Over nine hundred years ago.
The Battle of Hiddle Plain.
This clash was etched into the Grand Duchy’s annals—a history of defeat and forced truce. Yet today, it is known to every soul across the Ayn Continent, from south to north.
Ether, hero of the Rockrat Clan and the Grand Duchy’s first Mediator, played an irreplaceable role. He orchestrated his own capture and burial alive, then, at the critical moment, rendezvoused with hidden troops. Launching a surprise assault from behind enemy lines, he destroyed the mage tower and turned the tide of war.
Aelia and Noah climbed the rope out of the pit, returning to the human camp—reduced to smoldering ash.
Mutilated corpses littered the ground: mostly humans, a few Rockrat Clan. Without exception, their blood still ran warm, crimson streams mingling, indistinguishable.
Noah scanned the camp. Dozens of Rockrat warriors moved with ruthless efficiency, hunting down soldiers feigning death or attempting escape.
War was undeniably cruel.
Many witnessing battle for the first time struggled to keep their sanity.
On the battlefield, life and death blurred. A friend joking one second could lose his head the next. This breath might be your last.
Flames and blood stained the earth. Ash and arrows crisscrossed the sky. Horns and hooves echoed on the wind—relentless, unceasing.
Strangely, Noah felt no ripple within.
He watched a Rockrat spear pierce a soldier’s skull, brains and blood splattering. No nausea. Only eerie normalcy.
Perhaps because this was illusion. Or because he now walked as Ether—the hero long hardened to the chaos of life and death.
“Lord Ether.”
Aelia wiped grime and blood from her face, revealing a youthful, delicate visage. She pointed toward a faint blue glow on the distant horizon. “The mage tower lies there. Shall we go now?”
Noah followed her gaze, estimating the distance. “How far?”
“Running? About half an hour,” Aelia replied.
Noah scanned again—no mounts in sight. He shook his head. “Before we move, we need help.”
“Help?” Aelia tilted her head, then her eyes lit up. “The elite soldiers you arranged?”
*Elite soldiers?* Noah pictured Anna and the others. *They’re not elites. They’re psychos.*
Still, The Spire’s trial proved highly adaptive. To Aelia, Noah *was* Ether. The guild members had seamlessly merged into the battlefield as [hidden elite soldiers].
“Yes,” Noah continued smoothly. “The Grand Duchy isn’t foolish. They guard the mage tower fiercely. Obstacles await us.”
“I trust your judgment,” Aelia nodded earnestly. “But how do we find them? Where are they?”
A valid question.
Hiddle Plain stretched vast—an ideal battlefield. Regrouping after scattering would be near impossible.
Thus, before entering The Spire’s fifth trial, Noah had made prudent arrangements.
“We wait,” he answered simply.
“Wait for what?”
“The light.”
A blinding white flash erupted across the plain.
Like a newborn sun igniting without warning at the center, pure holy radiance flooded a kilometer-wide zone. Soldiers froze, staring helplessly at the swelling “sun.”
Beneath the ashen sky, the light became an instant focal point. Fervent believers dropped to their knees, mistaking it for a miracle of Kale the God of Holy Light, praying aloud toward the blaze.
Aelia flinched at the searing brilliance—then realization struck. *This was the [light].*
Her voice trembled with awe. “You enlisted a cleric… no—a high cleric?”
“No,” Noah corrected gently. “A nun.”
Aelia blinked, turning to him. “The Rockrat Clan holds no faith in the Holy Order. So… human allies?”
“Yes.” Noah met her gaze, voice low. “Like you. They chose to stand against humanity in this war.”
Aelia’s expression tightened, recalling the whispers branding her traitor.
She was human—meant to serve the Grand Duchy of Alvia. Yet she followed her heart, aiding the Rockrat Clan, becoming Ether’s adjutant.
“All this… is for peace,” she said firmly.
“I know.” Noah looked toward the blazing “sun.” “Let’s go. Fetch our [elite soldiers].”
...
...
The great sun descended. Holy light detonated with a deafening roar.
Sacred energy knocked unconscious every living being within a kilometer.
Rockrats—neither human nor monster—resisted the light’s harm through will alone, stunned but unbroken.
As the radiance faded, Pascal tiptoed past slumbering soldiers, checking pulses. Afraid to break minds. Afraid they’d wake and strike.
She was illiterate. Couldn’t cast even *Light*. If attacked, only her body would shield her.
Thankfully, her explosion left none standing within range.
Beyond it? A different story.
Rockrat archers, believing holy aid had arrived, nocked arrows in formation. Torches flared. A storm of fire-arrows arced skyward, raining death upon the light’s source.
Pascal paled, fingers flying toward the Divine Relic on her chest—
Then, snow-white feathers swirled before her.
An Avianwing girl sprinted in, scooped Pascal up, hoisted her onto a shoulder. Wings flared along arms, thighs, back. Low and swift, she wove through the arrow storm—fluid as wind, sharp as lightning. In ten seconds, they cleared the kill zone.
“Shirley!” Pascal gasped, joy breaking through shock. “You saw my light?”
Shirley set her down, rubbing her eyes hard. “Shirley almost got blinded…” Her voice held a trace of aggrievement.
Pascal smiled sheepishly, ruffling Shirley’s hair. “Thank you.”
Flustered, Shirley scratched her cheek. “Um… Pascal? Have you seen the Guild Master?”
“No,” Pascal shook her head. “We split at the start. But I followed his order—I released the light. He’ll come.”
Her eyes widened. “Anna isn’t with you?”
Shirley pointed skyward. “She was. Then… an accident. She’s up there now.”
“The… sky?”
Pascal turned.
A griffin soared—massive, majestic. Its mane whipped in the gale; sun-bright feathers densely layered. Broad wings tore the air with each beat, roaring wind in their wake. Falcon-like head, crimson eyes gleaming with predator’s chill. Blood-streaked beak clamped tight.
Clutched within it: a corpse.
Anna.
Snatched the moment she arrived.
