Veritas Gears Up              

                                                                                      Chapter 4

Edin Hill

In the expansive, echoing cavern nestled within the towering Edin Hill, a secretive assembly of figures draped in black cloaks emerges.

"Such a beautiful sight—the village of grace and harmony, founded by the late Tidal Emperor, Moses Avalanche," Cecilia Covenant murmured, gazing at the picturesque Cliffdecorps from the cavern entrance.

Her long, flowing green hair cascaded to her waist, soft bangs brushing her forehead. Golden eyes shimmered with an enigmatic intensity, their depth matching the intricate gold embroidery on her dark purple robe.

"I've pinpointed four evacuation routes from the village," Hur reported. "All lead to this hideout, which will serve as the safety zone."

"Excellent work," Cecilia nodded. "Share this information with the evacuation team immediately."

"Understood," Hur said, before hesitating slightly. "But before that, could you tell us about the visions you've seen this time? Knowing what to expect might help us prepare."

His round black eyes, steady with determination, complemented his traditional mage-cut hair, a style befitting his samurai-like presence.

Joshua, sitting cross-legged on the ground, intervened. "You can't make such demands. Those visions are sacred, gifted to her by the Divine. Only the sect leaders are privy to them. Whether or not she shares them is entirely up to her."

His robust frame and spiky black hair gave him a rugged presence, the slight beard framing his face adding to his seasoned demeanor. His green eyes, sharp yet warm, reflected both wisdom and conviction.

"It's fine," Cecilia replied calmly. "I intended to tell all of you. Listen closely, these are the prophecies that have been foretold."

Her voice deepened with purpose. "Where the Banyan once stood tall, a sacred refuge shall fall, devoured by tongues of flame. Two forces-one graced with gifts, the other without-shall meet in a tempest, their struggle shaking the mountains to their roots. In the end, the stars shall tremble, as the hands of the divine entwine to weave the final thread of fate."

"That's all I can reveal," she added, her tone softening. "I am forbidden from disclosing the precise order of events that will unfold."

Silence settled over the group as the sect members absorbed the weight of the prophecy.

Hur broke the silence. "From the first two lines-the fall of the Banyan and the clash between two opposing forces-it seems this prophecy is foretelling the destruction of Cliffdecorps and a life-or-death battle between us and our enemies. So, this is how dire the situation will be."

"Yes," Cecilia confirmed, her expression solemn.

Aaron's brow furrowed. "In that case, we'd better be ready. Our priority is to save the villagers from incineration and retrieve the Lantern of Desolation."

His towering frame and thick beard spoke of his Viking heritage, his long brown hair flowing past his shoulders. Deep-set blue eyes burned with intensity, a sharp contrast to the calm resolve in his voice.

He turned to Cecilia. "Shouldn't we warn the villagers to evacuate now, before the flames consume everything?"

Cecilia shook her head. "We can't. The villagers wouldn't trust a group like ours, not with our reputation. Besides, they're fiercely loyal to their homeland and would never consider fleeing. Our only option is to rescue them during the battle, and from there, we can earn their trust."

Aaron sighed. "I see."

"This will be a difficult fight," Cecilia continued, her voice steady but grave. "We're up against Areus and NebulaTech's forces. The four of you, as Deputy Sect Leaders, will lead this battle. Everyone else will support you."

Joshua nodded firmly. "Leave it to us."

The members of the Emerald Sect of Veritas exchanged determined glances, their expressions hardening as they braced themselves for the looming conflict.

As part of Veritas-the world's most notorious terrorist organization, with its influence stretching across the globe in hidden strongholds-they knew the weight of their mission. Each sect operated independently, yet all served the same cause. And at the helm of the Emerald Sect stood Cecilia Covenant, their resolute leader, guiding them into the storm ahead.

***

Cliffdecorps Village

The scene shifts to Cliffdecorps Village, unchanged from seven years ago, with cobblestone paths winding through oak cottages and alongside a gentle stream. Familiar routines continue, but unease thickens the air as the threat of forced relocation looms ever closer.

Two women sat side by side on a wooden bench-one knitting a scarf while the other folded dried herbs into bundles.

"Does the ongoing conflict with the upper city trouble you?" the first woman asked, her fingers working the yarn methodically.

"Certainly. Who wouldn't be worried?" The second woman sighed. "The uncertainty about whether we'll still have a roof over our heads is unsettling."

"True..." The first woman paused thoughtfully. "I hope the town hall committee will resolve the matter once and for all in their upcoming meeting."

Just then, two familiar figures strolled by-village chief Asher, Son of Terah, and the deputy chief, Eliezer, Son of Ban.

Asher, an elderly man with a long blond beard, wore a brown cap over his neatly tucked hair. His red tunic, accented with bronze and fastened at the collar, draped over beige trousers secured by a sturdy belt.

Beside him, Eliezer's sharp glare remained ever-present behind his triangular glasses. His dark green hair was neatly parted, and his rugged blue tunic, layered over a grey undershirt, bore the marks of a life spent in service.

"There go Chief Asher and Deputy Chief Eliezer," the first woman whispered, nudging her companion.

She quickly stood, abandoning her scarf, and hurried toward them. "Good morning, Chief Asher! Can you tell us how you're handling the Royal Decree of Relocation?"

Asher offered a polite but reserved smile. "I'm afraid I can't reveal our plans just yet. Once the meeting concludes, we'll make our decision known."

Villagers gathered around them, eager for news.

"Chief Asher, is there any way to make the upper city understand how vital Cliffdecorps Village is to our heritage?" one asked anxiously.

"Is relocation really the only option?" added another.

"My wife has been terribly depressed over this," admitted a third.

Eliezer raised his hands, attempting to calm the crowd. "Please, we appreciate your patience. We'll announce our decision soon."

As the villagers, who had placed their trust in the two leaders, began to disperse, Asher turned to Eliezer and said, "Our people are going through a time of great anxiety."

Eliezer nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. It's selfish of King Charles to impose such a decree on us."

Asher remarked, "With the importance they place on the Celestial Pyramid, they probably see our contributions as insignificant now. Their focus has shifted to this project."

Eliezer responded, "That's clear. If you think about it, they've stopped requesting our goods. It's obvious they've found other sources."

"Is my son aware the meeting is about to begin?" Asher asked, casting a glance toward the distant meeting hall.

"Yes, I've already instructed Bethuel to notify him," Eliezer replied.

Asher's expression hardened with determination. "Good. This will be our final gathering before we make the journey to meet King Charles."

***

At the open-air cottage, the steady thud of fists slamming into a homemade punching bag echoed in the afternoon air. The bag, stitched from old burlap sacks and stuffed with dried leaves and cloth scraps, swayed slightly under each strike.

The fighter stood firm, his lean, muscular frame moving with practiced precision. His short, spiky black hair clung to his damp forehead, sweat dripping down his sharp features. His wide, round eyes held a sharp intensity, framed by thin, slightly arched eyebrows that added to his focused expression. He wore a rugged, short-sleeved white tunic with frayed edges, secured by a dark leather belt. Slim-fitting black trousers tucked into sturdy brown boots completed his practical appearance.

He threw another jab-fast, controlled, powerful.

"Can you hear me?" Bethuel, son of Eliezer, called from a few paces away.

Tall and muscular, Bethuel's steel-green hair fell neatly around his sharply defined features, a faint scar marking his right eyebrow. He wore a fitted grey tunic for ease of movement, paired with dark trousers and sturdy leather boots. 

The fighter exhaled, dropping his hands. His breath was steady but heavy. "What's up, Bethuel?"

Bethuel stepped closer, brushing bits of straw from the bag off his shirt. "The leaders and elders are starting the meeting. Your dad needs us there."

The fighter peeled off his gloves, tossing them aside. "I understand..."

Bethuel studied him for a moment. "You seem troubled. Is the situation bothering you?"

A slow breath escaped him. His voice held a quiet frustration. "Of course, especially witnessing my father's distress day and night."

Bethuel nodded. "I feel for you. What are your thoughts-comply with Edinlodge and leave, or stay here at all costs?"

The fighter clenched his jaw. He wiped his forehead with a towel, his grip tightening around the cloth.

At last, he spoke, his voice steady and unwavering.

"Are you seriously asking that?"

He slung the towel over his shoulder, turning to meet Bethuel's gaze. The weight of his conviction was unmistakable.

The fighter was Weston-grown, hardened, and resolute.

"This is our home. No one is taking it from us."

Bethuel let out a breath, a small grin forming. "Damn right."

*** Author's Note ***

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