Pyra 22 – Pyra 25, Imperial Year 1644
The Secondary Workshop, Hills Above Velathri
The workshop had never felt so cold.
The forges were dark. The alchemical bulbs had been dimmed, casting long shadows across the empty halls. Knights moved like ghosts – slow, silent, their eyes hollow. The common hall, once loud with laughter and argument, was still.
Thirty‑nine survivors had returned. Eleven had not.
Pyra 22 – Evening
The Common Hall – The First Night
They sat in silence. The long tables were half‑empty. Food had been prepared, but no one ate.
Hammer sat with his left arm in a sling, the stump wrapped in clean bandages. He stared at the table. His right hand was clenched into a fist.
Sparrow sat across from him, her right hand bandaged. She kept flexing her fingers – the ones that remained – as if trying to remember how to draw a bow.
Wall leaned against the wall, her shield arm splinted. She had not spoken since the cave.
Titan sat at the head of the table, his hammer across his knees. His face was stone, but his eyes were red.
Hound stood by the fire, his back to the room.
Rook sat in a corner, his notebook open, but he had not written a word.
Phantom was nowhere to be seen – lost in the shadows, as always.
Aldric moved among them, offering water, adjusting bandages, saying nothing.
Vlad stood at the far end of the hall, his back to the room. His left arm was still bandaged, the burns healing slowly. The Zero mask hung from his belt, cracked.
No one spoke.
Pyra 23 – Morning
The Workshop – Grief and Blame
Dawn came grey and cold. Some of the knights had not slept.
In the armory, a group of survivors stood around a bench. Their voices were low, but sharp.
"We should have retreated sooner," one said. "Zero waited too long."
"He was trying to save the Colossus," another replied.
"The Colossus is gone. And so are Brigid and Finn."
Titan entered. His presence silenced them.
"If you have blame to assign," Titan said, "assign it to the demon. Not to the man who stepped between it and you."
The knights looked away.
In the forge, Hammer sat alone. His right hand rested on the anvil. He had spent the night trying to imagine forging with one arm. He could not.
"I should have been faster," he said to himself. "I should have dodged."
Sparrow found him there. She leaned against the doorframe, her bandaged hand at her side.
"You can't dodge a demon's blade," she said. "None of us could."
"I should have done something."
"You did. You lived."
Hammer looked at her. "Is that enough?"
Sparrow had no answer.
In the medical bay, Wall lay on a cot, staring at the ceiling. Aldric sat beside her, his hand on her splinted arm.
"The bones are knitting," Aldric said. "But the arm will be weak for months. You must not push it."
"I pushed too hard already," Wall said. "I should have fallen back. I should have—"
"You should have died?" Aldric's voice was gentle. "Would that have helped?"
Wall closed her eyes. Tears slipped from beneath her lids.
Pyra 23 – Afternoon
The Workshop – Vlad's Guilt
Vlad stood in the Colossus bay. The bay was empty. The floor was scorched. The chains that had held the suit were coiled on the ground.
He had built that machine. He had piloted it. He had watched it melt.
Hound found him there.
"You've been standing here for two hours."
"I've been counting," Vlad said.
"Counting what?"
"The dead. The wounded. The ones who will never fight again." He turned. His face was pale, his eyes red. "I led them into that mountain. I told them we were ready. I was wrong."
Hound said nothing.
"I should have seen the trap. I should have known the leader would sacrifice himself. I should have—" Vlad's voice cracked. "I should have been better."
Hound stepped closer. "You are not a god. You are a man. A vampire, but still a man. You make mistakes."
"People died because of my mistake."
"People died because a demon cult wanted to summon a king. You gave them a chance to live. Without you, they would have all died."
Vlad looked at the empty bay. "I don't know if that's enough."
"It has to be."
Pyra 24 – Morning
The Common Hall – The Resolve
They gathered again. All thirty‑nine survivors. Aldric stood at the back. Vlad stood at the head of the table.
"We failed," Vlad said. "There is no point pretending otherwise."
The room was silent.
"But failure is not the end. It is a lesson. And we will learn it."
Hammer stood. His voice was rough. "I want revenge."
Sparrow stood. "I want to make sure no one else suffers what we suffered."
Wall stood, her splinted arm across her chest. "I want to go back. And I want to win."
Others nodded. Murmurs of agreement.
Vlad raised a hand.
"Revenge is a fire. It will consume you if you let it. But justice – justice is a forge. It shapes pain into purpose."
He looked at each of them.
"We will prepare. We will train. We will build new weapons, new armor, new strategies. And when we are ready, we will return to that mountain."
"How long?" Titan asked.
"I don't know. Months. Perhaps a year."
"And while we prepare?" Hound asked.
Vlad's face was grim. "Many will suffer. The demon king will not wait for us. His army will grow. People will die."
The room went quiet.
Sparrow spoke. "We accept that."
Hammer nodded. "We accept it."
Wall nodded. "We accept it."
One by one, the knights voiced their agreement.
Vlad looked at them – his family, battered and broken, but still standing.
"Then we have a vow. We will prepare. We will train. And when the time comes, we will avenge the fallen. We will protect the innocent. We will end this."
He drew his zweihander – the blade still sharp, the golden line still gleaming.
"For the Black Knights."
The thirty‑nine raised their weapons.
"For the Black Knights."
Pyra 25 – Dawn
The Workshop – A New Beginning
The forges were lit. The alchemical bulbs glowed bright.
Aldric worked alongside Patch, healing the wounded, planning the long recovery. The skill degradation would be real – muscles would weaken, reflexes would dull. But they would retrain. They would adapt.
Hammer stood at the anvil, his right hand holding a hammer. He could not swing with his left, but he could teach. He could forge.
Sparrow sat with Striker, learning to shoot with her left hand. It was awkward, slow, but she did not give up.
Wall drilled the frontliners, using a smaller shield, shouting orders.
Titan and Hound planned the new fortress – a defensible base in the hills, with room for three hundred knights.
Rook wrote. He wrote the names of the fallen. He wrote the lessons learned. He wrote the plan.
Phantom appeared in the shadows, watching. He said nothing. He did not need to.
Vlad stood in the empty Colossus bay. He had already begun sketching the new design – a smaller, faster suit, built not for cannons, but for blessed blades and dragon‑bone armor. It would take time. He had time.
He looked at the sketch.
We will return, he thought. And we will not fail again.
He picked up his quill and began to work.
End of Chapter Sixty‑Seven