The chamber was black as ink.

  From a rift in the void, tens of thousands of spiders poured forth.

  The clatter of their shells rose like a tide-song of death.

  ChengYu’s blade carved silver arcs through the thickened dark—

  legs flew, ichor rained,

  new eyes bloomed in the muck like ember-lights.

  A roar tore from his throat, folding into the clash of steel—

  until one spider burst apart.

  Scarlet fire surged from its belly,

  cinnabar flame blooming into sudden blast.

  The blaze climbed his robes.

  Skin cracked, curling in blackened sheets.

  The stench of flesh and sulfur thickened the air.

  Pain seared every nerve.

  Through the fire he saw a hand—his brother’s hand—reaching.

  Palm-lines burned red, clear as blood.

  “Don’t come closer!” he rasped,

  shoving it away before the flames could devour.

  But his push met only emptiness.

  The darkness dissolved—

  ink dispersing in water.

  The agony shattered into powder, drifting away like ash.

  A dark-golden halo welled from his ankles, thick as honey.

  It wrapped him into the curve of an unborn child.

  Light clung to every tremor like molten amber—

  gentle, inexorable.

  No pain.

  Only warmth.

  Like a mother’s palm smoothing cloth across a child’s back,

  turning storm to lullaby.

  He heard water in the distance—

  like tides in a womb,

  like a song hummed slightly off tune.

  At his nape, heat lingered.

  He could not tell if it was a hand—

  or the trace of his own dried tears.

  ?

  The pale yellow of canvas seeped into view.

  ChengYu stirred.

  Two faint flames flickered on the aluminum pole—

  a lantern wick being changed.

  Hidaea looked up sharply.

  Seeing his eyes open, she rushed to him.

  “You’re awake? Any pain? Does your chest still ache?”

  The Soulleaf bloomed above her wrist,

  its glow sweeping quick across his chest.

  When it brushed his cheek, she caught the dried tear track—

  and her own eyes tightened.

  He tried to say I’m fine,

  but his throat was dust, voice torn raw.

  Only two ragged coughs escaped.

  “Don’t speak. I’ll get water.”

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  She darted out of the tent.

  The sound roused Aeloryn.

  She rubbed her eyes, then jolted upright at the sight of him sitting.

  Barefoot, she hurried close.

  “How do you feel? Still hurting anywhere?”

  Hidaea returned with a flask.

  One girl checked his pulse,

  the other pressed water to his lips.

  ChengYu flushed.

  He had never been treated this way—

  caught between care and clumsy warmth, his body burning with awkward heat.

  ?

  The flap lifted.

  YiChen entered, drawn by the stir.

  His gaze swept his brother.

  “How is it? Still holding?”

  ChengYu nodded, voice thin but bright.

  “…Feels… surprisingly good.”

  He raised his right arm, blinking.

  “Wait—this… it’s healed?”

  The skin was smooth. Whole.

  Not even a scar remained.

  He tried to rise, but YiChen pressed him gently back down.

  “Not yet. Let them judge first.”

  Aeloryn guided the Lumina Dove across him, its glow combing every channel.

  “Stable. Spirit flow smooth. He can move a little.”

  Hidaea still frowned.

  “Don’t go far. Half an hour before you try.”

  YiChen inclined his head.

  “I’ll take him outside for air.”

  ChengYu stammered a thanks, ears flushing red.

  The two healers exchanged a glance—fatigue softened by the faintest smile.

  ?

  Outside, sunlight broke through cracks in the cliff,

  falling across the wards in fractured beams.

  ChengYu breathed deep, then grinned.

  “They’re incredible at what they do.”

  YiChen gave him a sidelong look.

  “Now you remember it hurts?”

  ChengYu straightened with mock solemnity.

  “I’m saying—it’s not so bad being the patient.

  Why didn’t I try this earlier…?”

  YiChen let the corner of his mouth lift—

  and, for once, left the moment’s lightness unbroken.

  ?

  After dinner, the squad gathered in the strategy tent.

  A single lamp burned at the center, its glow tracing a spirit-map etched in luminous stones.

  Craen stood before it, face carved from iron.

  “Tomorrow,” he began, voice low but cutting,

  “we do not face a beast. We face a spirit-creature fused with the core of an artifact.”

  With a sweep of his hand, the stones shifted.

  The Gilded Flamefang Sovereign rose in flickering light:

  a colossal boar, its back seared with bone-deep scars,

  its sockets smoldering with restless fire.

  “The Church miscalculated.

  They listed it Seventh Tier.

  Yesterday proved the truth: at least Ninth.”

  Silence fell.

  Spirit-light carved fatigue, hesitation, resolve across every face.

  Craen’s finger struck the map.

  “We cannot fight it head-on.

  The key is the Time Array.

  Time is the only force that can bind its mass.

  Illusion and suppression are support—nothing more.”

  His gaze swept them one by one.

  “Reinhardt—your Phantom Fox lays the blind zone.

  Aiden, Mikel—outer sensors.

  Healers—you must synchronize frequency and disrupt its core.

  Even ten seconds is enough.”

  Elena bowed her head.

  “Understood.”

  “Ranged fire—Noah and Ian Brighton, Leif, David, Gerold, Kai.

  Constant suppression.

  Varuk Haar—primary shield.”

  At last his eyes locked on YiChen.

  “You and ChengYu, with Rako and Herlan, form the vanguard.

  Your task: lure the Sovereign into the array—

  and force the trigger.”

  YiChen’s reply was steady as stone.

  “Understood.”

  Craen’s tone sank lower.

  “The artifact in its chest is the core.

  Once the Time Array activates, you have thirty seconds to extract it.

  The mission is not to slay.

  It is to trap, suppress, and retrieve.

  If the formation fails, we fall back to the cave mouth.

  B Plan.”

  He rolled the chart shut.

  Each syllable fell like steel:

  “This operation is fatal.

  Tonight, we rehearse until instinct.

  Tomorrow—there can be no mistakes.”

  ?

  The cavern lay still as a tomb.

  Water dripped from stone,

  each drop echoing like the hand of a clock.

  At last, the squad answered in one voice:

  “Yes.”