Revan drew his dagger and slipped into a ready stance, his body low, eyes sharp.

  The hooded figures across the room burst into laughter—mocking him and his small blade.

  But Revan didn't flinch. He let the Etherea surge through him, flowing into every muscle and nerve. He was ready.

  One of the figures lunged forward, sword raised high.

  Revan sidestepped, letting the blade crash into the floor with a metallic clang. In a blink, he drove his dagger upward, straight into the attacker's neck.

  The man crumpled.

  Without hesitation, Revan snatched up the fallen sword and turned just in time to parry another strike. Steel clashed against steel. Sparks scattered.

  His opponent snarled, pushing against him. Another figure rushed in from the side, blade swinging.

  Before it could connect—a second sword intercepted it.

  Revan's eyes flicked to the blade, then followed it up to its wielder.

  Oliver.

  He stood beside him, calm and composed, meeting Revan's stunned expression with a raised brow.

  In one fluid motion, Oliver channeled Etherea into his blade and dispelled the attacker's strike, sending the enemy stumbling backward.

  Then, with a grunt, Oliver grabbed Revan by the collar and yanked him out of the fray, tossing him behind. Revan hit the ground hard, landing on his rear.

  "Stay down," Oliver muttered, stepping forward.

  The figure Revan had just fought charged at Oliver with a furious roar.

  Oliver slashed his blade—a brilliant white arc of Etherea cut through the air, slicing cleanly across the enemy's torso. The man dropped without a sound.

  Oliver glanced back at Revan. "You're not an Etherean?"

  Revan used his sword as support to push himself up, a question he'd heard too many times. He steadied his breath and took his stance again, Etherea flowing through his body once more.

  "No," he said firmly. "But I can still fight."

  Oliver blinked, then chuckled. "Life hasn't been kind to you, has it?"

  His gaze softened—a look of empathy, even familiarity, flickering beneath the rugged edge of his expression.

  He turned back to the room, raising his hand. His palm glowed a searing red, like molten steel.

  Without warning, a torrent of fire erupted from his hand, sweeping across the floor like a storm.

  Flames surged through the chamber, crashing against the walls, licking the ceiling. They washed over the hooded figures, who screamed in panic—silhouettes twisting in agony before disintegrating into ash.

  The inferno roared, a wall of living flame. Revan watched, wide-eyed, as the fire consumed everything in its path. The glass wall cracked and darkened, blackened by the heat, until nothing remained of the figures but embers and soot.

  Then—silence.

  The fire subsided. Smoke lingered in the air, swirling above the scorched floor. The chamber was unrecognizable—blackened walls, ruined ceiling, the glass barrier now a canvas of ash.

  Revan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The Etherea flowing through him faded. His body finally relaxed.

  He looked at Oliver with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

  "You're a Solfyr…" he whispered.

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  Oliver met his gaze and offered a quiet, knowing smile from behind his thick beard.

  "Just go," Oliver said, his voice low but firm. "You can't beat the stag-man."

  "No." Revan's voice was calm, unwavering. "I need to save my friend."

  Oliver stepped in front of him. "Listen to me. You'll only get in the way—"

  "Shut up," Revan snapped, cutting him off.

  Oliver blinked, caught off guard.

  Revan's lips curved into a small smile. "Didn't you say arrogant people tend to underestimate others?"

  He turned his gaze to the blackened glass wall ahead, the faint glow of fire still flickering across its edges. Then, without waiting for a response, he strode toward the charred glass door.

  Oliver watched him go, a grin forming beneath his beard. "They won't see you coming, kiddo," he muttered, following behind.

  Revan pushed the door open. Beyond it, several white-coated researchers were already detaching Luna from the Ether platform.

  At the center of the room stood Lord Cervarin, tall and imposing, his back turned as he examined the floating golden parchment above the stone table.

  "It reacts well to the Marvilion girl's light affinity, just as we predicted," he said to no one in particular. "But it yields no effect. I believe we must first understand what this scripture says before we can harness its power."

  "Go to your friend," Oliver whispered from behind.

  Revan broke into a run, sword in hand, moving swiftly toward the four researchers surrounding Luna. His steps were steady, precise.

  Before he could reach them, four streaks of flame blazed past him—small fireballs, fast and deadly.

  Each one pierced a researcher cleanly through the chest.

  The moment they fell, Luna's body began to drop.

  Revan flung his sword aside and dived forward, catching her in midair.

  The four bodies crumpled to the ground as Revan cradled Luna in his arms.

  Lord Cervarin spun around, eyes wide with fury. "I should've killed you when I had the chance," he snarled.

  His body began to twist and morph—antlers tore from his forehead, fur burst across his limbs, and his frame thickened with muscle.

  Cervarin dropped to all fours like a beast, his hooves clattering against the floor. Etherea surged through him, coating his body in radiant white energy.

  But just as he lunged, a wall of fire erupted, separating him from Revan and Luna.

  "Your fight is with me, Lando," Oliver said coolly, stepping into view.

  Cervarin—now fully transformed—rose on two legs. His antlers scraped against the ceiling.

  He chuckled. "My prince."

  "So this is what you've become?" Oliver asked, a hint of disgust in his voice. "Using what's left of the rebellion to kidnap noble children? What's next, Lando—alchemy and puppet shows?"

  "The rebellion is over, Your Highness," Lando replied with a smile. "Scattered. Hiding. Starving for purpose. Sometimes… all they need is the right motivation to keep going."

  Oliver's eyes flicked to the glowing parchment above the table. His voice sharpened.

  "Where did you learn about the Scripture of the Presence?"

  "That," Lando growled, "is none of your concern."

  Then, with a bestial snarl, he dropped back to all fours again, white Etherea coating his entire body—pulsing, radiant, wild.

  Oliver turned slightly, addressing Revan behind the wall of flame.

  "Watch closely, kid. This is how you fight using nothing but raw Etherea."

  Lando charged forward, leaping from point to point in a zigzag blur. His movements were fast—almost beastlike—as his antlered head lowered, glowing with a coat of dense Etherea.

  Oliver remained still. Calm.

  He slid his sword back into its sheath, then clenched his right fist at his side.

  In an instant, Etherea surged over his arm, wrapping it in a radiant, metallic platinum sheen that gleamed under the light—his entire forearm transformed into something between armor and weapon.

  Lando closed the distance fast, aiming his Etherea-coated antlers directly at Oliver's chest.

  Just as impact seemed inevitable—Oliver jumped.

  With a swift twist of his body mid-air, he brought his platinum-armored fist crashing down onto Lando's head.

  A shockwave exploded through the room. The floor beneath them cracked and caved inward, a spiderweb of fractures spreading across the stone.

  Lando's head slammed into the floor, hard. His eyes rolled back, pupils vanishing, and his massive, fur-covered body collapsed in place.

  He didn't move.

  He was out cold.

  Oliver landed softly beside him, straightening his coat with casual precision.

  "See? Easy," he said with a smile.

  Revan stood frozen, still holding Luna in his arms. "How did you do that?" he asked, wide-eyed.

  "It's called Ether Armament," Oliver said as he approached, the faint glow of power still lingering along his arm. "You'll learn to use it. In time."

  Then, as if responding to his calm, the metallic sheen faded, peeling away like silk curling in fire, vanishing without a trace.

  Before Revan could reply, a new sound interrupted the silence—footsteps, echoing from the corridor beyond. Slow. Steady. Purposeful. And drawing closer with every beat.

  A figure emerged.

  A woman clad in a dark, hooded cloak stepped into view. A dragon-shaped mask covered her face. Ethereal light shimmered faintly across her robes.

  Oliver's arm once again ignited with platinum energy, the metallic glow extending as he drew his sword. The same light surged from his hand and flowed across the blade like liquid metal.

  The figure halted at a safe distance.

  "High Prince Oliver Solfyr," she said calmly.

  "Wrath," Oliver replied with equal calm.

  She didn't remove the mask. "The base is surrounded. Durnhold Kingdom's forces have locked down the entire perimeter. Let the children go."

  "He's not—" Revan started.

  Oliver raised a hand, silencing him without looking.

  "A deal, then?" he said coolly. "I walk out freely… and they return to you unharmed."

  "And if we say no?"

  Without hesitation, Oliver turned his left hand toward Revan and Luna. Flames erupted, swirling around his palm with terrifying ease.

  "They die," he said, voice like stone.