From the direction where the blade of wind had sliced through the monstrous form of Strigifavorus, a host of horsemen emerged in great number. They rode forth from beyond the city's bounds, clad in full armor, bearing sword and shield. Among them was a detachment unlike the rest—cloaked in robes of shadowy black that fell to their knees, and bearing no armor save a single slender staff: the viglet. These were no mere soldiers; they were the chosen wielders of Esze.
At their fore rode a young man of Elvian descent, his steed deftly navigating the gnarled roots of the great Hanarusa trees. His hair was bound in the fashion of his kind, and upon his brow rested the bearing of royalty. He was Prince Keylan, Third Heir to the Western Elvian Throne.
The prince raised his voice like a clarion call, his command rolling through the ranks like thunder. "Platoons Seventy-One and Twelve, flank the beast from both sides! Ninety-One, drive it toward the ravine! Archers and Casters, hold your fire until I give the sign!"
Like a legion well-trained and bound by honor, the Elvian host moved with grace and discipline. The cavalry wheeled round, encircling the beast with unrelenting precision. Their steeds were not of mundane breed, but creatures of strength and agility, bred for war and bred for legend.
The screech of horses pierced the canopy, echoing through the ancient woods. Strigifavorus, the great owl-beast, turned warily, its monstrous eyes scanning the formation, ever vigilant, refusing to allow a single blind spot.
Suddenly, it spread its vast wings and attempted to flee into the skies.
"Casters—bring it down!" bellowed Prince Keylan.
The cloaked figures raised their viglets high, and in an instant, beams of green-black Esze burst forth, entwining the creature midair. What I beheld was like sorcery of old—tendrils of energy becoming vines, binding the monster with divine fury. Though it thrashed and writhed, the beast could not break free from the enchanted grasp of the chosen few.
A battle of might and magic unfolded in the air, but it was the Elvian casters who prevailed. Strigifavorus crashed to the earth, bound and vulnerable.
"Now—attack!" cried the prince, his voice louder than the beast's lament.
From all sides, the soldiers descended. Blades gleamed in the silver light of Rubiel, arrows rained down like a storm of vengeance. The monster howled, its cries lost beneath the chorus of war.
Blood soaked the earth beneath it, and though its cries were terrible, no mercy was spared. I stood once more, strength returning to my limbs, and Dimas approached, his face pale with worry.
"Are you alright?" he asked, hands trembling as they grasped my shoulders.
"I'm fine. For now, at least," I murmured, casting my gaze toward the Elvian host. "That's Keylan, isn't it? What is he doing here?"
"It'd be stranger if the long-eared folk didn't show up after one of their cities burned to ash."
I watched as Keylan directed the battle with masterful command. Gone was the noble youth I had once seen lounging in privilege—now, he was a leader forged in fire and blood.
Dimas shook me slightly, drawing my eyes back to his.
"Anggi, listen to me. We have to run. The Elvians—there's no way they'll let us go free after this."
His words struck me like a blade. Run? After all we had done?
He was right, perhaps. The Elvians might seek justice. But I could not bring myself to flee from my own guilt. I was still bound to this fight.
"No," I said, voice hard as steel. "Even if they lock me up again—I won't run."
"Are you insane? If we don't—"
"Have you forgotten that we're the reason for all this!?" I roared, my voice cracking with anguish.
Dimas recoiled, stunned by my fury. Of all the quarrels we had, this one cut deepest. Rarely had our arguments drawn blood from the heart.
He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.
"If I flee now, I'll never forgive myself," I whispered, turning toward the battle.
The land lay broken, trees like matchsticks cast upon the ground. Flames devoured what remained—structures, lives, memories. The scent of charred flesh hung thick in the air. This battlefield, burned into my soul, would haunt me forever.
Strigifavorus, now grounded, writhed in his magical bonds. Two wings shattered, the others useless. Still it fought, its head twisting to spew fire upon the advancing soldiers. But the Elvians were unyielding. Whenever one squad withdrew under fire, another surged forward with spears and swords.
I descended from my perch, pain lancing through my limbs. Then I saw him—Keylan—leaping from his steed to approach me.
"Are you hurt, Anggi?"
"I'm alright… Thank you… for saving me," I whispered, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry... for your people... for your city…"
He sighed deeply. "So it was because of the Spirit Crystal?"
Shame sealed my lips. I could only nod.
"No one could've known it would come to this," he said gently. "Perhaps I'm to blame for not going with you. But what's done is done. The dead will not return with tears or guilt. Learn from it—and move forward."
I looked up. Strigifavorus, dying, still glared at us with blazing eyes. Blood poured from countless wounds.
"Will it die?" I asked softly.
"I hope so," Keylan replied.
The Hanarusa forest burned with fury and silver flame. The warriors of Elvia fought beneath the pale moon, their weapons glinting with hope and vengeance. The air trembled with battle cries.
"Strike it down!"
"End it!"
"Kill the beast!"
And so they did. One final arrow, loosed with unwavering resolve, found its mark in the creature's eye. The monster howled, collapsed, and at last, fell still.
Silence fell like a shroud.
A soldier stepped forth, sword drawn. He struck the beast's neck—no pulse, no life.
"Strigifavorus is dead!" he cried.
The host erupted in joy. They embraced one another, raised their blades high to the stars.
"We've won!"
"The monster is no more!"
And though I knew this war was born of my actions, I too felt relief. I sank to my knees, tears falling in silence, washing away fear, grief, and guilt. My chest heaved with sobs long held back.
Then came a handkerchief. Too weak to reach for it, I let Keylan wipe my tears. He looked upon me not with scorn, but with warmth—and I broke. I flung my arms around him and wept.
He held me close, one hand stroking my hair, the other resting firmly upon my back.
But joy is a fragile flame.
Suddenly, all grew still. The cheers ceased. Every face turned, stricken with terror.
Strigifavorus… rose.
Light surged from its body, brighter than moonlight, brighter than fire. When it faded, the monster stood once more—whole, larger, darker than ever. Its feathers gleamed like shadow incarnate. Eyes of crimson fury burned into the souls of the living.
"This cannot be…" I whispered.
The soldiers stood frozen, pallid with dread.
Then came the roar.
The forest shook. Trees fell like wheat before the scythe. The monster took flight, blotting out the moon.
"Fall back!" shouted Keylan.
Too late.
Fire rained from the sky once more. The battle resumed, fiercer, deadlier than before. Blades shattered. Arrows broke. One by one, the Elvians fell.
And I… I looked to the heavens in despair.
"How… how is it still alive?" I whispered into the darkness.