Erin ran through the frozen streets, his breath sharp and uneven in the cold air. The compass in his grip trembled, its needle still pulling him forward. His mind raced, but no matter how many ways he tried to piece it together, he couldn't explain why this was happening—why he was running toward something he couldn't even define.
He just knew.
He turned a corner and collided hard into something solid.
"Shit—!"
The impact sent him stumbling back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. A firm hand shot out and grabbed his collar before he hit the ground.
"The hell?" Fenrick's voice was rough, irritated, and exhausted all at once. He let go of Erin, shaking his head. "You trying to get yourself killed, Scrap?"
Erin steadied himself, his pulse still racing from the sprint. His gaze flickered between Fenrick, Cidrin, and Ariya—all of them looking worse for wear.
Fenrick caught himself against a nearby wall. His face was streaked with blood, his breathing labored. One of his sleeves was torn, exposing a deep gash along his arm. Cidrin's usually sharp posture was slumped, his gauntlets dented and barely functional. Ariya had a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Her eyes, though tired, flickered with immediate confusion when she saw Erin.
"What the hell happened to you guys?" Erin asked, his voice sharp with concern.
Cidrin exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "The plan didn't go exactly as expected."
Fenrick scoffed. "Understatement of the year."
Cidrin shot him a look before turning back to Erin. "The Tidewarden showed up at the worst possible time. She had to have known something was up before we even got into position. It's too much of a coincidence."
Ariya cut in, her voice tired. "You still haven't answered our question—what the hell are you doing here?"
Erin hesitated. He glanced down at the compass, its needle still unwavering.
"I was on the ship," he started slowly. "I was just waiting. Like I was supposed to."
Fenrick gave a slow clap. "Gold star for following orders."
Erin ignored him. "Then my compass—just started working." He held it up, as if that explained anything.
Cidrin squinted at it. Then at Erin. Then back at the compass. "Are you serious?"
Erin's grip on the compass tightened. "I don't even remember being given this," he admitted. "I don't remember my father's face. I don't know what he looked like, what his voice sounded like." His voice lowered slightly, but it held a weight to it. "But I know he gave this to me."
Silence followed before he continued.
"And since that day? It's never moved. Never done anything." He let out a short breath, his thoughts racing. "It was useless. Just a stupid, broken thing. But it was mine, and I kept it." He looked up, his expression unreadable. "And then tonight, for no reason at all, it moved. It pointed—directly at the city. It's never done that before. Ever."
Ariya crossed her arms, skeptical. "And?"
"And then I started thinking." Erin shifted his weight. "No signals from Rahl. No clear signs the plan was going well. And on top of that? The temperature dropped. It just all felt wrong. So I left the ship to come find out"
Fenrick laughed, shaking his head. "Right, so let's say you were right. Let's say we were fighting for our lives against someone we couldn't handle." He took a step forward, looking Erin dead in the eyes. "What the hell were you gonna do about it?"
Erin clenched his jaw. The words hit deeper than he expected. "I didn't know. I still don't."
Ariya let out a breath, running a hand through her hair. "It doesn't matter now. You're here, we're alive, and we need to get back to the ship before something else goes wrong."
Erin glanced at his compass again. The needle wasn't pointing in their direction anymore. It had shifted. Pointing in a different direction. Still pulling him toward something else.
"Where's Narza?" he asked.
Fenrick blinked. "She grabbed Kline when everything went to hell and took him to the point."
Erin looked at them. "And Rahl?"
Ariya shook her head. "Haven't heard from him."
The cold feeling in Erin's gut twisted into something worse.
"What if they're in danger?" he muttered.
Fenrick groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Scrap. Are you really doing this?"
"I am."
Cidrin let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You really think that thing"—he pointed at the compass—"is telling you someone's in danger?"
Erin looked down at it. "I don't know."
"Yeah, no shit."
Ariya shook her head. "Erin, I get that you're worried, but a broken compass doesn't mean Narza's in trouble. We've got to get back before we—"
Erin snapped his head up. "I know it sounds crazy, but I just—" He exhaled sharply, trying to piece it together, trying to make it make sense. "I just know, okay? I feel it."
His grip on the compass tightened. "I don't have the right words to explain it, I don't have proof, I don't have logic, I just—" His voice shook, frustration curling at the edges. "I just know Narza's in trouble."
He looked up at them, jaw tight. "And if I'm wrong, then fine. I'll be an idiot. I'll take the blame for dragging you all through the city for nothing." He took a step forward. "But if I'm right, and something happens to her, and we did nothing—"
His throat tightened. "You'll all regret it. Just like I would."
Fenrick rolled his eyes. "You're wasting your time, Scrap. We barely made it out of that fight alive, and now you wanna run headfirst into another one?" He gestured to Cidrin, who looked just as exhausted. "We're going back to the ship."
Erin's hands curled into fists. "Then go."
They all looked at him.
Erin's voice steadied. "Go back to the ship if that's what you want. I'm not stopping you." He turned, walking toward the direction his compass pointed. "But I'm going to find her."
Ariya's brow furrowed. "Alone?"
"If I have to."
Cidrin let out a short breath. "You're a dumbass."
Ariya hesitated. She looked at Fenrick, then back at Erin. The way he stood—tense, unwavering, determined—it wasn't out of stubbornness. It was because he meant it. And she knew, deep down, she'd hate herself if they let him go alone. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. She stared at him, reading the desperation behind his words. She thought about Narza—silent, sharp, unreadable Narza. Someone who would never ask for help, even if she needed it. Someone who was their crew. Their family.
"…Damn it," she muttered. "We're not letting you go alone."
Fenrick groaned. "Ariya—"
"I don't like this either," she admitted, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "But if something happened and we did nothing, I wouldn't be able to live with it."
Cidrin exhaled sharply. "Then let's not waste time."
And this time, they followed.
The rooftops of Slum City stretched endlessly beneath the frozen night, their jagged edges blanketed in a thin layer of ice. Narza and Darial Kline took refuge in a small, abandoned structure on the rooftop, its wooden beams weathered and splintered from years of neglect. The air inside was heavy, thick with dust and the faint stench of rot.
Kline paced restlessly, rubbing his arms against the biting cold. His breath came out in uneven puffs, but his frustration outweighed his discomfort. He wasn't used to running for his life—at least, not like this. Not with people like that on their heels. His pulse was still hammering from their escape, and despite himself, he was still reeling from the impossible sensation of being turned into smoke.
"That wasn't Ironshadow," he muttered, half to himself. "And it sure as hell wasn't Tideguard."
Narza sat near the entrance, her back against the wall, gaze sharp as she listened for any sign of pursuit. Her breathing was steady, but the tension in her body betrayed her unease. She felt it—them—still out there. Their presence never left. The pressure in the air had only gotten worse.
Kline's pacing stopped. He turned to her, his expression tight. "Who the hell else did I piss off?"
Narza didn't answer. She pushed herself to her feet, creeping toward the building's entrance. Keeping low, she moved toward the edge of the rooftop and peered down into the frozen streets below.
The city was unsettlingly still. Snow had begun to gather on the rooftops, frost thickening on windowsills. The dim lanterns barely cut through the haze, their glow weak and dying.
Then, the air behind her shifted.
A shadow loomed just above her.
"If you're looking for me," a smooth, amused voice said, "you're looking in the wrong spot."
Narza's stomach twisted violently. Hovering just feet above the rooftop, the Gravira user floated effortlessly, his presence warping the space around him. The city's faint light twisted toward him unnaturally, the air bending as if gravity itself was being convinced to move differently in his presence.
Her feet moved before she even processed it. She bolted back into the building.
"Kline." Her voice was sharp, urgent. "Stay behind me."
Kline had already drawn a short dagger from his belt, but his grip on it was shaky, uncertain. "You saw them?"
"Just one," Narza muttered, her mind working frantically. "But the other one's close."
She didn't have to wait long.
The sound of boots touching the rooftop sent a wave of unease through her spine. The Gravira user had landed. His slow, measured footsteps echoed through the silence, deliberate and almost bored.
And then another sound.
A quiet crunch of frost spreading across the rooftop.
Kline shuddered, his breath sharp. His gaze flickered toward the building's entrance just as a tall, looming figure emerged from the mist. Ice crept along the edges of the rooftop, creeping into the structure's wooden frame, making the air thick with an unnatural chill.
Narza's grip tightened around her daggers, but her pulse pounded in her skull.
Trapped.
She knew it before she could fully admit it.
Running? Impossible. Even if she threw everything into speed, they'd close the gap in an instant. She wouldn't make it three steps before being overwhelmed.
Fighting? Suicide. She could tell just by their mana—the sheer, suffocating weight of it pressing down on her like an unseen hand around her throat. They outscaled her in every way. She'd fought stronger opponents before, but this wasn't the same. This wasn't just a gap in skill or experience. This was something else.
And teleportation?
Her stomach twisted. That small-scale trick won't work twice. The first time was reckless enough—it had drained her mana more than she wanted to admit. She wasn't even sure she could pull it off again, let alone accurately. If she botched it now, they could end up somewhere worse.
Every path led to death.
For the first time in a long while, fear gripped her completely.
Kline's eyes darted across the Gravira user's clothing. A faint emblem was stitched into the sleeve—a symbol he knew, the Crest of Grimfire. His stomach dropped as he took a step back
"No way… this can't be happening." he whispered, horror settling into his face. "Vaelgrim?"
The Gravira user tilted his head at the recognition, then let out a soft chuckle. "Oh? You do know us. So you understand what we have to do." He took another step forward, dragging his gloved fingers through the frost gathering along the rooftop's railing.
Narza's heart pounded in her ears. The weight of their mana wasn't just suffocating—it was visible. Like a living thing bleeding into the air, shifting and twisting, too vast to be contained. She could see the way it thickened, swallowing the space between them.
The Gravira user placed a hand over his chest in a mock show of formality. "Rhyz Thorne," he introduced, voice smooth, relaxed. "Some people call me 'The Deadweight.'" A slow smirk curled at the edge of his lips. "Bad luck when I'm around, y'know?"
Narza's grip on her daggers tightened.
Rhyz gave a lazy gesture toward the frost-clad figure standing behind him. "And my partner here you may know as the Glacial Reaper. But that doesn't matter." His golden eyes flicked toward Kline. "What does matter is that we were sent to kill you."
Kline's breath hitched.
Narza immediately stepped in front of him. She didn't think. She just moved. Her body reacted on instinct, positioning herself between him and the two nightmares before them.
Even as fear clawed at her, even as logic screamed that this was suicide, she didn't move aside.
Rhyz let out a short, amused exhale. "That's cute."
He took another step forward. Then another. His movements were slow, deliberate, his aura pressing harder with each step. It felt like the air itself was thinning around him, like reality had to make room for his presence.
Narza's body coiled tight, every muscle locked in anticipation. Her mind raced, forcing calculations through the fog of terror, but nothing lined up. If he moved left—counter with a feint. If he lunged—sidestep, pivot. If he aimed for Kline—take the hit, buy time. But deep down, she knew. Knew before she even moved. She wouldn't be fast enough. A single half-step back, her fingers twitching toward a block— gone. The space where Rhyz stood collapsed into nothing, and before her brain could catch up, pain bloomed like fire in her chest.
For a second, she couldn't comprehend what had happened.
Rhyz was right in front of her. His golden eyes met hers, calm and indifferent, as if this was nothing more than routine.
His hand gripped the hilt of the dagger buried in her chest.
But something was wrong.
It was her dagger.
Her mind reeled. She hadn't even seen him take it. One second, it had been in her grip—the next, it was buried in her own body.
Kline's sharp inhale barely registered in her ears.
Narza's mouth opened, but no words came out. Blood dripped from her lips, staining the frost below.
Rhyz exhaled through his nose, almost disappointed. "See? No matter how fast you think you are... you're already dead."
Then he twisted the blade.
A voice cut through the cold night.
"NARZA!"
Her head jerked up, her vision hazy from the pain. The searing fire in her chest blurred with the sharp sting of the freezing air.
More voices. Footsteps. She forced herself to look.
Erin. Cidrin. Ariya.
Fenrick wasn't with them—
No. He was already moving.
A silver blur cut through the night. Fenrick's blade met Rhyz's, the impact sending a shockwave of force through the rooftop. The Gravira user skidded back, boots scraping against frost-covered stone.
Rhyz barely seemed fazed, a low whistle slipping past his lips. "Didn't see that coming."
Narza staggered, her knees threatening to buckle. The weight of the mana in the air was suffocating, pressing against her ribs, her skull—her heart. The pain in her chest screamed, but she refused to fall.
Kline caught her arm, gripping tightly. "Narza—"
"I'm fine," she rasped. It was a lie.
But the moment of reprieve was instantaneously stolen.
The frost in the air thickened. A silent shift. The temperature plummeted further, the ice beneath their feet groaning under the sheer weight of his mana. The second silhouette—the Frostbane user—closed in from Fenrick's blind spot. Fast. Too fast.
Fenrick barely turned before a fist, wreathed in jagged ice, slammed into his ribs. A pulse of freezing magic exploded against his body. He tried to move, but his limbs felt sluggish. The cold was spreading. He stumbled, but the second strike followed immediately—a spinning kick wreathed in ice. Fenrick barely raised his sword in time. The air cracked. A spike of frost erupted from the kick's impact, forcing Fenrick back. He caught himself, dragging his blade across the rooftop to regain balance, but the Frostbane user didn't let up.
No wasted movement. No hesitation. No incantations. The silhouette was fast. Unnatural. Like he was reading Fenrick's every movement before he made it.
The next attack was merciless. A spear of ice erupted from below. Fenrick barely twisted out of the way before it skewered him. But it didn't stop. More spikes. One after the other. Each one lethal. Fenrick gritted his teeth. He had to keep moving. The moment he stopped, he was dead. But it was one-sided. No matter how fast he reacted, the Frostbane user was faster. A gloved hand shot forward. It grabbed Fenrick's wrist. A pulse of Frostbane magic—his arm went numb. Then the next strike came—a driving knee straight into his gut. Air ripped from Fenrick's lungs, but a layer of ice suddenly formed beneath his feet. He slipped. The silhouette anticipated it. A crushing elbow came down toward Fenrick's skull.
CLANG!
At the last second, Fenrick raised his blade to block—but the force behind the hit sent him crashing through the rooftop. Wood splintered. Dust and frost burst into the air. Fenrick hit the ground inside the abandoned building below, coughing violently. Blood dripped from his temple. The Frostbane user landed gracefully at the edge of the hole, Staring down, like Fenrick wasn't even worth finishing off.
It wasn't a fight. It was a demonstration.
Rhyz spun his dagger lazily before tossing it to the ground, as if he no longer had use for it. His golden eyes flicked to the new arrivals, assessing them with disinterest.
Erin stood at the front, his expression grim. He had no plan—Narza could tell just by looking at him. No plan, no idea how to fight something like this, just the reckless instinct to throw himself into the fray. Like a fool. Narza knew that they couldn't win this fight.
Rhyz's smirk returned. "Didn't expect a party." He dusted nonexistent dirt off his sleeve. "Gotta say, I'm touched."
Erin exhaled sharply, barely keeping his stance. He felt it now. The sheer difference in power. But he and Cidrin didn't wait. They charged Rhyz.
Cidrin's gauntlets were already broken. Dented. The internal mechanisms barely functioning. But he still swung.
His fist crashed toward Rhyz, but the Gravira user tilted his head slightly.
Cidrin's punch… stopped. Mid-air. Frozen in place.
Cidrin's eyes widened as he felt his own gravity shift.
Rhyz clicked his tongue. "You're really fighting me with broken gear?" He sighed. "That's rough, buddy."
Then he flicked his fingers.
Cidrin was yanked sideways. His body slammed into the rooftop floor—hard. The ice beneath cracked from the force. Erin lunged next.
He had no blade. No gauntlets. But he had the gadget.
He pulled it from his belt—a compact, boxy device he barely understood. A mechanism Cidrin had been working on. And he pressed the trigger.
BOOM!
The device detonated in his grip.
Not an explosion—a shockwave.
A massive, concussive burst of force ripped through the air. Rhyz's smirk vanished as the wave hit him head-on, sending him hurtling back through the railing of the rooftop.
Erin's breath heaved. He barely kept his footing.
Cidrin groaned from where he'd landed. "You—son of a bitch—that was my prototype!"
"It worked, didn't it?!"
But their victory was fleeting.
A sudden, intense pull yanked at Erin's body, an invisible force locking around him like an iron grip. His muscles screamed as the air around him seemed to thicken, pressing down on him with crushing weight. He couldn't fight it. It wasn't just the gravity—it was the gravity. Rhyz's hands raised, and Erin was torn from his footing, yanked into the cloud of dust swirling violently around them. A force greater than anything Erin had ever felt latched onto him as Rhyz's magic, Gravira, tore through the air.
Before he could comprehend what was happening, Rhyz's monstrous form loomed in front of him, his hands closing around Erin's face like a clamp. The crushing pressure was instant, and Erin's skull groaned under the strain, his vision hazy as he fought for breath. His body began to collapse, bones creaking as if they might snap under the pressure. Erin's heart thundered, his thoughts slowing as he realized the danger—he was a mere moment from being crushed entirely.
Then, with a terrifying growl, Rhyz began to pummel Erin, the relentless force of his hands driving down with brutal strength, slamming into him again and again. Each blow sent shocks of pain through Erin's body, his ribs creaking, his breath forced out of him with each punishing hit. Just as the world around him began to dim, Erin saw a blur of motion—Cidrin, a streak of desperate action—reaching out, aiming to intercept him before it was too late.
Rhyz's eyes narrowed as his smirk faded. He was done with the games. His patience had worn thin.
With a single, brutal motion, Rhyz released Erin from his crushing grip. But before Erin could even process it, the world shifted again. Gravity twisted.
Rhyz raised one hand. His voice came cold, void of any humor. "Gravira: Ruin's Descent."
The air warped around them.
A sudden force, more intense than anything Erin had ever felt, slammed into his chest. It was like being hit by an avalanche—a weight that crushed every fiber of his body. His limbs locked. He couldn't move. His body screamed under the strain as if the very earth itself had turned against him.
The weight didn't just push. They were pulled. Hard.
The roof beneath them groaned, cracks splintering across the stone, unable to withstand the crushing force. Rhyz stood at the center of it all, his aura demanding submission. His golden eyes flickered, and the weight pressed harder. Erin's mind went blank from the pressure, his breath ragged, his vision narrowing as the pressure intensified. All around him, Cidrin, Ariya, and the others were struggling, their bodies bowing to the force. The gravity was merciless, each second stretching into eternity.
And then, with a deafening crash, the roof couldn't hold anymore. It shattered beneath them, and the entire structure gave way, sending them plummeting into the building below. Stone and debris rained down in a chaotic tumble as the weight of the world seemed to bear down even harder.
Erin's body slammed into the rubble below, the impact nearly knocking the air from his lungs. Every inch of him screamed in pain, his limbs unresponsive, his body locked under the impossible weight. It felt as though his very bones might snap from the force. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Narza's chest heaved as she gasped for air, struggling to keep her mind clear, but the pressure was relentless, suffocating. Her body felt like it was being pulled into the earth itself. She couldn't even summon the strength to call out to the others. The pressure was going to crush them.
Not like this.
Not like this.
Her vision blurred at the edges. Her fingers twitched. She felt something, though, something tucked inside her scarf. Her fingers brushed against it—solid and familiar. The wooden carving. The little bird.
Erin's voice echoed in her mind, soft but distinct. Figured you might like it.
Narza's heart skipped a beat. The blade should have pierced her heart. But it hadn't. The carving had stopped it.
Her trembling hand closed around the carving, the last thing Erin had given her. She closed her eyes for a moment, channeling the last of her mana. She had no choice but to push forward, to summon the spell she knew would be their last hope.
With the carving clutched tightly, she whispered the incantation, her voice raw, the last of her mana surging through her body. The spell felt like fire in her veins, the magic burning through her as she forced it out.
A thick cloud of smoke erupted around them. But this time, it wasn't pulling them across the rooftop. No, this time it was different.
It pulled them up.
Erin felt it first—a sharp, violent tug on his body, like an invisible hand grasping him, dragging him upwards. The others followed, their bodies shifting into smoke as they were pulled higher into the air. The world around them blurred and then disappeared as the smoke coiled, twisting, lifting them off the ground.
Up and up they went—past the debris, past the shattered rooftop, past the jagged remnants of Chastrow's skyline. The air grew thinner, colder, and faster as they ascended, the ground falling away beneath them. The wind tore at Erin's skin, the rush of it deafening in his ears as they climbed higher and higher.
They soared above the city, and Erin caught a glimpse of the island, now nothing more than a speck in the distance. Chastrow stretched out beneath them like a sprawling maze of stone and light, but they were far beyond it now.
The smoke parted suddenly, and Erin felt himself solidify. He blinked against the wind, looking down at what awaited them.
The lagoon below shimmered, its waters stretching out like a vast blue expanse, the island's silhouette rising from the ocean. Erin's heart pounded in his chest as he saw the water below them, vast and serene—but too close. Narza tried to focus, tried to grasp reality—but her body was spent, her mana drained, her mind swimming.
And then, without warning, they began to fall.
The cold wind whipped around them as they plummeted, the water growing ever closer. Erin could hear nothing but the rush of air and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. The island had disappeared from sight, the world reduced to a blur of blue as they neared the lagoon.
The weightlessness vanished, replaced by the terrifying pull of gravity.
And the sea was fast approaching.