The Protectors: Rising from Ashes [Progression Fantasy | Action-Packed | Epic Battles]

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full. Full of a question none of them could answer. A question some of them had feared to even ask.

Cassandra's brow creased. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. One hand tightened slightly on the table's edge, as if steadying herself.

Aiden shifted, the wood beneath him creaking faintly. His shoulders were drawn taut. "He's right," he said at last. "If this thing is what links him to all of this… how did it even get into him?"

Elias's fingers paused mid-motion above his plate. His jaw flexed once. "I've never even heard of a human holding Echo Weaving," he muttered under his breath, almost like the thought unsettled him.

Lyric turned slowly, strands of her silvery hair slipping over her shoulder as she faced Eddy fully. "It's not just rare. It's… not supposed to be possible. Echo Weaving belongs to the ancients, to those touched by both realms."

Eddy's brow furrowed, confusion flickering behind his eyes. "Both realms?"

Maris's voice came gently from across the table. "Magic and memory. Soul and sound. That's what Echo Weaving is made of. It's why it echoes through time, through voices, through lines of power that haven't been touched in centuries."

Alice leaned in, shadows dancing faintly in her gaze. Her words came sharp but quiet. "And somehow, it's inside you."

But Eddy had already turned.

Back to the one who hadn't said a word yet.

Sentinel.

His voice didn't rise. Didn't demand.

"You know something, don't you?"

And the way his eyes locked onto Sentinel said what words hadn't.

This wasn't just about answers anymore.

This was about truth.

Tension coiled around the table like a storm held in check. Every breath was measured, every movement subdued, as if even the air had learned to stay still.

Sentinel didn't speak. His gaze locked with Eddy's, unblinking. Calm on the surface, but behind his eyes, a shift. A subtle tightening. The kind that came with decisions quietly made.

Eddy caught it.

He understood.

Within Sentinel's thoughts, Vaelthar stirred again, his voice sharp, deliberate.

Tell him. You've always known. Not the whole shape, but enough. Why him. Why now.

The flick of a pulse rose in Sentinel's neck. His face remained unreadable, but the silence inside his mind pushed back.

I can't yet. The truth's incomplete. If I move too early, I risk unraveling more than I protect.

Vaelthar didn't press further, but his presence grew heavier, like breath thickening before lightning strikes.

Around them, stillness deepened.

Then at last, Sentinel's voice broke through.

Even. Composed. But something beneath it trembled, held in place by sheer will.

"It's the Eclipse Heart."

Eyes turned to him. A single pivot in motion, quiet, unified.

"It chose you," he said, watching Eddy directly. "Whatever you carry… whatever brought you here… it wasn't by chance."

A flicker crossed Eddy's face. Barely visible. A breath caught in his chest.

Sentinel continued, each word clear, steady.

"You asked why out of all the humans, it picked you. I don't have that answer. Not fully. Not yet."

His eyes drifted toward the others for a heartbeat.

"But I know this, when the Eclipse Heart chooses, it doesn't guess. It sees beyond what we're allowed to understand."

His gaze narrowed, returning to Eddy.

"It guided the others. It brought them together. And now, it's brought you."

The next words came quieter, less command, more truth.

"When the time comes, it will guide you again. Because whether you believe it or not… it took you into this war for a reason."

Eddy didn't shift. But something inside him changed, his gaze sharpened, his presence steadied.

The echo of doubt faded.

In its place: purpose. Quiet, forming, undeniable.

Sentinel rose, the weight in his shoulders giving shape to his words before he even spoke.

"That's enough for tonight."

His gaze swept across them all.

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"You've all had a long day, and tomorrow won't be easier. Training begins at first light."

A pause.

"You'll need to face your weaknesses head-on. We still don't know when, or what, will strike Zephyros next."

And for a moment, the silence wasn't heavy, it was solid. Grounded in something real.

In understanding.

In choice.

His words lingered for a moment, then he nodded toward the waiting platters on the table.

"For now, eat. Rest. You'll need both."

They all glanced at each other before shifting in their seats. The tension that had gripped them for so long finally began to loosen as they reached for food.

A long-held tension began to unravel, not with a single word, but with a glance, shared between the five. Shoulders eased. Postures loosened. Hands finally reached for plates.

Utensils found their rhythm, metal brushing ceramic, bread torn by eager fingers. Conversation found its way back, awkward at first, like light through a fog, then steadier with each exchanged word.

Lyric cupped a steaming mug, its herbal scent curling upward. Across from her, Alice portioned food with calm efficiency, dishing out balance where chaos lingered. Aiden stabbed a root vegetable like it had wronged him. Thorne? He was already halfway through a hunk of bread, crumbs dotting his plate.

Eddy chuckled under his breath. "Didn't know you all could get this hungry."

Thorne wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unapologetic. "Saving the world works up an appetite."

Aiden smirked. "So does shifting forms and breaking dummies in half."

Lyric smiled faintly. "Our bodies burn energy faster than humans. Healing. Shifting. Channeling. It all takes fuel."

"Magic has a cost," Alice said, sliding a platter toward Thorne. "Most of the time, it's this."
She gestured to the tower of empty dishes building between them.

Eddy raised a brow, lips tugging into a grin. "So basically… being powerful just means you're always starving?"

Maris didn't pause her cutting. "Among other things."

Lyric leaned a little toward Eddy, voice laced with curiosity rather than caution. "Is it really as chaotic in the human cities as they say?"

Eddy shrugged, smile tipping sideways. "Depends on the day. Some parts are loud and packed, others quiet and kind of boring. But yeah… chaos is a pretty good summary."
His eyes swept across the table. "But have you never been in there?"

Alice shook her head. "We weren't allowed past the borders of our kind's territories. Human cities were off-limits."

Alice paused, her fork hovering just above her plate. She shook her head slowly, the gesture quiet but firm. "We weren't allowed past the borders of our kind's territories," she said, eyes on a spot just past Eddy. "Human cities were off-limits."

Cassandra leaned forward, her elbows barely brushing the edge of the table. Her tone was measured, but the flicker in her gaze betrayed caution learned over years. "It was to protect you… and us. Too many things can go wrong when our worlds collide without warning."

Maris didn't look up. Her knife moved in clean, practiced strokes, carving her meat into perfect slices. "But I've seen glimpses," she said, voice even. "Shared zones. Trade hubs. Malls full of glowing boxes and noise that never ends." She paused briefly, her brow twitching. "All very… loud."

Eddy chuckled, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "Sounds like every shopping center I've ever been to. Phones, neon signs, escalators—that kind of glowing?"

Across the table, Lyric perked up, her silvery hair slipping over her shoulder as she leaned in. "I've used a phone before! " Her tone danced somewhere between wonder and nostalgia. "They're strange... but kind of fun."

"Fun?" Thorne snorted, slumping deeper into his chair. "They're traps. Tiny moving boxes stuffed with sweaty strangers breathing in your face."

Alice's mouth curved into a rare, faint smile. "We have malls and plazas too. Some run on the same tech as yours, others... not so much."

Eddy leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest as his brows drew together. "So, kind of a hybrid setup?"

Alice gave a thoughtful nod, brushing a crumb from her sleeve. "Exactly. Human tech where it helps. But our world's built on something older. Something… woven into us."

He tapped a finger against the table, mind spinning behind his eyes. "Alright. But what about schools? Like—universities, degrees, graduation caps?"

Lyric tilted her head. Her brows knit slightly, as if trying to translate a foreign word. "We don't have anything like that. We learn… differently."

Cassandra's gaze found Eddy's. "From the moment we can walk, we're trained. Spellcraft. Combat. Tactics. We're taught how to survive, not how to pass exams."

Maris wiped her blade clean with methodical care. "Knowledge is passed by doing. You earn mastery. Not certificates."

Eddy stared at them for a beat, lips parted just slightly. Then he gave a quiet, understanding nod. "Makes sense. Whole different way of growing up."

Silence threaded the space for a heartbeat, comfortable, this time.

Then Eddy's gaze slid sideways.

Elias.

He sat there composed, lifting a forkful of roasted vegetables with elegant ease, like the act was second nature, calm, deliberate.

Eddy's eyes narrowed. "Wait… you actually eat that?"

Elias didn't answer right away. He chewed, swallowed, and finally glanced up, a brow arching subtly. "Why wouldn't I?"

Eddy frowned. "I mean... aren't vampires supposed to drink only blood? That's kind of... the whole thing in our movies."

The fork found its place again, set down with the same care it was lifted. Elias leaned back slightly, the curve of his lips unreadable, though something cool shimmered behind them.

"I've told you before," he said. "Most of what your films show is fiction. Flashy. Dramatic. But wrong."

He glanced at his plate. When he spoke again, his voice dropped, lower, quieter.

"We can eat. Small amounts. It helps with blending in. But it doesn't feed us. Not really. Blood does. It keeps us sharp. Strong. Controlled."

Eddy's smile faded. He sat straighter, processing every word. "So… you have to drink it?"

Elias didn't blink. "Not always human," he said. "But yes. Without it, we weaken. Fade. Or worse."

The room held still, like it had paused to listen.

Eddy scratched the side of his head. "Okay, but, serious question. Can you see yourself in a mirror?"

Aiden froze mid-chew. Alice's hand stopped halfway to her plate. Lyric tilted her head in open curiosity.

Thorne let out a noise dangerously close to choking. "Hold on. You're telling me there's some cosmic curse that makes you look like that and then bans mirrors? That's the cruelest kind of irony."

You'd lose your mind if you couldn't fix your hair every morning, Pyrix muttered in Thorne's head.

It's not vanity, Thorne shot back. It's called personal upkeep. Big difference.

Elias's lips twitched, only slightly. His voice remained velvet-smooth, though a flicker of pride colored the edges.

"Vampires have a reputation to maintain. Looks. Presence. Elegance. You think we could manage all that without checking our reflection?"

Eddy snorted. This time, the laugh was real. "So basically, every vampire movie we've ever made is total nonsense."

His gaze wandered again—one by one, taking each of them in. His expression held no trace of earlier defensiveness. Just quiet fascination. A growing understanding.

"I guess I've got a lot to learn," he said, mostly to himself.

"You're not the only one," Aiden replied, glancing up. "We're all figuring this out as we go."

Thorne lifted his goblet, tapping it once against the table. "You just had the bad luck of getting tossed in headfirst."

Eddy gave a tired grin. "Feels more like being launched off a cliff."

"You landed on your feet," Maris noted, her tone cool, but something like approval rested beneath it.

At the head of the table, Sentinel hadn't spoken for some time. But now his voice cut through with clarity.

"There's value in questions," he said, gaze moving to each face. "But remember, survival depends on answers. Learn quickly. Trust slowly."

Cassandra leaned back slightly. "And don't underestimate the power of one honest bond. In times of war, it could matter more than bloodlines."

A beat of stillness followed. Not awkward. Not strained.

Just... reflective.

Plates shifted again. Dishes clinked. Somewhere beyond the walls, wind brushed faintly past the windows.

For the first time that night, they weren't legends or prophecies.

Just people.

Sharing a table.