The Golem's heavy footsteps quickened, a desperate sprint. Knights spilled over the city walls. They were ready. But Finlay and the others were faster. They met the knights head-on. The knights watched, trapped, as the Golem raised its halberd. It lunged.
Rumble.
The earth buckled. Mountains shifted. Even Stormveil's stout walls cracked. The Golem froze, still. Its broken body leaned against the wall, a ramp now. Ladders weren't needed anymore.
The knights, their efforts useless, fell. Crimson blood flowed down the slope. Sellen parted her lips ever so slightly. Collective power. Individual prowess… insignificant. The lives of the "strong" were so fragile. "Bravery, commendable. But two fists against four hands—that's a losing fight. And Cleanrot Knights are even stronger." Thorne watched Finlay's retreat, shields raised, carrying hideous heads. Offerings to Malenia, who sat upon a white horse. "Long live!" "Long live!!"
The cheers, even miles away, were deafening. Thorne touched the hilt of his blade, a surge of eagerness. "The Haligtree Army doesn't plan an all-out assault." "Why?" Thorne stared at the darkening sky. He answered, dully, "Godrick isn't worth Malenia getting serious. She wants to wear him down, force him out of his shell. A psychological tactic. 'Maximum Pressure,' you might call it." Sellen nodded, half-understanding. She had no interest in war. She waved the grimoire in her hand.
"If only you applied this cleverness to magic. Your master needs to return to their analysis first." "Master." "Hmm?" The witch walked a few steps, paused. She turned, saw Thorne still gazing into the distance. Only his straight back remained. "Stormveil will fall. Raya Lucaria Academy won't be a threat much longer. What are your plans?" His voice held little emotion, but doubt dripped from every word. The survival crisis was over. Their dependency… ended.
Sellen hadn't actually needed to pause her search for the Prim... The sunset faded. The Haligtree Army, victorious, marched back to camp. Military songs, heroic. The scrape of iron armor. The hilltop felt separate. Another dimension. "Let your master think on that." Sellen pinched her chin. Her rosy lips curved. "Then, for the rest of our lives… let's remain master and disciple." Thorne, surrounded by soldiers and armor, held his breath.
Sellen's words echoed in my memory. When I first became her disciple, she'd said, "I will teach you magic. But everyone walks their own path. Teachers and students can separate. Even kill each other. Just a contract."
I turned. The petite witch vanished into the sprawling military camp. Our bond hadn't changed. Yet, a fundamental shift occurred, unlike our days at the Academy.
—were forged through life and death.