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

A quiet hum filled Sentinel's office, not of machines, but of ancient enchantments thrumming softly beneath the floor. Faint glyphs pulsed gently along the ebony-paneled walls, casting shifting patterns of light like ripples on dark water.

Sentinel sat behind the broad, polished desk at the room's center, a silver glow from the circular window tracing sharp lines across their high-collared robes. Maps, scrolls, and open tomes lay spread before them in quiet reverence. Fingers steepled, Sentinel's voice broke the silence, calm and precise.

"Yes, Mireon. I'm certain. The boy is connected to the Halesworth family."

A pause crackled through the receiver, broken by a sharp, barely-contained breath from the other side.

"What?" Mireon's voice cut through, disbelief riding its edges. "Are you sure? Where did you find him?"

Sentinel's eyes drifted toward the hourglass near the desk's edge. Its grains fell slow and measured, reflecting soft light off the curved glass.

"I didn't," he replied, voice steady. "The Eclipse Heart did. It brought him to us."

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It hung suspended, thick with something unspoken. Then—

A soft laugh, tinged with relief.

"Well, I suppose my search has officially ended then," Mireon exhaled. "You know I've turned over every inch of human territories trying to track him down. And you, of course you, manage to find him without lifting a finger."

A flicker of a smile touched Sentinel's lips, fleeting, but genuine.

"I'm beginning to think the Heart just prefers me."

"That or it's just tired of watching me chase shadows." Mireon snorted, the static hum of the line warming with amusement.

The formality between them began to dissolve, replaced by something familiar—comfortable. Old rhythm. Old friendship.

"I'll come to the Sanctum when I can," Mireon said after a beat, his voice softer now. "When things ease a little. I want to see that boy for myself… and meet the ones the Eclipse Heart has chosen."

Sentinel tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing on the carved spine of a worn leather-bound record near the corner of the desk.

"You'll be welcome," he said smoothly. "As always."

A knock sounded, measured, composed, like everything else in this place. Sentinel's head turned, gaze cutting to the door.

The tone shifted again. Quiet urgency slipped into his voice.

"I have to go. Someone's here."

"Of course," Mireon replied, the fondness in his voice unmistakable. "Just don't drown yourself in all that tension building around the threat. It's not going anywhere overnight."

Another trace of a smile. The kind that almost never reached his eyes.

"You always say that."

"Because you never listen," Mireon muttered affectionately. "I'll come by soon. Try to sleep at least once before that."

The receiver dimmed with a fading hum as the connection ended.

For a breath, the room was still.

Then, Sentinel straightened in his chair, voice returning to its usual cadence.

"Come in."

The great door opened with a low, reluctant groan. A breath of cool air stirred the papers on the desk as Cassandra entered, her cloak whispering across the stone floor, the soft flicker of glyph-light catching along its hem like sparks in motion. The door settled closed behind her with a muted click.

She didn't speak. Not at first. Her gaze slipped across the chamber, pausing briefly on the half-turned hourglass, the thin stream of glowing sand threading down into its lower chamber. Sentinel sat behind the desk, still and composed, eyes distant, like they hadn't quite returned from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

"Cassandra," he said at last, calm and unhurried, his voice the steady anchor in the silence.

She moved forward, footsteps muffled against smooth stone. Her eyes didn't linger on the bookshelves or the high-arched windows but instead on the weight of the room itself, the way the shadows bent near the edges, the faint pulse of magic humming in the walls. Something here felt… denser.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Everything alright?" Her tone was neutral, but the question settled into the space between them like a stone dropped in still water. Her gaze flicked from him to the shimmering contours of the map stretched across the desk.

Sentinel leaned back slightly, one hand still resting on a parchment scroll, his posture as composed as ever.

"As it ever is."

But the response didn't ease the subtle tension coiled in her frame. Her hands remained folded, her jaw set. A silence unfurled, quiet, but not empty.

He tilted his head ever so slightly.

"You want to ask something."

A hesitation flickered in her shoulders before she looked up, meeting his gaze without faltering.

"Sir... I just—" she began, and though her voice trembled for a heartbeat, it steadied quickly. "Do you know something about the boy? About Eddy?"

His expression didn't shift. Not even a blink.

"What makes you think that?"

"You've been watching him closely since he arrived," she said, her words low but firm. "More than you let on. And not just out of caution. You know more than the rest of us... and you haven't shared anything. Not even with me."

A soft whisper of sand tumbled inside the hourglass, catching the faint glow of a hovering rune.

He didn't speak.

In his mind, Vaelthar's voice came.

She has been at your side longer than any of them. Of course she sees what you try to hide. No one else would dare question it. But she can.

Sentinel's breath eased through his nose. I know.

He watched her, watched the truth glint in her eyes, the way her composure held even as a quiet hurt moved beneath it. A rare curve tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, not really. Something gentler. Something that didn't need to be seen.

"You don't need to worry, Cassandra," he said softly. "It's nothing that should trouble you."

Cassandra didn't flinch, but the shift was subtle. The slight pinch of her brow. A tension tightening behind her stillness.

"So I was right," she said.

The words landed without force, but they didn't need it. Her gaze didn't waver, didn't accuse. She was just... watching him. Seeing him.

A beat passed. Then she looked away, just for a second, her mouth pressing into a line that couldn't quite hold all the disappointment.

"When the time is right," Sentinel said, his voice still composed, "I'll tell you everything."

Her nod came slowly, shoulders rising as if with some unspoken acceptance. She didn't protest. But the silence she left in her wake was heavier than any argument.

He straightened, fingers brushing the edge of a parchment scroll. The shift in him was subtle, but deliberate.

"Tomorrow their training begins again." His voice had an edge now, quiet steel sheathed in calm. "I think we need to change our approach now."

Cassandra's head lifted sharply, attention sharpening.

"What kind of change?"

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, his hand moved across the edge of the old map, stopping near a ring of glyphs hovering above the parchment. Light pulsed from them, slow, rhythmic, alive, as the symbols rearranged themselves into new formations.

His gaze stayed fixed.

"We need to change some things on the training ground," he said finally.

Elsewhere in the Sanctum, beyond thick stone and quiet wards, the air was warmer. Softer.

The common room glowed with a soft amber light from the central fireplace, its flames curling and shifting with a life of their own. They all were scattered across the crescent of couches, cushions, and moon-glass tables.

Ash dozed above the mantel, her sleek form half-wrapped in wings that twitched with quiet dreams. Noir stretched beside Alice's feet, his body draped over the edge of a thick rug, tail flicking at some unseen thought. Near the tallest shelf, Astraea hovered in her usual silence, the dim glow of her body flickering like a forgotten star, watching.

Eddy sat on the couch's edge, shoulders tense, hands clasped loosely between his knees. The flames reflected in his eyes as he leaned forward slightly, breaking the quiet.

"I want some clarification," he said. "About this... upcoming war."

Elias shifted, uncrossing his legs. His head tilted slightly, and his voice held steady, patient.

"Understandable," he said. "It's a lot to take in."

Eddy's fingers tightened briefly. "First and most important, who exactly is attacking our world? And why?"

Alice's gaze rose from her lap, calm but distant.

"There's no single enemy. There are eight worlds, ours is only one of them. When balance breaks or power shifts, conflict follows. This time... something's stirring in the dark between those worlds."

The flames curved higher as if echoing her words.

"It doesn't always come from one realm," she continued, her voice barely louder than the fire. "Sometimes the threat moves from world to world like a shadow looking for an opening."

Eddy blinked. "Hold on—eight worlds?"

Thorne's eyes slid toward him. One leg was draped over the arm of his chair, his posture relaxed, tone dry.

"Yeah. Eight. Nyxthera. Solrion. Umbrathis. Aeridorn. Thalassara. Pyrranis. Terranova. And our own—Zephyros."

Eddy turned fully toward him, mouth parting slightly.

"You're telling me there are seven more worlds out there? Like actual full worlds? With people? Magic? Creatures?"

Alice nodded once, measured.

"And more. Each world is different. Some barely cross paths. Others… collide more than you'd think."

Eddy leaned back, the cushions sighing beneath him.

"So they're all connected? Like… something that happens in one can affect the others?"

Alice's eyes flicked back to the firelight.

"Exactly."

He looked down briefly, brows furrowed.

"You said before that these wars have happened already. Does that mean someone always attacks us? Why always this world?"

Thorne didn't move.

"It's not always us," he said. "Could be any of the eight. This time... it just seems to be ours that's next."

Eddy exhaled slowly, then looked around at the others again.

"So you all know what kinds of creatures or people live on those worlds?"

Aiden leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His smile was tired, but not without warmth.

"Not all. But we know some. Enough to be ready."

Without a word, Lyric stood. Her steps made no sound as she moved to the shelf beside Astraea. Her fingers slid along the worn spines until they stopped on one—a slate-colored tome thick with use. She pulled it free and tossed it gently in Eddy's direction.

He caught it with both hands, breath catching at its weight.

The title gleamed faintly under the firelight:

Echoes of the Realms: A Compendium of the Eight Worlds