Mist swallowed the assembly ground.
Blue-grey fog rolled thick and heavy, blinding every remaining soul, muffling sound until even the echoes of battle felt distant—unreal.
Derian stood frozen where he was.
Something inside him fractured. His dreamlike eyes dulled, their shifting colors fading as though a part of him had been torn away. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe. He only stared into the fog where Damien and Reinna had been.
Victor's composure finally cracked. His sharp, calculating gaze wavered—not from horror alone, but from the realization that his instincts had failed him. He had misjudged the threat. And the cost of that mistake now hung in the air.
Alpha couldn't look away. Guilt weighed heavily on him, pressing his shoulders down as the truth settled in. All the signs had been there. He had been warned—yet he adhered not.
Ace stood silent, fists clenched, his usual confidence stripped bare. For the first time, there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do.
Lucian, the Lycan Prince, watched in uneasy stillness.
His gaze shifted between the drifting mist and Derian's hollow expression. And suddenly, he was no longer standing on the battlefield. He was years in the past—back to the moment he had taken Reul's life.
Derian's eyes looked the same now.
Empty.
In the Soul Sea, Ramien stood frozen.
He shook his head slowly, as if the motion alone could undo what he had seen. His thoughts refused to settle, skidding away from a truth too cruel to accept. This was wrong. It had to be. The Soul Sea itself felt unstable beneath his feet.
Above, in the waking world, Xyldrak's gaze swept across the assembly ground.
Those still standing felt it instantly—a crawling sensation along their skin. No one moved. The pressure was enough to make them hold their breaths.
Derian reacted first.
He snapped his head up, and pink mist erupted violently from his body. Gaza burst forth in a coiling surge, scales shimmering as the serpentine Komodo hurled himself at Xyldrak with unrestrained fury.
Xyldrak did not retreat.
Instead he drew in every fragment of strength he had left. Blue-grey light flared within his maw, swelling, deepening—no longer aimed at a single enemy.
He unleashed it.
The force tore through the field indiscriminately. Gaza was struck first, thrown aside like mist against stone. Ace, Victor, Alpha, Lucian—none of them could withstand it. Power slammed into the survivors, flattening resistance.
When the light finally faded and the mist began to thin—
Xyldrak was gone.
Only the aftermath remained.
And the silence he left behind was heavier than the attack itself.
Victor dragged himself out of the hollow his body had carved into the stone.
Every movement sent pain flaring through his side, but he forced himself upright anyway, one hand pressed hard against the wound as he scanned what remained of the battlefield.
Ace lay slumped near the far edge of the ruins. He didn't move. Only the faint flicker of arcane symbols across his skin proved he was still alive—barely.
Alpha knelt several paces away, shoulders sagging. His clothes hung in tatters. His head was bowed, ears flattened, tail limp against the ground. He didn't look up.
Gaza on the other hand tried to rise.
The serpentine Komodo pushed himself halfway upright before faltering, collapsing back into the rubble. Pink mist bled from his form, thinning until only Derian remained—motionless, broken, breathing so shallow it was almost imperceptible.
Lucian stood over him.
The Lycan Prince's bare upper body bore a deep, ugly mark where the battle had caught him, but he seemed to relish it. He circled Derian slowly, eyes bright with cruel amusement.
"So," Lucian said, voice uneven with laughter, "your other friend's gone." He tilted his head. "What's left now, Pinky? Me… or nothing at all?"
Derian's gaze was empty. Then his eyes rolled back, and his body went slack.
Victor's eyes retracted from the field, he exhaled shakily and glanced down at his side.
Only then did he notice the injury embedded there—darkened, unfamiliar. Poisoned.
He spat out a mouthful of blood tinged with green, his fingers tightening around the injury, numb realization settling in.
He wasn't going to last much longer.
Victor straightened, forcing his body into obedience. He pressed the pain down, buried it beneath resolve, and crossed the broken ground to Alpha. When he reached him, he placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"This isn't the time," Victor said quietly. "We need to get Ace out. Now."
He swallowed hard before the words could betray him.
Alpha nodded without looking up. Together, they moved toward Ace. Alpha limped badly, each step dragging, his expression tight with pain. Victor walked upright, measured, careful not to let a single weakness show—though the poison began spreading beneath his skin, radiating outward from the wound in his side.
When they reached Ace, Victor hesitated.
Alpha's hands hung uselessly at his sides.
Without a word, Victor bent and lifted the wizard himself, bracing the weight against his chest. Ace stirred faintly but did not wake.
A sound made them turn.
Lucian was already retreating across the field, Derian slung over his shoulder like a trophy. The Lycan didn't look back.
Elsewhere, movement caught Victor's eye. A few survivors crawled free of the wreckage—dragging themselves from shattered stone and fallen ground, clinging to life more by instinct than strength.
Of the thousands who had stood here days ago, fewer than ten remained.
And even they could barely walk.
"Let's go to my pack," Alpha said quietly. "It's closer to the academy."
Victor considered that for a moment. "How close?"
"About three thousand miles from the gate."
Victor nodded once.
They set off without another word.
With his accelerated healing, the poison wouldn't finish its work for days—perhaps a week. Under normal circumstances, that would have been enough. But three thousand miles on foot, through hostile land, with a wounded wolf at his side?
Victor knew the truth yet he walked anyway.
His expression stayed neutral, his posture steady, every step taken through force of will rather than strength. Pain followed him like a shadow, but he refused to acknowledge it.
Two days passed.
They had barely cleared five hundred miles when they were forced to stop again. The journey had been anything but clear—hostile creatures, warped terrain, lingering remnants of old conflicts. Victor handled every confrontation himself. Alpha watched, helpless more often than not.
When they finally rested, Alpha broke the silence.
"You've done too much these past two days," he said carefully. "I can tell you're hurt."
Victor didn't look at him. "Did you step into my Soul Sea?"
Alpha stiffened. Guilt filled his eyes before he could hide it. "It's… withering."
Victor nodded once, accepting it without comment. "Where are we?"
Alpha exhaled, then his eyes glowed white as his vision expanded beyond the physical.
"This area's clear," he said after a moment. "But we'll need to move before nightfall. Dark wolves are migrating through soon." He hesitated. "My arms should heal completely by then."
Victor finally looked at him.
"Good," he said. "I'll help speed it up. We'll need every hand."
Before Alpha could protest, Victor placed his palm against Alpha's arm and channeled his healing into him.
Alpha stared at him, emotions clashing across his face—sadness, gratitude, something close to relief.
"Thank you," Alpha said quietly.
Victor said nothing.
By sunset, they moved again. This time, Alpha carried the unconscious Ace, while Victor pressed forward beside them, keeping his face neutral, masking the pain that clawed through him.
By the fifth day, they had covered another thousand miles. The green veins had crept across Victor's body—chest, arms, lower torso—His collar and long sleeves concealed most of it, but the poison was relentless. And when Alpha wasn't looking, Victor spat small mouthfuls of blood tinged with green. His eyes had dimmed, yet his steps never faltered.
Ace's arcane symbols flickered faintly at first, then brighter, showing the boy's stubborn attempts to heal himself even while unconscious. Alpha poured everything he had into the Ace, but even his power was limited.
Victor, though his body bore the poison's creeping grasp, fought on with quiet determination. The wound itself had healed, but the poison could not be healed—only cured. Every step he took was a silent pledge: Ace and Alpha would reach safety, no matter the cost.