At the edge of the western wall, they could already see the battle raging in the distance.

  “Those large constructs”, Red stepped forward. “Are those the golems?”

  “Automatons,” Katya corrected. “Ten meters tall. They crush men with a single blow, and they spew fire from nozzles in their bellies. Their bodies are steel, almost impossible to break through.”

  “Does anyone know ice spells?” Red asked.

  Remus shook his head. “No.”

  “Why ice?” Katya pressed.

  “It will be weak to ice,” Red said simply.

  Her brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”

  Red’s eyes lingered on the battlefield. He didn’t answer.

  They reached the border. The howls of raiders clashed with the war cries of Pangui warriors and the crack of sorcery.

  “Tell your men to withdraw as far as they can. I’ll go in alone,” Red said.

  “I can’t do that,” Remus replied.

  “I know spells,” Red said calmly. “But they don’t distinguish between friend and foe.”

  Remus hesitated, then said, “I’ll ask the commander.” He sprinted toward the battlefield.

  “Remus,” Red called after him. “I can do this. But you must trust me. No one needs to sacrifice themselves today.”

  The young Pangui looked back, eyes wide, then nodded and kept running.

  “You sound sure of yourself,” Katya muttered, crouching behind a jagged rock at his side.

  “I’m not,” Red admitted, voice low. “But this… this scene feels familiar.” He fell silent again.

  Moments later, the Pangui warriors began falling back, shields locked, dragging the wounded behind them. The raiders’ howls rose louder, drunk on the scent of blood.

  “Give me your sword,” Red said suddenly.

  “Why mine? It’s dead steel. The enchantment’s gone,” Katya protested, clutching it tight.

  He looked at her, crimson eyes unblinking.

  “Fine, fine!” She shoved it into his hand. “But don’t break it, it cost me a fortune.”

  Red gripped the blade and stepped forward. Raiders noticed him immediately, charging with snarls and rusted axes. Katya braced herself for another surge of unnatural magic, but instead, Red simply moved, slipping past blows, cutting them down with clean, effortless strikes.

  “You fight with no formation,” Red said, pointing his blade toward one of them. “You hold your weapon wrong.”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” one raider spat. “We’re the Skullcrushers! We’ll skin you alive and crack your skull.”

  A faint smile tugged at Red’s lips. “Very well then. Try.”

  As the fight raged, Red moved with the poise of an elite soldier, yet something felt wrong. His strikes were too precise, his steps too fluid, his body gliding with the eerie weightlessness of a Hollowborn.

  A raider’s voice cracked through the din: “What the fuck, he float!”

  Another shouted over him, panic rising. “Fucker’s a sorcerer! Hit him with spells!”

  Red had been waiting. The moment a volley of crackling arrows flared toward him, he whispered something Katya couldn’t hear over the howls and screams.

  The arrows slipped past him harmlessly, then twisted midair like snakes and whipped back into the chests of the men who had loosed them. Screams tore through the ranks as they fell, pierced by their own magic.

  Katya darted from rock to rock, closing the distance. Her pulse raced. She had seen Hollowborns fight before, but never like this, never with this union of sheer martial skill and terrifying sorcery.

  In front of Red now stood a towering ash-golem, its metal joints grinding as fire spewed from the nozzle in its belly.

  A voice rang out over the din. “You there! Do you know who you’re messing with? I’m the leader of the Skullcrushers, you pig. I’ll burn you to ash!”

  Red’s reply was calm, almost cold. “I’m afraid I cannot let you do that. These fine folk only just gave me these clothes.”

  He stepped forward. The ground trembled, and then froze. His voice carried like scripture. “Aver was lord of flame and sky, but also brother to Heim, god of mountains and chill.”

  Katya shielded her eyes as the sky itself seemed to ignite. A sphere of fire spun above Red, so vast it set the heavens aflame, drenching the battlefield in crimson

  “He created a law,” Red continued, his eyes shut in concentration. “Where there is fire, there must also be ice. And balance can be inverted.”

  The ground beneath the ash-golem crystallized, ice spreading in jagged veins. The machine locked in place, its steel frame frosting white.

  The raiders’ howls twisted into screams. Arrows flew. One struck Red’s face, shattering a piece of skin to reveal the golden lattice beneath.

  “Fucker’s a monster, run!” a voice shrieked.

  The blazing sphere above him plummeted, detonating into a wall of fire that consumed a group of raiders. Katya ducked behind the rocks, heart hammering. She had known he was powerful, but not like this. Not something beyond sense.

  When she dared to look again, Red stood in eerie stillness, eyes closed, his broken flesh slowly mending.

  The Pangui warriors faltered at the sight, torn between awe and terror, while their enemies scattered in panic. But the second ash-golem thundered forward, charging straight at him.

  “Red, look out!” Katya screamed.

  At the last instant, Red opened his eyes. He drifted sideways in the air, circling behind the construct, and drove Katya’s sword deep into the gap at its neck. The machine convulsed, then went still.

  A fireball shot across the field. Red twisted away. The Skullcrusher leader staggered into view, fury and terror written across his face.

  “You fucking bastard… you ruined everything!” he screamed.

  “You are their leader?” Red asked, his voice flat.

  “You don’t understand! There are powers beyond your control! They’ll crush fuckers like you!”

  Red’s eyes glinted faintly, almost amused. “They are free to try. I do not falter. Not even against a demigod.”

  The raider froze, confusion mixing with dread. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?”

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  Red straightened, his voice cutting clear through the battlefield. “I have been known by many names. The Crimson Lord. The General of the Crimson Knights. Lord of the Crimson Wing. But in the end, I prefer…”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “Ragnar.”

  Katya swore she recognized the name from her training. “Ragnar…” she muttered, mind spinning.

  The last raiders broke, fleeing into the wastes. Their leader collapsed to his knees, groveling for mercy, while the pangui warriors approached with wary spears.

  “I thank you, sir,” said one, bowing slightly. “I am Briem, captain of this band.”

  Ragnar inclined his head. “I am Ragnar. This man is their leader. I hand him over to you.”

  “Sir, you are… great,” Remus added, still shaken. “I have never seen sorcery like that.”

  “Thank you,” Ragnar replied simply. “See to your wounded.”

  He wrenched Katya’s sword free from the golem’s neck, shards of metal falling away. “There is something within powering it. Shattering it with the blade stopped its motion. The core can be reached through this opening.”

  “That would be a gleam crystal,” one pangui supplied quickly. “They power most automations.”

  “Gleam crystal?” Ragnar repeated.

  “Yes. A crystal of pure weave, at least, that is what we are taught. No one knows where they first came from, but they are costly, rare, and dangerous,” the pangui explained.

  Ragnar gave a curt nod, then turned back to Katya. She was still staring at him, eyes wide, hands tight on the sword as he offered it back.

  “Here. Your blade,” he said.

  Katya accepted it, fingers trembling. “Can I… ask you something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your name is Ragnar. And you were—” she hesitated, voice thin “—the leader of the Crimson Wings?”

  “I should be,” Ragnar answered after a pause. “There were five wings. First specialized in infantry, second in mages, third in cavalry, fourth in defense and coordination. And the fifth…” His gaze hardened. “Marius’s wing, intelligence and shadows.”

  Katya’s mind raced, her body trembling. This cannot be a coincidence, she thought. This man not only knew our founder… he might have been the leader of our founder.

  She pressed her hands together and bowed deeply. “I am very sorry for ever offending you in any way, sir.”

  Ragnar looked at her with faint amusement. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No, sir,” she answered quickly, still bowing. “I respect you very much. You might be the leader of our founder.”

  “I see.” Ragnar’s tone softened. “Marius once told me he planned to create a second organization. Seems he really did.”

  He grew quiet for a breath, then asked, “Have you heard the name Shayara?” His voice was heavy, almost somber.

  Katya looked up, blinking. “Shayara… It sounds like she was from the Iscor plains.”

  “She was from the Syr tribe,” Ragnar replied.

  “Syr?” Katya’s brows knit. “That’s… my background. Syr isn’t really a tribe anymore, more like an ancestral bloodline. Though there’s still a Syr village in the Iscor plains. Most people there are mixed now.” She hesitated, curiosity edging into envy. “Was she… special?”

  “She was close to me, yes,” Ragnar said, his gaze drifting as if pulled back to another time. “There was a battlefield… she came to me nervously…” His voice trailed into silence, eyes distant, lost in memory.

  After a long silence, Ragnar finally spoke. “I knew her for only four days. Yet she was willing to put her life on the line for the very kingdom that had treated her harshly. She inspired me to be better.”

  Katya listened intently, hardly daring to breathe.

  “This is all I remember,” Ragnar said at last. “It’s still not clear.” He turned to her, and for the first time, his stern expression softened into a small smile. “I should thank you, Katya.”

  Katya blinked, caught off guard. A faint blush colored her cheeks. “Why me? What did I do?”

  “It was you who called me Crimson Lord. That word triggered this memory.”

  Katya blurted out before she could stop herself, “But I thought you didn’t like being called a lord!” She slapped her hands over her mouth too late.

  “I don’t,” Ragnar admitted with another rare smile. “But others did. And in time… I had to accept it.”

  Ragnar and Katya returned to the village with a handful of soldiers. The walk back was filled with chatter. The soldiers recounted the fight, some even asking Ragnar to teach them sorcery, which he politely but firmly declined.

  In front of the chieftain’s hall, Remus stepped forward. “Chief, you should have seen it. Sir Ragnar cut through the raiders and even felled their golem. None of us have ever witnessed sorcery like that.” His words drew a crowd, villagers pressing closer in awe.

  “Ragnar?” the chieftain asked, studying him.

  “That is my name,” Ragnar answered simply.

  “Very well,” the chief nodded, accepting it without hesitation. “Prepare a celebration for our heroes.”

  “There is no need,” Ragnar said politely, his voice carrying quiet finality. Katya nearly interrupted, but thought better of it.

  “No, Sir,” the chief replied gently. “Let them celebrate. It will lift their spirits.”

  Ragnar inclined his head but did not press further. “The raider leader spoke of higher powers. Do you know of any?”

  The chief was silent for a moment, his face grave. “There are always those who covet the gates. But who they are, I cannot say for certain.”

  “He is with Captain Briem now,” Ragnar said. “Perhaps more answers can be drawn from him.”

  The chieftain nodded. “There is rumor, though. Of an old and powerful group. They move in shadows, unseen, yet their hand has stirred events for decades, perhaps longer.”

  “About the teleportation gate,” Katya asked quickly.

  “I’ll have it inspected in the morning and prepared for your passage,” the chief replied. Then his expression warmed. “You need not pay. You have done us a great service in ridding us of the raiders.”

  Katya’s face lit up in delight, then she blurted, “And the clothes!” before clapping her hand over her mouth, cheeks burning.

  The chief chuckled softly. “Yes, that too.”

  Celebrations carried on deep into the night. Ragnar sat watching the bonfire’s embers rise into the dark sky, while Katya laughed, ate, and drank beside him. Some of the villagers sang, others danced in circles, their voices mingling with the crackle of fire.

  The chieftain approached quietly and offered a small carved token. “You’ve done us a great service. Take this. Beyond the gate lies another pangui village. Their chieftain, Gortash, is one of the seven Divine Lords, and the leader of the Iscor tribes.”

  “Divine Lords?” Ragnar asked.

  “Demigods, some say,” the chief explained. “Beings who bend reality at their whim. From what I’ve seen, you may stand among them.”

  “You knew?” Ragnar’s voice carried both curiosity and caution.

  “After the stories of what you did, I cannot think of any sorcery that compares,” the chief said steadily.

  “They are called Laws,” Ragnar corrected gently.

  “I see.” The chief nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of such things. They were said to be blessings of the gods.”

  “They were once,” Ragnar agreed. “But I believe mortals can learn them, if they grasp the concept deeply enough.”

  “A good way to see it,” the chief said, smiling faintly. He pressed the token into Ragnar’s hand. “This will grant you safe passage, even an audience with Gortash, should you wish it.”

  After the chieftain left, Katya asked, “So you can do what the other Divine Lords do?”

  “Perhaps,” Ragnar replied. “But it is not that simple.”

  “I’m going to sleep,” Katya announced, stretching.

  “You sleep quite a lot,” Ragnar said with the faintest smile.

  “I don’t get much in the wasteland, so I take the chances I can,” she shot back as she headed for her bed.

  Ragnar remained by the fire, watching the embers rise while the celebration carried on.

  Morning came. Katya stirred awake to find Ragnar sitting on the opposite bed, eyes closed.

  “You’re back?” she mumbled, still half-asleep.

  “For a few hours now,” Ragnar said. “The chief came by and said the gate is ready.”

  Katya jolted upright. “You should have led with that! Give me a moment to wash up. We’ll leave right away.”

  They set out for the wastelands after bidding farewell to the chieftain. Villagers lined the path to the gate, cheering, children waving until the pair disappeared from sight.

  Bellamus guided them forward. The battlefield scars were still fresh, ashen ground, scattered weapons, and pangui laborers dismantling the fallen golems. Some raised their hands in greeting as Ragnar and Katya passed.

  “On the far side of the gate, you’ll find a camp,” Bellamus explained. “Not only pangui, but other folk as well. Show them the token, and they won’t question you.”

  Ragnar and Katya both nodded.

  At last they stood before the circular stone structure.

  “This feels… very much like a divine gate,” Ragnar murmured.

  Light surged around them. The world flared white, then collapsed into absolute black. There was no sound, no ground beneath their feet, only the wrenching pull of the Veil itself.

  Moments later, the world reformed. They stood upon the open fields of the Iscor Plains.