Sirens echoed across the cliffs and towers. From the Zenith balconies to the Alpha courtyards, lights flashed across the sky. The wind shifted, uneasy, and carried voices with it.
"What happened?!" "Is it an invasion?" "Are we under attack?!"
Within minutes, doors opened all across the Mythic Base. The Echelon Knights—those who had earned the highest ranks just days ago—poured into the outer courtyard.
Arslan stepped out as well, his eyes scanning the sky.
From the other bases, movement surged. Zenith, Apex, Mythic, Omega, Alpha — the strongest among them rushed to the walls, to the lookout towers, to the sound of panic.
Boots echoed against stone paths. The long walkways that connected each base filled with light and motion. Confused faces emerged from chambers and towers. Some Knights tightened gloves or gripped weapons. Others barely had time to dress. Everyone was on edge.
As Arslan moved along the shadowed corridor leading to the courtyard, the tension clung to the air.
People were already gathered. The low murmur of panic was turning into open worry.
"Why the sirens now?" "It's the Gates… they say the Gates!" "I saw it… red light rising from the Messenger Gates!"
From the crowd, a sharp voice broke out.
> "They are coming!"
Another followed, panicked and raw:
> "We're going to die!"
Screams rang out. Children and civilians were being pulled back by guards. Soldiers formed tight walls around gathering points. Sky patrols shot through the air, watching from above.
The Echelon Knights reached the high eastern watch platform—where the path arched toward the restricted region housing the Messenger Gates.
The air was strange here.
It carried a hum.
A strange vibration, low and deep, like something ancient stirring.
The great stone towers near the Gate pulsed faintly with a red glow. Energy patterns danced along their runes, like veins under skin.
Julious, the Leader of the Guardian Council, arrived from the central tower, followed by Camero and Rivers, their faces grim and focused. Even the King's personal guards rode in fast from the Royal Capital side, forming a barrier near the gate.
The Echelon Knights stopped at the edge of the stone platform, their eyes drawn forward.
Everyone fell silent.
Even the sirens began to fade, softening to a distant hum.
At the foot of the Messenger Gates—those massive, ancient doors sealed long ago—stood three figures.
They weren't supposed to be there.
They weren't human.
Twisted and dark, their shapes shifted like flame wrapped in shadow. The air around them bent subtly. The ground beneath their clawed feet cracked, not from force, but from presence.
The first one had limbs too long and thin, clawed hands dragging low like razors. Its face had no mouth, but its eyes were sharp slits, glowing ember-red.
The second hovered slightly above the ground, its body rippling like smoke. Wings rose and fell on its back, torn and scorched.
The third had horns that curled like twisted iron, and a chest marked with deep burning runes that flickered like living symbols.
Everyone froze.
The sound was gone now.
Not just sirens.
Everything.
No wind.
No movement.
Just those three.
They stared up at the Watch Line where the Echelon Knights stood.
And somehow, their stare felt like knives.
Arslan's heart pounded. His jaw clenched. The temperature dropped around them.
He took a step forward slowly, joining the front line.
He didn't know what they were.
But he had not felt like that before
They are not among figure which he felt in his dream
Their presence.
Their weight.
And the silence before something breaks.
Camero drew his sword, the blade ringing as it left the scabbard.
> "We need a command. What do we do if they move?"
Julious narrowed his eyes.
"We wait. We don't act unless they act."