"Are the elderly and the young secured?"

  Inside the Thorne family Sanctum, Lord Silas asked in a low voice. Beside him, Ewan Thorne nodded. "Forty-two in total. They have all entered the secret tunnel."

  Silas gave a slight nod. Then, another captain stepped forward. "Lord Patriarch, eighteen warriors at or above the Mid-Stage of the Iron Rank have assembled."

  Silas looked at the faces before him. Eighteen was not a large number, and the Sanctum felt cramped with their presence. Including the four Bronze-Rank masters, there were only twenty-two of them. These twenty-two souls represented the last glory of the Thorne family. Many were aging, and there were few young faces among them—a stark reminder of the family’s long decline.

  Tonight’s battle would decide their future.

  "Our House has stood in these mountains for over twenty years," Silas began, his voice solemn. "We have faced many storms, but we have never been extinguished. Now, with enemies at our gates, we face our moment of life or death. If we win, the House prospers. If we fail, the House falls."

  The warriors stood in silence, their eyes filled with grim determination. In this moment, there was no room for surrender, only a fight to the death.

  "Our strength alone may not match the Lee family," Silas continued, "but today is different. We have the Guardian’s blessing! As long as the Sacred Tree stands, there is hope. Before the battle begins, we shall sacrifice once more to receive its protection!"

  The warriors were confused. With the enemy approaching, why spend precious time in prayer? But before anyone could voice their doubt, a figure stepped forward.

  "Caleb?"

  Surprise rippled through the crowd. Caleb Thorne had always been the most vocal critic of the tree, even suggesting it be chopped down. Yet here he was, the first to bow his head in respect. Seeing the strongest of their young generation lead the way, the others no longer hesitated and began the ritual.

  High above, York felt the weight of their collective intent. He watched the twenty-two humans through his perception. To protect them, he would have to pay a heavy price.

  York activated his powers. His once vibrant jade leaves began to glow with a soft, misty light. Countless green motes of light drifted down from his branches, swirling around the warriors. Those who touched the light felt a surge of confidence and clarity.

  Then, seven or eight brilliant emerald streaks shot out from the canopy. These were the shards of the Sylvan Shroud. They did not fall randomly; they landed in the hands of the strongest—the Bronze-Rank masters and the elite Late-Stage Iron warriors.

  "This is the Guardian’s blessing," Silas explained, looking at the leaf in his own hand. "Crush it only at the most critical moment. It will protect you, but only for a short time."

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  The warriors carefully tucked the leaves away. Caleb snorted softly, tucking his leaf into his tunic with practiced indifference, though his movements were uncharacteristically careful.

  "The blessing is complete," Silas commanded. "Move to your positions. Follow the plan!"

  As the warriors vanished into the shadows, the Sanctum became eerily quiet. York felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. His Vitality had plummeted from 26.3 down to a mere 6.0. His branches drooped, and he felt more withered than he had in days. He had reserved the last 6 points to maintain his own life and to keep enough energy for his healing arts should the warriors fall.

  I’ve done all I can, York thought. The rest is up to them.

  With the battle imminent, York chose not to use his Lunar Eclipse technique. He didn't want to be a glowing beacon that invited the enemy's axes. Safety was his first priority.

  The estate was silent, save for the sound of the falling rain, which masked the breathing of the hidden warriors. Through his roots, York could sense their positions. Caleb was perched on a roof, and others were hidden in cellars and shadows.

  Then, York sensed two familiar presences in a corner. Caspian and Cedric.

  The two boys were supposed to be in the tunnel, but they had snuck out, driven by a youthful, reckless desire to save their House. They huddled together, shivering in the cold rain as their initial bravado began to fade into fear. York could do nothing to warn Silas; he could only hope the boys stayed hidden.

  Outside the gates, the Lee family arrived.

  Lord Varick Lee looked at the silent Thorne estate. "What is the situation?"

  "It’s been silent for hours, My Lord," a scout reported. "No movement, no smoke. I suspect a trap."

  "A trap?" A booming laugh came from behind Varick. It was his fourth uncle, Vorgas Lee, a massive man with a heavy iron maul. "They’ve run, Varick! They’re halfway through the mountains by now. You’re too cautious."

  "Silas Thorne is no coward," Varick countered.

  "He’s a starving old man!" Vorgas spat. "I’ll take the front. Give me ten men, and I’ll bring you the head of whoever is left."

  Varick hesitated, but he couldn't let the Thornes escape. "Fine. We split into four teams. We enter from all sides. Search every room. If anyone is left, kill them."

  The Lee forces divided. Vorgas didn't wait for the others to get into position. He marched to the front gate and, finding it unlocked, kicked it open with a loud creak.

  "See?" Vorgas grinned. "The rats have fled."

  He stepped into the courtyard, his boots splashing in the mud. He wasn't satisfied with just searching rooms; he wanted to see blood. He raised his fist, channeling his blood energy, and slammed it into a nearby wooden building, shattering it to pieces.

  "Why bother searching room by room?" Vorgas shouted. "It’s much faster to just tear the place down!"

  After destroying several structures and finding nothing, his impatience grew. He turned to a clansman. "If you were the Thornes, where would you hide a secret tunnel?"

  "The Sanctum, My Lord. It’s the most sacred place."

  "Exactly!" Vorgas laughed, pointing his maul toward the tall, dark silhouette of the tree at the end of the courtyard. "To the Sanctum! Let’s see if that 'Guardian' burns as well as they say!"

  Inside the Sanctum, York felt the heavy vibrations of Vorgas’s approach. The man was a Late-Stage Bronze master, a high-level threat to York’s current weakened state.

  He’s coming straight for me, York thought, his roots coiling beneath the floor. Caleb, Silas... I hope you’re ready.

  On the roof above, Caleb Thorne tightened his grip on his blade. The emerald leaf in his tunic seemed to pulse in response to the enemy's presence. The rain continued to fall, masking the sound of twenty-two hearts beating as one, waiting for the moment to strike.