Several months before that first wooden sword was ever swung in the small forest, a commander had returned to Oblivion.

  The sky above the fortress was never truly clear.

  Gray clouds hung low over the towering black stone walls, their cracks bearing the scars of long-forgotten wars.

  The iron gates opened slowly.

  Commander Williams stepped inside without haste. His dark cloak shifted lightly in the cold wind.

  Every Oblivion guard on duty bowed in unison, fists pressed against their chests—the highest sign of respect for their commander.

  Behind him, a man clad in Oblivion’s signature black attire followed in silence.

  His gaze was sharp, his face nearly devoid of emotion. His right hand rested casually on the hilt of the sword at his waist.

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  Not a single guard dared to look at him for long.

  The main hall of Oblivion was lit by dim torches. A massive black emblem was carved into the stone wall—an unyielding symbol of power.

  Vice Commander Wetra was already waiting near the entrance.

  “Commander,” he said shortly, bowing his head in respect.

  Commander Williams and Wetra walked down the corridor toward the hall.

  “Report.”

  “The western sector has been secured,” Wetra replied.

  “However, two children were found alive. They’ve been secured.”

  Silence.

  The armored man behind Williams shifted his weight slightly. The faint sound of metal clashing broke the stillness.

  Williams slowly removed his gloves.

  “Where are they now?”

  “They are currently at Kael’s residence,” Wetra answered.

  “Kael…” Williams repeated quietly.

  “He’s returned?”

  “More precisely, he was involved in the incident at Terukh Hill,” Wetra continued.

  “I see,” Williams replied coldly.

  “The report mentions a single entity appearing at the site.”

  Williams unfolded the document.

  “Bune,” he said softly.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “How strong is it?”

  Wetra fell silent for a moment.

  “If the Abyss we have faced before were considered a danger… then Bune is a catastrophe.”

  Silence settled over the hall.

  “When my blade struck his wrist,” Wetra continued,

  “There was something different. As if… he hadn’t expected to be wounded.”

  Williams did not answer immediately. His fingers paused over the report, right where the number of casualties was listed, before his gaze shifted toward the tall windows of the hall.

  “Make sure,” he said quietly,

  “that nothing has been overlooked.”

  Wetra bowed deeper.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Outside, the wind whispered against the stone walls. Oblivion stood within its own shadow—unyielding, cold, immovable.

  And far from there, without their knowledge, a boy who should have vanished was learning how to grip a sword.