Atlantia, Year 2235

Six months after their encounter with the blonde hero.

Golden morning light spilled across the towering spires of Valhalla, casting long, shifting shadows over the bustling trade district below. Merchants called out to passing travelers, their voices rising in layered rhythms above the hum of the crowd. The air was rich with the scent of freshly baked bread, foreign spices, and the faint, briny whisper of the distant harbor.

Yet beneath the surface, something was off.

Star adjusted the strap of her satchel, her golden eyes sweeping across the marketplace. She and her companions had gathered supplies for their journey, but the atmosphere had shifted in a way she couldn’t ignore. Conversations faltered when certain names were spoken. Traders cast uneasy glances toward the southern roads. A quiet tension lingered—subtle, but unmistakable—like the stillness before a storm.

Beside her, Siegfried stood listening to an elderly merchant, his brows drawn together in concern. “Are you certain about this?” he asked, his tone calm, though the tension beneath it was clear.

The old man—thin, weathered, and thick-bearded—nodded grimly. “Aye. Chandrapura’s no place for travelers anymore. The Riftwalkers have turned it into something else entirely. I was lucky to get out alive.

At the mention of the Riftwalkers, Erik stiffened. His feline ears twitched, his tail snapping sharply behind him. “What do you mean by something else?” he demanded, his voice low but edged with intensity.

The merchant hesitated, glancing around before lowering his voice. “They’ve enslaved the Felinari. Those who resist are executed—or taken to labor camps. Vishalapura…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s not the city it used to be. Once it was the pride of Chandrapura. Now it’s a polluted fortress—choked with smoke, filled with machines and soldiers. And the king…” His voice faltered. “He’s not himself anymore.”

Seth’s expression hardened. His golden retriever ears flattened against his head as his hands curled into fists. “Zepar,” he muttered, voice laced with bitterness. “After all this time… he’s still poisoning everything.”

Silence fell over the group.

Star glanced at Erik and Seth, understanding the weight behind their reactions. Chandrapura was not just another destination to them—it was home. Or at least, what had once been home.

She stepped forward. “What about the resistance?” she asked, her voice steady despite the urgency beneath it. “Someone must be fighting back.”

The merchant let out a weary sigh, rubbing his temples. “There are those who resist, yes. Brave souls. But they’re barely holding on. I’ve heard of a man—Bhima. Leads them from the shadows, striking where he can. But against Riftwalker technology… and against a demon like Zepar?” He shook his head. “I don’t see how they can win.”

Klara folded her arms, her expression sharpening. “You said Vishalapura is a polluted fortress. What exactly happened to it?”

“They turned it into an industrial stronghold,” the merchant replied. “Smoke blots out the sky. The rivers run black. War machines patrol the streets, and the Felinari are forced into labor—mining, forging, building whatever it is they’re planning.” His voice dropped further. “Some say they’re constructing something… dangerous. But no one who gets close enough to learn the truth ever comes back.”

Erik’s claws flexed involuntarily, his tail bristling. “And the king?” he asked, barely containing himself. “What of Vishva?”

The merchant’s gaze softened with something close to pity. “King Vishva is a king in name only. Zepar speaks through him. Anyone who questions it… disappears.”

Seth let out a hollow laugh. “Some king,” he muttered. “I should’ve known it would end like this.”

Star studied them in silence. Erik’s posture was rigid, coiled with restrained anger. Seth’s usual warmth had cooled into something sharper—something heavier.

She turned back to the merchant. “What about the smaller villages? Have any managed to stay free?”

The old man hesitated before nodding. “A few. Gandharva Village still stands—for now. I passed through it about a month ago. They’re cautious, but they haven’t fallen. And deeper in the forests, the resistance has hidden strongholds. But it’s only a matter of time before they’re found.”

Klara placed a steady hand on Erik’s shoulder. “This is worse than we thought,” she said quietly. “If the people are enslaved, the resistance won’t last much longer without help.”

“Assuming they’re still standing at all,” Siegfried added grimly. “The Riftwalkers don’t leave much behind.”

Another silence settled—heavier this time.

Star drew in a slow breath.

She had known the road ahead would be difficult. But hearing it laid out like this—hearing what Chandrapura had become—left no room for hesitation.

She turned to her companions, her voice firm.

“We’re going,” she said. “The people of Chandrapura are suffering. If Zepar and the Riftwalkers aren’t stopped, this won’t end there. It’ll spread. We can’t ignore this.”

Erik exhaled sharply, forcing his anger into focus. He placed a hand over his chest and nodded. “I won’t turn my back on my people.”

Seth gave a faint, crooked smile, though the fire in his eyes remained. “Guess we’re heading straight into hell, then.”

Klara adjusted the catalyst at her side. “Then we move quickly. We’ll need rations, medicine—everything we can carry.”

Siegfried folded his arms, thinking. “The northern pass is safer, but slower. The direct route is riskier… but faster.”

Star didn’t hesitate.

“We take the direct route,” she said. “Chandrapura doesn’t have time to wait.”

With their course decided, they completed their preparations in silence, each of them carrying the weight of what lay ahead.

As they departed Valhalla, the merchant’s warnings lingered in their minds.

The road to Chandrapura would not be a simple journey.

It would be a war.

For the enslaved.

For the fallen.

For the future.

They would not falter.

And so, their next journey began.