The reverberation of the clash between Excalibur Astra and the Scythe of Night still lingered in the air, even after the two foremost knights were thrown away. The main field, once filled with cries and commands of war, had now turned into a field of silence. Where the void swept across, the Britanian soldiers found only faint shadows of those who had once stood there—names lost to the winds, their bodies leaving no trace except for empty armor and swords plunged into the earth.

  Several young magi crouched, their hands trembling as tears streamed down their cheeks. "Can we really not summon them back?" cried a young man with short hair and eyes full of hope. "That signal should have been enough. So much blood has been spilled; we cannot give up!"

  Another young mage, his face pale and voice trembling, replied, "But how can we fight against this darkness? The entire Legion has vanished!"

  Neris, wearing a spiraling hat, raised her voice, "No! Roel will come back—he can't leave us alone! He promised, he always promised!" Her eyes remained fixed on the empty space beside her, as if waiting for the lost figure to reappear.

  "He was just here! He just spoke to me—Roel! Roel! Don’t go! Don’t leave me here!" Neris shouted hysterically, deepening the sorrow of her friends.

  A figure emerged from the crowd, a weary senior magus with a face covered in ash, approaching Neris in an attempt to comfort her. "Neris, we must accept our fate. Sometimes, magic cannot restrain the destiny you forge for yourself." The deep voice of the leader was thick with sorrow as his gaze dropped to the ground. "Who will remember this sacrifice?"

  His voice faded as another comrade exclaimed, "Their names will vanish like smoke. We… we cannot even carve them into a gravestone." He wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand, feeling despair seep in. "Only candles and ink remain from our journey." His eyes stared into the dim stars, as if he sensed someone watching from afar.

  On the field's edge, the surviving soldiers clung to each other in panic, some staring blankly at the ground while others began to whisper—afraid that their own voices would be erased by the night. "I’m scared, Fariel… if I die tomorrow, will you still remember me?"

  The soldier named Fariel stiffened, eyeing his friend with concern. "Of course! Our names will be remembered as long as there’s a flame, we are a fortress that will not crumble!”

  “But… I’m not sure I can endure. This flow of magic is becoming overwhelming!” His friend replied, voice trembling. "Every spell I cast seems to slip into the darkness instead. Perhaps this was all fated to happen.”

  Fariel raised an eyebrow, desperately trying to believe her own words. "No, we can summon the Wave of Light again! It only takes one precise call!”

  “Perhaps, but that call might lead us straight to destruction…” her companion replied in a tone of despair, as they stood atop the chilling silence.

  On the field, surviving soldiers embraced each other in panic. Some wore vacant stares, their eyes seemingly trapped by the darkness. “Will we hold out until morning, Fariel?” a young warrior’s voice broke through, trembling as he grasped his friend’s arm.

  “You must not think that way! We have to believe,” Fariel retorted, exhaling deeply. “If we give in, the night will swallow everything. Remember what Jabir said—the key to victory lies in our hearts.”

  Yet, the soldier's eyes remained steeped in fear. “But what if we die? Don’t leave me alone, Fariel. Will you remember me?”

  “I promise,” said the small-bodied warrior, swallowing hard as he fought back tears. “In every page of my war journal, your name will be inscribed, Rian. Beneath the dimming stars, I will write our tale, until this world sees the dawn once more.”

  The effects of the void's devastation were palpably real. The air in the field was thick with a sinister aura—vibrating as if it fought against the erasure of memory. “Stay away from this place! The risk is too great!” shouted one of the fighters as a medic wizard was forced to bind the hands of a victim to an emergency cot, their face pale.

  “What is happening to me?” the victim gasped, their eyes brimming with tears. “I... who am I? Why is everything dark?” Their voice trembled in panic, nearly inaudible. The medic wizard struggled, channeling healing magic, attempting to mend the deep wounds inflicted. “Calm yourself. This is only temporary. Everything will be alright.”

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  “For a moment, I felt as if I was being ripped from myself. It feels like being trapped in a pitch-black void,” they murmured, drawing uneven breaths. “Don't we have the power to fight this?”

  “Strength comes from within us—where the light endures. But we must fight, remain strong,” the wizard replied firmly, even as fear pressed against their chest. “Hold on to your memories.”

  Arthuria stood, trembling, eyes wet as she faced the battlefield now marred by cracks of the void. “Will this all come to an end?” she asked herself, gazing toward the lost troops. “If they falter, it will all be for nothing.”

  “Stand firm, Arthuria. We need you. You are our only hope!” shouted one of the soldiers, but in truth, that hope felt increasingly dim.

  “When everything seems dark, even hope is threatened to fade…” his voice trembled. “Why must we fight against something we cannot even see?”

  Malik Zalam al-Layl, stumbling, gazed at Arthuria from behind a swirl of shadows, his voice heavy as he spoke, “Look at what you defend, Arthuria. See how they are more broken than ever, far more wretched beneath the blazing night sky. Is your light still strong enough to fend off this darkness?”

  Arthuria surveyed the chaotic battlefield, her eyes scrutinizing Malik, her voice quivering yet resolute. “As long as one name endures, your night shall never be complete. You may erase his physical trace, seize his body, but remember, a sincere will shall never extinguish. I will remain his witness, until the very end.”

  Malik offered a faint smile, black blood still trickling from the corner of his lips, “You speak of hope, but just look at this. How easily that light turns to ash, how swiftly a name becomes silent in submission. How can you ignore this reality?”

  “For every hope must be forged through sorrow,” Arthuria replied, striving to straighten her weary back. “And look at yourself—wounded on a night you deemed eternal. The cracks in your void reveal that even the night has its limits.”

  Between them, a brief dialogue lifted like a whisper unheard amid the clamor of war—a young knight with a sword in hand, staring blankly. His body trembled as he spoke, “I never got to tell her… about my love. Now, even her name has faded from my tongue. What must I do to redeem this shattered world, Lady Arthuria?”

  Slowly, Arthuria bowed her head, kneeling before the knight, her eyes soft yet filled with resolve. “Give her a new name in your prayers. As long as someone remembers, she has not completely vanished. I will speak her name when the array of dawn ignites tomorrow morning, as long as someone is ready to remember.”

  The knight's heart quivered at her words, as if a new hope was born amid the ruins. “But what if it’s all in vain? What if hope crumbles like this night? This war consumes everything, even the innocent souls.”

  “War is indeed cruel,” Arthuria nodded, “but remember, every time we fall, we have the choice to rise again. The night may be long, yet dawn always comes, and we shall greet it.”

  Meanwhile, the healing sorcerers worked in silence, striving to bind the physical wounds and the unseen curses that plagued their victims. Each time they encountered a victim who had lost their name, they inscribed a spiral symbol upon their forehead—a centuries-old British tradition to grant the lost soul a "hold" for crossing into another realm. "It’s painful to see them like this," said one of the sorcerers, his voice trembling as he swept his fingertip across the brow of a fallen soldier. "How can there be hope in this darkness?"

  Another sorcerer, with sharp eyes and a stern demeanor, replied, "Hope is not for us, but for those who still possess their names. Every name we remember is a light in the shadows." He paused his movements for a moment, gazing far into the distance as if challenging the very darkness itself.

  “We must not falter,” he urged, “Every symbol we draw on their foreheads is a bond. A reminder that they once lived.”

  The night crept slowly beneath an almost extinguished prism. "Take this lantern, Roderick," called a young soldier, raising his small light. "Every flame carries hope. If we stop now, all of this will be for nothing." One by one, the troops lit their tiny lamps, inscribing the names they could still remember onto parchment, onto armor, or merely into the muddy ground. Amidst this, Arthuria sat alone, Excalibur Astra resting in her lap, gazing toward the horizon where night and dawn still vied for position. "I have to do this… they must remember," she whispered to her blade, as if in hope that it might respond. "But how many names are lost now?"

  A soft voice infiltrated her reverie. "Arthuria, this is not the time for doubt. Every forgotten name is a wrong that must be righted. You know what you must do," the voice—filled with conviction—came from her companion standing beside her, eyes fixed on the darkened sky with resolve. "If we allow ourselves to feel this sorrow, we will be shattered along with it."

  Her inner voice was faint yet determined: If I still have one name, one light, one will—I will stand firm, even beneath a starless sky.

  "Fight for our name! Do not let them be forgotten!" Roderick shouted with fervor, his voice echoing through the shadows of the night. He challenged the wind, vowing that he would not yield.

  Malik, before vanishing into the mist of the void, turned once, his voice barely a whisper against the breeze. "Not all light must perish. Sometimes, it merely changes its place, biding its time to be reborn." He raised his hand, directing the magical energy toward the seemingly empty space. "Keep their memory alive, for every soul that departs leaves a mark—and that mark can serve as a map to what is lost." His words, nearly a sigh among the leaves, flowed towards Arthuria. "Embark on this journey and remember, they are not lost forever."