ONLINE: Blades of Eternity

As the portal shimmered behind them and collapsed into nothingness, the four found themselves standing in a realm unlike any they had ever seen.

The air was dense with life—but not ordinary life. Liquid mana streamed through the roots of trees like veins under translucent bark, glowing softly in shades of violet and azure. The ground pulsed with a gentle heartbeat, the soil itself alive with arcane rhythm. Above them, floating motes of light danced between branches of massive trees that stretched beyond sight.

"This place…" Guinevere breathed out, stunned. "It's… alive."

Ethan bent down, brushing his fingers against a patch of glowing moss. "There's more mana in the soil here than an entire academy vault."

Lila narrowed her eyes. "We're not in Arcanis anymore."

Morris frowned, scanning the perimeter. "Where the hell did Aether send us?"

They didn't have to wait long for an answer.

A sharp whistle cut through the silence, followed by the subtle twang of bowstrings.

From the underbrush and tree canopies, dozens of elven soldiers emerged—lean, armored in bark-colored plating with blades of crystalline growth and bows made of enchanted living wood. They moved with grace and lethal coordination, surrounding the four within seconds.

"Intruders!" shouted one of the elven captains. His tone was laced with venom. "Humans, in the sacred grove of the Manaheart Glade."

Weapons were drawn. Magic hummed between bowstrings and fingertips.

"You are under arrest for trespassing into Elven Territory," the lead elf declared. "By decree of the Council, all humans are to be detained or eliminated on sight."

Morris clenched his fists. "They think we're traitors."

Ethan stepped forward. "Wait, there's been a misunders—"

But Lila raised a hand, eyes cold.

"No time."

In the next moment, frost bloomed outward from her palm in a wave of perfect stillness.

In a single heartbeat, the temperature plummeted. Ice spiraled across the ground, racing toward the elves before they could blink. Arrows were loosed—but mid-flight, they froze in the air, suspended like ornaments of death.

Lila's magic surged.

The elves had no time to scream.

A shockwave of glacial magic burst from her, slicing through the air like a cry of winter itself. The soldiers were engulfed—ice wrapping around them in jagged spires, locking them in place, mid-breath, mid-step.

In under two seconds, the entire elven ambush unit was turned into statues of frozen silence—their bodies encased in translucent, deathly ice.

The forest grew quiet once again. Even the mana streams pulsed more slowly, as if in awe—or fear.

Ethan looked around with a hint of unease. "Lila… That was overkill."

She didn't respond immediately. Then softly, "We don't have time for diplomacy."

Guinevere stepped forward, brushing shards of frost from her coat as she takes out a scroll. "Wherever this forest is… if we're near the elven kingdom, it means Kaelen and Kelvin are on the other side of the Deadroot boundary according to what this scroll is saying. Aether probably knew this portal would dump us near the last safe zone."

"Thank the Gods Aether has a tracking device on Kaelen. If not, who knows how long will we wander in this wilderness before we can find them" Ethan said with an impressed look on his face.

Morris tapped onto the scroll, scanning the surrounding ley-lines. "Their signatures are faint… but I think I can triangulate the direction."

Lila gave a sharp nod. "Then let's move."

Without another word, the four took off—racing through the enchanted terrain, weaving between mana-filled trees and leaping over streams of glowing water. Every step forward brought them closer not just to their allies—but to a battle that would decide the fate of Aetheris itself.

After Lila and the others left that area, the eerie calm left in the wake of Lila's frozen carnage still lingered like a fog of tension.

The elven corpses—no, statues—remained locked in perfect stillness, their eyes wide in the final milliseconds before death, forever sealed in frosted agony.

From the thick brambles of a glowing bush laced with mana-thorns, two figures emerged, graceful and silent. Their steps made no sound, as if the forest itself had grown afraid to acknowledge their presence.

Aron and Selene.

But they were no longer the wild, mischievous children who once tore through Pacesetters Academy with untamed chaos magic. No. These two radiated something deeper—something unnerving.

They had changed.

Aron, now a lithe youth clad in an asymmetrical coat woven with dimensional silk, bore crimson tattoos glowing faintly beneath his eyes, whispering remnants of cursed glyphs from the Labyrinth. His once-boyish smirk had turned into something colder—measured, venomous.

Selene, on the other hand, carried an unsettling grace. Her hair was longer, braided with black vines that pulsed with chaotic energy. She wore a veil that shimmered like star-drenched water, and her eyes—those eyes—glowed with swirling hues of entropy.

They watched the direction Lila and the others had taken, still visible in the residual mana trails in the air.

"…Impressive," Aron muttered, tilting his head toward the shattered remnants of frozen elves. "She didn't hesitate."

Selene knelt beside a half-shattered elven warrior, running a finger gently across the ice coating his face. "Not even a flicker of remorse," she whispered, intrigued. "She's colder than the ice she wields."

"She's changed," Aron added, then chuckled darkly. "They all have. Especially that Guinevere. She didn't even flinch when the elven sentries closed in."

A wind shifted, carrying faint echoes of Lila's fading mana signature.

"Still," Aron continued, stretching lazily, "We should thank them. They've paved us a clean path through the border."

Selene rose to her feet. "So then? Shall we strike now?" Her tone was soft, but dangerous.

Aron shook his head. "No, sister. We have to obey Kael and follow. We watch for now. They're heading toward him… Kaelen. And if I know our dear cousin, wherever he is, the real party's about to start."

Selene smiled faintly. "And when that moment comes…"

Aron finished her sentence: "We carve our names into fate—again."

Selene walked a few paces forward, staring into the dense path ahead. "I wonder what Kael would say if he knows what we plan to do now."

Aron scoffed. "Our 'honorable' patriarch banished us into a prison of shifting dimensions and monsters stitched from nightmares. We survived. We thrived. And we returned better than he ever hoped to become. Does he really think we will still be loyal to him like dogs?"

Their eyes met.

"And besides," Aron continued, his voice low and electric, "we learned truths in the Labyrinth. About the world. About Pandora. About that thing they call Endless."

Selene narrowed her eyes. "Let them fight their war then. We'll choose who we side with… or whether we devour both sides entirely."

He grinned.

"Let's go. It's time the Chaos Twins rejoined the stage."

With a quiet snap of space, the two vanished in a blur of inverted mana—an energy not quite right, not quite wrong, but unmistakably unstable. The kind of power born from surviving the Labyrinth.

And behind them, the ice cracked.

After the twins left, the once-verdant clearing now lay blanketed in deathless frost. Blue mist rose gently from the shattered trees and crystalized foliage, the aftermath of an overwhelming, precise spell.

Shards of magic-chilled armor were strewn across the ground. Elven boots, swords, spears—frozen mid-movement—now formed part of a macabre gallery of silence.

But then—

A soft tremor shivered through the land, like the thrum of bows being drawn in unison.

Footsteps.

From the western edge of the glade, a squadron of elven soldiers marched in, silent, ghostly. Clad in shimmering barkweave armor and adorned in emerald-green sashes of the Sylvaen Watch, their every step was in perfect formation. They numbered nearly thirty.

At the head of the group strode a man who was clearly not just another soldier.

He wore robes unlike the others—woven from translucent fibers and layered in golden oakleaf designs. His left pauldron was shaped like a wyvern's skull, and he bore a long, rune-etched glaive that pulsed faintly with violet magic.

His aura rolled over the clearing like a silent scream.

This was Commander Vaelis Tyrien, Captain of the Sylvaen Watch, Warden of the Eastern Spires—an elf whose name commanded silence even in human courts.

The moment his eyes fell upon the glade, a deep tension gripped his jaw.

The frozen elves.

All of them. Statues. Not a single survivor.

Vaelis knelt beside one—his hand hovered over a cracked chestplate, and he closed his eyes briefly. "They didn't even draw their weapons," he whispered.

Behind him, a younger elf with auburn braids spoke nervously. "Commander… this wasn't a skirmish. It was an execution."

Vaelis stood slowly. His gaze traced the mana traces in the air—the sharp imprint of elemental ice magic.

"Humans," he muttered coldly.

"Sir?" another soldier asked.

"Specifically, this should be the work of a girl from the human territory who calls herself the Ice Jade of the North. The signature is distinct since I have experienced it before in there so called battle convention." He narrowed his eyes. "She was here."

"Then she's the one who—?"

"Yes," Vaelis confirmed. "She and her companions must have crossed the warded threshold of the Manaheart Glade. Armed. Unannounced. And they left this."

He gave the glade one final glance. His decision came sharp and fast.

"Raise the Red Beacon," he ordered.

Every elven soldier tensed.

Even the trees stilled.

The braided elf paled. "C-Commander… the Red Beacon hasn't been lit in over two centuries. It will call—"

"I know what it will call," Vaelis snapped, voice sharp as steel. "The humans have broken the treaty. This is not a scouting violation or trespass. This… is murder."

"But if we do this," another warned, "the Council of Elderglade will declare full-scale retaliation. This could trigger—"

"—a war," Vaelis finished grimly. "And if they've sided with the one known as Endless or harbor the Magic Pandora, then war is already here. We simply weren't the first to declare it."

He raised his glaive toward the sky.

"Do it."

A soldier sprinted to a nearby ancient pine—its trunk engraved with age-old sigils. He placed a hand on a hidden knot and murmured in the Old Tongue. With a deep hum, the trunk opened like a hollowed door, revealing a cylindrical device encased in crystal.

The Red Beacon.

With a trembling hand, the soldier twisted the runic ring around its neck and slammed his palm into the core.

A flash of blinding crimson surged into the heavens. Within moments, the skies above the Manaheart Glade turned blood red. A low howl swept across the land, a call only elven blood could truly comprehend.

Far beyond the horizon, in hidden elven cities and deepwatch towers, heads turned.

The elves were mobilizing.

Commander Vaelis stood still, staring up into the light.

"…No more restraint. If the humans have chosen to side with destruction, then we will become the blade that severs them from this world."

He turned to his soldiers, expression iron.

"Track them. The Ice Jade. The boy with the mist magic. The fire sorceress. The one called Morris. Find them all."

"And if we do?" a soldier asked.

Vaelis looked at the corpses once more, the frost glinting on their armor.

"…Then we bury them beneath the roots of our forest, where they will never threaten the balance again."