The column of light split the sky, painting Hassel's battered streets in gold. For the first time in days, Amelia allowed herself to feel a spark of unrestrained joy. A wide grin spread across her face, lighting up her features as she threw her head back and laughed—raw, triumphant, alive.

  Below her, the city trembled with the force of Gareth’s voice, carried by magic and faith alike.

  “Praise the Hero. Praise HIM!”

  The words rolled through Hassel like thunder, resonating through stone and soul alike. Soldiers paused mid-step, gazing skyward in awe, and weapons slipped from suddenly slack hands. Soot-stained mages gaped skyward.

  The air crackled with energy, and Amelia's skin tingled. She found herself whispering, "It worked.”

  Gareth’s wild idea was suddenly not so crazy, and she realized it would change everything. Whatever the knight had experienced in Volten that made him so confident he could harness the power of faith was legitimate, and suddenly, the Revolution had a new source of power at their disposal.

  That crazy bastard. When he proposed the plan, I thought he’d try to harvest the Light left behind by Leonard’s buff spells. But no, for once, he actually saw things more clearly than I did. I can admit to that, at least to myself.

  The only other person who knew this was possible was probably Leonard himself.

  And he was nowhere to be found, but that didn’t surprise her. She knew exactly where he was. He would be waiting at the edge of the citadel, ready to lead the charge the moment the blood wards fell. He trusted Gareth to succeed, just as he had trusted her to hold the line in his absence.

  That level of faith in his subordinates makes it easy to understand how the army could regard him so highly. It’s not just a question of raw power; the people actually believe in him.

  A battle-worn mage stumbled to the wall beside her, clutching a shattered staff. “My Lady," he wheezed, "the eastern batteries report their crystals are fracturing. The Light—it's interfering with the containment fields."

  “Have them pull back," she replied. "We won't need siege engines anymore."

  Dismissing him, she raised her hands to the heavens, palms open to the light. She could feel its pull, an overwhelming presence that called to something deep within her. For the first time in years, she let her eyes slip shut and gave herself completely to prayer. Her voice joined the echo of Gareth’s words, not in mimicry but in her own heartfelt plea.

  “Guide us, Light. Fill us. Deliver us.”

  The warmth that followed was incredible. It coursed through her veins like liquid gold, filling the cracks in her weary soul and reigniting the fire that had threatened to wane. Around her, soldiers and mages alike whispered prayers of their own, blending their voices in a strange and beautiful harmony.

  Amelia opened her eyes to see something she had only read about in tales from the Age of Heroes. Tiny flickers of golden light began to gather around them. At first, they were faint—mere glimmers like fireflies. But as the prayers intensified, so too did the light. It grew brighter and bolder, swirling together as if it were alive.

  It rose in a shimmering stream, rushing to join the radiant column in the sky. The sheer force of the energy filling the air nearly brought Amelia to her knees, but she stood her ground, her arms trembling as she kept praying.

  Beside her, Oliver didn’t share her stubbornness and gave himself away freely. The young man stumbled and fell to his knees, gripping the cold stone of the wall as golden blood trickled from his eyes and nose. His voice was raw, and his words slurred with exhaustion, but he didn’t stop.

  “Light… grant us this victory,” he rasped. “Cleanse this place of darkness… let them see His glory.”

  Amelia instinctively reached out, brushing his shoulder. She didn’t speak—words felt inadequate for such a moment—but her touch conveyed all the strength she could muster. Oliver’s lips curved into a smile, and he redoubled his efforts, lifting his trembling voice once more.

  Through the wall's arrow slits, she caught a glimpse of the chaos unfolding in the streets below. A circle of battlemages had gathered around Senior Artificer Helena, linked through their hands as they fought to contain the surge of wild magic. Helena's mechanical arm whirred and sparked as she desperately worked to control the excess power through constant adjustments. The enchanted gems embedded in her prosthetic blazed with an inner fire as she redirected the surplus energy into the cannons she had brought.

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  "The old patterns are breaking," Helena called up to Amelia. "Whatever's happening, it's rewriting the fundamental laws. I've never seen anything like it.”

  “Embrace it,” Amelia commanded, almost feeling pity for the woman who couldn’t enjoy the miracle.

  The light continued to build, reaching a crescendo that was almost too much to bear. Amelia’s heart thundered in her chest, and her vision blurred from the intensity of the golden glow. She felt as if she were standing at the edge of the world, teetering on the precipice of something vast and unknowable.

  Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the light show ended.

  The column dissipated in a final, blinding flash, leaving behind a faint shimmer in the air. Amelia gasped, and her knees buckled as the overwhelming power receded. She caught herself on the edge of the wall, breathing hard, and slowly turned back to the citadel.

  The blood wards, which had stood as an impenetrable barrier for so long, were breaking apart. The crimson glow that had once bathed the citadel in malevolence flickered and faltered. The spirits trapped within the wards wailed as the shamans’ magic cleansed them, transforming their cries of agony into something almost serene as they were freed.

  The wards crumbled like shattered glass as large pieces disintegrated into nothingness. The soldiers below cheered in a triumphant roar that shook the very foundations of Hassel. Amelia joined in, hoarse but jubilant.

  Next to her, Oliver slumped to the ground, utterly spent. She knelt beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder as they both stared at the now-vulnerable citadel.

  “It’s over,” Oliver murmured, weak but so hopeful. He, more than anyone, relied on his faith to propel him forward. It was what had brought him back from the brink after his mistake had led to his friends' temporary deaths and what allowed him to rise in rank so quickly. It was no surprise he felt drained—he had the most to give.

  Amelia shook her head, a fierce glint in her eyes. “Not yet. But it will be.”

  Despite the triumph she was feeling, a chill crawled up her spine. Something stirred—a sensation she had not felt in days.

  Her contract with the shadow plane trembled at the edge of her awareness.

  Amelia froze, instinctively tracing the thread to her permanent connection with the True Shadow. It had remained mostly silent since the aerial battle, when she had expended much of the power that the Elemental King of Darkness had allowed her to wield. She had anticipated that it would take weeks for the balance of her contract to restore itself. Yet now, it surged back with unsettling intensity.

  The air around her grew colder, and the world seemed to dim slightly. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, bending toward her as if drawn by an unseen force. An echoing whisper brushed against her mind like the distant echo of thunder.

  “Child of shadows…”

  Amelia’s breath hitched. She had not heard that voice since she forged the contract. The sheer presence behind it was overwhelming, a vast and ancient entity that dwarfed any mortal understanding. The Elemental King of Darkness wasn’t just speaking to her—it was using her body to see into the material plane.

  Reality around her faded completely. The southern wall, the cheering soldiers, the shattered wards—all of it dissolved into a void of endless darkness. She stood alone, suspended in nothingness, as violet eyes as vast as galaxies opened, dissecting her soul.

  Amelia forced herself to stand tall. Her contract marked her as an equal. She wouldn’t show subservience that wasn’t deserved. “Why now?” she managed to say, steadier than she expected.

  “What has been unleashed in Hassel… calls to us all. Light stirs, and so too must shadow. You stand at the precipice of an Apotheosis.”

  Her eyes widened. Apotheosis.

  It was whispered in the darkest corners of esoteric studies, a transformation that elevated and Ascended to something beyond. It was a process believed to be impossible, as even the greatest elemental beings couldn’t cross the boundary. Only archmages and elven mage-lords ever spoke of it, and even then, only as a theoretical exercise to stretch their imagination.

  Leonard. The Light’s response to Gareth’s call for faith in him, the prayers of an army, and the surge of divine energy—all of it clicked into place. His presence as an Ascended among mortals was changing the way people thought—the way reality interacted with their thoughts. He was becoming something far more, even without doing anything to cause it.

  The Elemental King’s eyes narrowed. “Be wary, child. The Chosen’s touch is seductive, even to those who serve the shadow. Should you falter, it will consume you.”

  Amelia prepared to respond, but the presence withdrew suddenly. The oppressive void shattered like glass, and she found herself back on the southern wall, the cold wind biting at her skin. The soldiers’ cheers were still ringing out, but they sounded distant and muted.

  For a moment, she stood still, shaken. The clause allowing the Elemental King to take over her body required strict circumstances, one of which was coming into the presence of a divine being—or the process that created one. If Leonard truly was undergoing such a transformation, it would explain the Light’s overwhelming response.

  What little is known—and even that is mostly speculation—says that it should be a long process but also that once it starts…well, things beyond our reach are in motion. Leonard is the only one who can do anything about this, and I’ll have to trust he can handle it.

  Her fingers curled into a fist. There was no time to dwell on the implications. Leonard had entrusted her with breaking the citadel’s defenses once the wards were down, and she wasn’t about to fail him.

  A young scout approached her, fear plain on his face. How long had she stood there, locked in communion with the King?

  “My Lady, the Loyalists—they're preparing something. Their warmages are gathering at the battlements."

  She squinted through the lingering spots in her vision. Sure enough, red-robed figures scurried along the citadel walls like angry ants.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Amelia's voice cracked like a whip. "Mage corps! Begin siege spells. The priority target is the cluster of mages. Form up! The locals must join us, too!”

  The mages scattered to their positions, forming groups to amplify their spells. The Tower mages she had integrated into her forces also prepared to cast, though with some hesitation. She allowed them this opportunity, but remained vigilant for any signs of treachery. They had one chance to prove themselves. Only one.

  Amelia reached for her mana reserves, only to pause as she felt something unexpected. A new wellspring of power surged within her. The Elemental King had left her a gift—more than enough mana to fulfill her part of their contract.

  Her lips twisted into a smirk. “I can consider the debt paid, then,” she murmured.

  Amelia joined the mages, weaving her own magic into the assault. Dark tendrils of shadow coiled around her fingers, snapping forward as she chanted an incantation. A massive shadow bolt tore through the air, striking the citadel’s outer wall with a thunderous impact. Stone crumbled under the assault, and Loyalist soldiers scrambled for cover.

  The barrage intensified as the locals joined in. Fireballs, lightning bolts, and shards of ice fell upon the citadel, tearing through its defenses with relentless fury. Amelia’s shadow magic spread like ink across the walls, seeping into cracks and weakening their structure.

  As the walls started to buckle under the assault, Amelia allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction. Things were going just as planned. Soon, Leonard would lead the charge, and the citadel would fall.