ARC VI ROAD TO ELYRIA
Chapter 25 Exiles
The battlefield had finally fallen silent. Hours earlier, the black dunes had shaken beneath the march of thousands. Fire had swallowed the sky. Blood had soaked the sands until they resembled crimson rivers winding through an endless desert. Now only smoke remained. Broken banners fluttered from snapped spear shafts. Dead war-beasts lay half buried beneath drifting dunes, their enormous armored bodies already disappearing beneath blowing ash. Burned siege wagons smoldered quietly. Bent swords, shattered shields, and broken arrows littered the battlefield like forgotten relics. Carrion birds circled overhead. The smell of blood mixed with hot sand and burned oil. Far away, the walking city continued its slow march toward the sacred kingdoms, as though the battle had never happened. Life moved on. War always did.
Lucien sat quietly atop a weathered sandstone ridge overlooking the battlefield. The morning sun had barely begun climbing over the eastern horizon, painting the endless desert gold. His borrowed cream-colored robes fluttered gently in the wind. They were stained with blood not his own. Fine desert dust clung to the hems. His dark hair, usually neat despite its natural messiness, had become tangled by wind and battle. Small scratches crossed his pale face. He looked exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally. His gray-blue eyes stared across the sea of bodies below without truly seeing them. Little Light had saved lives. But it had not stopped the war. Footsteps approached behind him. Heavy.Measured. The Kharathi warlord climbed the ridge slowly. His magnificent bronze armor had been battered by Noctis' assault. Entire sections were cracked. One shoulder plate hung loose. Fresh bandages wrapped his ribs beneath black silk robes. His great curved saber rested at his side once more. Despite everything... He still carried himself like a king. Bronzed, muscular and intimidatingly handsome. His amber eyes found Lucien.
"You should be resting."
Lucien smiled faintly.
"I could say the same."
The warlord chuckled quietly.
"My people would never forgive me if they discovered I allowed a guest to lecture me."
Lucien looked toward him.
"You almost died."
"So did you."
Silence settled between them. The wind carried grains of black sand across the ridge. Neither spoke for several minutes.
Finally...
Lucien broke the silence.
"...Why?"
The warlord tilted his head.
"Why what?"
"You protected me."
"You barely knew me."
"You fought your own people."
"You stood against other warlords."
"You nearly died because of me."
The large man gazed toward the horizon.
"When I first found you..."
"...I believed you were simply another frightened traveler."
His voice remained calm.
"But then..."
"I watched men try to kill you."
"I watched you protect strangers."
"I watched you risk your own life..."
"...for people who were not your people."
He looked directly into Lucien's eyes.
"That is rare."
Lucien lowered his gaze.
"I wasn't protecting armies."
"I was protecting people."
The warlord nodded.
"I know."
More silence.
The desert never truly became quiet. Wind always whispered. Sand always moved. Somewhere below, workers had already begun gathering the wounded from both armies. Even enemies received water. At least here. A familiar voice echoed from farther down the ridge.
"So..."
Kael Mordren emerged from behind a cluster of boulders, casually twirling his katana before sliding it back into its lacquered black sheath. His infiltration robes were torn in dozens of places. One sleeve had been completely burned away. A fresh bandage wrapped around his forehead. Yet somehow... He still looked amused.
"I leave for ten minutes..."
"...and Ghostlight adopts a desert king."
Lucien laughed softly.
"I didn't adopt anyone."
The warlord raised one eyebrow.
Kael grinned.
"I'll allow the translation error."
Milo arrived moments later. Back in human form. He had cleaned most of the blood from himself, though faint scratches remained across his neck and arms. His weathered olive military coat rested over one shoulder. His gray eyes looked tired. Very tired. He carried a waterskin. Without speaking, he handed it to Lucien.
Lucien accepted it gratefully.
"Thank you."
Milo simply nodded.
No one mentioned the werewolf.
No one mentioned Noctis.
No one mentioned how close everyone had come to dying.
Some truths required no words.
Eventually...
Kael sighed.
"Well."
"I suppose this is the awkward part."
Lucien looked toward him.
"The awkward part?"
"The part where I remind you..."
"...that High Command wants you home."
The smile disappeared from Lucien's face.
Far below... The survivors continued clearing the battlefield. The morning sun rose higher. Its warm light reflected from thousands of broken weapons.
Lucien quietly asked,
"What happens if I return?"
Kael answered honestly.
"You'll be debriefed."
"Studied."
"Questioned."
"Probably promoted."
"You'll become the face of the Baalanian campaign."
"And then..."
"You'll be sent back."
Lucien closed his eyes.
"...Back to war."
Kael didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Lucien looked toward the walking city in the distance. Its immense silhouette crawled slowly across the desert like an entire mountain walking upon unseen legs.Beyond it... Lay Elyria. The continent the warlord had spoken about so many nights beneath the stars. A place of forests. Ancient kingdoms. Magic. Freedom. Places where children still laughed. Where monsters were not always enemies. Where history had not yet been buried beneath endless war.
The warlord finally spoke.
"I am leaving Baalania."
Kael blinked.
"...You're serious."
"I have been serious for many years."
"My homeland is no longer mine."
"The priests rule."
"The fanatics multiply."
"The warlords kill each other while calling it holy."
He looked toward Elyria.
"I have fought enough."
Lucien stared at him.
"You really mean to leave everything behind?"
"My titles."
"My lands."
"My soldiers."
"My family."
He smiled sadly.
"Most already consider me a traitor."
"I merely intend to become one officially."
The wind grew stronger. Black sand drifted between them like smoke.
Lucien thought of Darius.
Of Elias.
Of Orion.
Of everyone waiting for him.
He remembered the Iron Reign.
Its endless factories.
Its gray skies.
Its constant wars.
Then he remembered Baalania.
Beautiful.
Cruel.
Ancient.
Broken.
Neither felt like the future he wanted. Kael quietly watched him. He already knew. Before Lucien even spoke. Lucien slowly stood. He faced the distant western horizon.
"I..."
His voice almost failed him.
"...I don't want to go back."
Kael closed his eyes.
"I figured."
"I've been fighting almost constantly since I can remember."
Lucien continued softly.
"Everywhere I go..."
"Someone wants to turn me into a weapon."
"The Iron Reign."
"Baalania."
"The priests."
"The generals."
He looked at his own hands.
"They keep talking about Ghostlight."
"...No one asks what Lucien wants."
Silence.Then
"I want to see the world."
"I want to understand it."
"I want to find someplace worth protecting..."
"...before another war begins."
The warlord smiled.
For the first time since they had met...
It was a smile free of sorrow.
Kael looked toward the horizon. Then toward Milo. Milo merely nodded once. Almost imperceptibly. Kael laughed quietly.
"You two are making this very difficult."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"If I follow orders..."
"...I drag you home."
He looked at Lucien.
"If I follow my conscience..."
"...I let you disappear."
The desert wind howled between them. Kael rested one hand upon the hilt of his katana. For one long moment... No one knew what he would choose.
The eastern gate of the holy city stood open beneath the pale glow of dawn. Unlike the military gates of the Iron Reign fortified with steel, artillery, and blast shields the Gate of Molochia had been carved from a single slab of black volcanic stone. Two colossal statues flanked it. Both depicted Baalaniah Mehmeth, the legendary Demon King of Molochia, The sand Sultan who united the Kingdoms and other tribes who lived in the sands of Baalania long time ago, he who untied them under one relgion. The religion of expansion and domination. His stone face possessed calm, noble features beneath an elaborate bronze crown. A long braided beard reached his waist, while one hand rested upon an enormous curved sword planted into the earth. The other pointed east. Toward the deserts. Toward destiny. Thousands of pilgrims bowed as they passed beneath him. Some kissed the black stone. Others whispered prayers.
The warlord did neither.
Lucien noticed.
"You don't pray anymore."
The giant remained silent for several moments.
"I still believe."
His silver eyes drifted toward the statues.
"I simply no longer believe men speak for the gods."
The caravan slowly descended from the mountain roads. The siege beast remained behind. Its enormous body disappeared into morning mist while priests chanted blessings from its terraces. For the first time since awakening... Lucien was no longer walking atop a moving city. He stood upon real earth. The sensation felt strangely unfamiliar. Soft sand shifted beneath his boots. The wind carried warmth instead of the vibrations of colossal footsteps. It almost felt...Free.
Nearly fifty riders accompanied them. Most were veteran warriors personally loyal to the warlord rather than the priesthood. Unlike the fanatics Lucien had first encountered, these soldiers rarely shouted prayers or spoke of holy conquest. They rode quietly. Disciplined. Professional. Each wore practical black lamellar armor covered by dark traveling cloaks. Their curved sabers remained sheathed. Several carried long desert rifles across their backs. Others watched the surrounding dunes with practiced caution. Lucien gradually recognized familiar faces. The elderly physician. The laughing camel handler. The young scout who had once shared dried fruit with him. These were not strangers anymore. They were becoming companions. That realization unsettled him. By midday the caravan stopped beside an ancient oasis. Palm trees surrounded a pool of impossibly clear water. Birds sang. Dragonflies hovered above lilies. After weeks surrounded by ash and black stone... The place looked almost magical. Several soldiers removed their armor. Others watered the camels. The physician unpacked medical supplies beneath a canvas awning. Lucien knelt beside the water. His reflection stared back. Dark hair. Gray-blue eyes. A young man wearing foreign robes among desert warriors. He hardly recognized himself anymore. A shadow appeared beside him.
The warlord lowered himself onto a nearby stone with surprising grace despite his immense size.
"You miss them."
Lucien nodded.
"My friends."
"The Iron Wolves."
"My home."
"The bakery near the academy."
"The children who always followed me asking to see Little Light."
His smile faded.
"I miss everything."
The warlord listened quietly.
"I understand."
Lucien looked at him.
"No."
"You don't."
The giant smiled sadly.
"No."
"I suppose I don't."
For a long time neither spoke. The only sounds came from flowing water and distant laughter. Finally... The warlord reached inside his travel pack. He removed something wrapped carefully inside soft cloth. When he unfolded it... Lucien froze. A small carved wooden bird. Simple. Elegant. Its wings stretched wide as though ready for flight.
"I made this."
Lucien blinked.
"You carved?"
The warlord nodded.
"When I was younger."
"I wasn't very good."
Lucien gently accepted it.
The craftsmanship was imperfect.
One wing sat slightly crooked.
Tiny knife marks remained visible.
Yet...
It felt strangely precious.
"You kept this all these years?"
The giant nodded.
"It reminded me."
"Of what?"
He looked toward the eastern horizon.
"...that birds were never meant to live in cages."
Lucien stared at the little carving.
His fingers gently traced the rough wood.
Elsewhere... Far beyond the oasis... Another pair watched through brass spyglasses from a distant sandstone ridge. Kael lowered the lenses.
"There he is."
Milo nodded.
Lucien looked healthy.
Alive.
Laughing softly beside the warlord.
Kael sighed.
"I've never seen him smile like that."
Milo smiled faintly.
"He looks peaceful."
Kael looked irritated.
"That's the problem."
Neither moved. Neither raised a weapon. They simply watched. Kael finally broke the silence.
"If Headquarters asks..."
Milo finished the sentence.
"...we never found him."
Kael looked sideways.
"You serious?"
Milo kept watching Lucien.
"What happens if we force him home?"
Kael already knew.
"He stops smiling."
Silence.
The wind carried grains of black sand between them.
Finally Kael exhaled.
"Damn you, Lucien."
He smiled despite himself.
"You always make the difficult choices look simple."
Hours later... The caravan resumed its journey. Neither Lucien nor the warlord noticed the two hidden observers disappearing into the dunes. No report would be sent today. No pursuit. No ambush. Only silence. As evening approached... The desert slowly transformed. Golden dunes became crimson beneath the setting sun. Then violet. Finally silver beneath rising moonlight. Lucien rode beside the warlord once again. After many quiet minutes...
He spoke.
"When we reach Elyria..."
The giant looked toward him.
"...what will you do?"
The warlord smiled.
"I don't know."
"I've dreamed about it for years."
He laughed quietly.
"Strange, isn't it?"
Lucien tilted his head.
"I spent my whole life dreaming about escaping Baalania."
"You spent yours protecting Elyria."
"And now..."
"...we're both traveling toward a place neither of us truly knows."
Lucien looked toward the western stars.
"I think..."
"...that's what makes it worth seeing."
The warlord smiled. Amber eyes filled with hope and for the first time in many years... The road ahead no longer felt like exile. It felt like hope.
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