Within the confines of the twister, things were unraveling fast.

  Elera and Lucas had watched helplessly as Ignacio soared into the sky, until all they saw was a red glimmer in the distant sky, the Raven following quickly behind. Then, in a single, gut-wrenching instant, that red light flickered—and was snuffed out.

  There was long, suspenseful silence as they looked up. Waiting to see if anything would happen.

  Only for it to quickly break as a the rapidly falling form of Ignacio came into view.

  Elera let out a soul-wrenching wail, the realization hitting her like a blade to the chest. Scrambling to her feet, she bolted forward, tears blurring her vision.

  She had no plan—only blind, desperate instinct.

  If Finn were still alive, maybe he could have caught him

  like all the times he had before—

  but he was gone now.

  Still, she ran. She ran toward the center of the courtyard, toward the place where Ignacio would land, as if sheer will alone could stop him from falling.

  She refused to accept it,

  refused to believe there was nothing she could do.

  But no matter how hard she wished for time to stop,

  for gravity to ease its grip,

  Ignacio continued to plummet—

  faster and faster, lower and lower.

  She wanted to reach him.

  To catch him.

  To save him.

  But as he fell past the castle’s highest towers, despair finally seized her. Her legs buckled. She stumbled, crashing to the ground.

  But then, the ground beneath Elera trembled.

  Without warning, the pavement in front of her began to vibrate as the stone began to crumble into sand. The next instant, the ground erupted—a towering pillar of sand shot skyward like a geyser, surging up to meet Ignacio’s falling body. The column engulfed him midair before softening, its grains scattering and drifting down in a slow, controlled descent.

  Elera didn’t stop to question it.

  She didn’t look to see who had done it.

  She only waded forward, pushing through the cascading sand, until she reached Ignacio’s unconscious body. She clutched him tightly—only to hear a sharp snap. As a orange light flickered at the edge of her vision.

  A second surge came—this time, solid stone. A thick wall burst up from the ground, but it didn’t stay in place. Instead, it moved, grinding against the earth as if alive. It lurched forward, sweeping her and Ignacio up with it. The sand beneath them shifted, pushing them on a layer of sand as the wall propelled them back across the courtyard.

  Lucas had little time to react as he realized it was coming his way, and he too was caught by the sliding wall of stone and sand.

  The stone mass carried all three of them toward the castle’s entrance. The thick wall hurtled into the entranceway with a heavy slam, hurtling the Aces inside in a wave of sand and shutting out the outside world behind a thick layer of stone.

  Elera didn’t waste a second. She didn’t stop to brush the sand from her clothes or steady her breath—her only focus was Ignacio. But the commanding presence she had shown earlier, the confident leader who had seized control of the crisis, was gone. Now, she was frantic, her hands trembling as she fumbled with her medical instruments.

  “Stay with me, Ignacio. Please, just stay with me,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. Experience and muscle memory still guided her hands, even as her emotions threatened to take over.

  Lucas sat up, stunned by the sight of her desperation. Then, collected himself and snapped into action, dropping to his knees beside her and unfastening the metal braces of Ignacio’s suit as fast he could to let her work unobstructed.

  At first, the severity of Ignacio’s injuries had been masked by the deep burgundy of his uniform, the blood blending into the fabric. But as his shirt was peeled away and the wound cleaned, the damage was laid bare.

  A deep, impossibly clean gash ran across his chest, slicing through flesh and bone alike. Every rib in its path had been severed in a single, precise cut.

  Damian who had been witnessing everything from just inside the entranceway now looked down in disbelief at the scene that took placebefore him. As he watched, a paralyzing helplessness gripped him. He barely registered his own existence until he was surprised by a sudden presence passing beside him.

  Damian turned to see General Dominique, his slinger still in hand, faint wisps of orange vapor curling from the two spells he had fired through the doorway moments earlier. His face was pale, his wide, teary eyes betraying the shock he fought to suppress. There was an uncertain tremor in his step as he approached the group of Aces, hesitating for a moment, almost afraid to ask.

  "Is he going to be okay?"

  “I… I don’t know,” Elera replied, her voice strained as she worked frantically.

  A glowing pink scalpel trembled in her grip, tracing the wound, pink sparks flaring like molten metal being soldered together.

  “I can stop the bleeding, but…” She hesitated, her breath uneven. “The wound is so deep. One of his lungs is damaged. I don’t think I can stabilize him. Not with the tools I have here.” Her voice cracked. “He needs a proper surgeon and hospital equipment.”

  For a moment, it seemed as if the General himself might break. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths, his composure wavering.

  Then—

  "Iggy?"

  A voice called from behind.

  Dominique turned to see Vera approaching behind him, her hands clutched over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears. She looked just as afraid, just as uncertain as he was.

  The General straightened, forcing himself to steady—for her.

  “It’s going to be okay, Vera,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

  “He’s strong,” he added, as much for himself as for her. “He’ll hold on. He’s far too stubborn to die so easily.”

  Damian could only watch.

  Everything he thought he knew—everything that had once felt certain—was unraveling before his eyes.

  He had never seen Vera this… vulnerable. Never seen the unshakable charisma of General Dominique fracture like this. The proud, confident Dominique family, the ones he had known his whole life, now looked as fragile, as human, as anyone else.

  And his heroes—

  the ones who were supposed to save everyone—

  lay defeated, injured, and panicked.

  The Aces, who had once taken on armies of countless mage soldiers, channelers, and war machines were soundly defeated against a single foe.

  Was this Beast of War, this Raven, truly so powerful that even they couldn’t stop it?

  Would even his father stand a chance?

  Or would he end up just like Ignacio?

  A burning frustration flared inside Damian as he looked at them, knowing full well he was too weak to do anything. Desperate for somer sort of reassurance, he turned to his father. But in Dalten’s eyes, he found no comfort. Only the same frustration that mirrored his own.

  "Fulgor!" Dalten’s sharp voice cut through the tension, snapping Damian’s attention back to the moment. He was barking orders at Lucas, who had just finished removing the harness.

  The boy looked up, still dazed and uncertain, but aware enough to understand Dalten’s intent.

  "Y-yes, sir," Lucas stammered, his voice unsteady.

  Reluctantly, he backed away from Ignacio and finally retreating to Dalten’s side to continue removing the damping device.

  But the enemies assault would not stop to allow them grief.

  From the mezzanine above, the crack of slugger fire only grew louder as the battle raged on. The Treviet drop troopers were still making their way down from the top floors. And while the doors were now barricaded with whatever furniture the guards could find, there was little hope that a few ornate shelves and chairs would stop determined Mage Soldiers from blowing them wide open.

  Hundreds of people were still sheltering here—many of them simple women, children, and elderly. And there were only a handful of guards within the foyer standing between them and slaughter. If the enemy broke through, there would likely be little they could do to resist.

  Each distant crackle of slugger fire, every room-shaking explosion beyond the closed doors, sent fresh waves of whimpers and hushed screams through the terrified crowd. The sounds of battle drew closer by the second. Soon the fighting became loud as it was clear a fight was taking place just beyond the doors.

  Banging. Shouting. Screaming.

  And then—

  silence.

  Whatever resistance had been holding them back was now gone.

  The crowd stood frozen in breathless suspense. Tears slipped down faces, quiet sobs stifled behind trembling hands.The few remaining guards, hands slick with sweat, tightened their grips on their sluggers, preparing to take a last stand.

  Seconds passed—each stretching unbearably long.

  Then more.

  And more.

  Then a minute dragged by.

  Then another.

  Still—nothing.

  The fear and tension that had gripped the room slowly shifted into confusion.

  "Did they stop?" Damian whispered to his father.

  Dalten didn’t answer. His brow was furrowed, his expression locked in deep thought. Damian could tell—he didn’t know either. So, he stayed silent and waited.

  Then—

  something did happened.

  From somewhere deeper within the castle, a rising buzzing sound began to build, growing louder by the second, before a strange warped, echoing bong followed.

  A sudden wave of force rippled outward from the walls, sweeping through the room like an invisible tide.

  Screams rang through the hall and Damian braced himself as it hit, a sharp static sting crackling over his exposed skin. But nothing more. No pain or damage.

  The wave passed as quickly as it had come, leaving not a single person or object harmed, only the unsettling sensation of raised hairs and a slight tickling static in the air.

  "What was that?" Damian asked, turning to his father.

  It was Lucas who answered. "I’ve felt that before. That was lightning magic. Some sort of signal, maybe?" His gaze darted toward the walls, his voice tense. "But to feel it at this distance, it must be heavily amplified."

  "So, they’re trying to communicate with someone?" Dalten asked.

  Lucas nodded. "Maybe. Or… maybe it was just a message. One meant for someone really far away."

  Dalten exhaled sharply, groaning in frustration. Yet another mystery added to the pile.

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  But their situation remained the same and the silence quickly returned. But it didn’t last long.

  A shrill woman’s scream suddenly pierced through the crowd.

  Both Damian and Dalten snapped their heads toward the source, but they couldn’t see who had screamed. They did, however, see why.

  At the front entrance, still sealed by the General’s stone wall, something had pierced straight through its center.

  A blade.

  At first, it looked like a sword had somehow embedded itself into the thick rock. But as Damian focused, he realized—

  it wasn’t metal at all.

  It wasn’t anything at all.

  It was nearly translucent, only made visible by the shavings of stone that it created. It was a stream of air, so compressed and pressurized it was cutting through the thick rock wall like butter.

  Instantly, Dalten, General Dominique, Lucas, and every soldier and armed guard in the room drew their weapons toward the front. All slingers and sluggers were poised, barrels aimed directly at the entrance.

  The crowd recoiled, pushing deeper into the hall. Everyone watched in suspense as the blade slowly carved through the wall. It curved as it went, slowly tracing the outline of a perfect, fist-sized circle. Then it receeded.

  The stone circle slid forward, detaching in one clean, smooth motion—no rough edges, no crumbling debris—just a single rod of stone, cut as if by a master craftsman, as it clattered onto the ground.

  Yet another tense moment stretched on. Everyone waiting for what new horrible event might happen next.

  But what came next—

  was a voice.

  “Silver Fox.”

  But, it was far from normal. It was warped as if projected through a distorted speaker, it carried a cold, emotionless tone that made the skin crawl. And despite coming from the hole, the sound seemed to reverberate around the room. Echoing through the large, darkened foyer as if it was coming from everywhere at once.

  “You are still alive there, aren’t you?”

  Everyone looked to Dalten. He hesitated for a moment before shouting a reply back towards the front.

  “The Raven, I presume?”

  It responded back in kind, “You would presume correctly.”

  “Dalten’s expression hardened. "What is the point of this attack? What are you after here?"

  "Point? We are at war, are we not?" The response came effortlessly, the tone almost amused. "Last I checked, it was not uncommon for nations at war to attack each other whenever and wherever they pleased."

  "But why here? Why today? There are noncombatants here. Innocent people!"

  "Innocent?" Resentment oozed from every syllable. "That’s rich. Are you implying the people behind these walls are simply townsfolk? As if the elite of Solar would ever mingle with common folk? No. I know your kind. Content to sit behind walls and armies, living peaceful lives while others die in your stead. Innocence died long before this war started. You, of all people, should know that well."

  Dalten’s voice tightened. "If you intend on hurting these people—"

  "Don’t mistake me, General. Hurting them is not part of my objective today, whether they deserve it or not. In fact, I’ve already given the order to hold the assault—as a gesture of goodwill."

  Dalten’s eyes narrowed. "Why, then? What do you want?"

  The Raven’s tone shifted, the sharp disdain melting into something else—curiosity.

  "You, Silver Fox. I merely wish to talk to you," The Raven said plainly. "My demands are simple. Come out here. Alone. Do so, and your people will be spared."

  Dalten’s jaw tightened. "And if I refuse?"

  "Then we will come in and get you." The Raven’s voice sharpened into something colder, edged with menace. "And while I may have no intention of harming anyone, I cannot promise the same for my comrades. Many of the soldiers who volunteered for this mission did so because Solar had wronged them in some way or another. They likely, will not have as much restraint as I. But surely, a renowned hero such as yourself wouldn’t allow it to come to that."

  Dalten exhaled slowly. "And how can I trust you to keep your word?"

  "Trust? We have worked very hard to ensure that trust is not something you have the luxury of. We have already won this battle, General. This is very simple: come out, or we come in after you."

  Dalten let out a weary sigh.

  "Very well. I’ll come out."

  Damian instinctively moved to object, but Dalten stopped him with a firm hand.

  "But surely," Dalten continued, "you would allow a man a few last moments with his family and friends?"

  A short silence followed. Then the Raven answered.

  "Five minutes. No more. There will be no second warning. Be quick, Silver Fox."

  A gust of wind stirred on the other side of the wall, then nothing more.

  When he was sure the Raven had left Damian finally spoke up, “Dad, you can’t actually be thinking about going out there alone!”

  “Damian, it’s going to be okay. Please, let me handle this.”

  “No you can’t keep just saying it’s going to be okay. You have no idea if that thing is going to keep its word. It could just kill you and come after the rest of us. We still don’t even have a way out of here!”

  Then, as if on cue, the sudden sound of grinding sounded from deeper within, growing louder by the second.

  "What is it this time?!" General Dominique shouted in frustration

  Damian forgot his protests to his father and bolted toward the sound. Dalten moved to follow, but pain from the rod still embedded in his shoulder drove him back to his knees. Gritting his teeth, he could only watch as his son sprinted ahead.

  The guards were already closing in, sluggers drawn, eyes darting toward a spreading crack in the floor.

  "Wait! Don’t fire!" Damian shouted.

  He had no authority over them, but his voice was enough to make them hesitate, their fingers twitching over their triggers.

  The tiled floor near the back of the wall buckled and split, stone caving inward as a high-pitched drill burst from the ground and screeched to a halt. Damian skidded to a stop, peering into the hole with wide, expectant eyes.

  And what climbed out was the first bit of hope he had seen in what felt like forever.

  "I heard you guys needed a little help," said dirt-covered young officer, pulling himself up, grinning.

  "Dante!"

  Damian barely let him get to his feet before throwing his arms around him in a excited hug that squeezed the breath out of him, and nearly knocked the older boy o back into the hole.

  "I knew you’d make it!"

  Dante chuckled, patting the back of Damian’s head. "Of course I did, buddy. No need to worry. I wouldn’t leave you like this."

  "You came just in time, too. Dad was about to do something stupid."

  Dante’s grin faded as he got serious. "The General? Where is he?"

  "Over here," Damian said, already pulling him toward the main hall.

  People had begun gathering near the back, their gazes shifting between the hole and the front entrance, hope flickering across their anxious faces.

  Dalten was still kneeling, Lucas working furiously to remove the magic-dampening rod from his shoulder.

  Dante rushed forward, dropping to a knee beside him. "Dalten, sir! Are you okay?"

  Dalten let out a weary breath but smiled. "I’ll be fine. And I’m certainly feeling much better now that you made it, son. You did good." He gave Dante a firm, congratulatory pat on the shoulder.

  Dante straightened, cracking a proud but sheepish smile. "Well, I said I’d do it… so I did. I guess."

  "That you did, Captain," General Dominique's voice cut in as he strode up, surveying the situation. "Well, I’ll be. You’ve more than earned your wings for this one."

  Dante’s eyes widened. He froze, disbelief flickering in his expression. "My wings? Sir, are you actually saying—"

  Dominique cut him off with a smirk. "Don’t celebrate just yet, boy. You can’t be an Ace if we don’t make it out of here first. You got in—now lead us out."

  Dante snapped to attention, determination flooding back into his stance.

  "Right! I’ll go make sure the tunnel is clear enough to move the wounded and start to get everyone moving."

  He turned and sprinted back toward the tunnel with renewed purpose.

  Dominique turned to the crowd, his voice low but commanding.

  "Alright, listen up. We’re moving. Women and children first. Anyone who can walk is carrying someone who can’t." His eyes scanned the room, sharp as a blade. "And if I see a single one of you pushing, I’ll give you a slug myself!"

  The crowd snapped into action. Hope was no longer just an idea. It was here. And they had finally had a way out.

  “Ingrum, can you handle getting everyone out of here?” Dalten asked, his voice firm but weary.

  Before he could say another word, Damian cut in. "Dad, don’t tell me you—"

  "You still intend to go out there, don’t you?" Ingrum interrupted, his tone heavy with understanding.

  Dalten nodded. "There are too many people. We won’t have time to evacuate everyone if they force their way in. I need to buy us some time—I just need to keep it talking for a bit."

  Damian’s jaw tightened. "Dad, you can’t just go out there alone. You can’t even use your magic right now."

  "Well, I think I’ve got some good news for you then," Lucas chimed in from behind.

  With a metallic click, the barbs locking the magic-dampening rod in place receded into its shaft.

  "There. Finally got it," he said, letting out a breath. "Really need to get some smaller screwdrivers."

  General Dominique reacted instantly.

  "Elera, over here!"

  Elera’s head snapped up from where she still worked on Ignacio.

  "But, sir…!" she protested, torn between duties.

  "I know," Dominique said, his voice strained, his expression just as conflicted. "But we can’t help him if we all die before we can get him out. So hurry up and get our Fox back in fighting condition."

  "Y-yes, sir," she said, hesitant but obeying.

  She rushed over, gripping the rod embedded in Dalten’s shoulder.

  "Sorry about this, sir. This is going to hurt."

  In one swift movement, she ripped it free. Dalten let out a sharp, pained yelp, his body tensing as fire shot through his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to endure it.

  Elera was worked immedietly, her glowing tools moving swiftly over the wound.

  "This is my last good spell," she warned. "I can repair the muscle so you can move your arm, but it’s still going to be incredibly sore."

  "It’s fine. I’ve felt much worse."

  Damian watched, frustration mounting as his father continued preparing, completely ignoring his protests.

  "Dad, you can’t seriously be thinking about going out there. That thing took down Ignacio like it was nothing. At least don’t go alone! Take someone with you—Mage Soldiers are supposed to work together, aren’t they?"

  Dalten shook his head. "No. If they saw anyone else, that would only put more lives at risk. Don’t worry—if all goes well, there won’t be any fighting. We’re just going to talk."

  Damian clenched his fists. "You don’t honestly believe that, do you?" His voice was rising, anger creeping in. "There’s no way they’re just going to let you walk away."

  Dalten exhaled slowly, then gave his son a confident smile.

  "Even if that’s the case, I’ll still be okay." He reached out, ruffling Damian’s hair with his good arm. "Your dad’s gotten quite good at slipping out of tricky situations.”

  "I can’t just going to leave you here alone," Damian insisted, his stance firm, unwilling to back down.

  Dalten met his son’s gaze, realizing that a simple parental command wouldn’t be enough. Instead, his voice softened—warm, thoughtful.

  "Damian, look at these people. What do you see?" He gestured to the frightened crowd around them.

  Damian blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What!? I don’t know… Soldiers? Noncombatants? Innocents?"

  "No," Dalten said gently. "Take a second. Calm down. Really look at them. What do they look like to you?"

  Damian hesitated. His first instinct was to brush off whatever excuse his father was trying to make. But as his gaze swept over the room, really seeing them, his words faltered.

  "They look like, just, people… Who are—I don’t know… Tired? Hurt…? Afraid?"

  Dalten nodded. "And how does that make you feel?"

  Damian swallowed. "Frustrated. Like I want to do… something. Anything to make things right again."

  "Exactly," Dalten said, his voice steady. "That’s what makes someone a hero. Not magic. Not strength. Not even bravery. It’s the will to look at a bad situation and the determination to make it better. No magic is required for that."

  He placed a firm hand on Damian’s shoulder.

  "They need your help right now. And you can’t help anyone if you stay here with me."

  "Yeah, but Dad—" Damian hesitated, his expression tightening with emotion. He looked back at his father, searching his face.

  "I see the same thing when I look at you. And I want to save you too."

  Dalten eye widened, momentarily caught off guard. Then, his expression softened into something deeply warm, deeply loving.

  Without a word, he pulled Damian into a tight embrace.

  "And I love you for that," he murmured. "You’re a kind person, Damian. And I know—you’re going to do amazing things one day."

  He held him there for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet his son’s eyes.

  "But we both have our roles to play. I’m needed here. It’s the only way."

  His hands gripped Damian’s shoulders, steady but gentle.

  "So, you’re going to have to be a good soldier and follow orders for now, okay?"

  Damian didn’t argue this time. He knew at this point he couldn’t change his father’s mind. Just like he couldn’t change his own.

  "Sir, it’s done," Elera said as she finished her magic, wiping the sweat from her brow.

  "Thank you. You can go back to him now," Dalten replied, rolling his shoulder to test the movement in his arm.

  Elera gave a quick nod before hurrying back to Ignacio, where Vera still sat, holding his hand and watching over him with quiet, anxious vigilance.

  General Dominique stepped forward, holding out Dalten’s burgundy peaked cap.

  "This isn’t like anyone you’ve ever taken on before. Stay sharp out there."

  Dalten took them with a small smirk, setting the cap firmly onto his head.

  "Always."

  He checked his slingers, methodically inspecting both before sliding them back into their holsters. Then, with a steady breath, he straightened.

  "I’m ready. Open it."

  Dominique raised his slinger and fired.

  A crack echoed through the room as part of the stone barrier sunk into the ground revealing an open doorway.

  Dalten strode forward.

  "Dad!"

  Damian’s voice rang out behind him.

  "You promised you’d take me to the game tomorrow. So you better come back."

  Dalten stopped, turning back just enough to glance over his shoulder.

  He smiled.

  "See you soon, Damian."

  Then he stepped through the opening.

  Damian stared at the entrance, his fists clenched at his sides.

  A hand rested on his shoulder.

  "Don’t worry, boy," Dominique said, his voice steady, reassuring. "I haven’t met anyone who stands a chance when the Silver Fox has something he needs to protect."

  Damian said nothing, his gaze fixed on the entrance as he once again watched his father’s silhouette disappear beyond a closing door.