Ember and Echo
Jerry's Perspective
Smoke Over Stone
The fires still burned in the distance.
Tu'Xanz's home was in ruins.
Jerry knelt in the smoldering ashes of the forge, the metal warped and blackened, the stone scorched. He could still smell the Abyss—its sour, fetid stench tainting the earth like a curse. His hand clenched Backbone tightly at his side, the weapon's weight grounding him in a moment that threatened to pull him apart.
This had been home.
The place where he learned to craft, to fight, to be. Where he'd found family after losing his own. Where the embers of hope had flickered back to life.
Now those embers were dying.
"Where are they..." he whispered to the cracked ground, his voice hoarse.
Behind him, Aviana landed with a beat of her golden wings, shifting smoothly from eagle to her humanoid form. "Tracks lead into the forest," she said, her voice low. "Scattered, but not bloodied."
Vrkane knelt beside Jerry. "They fled before it was over. They're alive."
Jerry didn't move. He felt it through the bond—they were distant, faint, but there. His heart eased only slightly, the tension in his jaw remaining as tight as iron.
Bengala stepped over what remained of the door, her claws retracting as she took in the destruction. "They brought war to your hearth," she growled. "We should return the favor."
Jerry rose slowly, his armor shifting with him like liquid obsidian. His gaze turned north, toward the direction the tracks led, then farther—beyond, toward the kingdom of Hakinim.
He knew what had happened.
Archibald.
Even in death, the man had been a herald of corruption. A willing pawn of the Abyss, a puppet who'd pulled the strings of war with a zealot's smile.
And now the kingdom bled for it.
---
Fury Without Fire
As the sun dipped behind the clouds, Jerry and his bonded stood on a high ridge overlooking the valley that once held the safety of Tu'Xanz's forge. It had been their sanctuary. Now, it was a tomb of smoldering memories.
He turned to his companions—Aviana standing proud with her flowing golden robe, her talons glinting like judgment incarnate. Bengala, her striped armor crackling with restrained violence. Vrkane, silent and steady, the wind tugging at the fur around his neck.
"We're not running," Jerry said, his voice resolute. "We're done running."
Aviana tilted her head. "Where then?"
He looked back toward the ridgeline and the trail of destruction that cut toward Hakinim's borders. "To the capital. To the king. They brought the Abyss to our doorstep. We end it there."
Vrkane snorted. "Finally."
---
The Wounds of the Land
They traveled in silence for hours, following a trail marked not by footprints, but by the sickness in the land. Trees withered around blackened roots. Streams ran sluggish and thick, like veins poisoned by rot.
It was near dusk when they came across the first survivors.
A family of three—burned, shaken, barely alive—crawled from beneath a collapsed barn. The father wept as he clutched his son, who stared blankly at nothing. The mother trembled, clutching a charred locket.
Jerry knelt beside them, placing a hand on the boy's chest. He let his power seep gently into the child, just enough to stabilize what he could. The light pulsed soft and golden beneath his fingers.
"I thought… you were just a myth," the father rasped, tears streaking down his soot-covered face. "The godling of the north. They said you left."
Jerry's eyes burned, not with power—but guilt.
"I shouldn't have," he said.
He left them with food from his armor's inner stores, the divinely-forged containment space holding enough to feed them for days. As he rose, Vrkane's voice hummed through their bond.
"They're turning the people against you. Whispers say the godling lured the darkness. That the Abyss follows in your wake."
Jerry didn't flinch. "Let them whisper. I'll answer them in the light."
---
The Storm Before the Gates
By midnight, the wind carried ash. They crested the last hill—and the capital came into view.
Naventura, the jewel of Alturio, burned.
Flames licked the outer walls. Screams echoed across the valley. Winged shapes circled overhead—twisted beasts of scale and bone, born from nightmares.
The Abyss hadn't just attacked Tu'Xanz's home.
It had followed them.
Bengala bared her fangs. "No more waiting."
They moved as one.
Jerry flared his temporal field, slowing time as he launched himself forward, his armor shifting to battle form. Backbone and Dismay appeared in his hands with a thought. The runes along the blades blazed with his fury.
Aviana soared upward, wings ablaze in radiant flame, calling down golden feathers that cut like daggers.
Vrkane took to the shadows, his form vanishing into smoke as he picked off flankers with deadly silence.
Bengala charged at his side, her claws scything through enemy after enemy in graceful arcs of death.
Jerry's movements were a blur—his powers slipping into temporal harmony. He dodged attacks that hadn't happened yet, his swords meeting flesh, shadow, and bone before his enemies could even register his presence.
One beast lunged at him from the rooftops—a stitched monstrosity with too many wings and a mouth that split its chest in two.
Jerry blinked forward in time, reappearing mid-air. Backbone cleaved the creature's wings. Dismay drove through its skull.
He landed in a crouch beside a wounded guard, who looked up at him with wide, unbelieving eyes.
"The godling…" the man gasped.
Jerry offered him a hand. "Let's save your city."
---
A Moment to Bleed
Hours passed in a haze of fire and steel.
At last, as the sun's first light broke over the battlefield, the Abyssal tide receded. The sky was a canvas of smoke and wounded stars, but for now—Naventura still stood.
Exhausted, Jerry stumbled to the palace steps. He saw familiar figures gathered—Tu'Xanz, Mel'Imba, Yen, and the others—rushed to safety by those who hadn't fled.
They were safe. For now.
But the war had just begun.
Jerry dropped to one knee, his body trembling, not from fatigue—but from what he had felt as he moved through the battle.
A presence.
Watching him.
Not the Warden. Not the Abyss.
Something older.
Something bound to him.
A whisper clawed at the edge of his hearing.
"The Chrono-God awakens."
Jerry raised his head slowly, sweat clinging to his brow.
Whatever came next, he was ready.
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