The park was as Warren remembered it, a stretch of quiet and open green beneath a sky that felt wider and freer than it ever did in Kyrrabad. Deyra the silver moon loomed overhead, high and bright, its silvery light spilling across every stone, leaf, and blade of grass until the whole field seemed painted in pale fire. Shadows stretched long, soft-edged and dreamlike, giving the lawn a stage-like glow. Stars winked overhead, not thick as in the deepest wilderness, but still visible here despite the glow of city lights. They shone as if stubborn, refusing to be drowned out. A scatter of constellations marked themselves clearly against the velvet black, and it reminded Warren that they weren't trapped beneath endless walls or drowned in steel. There was air, sky, distance, and space enough to breathe.

The trees that lined the path were tall and deliberate, their branches shaped by careful trimming, their trunks rising straight and confident. Shrubs grew in rounded clusters, more decorative than wild, but lush, vibrant in the moonlight. The grass was soft and damp beneath their boots, the moisture holding the cold of the night. A breeze drifted across the field, neither harsh nor lazy, cool enough to make the leaves whisper and stir in rhythm. It was the perfect night for a fight, or for whatever performance Warren intended to turn it into.

He stood at the center of the open lawn, posture easy, a smile tugging across his face like he had been waiting for this exact moment. He looked over Wren and Grix with bright, unreadable eyes, and raised his voice just enough for every person gathered to hear. "All right. If you can land one hit, I'll count it as a win. If you can't…" He spread his hands wide, mock casual, a shrug balanced between arrogance and invitation. "Then I win. We'll go for, what, three? Four minutes? Five tops. If you give up sooner, that's fine too. Because you're not going to win."

Wren lifted an eyebrow, sharp and incredulous. Grix tilted her head, flexing her claws against her palms, eyes narrowing with challenge. Both of them gave him looks that said, Really? Grix muttered with a crooked grin, "Because you're so big and tough now?"

"Kinda, yeah," Warren said, his grin widening until it caught the moonlight.

The others who had come to watch gathered in a half-circle along the edge of the grass, voices low, shuffling as they settled to see what would happen. There was laughter here and there, muttered bets, flashes of teeth in the silver glow. The night felt charged with anticipation.

Bastard padded in late, his black scales gleaming faintly, silver eyes burning as if reflecting the moon itself. Styll clung to his side, small and bright-eyed, taking in the entire scene with nervous energy. She darted forward and tugged at Warren's sleeve, her small voice stumbling over the words. "We fight? Who?"

Warren nodded toward Wren and Grix, who stood poised across the lawn, tense and waiting. "Them."

Styll's face pinched immediately. She frowned, shook her head hard, and her tail twitched in sharp protest. "No. Stylls no fight Wren. No fight Grix. They families." She folded her arms, stamped her foot in a way that carried surprising finality, then padded back to join the onlookers. She curled herself small, as if distancing from what was about to unfold, but her eyes never left Warren.

Bastard was the opposite. He stopped as though struck, his whole body stiffening. Then his silver eyes locked on Grix and the furled growl began low in his throat, vibrating like distant thunder before breaking out into a roar. His scales rippled as his body rolled with the motion, claws tearing shallow trenches into the damp grass with each step forward. His focus was absolute.

Grix's confident face tightened at once. "Oh shit."

Warren held up a hand, half stern and half amused, his smile never faltering. "Bastard, please don't. No lightning."

Grix blinked, snapping her head between Warren and Bastard. "Lightning? What do you mean lightning?" Her voice sharpened with sudden alarm.

Warren's smile curved into something wolfish, sharp enough to cut. "Yeah. He breathes lightning."

The color drained from Grix's face. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Yeah," Warren said, grin flashing in the moonlight. "You done fucked up, Grix. You done fucked up."

Grix spat to the side, flexing her claws again as though trying to shrug the tension from her shoulders, her tone forced casual. "Fine. How do we start this?"

Warren gave a shrug, easy and unhurried, as if this was all entertainment. "Nanuk can call it. When he says go, we start."

The crowd stirred at that, some nodding, others laughing under their breath. The moon watched overhead, the stage set, the actors ready. The park itself felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for the clash to begin.

Nanuk lifted his hand, voice sharp and steady, carrying over the gathered crowd. "Three… two… one… fight!"

The ground erupted beneath Warren's feet. A jagged spike of stone shot upward with enough force to impale, dirt and grass tearing away in an explosion of earth. Warren didn't flinch. He had seen it long before it happened, already stepping aside, already smiling. He let the spike tear past harmlessly, the spray of soil raining across his boots. His eyes glittered with anticipation, the moonlight catching their edges, and for a moment it looked as if he had been waiting his whole life for this spar.

"That's really cool," Warren said, voice calm, admiring. He reached out, pinched his fingers together, thumb and middle finger flicking the stone, and the spike shattered into rubble with a single snap. The sound rang like a crack of knuckles, effortless. "Such a cool skill, Wren. Honestly, if this was anyone else, that might have got them."

Wren's eyes narrowed, her hand clenched tighter, and more stone rippled underfoot. The ground trembled faintly as if the entire park was waiting on her command.

Warren's grin widened. "Okay. I think I'll have some fun with this."

He began to hum, low at first, tapping his foot against the damp grass, heel and toe marking rhythm. The air shifted around him as if bending toward his beat. His movements carried an unmistakable cadence, the roll of a dancer setting tempo. Wren paused mid-gesture, confusion flickering across her face. Grix tilted her head, claws flashing in moonlight, teeth bared like she could already taste the fight.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Grix muttered, her jaw tight.

"Oh no," someone in the crowd whispered, half laughing, half serious.

"Warren, please don't," another voice called, already guessing what was about to unfold.

Grix bared her teeth wider. "Don't sing. Fight us."

"But I'm here to have fun," Warren said, shrugging as he stepped forward, his humming building into melody. "You were the ones who set this up, so you get to be part of my performance."

He drew a breath, let the moonlight spill across his face, and sang:

Warren: "By the light of the silvery moon I want to spoon To my honey, I'll croon love's tune"

In that instant, his body flickered, one moment far, the next already upon Wren, no gap between. His arms slid around her waist, his hand catching hers, and he spun her into a waltz. She gasped as he pulled her close, his voice smooth, the song carrying on:

Warren: "Honey moon, keep a-shinin' in June Your silvery beams will bring love's dreams We'll be cuddlin' soon By the silvery moon"

Branches cracked and split around them as Wren's fury surged. Trees bent unnaturally, limbs sprouting and twisting to lash at Warren's back. Vines erupted beneath their feet, grass shot up to tangle his ankles. Warren laughed gently, twirling her beneath his arm, batting the vines aside with nothing but open palms and casual grace. He sang as though the attacks were scenery, nothing more than stage props. The crowd laughed nervously, caught between awe and disbelief.

Deana, smiling from the sidelines, lifted her own voice. Her harmony threaded through Warren's melody, warm and rich. A heartbeat later, Calra joined her, the two women blending seamlessly, their voices twining together in perfect balance behind Warren's lead. The audience hushed at the beauty of it. Together, they turned the fight into a full chorus.

Deana & Calra: "Place, park, scene, dark Silvery moon is shining through the trees Cast, two, me, you Summer kisses floating on the breeze"

Wren thrust a wall of stone upward, jagged and raw, but Warren pivoted smoothly, guiding her hand wide as if she had meant to strike at the air. He leaned close, cheek brushing hers as he crooned:

Warren: "Act one, be done Dialog, where would ya like to spoon? My cue, with you Underneath the silvery moon"

The rhythm of his words carried her fury away with every step. Still, she fought harder. The ground heaved beneath them. Flowers bloomed, thorns snapping open mid-strike, petals flying through the air like confetti. Warren only smiled, turning each strike into another spin.

Grix, refusing to be ignored, rebounded off an invisible platform with a slash of her clatterfangs. She soared like a ricocheted flechette, aiming straight for Warren's head. Bastard met her in midair, a black-scaled blur, shoulder-checking her out of her arc. She crashed into the grass with a hiss of frustration, only to rebound again, only for Bastard to slam her back down once more. His claws carved the air, silver eyes burning. He wasn't trying to kill. He was toying, batting her around like a predator who refused to be mocked by her speed. Each time she sprang up, he was already there to smash her down again, their fight echoing the rhythm of Warren's song.

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The next chorus rang out, Warren's lead joined by the steady harmonies of both Deana and Calra. Their voices filled the night, pure and haunting:

Warren: "By the light of the silvery moon I wanna spoon To my honey I'll croon love's tune" Deana & Calra: "Honey moon, keep a-shinin' in June Your silvery beams will bring love's dreams We'll be cuddlin' soon By the silvery moon"

Wren summoned a ring of flowers that grew violently fast, bursting into bloom as she lashed the vines at Warren's chest. He caught her hand, spun her out, and murmured in perfect timing, letting blossoms rain harmlessly around them. The petals caught the moonlight, falling around their feet like a wedding procession. The crowd gasped, some clapping, others whistling, caught up in the surreal beauty of it.

The third verse spilled into the chaos:

Deana & Calra: "Act two, scene new Roses blooming all around the place Cast three, you me Preacher with a solemn-looking face"

Wren's spikes shattered beneath Warren's flicking fingers. He leaned close, dipping her low, his arm strong against her back, while the women's voices carried:

Deana & Calra: "Choir sings, bell rings Preacher, you are wed forever more Act two, all though Every night the same encore"

Her fury was reaching its limit, her attacks breaking down into desperation. Each lash of vine, each thrust of stone came weaker, less certain. Warren never lost the rhythm. His boots traced circles in the grass, his grin wide, his voice clear.

The park cracked and tore as the battle escalated, but Warren's song never broke. The fight was no fight at all, only a performance, and he the dancer guiding every step.

Together, Warren, Deana, and Calra carried the finale, their voices weaving like threads of silver through the moonlit night:

Warren: "By the light, not the dark but the light Of the silvery moon, not the sun but the moon" Deana & Calra: "I wanna spoon, not croon, but spoon To my honey, I'll croon love's tune" All Three: "Honeymoon, honeymoon, honeymoon Keep a-shinin' in June Your silvery beams will bring love's dreams We'll be cuddlin' soon By the silvery moon… the silvery moon"

As the last refrain faded, Warren slowed his steps, still holding Wren close. The vines fell limp, the stones sank back into the earth. He silenced her fury with a sudden, deep kiss, his voice fading into silence against her lips. Wren stiffened, then melted, surrendering with a breathless laugh as the fight slipped from her grasp. Her arms wrapped around him.

From the grass, Grix groaned, rubbing at her shoulder where Bastard had slammed her one last time. She rolled onto her back with a sigh, hair tangled and claws dull from use. "Aw, fuck. I guess it's done. That's no fun."

The crowd broke into cheers and laughter, stamping their feet and clapping along with the fading rhythm. The moon cast its pale glow over a battlefield turned ballroom floor, petals scattered across the grass, vines and shattered stone framing the dance like stage dressing. For a moment, the park seemed less a sparring ground and more a theater, every witness aware they had just watched something unforgettable.

They went home. By the time they got to the pharmacy it had been emptied out, there were no more patients, no interruptions, nothing left to pull them away. Just the four of them, Wren, Warren, Bastard, and Styll, together in the home they had built together so long ago. Anza, Mel, Tasina, Deana, and Calra were spending the night at Car's house, giving them the quiet space they needed.

The door closed with a solid click, cutting away the outside world until it felt impossibly distant. For a moment they stood together in the entry. Wren's eyes softened as she looked around the place, warm and lived in, filled with the life they had claimed together.

"This night is ours," Warren said quietly, as if he needed to hear it.

Wren touched his arm, her fingers lingering against his wrist as though she could keep him from slipping away. "I wish we had more time," Wren said softly. But she smiled through the ache and added, "At least we have tonight."

Bastard circled once and settled down, silver eyes half-closed but watchful. Styll burrowed into a folded blanket, curling into it with a small sound of satisfaction. Both seemed to understand and gave them space.

Warren and Wren moved together without hesitation. It wasn't desperate or rushed, it was the slow, inevitable closing of a distance that had lasted too long. Months apart collapsed in heartbeats as they leaned in, as their hands found each other, as the world shrank until there was only the light, the walls, and the rhythm of their breathing. They needed no words for what came next.

The light burned low. Shadows stretched long across the floor, the hum of the generator softened, and the night belonged to them alone. Their home became more than shelter, it was proof of survival, of love, of something worth holding onto in a world built to take everything away.

Hours slipped by unnoticed. The silence afterward was warm, a blanket wrapped around both of them. Wren rested against Warren's chest, his arm curled around her. She breathed him in like she was trying to memorize the scent, the weight, the reality of him. For a moment she let herself believe he would stay. That maybe, just maybe, this time would last.

Then she felt it. A shift, subtle but undeniable. His warmth thinned against her skin, his outline softened against the light. She lifted her head, dread already clawing at her ribs.

"Warren?"

He met her gaze, calm but sorrowful. "It's time."

The words landed like a blow. She pressed her hand against his chest, as if she could anchor him there by force. "No. Not yet. Please."

He kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her lips. "I have to. You know I have to. But I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You said that the last time," she whispered, voice breaking.

"And I keep my promises."

Her throat ached. She dragged him down into a kiss, not frantic but absolute, pouring every fear and hope into it. He kissed her back with the same promise, the same weight. But as their lips parted, her hand slipped through his shoulder. She gasped, jerking back. His edges blurred, his form unraveling like smoke caught in a current.

"Warren..."

"I'm still here," he said quickly, squeezing her hand though she could feel him less with each heartbeat. He pressed her fingers to his lips, kissed them, and smiled with a softness that shattered her. "I love you. Don't forget that. Not ever. Tell Belle that I love her with all that I am."

Behind him, Bastard was already dissolving, silver eyes dimming as his body frayed into air. Styll sat up, her form flickering like a reflection breaking apart. The room held solid, but they did not. They didn't belong here anymore, not in this moment.

Wren tried to hold on, but her hands closed on nothing. His warmth vanished as though it had never been there. The kiss still lingered, but he was gone even as she reached for him.

She sank into the blankets, breath ragged, staring at the empty space where he had been. The light flickered, the hum of the generator steady yet unbearably distant. Their home, once so full, felt cavernous and hollow without him.

She pressed her hand against her lips, clinging to the memory of the kiss, of his words, of him. The night had been theirs, and no one could take that away. But the silence that followed was vast, and in it she heard only the echo of his promise:

"I love you. I will be back. I promise."

When Warren reformed with Vaeliyan, the merger struck like a rush of cold water, sharp enough to steal his breath. Every thought, every quiet step of the day poured into him in a flood.

He felt Vaeliyan's focus as if it were his own, the way he had pored over the Soul Skill's shifting frame, the slow calculations, the methodical examination of what each line and symbol meant. It wasn't reckless testing or wild experimentation, but careful study, each movement weighed and measured. He had traced the shape of its new edges, understood how far it could reach, and set it aside once he was satisfied. Nothing had been wasted, nothing left unfinished.

Vaeliyan had already seen to the preparations for the expedition, securing enough supplies and provisions to carry them for months of travel. He had acted much like Warren himself would have, making choices that in hindsight might have wavered at the edges. Some decisions he questioned, whether Warren would have done the same or not he could never be certain, but in the moment, they felt close enough, true enough, that he accepted them without hesitation.

When the Veil settled back into place, it felt like the fitting of two halves that had never truly been apart. Warren knew what it could do now, the paths it opened, the promise inside it. Knowledge sat heavy in his chest but also steady, like armor finally strapped into place. For the first time since he left for the citadel, he felt whole, prepared for what was coming next.

The thought had barely taken root when the tug came. The bond stirred against him, faint at first but growing insistent, like a thread pulled taut inside his ribs. Unease pressed against him, not his own but bleeding across the connection.

Elian. The weight of it was enough to make his shoulders stiffen before he even heard a sound. And then the knock came, sharp against the door, carrying with it the confirmation of what Warren already knew.

Something was wrong.

Vaeliyan's Soul skill – All Around You

Stage Three

Core Effect – Pressure Field

The field builds over time. The longer the user remains still, the faster the pressure intensifies. What begins as a subtle shift becomes a persistent weight. The space tightens. Air feels heavier. Focus degrades. The presence grows without sound or warning.

Passive – Suffocation Drift

The field spreads outward from the user, thinning focus and sharpening discomfort. Oxygen levels remain unchanged, but breathing feels strained. Thought slows. Tension builds. The effect is passive, progressive, and persistent.

Execution Effect – Compression Spike

The user can condense the field instantly, applying a sudden spike of directional pressure. The effect is silent, invisible, and immediate. At close range, it can stagger limbs, break rhythm, or knock weapons off-course. Applied precisely, it can mimic the force of a physical strike.

Internal Effect – Permeable Core The user may now allow external force to pass through the body by redirecting pressure along internal paths. When active, the body no longer absorbs impact as mass, instead, it becomes a conduit.

Blunt strikes, shockwaves, and concussive force are no longer stopped by the body. Pressure is diffused on contact and routed through, allowing the user to remain upright and unbroken regardless of physical trauma.

Punches pass through muscle without tearing it.

Explosions ripple across skin and exit without causing rupture.

Falls, slams, or collisions become transitory.

Known Limitations:

The field strengthens the longer the user remains still. Movement reduces intensity and disrupts edge stability.

Pressure loses coherence with distance from the user.

The Skill does not directly immobilize targets.

Effects are less noticeable to individuals with suppressed emotional response, advanced conditioning, or enhanced respiratory systems.

Does not reduce sharp trauma, piercing attacks, or cutting damage. Only force that relies on internal pressure transfer is negated.

Maintaining permeability requires conscious control. If interrupted, the field defaults to normal behavior.

Stage Four Upgrade

Awakening – Shroudgrip

The field no longer remains intangible. Pressure, once invisible, can now weave into physical bindings, threads of condensed weight that wrap like gauze around whatever the field touches.

Constriction

: Vaeliyan can seize targets and bind them in place. Pressure becomes solid raps that lock joints, crush limbs, or pin bodies to walls and ground.

Persistence

: Once a wrapping is applied, it remains without his constant focus. The lock holds until he releases it or it is destroyed by overwhelming force.

Scaling Strength

: The bindings match the current intensity of his pressure field. As the field builds, the bindings grow stronger; if the field weakens, so do they.

Shape and Scale

: Wrappings can be subtle (a hand pulled against a weapon, a foot caught mid-step) or total (a body cocooned in pressure-fibers).

Combat Application

: Enemies may be immobilized, strangled, or suspended. Allies may be braced, anchored, or shielded by the same technique.

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