After their meal at the Rusty Axe, the walk home was quiet. The moonlight painted the cobbled streets in silver as Zegion and the kids returned to their modest home. None of them spoke. Their shadows stretched long behind them, as if the night itself carried the weight of what had happened.
Once inside, Zegion gently shut the door. And then it began.
Lumine's soft hiccups broke the silence first. She clung to Jin and Yuna, her tiny frame trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks. No words — just raw sobs, muffled by the embrace.
Then came Ludwig.
"I… I'm sorry… Sorry for being weak…" he whispered, his voice cracking before he too began to cry.
Even Yuna, who tried her best to be the composed older sister of the group, couldn't stop the tears from pooling in her eyes. But what struck everyone the most was Jin.
His expression wavered. A warm, unfamiliar sensation rose in his chest. And without understanding why — the tears came.
They fell silently at first, but soon his face was soaked. He didn't wipe them away. For years, he hadn't let himself feel like this — hadn't even known he could. Hunger, fear, pain, solitude — he had buried them all. But tonight, surrounded by warmth and safety, the dam finally broke.
"You've done well to survive," Zegion said, his voice calm and firm. "All of you… Jin, Yuna, Ludwig, Lumine… I'm very proud of you."
He ruffled Jin's hair gently, watching as the boy broke down, clinging to Lumine and Ludwig, snot and tears making a mess of his usually guarded face.
Zegion smiled faintly. Jin, for all his loud words and cocky grins, always kept a wall around himself — the wall of someone who couldn't afford to care too much. Not when life could snatch it all away.
But tonight, that wall had crumbled.
They didn't talk much after that. Just curled up together in the living room — a tangled heap of blankets, limbs, and unspoken promises. They didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but one thing was clear: if they didn't get stronger, more storms like tonight would come.
And next time, it might not end with just tears.
______________________________________________________
Far away from that warmth, under a bruised sky with the moons high and cold, Wen stirred.
The first thing he saw when his eyes opened was Skell's corpse.
The gang leader's body was slumped awkwardly, weapons still impaled in his limbs and torso. His face looked like it had been smashed in, blistered and bloody. Wen recoiled in horror, his breath catching in his throat.
He waited… but Skell didn't move.
Cautiously, Wen edged closer and poked the man with a trembling finger. Nothing, no response. Dead. Definitely dead.
He was just about to sneak away when the sound of heavy boots made him freeze.
A man with a half-bald head and cruel smile approached, dragging his feet lazily.
"Well, would you look at that," the rogue said with a laugh. "Those brats made my job easier."
He bent down, yanked the embedded weapons from Skell's corpse one by one, and hoisted the body over his shoulder like luggage. Then his gaze fell on Wen.
"You're still alive? Damn, that's some hell of a luck you've got there, kiddo."
Wen didn't respond — he just stared.
"Come on then. Cruiser might toss me a bonus for dragging you back in one piece," the rogue chuckled, shoving Wen forward. "Lead the way."
Through alleys filled with rubble and ash, Wen guided the rogue toward the Cruiser gang's territory. Broken wooden beams had been piled together, their splintered edges crackling in bonfire-like flames. The stench of blood and booze hung in the air. When they finally arrived, a cheer went up — not for Skell's death, but for Wen's survival.
"Guess I owe you ten silver!" someone shouted. Coins clinked as bets were paid.
The rogue carried the broken body to Cruiser's den, but guards stepped forward to block his way.
"Move," he growled, ready to fight.
Before anything could start, a voice echoed from the room beyond — low, smooth, and dangerous.
"Give that rogue five gold coins and send him on his way."
A tall, thin man emerged with a pouch. The rogue snatched it but frowned. "Only five? You told me not to touch the others. I followed that, didn't I?"
Silence.
Then Cruiser stepped into view, eyes sharp and cold. "If you want to keep breathing, take the money and leave."
Tension spiked instantly. Gang members drew their weapons without a word. The rogue held up his hands, scoffed, and vanished into the night.
Cruiser turned to the fire, picked up a rum bottle, and raised it high.
"To ruling Zilt's underworld."
Glasses clinked. Bottles were raised.
"To ruling Zilt's underworld!" they roared.
And the flames crackled louder than the cheers, hungry for more than just wood.
________________________________________________________________
Night had settled over Zilt, and while Cruiser's gang roared around bonfires—celebrating their victory, drinks sloshing, and coin purses jingling—not everyone in the city was drunk on triumph.
A small group quietly slipped out through the fractured gates. Leather packs tightly secured, gear carefully wrapped, and their eyes wary — these were treasure hunters who had recently faced the terror of the Storm Chirp. Repeated failures to breach the ruins and even retrieve Echo Stones had left them low on supplies and morale. With nothing to show for their efforts, they now searched for safer hunting grounds, hoping to earn back some coin and lick their wounds far from these blood-soaked alleys.
As they reached a worn arch with faded letters that read 'Zilt Town,' the path beneath their boots shifted from cracked cobble to a smoother, more trodden road — a sign that this was a commonly used way in and out of the town. A faint strum echoed in the silence.
"Leaving so soon?" a melodic voice asked.
They turned to find a figure leaning against the worn arch, cloak fluttering under the moonlight. The Bard. Lean, unreadable, and ever smiling.
The leader narrowed his eyes. "If you're here for coin or trouble, you'll find neither."
"I'm here for neither," the Bard said, hopping down lightly. "Just information… in exchange for these."
He opened his palm, revealing five softly glowing Echo Stones — each humming faintly with stored sound and memory.
The treasure hunters froze.
Their eyes, hardened by survival, now glinted with barely concealed greed. Echo Stones weren't just currency among historians or mages — they were truth sealed in crystal, knowledge in its purest form.
The leader crossed his arms, gaze lingering on the Bard's glowing stones. "You're offering Echo Stones? Then you'll want to hear what we found. I've got enough details on those ruins to fill five of those crystals and more."
The Bard drew closer, and the group dropped into a crouch around a flattened parchment. Using a stick, the scout sketched a rough outline of Vichitravana Forest, separating it into three clear regions: Outer, Middle, and Deep.
"The outer region's nothing special," the scout began. "Stoneheaded Boars, Venty's Rabbits, some Light Beetles. A bit Loud, but manageable."
"But the middle," another interjected, "that's where it starts turning risky. You'll find Sabretooths, Flame-Maned Lions, and even Zephyr Eagles skimming above the canopy."
"They're elites," the leader added, "but when you start seeing them in groups, it means something stronger's nearby. Their evolved forms."
He tapped the forest's central area.
"Azure Flame-Maned Lions. Storm Claw Sabres. We saw a den once—deep gashes on trees, but there were no bodies, not even bones were left. So we just turned around. I'd rather face a pride of Flame-Maned Lions than cross a single Sabretooth."
The Bard listened intently, expression unreadable.
They continued.
"Near the sea-facing cliffs, that's where it got… weird. We were scouting alternate paths when a shadow cut through the moonlight."
One of the hunters pulled out a knife and made a slicing gesture.
"Axe-Headed Wyvern. It just flew over us — with two sweeping axe-like horns on its skull. It didn't even touch the ground, it just flew low, and a tree beside us split in half."
"That wasn't an attack," the scout said grimly. "It was a warning."
"So we took it and fled."
The Bard tapped his chin, then asked quietly, "And… the ruins?"
The group went silent.
After a moment, the leader nodded.
"They're deeper than the forest wants to allow. Most paths are blocked — either by terrain or by something living."
"Titan Gajas," the mage whispered. "And not just wandering beasts. These ones are… guarding the place."
"They are about Eighty to a hundred feet tall," added another. "And Lined up like statues from some dead empire. And some of them… they're not just standing still."
"Ya, we saw them fighting. They were Clashing with beasts like Azure Flame-Maned Lion and — yes — Axe-Headed Wyverns too. All near the heart of the ruin. It's just chaos there."
The Bard's eyes gleamed.
Then the leader spoke again, voice low and stern.
"Don't go near the ruins. There's something wrong up there. The air's heavier. The wind stops moving, while you hear whispers."
The Bard smiled faintly, more to himself than anyone else.
"I'll finally get to see them," he whispered. "And this time… I won't be stopped by THAT monster."
He meant the Elder Titan Gaja — the one whose death had sparked this turmoil. But the hunters were already on their way, walking steadily down the road, uninterested in whatever madness drove a lone bard toward such doom.
They had walked off with the five Echo Stones safely pocketed, heading for the coastal city of Berryl, where they said Baron Berry might be interested in hearing tales or trading more stories.
The Bard watched them disappear into the dark, then looked skyward.
The moons cast a pale light — one white, one tinged with blue. The stars shimmered like cold metal.
"This Vorpal Eclipse…" he whispered. "It might finally end my search."
And with that, he turned toward the forest.
Toward the ruins, which held the Bard's hope.