The sirens had stopped screaming.
That was how Nick knew the line had broken.
He was halfway up the shattered remains of Solmire’s statue when the silence hit. His boots scraped over fractured marble, fingers hooking into cracks where the sun god’s jaw used to be. The statue’s face had been blasted clean off three months ago, and no one had bothered to repair it.
They would have, purely out of respect for his sacrifice, but their enemies would just knock it down again.
Nick hauled himself onto the shoulder and scanned west.
Smoke rolled over the river in thick, oily sheets. Beyond it, the skyline shimmered faintly violet where Ascendent territory pressed forward like a bruise spreading under skin. The air there always looked wrong, as if reality had been stretched and not allowed to snap back.
He flexed his fingers once and let his mana move.
It surged too quickly.
He forced it down, compressing it.
Heat tore through his channels. His vision sharpened at the edges, color deepening into something almost metallic. The pressure made his teeth ache.
It was a nameless technique.
An unrefined shortcut that destroyed its user from the inside.
But Nick had never had the luxury of refinement.
There was movement below.
A squad of Ascendent-aligned infantry spilled through the broken barricades at the edge of the plaza, boots splashing through pooled rain and blood. Their formation was too precise. Their eyes glowed faintly with that borrowed violet sheen.
Converted.
Still human, but too far gone to be saved.
Nick dropped from the statue. The impact cracked stone beneath his boots and ruptured outward, a shockwave snapping through the first rifleman’s stance and folding him sideways. Nick closed the distance before the man could recover, blade flashing one in a tight arc.
The second soldier tried to adjust to the sudden gap in their formation.
Nick pivoted, his mana core screaming as he forced another burst. The world narrowed into moments, isolating the half-second delay before a trigger pull.
He dumped the compression into his legs, and the ground disappeared beneath him. He spun through the formation, his blade carving a red arc across their exposed throats.
Steel met flesh in a blur of motion. The last rifle slipped from nerveless fingers and struck the marble with a hollow clatter. Nick landed in a skid, one hand brushing the ground to steady himself. The compressed mana flow inside him throbbed angrily, heat spreading through his ribs and up into his throat.
He swallowed it back down.
Smoke drifted low across the plaza, obscuring the far barricade. Something moved through it slowly, with a measured, deliberate pace.
Nick straightened as the man stepped into view.
He wore no armor, only a long coat that moved lazily around his legs as if the air itself parted to make space for him. The faint violet shimmer clinging to his outline bent the light around him in subtle distortions, like heat rising off asphalt in summer.
Nick felt the pressure immediately.
This wasn’t a projection.
The man’s gaze settled on the bodies at Nick’s feet and then lifted to meet his eyes.
“You cut quickly,” the man said. His tone held no strain despite the distance between them. “You should have been taught properly.”
Nick adjusted his grip, ignoring the way his fingers trembled.
“I do just fine on my own.”
He stepped forward, intending to strike before the man could react.
The world tightened around him again. His heel struck stone and shattered it as he lunged. The distance between them collapsed.
His blade drove for the throat.
The man shifted just enough for the strike to miss. A hand caught Nick’s wrist mid-arc. Stone rushed up to meet him.
His shoulder struck first, then his back. Air burst from his lungs as cracks raced outward beneath him.
He rolled instinctively, but something pressed down from above, holding him in place. The pressure didn’t feel heavy so much as precise—each of his limbs were pinned at angles that denied leverage. His mana slipped against the distortion surrounding the man, refusing to anchor properly.
Nick tried to compress his mana further.
The surge scraped through him like broken glass.
The man crouched slightly, studying him with calm interest.
“You could have been powerful,” he said. “Instead, you burn your life. And for what?”
Nick clenched his teeth and shoved upward with everything he had left.
His vision dimmed at the edges. His core spasmed violently, buckling under the intense pressure.
“For weak gods who hold you back?”
The man’s hand hovered over his chest, two fingers extended.
Before they touched, the air shifted.
The pressure on Nick’s limbs fractured, as if invisible lines had been redrawn. The distortion around the lieutenant faltered.
Nick rolled free and came up on one knee, his blade raised.
A man now stood between them.
Nick recognized him before his mind finished processing the silhouette.
Shinhwa stepped forward from the haze like he had been walking there the entire time. The golden flare in the western sky aligned, narrowing into a steadier shape that seemed to settle behind him.
The lieutenant straightened.
The violet shimmer around him flickered once, then stabilized.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Smoke drifted through the plaza and split around the space between them. The stone beneath Shinhwa’s boots remained intact despite the fractures spiderwebbing everywhere else.
Nick pushed himself fully upright.
His ribs protested sharply, but he ignored them.
“I had him,” he said, more sharply than he intended.
The lieutenant’s eyes flicked toward him, faint amusement touching the corners.
“You were seconds from internal collapse.”
“That’s still seconds. Enough time for a reversal.”
Shinhwa watched the lieutenant without blinking.
“Leave,” he said.
The lieutenant’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His gaze moved briefly toward the golden standard burning faintly behind Shinhwa, then back again.
“You delay the inevitable,” he said.
“Perhaps,” Shinhwa replied.
The distortion around the lieutenant thinned gradually, as if withdrawing into itself. The air rippled once, then smoothed.
He was gone.
Nick lowered his blade slowly.
Only then did he realize how uneven his breathing had become.
Boots crushed across broken glass to his right.
Seren Richter stopped a few paces away, her gaze sliding over him, landing on his trembling shoulders, his bloody hands, and the faint twitch beneath his left eye. The script etched into the leather of her gloves glowed faintly.
“You’re insane,” she observed. “What kind of madman would compress their mana like that? Are you trying to kill yourself?”
Nick wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Are you asking because you really don’t understand?”
She looked at the cracked marble behind him.
Torvald approached next. The man’s presence filled the space behind Shinhwa like a second wall. His eyes lingered on the impact mark where Nick had been pinned.
“She does understand, but it’s still wrong. The fact that you’ve come this far with such a shitty technique means you could have been a great warrior.”
“Could have been?” Nick protested. “Do you have eyes, big guy? I held the line here by myself. I killed over two hundred of them before that lieutenant showed up.”
Aurelia Marr came last, the light fading from her hands as she walked. Her gaze settled briefly on the thin line of blood seeping through Nick’s torn sleeve.
“You’re half dead,” she observed. “They barely scratched you. Most of that was done to yourself.”
Nick straightened his shoulders.
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“That wasn’t a compliment, you dunce!”
Shinhwa finally turned.
Up close, his face showed none of the spectacle that surrounded his reputation. He looked like a man who had not slept enough and did not expect to.
“You injured him,” he said.
Nick met his eyes.
“I would have killed him.”
Shinhwa studied him for a long moment, taking in the tremor that Nick was barely suppressing, the way he stood a fraction off-balance but refused to adjust his stance.
“You have guts.”
He gave a small nod to himself, as if confirming something.
“Come with us.”
“…What?”
Nick blinked in shock, momentarily forgetting that his body was collapsing. He fell to his knees and barely caught himself with an elbow.
“You’re serious?” Seren protested. “His mana control is impressive, but he’s already got a foot in the grave. He’ll get us killed trying to keep him alive!”
“Aurelia can handle it,” Shinhwa replied.
“Like hell I can,” Aurelia complained. “I’m already busy keeping that meathead Torvald alive.”
“He has the spirit of a great warrior,” Torvald rumbled. “But he is not great yet. And he will not survive to become great.”
“He will,” Shinhwa insisted. “I can’t explain it, but there’s something about him. He fights like he expects to die, but with Aurelia’s divine magic, he’ll live long enough to be great. With Seren helping him, he’ll finally start walking the correct path. With Torvald protecting him, he can rampage as much as he wants.”
Nick struggled to push himself up enough to see their faces.
“Do I get a say in this?” he grumbled.
“Shut up,” Seren replied. “Just go to sleep and let Aurelia heal you.”
“I can’t sleep on the battlefield.”
“You already proved your point. Stop trying to die standing up.”
Nick tried to retort.
It came out as a cough.
The plaza tilted slightly. He blinked hard, trying to anchor himself to something that wasn’t shifting. His legs buckled again, and this time he didn’t bother pretending it was intentional.
Aurelia caught him before he hit the ground.
Warmth spread through his side where her hand pressed against his ribs. Steady heat seeped into his muscles and bones and began stitching what he had shredded.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“That hurts,” he muttered.
“You’re the one who broke it,” she replied.
Torvald turned his attention back toward the barricade, scanning the horizon in case the lieutenant reconsidered his retreat. Seren crouched on Nick’s other side, fingers hovering inches from his sternum. Faint script flickered across her gloves, adjusting to the residual instability still clinging to him.
“Your pathways are warped,” she said quietly. “They’re not torn or broken, they’re fucking warped. What the hell did you do to them?”
“They feel torn,” Nick muttered.
“That’s because you don’t know the difference.”
He would have rolled his eyes if that didn’t require movement.
Shinhwa stood a few paces away, facing west.
The golden standard above the skyline had dimmed to a steady glow, less a flare and more a promise that had not yet expired. The violet shimmer beyond the river remained, patient and distant.
After a few moments, Shinhwa spoke without turning.
“How long have you been using that technique?”
Nick coughed.
“Since I was fifteen.”
Aurelia’s hand stilled for half a heartbeat.
Seren’s gaze sharpened.
Torvald looked over his shoulder.
Shinhwa turned to stare at him.
“And no one corrected you?”
Nick let out a weak laugh.
“Corrected me with what? I didn’t exactly grow up in a cathedral, nor was I welcomed into a magic tower.”
The warmth at his ribs intensified briefly, knitting fractured bone. He winced but didn’t complain.
“I learned what I could,” he continued. “And it’s been enough. You must’ve heard of me. I’m not as famous as you, but I’ve made a name for myself.”
“We’ve heard of you,” Shinhwa affirmed. “Nicholas Draegan. You aren’t famous enough to have a title yet, but people are paying attention to you.”
Nick shifted slightly despite Aurelia’s irritated grumbles. “If you let me kill that lieutenant, then maybe I would’ve gotten my title.”
“Or you’d be dead,” Seren said.
Torvald walked back over and looked down at him.
“Were you a worshiper of the Sun?”
Nick paused. “Why do you ask?”
“You fight like there is no tomorrow. Only those who despair at the future should fight in such a way. If you die today, who will fight tomorrow?”
Nick shrugged. “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
Aurelia finished healing the worst of the internal damage and leaned back on her heels. The light around her hands faded completely now, leaving only a lingering warmth in the air.
“You’re stabilized,” she said. “Not fixed. If you compress like that again before you’re fully recovered, I’ll crack your skull open while Seren lectures you.”
“Hey!” Seren protested. “If you keep doing that, none of my lectures will stick!”
“They deserve it,” Aurelia replied.
“That’s true, but…”
Nick pushed himself to sit fully upright. His vision no longer tunneled, though everything still felt slightly distant, like sound underwater.
Around them, soldiers were reclaiming the plaza. Technicians reassembled barricades with practiced, almost robotic efficiency. The fallen statue of Solmire loomed overhead.
Nick followed Shinhwa’s gaze west again.
“Why me?” he asked.
Shinhwa looked at him as if the question had already been answered.
“You advanced,” he said.
Nick frowned.
“I was fighting.”
“You advanced.”
Nick replayed the moment in his mind—the lieutenant stepping forward, the pressure, the hand above his chest.
He had stepped forward anyway.
Shinhwa continued.
“You didn’t retreat when you lost leverage. You didn’t hesitate when you were outmatched.”
Nick looked away first.
“That’s not courage,” he said. “If I fall back, they push. If they push, civilians die.”
Shinhwa nodded.
“That’s the correct answer.”
Seren stood, brushing dust from her knees.
“He still needs reconstruction,” she said. “If he’s coming with us, I’ll have to study whatever the hell he did to himself so I can help him unlearn it.”
Nick glanced up at her.
“Why bother? Shouldn’t you just let me fight in my own way?”
She turned her head away.
“I just don’t want you to die, you idiot.”
Nick blinked in shock.
Torvald extended a hand.
Nick stared at it for a second before taking it. The larger man pulled him to his feet with careful restraint, as if testing whether he would collapse again.
His legs wobbled once, then steadied.
Shinhwa turned toward the western street.
“We move,” he said.
There was no fanfare or formal induction.
They simply began walking.
Nick hesitated for half a breath, then followed.
The plaza seemed smaller from ground level now. The broken statue cast a long shadow across the marble. Soldiers glanced toward the five of them as they passed, openly staring in awe.
Nick felt it.
The shift.
He wasn’t just a mercenary standing on a cracked god anymore.
He was walking beside the people whose names were spoken in war rooms and whispered in shelters.
Half a pace behind the Hero.
Close enough to hear his breathing.
The city opened up ahead of them—streets choked with debris, smoke curling between skeletal buildings, the distant river glinting under a sky that could not decide what color it wanted to be.
Nick flexed his fingers once.
His mana moved sluggishly, protesting the abuse he’d put his pathways through over the years.
Seren walked on his left. Torvald’s heavy steps fell evenly to his right. Aurelia hummed something under her breath that might have been a hymn once.
Shinhwa did not look back to check if any of them were still following.
He didn’t need to.
Seren, Torvald, and Aurelia followed.
Nick kept pace.
He matched the Hero’s stride.
For the first time, the distance felt small enough to close.
Project Knightfall 