“What is this?” Albert stared at the hulking machine, gloom hanging on him like wet iron.
“My lord, Ascaraun had us bring a signal tower,” the hooded men said, voices muffled like ravens under night cloth.
“He had you bring this for what? It’s a sitting target.” He sighed, breath thin as mist. “In a place packed with Sacred Rank auras, who wouldn’t feel this tower bleeding energy like a lighthouse in fog?”
He didn’t know what Ascaraun was thinking; the leash felt tight, and their work had to stay in shadow like alleys at dusk.
“Use the communicator again? Not happening,” he muttered, the thought sour as old rain.
“My lord, even if you ask us, we can’t say,” the man shrugged, loose as reeds in wind.
Albert scratched his head and chewed on it for a while, thoughts circling like crows. He couldn’t guess Ascaraun’s plan, so he waved a hand. “Forget it. He always has a reason. Did he say where to place it?”
Outside the Elven City, they found a solid foothold like a rock shelf under green seas. The New Era Sect was ready to step in, quiet as roots.
At the same time, Albert sent a rescue request to the New Era Sect base where Ascaraun waited, a flare through dark water.
Ascaraun answered with a handful of men, trundling in with this iron thing like a beetle under armor.
After a long, cool silence, Albert walked to the armory, the air metallic and still as a pond.
He donned the white church robe and cloak that marked his special standing in the New Era Sect, white like frost at dawn.
He pulled up the hood and hid his face behind a black mask bearing the sect’s sigil, a midnight moon with a seal.
He turned, eyes sweeping the crowd in black, a flock of crows under a storm.
“Everyone, the plan starts now. Gear up!” His left fist clenched and punched toward the sky like a torch. “Let them see what a century-hidden order can unleash.”
The followers bowed low, dropped to one knee, held for three breaths, then scattered like ripples.
Seven remained. They sauntered to Albert’s side like quiet stones. “My lord, Ascaraun sent us to guard the signal tower.”
“Mm. Do your duty.” Albert fitted white gloves, bone-pale in his hands, and narrowed his eyes like a blade. Then he ran, his cloak cutting through shade like a swift.
The seven watched him go, nodded once, and spoke. “The path’s clear. Our turn,” their voices steady as granite.
They took positions at the tower’s seven corners, fingers sketching runes nonstop, strokes flowing like winter streams.
A palm-sized, pale-blue magic array bloomed above each head, halos cool as ice moons.
They sat cross-legged, raised their right hands, and fired pale-blue energy, streams threading the tower like silk rain.
Once the tower was coated, the seven lifted their heads, faces calm as still water.
Moments later, the colossal thing vanished from the site, melting like mist at sunrise.
Not far away, the Elven City spread under emerald canopies, a city like a jade crown.
“So I’m saying your defenses are a joke,” Eli laughed, body arcing from one crown of leaves to another like a swallow.
“You think a no-fly orb makes you hot stuff?” He slipped past an energy bolt, a comet whisking by. “You rely on that toy too much. See? I run. You fly. You still can’t catch me.”
“Once I catch you, I’ll flay your hide!” Yor shoved aside a guard, fury burning like green fire.
His pale-green wings got wrapped in spell script, glyphs crawling like ivy over willow leaves.
“Bastard! Die!”
Eli squinted, then nodded, knowing settling like dust. “Oh! That’s just Swiftstride. Why stack all those random runes? It’s not faster than Swiftstride anyway.”
As he thought, a longsword bloomed from thin air like a silver thorn and speared his chest.
Eli frowned. He caught the blade tip in one hand, palm clamping shut like an iron gate.
He looked down at the sword, surprise flaring like a struck match. “This?”
Ahead, a mirror line of pursuing elves appeared, equal to those behind, a hall of reflections in green glass.
“Hm?” He blinked and flicked his blade, a dragonfly-touch deflecting a spear.
His back still got punched by that spear, pain opening a red flower.
“Huh?” He scowled, impatience snapping like thunder, and slapped the spear-wielder flying like a broken leaf.
He eyed the pursuers on both sides, thoughts sinking like a stone, then closed his eyes, breath calm as night water.
Both sides rushed in, weapons stabbing from every angle, steel rain hissing through leaves.
Eli opened his eyes. A blue rune sat in each, twin ice lanterns glowing.
He touched the blade and gave it a gentle flick, a silent string snapping.
A shockwave rippled out, drumbeats in air, and every elf dropped from the sky like autumn leaves.
Eli smiled, ease warming like tea. “Oh—so that’s what it is.”
