Chapter 129: Ghosts Julius sat alone atop a small snow-covered hill, his silhouette outlined faintly by the cold starlight above. The Divide stretched out below him like a jagged scar across the earth, its fissures glowing faintly with a sickly violet light that made the night itself seem hostile. The wind was sharp, carrying a dry chill that scraped against his skin, but he did not flinch. He was only eighteen years old, yet his expression was far from youthful. His dark eyes looked hollow, emptied of warmth, as if the life had been bled from them long ago. Tonight was his turn to watch. For him, that was perfect. Night watch meant silence, solitude... and no need to plaster on expressions he didn’t feel. It also meant Azel, the newbie, had more time to get used to the group’s rhythm without having to take on duties he wasn’t ready for. Julius thought of that briefly, then dismissed it. ’Everybody seems happy these days...’ His hand pressed lightly against his chest, as if to ground himself. It was strange — he felt something like that happiness too, though he would never admit it aloud. Since Dante’s death, everything had shifted. The squad laughed more often now. They lingered after meals instead of retiring immediately to their rooms. Veyra had grown more openly affectionate, teasing in ways she never would have before. Believe it or not she had been the most silent person in their group. Drew even joked while cooking, even if the jokes weren’t funny and he looked happy serving too. It was lively. Too lively. ’I still think we got over him far too early,’ Julius thought with a quiet bitterness. Dante had been their comrade, the man they trusted with their lives. Betrayal or not, shouldn’t it hurt more? Shouldn’t there still be scars? But then again, what did it matter? ’I really don’t care,’ he told himself, shaking off the thoughts. Even if Dante was the reason he was on the group now, he was also the reason why everyone searched for the Prince in the expanse... in the water... everywhere... Because he wanted to become Patriarch, he made other people cry, that was not how one of Winter behaved. His gaze lifted upward. The stars were especially clear tonight, countless pinpricks of silver against the velvet sky. Beautiful, in a detached sort of way. Then his eyes dropped back to the Divide. He stiffened. That oppressive, crawling aura was rising again. The Divide’s malignant energy leaked into the air, growing denser with each breath. Shadows coiled at Julius’s feet in answer, they were restless. He didn’t hesitate — he willed one tendril to slide into his coat pocket and retrieve a small bronze bell, placing its weight into his palm. The air thickened. His breath came in fog. Then, with a gut-turning twist, they emerged. At first, they were only wisps — faint figures, half-formed. Then their shapes solidified: gaunt, translucent bodies with hollow sockets where eyes should be. Dozens of them, floating unnaturally, their mouths opening in soundless wails. Their presence alone was enough to freeze the blood. And then came the leader. A massive head pushed through the Divide’s edge, grotesquely human yet monstrously distorted. Its jaw hung crooked, one side higher than the other, as if shattered long ago and never healed. Rotten teeth jutted out, jagged and broken, exposed in a permanent grin. Its hollow gaze swept across the snow and landed squarely on Julius. A Rank 3 Sprite. Julius didn’t hesitate. He rang the bell. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four. Five times. The metallic chimes echoed across the frozen night, sharp and clear, carrying down into the squad’s camp below. The signal was unmistakable. Five rings. The ghostly horde turned as one, shrieking, their hollow sockets glowing faintly as they surged toward him. Julius’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Fuck," he muttered, his grip tightening on his daggers. Shadows poured from his arms, coiling around the twin blades until they gleamed black with lethal aura. His jaw clenched. "I hate ghosts." Then he moved. He leapt forward, his body propelled like a bullet by shadow-wrapped legs. The snow-covered hill shattered beneath the force of his takeoff, splintering apart as if struck by a hammer. He dove headlong into the tide of phantoms, his daggers flashing with black shadow. ... Azel sat cross-legged in his room, his breathing steady as he concentrated on his aura. His palms rested on his knees, his focus turned inward. Threads of light-blue energy pulsed faintly around him, condensing into the blade-shaped aura in his hand. He was practicing the Hero’s Swordsmanship and tonight, he worked on his third form: Dragon Claw. The dragon claw he was doing all this time was merely one half of the full thing, you had to create five green slashes as tough and sharp as a dragon’s claws Azel’s brows knitted in frustration. The more he studied these techniques, the more convinced he became that their creator had been insane. The forms demanded precision bordering on impossible. Each slash wasn’t just an attack; it was a miracle. He inhaled deeply, channeling aura to his arm. His muscles strained, his mind sharpened, picturing the perfect strike. How could he split it into five slashes with the same sharpness and power? Then the sound cut through the silence. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Azel’s eyes snapped open, aura dispersing instantly. His heart lurched into his throat. Five rings. He remembered Drew’s explanation from earlier that night: [1 Ring: A small horde, manageable.] [2 Rings: A larger horde with a Rank 4 leading. Still under control.] [3 Rings: Reinforcements needed.] [4 Rings: Full squad required. Rank 3 spotted.] [5 Rings: Dangerous ghosts and always... a Rank 3 Ghost among them.] Azel had wondered why ghosts required their own special signal. Now, hearing those five rings, he understood. On the bed, Anya and Medusa stirred instantly. The three of them burst out of their quarters at once, joining the others already moving toward the cliff’s edge. They arrived just in time to see Julius flung through the air. The Rank 3 Sprite’s massive head had swatted him aside like an insect. Julius’s body crashed into the base of the cliff, rock splintering on impact, snow spraying in every direction as a crater formed around him. Azel’s stomach twisted. Then it got worse. Eyes. Dozens of them. Hundreds. They blinked open all around them, suspended in the dark sky. Unnatural, shimmering eyes in impossible colors — red, violet, sickly green, deep gold. Each one was staring, without blinking and radiating unholy amounts of malice. Their gaze pressed against Azel’s skull, a suffocating pressure that wormed into his thoughts. The ground seemed to ripple beneath his feet, the sky folding inward, his perception unraveling. Azel staggered. Voices whispered in his mind, words he couldn’t understand, drawing him deeper. Veyra’s body went rigid. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks, her instincts screaming louder than thought. She knew this sensation, knew it all too well. "It’s an illusion!" she shouted, her voice piercing the haze. And then — The world collapsed. The cliff, the snow, the sky — all of it vanished. Blackness swallowed them whole.