Swan Song [Dark Fantasy | Progression Fantasy | Slowburn]

[Volume 1 | Chapter 33: Zeinot (III)]

Evening bled across Windsor's sky like watercolor, painting clouds in shades of amber and harrowing rose.

Elias Scryer stood atop one of the city's countless windmills, mint eyes scanning the streets below. The rotation of the massive blades created a steady rhythm beneath his feet—a mechanical heartbeat that had become as familiar to him as his own pulse during these patrols.

The city sprawled before him, a masterwork of engineering and ambition. Windmills dotted the landscape like mechanical flowers. The late afternoon sun caught their metallic surfaces, transforming them into beacons of reflected light. It was beautiful, in its way—a testament to what humanity could achieve when they pushed beyond the limitations of Thaumaturgy alone.

But beneath that gleaming surface, chaos simmered.

It had only been twelve hours since the telecommunications blackout began. Yet, it was twelve hours of watching his city slowly descend into uncertainty. The streets remained orderly—Windsor's subjects were too proud to panic—but he could sense the tension building like the calm before a storm. Already he'd broken up two fights over the last working payphone on Central Plaza, guided a lost child back to her grandmother when their usual phone connection failed, and helped reroute emergency services when the hospital's systems went dark.

They were small tasks, a knight's duty fractured into pieces so minor they seemed insignificant.

"A true knight serves wherever needed. No task too small, no burden too great."

Elias couldn't help but wonder if Rudyard Scryer had meant those words all those years, or if they were just meaningless platitudes from a man who demanded perfection in all things but himself.

He gripped the hilt of his sidearm reflexively—a sidesword he had yet to use in real combat but always carried as a symbol of his aspirations. He wore it whenever he felt truly uneasy, like right now. His father would have scoffed at such superstition, calling it childish and foolish. But then again, his father would have scoffed at this whole situation.

A commotion from below drew his attention. Near the central marketplace, a group had gathered around one of the public information boards. The city had begun posting updates there when digital communications failed, but the crowd's agitated movements suggested this hour's news wasn't promising.

Channeling prana to gain temporary control of the wind, he rode the air currents down to the street. With the Windwaker Birthright, he was able to manipulate the winds in small ways without needing to pass it through the totality of Integration Sequences. The gathered subjects parted as he landed, recognition flickering across their faces.

"Elias!"

"Thank goodness—maybe you can help..."

Quickly, he raised a hand to stem the tide of voices. "One at a time, please. What seems to be the trouble?"

An elderly man with wispy white hair stepped forward, clutching a piece of paper. "It's the Windsor Medical Center, my boy. With the backup generators failing, they're saying they might need to start evacuating patients. But without working phones, there's no way to coordinate with other facilities or contact families..."

Elias's jaw tightened. It was the same hospital where Acacia was currently recovering—where others far more vulnerable than his friend lay at the mercy of failing technology.

"How many generators have failed?" He kept his voice steady, projecting the confidence of someone who could fix this—like Zachary.

"Three in the east wing alone," a nurse in scrubs spoke up. "We're running on auxiliary power, but—"

"I know someone who might be able to help." The words came automatically as his mind raced through possibilities. "Mrs. Langley on Maple Street repairs generators. She helped during the last major storm. If you can send someone—"

"B-But the roads to Maple are blocked," another voice cut in with a whimper. "S-Some kind of accident with the traffic signals—"

"Then I'll go myself." Elias straightened, already calculating the fastest route. "Gather anyone with mechanical experience. Meet at the hospital in one hour. We'll coordinate repairs from there."

The closest way to Maple Street without using the main route was by going through the outskirts of the city. It'd take some time, so he didn't wait for their acknowledgement before setting off toward the outskirts.

The streets grew quieter as he approached Windsor's periphery, the usual bustle of the commercial district giving way to industrial silence. Here, the windmills cast longer shadows, blades cutting through air thick with the scent of machinery. Few civilians ventured this far out especially with the communications crisis in full swing. Even the usual maintenance crews were absent, likely recalled to deal with more pressing concerns in the city proper.

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"My son was seen fighting one of the Bloodhounds."

Elias's steps faltered upon remembering. His father's voice, so crisp and commanding, exactly as it had been this afternoon at SST. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but Windwaker was temperamental that way—sometimes carrying snippets of soundwaves on the breeze whether he wanted to hear them or not. The disappointment in Rudyard's tone had been palpable even through walls and distance.

"One scandal, one misstep..."

His hand tightened on his sword's hilt. Always the same refrain. Always the same impossible standards. Be perfect, but not too perfect. Be strong, but not too strong. Be exactly what Zachary was, but never dare to surpass him.

"Young man? Could you spare a moment?" A shaking voice broke through his brooding.

An elderly woman stood in a doorway nearby, worry etched deep in the lines of her face. She clutched a medical alert pendant in gnarled fingers.

"My husband—he fell earlier, and this thing won't connect to emergency services. I can't leave him alone to get help, but—"

Elias was already moving before she finished speaking. Inside, he found an old, big man sprawled on the kitchen floor, conscious but clearly in pain. A quick assessment revealed no obvious broken bones, but the man's breathing was labored.

"[Fließen]." Turquoise circuits traced across Elias's arms as he carefully lifted the man onto a nearby couch, the spell aiding him in picking up the overweight individual. "Which hospital does he usually go to?"

"Windsor Medical Center, but with the generators—"

"I'm heading there now! I'll make sure they send someone!" He produced a small whistle from his pocket—standard issue for aspiring knights. "If anything changes before help arrives, blow this. The Wind Brigade patrols this area; they'll hear it."

The woman's eyes welled with tears. "Thank you. You remind me so much of—"

"I should go." He cut her off, perhaps more sharply than intended as he already headed for the door. "Help will come soon."

Outside, the sunset had progressed, painting the city in deeper shades of crimson and gold. The outskirts stretched before him like an industrial maze, all sharp angles and looming structures. It was the perfect territory for an ambush as his tactical training screamed to his instincts to leave. There were too many blind corners and too many shadows.

He knew he should turn back. He knew he should find another route to Maple Street. The evacuation plans could wait a few more minutes if it meant avoiding unnecessary risk.

That's what his father would advise.

That's what a proper knight would do.

But that's not what Zachary would—

"No." The word escaped through gritted teeth as Elias forced himself forward. "I'll find another way. I have to."

Zachary Scryer wouldn't turn away from a problem just because it was difficult. He would find a solution, no matter the obstacles in his path. Elias might not be Zachary, but he refused to fail where his brother would have succeeded.

He refused to let his father win.

The words felt like rebellion. They tasted like freedom.

They died in his throat as orange flames erupted, blocking his path.

"I was wondering when you'd notice." The voice carried on the evening breeze, tinged with amusement and something darker. "You've been so busy playing the gallant knight, that I was starting to feel ignored~"

auburn hair blazed against the sunset as Malleus emerged from between two buildings, fire already dancing between her fingers like living jewelry. She moved with the grace of a predator as her apricot eyes reflected the dying light.

"Malleus..." The name was ash on Elias's tongue.

"Our last dance was put on hold." She tilted her head, studying him like a cat might watch a particularly interesting mouse.

Elias's hand tightened on his sword hilt. The wind around them picked up slightly—not from any spell, but from his own agitation bleeding into his Birthright.

"I have more important things to deal with right now than your games, Bloodhound," he spat, channeling as much of Rudyard's icy disdain into his tone as he could manage.

"Games?" Malleus's flames surrounding her hand grew brighter, their usual orange deepening to blood red. "Is that what you think this is? Some Divisional Commander's son playing the knight in shining armor?" Her laughter cut like broken glass. "How many people have you saved today, model boy? How many problems have you actually solved?"

"Shut up."

The words emerged as barely more than a whisper, but the air howled. All day he'd maintained his composure—through the chaos, through the crisis, through overhearing his father's words at SST. But something about her mockery, about the truth hidden in it, cracked something loose inside him.

"Oh? Did I touch a nerve?" Her smile widened. "What's wrong? Isn't this what you wanted? To prove yourself? To show daddy dearest that you're more than just his backup plan?"

The last rays of sunlight caught her apricot eyes, and in them, Elias saw something that made his blood boil. Not just cruelty or bloodlust, but understanding. She'd been watching him, studying him, overhearing the conversation at SST, learning exactly where to slip the knife. For the whole day…

His sidesword cleared its sheath with a beautifully harrowing sound like tearing silk. Air whipped around him, creating a tempest that matched the storm building in his heart.

Elias Scryer allowed himself to feel pure, unrestrained anger for the first time since he could remember.

No feigned benevolence.

No perfect control.

No living up to impossible expectations.

Just rage, clean and sharp as the winter wind.

"Well then, shall we finish what we started?" The auburn witch's smile was a bloody crescent against the gathering darkness.

And once the sun dipped below the horizon, Windsor's night erupted in flame and fury.