“Get up,” Aaron growled through clenched teeth as the demon general began to crawl. At first, it was all agony: bloody stumps scraping across stone, its howls thick with pain. But then its eyes found his, and a new purpose settled into its broken form. It no longer cared about anything else. Only crushing him.

  Pins and needles surged through Aaron’s limbs. His body, numb only moments ago, jerked as blood returned to muscles pushed to their limit. He gasped, a ragged sound torn from his throat as sensation returned in tingling waves.

  His stance faltered. One knee gave way. He groaned and forced himself upright, breath shallow as he steadied his trembling legs. The ground shook beneath him. The demon roared again, hot spittle splashing across the cracked stone, nearly reaching him.

  Aaron staggered to his feet—no sword, no strength to run, facing a crawling horror ten times his weight.

  He braced himself. Ran through the calculations and considered how best to die.

  Then, the world shifted.

  Something wrenched at his chest like a hook through the soul. Space warped, colours bled together, and angles twisted. In an instant, he was pulled away, landing heavily on a jagged pile of rubble.

  “Got him!” Alex called out, her voice sharp with relief and adrenaline. “Now it’s your turn!”

  Aaron blinked and turned his head. Debryn knelt beside a heap of shattered stone, one hand clutching the pale fingers of someone buried beneath, the other holding Alex’s wrist in a white-knuckled grip. Alex crouched beside him, her hand tight around his forearm, the Hypercube glowing fiercely as it hovered in the air, distorting everything around it.

  Cassandra reached for the artefact, her expression drawn tight with fear and focus.

  A monstrous roar exploded through the ruins, loud enough to shake a curtain of dust from what little remained of the shattered building. Then, once more, the world bent out of shape, and reality tore sideways.

  The kaleidoscopic wrench of light and gravity forced Aaron to shut his eyes and hold his breath.

  When the spinning eased and the air returned to his lungs, he felt cobbles under his back. His ears popped as sound rushed in: distant footsteps, voices, the exclamations of a startled crowd. He opened his eyes.

  They had landed in the middle of a bustling courtyard, surrounded by market stalls and stone buildings with thatched roofs. The light of midday was almost disorienting after the ruddy dusk of the ruined ritual hall. The architecture was familiar in style, like something out of medieval Europe, but the people were not. Elves, beastfolk, and humans all turned to stare. conversation paused. The murmurs began.

  Aaron ignored the surroundings and pushed himself upright, eyes searching for Magda.

  She lay nearby, flat on her back, her once-purple hair matted with dust, her skin pale, her breaths shallow. Her eyes opened with their usual lazy charm, and when they found his, she managed a wan smile.

  Aaron crouched beside her. Dozens of things came to mind, but he said nothing.

  She spoke first.

  “I’m fine. Thank you for trusting me.”

  He nodded, jaw tight, throat unable to form words.

  He unbuckled his helmet with his still functioning hand and opened the mask. A second wave of concern and astonishment rippled through the surrounding crowd at the sight of his face.

  “Oh, Aaron.” Cassandra rushed to his side, kneeling behind him. Before he could respond, a familiar wave of soothing coolness spread through his body. His eyes rolled back as his sternum clicked back into place, ribs reformed from powdered fragments, and the jagged shards of his forearm withdrew and fused back into healthy bone.

  “Just how were you still standing?” Cassandra wondered, her voice thick with disbelief. “Between your injuries and the depletion of your life energies, it’s as if you were standing at death's door.”

  Aaron had a dozen quips ready, but they faded as he turned and saw tears streaking down the normally composed elf’s face. Instead, he settled for a quiet “Thank you.”

  His gaze moved to the others. Debryn looked tense, eyes scanning the crowd with constant, darting unease. Her tail twitched, ears shifting with every sound, a bundle of wary reflexes, ready to strike or flee.

  Alex stood nearby, eyes wide, breathing fast. The Hypercube floated in front of her, slowly spinning and seemingly forgotten. She glanced at Aaron, eyes locking with his.

  “So there really was a man under that mask,” she said, almost to herself.

  Aaron let out a tired chuckle, the sound catching in his throat but lifting some of the heaviness from his chest.

  “Mr Sword Saint,” Debryn interjected, her tone dry but laced with tension, “I don’t suppose there’s anything you can do about that halo of yours? Unless the plan is to draw even more attention to us?”

  Aaron glanced up, and sure enough, his halo was still blazing, not its usual gentle glow, but a white-hot ring that flared bright enough to rival the sun.

  For a moment, confusion flickered across his face, and then he shrugged.

  “When life gives you lemons...” Aaron said as a group of armoured guards pushed through the gathered crowds.

  “So it’s true. You really have returned, Kin-killer.” The voice came from a broad-shouldered elven guard, his thick brown eyebrows furrowed in disdain. He stepped forward from the forming crowd, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, a clear signal that he was ready to draw it if needed. His expression was openly hostile as he stared down at Cassandra, though his gaze flicked briefly to Aaron’s blazing halo, puzzlement flickering across his face before he masked it.

  “And you’ve brought company,” he added coldly. “You knew the consequences of breaking exile. Now, will you come quietly, or are we doing this the hard way?”

  He turned back towards the elf, waiting for her response, hand still resting on his weapon.

  Cassandra didn’t flinch. She stepped forward with slow, deliberate grace, hands visible at her sides. “Captain Thalen. I come bearing news of the utmost importance. Lives are at stake. I would not have risked return unless it was necessary.”

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  The guard’s brow twitched. His posture didn’t ease. “The council doesn’t care for your excuses, exile. You knew the conditions of your parole. You broke them. And now you bring humans and, whatever that is—” he nodded warily at the still-glowing Hypercube, “into our borders.”

  Debryn bristled. Her tail twitched sharply, and her fingers hovered near her weapon. Aaron saw it, the slight narrowing of her eyes, the way her weight shifted to the balls of her feet. She was preparing for a fight. Cassandra said nothing, but her gaze flicked towards Debryn in silent warning.

  Magda said nothing either. She lay barely conscious, her head flat on the cobbles, eyes half-lidded. Even now, she was faintly smiling, lost in whatever exhaustion or lingering pain gripped her.

  Alex, on the other hand, was trying very hard not to explode.

  “Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on?” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Who is that? Where are we? Why is everyone treating her like some sort of war criminal?”

  Aaron leaned towards her, his quiet tone calm and reassuring. “I don’t know the full story either. But she clearly has history here. And you can get us out at any time, remember? Hypercube, realm shift?”

  Alex looked like she had more questions, but she swallowed them for now.

  Captain Thalen took a step closer, hand still resting on his sword pommel. “I should bind you in front of the crowd, right here. Make an example. Spare the council the trouble.”

  Aaron watched the man carefully. The moment was tipping. His halo still burned like a second sun above his head, drawing curious stares and whispers from the crowd. People were backing away. Others were gathering, the stir of public anticipation mixing with fear. One wrong move, and this would become a scene.

  Aaron cleared his throat.

  “Sorry, just to be clear, are we doing the dramatic overreaction thing now or is that later? Because I’d really prefer to be beaten and imprisoned after breakfast.”

  Thalen’s head snapped towards him, momentarily bemused.

  Aaron continued, smooth and unbothered. “I mean, look at us. One noble exile, one dusty fox, a girl with a glowing Rubik’s cube, one guy leaking blood from four or five different places, oh, and a dying woman laying on the ground. Real dangerous bunch.”

  There was a pause. Someone in the crowd snorted.

  Thalen frowned. “Who are you, exactly?”

  “Aaron Heuber,” he said simply with a bow. “Saint of Swords.”

  That name clearly meant nothing to the guard. Thalen’s scowl deepened.

  “Saint?” he repeated, unimpressed. “Is that a rank or a delusion?”

  Aaron gestured to the glowing ring above his head. “You tell me.”

  Thalen muttered something under his breath, then waved a hand. “Fine. Bring them in. The Council will decide what to do with them. Strip them of weapons and… devices. They’ll be held until summoned.”

  “You sure you want to disarm the girl with the reality-warping cube?” Aaron asked lightly.

  Another soldier moved towards Alex, but Cassandra stepped between them. “I doubt any power on this world could separate her from that artefact.”

  “Weapons, now!”

  Aaron looked to Debryn and nodded. They complied, albeit slowly. Alex was the last to react. Instead of simply handing the artefact over, the Hypercube shivered before folding upon itself and twisting away into hidden dimensions. The guard who had tried to take it backed off, visibly unnerved.

  They were escorted through the edge of the market, tension simmering as civilians moved aside. Whispers followed in their wake. Aaron ignored them. He was too busy studying the buildings, the layout, the guard presence. Standard tactics. If this place turned hostile, having a sense of the terrain mattered.

  They were marched through heavy gates and down a stone corridor, into a small guard tower at the market’s edge. Inside, they were separated briefly, weapons and rings collected and stored. Then they were led into a single holding room. Plain stone walls. Benches along one side. A steel-barred door.

  Debryn gave the space a look and grouse, “Welcome to Isyndor.”

  Alex looked from face to face. “Okay. Someone? It would be nice to know what’s going on.”

  Aaron sat down, wincing as his still-healing ribs protested. He looked at Cassandra. “She’s got a point.”

  Cassandra leaned against the cell wall, arms crossed, the weight of memory dragging her voice low. “I was born Cassandra Ljoswyn Aenvaldr, second princess of the land of Lutharion, of which this great city, Isyndor, is the capital.”

  “But where is that? I mean, which planet are we on?” Alex interrupted.

  Debryn answered. “This is the realm of Isyndrael.”

  Alex blinked. “Wait, is ‘realm’ the same as a planet? Or a world?”

  Aaron shrugged, one shoulder lifting slightly. “Kinda, sorta, maybe. But not really.”

  Cassandra gave him a small nod of thanks, then continued. “Isyndrael is a land of magic and pride. And like most civilisations built on beauty and power, it hides its filth beneath the marble. I learned this when I uncovered a network of disappearances. Farmers’ daughters. Disgraced nobles. Scholars. All vanishing, and no one cared.”

  Her fingers flexed at her sides, the gloves shifting with the motion. “I thought it was isolated. A criminal ring. But the more I dug, the more I found. So I didn’t dig alone. My sister, Aelrida, was the Crown Princess, beloved by our people. We had friends, allies in the court, knights who believed in justice. Together, we struck back. Freed hundreds. Burned caravans. Brought slavers to the sword.”

  Debryn cut in, voice sharp. “You made enemies. Important ones.”

  Cassandra nodded. “The deeper we went, the more powerful the names became. Nobles. Priests. Council members. And then… my father. The king.”

  She closed her eyes. “He was supposed to be the heart of the realm. The father of his people. He told himself the slave trade was necessary. That sacrifices had to be made for strength, for stability.”

  There was a pause.

  “When we confronted him, Aelrida didn’t even draw her blade. She begged him. Pleaded. And he…” her voice faltered, then steadied. “He struck her down. Cut her throat with his dagger. His own daughter.”

  Alex gasped. Debryn’s eyes flicked to the door, alert again.

  Cassandra lowered her gaze. “I caught her as she fell. Her life blood flowed everywhere. I felt something break inside me. And then something opened.”

  “You ascended?” Aaron asked, confused.

  “I… touched upon something,” Cassandra replied, shaking her head. “To life. True life. Not healing, not magic. The raw essence of vitality itself. My hands were bathed in my sister’s blood as our father wept and begged me to save her, even offering his life in return.”

  “And?” Alex prompted, voice barely a whisper.

  “I accepted.”

  The silence that followed was complete.

  “I saved Aelrida, burning my father’s life from his body in payment,” Cassandra said. “I ended the reign of a monster in the most public way possible.”

  Debryn snorted softly. “And the court responded with the maturity and grace you’d expect.”

  “I was exiled before dawn, with little more than the bloodied gown I was wearing,” Cassandra said. “Stripped of title. Painted as the villain, the dangerous rogue. A parricide. It was days before I heard of my sister's coronation.”

  She looked at the others. “I don’t regret it. But I knew I couldn’t return… until now.”

  Aaron met her gaze. “Because this is still your home.”

  She nodded. “That, and my sister.” Cassandra folded her arms and leaned back against the wall. “Isyndor is not a city known for forgiveness. My exile was not quiet. Many here will not be happy to see me. But if my sister is still who she was, she will hear me out.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Alex asked.

  Debryn answered instead. “Then we’ll have a much bigger problem.”

  Alex turned to Aaron. “But why are we here anyway?”

  “To stop Isyndrael from being the first realm to fall in the Bellum Existentiae,” Aaron replied. “Starting with a bunch of assassinations.”

  “How long do we have?” Alex pressed, eyes wide.

  “Dusk. Maybe midnight at the latest, at least for the assassinations. The invasion should happen some time tomorrow. Though demons aren’t exactly known for their punctuality.”

  “I trust that she believes she’s doing the right thing,” Cassandra said. “And I trust that if things go bad, you can pull us out.”

  Magda stirred faintly on her stretcher. “And if all that fails, just rely on Mr Heuber here to cut us a path out.”

  Alex nodded slowly. “That’s… weirdly reassuring.”

  Aaron leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Welcome to sainthood.”