reflecting in the pools of blood at his feet.

  He exhaled slowly, the smell of iron heavy in his lungs.

  “I’m supposed to hunt witches,” he muttered, voice rough. “Not kill the ones they’ve marked.”

  A few of the soldiers around him shifted uncomfortably, the green sigils on their armor faint but visible. No one spoke. No one dared. Darius ran a thumb across Devotion’s hilt, its edge still humming with restrained heat.

  A distant boom rolled across the rooftops—followed by a fsh that turned the shadows into white daylight. He barely had time to turn before a second bst struck the square beside him. Stone shattered. Dust fred outward.

  Lucen nded in the crater like a meteor.

  Light and smoke curled off him in sharp waves, the air crackling as it adjusted around his presence. Darius blinked against the gre, squinting at the faintly glowing green mark on the man’s chest. The same mark pulsed on his own.

  For a heartbeat, they only stared at one another.

  Darius straightened his stance, the hum of Devotion still echoing faintly in his grip. “It’s an honor to meet High Saint Lucen,” he said, lowering his weapon—though his eyes didn’t leave the man.

  Lucen’s gaze drifted from Darius’s face to the sword, lingering there. “I bet,” he muttered. “Who are you?”

  “Darius Veyle.”

  Something in Lucen’s expression shifted—recognition, irritation, maybe both. “Veyle,” he repeated. “You Garran’s kid?”

  Darius hesitated, then gave a short nod. “You knew him?”

  Lucen’s mouth twitched into what might have been a grin if it weren’t so sharp. “Yeah. Knew him.”

  A pause—then, almost casually—

  “He was kind of a cunt.”

  Darius’s jaw clenched. Devotion’s white fme fred at the insult, heat rolling off the bde in quiet warning. “Watch your mouth,” he said evenly. “You’re talking about a man who gave his life serving the Church.”

  Lucen barked a ugh—low, humorless. “Oh, I know exactly what he gave his life for.” His tone softened, turning almost nostalgic for a heartbeat. “Garran always did have a bad habit of getting himself in over his head.”

  The air between them thickened. Darius could feel the pressure of Lucen’s Vaylora now—coiling, restless, like a storm looking for a reason to break. Lucen tilted his head slightly, his voice cooling again.

  “I heard Meme killed him.”

  The words hit like a thrown knife.

  Darius froze. His mind reeled at the name. Meme. There was no mistaking who he meant. No one outside the Sanctum—and certainly no Saint—should have known that name, or who it belonged to.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

  Lucen’s eyes sharpened, watching not for recognition, but for the flicker beneath it—the heat that came with hatred. A muscle in Darius’s cheek twitched. His grip on Devotion tightened.

  There it was.

  Lucen exhaled softly through his nose, almost disappointed. “So you still hate her,” he said. “Good to know.”

  Lightning began to crawl zily across his fingers, like serpents waking from sleep. The air around them thickened with static. Lucen’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Can’t have that.”

  He flicked one finger—and the world exploded into light.

  Darius moved on instinct. Devotion snapped up, white fme roaring to life as it intercepted the bolt. Sparks scattered like molten rain. He twisted his wrist, redirecting the lightning into the cobblestone, where it burst apart in a shower of light.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” Darius shouted.

  Lucen tilted his head, voice almost casual. “Meme killed Garran. Can’t have Garran’s kid running around, can I?”

  Another bolt cut through the air.

  Darius sidestepped, Devotion’s white fire trailing in a bright crescent.

  “We’ve got our differences,” he said, his voice low, steady. “But she’s already beyond anyone’s reach.”

  Lucen vanished—and in the next instant, was there again, a breath away. The air hummed between them, thick with static.

  “Exactly,” Lucen said. “She’s out of your reach.”

  Lightning crawled down his arm, snapping against the dirt.

  “But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop reaching.”

  His eyes burned, bright and merciless. “And I can’t afford to take that chance.”

  Darius’s face hardened. “Crazy bastard!” He swung, Devotion bzing as it split the incoming bolt. Sparks scattered across the street like molten gss.

  They squared off—Lucen wreathed in lightning, Darius in white fme, both unyielding.

  The world between them warped under the pressure of cshing Vaylora.

  Lucen moved first—his entire body turning into a blur of electric motion. Bolts rained down around Darius, striking like falling spears. Each bst carved through cobblestone, scorching the ground bck.

  Darius spun, Devotion cutting through the chaos. Every swing split the air, redirecting arcs of lightning into the ruined buildings. The backsh lit up the city in fshes of gold and white.

  Lucen pressed harder. He snapped forward, fist wreathed in light, and Darius met him head-on. Their csh sent a shockwave down the street—windows shattered, walls buckled.

  Lucen’s grin was wide and vicious. “Good—keep up!”

  Another punch. Another storm.

  Darius ducked beneath the blow, driving his shoulder into Lucen’s chest and sshing upward. Devotion’s edge met a burst of lightning mid-strike—the impact detonated like a bomb.

  Lucen staggered back, unharmed but surprised. The white fire clinging to Darius’s bde didn’t flicker—it grew, twisting into sharp tendrils that shed out. Lucen sidestepped, but one strand grazed his arm, leaving a faint scorch even through the current dancing around him.

  “Fast,” Lucen muttered. “Not bad.”

  He fired another barrage. Darius didn’t dodge—he redirected. His bde swept across the ground, bending the lightning like molten metal, sending it skimming past him to sm into the street behind.

  Lucen nded lightly, boots skidding across stone. Sparks followed him like fireflies. Lucen ughed—a bright, crackling sound that echoed through the burning city. Then he blurred again, an incandescent line across the sky. Darius met him with a roar, white fire fring as he surged forward, his speed forcing Lucen to twist and break contact.

  The saint nded several paces away, lightning crawling across his shoulders like a living armor. His grin faded, eyes narrowing with new respect.

  “Didn’t think anyone could outrun a storm,” Lucen said.

  “And I didn't think you’d try to kill me,” Darius said, teeth bared, “for a witch?”

  Lucen’s grin cracked wide, feral and humorless. “For safety,” he said. “Because she’s not just a witch.”

  He leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous calm.

  "She’s the greatest Saintess never known.”

  Darius’s grip tightened. “Then you’re willing to become an apostate?”

  Lucen shrugged. “Maybe. If the Church doesn’t get its shit together.”

  Darius’s voice dropped low, edged in heat. “Then maybe it’s time I cleanse the Sanctum of you.”

  Lucen’s grin widened. “You think you can?”

  Darius lunged—white fire bursting beneath his feet, propelling him forward like a cannon shot.

  Lucen vaulted upward, his body dissolving into a streak of lightning. But Darius wasn’t aiming where he was—he swung toward where Lucen would be.

  The air screamed.

  In the sword’s wake, a glowing glyph stretched the length of the bde's edges' swing path, pulsing with runic light. From its heart, orbs of white fme erupted—dozens of them—each locking onto Lucen’s path like hunting spirits.

  Lucen twisted through the air, every movement sharp and fluid. Lightning trailed behind him, breaking the night into fshes of blinding brilliance. The orbs followed, relentless—bending midflight, curling through the chaos to match his impossible speed.

  He snapped his hand outward. A surge of voltage exploded from his body, forming a rotating barrier of raw current. The orbs struck it in waves—each one detonating into fres of incandescent heat.

  The chain of explosions lit the sky. For a heartbeat, it looked as though two suns had collided above the capital.

  Lucen burst from the storm—cloaked in smoke and arcs of light, eyes gleaming with manic satisfaction.

  He dropped his gaze to Darius. “Magic swordsman… that reeks of Augustine’s training.”

  A smirk pulled at his lips. “Guess I’ll owe the old man an apology—after I kill you.”

  Lucen thrust his hand toward the heavens, his voice cutting through the crackling air.

  A circle of light fred into being above him—vast and intricate, its runes spinning in yers of gold and white. The glyph pulsed once… then split open.

  From its heart, a spear of lightning the size of a cathedral tore free—its shaft jagged, alive, screaming as it descended. The air itself buckled under its passage, the sky fracturing with its brilliance.

  Across from him, Darius pnted his feet. His hands tightened on Devotion, and the white fmes coiling along its edge surged upward, roaring to life. Heat rippled across the street, melting the snow and turning the air into shimmering gss.

  He raised the sword high, eyes burning through the gre.

  “Devotion—CLEAVE!”

  The bde came down in a single, perfect motion.

  A wave of white fire erupted from the strike, carving through the world like a judgment. The fming arc collided with the descending spear—light against light, fury against fury.

  The impact was cataclysmic.

  Sound vanished. For one suspended instant, the capital disappeared into radiance. The explosion’s heart bloomed silently—so bright it erased shadow itself.

  And then—

  A voice, calm as still water.

  “Serenity… calm.”

  A line of Vaylora shimmered into existence, threading between the two apocalyptic forces. It was not fire nor lightning, but something purer—a thread of luminous silver, glittering like starlight drawn across night.

  The spear and the fme met the line.

  Both froze—cracking, splintering—and then unraveled, dissolving into a storm of harmless motes that fell like dying stars over the ruined street.

  The wind returned. The silence broke.

  Cassian stepped through the fading light, his expression calm but his eyes cold.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do more damage to my capital. We’ll have our hands full enough with repairs.”

  Lucen turned his head, eyes faintly aglow, but Cassian only smiled—charming, dangerous.

  “And you,” Cassian added, voice lowering, “should stop lusting after my future Empress. Very unbecoming of a High Saint.”

  Lucen’s expression didn’t change, but the light under his skin fred once—sharp and restrained.

  Darius held his sword ready, Lucen stood still, Cassian between them—smiling as if nothing about this scene was remotely out of pce.

  And for one stretched moment, the air itself seemed to wait.