ARCADES

They rode as the sun climbed the spine of the desert—eight in total, shadows stretched long across the golden dunes. The journey to Thruans was quiet. Focused. Each mile behind them was a step toward the unknown.

The women stayed close. Not as passengers, but as equals. They had trained for war once—some had fought in it. Even now, they carried the silence of survivors and the weight of unfinished stories.

Bethy rode beside Kalamari, stealing glances she thought he didn't notice. Lolia and Tozi led the way, scanning the horizon with sharp, trained eyes. No one spoke much. But the bond had grown between them, forged not just by fire, but by choice.

Thruans soon rose before them—a city of steel discipline and rigid towers. Where Old Sand Town had been sand-washed and stubborn, Thruans stood like a knife in the earth.

At the gates, soldiers halted them.

"Names. Purpose. Allegiances."

Lolia leaned forward from her saddle. "We're here for trade and refuge. Nothing more."

The guards looked them over. Warriors, clearly—but not hostile. Still, protocol had to be followed.

Kalamari turned slightly to Tozi. "We split here, as agreed."

Lolia nodded. "We'll find a place inside. Lay low."

Bethy looked at Kalamari for a moment longer than necessary. "You'll find who you're looking for."

He gave the smallest nod. "We always do."

The gates opened with a mechanical groan, and Thruans swallowed them whole.

Inside the city, the rules changed. Everything was cleaner, tighter, bound by order. There were no alleys here—only streets with eyes. Every corner seemed watched. Every word, a potential echo.

Kalamari and Tozi moved like merchants through the market. Their armor was hidden beneath layered robes. No energy flared. No magic stirred.

Their goal was simple: find the Arcadian. Quietly.

But the city itself led them.

In the central district, they heard whispers of a sparring demonstration at the Council Hall—open only to high-ranking officials and those favored by status. The rumors spoke of a woman who fought with a blade that bled stars.

Kalamari knew before he even saw her.

They entered through a side corridor and stood at the edge of the stone arena. The match was already in motion. A warrior danced through two others with elegant destruction.

General Unomi.

She moved like falling thunder—each step light, but devastating. Her Soul Sword shimmered in obsidian and violet, pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Her golden eyes weren't born; they were burned—marked by the Arcadian Flame. Her armor floated slightly above her skin, bending gravity to her will.

Kalamari watched from above, quiet and unreadable.

"She commands gravity," Tozi whispered.

"And the sword has a soul," Kalamari said. "She's the one."

---

After her triumph and the applause faded, General Unomi retreated to her chambers. Two B-rank warriors took guard.

They didn't last.

Kalamari silenced them with swift touches to their pressure points. Tozi shook his head. "Showoff."

Inside, Unomi paused mid-motion as she unfastened her armor. She felt something. A tremor in the air. A presence.

"Who's there?" she called sharply.

Kalamari stepped into the open.

Unomi turned.

"Where did you get that blood?" she demanded.

"I was born with it," he said.

A heartbeat passed.

Then the pressure of the room shifted—gravity thickened, as if the air was syrup and the walls were closing in.

"You dare carry that energy in my city?" she spat. "You're no Arcadian. You're a thief. A bandit."

"I am Arcadian," Kalamari said evenly. "So is my brother."

Her answer came in the cry of her blade.

She struck.

Unomi's first blow bent the air. Kalamari dodged, robes snapping around him. A second strike chased him—faster, tighter. The third he blocked with his bracer, but the fourth hit squarely, sending him flying across the chamber.

The wall cracked where he landed.

She gave him no time to rise.

A gravity well formed beneath his feet—his legs dragged downward, boots sinking into stone. He braced, pushing back with raw will. Her Soul Sword gleamed again, and the room shuddered as she launched a barrage of weight-infused slashes, each one heavier than the last.

Kalamari deflected them all—barely.

He didn't attack.

He watched.

Every strike, every lunge, every step she took—he measured it, memorized it.

Unomi growled, sweat now gleaming on her temples.

"You're not even fighting back."

Kalamari smiled faintly. "I don't need to."

She roared and twisted gravity itself. The room inverted—furniture, weapons, and chandeliers ripped from the floor, crashing against the ceiling. Kalamari leapt between spinning debris, weightless for a second—then dropped straight down as she re-centered the field beneath him like a hammer.

He caught himself mid-air with a flare of energy.

When he landed, her boot was already swinging toward his head.

He ducked, swept her leg, and leapt backward.

She was up in an instant, blade spinning, palms igniting with gravitational force. The very air shrank around them, dense and hot.

She struck again. A crushing blow.

Kalamari stumbled.

A second hit landed square in his ribs, sending him sprawling.

Then came the third.

She moved in for the kill, but he vanished.

Blink-speed.

He reappeared behind her, hand reaching—not to strike—but to burn a glyph into the air.

She turned too late.

The glyph exploded in a pulse of Arcadian light, stunning her and staggering her backward. Her nose bled from the energy.

"You…" she gasped.

In the silence between moves, she caught the flicker of an ancient Arcadian sigil glowing beneath his robe—etched in the skin of his upper shoulder.

"You're not just a warrior," she whispered. "You're one of the Lost."

Kalamari stood tall, breathing steady.

"I told you."

But Unomi's body trembled. Her blade pulsed once more—but dimmer now. Her legs were heavy. She had burned too much too fast. Kalamari's speed had forced her to over-exert her core magic, and she was fading.

She raised her hand, as if to speak—

The door burst open.

Dozens of Thruans soldiers stormed in, crossbows drawn, spells crackling in their palms.

"STAND DOWN!" the captain ordered.

Kalamari turned, raising a hand to stop them. "Wait—"

They fired.

Bolts of energy slammed into him from all sides. He staggered, fell to one knee. Chains of iron and spell-wrought sigils wrapped around his arms and chest. His power flickered, suppressed.

Still, he looked to Unomi.

"I wasn't your enemy," he said again.

She stared at him, unsure now. Breathing ragged. Haunted.

"Take him to the dungeon," the captain snapped.

The soldiers swarmed, dragging Kalamari away in enchanted restraints. His eyes never left Unomi.

And hers?

They followed him until the doors shut.

And Tozi?

Nowhere to be seen.

---

Watch out for chapter 12

Did she try to help him get out or she didn't want to lose her title as General