Feroy stared at the sky in disbelief, his left hand tightened around the reins of his mount as the beast shifted uneasily. He could tell that it was scared, not just nervous.

Honestly, Feroy couldn’t blame it.

Above the distant cliffs where Valkyrie’s tower was supposed to be hidden among the dunes, there was a flaming dragon that writhed through the air. It was massive in every way, majestic, and terrifying. Its body seemed to be made of fire and its wings spread across the sky, creating a massive shadow over the desert sands below.

Around him, chaos brewed. The tribal warriors pointed it and some even began to retreat. Cries of “It’s an omen!” and “A curse in the sky!” rose in panic. Feroy heard someone drop their spear.

But he didn’t move.

Not because he wasn’t afraid—no one in their right mind could look at that thing and feel nothing—but because he knew. That wasn’t some ancient desert monster. That was magic.

And there was only one person he could imagine being strong enough to throw a dragon into the sky.

Next to him, Nerris and Ansel stayed quiet, their eyes locked on the fiery dragon. Before he could even say anything, Khalid’s voice cracked with disbelief. “W-what is a dragon doing in Ashari?” he pointed towards the sky, and Feroy immediately noticed the way his finger trembled.

Behind him, the rest of the tribal council gawked in silence, mouths half open.

Feroy exhaled and gave an almost unamused smile.

“Don’t worry! No need to go back.” As he said that, he noticed the way some men looked at him in exasperation.

“What do you mean? Are you crazy? We have to go back.”

“That’s Lord Arzan,”

Khalid spun on him, his eyes widened as if he heard the most deranged thing.

“That dragon is Count Arzan?! Have you lost your mind?”

“No, not the dragon itself. It’s one of his spells.”

Maari who was next to him let out a low gasp. “A spell? You’re telling me a Mage conjured that? Since when can spells do that?”

Feroy shrugged. “Since Lord Arzan.”

“I’ve never heard of a Mage doing that, ever.”

“Well, Lord Arzan is special… even among Mages.”

He looked at the sky again, and noticed how the dragon was coiling around something, probably fighting furiously against Khorvash. Due to the distance, dust, and effects of spells, he couldn’t see clearly what exactly was happening. But he had an idea.

“You should get the tribes together,” he looked at Khalid and said.

“Why?” Khalid stared at him, wide eyed.

Feroy pointed at the burning beast in the sky. “If that’s any indication… Khorvash’s death is near.”

“You’re sure?” Khalid asked, almost whispering it.

“Yes.” Feroy’s tone left no room for argument. “We move as soon as the signal comes.”

Fortunately, Khalid didn’t waste time. He spun on his mount to gather the tribal warriors, shouting orders. Many of them were already retreating in fear, but Khalid’s voice, brimming with urgency and command, cut through the chaos. He barked out that the dragon was no enemy—that it was a sign. A sign that the tide was turning.

While he handled the panicking warriors, Feroy turned to Ansel. “How are you feeling?”

Ansel didn’t look away from the sky. And for a moment, Feroy couldn’t figure out what the man was thinking, so he probed further.

“One battle left,” Feroy continued. “If all goes according to plan, your people will be free. Back to how they were before Khorvash rose to prominence.”

Ansel nodded slowly, then turned towards him. “I feel like it’s the biggest battle of my life, and that’s exactly why I have a favour to ask.”

Feroy arched his brow. “A favour?”

“I want to fight Zethar.”

Feroy halted for a brief moment. The name hit him instantly.

“Zethar—the orc general that killed your father?”

“Yes.” Ansel’s eyes didn’t waver. “My tribe may be freed after today. But I won’t be able to sleep another night unless I kill him myself.”

“You realize he’s no small fry, Ansel. He’s an orc general. You’re no Enforcer.”

“I don’t care,” Ansel said flatly. “I’m still a warrior. I have enchanted gear. That’s enough.”

“You’re asking for death.”

“No, I’m asking for justice,” Ansel replied. “Just clear the way when you see him. That’s all I want.”

Beside them, Nerris shifted uncomfortably. Feroy’s frown deepened. But at the same time, he knew he had no right to stand between Ansel and his revenge.

Ansel wasn’t just a crucial part of Veralt’s administration, he also belonged to the desert and was a man carrying a storm inside him. One built from loss, buried pride, and years of waiting. Denying him now would only fracture him further. And honestly, if someone had killed Feroy’s family… he’d be out for blood too.

So instead, he simply nodded. “Don’t die.”

“I won’t,” Ansel said.

Just then, a shout cut through the air. “Look at the sky!”

Feroy turned, eyes snapping upward.

The dragon—Lord Arzan’s conjured beast—was descending, its massive wings churning the clouds, its body wreathed in flame. A shriek tore through the air, so loud it shook everyone's bones.

Maari’s breath caught. “Is that the scream of—”

Husam finished her words. “I think so.”

A heartbeat later, fire exploded in the sky—brilliant and violent—scattering outward in every direction like a flare of war. The signal. The sign they had decided on.

Khorvash was dead.

The Duneborn Overload was… dead.

Feroy didn’t cheer. Instead, he turned his eyes to the tribal leaders, gauging their faces. They all knew what that signal meant. But none of them could quite believe it. He didn’t give them time to figure out what was next.

“We should move. This is the right time to strike. Without Khorvash, the orcs will scatter. They’re nothing without him,” he said, looking at them.

Maari still looked dazed but nodded slowly. Just then, Khalid returned—his face set, eyes burning—as he marched to the front of the gathered tribes.

“Khorvash is dead!” he shouted. “Now is the time! We end this today. We tear down the tyrants who stole our people!”

A surge of roars erupted in response—shouts of “Yes!” and “For the tribes!” echoing over the dunes.

And just like that, the warriors of Ashari began to move, their fury finally unleashed. They had been waiting near the orc territory all this time. Every single one on top of their mounts were tensed, but they stayed silent. But now, as the tribes surged forward, it didn’t take long for Rakhaal to come into view.

Rakhaal—The city of the orcs.

Feroy’s eyes narrowed as he crested a dune and saw walls rising up in the distance. But there was something else that made him pause.

A massive force of orcs stood at the city’s gates, already assembled. Over half of them were mounted on their beasts, weapons raised, eyes gleaming with bloodlust. Feroy did a quick count—at least a hundred, maybe more.

His gut clenched.

They’d slipped this close to the city without running into a single patrol. He’d chalked it up to luck. Now he realized it had been something far worse: betrayal. A spy. Someone had tipped them off.

But it hadn't been long ago. The formation of the orcs gave it all away. They looked hastily assembled. Heck, even their armor was half-buckled. Lord Arzan’s success had come fast enough to give them a fighting chance.

And it didn’t matter either way. They were going to die here. All of them.

Feroy turned to Khalid, who stared ahead in stunned silence. “Don’t stop,” Feroy said. “We take them head-on. I’ll lead.”

Khalid snapped out of it. “Are you sure?”

Feroy didn’t answer. He just raised his spear.

Flames roared to life around the tip of it, licking up the shaft until the whole weapon glowed. Ahead, the orc cavalry began to charge—thundering hooves shaking the earth, war cries splitting the air.

The two forces raced toward one another.

Ten steps left.

Five.

Feroy struck first, lunging forward like a bolt of fire. His spear pierced the first orc’s armor with a flash of heat and a spray of blood, sending the creature collapsing into the sand. And just like that, the two sides collided.

Steel clashed against one another, and mounts screamed. Fire and fury erupted on the battlefield. And in the middle of chaos, Feroy himself became a storm.

His burning spear carved through the orc line, clearing a path through the blood and bodies—straight towards the gates of the city.

***

Kai exhaled as the last sliver of the storage stone dissolved into his palm, the rush of mana surging through his veins like fire. His Mana heart pulsed, fully replenished at last.

It was enough for him to finally open his eyes and look around the chamber.

Gareth, Kael, and Adil had finished dragging the orc bodies to the side, piling them near one of the shattered statues. The stench of blood still lingered, but the silence was worse.

Claire paced along the walls, her brows furrowed as she examined the statues, including the broken ones on the ground. She even swept her hand through the walls, looking for a hidden mechanism. But there was nothing.

Nothing except for the podium, making him believe even more that it was the way to take control of the tower. But he didn’t move towards it right away. After all, he had no idea if he had to fight any more guardians that might reveal themselves if he touched the bowl on top of the podium.

He slowly turned toward the others from where he sat.

“I believe it’s time to see if there’s a tower spirit in that podium.”

“What’s a tower spirit?” Adil asked, looking confused.

Kai got up and folded his arms, keeping his eyes on the bowl. “It’s a soul fragment. Mages use them to manage towers like this—give them a kind of consciousness. But it’s rare. Creating one means you’re either powerful… or crazy as getting one is a painstaking task.”

“Then why are you sure there’s one in there, Lord Arzan?”

“Because this tower hasn’t fallen apart,” Kai said simply. “It’s ancient. No one maintained it for decades—yet the wards held, the structure endured, the traps didn’t decay, and the mana density is still unnaturally high. Everything still works… aside from that one accidental breach that let the orcs in.” He pointed to the podium. “Someone has been keeping it all running. I think the tower spirit has been in stasis all this time, using what little power it had to keep the place alive, subconsciously tending to its functions.”

Kael gave a low whistle. “And now we wake it up?”

“Yeah. Let's just hope it's not hostile.”

He stepped forward while the others followed close behind. The podium was right ahead, simple in design but impossibly sturdy. His battle with Khorvash hadn't even made a dent on it. The bowl on top of it shimmered faintly.

Kai reached out and brushed his fingers over its rim, then closed his eyes and began pushing fine strands of mana into the vessel.

Nothing happened. He pushed more mana into it, but the result was the same.

Claire’s voice broke the silence. “What happened?”

Kai exhaled. “I thought channeling mana would be enough. It worked on the gates, but this… this is different.”

He furrowed his brow and leaned closer, scanning the bowl and podium for any hint of seals or any other kind of enchantments—anything that might give him a clue. But everywhere he searched, he got the same answer over and over.

There was nothing on the podium.

Until a question rose.

Why a bowl?

Valkyrie had been deliberate with everything in this tower. A bowl—especially a crystal one—wasn’t an accident. It was a puzzle.

His eyes narrowed, and he whispered, “She made this for me.”

He formed a spell structure immediately. A layer of ice bloomed over his palm, and he guided it into the bowl, shaping it slowly and evenly until it filled the vessel completely.

Seconds passed.

Again. They were served with nothing. He inclined his head while wondering what had he done wrong. Even the others behind him shifted.

For a few seconds, they all stared at the podium, the crystal bowl and the ice, re-evaluating everything that surrounded them.

“Lord Arzan, maybe you didn’t—”

Kael was cut short when a sudden light erupted from the water.

Kai’s entire focus went to the soft glow that now pulsed through the bowl, gleaming across the surface of the ice. The frozen surface shimmered and slowly began to melt, transforming into crystal-clear water, like a mirror carved from the purest spring.

Kael gasped. “What is that?”

Adil stepped forward, reaching out to touch it—but Kai’s arm snapped out, stopping him mid-motion.

“Don’t,” Kai said sharply, his eyes still fixed on the bowl. “It might attack you, thinking you’re an intruder to the inheritance.”

Adil blinked. “A bowl of water?”

“A magical bowl of water. Trust me, that's the dangerous kind.”

That earned a skeptical grunt, but Adil backed off. “Fine. I’ll let you drown in it first.”

“Appreciate that,” Kai muttered, stepping back to the bowl.

He grimaced as he dipped two fingers back into the water, it was cold. Too cold for his liking but he waited for a beat, and another.

Yet nothing happened.

After a minute, it almost felt stupid. So, he plunged more of his hand in.

Still, it gave out nothing.

He exhaled through his nose, squinting down at the crystal bowl like it had personally offended him. “You know, a button would’ve been a lot more considerate.”

And then—because this was definitely a riddle, and he had long accepted she was the dramatic type—he went with his gut.

With a resigned sigh, he leaned forward, took a sharp breath and dunked his entire face into the glowing water.

The reaction was immediate.

The world spun violently. Mana rushed into him like a storm, flooding through his limbs, his chest—his very soul. Every nerve in his body lit up like someone had set fire to his bloodstream, but it wasn’t painful. It was an awakening.

Then came the stillness and he slammed down on the ground.

His feet were on the grass.

Kai blinked. The air was cool, the scent of flowers oddly nostalgic. The desert heat was gone. All around him, gentle hills stretched out under a bright blue sky. Birds chirped. Wind rustled.

“Arzan.”

A voice came and it struck something deep in him—warm, familiar, and commanding all at once.

He turned and there she stood.

A woman in white robes. Hair flowing behind her like it was caught in some celestial breeze. Her gaze locked on him with something between joy and pride.

“…Valkyrie,” he said quietly, not taking long to recognise her.

She smiled. “You took your time, child.”

He had seen her before. But now, standing here, the sight of her felt… more real. More powerful. It could be the way her robes flowed, the glint of silver in her gaze, or the soft hum of magic around her—she was ethereal, yes, but also present in a way no fragment had ever been.

He knew he was talking to a fragment of a soul, but this was one strong enough to create this space they were in right now.

Kai found himself staring.

She smiled at him.

A knowing, warm smile of a mother, and mana gushed out of her, to touch him.

Before Kai could blink, it covered him and a sinking feeling surfaced in his heart.

Her eyes narrowed.

The air around her changed. Mana crackled in the space and the warm presence vanished in an instant.

Her voice came out again, but the softness was long gone.

“You are not my son.”

***

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