Soren Ittriki stood before the great doors of the Magic Tower, the last bastion of the Rebellion.

The air was sharp, carrying the acrid scent of smoke from villages burned in the distance. His greatsword rested heavy in his hands, the steel chipped and on the verge of shattering after months of ceaseless battle.

To the Rebellion, Soren was their Divine Knight, a holy warrior who carried on the legacy of the Hero From Another World. And right now, the people of Easthaven needed a hero more than ever.

But Soren did not feel divine.

The Magic Tower loomed tall behind him, its stone streaked with black scars, simply a shadow of what it had once been. Within its halls, innocents huddled together—families who had fled burning homes, children who had lost their parents to the war, the broken and weak who had nowhere else to turn.

Once, the Tower had remained hidden from the world but with the death of Magnus Elarion, it seemed like that magic that had lived within every crevice had died with the Head Mage.

Now it laid bare for the world to see.

His father's war had taken everything from them. King Daerion of Nozar, a man Soren shared blood with but not loyalty, had unleashed this nightmare upon Easthaven. And though he bore still bore his name as the bastard son of Nozar's King, Soren would not bear the weight of his crimes.

The New Divine Knight would not stand with Daerion Ittriki and his wicked ways.

Soren set his feet against the cobbled stones of the courtyard, his gaze fixed on the road that stretched into the distance.

Far off, beyond the rubble, the faint gleam of armor glinted under the sun. The enemy marched in disciplined rows. There were the marines of Nozar, Maelis' soldiers, trained and tireless. Their boots clattered faintly in rhythm with the distant drumbeats, a sound that grew louder with each passing moment.

Soon, they would be upon the Magic Tower. But the only one standing against the approaching army was Soren alone.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

Behind him, muffled cries echoed from within the Tower as the last of the innocents slipped into the sewer passages below, guided to safety by the few mages that still remained. It was the leader of this Rebellion that had made the choice to flee but it had been Soren's decision alone to make his final stand right here and now.

He stood here out of duty.

The burden of responsibility was heavier than the sword that was nearly as tall as he.

But it was a burden that Soren Ittriki was more than glad to carry.

Soren had believed that when he had finally become this holy warrior, he would truly become a champion of Oceanus; filled with immense strength and purpose. But the truth was that Soren was simply a man who refused to abandon his beliefs, no matter the cost.

How long could he hold them? How many enemies could one man cut down before the tide consumed him? These questions clawed at the edges of his sanity and courage, but he forced them out of his mind.

It did not matter.

The answer to all of those questions had already written.

Soren would fight until his body failed, until breath no longer filled his lungs, until the people were safe.

That was what it meant to carry the flame. That was what it meant to hold onto hope.

His voice was low, steady, meant for no one but himself. "I shall not let a single man pass." The man was a lone sentinel against the tide of war. His greatsword hung in his hands, its edge dulled and chipped from countless battles, but it would do him justice like it always had so many times before.

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Even alone, the sight of him struck fear into the hearts of the navy's ranks.

Because Soren Ittriki was no ordinary man.

Nearly as large as his father now, Soren carried both the strength of his bloodline and the terrible gift that came with it.

The Ittriki Clan's magical power, the Divinity of Dissection, surged through him now—a crimson current of magic that wrapped around his body and poured into the greatsword he raised. It was a power that could cut through anything, even the strongest spells cast by the strongest the Nozari navy had to offer.

Though, he was just a man; Soren stood as though he were an army himself.

If being a Divine Knight was not about basking in glory and fame, then what was it really about?

It meant fighting for those who could not. It meant protecting the innocent even when the Fates promised only his death in return. It meant standing for good even if it demanded everything from you. That was what it meant to be a Divine Knight and Soren would never betray it.

His grip tightened even harder around the sword's hilt.

Though he could not see it for himself, Soren knew that in the depths of the Tower, the last of the Rebellion were fleeing into the sewer passages, scattering into the world beyond. All he needed to do was hold the line, to buy them the time to escape.

If he could give them another day, another chance to fight for their future, then his sacrifice would not be in vain.

The Nozari soldiers broke into a sprint, their chants of war echoing as spells flared to life across the field.

Soren inhaled slowly, bracing himself as the earth seemed to tremble beneath the charge.

Two hundred men against one. Yet in that moment, that one man seemed larger than life itself.

Just as the first wave was about to crash against him, the world shifted.

A voice rang out, clear as a bell and carried by power greater than steel or spell. It cut across the battlefield, halting the charge in its tracks, forcing every head to turn and every heart to freeze.

"Maelis!" the voice roared, shaking the very air. "Your niece has returned!"

Soren's eyes widened. He knew that voice.

It was the voice…of Rosalia Elarion herself.

And then he saw her.

From the heavens she descended, seated upon a dragon with scales as white as snow beneath the sunlight. Her red hair whipped in the wind, her eyes blazing with power. The dragon's wings cut the air with a deafening boom as it landed before the Tower, sending shockwaves rippling through the stone. Dust exploded outward, blinding everyone in the immediate vicinity.

But she had not come alone.

The skies filled with shapes vast and terrible. Dragons soared above, their roars shaking the air, their shadows blotting out the sun. The ground itself quaked as more descended in regions across the Kingdom of Easthaven, their talons gouging deep into the earth.

With their presence came a tidal wave of magic unlike anything mortal men could wield.

In an instant, Soren could feel the Divinity of the white dragon spring to life and a blast of wind so great was sent towards the army that had stopped dead in its tracks. Marines were lifted screaming into the air, flung aside like leaves before a storm.

Atop the great beast, Rosalia turned her head towards Soren and grinned, her voice carrying casual confidence. "Greetings, Divine Knight. Sorry we're late."

Soren blinked, his jaw slack, before the corner of his mouth tugged upward.

The sound that escaped him was almost foreign—it was a laugh. How long had it been since Soren had last smiled? In despair, such things felt impossible. But now Soren knew why they had all held onto hope for so long, even when it seemed pointless.

"I must say," Soren replied, "it's about gorydamn time, Rosalia. But I suppose it's better to be late than never."

His eyes lingered on the dragon she rode. There was something so familiar about the white dragon yet Soren could not name it for the life of him. The thought was gone as quickly as it came, swept away by the sound of reinforcements pouring across the fields.

There would be time for reunion later.

Armies clashed again in the distance, their reinforcements drawn by the roar of dragons.

Soren turned back toward Rosalia, his sword humming with Divinity and for the first time in months, he felt the fire of true resolve blaze within him. Together, they stood side by side to face the marines heading straight for them.

Now was the time for battle, a battle that would decide the very fate of this nation.

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