Two months later..

  The world had shifted, though not in silence. It was the kind of uneasy calm that comes after an earthquake. The earth stops trembling, yet you know the fault line has only grown deeper, waiting for another strike. After Obsidian’s downfall at what scribes now record as the Battle of Darkness and Light, an empty throne lay across about half the continent. We stepped into that void with coin, soldiers, and authority, and in doing so, we reshaped the map itself.

  Our problem wasn’t territory. It was people. Vast stretches of land, from the ruined snowy plains where Obsidian once ruled to the merchant towns they taxed into starvation, were suddenly under our banner. But officers? Commanders? Trusted leaders? We had far too few. We could not absorb Obsidian’s men. Even the ones who begged for mercy, even the ones who offered their power. Too much bad blood. Too many memories of what they had done to us. So instead, we turned to mercenaries. Mercenaries who once had no flag now wore Sun’s. Some called us hypocrites. I called it necessity.

  And so, Sun stretched further than it ever had. Not just a clan anymore. Not even just a ruling body. We were an empire in everything but name, and the world bent beneath us.

  Even Chatna, neutral for centuries, sent emissaries bearing silk and gold. The merchant kings of Chatna once prided themselves on sitting out every war, every feud, no matter the cost. For them to approach us was a sign. The balance of power had tilted, and we were the ones holding the scales.

  Coin flooded into our coffers faster than scribes could count it. For the first time, I saw even our poorest citizens smiling. Full markets, laughter in the streets, musicians bold enough to play their instruments in public without fear of raids or tariffs. It almost looked like peace. Some even dared whisper that nothing could stop us now.

  But shadows linger, even in light.

  The nobles clawed at our gates, desperate to buy their way into this new prosperity. Fat barons dripping with jewelry offered absurd sums for a seat inside the city walls, hoping to live where protection was absolute. But Leo barred the doors. He would not let coin rot the core. He told them plainly that Grand Sasebella would not become a city of parasites, dependent on imports while our soil lay barren. If people wanted the wealth of Sasebella, they had to work for it, not simply buy their way in. For once, greed was held back by loyalty.

  And me? My name burned brighter than ever. Taverns carried my story in song. Soldiers toasted my survival. Mercenaries muttered it under their breath, half respect, half jealousy. With the fame came marriage proposals by the dozens. Letters stacked so high they could have been a barricade. Women of noble birth, daughters of merchants, all promising wealth, alliances, or power. I didn’t even read them. They meant nothing. Comfort has no place on the path I walk.

  Sun itself began to change. Once we were killers for hire, feared only for the contracts we fulfilled. Assassinations. Protection rackets. Coercion. Maybe some exports. Now, with dozens of cities under our banner, we were forced into legitimacy. Roads were repaired. Fields tilled. Grain and livestock cataloged. Blood still flowed, but alongside it ran ink, contracts, and ledgers. This might've been the true nature of conquest.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Leo was buried in it. His office devoured him, day after day. His obsession now is Surge. Scouts scours every corner of our lands, looking for the recipe, for the faintest trace of its manufacture. He calls it the most dangerous thing alive, not a weapon, not a clan, but a substance that distorts the balance of strength itself. He intends to erase it from history. And if anyone can, it’s him.

  As for me, I’ve grown restless. My purse overflows. I can buy whatever I want, drink whatever I please, sleep wherever I choose. Every door opens when I knock. Every merchant bows too low. And yet I can’t breathe. Because the rebellion’s deadline looms closer with each sunrise. Two months left. Just two.

  I’ve trained without rest. Fought, adapted, endured. I think I could stand even with Caleb now. Perhaps even win against him. But that is nothing. To be “near Caleb” is pathetic compared to what I need. Leo is a god, towering and immovable. I need erase gods entirely.

  And I’ve discovered something. Something vital. At first, I thought it coincidence, but no. Every battle where I scrape near death, every scar that nearly kills me, changes me. Transcended bodies adapt. Pain is our true teacher. Defeat is the whetstone. I walk away from each fight sharper than before. This body, this curse, this gift, it grows through suffering.

  Ewan follows me now, though he doesn’t realize the strings I pull. I told him Sun would never have let the Grillir live. He believes me tied to their legacy. Once, drunk, Zero spoke of a woman he lay with. Lexi, a Grillir. Ewan knew her. She died in Hasfra. Now her ghost is my banner. Ewan believes fighting with me honors her. The last Grillir. The phrase alone feels like prophecy.

  Jane... Jane is fraying beneath the weight of this. She begs me to stop, to abandon it all. She sees the future in blood and ashes and wants me to walk away before I’m buried in it. But I can’t. Without Zero, I wouldn’t exist. Without his lessons, I would never have been forged into who I am. We’ve decided what becomes of her when the rebellion breaks. She’ll be hidden away in Chatna, wrapped in mercenaries paid with coin thicker than walls. She understands, or pretends to. She sees the cost, not the necessity. She knows Sun wears a mask of morality now, merchants, roads, order, but underneath is only rot. To cleanse it, I must tear it down. When the dust settles, the transcended will be reduced to single digits. Humanity will have no choice but to grow without us. To build. To suffer. To love. That is the only way.

  I heard whispers of a man far in Kaiguro’s homeland. His brother. Just as strong, perhaps stronger. He lives in the Pahn with his tribe, far away, quiet, detached. They hold life sacred, though they rival even the Grillir in strength. If I can turn him, if I can convince him Kaiguro stains their family name, he may join me. Kaiguro still speaks of his tribe with reverence, even in separation. That reverence might be my wedge. In a week, I will travel there. I told Leo Surge was hidden in their midst, that Ryuha lurked among them. He believed me.

  The door creaked open.

  “You done?” Jane’s voice was soft, but laced with worry.

  I rose from my desk, parchment and ink left scattered. Crossing the room, I pressed my lips to hers in the doorway. I closed it behind her.

  “I’m done.” I whispered.

  Her hand slipped into mine. She squeezed lightly. “Then let’s go. There’s a new band tonight. They say the music’s unreal.”

  For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Music, laughter, warmth. Not war, not rebellion, not blood. Just sound filling the night air, her hand in mine.

  So we stepped out together.

  For now, I will go. I will listen. I will hold her hand.

  Because when the rebellion comes, there will be no music left.