The square was a storm of chaos and death.

The cries of the wounded, the relentless clash of metal, and the guttural roars of soldiers locked in combat swirled into a deafening cacophony. Bodies moved like waves in a boiling sea, black-clad Ravencourts clashing with Thornfield greens, their struggle painting the cobblestones with blood. Aether flared in bursts of light and shadow, illuminating fleeting moments of terror and triumph.

Thorne stood on the edge of the maelstrom, his glowing eyes wide. The governing building loomed in the distance, its walls shrouded by smoke and the frenetic movement of soldiers on all sides. Reaching it felt impossible.

"Move!" barked the hooded leader of the Lost Ones, his voice cutting through the chaos. The others formed a tight ring around Thorne, their weapons already drawn.

They surged forward, and the nightmare began.

The Lost Ones moved with a precision that spoke of years of grueling training. The hooded figures danced through the battlefield, their movements like shadows given life. One moment they were there, blades flashing in the firelight; the next, they melted into the swirling chaos, only to reappear behind their foes.

A Ravencourt soldier charged with a battle cry, his sword trailing aetheric flames. One of the Lost Ones stepped forward, her cloak flaring as she spun low, slicing clean through his exposed leg with a crescent-shaped dagger. The man toppled, his cry silenced as her second blade found his throat.

"Keep moving!" the leader snarled, his twin short swords dripping crimson as he carved a path forward.

Thorne stumbled over the uneven ground, struggling to keep up. Blood splattered his boots, and the heat of aether-fueled explosions scorched his skin.

A Ravencourt archer spotted them, drawing his bow. One of the Lost Ones, a wiry man with streaks of white in his hair, hurled a throwing knife with unerring precision. The archer fell, clutching his neck, before his arrow left the string.

"Go!" the wiry man shouted, catching Thorne's arm and pulling him forward.

Thorne's chest heaved as they pressed onward, the group weaving through the carnage. He hadn't drawn a weapon, hadn't lifted a finger to fight. The Lost Ones shielded him with their lives, their blades and skills a wall against the chaos.

One of them, a woman with a single braid trailing down her back, caught a Ravencourt captain's sword with her dagger, redirecting the blow with deadly grace. She countered with a flurry of strikes, her blade dancing across his armor's weak points until he crumpled.

A second Ravencourt soldier blindsided her with an aether-empowered strike, his blade glowing blue as it smashed into her side. She collapsed with a sharp cry, and enemies swarmed her from all sides.

Thorne lost sight of her.

"Keep moving!" the leader shouted, but his voice wavered. Thorne's stomach churned as they left her behind, her lifeless body trampled underfoot by the surging battle.

The battlefield was a tempest of skills and blades. Warrior shouts triggered explosive strikes, aetheric waves rippling through enemy ranks. Arrows rained like a storm as archers unleashed their fury, arrows, some imbued with aether others full of poison pierced the ground and anyone caught in their path.

A Ravencourt soldier vaulted over a fallen Thornfield knight, his axe glowing with an ominous red hue. Another Lost One intercepted him, stepping into the soldier's swing and using the momentum to drive her short sword into his chest. She yanked her blade free, her hood falling back to reveal a face streaked with grime and blood.

"Go left!" the leader commanded, pointing toward a narrow gap in the fighting.

Thorne stumbled in that direction, flinching as an aetheric blast erupted nearby, hurling two bodies skyward. The air reeked of burnt flesh and charred metal.

Thorne's Veil Sense flared, alerting him to a threat from behind. A Ravencourt soldier, his halberd glowing with jagged arcs of aether, broke through the Lost Ones' line. He swung his weapon with brutal force, aiming for Thorne's unprotected back.

Before the strike could land, a Lost One intercepted the blow, her twin daggers crossing to catch the halberd mid-swing. Sparks flew as the aether discharged, but her face remained calm. She twisted her blades, disarming the soldier before driving a dagger into his chest.

Her victory was short-lived. A spear pierced her side from behind, the Ravencourt soldier pulling it free as she fell to her knees. Thorne locked eyes with her as she collapsed, her blood pooling around her.

"Go!" the leader barked, his voice raw with urgency.

The Lost Ones pressed on, their numbers dwindling. What had started as a protective ring around Thorne was now a scattered formation of weary, blood-soaked fighters. But the governing building was getting closer, its gates surrounded by Thornfield soldiers desperately holding the line.

"We're close!" the leader shouted. "Push!"

One of the Lost Ones unleashed a final, desperate skill, his cloak flaring as he spun into a Ravencourt squad. His blades became a whirlwind of death, cutting down three soldiers before the fourth impaled him with a spear.

The Lost Ones pressed on, the ferocity of their strikes waning as exhaustion and mounting casualties took their toll. Their once-coordinated movements had dissolved into desperate, individual acts of survival.

The leader was still ahead, his twin short swords a blur as he cleaved through a Ravencourt soldier and parried another's halberd in the same motion. "Don't break formation!" he shouted, his voice hoarse but resolute. "We are getting there."

Beside Thorne, the wiry man with the whistle struck down an advancing Ravencourt fighter, his dagger flashing in the blood-soaked moonlight. He turned to Thorne with a grim smile, jerking his head toward the governing building in the distance.

"Almost there, kid," he said, his voice tight with strain. "Stick close."

But Thorne's Veil Sense flared in warning a heartbeat too late. From the right, a Ravencourt soldier emerged, his greatsword glinting with aetheric energy. The man swung in a brutal arc, his blade slicing through the air.

The wiry Lost One turned, deflecting the first strike with his dagger, but the force sent him stumbling back. Thorne lunged forward instinctively, his own dagger raised, but the Ravencourt soldier was faster.

The greatsword swung again, cleaving through the wiry man's torso in a spray of blood. He crumpled to the ground, his whistle tumbling from his lifeless hand.

"No!" Thorne snarled, his voice drowned out by the chaos around him.

With his death, the protective ring around Thorne all but disappeared.

There was no more shielding him, no more keeping his hands clean. If Thorne wanted to reach the governing building, he would have to fight his way there.

The fire in his veins flared to life as he activated Aether Surge, his glowing eyes casting an eerie hue over the battlefield. His perception sharpened, the battlefield unfolding in agonizing clarity. Every motion, every shift in weight, every glint of steel became crystal clear.

A Ravencourt soldier lunged at him, a longsword sweeping low. Thorne sidestepped with ease, his enhanced reflexes allowing him to twist and drive his dagger into the man's exposed flank. The soldier let out a strangled cry before collapsing.

Another soldier charged, this one brandishing a spear. Thorne ducked beneath the thrust, his free hand catching the shaft and yanking it forward. The soldier stumbled into Thorne's dagger, the blade piercing his throat.

Notifications flared in his mind, distant and unimportant amidst the battle:

Skill Level Up: Vengeful Blades!

Skill Level Up: Backstab!

Thorne was a blur of motion, weaving through the chaos as he felled soldier after soldier. His body moved on instinct, his mind cold and calculating as he exploited every opening.

Then he noticed it, an argent glow bathing the battlefield, pale and serene against the blood and fire. He glanced skyward and saw the full moon hanging high above, its light cutting through the smoke-filled air.

A memory stirred, and with it, a decision.

Thorne focused inward, drawing on his reserves of aether. He felt the familiar pull as he activated his special ability, Silverlight Strikes.

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His dagger began to glow, its edge suffused with a soft luminescence that pulsed in time with the moonlight. The blade radiated an otherworldly heat, the glow casting his shadow long and sharp against the cobblestones.

The next soldier who came at him swung a mace with reckless abandon. Thorne deflected the blow with his glowing dagger, the weapon's edge searing through the steel like butter. He countered with a swift slash across the man's chest, the heat of the strike cauterizing the wound as the soldier crumpled.

The ability consumed his aether reserves with every strike, but Thorne didn't care.

Another Ravencourt soldier advanced, this one wielding a shield and longsword. Thorne darted to the side, his speed a blur under Aether Surge. He drove his dagger into the soldier's shield, the heat of Silverlight Strikes causing the wood to smolder and crack. Before the man could react, Thorne slipped behind him, slicing across his hamstring and finishing him with a second strike.

Thorne gritted his teeth as he plunged deeper into the chaos, the Lost Ones dwindling around him like the dying embers of a fire. The battlefield demanded everything he had, and then some. He had no time to think, no time to strategize, only to react.

The glow of his dagger became a beacon in the chaos, its silver light drawing attention from enemies and allies alike.

A Ravencourt soldier lunged at him, a massive war hammer raised high. The weapon crashed down with enough force to send cobblestones flying, but Thorne had already moved. His Acrobatics skill propelled him into a backflip, his body twisting mid-air to land in a crouch behind the soldier.

With his enhanced Combat Reflexes, Thorne struck. His dagger found the man's exposed neck, slicing cleanly through the artery. He twisted the blade, his passive Vengeful Blades skill surging as his next strike came faster, sharper, more precise.

The soldier collapsed, and Thorne was already moving.

Thorne glanced at his dagger, its glow dimming with each strike. His aether reserves were draining fast, but the governing building was still far away.

He clenched his teeth, his glowing eyes blazing with determination.

"We're not done yet," he muttered, his voice barely audible amidst the din of battle.

Two more enemies closed in, a shield-bearing warrior and a lithe woman with dual swords. Thorne's glowing eyes flickered as he activated Critical Eye, his vision honing in on weak points.

The shield warrior advanced, swinging his mace in a wide arc. Thorne sidestepped, his dagger slashing at the man's unprotected thigh. The strike hit true, blood spraying as the man stumbled.

The dual-sword woman was faster, her blades slicing in a flurry of strikes. Thorne deflected the first two blows with his dagger, the steel sparking as they clashed. The third swing grazed his side, but his Aetheric Skin absorbed the brunt of the impact, leaving only a shallow cut.

With a burst of speed Thorne surged forward. His dagger became a blur as he unleashed Lethal Flurry, the rapid strikes overwhelming the woman's defenses. She screamed as his blade pierced her chest, her body crumpling to the ground.

Thorne barely had time to catch his breath before another enemy charged, a towering soldier wielding a spear. The man's strikes were swift and precise, the weapon's reach forcing Thorne to stay on the defensive.

As the spear thrust toward him, Thorne activated Invisible Threads, his aether latching onto the weapon's shaft. With a sharp tug, the spear wrenched from the soldier's grasp, clattering to the ground.

The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Thorne to dart forward. He plunged his dagger into the soldier's ribs, twisting it before pulling it free.

His foes seemed endless, their numbers replenished faster than he could cut them down. For every Ravencourt soldier he felled, two more took their place.

A sword came at him from the side. Thorne twisted, the blade grazing his ribs. His Aetheric Skin absorbed most of the impact, but the force of the strike left him gasping. He retaliated with a quick slash, his glowing dagger catching the soldier's throat leaving burnt skin, but the motion left him open.

A spear jabbed forward, piercing his thigh. Thorne hissed in pain, his hand darting out to wrench the weapon free before it could do further damage. Blood soaked his trousers as he threw the spear aside, stumbling back to gain some space.

He activated Burst of Speed, dodging another incoming strike, but his steps faltered as his wounded leg gave out. A hammer came crashing down, narrowly missing his head as he rolled away. His Combat Reflexes kicked in, guiding his movements as he lashed out with his dagger, stabbing into his attacker's gut.

"Damn it," Thorne muttered, clutching his bleeding side. His Critical Eye skill flickered to life, but his focus was waning. His body screamed in protest as he fought to stay upright.

The circle of Ravencourt soldiers tightened around him. Their weapons gleamed in the moonlight, and Thorne's glowing eyes marked him as a target. He tried to steady his breathing, his grip on his daggers firm despite the blood coating his hands.

One soldier lunged, a curved blade slicing toward his neck. Thorne ducked, driving his dagger upward into the man's armpit. Another came at him from behind, and he spun, using Invisible Threads to disarm the attacker before finishing him with a quick strike to the heart.

But the effort left him vulnerable. A sword slashed across his back, the pain searing as his Aetheric Skin barely held. He stumbled forward, gritting his teeth against the agony.

A shout came from his left, and he barely raised his dagger in time to block a downward strike. The impact jarred his arm, and his opponent kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling onto the blood-soaked ground.

Thorne struggled to rise, his vision blurring as the soldiers closed in. He braced himself for the end.

A blur of motion entered his peripheral vision. The sound of steel slicing through flesh filled the air, followed by a pained scream. Thorne blinked, his vision clearing just enough to see her.

The Lost One with the long braid had appeared out of nowehere, her twin blades dancing in the moonlight. She cut through the Ravencourt soldiers with ruthless efficiency, her strikes precise and unrelenting.

One soldier raised a sword to strike her down, but she was faster. She ducked under the swing, her braid whipping as she spun, her blade slashing across his throat.

"Get up, Silverbane!" she barked, her voice sharp and commanding.

Thorne forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his dagger for support. The woman stepped in front of him, her stance protective as she fended off another wave of attackers.

"Can't let you die here," she muttered, her tone begrudging but tinged with determination.

Thorne managed a weak chuckle. "I'll try to stay alive, then."

The tide of battle seemed endless. Thorne's breaths came ragged, his aether reserves dwindling. But his enemies kept coming, drawn to the glow of his eyes like moths to a flame.

Three soldiers attacked simultaneously, their movements coordinated. Thorne spun, his daggers a blur as he parried two strikes and evaded the third. He feinted left, then darted right, his blade cutting deep into the first soldier's shoulder.

The second soldier's axe came down, forcing Thorne to roll to the side. He came up in a crouch, his Critical Eye skill highlighting the man's exposed knee. Thorne struck, his dagger slicing through tendon and bone. The man collapsed with a scream, his axe slipping from his grasp.

The third soldier hesitated, and Thorne capitalized on the opening. He leapt forward, his Lethal Flurry activating as he unleashed a barrage of strikes. The soldier fell, blood pooling around him.

A familiar notification flashed in Thorne's mind, cutting through the chaos:

Character Level Up!

You have reached Level 44!

A surge of energy flooded his body, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. His glowing eyes burned brighter, and he felt his connection to the aether deepen.

Thorne glanced at the governing building in the distance, its gates drawing closer with each step. But the battle was far from over.

"Still alive," he muttered to himself, his daggers gleaming in the moonlight. "Let's keep it that way."

Thorne's breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he cut down another Ravencourt soldier. His daggers gleamed with the faint glow of his Silverlight Strikes, the once soft luminescence now flickering like a dying ember. The moonlight-fueled ability had drained him, his aether reserves all but depleted, but he couldn't afford to stop.

Lunar Regeneration was trying to do its magic, closing the gaping wounds. The constant fighting, the new cuts he took every few seconds and the lack of aether in his core made the special ability all but useless.

So, he fought through the pain.

The battlefield around him was chaos incarnate. The hooded leader and the woman with the braid fought tirelessly at his sides, their movements sharp and unrelenting despite their own wounds. Of the original group of Lost Ones, they were all that remained.

Thorne surged forward, his daggers a blur thanks to Vengeful Blades, the momentum of each strike fueling the next. The combination with Silverlight Strikes was devastating, every slash and stab carving through armor and flesh with terrifying precision. The battlefield blurred around him, his vision narrowing as he fell into a rhythm of death and survival.

The world was nothing but a haze of violence. Thorne's glowing eyes darted from target to target, his hands moving on instinct. Another soldier lunged at him, their sword aimed for his throat, but his Combat Reflexes took over. He sidestepped and drove his dagger into their exposed neck.

He hardly noticed the blood splattering across his face, the metallic tang thick in the air. His daggers moved as if possessed, finding weak points with every strike. Critical Eye guided his blows, while Aetheric Skin absorbed the glancing hits that managed to break through his defense.

For a moment, Thorne felt invincible. The tide of soldiers couldn't stop him. He was a whirlwind of death, his blades flashing with moonlight as he carved a path through the chaos.

And then he saw it.

A body crumpled to the ground at his feet, their green cape splayed out like a banner of surrender. Thorne froze, his mind grinding to a halt as he stared at the fallen Thornfield soldier.

What have I done?

The glow of his daggers dimmed as the battle haze lifted, the sharp edges of reality crashing back into him. All around him, Thornfield soldiers fought valiantly against the Ravencourt forces, their green cloaks stark against the sea of black.

The hooded leader grabbed his shoulder, yanking him out of his daze. "We're almost there! Keep moving!"

Thorne's gaze swept the battlefield, his focus narrowing on the Governing Building, its towering silhouette looming ahead. The Thornfield forces were surging forward, their organized ranks pushing back the Ravencourts with relentless determination.

The tide shifted. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Lost Ones and Thorne were drawn into the wave of Thornfield soldiers. The black and green clashed violently, but the Thornfields were gaining ground. Their wall of shields and spears formed an impenetrable barrier, forcing the Ravencourts to retreat inch by inch.

The woman with the braid fought to Thorne's right, her twin blades slashing with precision as she covered his flank. The hooded leader remained silent, his daggers a blur as he worked to protect them both.

Thorne stumbled, his legs threatening to give out, but the sight of the Governing Building spurred him onward. He didn't need to fight anymore; the Thornfield soldiers surrounded him now, their wall of green acting as a shield against the chaos.

Finally, Thorne crossed the threshold of the square. The Governing Building loomed before him, its gates flanked by Thornfield guards holding firm. The green tide surged around him, their battle cries echoing against the smoke-filled sky as they repelled the Ravencourts.

Thorne stopped, his chest heaving as he took in the scene. The woman with the braid leaned heavily on her blades, her shoulders rising and falling with exhaustion. The hooded leader glanced at him, nodding once before turning back to survey the battlefield.

"We made it," Thorne muttered, his voice hoarse.

His daggers hung limply at his sides, their glow extinguished. The toll of the fight weighed heavily on him, his body screaming in protest with every movement. But they had done it.

The Governing Building stood tall, a bastion amidst the chaos. For now, it remained in Thornfield hands.

What next? Thorne thought grimly. He didn't know if he had the strength to face Uncle, but there was no turning back now.

"Let's go," he said, forcing his legs to move as he stepped toward the gates.

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