Myras was unusually quiet, the once-bustling mining city subdued under the weight of unspoken fears. The scars from the marketplace skirmish were still fresh, though the citizens worked tirelessly to restore normalcy. Zerutod walked through the narrow mountain streets, his boots crunching on the cobblestones. His thoughts swirled, dark and relentless, as he made his way to the barracks for yet another strategy meeting.

Inside, the tension was palpable. Calista stood at the head of the table, flanked by a handful of loyal guards. Her expression was grim as she surveyed the map spread before her. Aeliana sat in the corner, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her golden eyes flickering with worry. Zerutod entered without a word, his pale lavender eyes briefly meeting Calista’s before he took a seat.

“We’ve confirmed the Order’s presence in the lower quarter,” Calista began, her tone brisk. “They’re using the old smuggler’s tunnels to move supplies and personnel undetected. If we can cut off their access, we’ll cripple their operations.”

“It’s not enough,” Zerutod interjected, his voice cold. “Cutting off their supply lines will slow them, but it won’t stop them. We need to strike at their core—their leader.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Calista asked, her tone sharp. “The Order’s leader is well-protected, and we don’t even have solid intel on their exact location.”

“We make them come to us,” Zerutod replied, his fingers tracing a path on the map. “Set a trap. Force their hand.”

“Another trap?” Calista’s frustration was evident. “Have you forgotten the fallout from the marketplace? The council is still reeling from the damage, and the people are losing faith in us. If we push too far—”

“If we don’t push far enough, they’ll win,” Zerutod interrupted, his voice rising. “The Order doesn’t hesitate, and neither should we. If we take out their leader, the rest will scatter.”

“And what about the civilians caught in the crossfire?” Calista demanded. “You’re so focused on Aeliana that you’re forgetting what we’re fighting for—to protect this city, all of it, not just her.”

Zerutod’s gaze hardened. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake? Everything I’ve done has been to protect her—and to protect Myras. But sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”

The room fell silent. Aeliana’s soft voice broke the tension. “We need to find another way,” she said, her tone pleading. “Zerutod, please. There has to be another way.”

Zerutod didn’t respond, his mind already working through the steps of his plan. He couldn’t afford to hesitate—not now. “I’ll handle it,” he said finally, rising from his seat. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Calista’s voice followed him as he left the room. “You’re going to get yourself—and all of us—killed.”

That night, Zerutod stood alone on the city walls, the cold mountain wind biting at his skin. Raigaloth’s voice coiled in his mind like smoke. “They doubt you, Zerutod. They lack the resolve to do what is necessary. If you want to protect her, you must act alone.”

“They don’t understand,” Zerutod murmured. “But I will protect her. No matter what.”

Raigaloth chuckled darkly. “Then let them fall behind. You are beyond them now. Forge your own path, Zerutod. Let nothing stand in your way.”

Zerutod closed his eyes, his resolve hardening. Calista was a liability. If she continued to challenge him, she would endanger everything. He would deal with her—and he would do it alone.

The streets of Myras glimmered with early preparations for the Festival of Lanterns, but the cheer did little to mask the city’s underlying dread. In the shadows of the barracks’ meeting chamber, Zerutod paced while Jarek, Nyx, and Calista sat around the large wooden table. Aeliana lingered near the door, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“The Order’s making their move at the Festival,” Zerutod began, his voice sharp and to the point. “Their leader is the key. We take them out, and the rest will scatter.”

“And how exactly do you plan on ‘taking them out’ in the middle of a crowded event?” Calista interjected, her tone edged with frustration. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“I hear myself just fine,” Zerutod replied coldly. “If you have a better idea, let’s hear it.”

Jarek shifted uncomfortably. “We could secure the area instead—focus on defense rather than offense. If we keep Aeliana out of sight and ensure there’s no clear target, we might avoid bloodshed altogether.”

Nyx leaned forward, their dark eyes glinting in the dim light. “That’s optimistic, Jarek. But the Order isn’t the type to walk away just because we’ve blocked their path. They’ll adapt, and they’ll escalate.”

“So what’s your solution?” Jarek asked, frustration creeping into his voice.

“I say we hit them hard and fast,” Nyx said with a shrug. “But we do it smart. No reckless traps, no unnecessary collateral. A targeted strike that cripples their operation without turning the city against us.”

“And what do you think that is, if not eliminating their leader?” Zerutod shot back. “Cutting off the head is the only way to ensure they can’t regroup.”

“This isn’t just about the Order,” Calista said, her voice steady but firm. “It’s about Myras. If we stoop to their level, the city will never recover. The people will never forgive us.”

“This isn’t about forgiveness,” Zerutod snapped. “It’s about survival.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Aeliana, who had been silent until now, spoke hesitantly. “We’re all on the same side. We want to protect Myras and each other. Isn’t there a way to do this without... hurting anyone else?”

Nyx smirked faintly. “Always the optimist, Aeliana. But Zerutod’s right about one thing—we don’t have the luxury of idealism. Not against the Order.”

“And that’s exactly the kind of thinking that’s going to get people killed,” Calista said, her green eyes flashing.

Zerutod turned to Nyx, ignoring Calista’s comment. “What do you know about the Order’s leader?”

“Not much,” Nyx admitted. “But I’ve heard rumors they’ll make an appearance during the Festival. They like to oversee important operations personally. It’s risky, but if you’re looking for a chance to strike, that’s your window.”

Jarek frowned. “And how many innocent people will get caught in the crossfire if we start a fight during the Festival?”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that,” Zerutod said, though his tone lacked conviction. “If we can end this quickly, no one else has to get hurt.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” Calista muttered.

After the meeting, Zerutod lingered in the chamber, his thoughts racing. The dissent among his allies was growing, and he knew it would only get worse. Raigaloth’s voice curled around his thoughts, insidious and compelling.

“You see it now, don’t you? They will never follow you, Zerutod. They lack your vision, your strength. Their hesitation will cost you everything.”

“They don’t understand what’s at stake,” Zerutod murmured.

“Then leave them behind,” Raigaloth whispered. “They are chains around your neck, dragging you down. You don’t need them. All you need is your resolve—and my power.”

Zerutod clenched his fists. “I can’t afford doubt. Not now.”

As he left the chamber, a plan began to take shape in his mind—a plan that would require sacrifice.

The chill of Myras's mountain air pressed down on Zerutod as he walked through the dimly lit streets toward the abandoned watchtower. His thoughts churned with the growing dissent among his allies. Every conversation seemed to push them further apart, their once unified goal now splintered by doubts and hesitation. Yet Zerutod couldn’t shake the conviction that his path was the right one.

The watchtower stood tall and foreboding at the city’s edge, its silhouette sharp against the star-streaked sky. Inside, the walls were lined with hastily pinned maps, notes scrawled with locations, and details of the Order’s suspected plans. It had become a hub for Zerutod’s planning, though fewer allies joined him here now.

Jarek was already waiting, leaning against a table strewn with supplies. “You’re late,” he said, his voice heavy with weariness. “What’s going on, Zerutod? You’ve been avoiding us all day.”

“I’ve been working,” Zerutod replied curtly. “The Order isn’t waiting for us to get our act together. If we don’t move fast, we’re going to lose our chance to stop them.”

“You’re pushing too hard,” Jarek said, his tone softening. “People are starting to lose faith. They don’t understand this new version of you—the one who seems willing to burn everything down to save Aeliana.”

Zerutod’s pale lavender eyes narrowed. “What would you have me do, Jarek? Sit back and hope the Order spares her? Hope they decide not to destroy the city while they’re at it?”

“I’d have you trust us,” Jarek shot back. “We’re supposed to be your allies, but lately, it feels like we’re just obstacles to you.”

Zerutod didn’t answer. He turned to the maps on the wall, tracing the lines of the Order’s suspected routes with his finger. “There’s a supply cache in the southern tunnels. We take it out, we cripple their logistics for the Festival. I’ll need you to lead the team.”

Jarek hesitated. “You’re not coming?”

“No. I have other matters to handle,” Zerutod said, his tone brooking no argument. “But you’ll have Nyx. They’ve been scouting the area.”

“Fine,” Jarek muttered, though his expression was troubled. “But you’re running out of allies, Zerutod. Don’t forget that.”

Later that night, Zerutod met with Nyx in the tunnels beneath the watchtower. The air was damp and cold, the faint sound of dripping water echoing in the darkness. Nyx leaned against the wall, their arms crossed, their usual smirk absent.

“So, what’s the real plan?” Nyx asked. “Because I don’t buy for a second that you’re leaving everything to Jarek.”

Zerutod gave a faint smile. “The real plan is to ensure the Order never gets the chance to strike. Jarek doesn’t need to know everything.”

Nyx raised an eyebrow. “You’re playing a dangerous game. Jarek’s loyal, but he’s not blind. If you keep shutting him out, he’ll figure it out—and he won’t like what he finds.”

“Jarek will do what needs to be done,” Zerutod said flatly. “So will you.”

Nyx sighed, shaking their head. “I’ll admit, I admire your conviction. But you’re walking a thin line, Zerutod. Don’t forget who your real enemies are.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Zerutod replied, his voice quiet but firm. “But if someone can’t keep up, they’re not my ally—they’re dead weight.”

Nyx watched him for a moment, their expression unreadable. “Just don’t lose sight of what you’re fighting for, Zerutod. The Order’s not the only thing that can destroy you.”

The words lingered in Zerutod’s mind as he returned to his quarters. He knew Nyx was right—Jarek, Calista, even Aeliana—they all saw a side of him that was becoming harder to control. But Raigaloth’s whispers drowned out the doubt, a constant reminder of the power he wielded and the results he could achieve.

“You don’t need them,” Raigaloth said, his voice a soothing hiss. “They will betray you in the end, just as they doubt you now. Strike first, and you will never be vulnerable again.”

Zerutod closed his eyes, his grip tightening on the hilt of his katana. “Not yet,” he murmured. “But soon.”

The city’s defenses had held, but the tension among Zerutod’s allies had grown unbearable.

In the dimly lit barracks, Zerutod stared at a map spread across the table, his pale lavender eyes scanning the marked locations of the Order’s movements. Jarek, Nyx, and Calista stood nearby, their unease palpable. Aeliana sat silently by the window, her gaze distant.

“The Order isn’t finished,” Zerutod said, breaking the silence. “Their leader is still out there, and as long as they are, Aeliana remains in danger.”

“We all know that,” Jarek replied, his voice tinged with frustration. “But what’s your plan, Zerutod? Another reckless mission that puts everyone at risk?”

“Reckless?” Zerutod’s tone turned icy. “You call protecting Aeliana reckless?”

“No one’s saying we shouldn’t protect her,” Jarek countered, his fists clenched. “But there’s a difference between defending someone and becoming the very thing we’re fighting against.”

Nyx leaned against the wall, their arms crossed. “As much as I hate to admit it, Jarek’s got a point. You’re acting like a lone wolf, Zerutod. That’s not how we survive this.”

Zerutod’s gaze shifted to Nyx, his expression unreadable. “Survival requires action. If you’re not willing to take the necessary steps, maybe you’re the ones holding us back.”

“Necessary steps?” Calista’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Like what? Sacrificing innocent lives to take down the Order? Using traps that could harm more than just your enemies? Tell me, Zerutod, how far are you willing to go?”

“As far as it takes,” Zerutod said firmly. “If we don’t act decisively, the Order wins. You know what they’re capable of.”

“And what about what you’re becoming?” Calista stepped closer, her green eyes blazing. “You’re so focused on the end goal that you’re forgetting the cost. You’re pushing us away, Zerutod. Even Aeliana can see it.”

At the mention of Aeliana, Zerutod’s expression darkened. He turned to her, his voice softening slightly. “Aeliana, you know I’m doing this for you. You’re the one thing they can’t take from me.”

Aeliana looked up, her golden eyes filled with a mix of fear and sorrow. “I know you mean well, Zerutod. But I’m scared of what this fight is doing to you.”

Her words struck him harder than he anticipated, but Raigaloth’s voice slithered into his thoughts, steady and unyielding. “They are weak, Zerutod. They do not see the future as you do. Cast them aside before they drag you into failure.”

“Enough,” Zerutod said abruptly, his voice cutting through the room. “If you’re not with me, stay out of my way. I don’t have time to coddle doubts.”

The room fell into heavy silence. Jarek looked as though he wanted to say something but shook his head, walking out without another word. Nyx followed, muttering under their breath. Aeliana lingered for a moment before leaving as well, her shoulders slumped.

Only Calista remained, her expression one of quiet defiance. “You’re making a mistake, Zerutod. I hope you realize that before it’s too late.”

He didn’t respond, his attention fixed on the map. After a moment, Calista turned and left, leaving Zerutod alone with his thoughts.

That night, Zerutod sat in the tunnels beneath the city, the hum of Raigaloth’s power enveloping him. The runes on his katana glowed faintly in the dim light as he whispered an incantation, channeling the magic into his blade.

“They don’t understand,” he muttered. “They can’t see what’s coming.”

“Then leave them behind,” Raigaloth’s voice hissed. “You have the power to win this, Zerutod. All you need is the resolve to use it.”

“I’ve already decided,” Zerutod said, his tone resolute. “No one will stand in my way—not the Order, not Calista, not anyone.”

The glow from the katana intensified, casting long shadows across the walls. Zerutod’s expression hardened, his doubts consumed by the growing darkness within him.

The cold winds of Myras’s mountains bit into Zerutod as he made his way to the abandoned quarry on the city’s outskirts. The night sky stretched above him, stars faintly glowing through the mist. He pulled his trench coat tighter against the chill, his katana strapped securely to his back. This was it—the moment he severed his last tie to the life he once knew.

The meeting with Calista had been carefully arranged. Zerutod had made sure to present it as urgent intel—an opportunity to cripple the Order by intercepting a key shipment of magical supplies. He knew Calista would come, her sense of duty too strong to ignore. She trusted him still, though that trust was a fading thread.

Calista arrived not long after, her armor catching the pale moonlight. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, her green eyes scanning the area warily. “Zerutod,” she called, her voice carrying over the wind. “What’s this about?”

“Thank you for coming,” Zerutod said, stepping out of the shadows. “This is where we make our stand.”

Calista frowned, her sharp instincts sensing something amiss. “Our stand? You said this was about an Order supply line.”

“It is,” Zerutod replied smoothly. “But it’s more than that. The Order won’t stop until we eliminate their leader, and to do that, I need to make sure nothing and no one slows me down.”

Calista’s hand tightened on her sword. “What are you talking about? Zerutod, this isn’t like you.”

“Maybe not,” Zerutod said, his voice cold. “But you’ve become a liability. Your hesitation, your moralizing—it’s holding us back.”

“Holding you back?” Calista’s voice rose, anger flashing in her eyes. “I’ve been the one keeping this group together while you spiral deeper into Raigaloth’s grasp. This isn’t a fight for justice anymore—it’s a war you’re waging against yourself.”

Zerutod’s expression darkened, his grip tightening on his katana’s hilt. “You don’t understand what’s at stake. If you’re not with me, you’re against me. And I won’t let anyone stand in my way.”

Calista drew her sword, her stance firm. “If you want to go through with this madness, you’ll have to get past me first.”

The moment hung heavy, the wind howling between them. Then, like a thunderclap, Zerutod unsheathed his katana, the blade humming with Raigaloth’s dark energy. Calista charged, her sword slicing through the air in a precise arc.

Zerutod sidestepped her attack with eerie calm, his blade flashing as he countered. Calista parried, sparks flying as their weapons clashed. “You’re better than this, Zerutod,” she said, her voice strained. “Don’t let Raigaloth destroy you!”

“Raigaloth gives me clarity,” Zerutod shot back, his movements fluid and relentless. “Something you’ve never understood.”

Calista ducked under a sweeping strike, retaliating with a powerful thrust aimed at his chest. Zerutod twisted away, time seeming to slow as he anticipated her movements. He struck back with a flurry of blows, forcing Calista onto the defensive.

“You can’t stop me,” Zerutod said, his voice filled with cold certainty. “No one can.”

“I can’t let you go down this path,” Calista replied, her tone resolute. “Even if it means stopping you myself.”

She lunged, her blade glinting in the moonlight. Zerutod raised his katana to block, the impact reverberating through his arms. He stepped into her strike, using his weight to unbalance her before sweeping her legs out from under her.

Calista hit the ground hard but rolled away before Zerutod’s blade could strike. She came up swinging, her sword whistling through the air. Zerutod dodged, but the tip of her blade caught his shoulder, drawing blood.

He barely registered the pain. Raigaloth’s power surged within him, dulling his senses to anything but the fight. Time seemed to warp around him as he unleashed a devastating series of attacks, forcing Calista back.

Calista gritted her teeth, blocking and dodging with precision, but she was losing ground. “This isn’t you,” she said desperately. “Zerutod, fight it!”

“I am fighting,” Zerutod replied, his voice devoid of emotion. “For the future.”

With a final surge of power, Zerutod disarmed Calista, her sword clattering to the ground. He knocked her to her knees, his katana poised at her throat. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by their labored breaths.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Zerutod said, his voice low. “But you’ve left me no choice.”

“You always had a choice,” Calista replied, her voice trembling with anger and sorrow. “You just refused to see it.”

Zerutod hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But Raigaloth’s voice coiled around his thoughts, silencing his uncertainty. “Do it. Sever the past. Only then can you embrace the future.”

Instead of delivering a fatal blow, Zerutod used his magic to bind Calista with tendrils of time, leaving her immobilized but unharmed. “You’ll thank me someday,” he said, stepping away.

As he disappeared into the shadows, Calista struggled against her bindings, her voice echoing after him. “Zerutod! Don’t do this!” But Zerutod didn’t look back.