The moment the sky shattered, sound died.
Not just quiet—absolute silence. A silence that pressed into the mind like cold iron, that scraped against the soul with teeth made of memory. Even the Skybrand's familiar hum fell still in Orin's hands.
The Outliers advanced—not quickly, but deliberately, as though they already knew the outcome of the battle.
They were formless yet terrifying: tall and angular shadows that shifted with every flicker of non-light, their bodies absorbing more than just energy—they unwrote the world around them. Where they passed, matter lost its meaning. Trees became ash. Air turned brittle. Space warped and caved like glass under heat.
Orin's grip on the Skybrand tightened as he stood between the Outliers and Mira, Kaelen at his side.
"What are they waiting for?" Mira whispered, her voice distorted in the stilled air.
"They're studying us," Kaelen replied grimly. "They haven't forgotten what we did. What he did."
Orin didn't ask who he was. He could feel the weight of countless lifetimes pressing behind those dark figures. These creatures weren't just invaders—they were survivors of a war lost before the birth of stars. A war that should never have reached this world.
And they had returned to finish what had begun in a forgotten age.
Suddenly, one of the Outliers lunged forward—its movement impossible to track. Orin barely raised the Skybrand in time. The blade struck the creature's limb, but instead of cutting, it sang—a deep note that rang through the stillness like a bell breaking through a nightmare.
The Outlier recoiled, its body unraveling into mist and reforming a few meters away.
"They can be hurt," Orin said, stunned. "But it takes more than just force."
Mira stepped forward, her blade blazing with celestial runes. "Then let's give them a reason to hesitate."
The battle began—not with a roar, but a fracture in silence.
Blades clashed with void. Kaelen summoned the winds of the Skyborn to shield them, creating rippling currents of energy that forced the Outliers back. Mira darted through gaps in their defenses, her strikes elegant and deadly. Orin moved like a conduit for the Skybrand's will, each swing not just an attack, but a defiance of nothingness itself.
But for every Outlier they repelled, another emerged from the rift.
They were losing ground.
---
Far away, Eryssa stood in the Eye of the Void, watching the battle unfold through the weaves of time and energy. The dark crystal in her hands glowed with dangerous urgency.
"They've engaged too early," she muttered. "They don't understand what the Outliers are yet."
Sable stood beside her, unmoving. "They will learn. Or they will perish."
Eryssa glanced at him, her eyes stormy. "Not if I can reach them first."
She stepped into the Nexus Gate—the last relic of the first age. With a pulse of energy, she vanished in a shimmer of darkness and light.
---
Back at the rift, Orin fell to one knee, gasping. The Skybrand had grown heavier with each strike, its flame flickering.
"They're learning," Mira warned. "They're adapting to our attacks!"
Kaelen collapsed beside them, a thin stream of blood tracing his temple. "We need more than power. We need—"
Suddenly, the air warped, and a new figure stepped between the Outliers and the three companions.
Eryssa.
Dark and composed, her eyes shone like starless galaxies. The Outliers paused.
"I was hoping to arrive sooner," she said, unsheathing a blade made not of metal but memory. "But fate, as always, is late."
Orin stared. "Who are you?"
"I'm the last one who remembers how to end them," she replied. "Stay behind me. You fight them with fire, but fire only delays the dark. Let me show you how to unmake what should never have been born."
And with that, Eryssa raised her blade—and the sky screamed.