The illusions began exactly when Gabriel reached the tree line.

He felt them more than saw them—subtle distortions in the air like heat shimmer on a summer road, sounds that didn't quite match their sources, movements in his peripheral vision that vanished when he looked directly at them. The fabric of reality bent just slightly, just enough to confuse without being obvious.

The guards began reacting immediately.

One turned his head sharply toward a sound that hadn't happened, his hand going to his sword hilt. Another stared at empty space where the illusion suggested movement, his eyes tracking something invisible. A third called out to a patrol that wasn't there, his voice carrying across the camp: "Who's on the eastern perimeter?"

Confusion rippled through the northern section like stones thrown into still water.

Gabriel moved.

He crossed the open ground in absolute silence, Tess two steps behind him. His enhanced speed made the distance collapse faster than it should have—thirty meters, twenty, ten, the gap shrinking with each stride. His feet found purchase on bare ground between patches of frost, avoiding anything that might crunch or snap.

A guard turned in their direction—looking right at them, his eyes sweeping across the exact space they occupied—but his gaze slid past without recognition. The illusion made them invisible, or unimportant, or simply not worth noticing. Gabriel saw the man's eyes track right over him, saw the moment of non-recognition, saw him turn back to scanning the tree line.

They slipped between two tents at the camp's edge.

The smell hit Gabriel immediately: leather and smoke, unwashed bodies and waste from the latrines, cooking food and weapon oil. Normal camp smells. But underneath it all, faint and familiar, that sweet-rotten scent that meant Ariya's power had been here recently. The smell made Gabriel's stomach clench with sense-memory—basements and chains and red smoke crawling under his skin.

He pushed the memory down and kept moving.

His danger sense pulsed constantly now, but it was background noise—constant and overwhelming. Trying to distinguish specific threats in this camp was like trying to hear a whisper in a windstorm. Everything was dangerous. Everything radiated threat. The sensation was useless for tactical purposes.

Tess touched his shoulder, pointing. Ahead, through the neat rows of tents arranged in perfect military precision, the prisoner tent sat in the center of the camp. Torches bracketed its entrance, casting flickering light across the canvas. Two guards stood watch outside—no, three. A fourth was circling around to the rear, his patrol route taking him behind the structure every eight minutes.

Gabriel studied the approach. Twenty tents between them and the target. Multiple patrol routes intersecting the space. Too many potential witnesses even with the illusions running.

He needed the guards away from the prisoner tent. Needed them distracted, drawn off by something more important than their posts.

As if summoning his thought, one of the guards suddenly jerked his head toward the eastern edge of camp, his entire body going tense. He called out—Gabriel couldn't hear the specific words over the distance—and both front guards moved away from the prisoner tent to investigate the phantom threat the illusions had created.

The mysterious woman's work.

The fourth guard, the one circling the rear, kept moving on his route—but his attention was turned outward now, toward whatever disturbance his companions were investigating.

Gabriel didn't waste the opening.

He sprinted across the gap, Tess matching his pace stride for stride. Twenty meters. Fifteen. Ten. They reached the prisoner tent's rear wall and Gabriel pressed himself against the canvas, feeling the slight give of the fabric. He could hear breathing inside—multiple people, their rhythms suggesting consciousness and alertness.

His people were awake.

Gabriel drew one of his swords and sliced through the canvas in one smooth motion, creating an opening in the shadows where torchlight didn't quite reach. The cut was clean and silent, the Ironscale blade parting the heavy fabric like paper.

Inside, the tent was dark except for a single torch mounted near the entrance. Gabriel's eyes adjusted instantly, his enhanced vision cutting through the gloom.

Four figures sat bound in the center of the tent: Mera, Gilbert, Adan, Ennu. Their hands were tied behind their backs with professional knots, their ankles bound together with the same rope. Gags covered their mouths—clean cloth, not filthy rags. They were positioned sitting upright, their backs to each other in a square formation.

But they were alive. And from what Gabriel could see in the torchlight, unharmed. No visible injuries. No blood. Their clothes were dirty but intact.

Mera's eyes widened when she saw him, her entire body going rigid with shock. Even in the dim light, Gabriel knew what she was seeing—his completely black hair where it used to be half-silver the mainly black, his altered features sharper and more angular, the silver-white markings visible on his neck and hands where his torn shirt exposed skin. His red eyes catching the torchlight and reflecting it back like a cat's.

He pressed a finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence and moved to her first.

The ropes were professional work—military knots designed to hold without cutting off circulation. Gabriel's blade sliced through them like they were nothing, the Ironscale edge parting the fibers without resistance. Mera's hands came free and she immediately reached up to pull the gag from her mouth.

"Don't speak," Gabriel whispered, his voice barely audible even in the quiet tent. "Move quiet. We're not out yet."

Tess was already freeing Gilbert, her movements quick and efficient. Gabriel moved to Adan next, cutting through the bonds around his wrists and ankles. Then Ennu, who met his eyes with a slight nod of understanding.

All four of them free now. But unarmed.

"Your weapons are in the supply tent," Gabriel whispered. "North side, third row. Tess will take you there. I'll cover the entrance."

But Ennu shook her head, her expression urgent. She pointed through the gap in the canvas toward the command tent visible in the distance.

Gabriel followed her gesture and his stomach dropped like a stone.

The command tent—Ariya's tent, the largest structure in the camp positioned on slightly elevated ground—was dark.

Not just unlit. Empty dark. The kind of darkness that meant no one was inside, no lamp burning, no shadow moving against canvas.

Ariya wasn't there.

Which meant she was somewhere else in the camp. Somewhere they couldn't see. Somewhere she could be watching from right now.

"Move," Gabriel hissed, urgency sharpening his voice. "Now."

They slipped through the cut in the canvas and into the shadows between tents, moving in single file with Gabriel at the front and Tess bringing up the rear. The illusions were still working—guards looked in wrong directions, investigating sounds and movements that didn't exist. But Gabriel's danger sense was building with each second, the pressure increasing like a storm gathering strength.

Something was wrong. Something beyond the obvious wrongness of infiltrating an enemy camp.

They found the supply tent exactly where Gabriel had observed it—third row, northern side, marked with a simple white flag. He sliced through the rear canvas and they slipped inside.

The tent's interior was organized chaos: weapons racked along one wall, armor and equipment stacked in crates, supplies arranged by type. Gabriel spotted his companions' gear immediately—Mera's medical pack hanging from a hook, Gilbert's spear leaning against a weapons rack, Adan's twin short swords crossed on a table, Ennu's knives in their belt sheaths.

Everyone armed themselves in silence, moving with practiced efficiency. Mera slung her pack over her shoulder. Gilbert hefted his spear, testing its balance. Adan checked his blades. Ennu buckled her knife belt and immediately palmed two of the weapons.

"Which way?" Gilbert whispered, his voice barely a breath.

Gabriel pointed toward the northern perimeter, the route he'd planned. "Straight through. Stay low, stay quiet. Stay in the shadows between tents. If anyone gets in the way—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

Because red smoke began rising from the ground around them.

Not aggressive. Not attacking. Not even moving particularly fast. Just... appearing. Rising from the earth like morning mist, spreading across the ground in patterns that seemed almost deliberate. Beautiful, in a terrible way. Like watching a predator move through water.

The smoke didn't touch them. It spread around their position, creating a circle of clear ground surrounded by a sea of crimson fog that grew thicker with each passing second.

The illusions shattered.

All at once, like glass breaking under pressure, the distortions vanished. Guards stopped looking confused. Patrols snapped back to their proper positions. The entire camp came back into focus with military precision, every soldier suddenly aware and alert.

And every single one of them turned to look directly at Gabriel's group.

But they didn't attack.

They didn't charge forward with weapons drawn. Didn't shout for reinforcements. Didn't do anything except stand there, watching, their weapons at their sides, their postures relaxed but ready.

Waiting.

The red smoke continued rising, spreading across the camp in patterns that seemed almost artistic. Like someone painting with fog. The tendrils moved with purpose, coiling around soldiers' legs but not restricting their movement. Just... holding them. Keeping them in place.

Footsteps.

Light. Measured. Unhurried. The sound of someone walking without fear or hesitation.

Gabriel turned slowly, his hand moving to his sword hilt.

Ariya walked into the clearing from the darkness between tents.

She looked exactly as he remembered from four years ago: young, maybe fifteen or sixteen in appearance though Gabriel knew she had to be older. Long black hair fell past her shoulders, catching the torchlight and seeming to absorb it. Her skin had a faint luminescence, like she was lit from within. She was small—barely five feet tall—and slender, wearing simple dark clothing that looked almost like a uniform.

Beautiful in a way that made something in Gabriel's chest tighten with recognition and revulsion. The face that had smiled gently while carving sigils into his body. The voice that had whispered comfort while inflicting agony.

But it was her eyes that held him.

Red. Deep crimson, exactly like his own. The same color, the same intensity, the same faint glow in the darkness.

She tilted her head, studying him with what looked like genuine curiosity. A gentle smile curved her lips—the same smile she'd worn in the basement, the same expression of tender care while she tortured him.

"Gabriel," she said softly. Her voice was warm, almost affectionate, like greeting an old friend. "You completed it."

She took another step closer. The soldiers didn't move. The smoke continued spreading, but it didn't touch Gabriel or his companions—it just surrounded them, creating an island in a sea of red.

"I felt it three days ago," Ariya continued, her red eyes never leaving his face. "That beautiful burst of power from the Spine. Like the world itself waking up after a thousand years of sleep." Her smile widened, showing white teeth. "I'm so proud of you."

Gabriel's hand tightened on his sword hilt, the leather grip creaking under the pressure.

Ariya's eyes tracked the movement, watching his hand with the same gentle curiosity. But she didn't react. Didn't tense. Didn't prepare to defend or counterattack. She just watched him, her expression open and warm.

"You want to fight me." It wasn't a question. She said it like she was observing the weather. "I can see it in your eyes—all that rage you've been carrying for four years. Burning in your chest like a second heart. Hot and bright and constant."

She took another step, closing the distance between them to less than ten feet.

"But we're the same now, Gabriel. The last of our people. Brothers and sisters in blood." Her head tilted the other direction. "Why would we hurt each other?"

Gabriel's voice came out flat and cold, each word deliberate. "You tortured me for six months."

"I awakened what you always were."

"You carved sigils into my body."

"I prepared you for the trial."

"You took my mana core." His hand shifted on the sword, adjusting his grip. "You made me into this."

Ariya's expression shifted—just slightly, just for a moment—into something almost sad. Like she was disappointed that he didn't understand. "I gave you the truth, Gabriel. I showed you what you really are. What we really are."

She gestured at the camp around them, at the soldiers standing at attention, at the red smoke spreading across the ground.

"The Seven Archangels murdered our people. Thousands of them. Not soldiers—families. Children. Old ones who could barely walk. They slaughtered every Dracamerian they could find because the Creator feared what we might become." Her red eyes held his, and for a moment Gabriel saw something burning in their depths. Rage. Ancient and cold. "They deserve to burn for it. Every single one of them. And now, finally, you understand that."

Behind Gabriel, his companions stood frozen. Mera's hand was on her knife but she hadn't drawn it. Gilbert gripped his spear but hadn't raised it to a fighting stance. Adan and Ennu had positioned themselves defensively, but neither had moved to attack.

Because the power radiating from Ariya was overwhelming.

It pressed against Gabriel's awareness like physical weight, like standing in deep water and feeling the pressure increase with every foot of depth. She was stronger than him. Significantly stronger. He could feel it in the way the air bent around her, the way her smoke moved with perfect control, the way fifty trained soldiers stood at attention without her saying a word.

Whatever she'd become in the four years since his escape, it was beyond anything he could match.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Ariya's gaze swept across the group, lingering on each face—Mera, Gilbert, Adan, Ennu—before returning to Gabriel. "You can leave. I'm not going to stop you." She gestured toward the northern perimeter with one small hand. "Take your people and go. Walk out of this camp. I only wanted to see you. To confirm that you'd finished what we started together."

Gabriel didn't move. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that accepting her offer was a mistake. "Why?"

"Because we're going to need you." Ariya's smile turned sad, almost wistful. "When the war comes. When the Seven Archangels try to finish what they started a thousand years ago. When they hunt down every person with even a drop of Dracamerian blood and burn them like they burned our ancestors." She paused. "We'll need every one of us we can find. And there aren't many left."

"I'm not fighting your war."

"You will." Ariya's voice remained gentle, but something harder entered it. Certainty. "Because when they come for me, they'll come for you too. Red eyes don't hide forever, Gabriel. Eventually, the Church will find you. Lucius will find you. The Archangels will find you. And they'll kill you for the crime of existing."

She turned to leave, the smoke parting before her like a curtain being drawn back.

"One day soon," she called back without looking at him, "you'll understand what I did for you. You'll see that I gave you the only chance you have to survive what's coming." She paused at the edge of the clearing. "And you'll thank me."

Then she was gone, walking back into the darkness between tents with that same unhurried pace. Her soldiers followed in silent formation, moving with synchronized precision. The red smoke began to dissipate, pulling back into the ground like water draining through cracks in stone.

Gabriel stood motionless, his hand still on his sword hilt, watching the space where she'd vanished.

The camp was silent except for the crackling of torches and the distant sound of boots on packed earth.

Tess touched his arm, her fingers tight on his sleeve. "Gabriel. We need to leave. Now."

He nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the darkness where Ariya had disappeared.

They ran.

Through the gap in the northern perimeter that was suddenly, conveniently, unguarded. Into the forest beyond, their feet pounding against frozen ground. Not stopping. Not slowing. Not until the camp's torches were distant pinpricks behind them and the sounds of soldiers had faded to nothing.

When they finally collapsed in a clearing miles away, breathing hard despite Gabriel's enhanced endurance, Mera turned to him with wide eyes.

"She just... let us go."

Gabriel stared back toward where they'd come from, his red eyes reflecting starlight. "She was never trying to capture us."

"Then what was the point of—"

"She wanted me to see her power." Gabriel's jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache. "She wanted me to know that when the time comes, I'll need her help to survive. That I can't do this alone."

He didn't say the rest of what he was thinking: that she might be right.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, in the place where Drusgard's voice had screamed for months during the incomplete awakening, a new whisper began:

She's right. You need her. You need all of us.

The Seven are coming.

And you're not ready.

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