The halls of Odessyus were quieter than usual as the Seven returned from the Forgotten Chamber. The things Neolin had shown them — the ancient glyphs, the statue, the warnings — hung over their heads like ash clouds that refused to lift. Even though the group had agreed not to chase too far into the past, not to let Alexa's whispers pull them away from the present, something still felt off. Uneasy. Fragile.
The wind outside howled harder than before, but it wasn't the cold that troubled them — it was the silence between gusts. That silence had a weight. A pull. Like the world itself was drawing breath.
Tom stood at the balcony, gripping the stone railing. Below him, the city seemed peaceful. But he didn't trust peace anymore. It was always the quiet before the storm that hit hardest.
Peter walked in behind him. "Frank's still talking with Neolin," he said. "Wants to prepare the route to the Edge of Origin. Thinks Lucy might've already left for it."
Tom didn't respond right away. His eyes scanned the horizon.
"She's not running from us," he said finally. "She's running from herself."
Peter nodded. "Maybe. But whatever she's running from, it's chasing us too."
Before Tom could answer, a high-pitched screech cracked through the sky like glass shattering across the heavens. Both of them froze. The sound wasn't a warning signal — it was something else. Something deeper. It wasn't carried by soundwaves — it rang inside their bones.
A crimson light suddenly lit the horizon. The clouds turned red, then black, then pulsed — like they were alive. Tom and Peter looked up as the sun vanished behind a thick column of swirling ash. The glyph barrier that shielded Odessyus flickered violently, and then—without warning—it failed.
The shield shattered in a wave of dark red lightning.
Sirens began to wail across the towers. Horns. Screams. Alarm glyphs erupting in blue bursts. All across the city, panic spread like wildfire.
Tom ran. Peter followed. The others met them in the central hall, eyes already wide with dread.
"Something's coming," Kitty said, clutching her pendant as it glowed on its own.
"No," Susan corrected, "it's already here."
The walls rumbled.
Then the sky exploded.
Flaming glyphs rained down from above. The clouds split open like a wound, and from them descended a shape — massive, winged, and wrapped in black fire. Kazakare had returned.
But this was no longer the Kazakare they had fought at Mirakai. This was something else. His body had morphed into a tangled lattice of burning armor and ancient bone. His eyes were empty hollows, pouring out red steam. His wings dragged across the sky like banners of war.
And his voice was no longer a voice. It was a storm. It struck minds, not ears.
"You were warned," it boomed. "You scattered your strength. You searched for ghosts. And now, your blood will paint the sky."
From his back, hundreds of twisted creatures leapt — malformed beasts, broken glyph golems, and flaming shadowhounds. They fell onto the towers and streets like meteors.
"Defensive formations now!" King Edmund's voice roared from the courtyard glyph post. "All warriors to the eastern wall! Protect the Seven!"
Frank drew his blade. "We don't have time to run. We fight here."
Tom clenched his fists. "Together."
Neolin stepped forward from the stairwell, wind tearing at his cloak. "The Blood Moon War ends here. You are the heart of Odessyus. If you fall… everything falls."
The Seven rushed outside. The sky had turned red — deep and burning. The sun was gone. Fire rained from the sky, and the ash in the air felt alive. Each breath stung. Each step was a battle. The creatures poured in through the city gates, tearing through outer defenses.
Tom and Peter leapt into the fray first, fire and shadows dancing side by side. Tom unleashed a wave of burning spirals, holding back the first surge of hounds. Peter blinked between towers, cutting down invaders before they reached the gates.
Kitty soared above them, her golden wings blazing brighter than ever, slicing through air with wind-formed lances. Susan raised crystal walls and refracted glyph beams, shielding the civilians as they escaped deeper into the fortress.
Frank, leading at the front, fought without hesitation. His blade clashed with molten claws. His glyph crackled around him, fueled by pain, memory, and something else — something older.
Jack vanished into the alleyways, striking from the shadows. Every time a beast cornered a child or a wounded soldier, a flick of his blade ended it before it could lunge. He was everywhere and nowhere, a ghost with purpose.
And in the heart of it all, Kazakare hovered above the battlefield like a god of fire.
"You were supposed to be the next generation," he said. "But you will die like the last."
Tom's fire surged again, but Kazakare caught it midair, twisted it, and hurled it back. Tom barely rolled aside.
"His fire's evolved," Tom coughed, recovering. "He's using corrupted Palecto."
"We're not strong enough to hit him head-on," Susan called. "Not like this."
"Then we divide him," Frank shouted. "Force him to drop down. We pull his attention apart."
"He's watching all of us," Peter said grimly. "At once."
"No," Jack said from behind. "He's not watching her."
Everyone turned — but Jack was pointing toward the edge of the bridge, where Lucy now stood.
She had returned.
Her cloak fluttered in the ash storm. Her eyes were steady, but unreadable. Her presence was like a gap in the storm — not because she calmed it, but because it moved around her.
"Lucy?" Kitty called, flying down to her.
Lucy raised her hand.
"I'm here to fight," she said simply. "Nothing more."
Tom blinked. "Why now?"
"Because if we don't stop him now… he'll destroy the last place we all still remember."
Her voice carried power. Not loud. But sure.
Frank nodded. "Let's end this."
The Seven launched their final formation.
Lucy threw time spheres across the battlefield, slowing Kazakare's aerial turns.
Kitty dove in with wind bursts, drawing his attention.
Susan raised a prism wall to trap his fire beam — then reflected it back at his wings.
Tom and Peter combined flame and shadow in a spiraling arc that struck Kazakare's right flank, forcing him downward.
Frank dashed in, blade gleaming with pure glyph energy, leaping toward Kazakare's exposed chest.
Kazakare screamed — a shriek that tore through the sky — and met Frank midair.
Their blades collided.
The fire turned white.
And the sky began to burn.