The day began with silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that seemed to wait for something terrible to happen. Lyra stood before the sealed gates of the palace, her voice sharp with disbelief.

  “They’ve already departed? Without notifying me?”

  The captain of the gate, a stoic man in silver armor, shifted uncomfortably under her glare. “By decree of His Majesty, the mission required immediate departure. The Seven Heroes have already crossed the northern border.”

  “The Seven?” Lyra repeated, eyes narrowing. “Then why wasn’t their commander informed?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, two knights bearing the golden insignia of the king’s personal guard stepped forward, halberds crossing to block her path. Their faces were unreadable beneath polished visors.

  “You are to remain within Lumeris,” one of them said, his tone clipped. “By royal order.”

  The faint tremor in Lyra’s voice gave her away. “The order came from King Arathen himself, didn’t it?”

  The knight didn’t move. That was all the confirmation she needed. She turned sharply, her cloak sweeping behind her, boots striking the marble with restrained fury as she retreated toward her quarters. The city outside shimmered in its usual brilliance, spires of white gold and silver glass, but for the first time, Lyra found no comfort in its light. Beyond the palace walls, faint clouds gathered on the western horizon. A storm was coming, unnatural and slow-moving. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her chest.

  Four days had passed since the group left Lumeris. The first day was uneventful, a quiet march along cobblestone roads lined with luminous trees that pulsed faintly with mana. The second brought them into rougher terrain, where dark mountains loomed in the distance and the soil began to crack with veins of obsidian. By the third day, laughter had faded. By the fourth, even small talk had disappeared. They made camp beside a stretch of burned grasslands. The horizon was streaked with lightning that never touched the ground. Garron kept mostly to himself at first, but Raizō noticed his gaze, steady, measuring, almost clinical.

  “Strange,” Garron said one night, cleaning his sword near the fire. “When I first met you, I thought you’d be an asset.”

  Raizō looked up from the edge of the campfire. “I’m doing what I can.”

  Garron’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “And yet the others tell me you… drain them. That you pull their focus. Perhaps you’ve noticed how they struggle when you’re nearby?”

  Raizō said nothing. He had noticed the discomfort. He’d just never believed it was intentional. The following days were slower, quieter, and more venomous. Garron’s words spread like smoke, soft, invisible, choking. He spoke with authority, his voice steady and measured as he approached each of the six individually.

  To Reina, he said, “You’re gifted. Sharp-minded. But you’ve felt it too, haven’t you? That slight unease when he’s around, like the air thickens?”

  To Daisuke, he said, “You’re the embodiment of will. But a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”

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  To Hiro, he said, “You lead through strength. What kind of leader tolerates dead weight?”

  And when he spoke to Arin, it wasn’t persuasion, it was recognition.

  “You’ve sensed it too, haven’t you? The imbalance.”

  Arin’s calm expression didn’t change. “He’s an anomaly. The world itself rejects him.”

  “Exactly.” Garron’s eyes gleamed faintly. “The king was right to trust you.”

  By the time they reached the outskirts of the ruins, Raizō could feel it in the air. Conversations would stop when he approached. Eyes would linger on him longer than they should. Even Kaito, once his closest friend, couldn’t hold his gaze anymore. Raizō said nothing. He endured it, as he always had. But when he lay awake that night, staring into the black sky, his thoughts went elsewhere — to Emi. To her laugh. Her small hands clutching his sleeve the day he promised he’d protect her. He could still hear it.

  You’re all I have left, Raizō.

  His thumb tapped his knuckle once, twice, three times. That night, the fire burned low and quiet. Garron sat across from the six, his face lit by orange light and the occasional flicker of lightning across the horizon.

  “His Majesty’s orders were clear,” he said calmly. “The anomaly cannot return.”

  Reina stiffened. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

  Garron looked at her as though she were a child. “It means we prevent what can’t be controlled.”

  Daisuke exhaled sharply, leaning back. “So that’s the reason they have us out here.”

  “You’re heroes,” Garron corrected. “Chosen to uphold divine order. Do you question the prophecy?”

  “This is what the gods have decided,” Ayane whispered softly. Her eyes filled with pity.

  Kaito shifted uncomfortably. His eyes flicked toward Raizō’s sleeping form, his voice cracking. “He’s not a monster.”

  “Wasn’t,” Arin murmured. His tone carried a strange serenity. “And you know what happens when something broken is left unfixed.”

  Silence followed, long, heavy, suffocating. And then, one by one, they looked away from Raizō and toward the fire. The decision had been made.

  The next morning was darker than usual. Clouds stretched across the sky, thick and heavy, muting the sunlight. The group walked in silence. Only the rhythmic crunch of boots on gravel broke the stillness. The Ruins of Endless Thunder rose in the distance, enormous pillars of black stone stretching toward the clouds, each one cracked with faint blue veins that pulsed like a heartbeat. Raizō’s chest tightened as they neared. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, but the words never made it to his lips.

  “Spread out,” Garron commanded. “Secure the area.”

  Raizō nodded and stepped forward. The air around him felt heavier. Every breath carried static, every sound sharpened. His hand twitched slightly, thumb against knuckle, three times. He knew something was wrong. He turned around towards Garron.

  Then, steel flashed. Garron’s blade caught him across the abdomen. The sound was wet, brutal, final.

  Raizō stumbled back, clutching his wound, his voice breaking. “What are you doing!?”

  “Fulfilling the King’s will,” Garron said.

  The others stood frozen, until Arin spoke.

  “This is order. This is the role that has been chosen for us.”

  That broke them. Daisuke stepped forward. Reina looked away. Hiro stared, not turning away. Kaito’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

  Raizō’s vision blurred. “After everything…” His voice cracked, not from pain but betrayal. “You think killing me will make you feel better? If so, then you really don't know how life works.”

  Garron raised his sword for the final blow, but the world stopped. A single drop of rain hit the ground. Then another. The wind stilled. The smell of ozone thickened. Lightning erupted from beneath Raizō’s body, spiraling upward like veins bursting through the earth. The sound was not thunder, it was fury. The heroes staggered back. The light seared their vision. Garron shouted, but the words were lost to the storm. And then, silence. The ruins lay in ruins. Smoke drifted through the air. Where Raizō had fallen, only scorched stone remained. Days later, Garron knelt before King Arathen’s throne.

  “The anomaly has been purged,” he said.

  King Arathen’s expression did not change. “Good. Absolute loyalty will be rewarded.”

  That same night, Lyra stood on her balcony overlooking Lumeris. The city was quiet, its golden towers shimmering beneath the three moons. But on the horizon, the storm still raged, unmoving, eternal. She whispered to the wind.

  “You were right. Something was wrong.”

  Thunder murmured faintly in response, low, distant, almost human.