The figures hovering above the island had not moved for a long time.
Long enough for the scouts monitoring the barrier to report them twice. Seven figures suspended high above the sea, distant and still, watching the island without making a single move.
The Starborn clan watched back.
Weapons remained drawn. Formations held their positions. No one relaxed.
Below them, spread across the sea like a dark tide waiting to rise, Morgan's forces stood ready. Massive ships rested against the water under the weight of soldiers and supplies, while others hovered above the waves in scattered groups, their silhouettes hanging against the pale morning sky.
Everything waited.
A broad man with a rough beard finally stepped forward from the gathered officers, impatience written plainly across his face.
"Morgan."
His voice carried easily across the air.
"The island already knows we're here. Every minute we waste gives them more time to prepare. I didn't bring my men across the sea just to stare at a barrier."
Several nearby officers murmured in agreement.
Morgan looked at him calmly.
For a few seconds, he said nothing at all. But the atmosphere around them shifted slightly, becoming heavier in a way that made the officers fall silent without fully understanding why.
"The Starborn clan has survived for over a million years," Morgan said quietly. "Do you think they survived that long because their enemies were weak?"
Nobody answered.
"They survived because they are patient. Careful. Organized." His gaze settled on the broad man again. "If you want to throw your men against a barrier built to withstand brute force, you are free to try. But do not mistake impatience for courage."
The broad man looked away first.
Morgan turned back toward the island.
"Prepare yourselves," he said. "It will begin soon."
...
Sigil stepped away from the front lines and watched the barrier readings in silence.
Orion already had the formations moving properly. Every unit was exactly where it needed to be, each group following the plans they had spent weeks preparing for. There was nothing Sigil needed to interfere with.
So he observed.
Morgan's forces were larger than expected.
Not enough to break the Starborn clan quickly, but enough to shorten the estimates Sigil had made in his head. He adjusted the numbers quietly and kept the conclusion to himself.
Inside Vexer's manor, things were calmer.
Khate moved through the halls steadily, guiding the women, children, and noncombatants deeper into the protected parts of the manor where Vexer's defensive arrays covered the walls and foundations. The old man had spent centuries building these protections. As long as they remained active, almost nothing in the outside world could force its way inside.
Three sat near one of the windows with his knees pulled against his chest, watching his mother move through the room.
She spoke softly to frightened children, calming them one by one. When tension started spreading through the hall, she raised a hand and soft green light spread gently across the ceiling. The atmosphere slowly settled afterward.
Three watched quietly.
He was proud of her.
And at the same time, he hated how useless he felt.
Everyone around him had a role. The soldiers would fight. His father would lead them. His mother protected the people inside the manor.
And him?
He was just there.
Twelve years old. Unawakened. Wearing his grandfather's ring while everyone else carried responsibilities he couldn't help with.
He lowered his head slightly.
Dad will survive.
He repeated the thought in his head several times.
Then, despite everything happening outside, another memory slipped into his mind. His father's story from earlier. Ten year old Sigil deciding that none of Khate's suitors were worthy of her.
Three almost laughed again.
His father really was unbearably proud of himself.
He hoped he would get the chance to say that to him later.
A sudden sound echoed through the manor.
Three stiffened immediately.
It wasn't the barrier.
He had already grown used to the deep vibrations that came whenever attacks struck the shield outside.
This sound was different.
Closer.
Sharper.
...
Sigil felt it before he saw it.
Something was wrong above him.
Not outside the barrier. Inside.
His figure vanished from the ground instantly, reappearing high above the nearby structures in less than a second.
Then he saw it.
Space above the island was tearing open.
The crack widened unevenly, dark void energy pulsing violently around its edges. Sigil recognized the energy immediately. This wasn't random distortion. Someone on the outside was forcing their way directly into the island.
His expression darkened.
If he had reacted even slightly slower, the portal would have opened directly over his previous position.
Flames erupted above his palms.
The fire burned strangely, pale at its center, releasing waves of heat strong enough that nearby soldiers instinctively retreated several steps. The air itself distorted around him.
Sigil thrust both hands upward.
The flames shot toward the forming tear, aiming to destroy it before it stabilized.
But the portal continued opening.
Then a voice came from inside it.
"Sigil."
Calm. Yet strangely familiar to him.
"Oh, Sigil."
Morgan stepped through the portal slowly, as though entering his own estate instead of enemy territory.
Void energy curled behind him before fading away. He looked exactly as he had above the sea, composed and unhurried, dressed in deep navy robes with a gold ring resting on one hand.
His eyes met Sigil's.
Something faintly amused passed through his expression.
"Is this how you greet an old friend?"
The portal behind him pulsed once.
Then dozens of tears split open across the sky above the island.