Sophia's whispered words hung heavy in the sudden silence that descended upon their corner of the Dunlyre Tavern. Attack one of the satellite cities or even Central Aerion itself.

The cheerful noise of the tavern seemed to recede. A chilling weight settled on them with her realization. It was the only logical conclusion, given Haziel's horrifying explanation of the Rank 5 ascension ritual.

The threat, which had seemed like a distant wildfire licking at the edges of Zephyros's territory, now was poised to strike directly at its heart.

Cold, sharp tension settled deep in Henry's gut. He saw his own unease reflected in Sophia's clear fright and the tightening of Haziel's jaw. The confirmation of their fears came from Haziel, who conveyed it with an inclination of his head, being privy to high-level intelligence.

"That," Haziel said, his tone low and somber, "is precisely what the Supreme Council and the Archbishop's inner circle are most deeply concerned about. The sheer scale required for such a ritual narrows the potential targets considerably.

If these cultists are truly aiming for Rank 5, and if they are desperate or fanatical enough then yes, the satellite cities, with their dense populations, are the most logical, horrifying targets."

A cold dread seeped into his bones. Damn it all. First, the worry about some peripheral village, then the realization of a widespread cult, and now the potential for an assault on the capital's very doorstep. The danger was like it was rapidly closing in, shrinking the world around them.

Sophia took a shaky breath, trying to regain her composure, her analytical mind searching for alternatives. "But surely, advancement isn't their only possible motive? Could they be targeting something else within the cities? An ancient artifact, perhaps? Or plotting an assassination? Attempting to cripple a vital military installation?"

Haziel sighed, running a hand through his short black hair. "Those possibilities are all being considered, Sophia. Believe me, the advisory council, the Cathedral's strategists, the members of the Supreme Council themselves, The task of discerning the enemy's true objective requires them to work around the clock and analyze every scrap of intel and historical precedent. But the scale of the sacrifices already committed it strongly suggests Rank ascension remains the primary goal, despite insane it seems."

The conversation had spiraled rapidly from distant disappearances to horrifying massacres in desecrated caves, and now to the potential for catastrophic attacks on major population centers. They were like being caught in an accelerating vortex of darkness, each revelation hinting at a conspiracy far more complex and sinister than a few scattered cultists seeking power.

Henry reached under the table, his fingers finding Sophia's, squeezing gently. She responded instantly, her grip tight, a silent acknowledgment of their shared fear, a reminder that they faced this, like everything else, together.

Despite the silent reassurance, Sophia couldn't entirely mask the worry clouding her features. "But Aerion, the satellite cities," she murmured, anxiety coloring her words. "It feels so overwhelming. What can possibly be done against such a threat?"

"Listen, as we speak, a massive reinforcement army from the central legions is moving to the capital region. They're taking over the outer defenses." He said, his voice regaining a measure of confidence.

"The central legions? They're pulling in that much firepower?" Henry and Sophia both drew sharp breaths.

"They have to. Inside the four satellite cities, the Royal Guard are handling internal security. But for Central Aerion itself, command's taking zero chances. Demigod Vincent and Alfie are personally overseeing the city's defenses."

"The Pope and Prince Alfie? Two demigods..." Sophia exhaled.

Haziel continued, a note of conviction entering his tone "And with them, a standing force of over three hundred high-rankers, Rank 5 and 6, stationed in the central district. Aerion is mobilizing a defensive force like nothing we've seen in recent history."

The sheer scale of the defense Haziel described was staggering, far surpassing anything Henry or Sophia had ever imagined. It was meant to be reassuring, proof of Zephyros's might, yet it had the opposite effect on Henry.

A defense that massive what kind of terrifying threat did Command truly anticipate, to warrant stripping legions from other duties and concentrating such overwhelming power, including two demigods, solely on protecting the capital?

It was less a reassurance and more like a confirmation of impending doom. No, this wasn't reassuring. The thought alone was enough to twist his gut.

Sophia, however, seemed to find some solace in the numbers. "I understand," she said softly. "With such a formidable defense surely no mere terrorist group could hope to succeed."

Right, Henry conceded internally, forcing down his unease. Demigods, hundreds of Rank 5s and 6s, the Royal Guard maybe those lunatics aren't that suicidal. He allowed a sliver of relief to penetrate the gloom. Perhaps sleep might actually come tonight.

Sensing the heavy atmosphere had lingered long enough, Haziel offered a wry, slightly forced smile, attempting to inject some levity back into their reunion. "So," he said, raising his mug, "my advice? All you lovebirds should take advantage of these relatively quiet moments together. Live a little. If the worst does happen, at least you won't have any regrets, eh?"

Henry choked on his ale. "Are you kidding me?" he shot back, glaring at Haziel. "Joking at a time like this? You crazy bastard."

Instead of laughing, Sophia simply glared at Haziel, though a fetching blush crept up her neck despite the inappropriate timing. Eager to move past the morbid jest, she quickly asked, "So, what about you, Haziel? What are your immediate plans, now that you're back?"

Haziel set his mug down, the easy humor fading from his features. A new seriousness took its place, touched with personal ambition rather than the weight of duty. "First, I've been recalled to Central. Seems Command is fast-tracking promotions." He allowed himself a small, proud smile. "I finally have the merits. I'm going for Rank 4 the day after tomorrow."

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"Rank 4?" A genuine pang of admiration rose in him, momentarily forgetting his anxieties. "Haziel, that's congratulations! Truly." A complex mix of pride for his childhood friend swelled within him, along with a sharp awareness of the widening gulf between their paths. Haziel, his contemporary, was about to surpass even Captain Jacobs, a man a decade their senior.

"Thanks, Henry," Haziel acknowledged. "It's necessary, given the circumstances. Command wants as many reliable officers at Rank 4 and above as possible right now." He took another drink, then met their gazes, a new resolve hardening his features. "And after the ascension I have my next assignment. Once the reinforcement army is fully deployed here, Zephyros is sending an elite Rank 4 contingent - fifty of us, newly promoted or proven veterans - straight to Natsmunda. I'll be going with them."

The name dropped into the conversation like a thunderclap, Natsmunda. Both Henry and Sophia stared, eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and profound respect. Damn. He was actually going. They truly see him as the future.

Natsmunda, even the name carried legendary weight throughout Tehra. It wasn't a kingdom or an empire in the traditional sense, but a single, colossal city-state, unique and utterly bizarre. An entire nation contained within one city, built vertically, dozens of stories tall, piercing the sky like a magnificent, impossible spire. Its peculiarity didn't end there.

Every three years, Natsmunda endured the 'Monster Tide' - a terrifying onslaught where countless ferocious monsters from the vast, untamed surrounding wilderness surged towards the city in relentless, overwhelming waves.

Where most nations would see only catastrophe, Natsmunda had turned it into commerce, and survival into a brutal, highly sought-after training regimen. They didn't actively exterminate the beasts beyond what was necessary for defense, nor did they plead for aid. Instead, protected by nigh-impenetrable walls and layered magical formations, they profited.

They sold a strictly limited number of "Monster Extermination Permits" - licenses to enter the lower levels and surrounding kill-zones during the Tide - to the other nations of Tehra. Only seven hundred permits in total were issued globally every three years, with the great powers like Zephyros allotted a mere one hundred each.

For the soldiers granted these permits, Natsmunda was both a crucible and an opportunity. It was four months of near-insane, high-intensity combat against overwhelming odds, a relentless meat grinder where survival depended on skill, luck, and pushing oneself far beyond perceived limits. They returned transformed from the frenzied sea of monsters, their endurance and survival having tempered them in a fire few could imagine.

They progressed in Rank and combat prowess at an astonishing rate, their skills honed to a razor's edge. Veterans of Natsmunda were highly valued upon return, often fast-tracked to important positions, their names joining the rolls of legends.

Haziel being chosen for the Natsmunda contingent, especially as a newly promoted Rank 4, spoke volumes about the expectations Zephyros placed upon him, underscoring the whispers of "The Fifth Divine Monarch."

Henry chuckled softly, recalling the darkly humorous sayings popular amongst soldiers regarding the legendary city-state. "One permit to Natsmunda costs the same as training a hundred Rank 3s." "Four months of madness there is worth ten years of regular missions." And the most cynical: "Natsmunda sells everything - sometimes, if you're rich enough or desperate enough, you can even buy your own survival there!"

The conversation lingered for another half hour, filled with congratulations for Haziel, shared anxieties about the future, and promises to stay in contact. Eventually, Haziel had to depart, recalled to Central Aerion to prepare for his ascension and deployment. Watching him leave, a complex mix of pride stirred within Henry for his friend's ascent and a stark awareness of his own comparatively stagnant position, fighting tooth and nail just to maintain his Rank 2 duties.

He and Sophia walked back towards the barracks in a more subdued silence, trying to temporarily set aside the fresh anxieties Haziel's revelations had stirred. Scarcely had Henry stepped back into the familiar, spartan confines of his dormitory when a runner brought welcome, if slightly anticlimactic, news.

Official confirmation: the reinforcement legions were arriving within two days. Effective immediately, all scout squads were stood down from anomaly investigations; those missions were being transferred to the incoming specialists. Squad 18 was to resume standard patrol schedules.

"So," Henry murmured, sinking onto his cot, a wave of profound relief washing over him, "we're finally off the hook from that particular brand of insanity." At least for now.

The following days in Aerion unfolded with an unsettling, almost unnatural tranquility. The elite reinforcement troops arrived with disciplined efficiency, their presence bolstering the city's defenses visibly. Checkpoints were stricter, patrols more numerous, the gleaming armor of the Royal Guard a common sight in the satellite cities. Yet, beneath the surface calm, an undercurrent of tension remained. No riots erupted, no suspicious activities were reported, but the peace felt fragile, temporary.

Henry threw himself back into his routine with renewed focus, perhaps seeking refuge in the familiar.

Grueling physical training before dawn, meticulous weapons maintenance, long security patrols through his assigned sector, quiet moments of prayer and contemplation within the cool sanctuary of the Estath Cathedral - sometimes assisting Envoy Ralph with distributing aid to the city's needy, finding a different kind of purpose in simple acts of charity.

He even attended the mandatory history and religion lectures with slightly more attention, seeking anchors in the grand narratives of his nation and its faith.

And in every spare moment, in the quiet solitude of his bunk late at night or during brief lulls on patrol, Henry continued his secret exploration. He cautiously delved into the deeper strata of his Mystic Sense, pushing its range, observing its nuances.

The detailed spatial map it provided remained consistent, but one peculiar detail now captured his unwavering attention, growing more insistent each day.

Whenever he focused his will, extending the Sense to its maximum fifty-meter radius, the ethereal band of emerald light would silently materialize deep beneath his feet, seemingly independent of the surrounding earth and stone. Initially, weeks ago, it had been a faint, fleeting shimmer, easily dismissed as a trick of perception or a strange energy fluctuation.

But now, its appearances were more frequent, its brilliance intensifying whenever he reached for it with the Sense, becoming undeniably clear, vibrant, almost beckoning.

A strange resonance began to stir within Henry whenever the emerald light manifested. It wasn't merely a visual phenomenon within his mind's eye; an irresistible pull emanated from it, an unseen current that tugged at his very spirit, seemingly binding his awareness to its source. The light possessed an otherworldly beauty, a fresh, vibrant green that pulsed with latent life, yet simultaneously was profoundly ancient, veiled in deep mystery. The pull was inviting.

The more Henry observed it, the more an intense, almost obsessive curiosity bloomed within him. It wasn't simple interest; it was a deep-seated yearning, a pressing need to understand the origin and meaning of this wondrous, enigmatic light. It felt like a half-heard whisper echoing in the hidden recesses of his mind, a gentle yet captivating invitation to something.

Strangely, the emerald band seemed anchored not to a place, but to him. As long as he actively scanned at that fifty-meter range, it would silently manifest directly beneath his feet, regardless of his location within the city, a cryptic companion always shadowing his steps. Patience radiated from it, waiting, an irresistible allure humming just below the threshold of perception.

The compelling sensation grew stronger each day. It was an unseen current that made it increasingly difficult for Henry to ignore the silent, radiant beckoning from the depths.

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