Sword Brother

The air was heavy, tainted with the lingering scent of smoke and dried blood, grim remnants of a battle whose echoes still haunted Kernéval's walls. As Gaël anticipated, four imposing figures emerged from the massive shadows of the town hall, heralded by a low rumble as the heavy doors slowly opened. Their steps were solemn, each stride resonating with authority and exhaustion, faces carved by fatigue and ruthless resolve.

They approached in tight formation, escorted by a row of soldiers armed with halberds that gleamed in the dying twilight. Their breastplates, bearing lutech insignias, still bore marks of recent combat. At their belts, lutech revolvers shimmered with metallic gleams, reminding Gaël that even the most advanced technology had not prevented chaos from engulfing the city.

Nor had the Luminal Order.

Gaël watched in silence. These authoritative figures were familiar by name, but he rarely saw them in person. His world did not belong to the first ring of the city.

He came here only reluctantly, compelled by the purification rituals conducted by the Luminal Order. These ceremonies had never truly affected him. His stain, the cursed mark that condemned him, would momentarily fade, only to return more insidious, darker, and heavier than before. It was an endless cycle, a burden he bore silently, like all those cursed from birth.

But today, everything had changed.

The Severance had erased the stain. It had sliced through the shadow, obliterating the taint. He no longer feared the madness that threatened to engulf him at every turn. Despite the severity of recent events, he glimpsed a faint hope, a fragile promise of a future where he might more easily blend into society.

Yet everything hinged on the four figures standing before the gathered crowd, and the decision they were about to reveal.

The silence stretched, oppressive, until finally, a voice rose, deep, laden with the authority of years and the weight of irreversible decisions.

"Citizens of Kernéval, my friends, today we have bled!" The voice of the eldest of the Council, the archon of lutech, resonated like a funeral bell. It rolled over the crowd like a storm waiting to burst. "Nothing… nothing can replace the lives we have lost. But Kernéval lives. Against all odds, we have survived a monarch. Never before has a city-state of our size achieved such a feat. We are alive. Now, we must look to the future. We must rebuild before we can think of mourning our dead."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. A monarch, a dread abomination born from the depths of the Umbra, a plague that usually left nothing but ruin in its wake. Yet, defying all expectations, Kernéval still stood.

Gaël felt his breath shorten, his heart pounding fiercely as he recalled the heroic act of the swordbrother he felt deeply connected to.

He mentally reviewed the teachings from the luminic school, attempting to organize the chaos of his thoughts.

The Umbra's creatures were categorized according to a scale of power, each step representing a terrifying progression toward horror. The gap between each stage was dizzying.

First, the infested: creatures whose familiar forms had been corrupted by shadows. He remembered the unicorn stag he had slain, merely a corrupted reflection of what it had once been, its nature fouled by the Umbra. Yet, even the weakest among them required a lutech weapon to be neutralized. Their black, viscous blood burned the flesh of those who dared approach them unprotected.

Then came the altered, beings that had undergone complete transformations, twisted forms struggling against reality itself. Their animal intelligence replaced by sinister cunning, their attacks unpredictable. Only radiance keepers, draped in Lumen and courage, dared confront them. Even Gaël, despite his bravery, would hesitate to face them.

Beyond this horror lay hollowborns, beings that had evolved to attain consciousness. Their gaze, their movements, everything suggested they comprehended the world and toyed with it. A single hollowborn could plunge an entire village into nothingness. Should several join forces, even a city like Kernéval would barely withstand them.

And finally, the monarchs.

Incarnations of pure destruction, colossal masses of shadow and corruption advancing slowly but inexorably, radiating energy so crushing it warped the air around them. Escape was impossible. Space itself seemed to collapse under their weight. Their mere presence distorted sanity, plunging souls into despair. To witness them was to feel death seep into every pore.

Yet, somehow… he had survived.

Gaël's throat tightened. He, a mere bearer of the mark of Umbra, a boy whose existence depended solely on the fragile tolerance of Kernéval's inhabitants, had survived a power that even the greatest exalted feared. It wasn't merely luck, it was a miracle.

The archon raised a hand adorned with silver and gold rings, their shine gleaming sharply in the waning daylight.

His gaze pierced through the crowd.

"Our reverend has confirmed it," he declared, his voice filled with fervor. "The monarch is dead! But our trial isn't over yet."

A shiver ran through the gathered crowd. They already knew.

"The hordes will come. Soon," his voice deepened, growing more urgent. "Therefore, every surviving family will receive housing in the first ring. Food will be provided. No one will be left behind."

Gaël felt his heart quicken. He knew how fragile this newfound safety was.

"Our lutech engineers are already repairing the city walls," the archon continued, his tone firm. "Afterward, they'll repair the portal."

A murmur rippled through the assembly.

"As soon as possible, the lutech portal will be calibrated to transport those who wish to leave to our sister city, Fendracine."

A silence settled. It was an opportunity. An escape. A chance to start over elsewhere. But how many would stay? How many would flee the threat of a second attack? They would have to leave everything behind, rebuild elsewhere, surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

The archon raised his hand, his eyes sweeping the crowd with cold determination.

"That is all for today. Further announcements will follow tomorrow. Now…" He turned to the reverend standing beside him, a figure draped in robes of dazzling white embroidered with gold symbols.

"Receive the reverend's blessing."

The reverend stepped forward, his robes glittering in the pale light. He lifted his hands, and a wave of calming radiance spread through the crowd, easing the weight of fear and sorrow. Gaël felt his muscles relax and his mind clear, despite the turmoil within.

The cries grew fainter, shoulders straightened slightly. Grief had not vanished, but it had become… more bearable.

When the prayer ended, Gaël followed his mother and brother through the ruined streets, escorted along with other survivors to a vast warehouse. Inside, makeshift partitions separated families, and crude bedding covered the floor.

Night fell, heavy and oppressive. In the silence, distant sounds of battle echoed, a constant reminder that peace was fragile, fleeting. But no alarm was raised.