At Leviathan city
The Federation outpost in Leviathan was built like a fortress—cold, unyielding stone, lined with metal reinforcements, banners bearing the insignia of the Titan Federation fluttering in the night breeze. Within its war room, lit only by the glow of enchanted glyphs, Commander Noah sat behind a heavy wooden desk, fingers steepled, expression unreadable.
Before him, standing rigid, was Daniel—First Vanguard of the Federation, one of its youngest elite warriors. His coat, dark with soot and battle dust, bore the insignia of his rank: a silver emblem pinned at his chest, marking him as one of the strongest field operatives under Noah's command.
And yet, despite that rank—despite his strength—he had directly disobeyed orders.
"You let them go." Noah's voice was calm. Too calm.
Daniel didn't flinch. "They weren't a threat."
Noah leaned back, his gaze heavy. "Not a threat?" He exhaled, almost laughing. "Zoren is an anomaly. His Core is unstable. We don't even know what it fully is."
Daniel met his gaze. "And that's exactly why I didn't kill him."
Noah's grip on the armrest tightened.
Daniel continued, voice even. "He's barely controlling it. He doesn't understand what he is, what he has. If we push him now, we risk creating something even worse."
Noah studied him for a long moment. Then, his fingers drummed once against the desk. "I should have you stripped of your rank for this."
Daniel didn't respond. He already knew that wasn't happening.
Noah exhaled slowly, then stood. His presence was suffocating—not just from authority, but from sheer power. Even among Federation elites, he was someone feared.
"10 lashes," he said. "Effective immediately."
Daniel remained impassive. He had expected worse.
Two soldiers stepped forward. He didn't resist as they pulled his coat from his shoulders, revealing the faint scars of past punishments.
The whip cracked. Once. Twice. Ten times. Each strike burned, but Daniel didn't make a sound.
When it was done, he straightened his coat, wincing slightly as he pulled it back over his shoulders.
Noah watched him. "Report to me in the morning. If you step out of line again, Daniel, I will break you myself."
Daniel met his gaze, silent, saluted,Then he turned and left.
Noah watched him go, his expression dark.
Then, with a flick of his fingers, he activated the communication glyph on his desk. The flickering image of a higher-ranking official—a shadowed figure in ornate Federation robes—appeared.
"Report," the voice demanded.
Noah inhaled. "We engaged Zoren and his group. The Duskbound Cult interfered. The situation escalated beyond expectation."
The figure remained silent for a moment. Then: "And the boy?"
Noah's jaw tightened. "Still alive."
A pause. Then, "Problematic."
"We can deal with him later," Noah said. "He's not stable yet. If we push him too soon, we risk driving him straight into the arms of the Cult—or worse."
The figure considered this. "Then for now, we let him be."
Noah nodded. "But to ensure we maintain control, I recommend placing bounties on him and his group. Enough to make him hunted—but not enough to draw the wrong kind of attention."
The figure hummed. "Acceptable. Set the bounties. And keep a close eye on the group."
The glyph flickered out.
Noah exhaled, then turned to his officers. "Organize the city. Keep the civilians calm—no riots, no unnecessary fear. We let the dust settle."
His gaze darkened.
"But make no mistake. Zoren won't slip through our fingers forever."
---
The city of Leviathan burned behind them.
Even from a distance, Zoren could still hear the faint echoes of sirens, the distant shouts of Federation forces regrouping in the aftermath of the battle. Smoke curled into the night sky, blending with the stars, a cruel reminder of the chaos they barely survived.
They moved quickly—too quickly.
Talis stumbled, his breath ragged, but Nyssa yanked him forward without a word. Linda kept close, her expression unreadable, clutching her bruised arms.
Zoren walked at the front, leading them down the uneven dirt path cutting through the outskirts of the city. His mind was still reeling.
Daniel let them go.
Not because he was merciful. Not because he believed in Zoren.
But because he didn't see him as a threat.
The thought clawed at him, digging into his chest like a dull knife.
"You're scowling," Nyssa muttered beside him.
Zoren blinked, realizing she had moved up next to him, keeping pace with her usual effortless stride.
"Didn't realize I had to smile after nearly getting killed," he muttered back.
Nyssa scoffed. "Not what I meant." She studied him, something sharp in her gaze. "That Daniel guy got to you, didn't he?"
Zoren didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stared ahead, at the winding road disappearing into the dense woods. The path to Veyrith.
The city was days away—a place where Federation influence was weaker, where they could lay low and regroup. But none of that mattered if they weren't strong enough to survive the next fight.
"He's right," Zoren finally muttered.
Nyssa raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Daniel," Zoren said, voice quieter than before. "I'm weak."
Nyssa stopped walking.
So did the others.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sounds of the wind brushing through the trees, the distant calls of nocturnal beasts awakening.
Then, Nyssa let out a short, breathy laugh. "Wow. That's a new one."
Zoren frowned. "I'm serious."
"I know," she said, crossing her arms. "That's what makes it funny."
Zoren narrowed his eyes. "You think this is a joke?"
Nyssa rolled her eyes. "No, dumbass. I think it's stupid."
He clenched his jaw, irritation flickering. "Explain."
Nyssa sighed, tilting her head. "You survived an execution. Fought Federation Hunters. Stood against the Duskbound. And you think you're weak because one guy called you pathetic?"
Zoren's hands tightened at his sides. "I couldn't control my Core. It almost killed all of us."
"Yeah? And?"
Zoren blinked. "What do you mean, 'and'?"
Nyssa stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "You think getting stronger means having instant control over everything? That's not how power works. That's not how you work."
Zoren exhaled sharply, looking away. He wanted to argue. To push back.
But was she wrong?
Before he could answer, Talis cleared his throat. "Veyrith isn't far. We should reach the outer villages by morning."
Zoren sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. Let's move."
They pressed forward, the city fading behind them.
Each step toward Veyrith felt heavier than the last.
Because no matter how far they ran—Daniel's words wouldn't leave his mind.
---
The walls of Veyrith loomed ahead, jagged stone rising against the early morning mist. Unlike Leviathan, which was a fortress of steel and order, Veryin felt more like a fortified outpost—sturdy, but not impenetrable. The city thrived on trade, built on the backs of mercenaries, wandering merchants, and those desperate enough to seek refuge outside the Federation's reach.
But even here, nothing was free.
Zoren and his group approached the gates, where a line of travelers had already formed, waiting for entry. Armed guards in dull bronze armor stood watch, their gazes sharp, hands resting lazily on the hilts of their weapons. A large wooden signpost beside them bore the cost of entry:
10 Prime Shards per person
50 if unregistered
100 for Titan Users
Zoren frowned at the last part.
"Tch," Nyssa muttered, eyeing the sign. "They really don't like our kind, huh?"
"We're not Titan Users," Talis said quickly, glancing around. "Not openly."
Linda shifted uncomfortably. "Do we even have enough to pay?"
Zoren reached into his satchel, fingers brushing over a handful of Iron and Prime Shards. The battle in Vasselheimhe manage to get some money from some soldiers dead body.
"Not enough for all of us," he muttered.
Nyssa exhaled, rubbing her temples. "Great. We could bribe them, but that'd take even more than the damn toll."
"Or," Linda suggested, eyes flickering with mischief, "we could just… not pay."
Zoren gave her a look. "And how do you suggest we do that?"
Linda grinned. "We get creative."
At the Gate
The line moved forward.
A gruff guard with a scar over his nose gestured lazily at the traveler in front of them. "Fifty Shards. Pay up, or piss off."
The merchant grumbled but handed over a small pouch.
Then it was their turn.
The guard looked them over. His gaze lingered on Nyssa's weapons, then flickered to Zoren's worn clothes. "Hah. Another batch of wanderers." He tapped the sign. "You know the fee."
Zoren stepped forward. "We're just passing through. No trouble."
The guard snorted. "Yeah? That's what the last guy said. Then he got into a knife fight over a bowl of soup." He held out his hand. "Pay, or turn back."
Nyssa smirked, stepping up beside Zoren. "What if we're traders?"
The guard raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like traders."
Nyssa's expression didn't change. "That's because we transport goods for someone important. You really wanna piss off the Royal Merchants over a couple of Shards?"
The guard hesitated.
Zoren nearly smirked. Smart. Play on the city's biggest fear—messing with the wrong people.
The guard grumbled. "Fine. If you have a sponsor, show me your sigil."
Nyssa's smirk didn't falter. "Of course."
She turned—and in a blur of motion, flicked something from her sleeve. A small bronze emblem clattered onto the guard's open palm.
The guard blinked, frowning at it. "The hell is this?"
Nyssa leaned in. "Something that says you should let us through."
Zoren resisted the urge to sigh. She literally just handed him a random piece of junk.
The guard stared at it. Then at her. Then back at the emblem.
Talis coughed. "Uh, that's an official—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know what it is," the guard snapped, pocketing the emblem like he actually did. He waved them through. "Don't cause trouble."
Zoren didn't question it. He just walked.
Once they were past the gates and into the crowded streets of Veyrith, he turned to Nyssa. "What the hell did you just give him?"
Nyssa grinned. "Oh, that?" She pulled another identical emblem from her sleeve. "Just some old badge I picked up off a dead guy."
Linda laughed. Talis groaned.
Zoren? He just shook his head.
At least they were in.
Veyrith was a city of contrasts, where the past and present clashed in a chaotic symphony of steel, smoke, and ambition. Towering above its skyline were the skeletal remains of ancient Titans, their colossal bones fused into the city's architecture. Obsidian spires gleamed under the dying sun, silver veins pulsing faintly with the dormant energy of long-dead behemoths.
The streets pulsed with life. The Titan Market was a thunderous chorus of merchants hawking Core Shards, Veilborn Relics, and weapons reforged from Titan remains. The scent of spiced meat clashed with the acrid tang of molten metal, while cloaked figures bartered in whispers, their hands always hovering near concealed blades.
In the heart of the city stood the Veilspire District, where the elite Titan Guilds reigned. Their banners rippled in the wind, sigils of dominion and blood. Warriors clad in Core-infused armor patrolled the streets, eyes sharp, hands resting on weapons humming with raw power. Here, names carried weight—whispered with reverence or dread.
But beneath this polished veneer lay Lower Veyrith, a tangle of shadowed alleys where desperation sharpened into daggers. Cutthroats and scavengers prowled the smog-choked streets, their allegiances shifting like sand. A man's life was worth no more than a handful of prime Shards—unless someone paid extra to make it hurt.
And then there was the Sunken Quarter—a place of whispers and dread. The ruins of ancient Titans jutted from the earth like broken ribs, their hollow husks steeped in forgotten energy. Few dared tread its crumbling pathways, for it was said that remnants of Titan power still stirred beneath the ruins.
It was here, in the shadow of the past, that Zoren's training would begin.
To be continued.