Strong Style Forever » Tokuverse

Machismo · 4/29/2026 4:17 am

Episode 1: The Oath Beneath Avalon

The storm over Avalon had not been born from the sky. It had risen from the battlefield itself, from the clash of steel, the roar of monsters, and the cries of men and women who had sworn their lives to a cause older than kingdoms. Black clouds rolled over the ancient hills as if the heavens had lowered themselves to witness the final hours of an age. Lightning flashed above the ruined towers of Old Avalon, where banners burned, siege engines smoldered, and the armies of mankind made their desperate stand against the darkness.

At the center of the battlefield rode Sir Mercer, the Red Knight of Avalon, his crimson armor battered and scorched but still gleaming whenever lightning struck the sky. His long red cape snapped behind him as his armored boots hit the mud, and in both hands he carried the sword Oathrender, a broad, gleaming blade marked with runes that pulsed like embers in a dying fire. Around him fought the Knights of the Sacred Round, and the armored soldiers of Kamen Rider Magnus and his friend Kamen Rider Ash. Together, they drove themselves against a nightmare army that seemed endless.

The monsters were called Dreadlings, twisted creatures of horn, claw, bone, and rotting iron. Some crawled on all fours with too many limbs. Others marched like soldiers with jagged shields made from skulls. Above them flew winged beasts with stretched faces and glowing green mouths, shrieking down at the battlefield while dropping spears of black fire. The Dreadlings had poured from the cursed gate at the foot of Mount Caerwyn, and at their head stood Lord Vantrex, the ancient dark lord whose name had once been spoken only in warning.

Kamen Rider Magnus stood beside Sir Mercer, towering in the armor he summoned from his sacred Rune Lens. His cape had been torn at the edge, and his heavy gauntlets crackled with radiant power as he punched through a charging Dreadling commander hard enough to send the creature tumbling into a line of its own troops.

Kamen Rider Magnus: Sir Mercer! Their center is breaking, but Vantrex is pushing everything he has toward the gate!

Sir Mercer cut down two Dreadlings with one sweeping strike before turning toward the dark tower of smoke rising in the distance. Through the haze, he saw Vantrex advancing, his massive black armor wrapped in chains, his horned helm shaped like a screaming crown. In one hand, the dark lord dragged a serrated sword as long as a man was tall. In the other, he held a black orb that beat like a living heart.

Sir Mercer: Then we end this before he reaches it.

Kamen Rider Ash landed beside them in a burst of gray flame, his darker armor marked with glowing orange lines that looked like cracks in cooling coal. He spun his blade and glanced toward the lines of soldiers struggling to hold back the Dreadling tide.

Kamen Rider Ash: Easy thing to say, harder thing to do. There are about ten thousand monsters between us and him, and I am beginning to take that personally.

Sir Mercer: Then take it personally while moving forward.

Kamen Rider Ash laughed once, then hurled himself into the enemy line. The warriors behind him surged after him, shields raised and blades drawn. The charge became a thunderous push across the field, with Sir Mercer, Magnus, and Ash at the front. Every step cost them. Every yard was bought with sparks, blood, and broken weapons. The Dreadlings came screaming in waves, but the allied army pushed harder, because they knew this was not a battle that could be won tomorrow. If Vantrex reached the cursed gate, there would be no tomorrow worth seeing.

Sir Mercer moved like a living flame through the enemy. Oathrender carved red arcs through the storm. He deflected a spiked mace, drove his shoulder into a towering beast’s chest, and brought his blade up through its armor before twisting aside as a winged Dreadling plunged from above. Magnus seized the creature out of the air and smashed it into the ground, while Ash vaulted over both of them and drove his burning axe through a monster captain’s helm.

At last, they broke through the front line. Vantrex waited beyond the smoke, standing before the cursed gate, which churned with black mist and green lightning. He turned slowly as Sir Mercer approached.

Lord Vantrex: The little knight returns. The king’s favorite sword. The shining oath wrapped around a frightened boy.

Sir Mercer kept walking.

Sir Mercer: I was frightened the first time I heard your name.

Vantrex raised his sword.

Lord Vantrex: And now?

Sir Mercer tightened both hands around Oathrender.

Sir Mercer: Now I am tired of hearing it.

The dark lord roared and charged. Their blades met with such force that the ground split beneath them. Vantrex was stronger, larger, and older than any enemy Mercer had faced, but Mercer fought with the calm fury of a man who had already accepted the cost. Magnus and Ash tried to reach him, but Dreadling elites swarmed them, forcing the Riders into their own brutal fight.

Vantrex hammered Mercer backward with blow after blow, each strike rattling his armor and driving pain through his arms. Mercer caught one swing on Oathrender, slid his blade down Vantrex’s weapon, and slammed his armored fist into the dark lord’s helm. Vantrex staggered, then laughed, low and venomous.

Lord Vantrex: You think courage makes you invincible?

Sir Mercer: No.

Mercer stepped inside the next strike and drove Oathrender into Vantrex’s side.

Sir Mercer: But it makes me very inconvenient.

Vantrex bellowed, backhanded Mercer across the field, and sent him crashing through a broken stone wall. Mercer rolled hard across the mud, his sword spinning away from his hand. The cursed gate pulsed behind Vantrex, and the Dreadling army howled as if victory had already begun.

Kamen Rider Magnus: Sir Mercer!

Sir Mercer pushed himself up. His armor groaned. Blood ran from his brow beneath his helm. He saw Magnus fighting toward him. He saw Ash surrounded but still fighting. He saw the armies of mankind refusing to break, even while monsters clawed at their shields.

Then he saw Oathrender lying beside an old Avalon banner, its red cloth half-buried in the mud.

Mercer reached for it.

Vantrex raised the black orb high.

Lord Vantrex: Let the new age begin!

The cursed gate opened wider, and a towering shadow began to form behind it, something vast enough to blot out the lightning. Sir Mercer seized Oathrender, rose to his feet, and ran. He did not shout. He did not call for help. He simply ran across the ruined field with every ounce of strength left in his body.

Vantrex turned too late.

Mercer leapt, bringing Oathrender over his shoulder as the runes along the blade erupted in crimson light. Vantrex swung for him, but Magnus caught the dark lord’s sword with both hands, holding it back for the single heartbeat Mercer needed. Ash drove his own axe into the black orb, cracking it down the center and releasing a violent blast of dark energy.

Kamen Rider Ash: Sir Mercer, now would be an excellent time to be legendary!

Sir Mercer came down in a red flash.

Sir Mercer: By my oath, your reign ends here!

Oathrender struck Vantrex at the neck. The blade passed through black armor, cursed flesh, and ancient malice in one burning arc. Vantrex’s horned head flew from his shoulders and hit the mud as his body remained standing for one impossible second. Then the dark lord collapsed. The cursed gate screamed, folding inward on itself, and a shockwave rolled across the battlefield, knocking men and monsters to the ground.

For a moment, everything became silent except the rain.

Centuries passed.

Avalon became legend. Legend became architecture. Architecture became a city.

Avalon City rose around the forgotten hills with glass towers, crowded streets, university campuses, coffee shops, museums, construction sites, traffic lights, and people who hurried past old stone markers without reading them.

At the edge of the modern city, Ashlyn Westbrook crouched beside a half-buried stone slab and brushed dirt from carved symbols with careful, excited strokes. She was young, sharp-eyed, and focused, with measuring tools, and snacks she kept forgetting to eat. Beside her, Lena Solis stood with a skeptical expression on her face.

Lena Solis: Tell me again how this counts as a normal day of archaeology? These slabs keep popping up all over the city. We don't even have to do any of the digging. They just keep popping up out of the ground!

Ashlyn did not look up.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I figured out some of the runic language we've been seeing on them. These are location markers, pointing people down the road.

Lena Solis: Ashlyn, these are old slabs. There were no roads here back then.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Not asphalt, but definitely a road. They're definitely leading us somewhere. This is exciting.

Ashlyn smiled and brushed more dirt away. The slab bore a crest she had seen before: a sword crossing a crown, surrounded by five smaller symbols.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Lena, look at this.

Lena knelt beside her, her teasing expression fading into professional interest.

Lena Solis: I've always loved that symbol, but I'm beginning to see why you'd be intrigued. That carving is too clean. It should be worn down more than this.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Something is calling out to us. Something...or someone.

Lena Solis: Or someone put it here recently to mess with underfunded graduate researchers who have not slept properly in three days.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That would be an oddly specific prank.

Before Lena could respond, several black vehicles rolled onto the dirt path behind them. Men in dark suits stepped out first, followed by robed figures in gray and gold. Their robes looked ceremonial, but their posture was not. They moved like security, spreading out across the site while one man with silver hair and a polished cane approached the two archaeologists.

Professor Halden, their university sponsor, hurried after him with visible panic.

Professor Halden: Ashlyn, Lena, I need you both to step away from the site.

Ashlyn stood.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Professor, who are these people?

The silver-haired man smiled without warmth.

?: We're...concerned custodians.

Lena folded her arms.

Lena Solis: That was not creepy at all. Very normal introduction. Let me guess, Axis Nova? You guys are all over the pla-

Dorian Vale: My name is Dorian Vale. I represent the Magnus Foundation. This land contains protected cultural material under private historical jurisdiction.

Ashlyn frowned.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Private historical jurisdiction is not a thing.

Dorian Vale: It becomes one when enough lawyers agree to say it confidently, and the Magnus Foundation has significant resources to make that happen.

Professor Halden lowered his voice.

Professor Halden: Ashlyn, please. They are taking over the dig.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Taking over? We discovered this site.

Dorian Vale: And your university will be properly thanked for alerting us to its existence.

Lena Solis: That sounds like academic theft, but WHAT DO I KNOW?!

Dorian’s smile thinned. Behind him, one of the robed men placed a metal seal over the exposed slab. The moment it touched the stone, the carved crest briefly glowed red. Ashlyn saw it. Lena saw it. Dorian pretended not to.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Did you see that?

Dorian Vale: I saw unauthorized excavation, and two young women who should leave before they damage history.

Lena Solis: We were doing just fine before you weirdos in robes-

Professor Halden stepped between them quickly.

Professor Halden: Lena.

Dorian raised a hand, and the robed men began setting up barriers around the ruins. Ashlyn backed away, but her eyes remained locked on the glowing crest. She had spent years chasing old stories of Avalon, the Sacred Round, and the lost knights who supposedly fought beside armored warriors called Riders. Most dismissed those legends as medieval fantasy. She wondered herself...until the public reveal of Kamen Rider Faust.

Across town, in the lower laboratory levels of Avalon University, Ray Matthews stared at a machine that insisted on giving him a hard time. He was a lab tech by title and an overworked problem-solver by necessity, the kind of person who had learned to distrust excitement because excitement usually meant paperwork. He wore a white lab coat over a sweater vest, safety glasses pushed up into his dark curls, and the expression of a man who had spent too much time in the basement.

On the table in front of him rested a strange device shaped like a buckler. It was small enough to attach to a belt, built from a metal Ray could not identify, and marked with the same sword and crown crest found at the ruins. It had been discovered in a sealed donation crate from a demolished estate, and Ray had been asked to carbon date residue found inside its casing.

The computer beeped again.

Ray stared at the screen.

Ray Matthews: No.

The computer beeped as if offended.

Ray Matthews: Absolutely not. Don't do this to me! Come on! Work!

The lab door opened, and Miles Rowan entered backward while carrying a box of donated equipment stacked high enough to hide his face.

Miles Rowan: Good news. I found the storage room. Bad news. I may have agreed to organize it, but only because someone named Brenda looked tired and called me helpful.

Ray turned slowly.

Ray Matthews: Miles, you do not work here.

Miles lowered the box onto a counter with a clatter.

Miles Rowan: Correct, I volunteer here!

Ray Matthews: You volunteered at the campus food drive!

Miles Rowan: Which is...near here.

Ray Matthews: It is three buildings away.

Miles Rowan: Near is a spiritual concept, really.

Ray closed his eyes for a second.

Ray Matthews: Please do not make me regret being polite to you once.

Miles leaned over the table and noticed the device.

Miles Rowan: Someone needs a hug. Whoa! What's that thing?

Ray moved it away from him.

Ray Matthews: Do not touch that!

Miles Rowan: I was not going to touch it!

Ray stared at him.

Miles Rowan: I was going to ASK if I could touch it.

Ray Matthews: No.

Miles Rowan: Please?

Ray Matthews: Miles.

Miles lifted both hands.

Miles Rowan: Fine, fine. What is it?

Ray looked back at the screen.

Ray Matthews: I have no idea. The residue inside the casing dates back over fifteen hundred years.

Miles blinked.

Miles Rowan: That seems old.

Ray Matthews: It is old.

Miles Rowan: Like older than grandma old?

Ray Matthews: Like collapse of empires old.

Miles whistled.

Miles Rowan: Wow.

Ray pointed at the device with a pen.

Ray Matthews: But the machining is more precise than anything we can do with standard university equipment. The internal structure has layered circuitry, but not modern circuitry. It is like someone built advanced technology using metallurgy from a time when indoor plumbing was considered ambitious.

Miles leaned closer.

Miles Rowan: So it is ancient future tech?

Ray Matthews: That phrase hurts me.

Miles Rowan: But is it accurate?

Ray paused.

Ray Matthews: Annoyingly, yes.

The lab phone rang. Ray answered it, still looking at the impossible carbon data.

Ray Matthews: Avalon University Materials Lab, this is Ray Matthews.

Professor Halden’s strained voice came through the receiver.

Professor Halden: Ray, it is Halden. I need the preliminary analysis on that artifact paused immediately.

Ray straightened.

Ray Matthews: Paused? Why? This thing is incredible! You're not going to believe-

Professor Halden: There has been a development at the ruins site.

Ray’s eyes sharpened.

Ray Matthews: Ruins site?

Professor Halden hesitated too long.

Professor Halden: That is not relevant.

Ray Matthews: Professor, the symbol on this device matches a crest I saw in Ashlyn Westbrook’s paper on Avalon legends. If there are ruins connected to this artifact, it is extremely relevant!

Professor Halden: Ray, listen carefully. Do not involve yourself. The Magnus Foundation has sealed the site.

Ray looked at the buckler.

Ray Matthews: The Magnus Foundation? I hear they only work out of Hanta City.

Professor Halden: They have authority here, or at least they are behaving as if they do. They definitely don't want us to discover something. So I'd "stay away" from the eastern ridge outside Avalon City. *cough cough*

The line went dead.

Miles leaned in.

Miles Rowan: So, naturally, we are going to the eastern ridge outside Avalon City.

Ray grabbed the buckler and placed it in a padded case.

Ray Matthews: I am going to the eastern ridge outside Avalon City.

Miles pointed at himself.

Miles Rowan: And I am going with you.

Ray Matthews: No.

Miles Rowan: Yep.

Ray Matthews: I do not need help.

Miles Rowan: Nobody who says that to me has ever looked like they meant it.

Ray tucked the case under his arm and headed for the door.

Ray Matthews: You are not qualified.

Miles followed him.

Miles Rowan: I have excellent qualities.

Ray Matthews: Name one.

Miles Rowan: I once calmed down a runaway pony at a children’s birthday party.

Ray stopped.

Ray Matthews: How is that useful here?

Miles Rowan: Calming vibes, Ray. Calming vibes.

Ray stared at him, then kept walking faster.

Ray Matthews: Your calming vibes are currently not working at all. But fine, just stay out of my way.

Miles grinned and followed him down the hallway.

By late afternoon, Ashlyn and Lena found themselves in the woods. They had officially obeyed the order to vacate the dig site, then unofficially followed the vehicles to a site on the eastern ridge of the city.

Lena Solis: This is trespassing.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It is research.

Lena Solis: It is research trespassing.

Ashlyn Westbrook: The best discoveries involve a little moral flexibility.

Lena Solia: That sentence is going to appear in a disciplinary hearing...or a tombstone.

They reached a collapsed stone arch partly hidden beneath roots and moss. Beyond it, a narrow stairway descended into the earth. The air coming from below was cold, dry, and faintly metallic.

Ashlyn’s excitement softened into awe.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Lena. This...is why I'm doing what I've been doing. My interest in history...years of learning in Avalon City...and the secrets might be right under our feet.

Lena stepped beside her.

Lena Solis: I'm just an engineer at heart, but your curiosity is infectious.

Ashlyn touched the carved side of the arch and found the same crest again, along with five symbols arranged around it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: This is real...it's really happening.

Lena smiled despite herself.

Lena Solis: Yeah. It is.

Behind them, branches snapped. Ashlyn and Lena spun around as Ray stumbled through the brush, holding the padded case tightly against his chest. Miles came after him, picking leaves from his jacket.

Miles Rowan: Good news. We found the ruins.

Ray Matthews: You followed the lights and walked downhill.

Miles Rowan: With confidence.

Ashlyn stared at Ray.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Matthews?

Ray recognized her from university lectures and academic mixers where he had mostly stood near walls pretending to check emails.

Ray Matthews: Ashlyn Westbrook. What are you doing here?

Lena looked between them.

Lena Solis: Do you two know each other?

Ashlyn Westbrook: We have met. He runs materials analysis at the university.

Ray adjusted his glasses.

Ray Matthews: I do not just run it. I maintain it, repair it, supervise access to it, and prevent people from setting it on fire. It's a very important job.

Miles raised a hand.

Miles Rowan: I am Miles. I provide emotional support and occasional vibe knowledge.

Lena Solis: Wasn't expecting that these two hung out together.

Ray Matthews: I assure...we do not. Ashlyn, are you perhaps here because of this?

Ray opened the padded case and showed them the buckler. Ashlyn’s face changed instantly.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Where did you get that?

Ray Matthews: University donation crate. It has the same crest as the site. The metal is impossible, the residue dates back over fifteen hundred years, and the Magnus Foundation told the professor to bury the analysis.

Lena leaned closer.

Lena Solis: That looks like the carvings.

Ashlyn looked down the stairway.

Ashlyn Westbrook: There may be more inside.

Ray followed her gaze.

Ray Matthews: Then we need to document it before the Foundation seals everything permanently.

Miles looked into the dark passage.

Miles Rowan: I love a good foreboding passage!

Lena Solis: That is ridiculous.

The four of them descended the stone stairs with their lights cutting through the darkness. The passage opened into a vast underground chamber supported by pillars carved into the shapes of armored knights. Roots twisted through cracks in the ceiling, and water dripped somewhere far below. Along the walls were faded murals showing a red armored knight fighting beside two armored Riders, one shining like the sun and one burning like ash. Ashlyn stopped in front of the mural, her breath catching.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Look at this. "Here lies the entombed curse, held at bay by the last Kishiranger standing, the loyal Knight Trace Mercer."

Ray looked at the mural, then at his buckler.

Ray Matthews: Kishiranger? The story of the five knights that served Avalon? The story goes that they found an evil long ago, but only one of them survived to the final battle. They were real?!

Lena scanned the wall.

Lena Solis: Or the people who built this wanted everyone to think they were.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Lena, we are standing in a sealed underground ruin that people in robes tried to hide from us.

Lena Solis: I am upgrading my skepticism to nervous curiosity.

Miles pointed his flashlight ahead.

Miles Rowan: Does nervous curiosity include giant doors with skulls on them?

At the far end of the chamber stood a circular stone door marked with red runes. Unlike the rest of the ruin, it had not decayed. The air around it shimmered faintly. Four empty slots surrounded the central crest, but the fifth, marked with the lion symbol, held a red gem that glowed faintly within the stone.

Ray approached the door and studied the slots.

Ray Matthews: These are impressive mechanisms. Far too advanced for the time period.

Ashlyn looked at the murals again. One showed five warriors raising bucklers toward a sealed tomb. Four of the bucklers matched the slots on the door. The fifth belonged to the Red Knight.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Ray, your device might be a key.

Ray immediately backed up.

Ray Matthews: It might be...but should we-

Miles took the buckler from Ray’s open case.

Ray Matthews: Miles, no!

Miles held it near one of the slots. The buckler flashed blue, and the entire chamber rumbled. Miles froze.

Miles Rowan: In my defense, I didn't think it would actually work.

The buckler flew from his hands and locked into one of the slots. The other empty slots began to glow. Hidden panels opened along the walls, revealing three more bucklers resting in ancient alcoves. Ashlyn stepped toward one of the alcoves as if pulled by instinct. A buckler marked with the crescent blade symbol glowed violet and black and lifted into her hands. Lena reached for the buckler marked with the sun symbol, which flashed yellow when she touched it. Miles stumbled backward as the wind marked green buckler launched from its alcove and attached itself around his waist.

Miles Rowan: I have been chosen by the belt buckle!

Ray tried to pull his own buckler from the door, but it released and clamped around his waist instead.

Ray Matthews: This is not proper artifact handling!

The circular door groaned open.

Cold red light poured out.

Inside was a tomb chamber, and at its center stood a stone dais. Upon it lay Sir Mercer in full crimson armor, his sword resting across his chest. He looked untouched by time, as if he had fallen asleep moments ago rather than centuries before. Ashlyn stepped closer, unable to stop herself. The moment her light touched his face beneath the open helm, her expression softened.

Ashlyn Westbrook: He is alive.

Lena checked the readings on her scanner.

Lena Solis: That is impossible.

Ray Matthews: I would like to retire that word for the evening. It has lost meaning.

Ashlyn reached toward the dais. The buckler on her arm glowed, and Sir Mercer’s eyes opened.

Sir Mercer: No....NO!

At the same moment, the red gem above the tomb cracked.

A violent pulse blasted through the chamber. Black mist erupted from beneath the floor and rushed through the open door, pouring upward through the ruins and into Avalon City like smoke caught in reverse. The murals darkened. The knight statues cracked. Far above them, every light in Avalon City flickered.

Sir Mercer sat up sharply and seized Oathrender.

Sir Mercer: The seal! I was-! No! I-

Ashlyn stumbled back, startled and fascinated at once.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You are Sir Mercer?

He turned toward her, ready for battle, but the moment his eyes met hers, his intensity faltered. Ashlyn stood in the red glow of the tomb, dusty, breathless, and fearless despite everything happening around them. Mercer stared as if the world had changed shape around her.

Sir Mercer: And you are?

Ashlyn swallowed.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Ashlyn Westbrook, and I've been spent a long time trying to find you.

For one brief moment, neither of them moved. Even with the tomb shaking around them, something passed between them with startling clarity, like recognition without memory.

Miles leaned toward Lena.

Miles Rowan: Are they doing a dramatic destiny stare?

Lena Solis: This is not the time.

Ray Matthews: This is extremely not the time! What was that?!

The cracked gem above the tomb shattered completely. A deep laugh rolled through the chamber, shaking dust from the ceiling.

Lord Vantrex: At last.

The black mist gathered near the far wall, forming the towering shape of Lord Vantrex. His body was not fully restored, flickering between armor, smoke, and shadow, but his horned helm and burning green eyes were unmistakable. Around him, smaller shapes clawed their way from cracks in the floor. Dreadlings emerged one by one, snarling and stretching their limbs as if waking from centuries of hunger.

Sir Mercer stepped down from the dais, sword raised.

Sir Mercer: Vantrex.

Lord Vantrex laughed.

Lord Vantrex: Red Knight. Faithful dog of a dead age. Did you sleep well?

Sir Mercer: Obviously not. I'm awake, and you're here.

Lord Vantrex: It was always going to be a matter of time. You tried to contain my curse, but now it is free upon Avalon once again.

Vantrex looked past him toward Ashlyn, Lena, Ray, and Miles.

Lord Vantrex: And these are the champions who broke your seal? Children with dirty hands and frightened hearts?

Miles looked offended.

Miles Rowan: My hands are not that dirty.

Ray Matthews: Miles. We're about to die apparently. No jokes please.

Lord Vantrex spread his arms as the Dreadlings formed ranks around him.

Lord Vantrex: Avalon is mine again. The curse is awake, my army is reborn, and this age is soft with light and glass. Darkness will win here.

Sir Mercer glanced at the four bucklers attached to the others’ waists. His expression hardened with realization.

Sir Mercer: The Oath Bucklers? They're active again? They chose new champions? They chose them!

Lena Solis: Chose us for what?

Sir Mercer reached into the tomb and took the red buckler from beside the dais. It locked onto his waist with a burst of crimson light.

Sir Mercer: To fight.

Ray Matthews: We are not trained for that!

Sir Mercer: Neither was anyone when the first darkness came. I could use you assistance!

Ashlyn looked at the Dreadlings, then back at Mercer.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Tell us what to do.

Mercer met her eyes again, and despite the danger, his voice gentled.

Sir Mercer: Take the buckler from your belt. Raise your buckler and swear the oath from your heart. The armor will hear you.

Miles Rowan: Excuse me, Sir Knight Guy? What oath?

A Dreadling lunged. Mercer cut it down with one clean strike.

Sir Mercer: It'll come to you! Now would be a good time!

The five raised their Oath Bucklers. Red, black, blue, green, and yellow light filled the chamber.

Sir Mercer: Oath forged!

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn!

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded!

Lena Solis: Truth shone!

Miles hesitated as his buckler sparked.

Miles Rowan: Uh, heroic volunteer reporting for duty?

The bucklers flashed.

Miles Rowan: Oh good. Close enough!

Together, they shouted.

All Five: Kishiranger, arise!

Armor erupted around them in streams of mystic light. Mercer’s red knight armor lit up and seemed to refresh and power up after years of inactivity. Ashlyn became the Black Knight, Ray became the Blue Knight, Lena became the Yellow Knight, and Miles became the Green Knight, bright and bold.

Miles looked down at himself.

Miles: I look incredible!

Ray looked at his own armor.

Ray Matthews: I wasn't expecting to be wearing antiquity today.

Lena flexed her armored fingers.

Lena Solis: This is amazing!

Ashlyn turned toward Mercer. Her visor hid her face, but her voice carried the same awe.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Sir Mercer.

Mercer nodded to her.

Sir Mercer: Stay close to me.

Vantrex raised one shadowed hand.

Lord Vantrex: Kill them.

The Dreadlings attacked.

Mercer charged first, and the others followed because there was no time to be afraid properly. Ashlyn moved before she understood how, her armor guiding her steps as she ducked beneath a clawed strike and brought a gauntlet into the creature. The creature burst into black sparks. She stared at her fists for half a second, then spun as another monster rushed her from the side. Mercer intercepted it, slammed it back with his shoulder, and drove Oathrender through its chest.

Sir Mercer: Good footwork.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I have no idea what I am doing.

Sir Mercer: Then trust the oath until you do!

Ray lifted his buckler as a Dreadling swung a jagged axe at him. A blue shield formed from light, catching the blow. Ray yelped, shoved forward, and accidentally launched the Dreadling across the chamber into two others.

Ray Matthews: I did not intend to do that.

Miles kicked a Dreadling in the stomach, then looked delighted when the creature flew backward.

Miles Rowan: I intended to do that for sure!

Lena fought with growing confidence, her yellow armor producing an axe of light from her buckler. She swept the legs out from under one Dreadling, smashed another in the chest, and used the axe’s haft to knock a third away from Ray.

Lena Solis: Ray, stop analyzing and hit something!

Ray Matthew: I am trying to determine the safest method!

Lena Solis: The safest method is before it hits you!

Ashlyn found herself surrounded by three Dreadlings. Her breathing quickened, but then Mercer’s voice cut through the chaos.

Sir Mercer: Ashlyn, evasion then attack!

She obeyed. A Dreadling’s claws passed over her as she dipped and hit another with her gauntlet.

Sir Mercer: Again.

She turned and struck the second. The third leapt at her, but Mercer threw Oathrender across the chamber. The sword spun end over end and pierced the creature before it reached her. Mercer crossed the distance, pulled the blade free, and stood beside Ashlyn.

Ashlyn: You threw your sword at me.

Sir Mercer: Near you.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That distinction matters to you?

Sir Mercer: I know what I'm doing.

Ashlyn Westbrook: How long has it been since you've done it?!

Sir Mercer: ...I don't know.

Even through the helmet, Ashlyn sounded like she was smiling.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You are impossible.

Sir Mercer: My lady, I am a lot of things.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Lady? Me?

Vantrex watched from the shadows. His restored body flickered. He was not complete, not yet. The seal had broken enough to release his curse and awaken his army, but his full strength remained bound somewhere below Avalon. Still, he had seen enough of the new knights to understand they were dangerous.

Lord Vantrex: The armor remembers, but the wearers are weak.

He raised his hand, and the remaining Dreadlings fused into a larger beast with three heads, four arms, and a massive black cleaver. It roared so loudly the chamber cracked.

Miles stared up at it.

Miles Rowan: I would like to return my oath.

Ray Matthews: Oaths don't work that way.

Miles Rowan: Then I would like to speak to the oath manager.

The fused Dreadling charged. Mercer met it head-on, but the beast’s cleaver knocked him backward. Ashlyn rushed to his side, helping him steady himself.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Are you all right?

Sir Mercer: I have survived worse.

Sir Mercer looked around at the modern strangers in ancient armor, the ruined tomb, and the monster bearing down on them.

The beast swung again. Mercer and Ashlyn caught the cleaver between them. Ray fired a burst of blue energy from his shield into the creature’s side, Lena hooked its leg with her axe, and Miles leapt from a fallen stone pillar with a glowing green spear.

Miles: Hey, I found my weapon!

He struck the creature across one of its heads. The beast reeled, and the five knights gathered together.

Sir Mercer: Focus your oath through your weapons.

Ray Matthew: Is that metaphorical or technical?

Sir Mercer: ...Yes.

Lena Solis: That was not an answer.

Ashlyn looked to her hands.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I don't have a weapon!

Sir Mercer: I expected as much. Raise your hand! Lend me your power!

Her black light flowed into Mercer’s red. Ray’s blue joined it, then Lena’s yellow, then Miles’s green. The five lights twisted together around Oathrender, turning Mercer’s sword into a blazing weapon of combined power.

Sir Mercer: Oathrender Final Vow!

The five charged together. Mercer led the strike, Ashlyn and Lena cutting from either side, Ray blasting the beast’s armor open, and Miles leaping high to drive the final green spark into its chest. Mercer brought Oathrender down in a brilliant red arc, and the fused Dreadling exploded into dark smoke and falling embers.

The chamber shook again. Vantrex’s laughter returned, but this time it carried anger beneath it.

Lord Vantrex: Enjoy your first victory, little knights. This is a new era. Your kings are dead. Your armies are dust. Your cities are full of people who have forgotten how to fear the dark.

Sir Mercer pointed Oathrender at him.

Sir Mercer: Then I will remind them how to stand against it.

Vantrex’s eyes burned brighter.

Lord Vantrex: Darkness can win now, Red Knight. Darkness will win. It's all around you...beside you...and inside of you.

His body dissolved into black mist, and the mist shot upward through the cracked ceiling, vanishing into the city above. The remaining Dreadlings retreated into the shadows, their snarls echoing until the ruin fell silent.

The armor faded from Ashlyn, Ray, Lena, and Miles, returning them to their normal clothes. Mercer’s armor remained, though the glow around it dimmed. For a moment, no one spoke. The tomb was open. The seal was broken. Avalon City above them had no idea what had just been released beneath its streets.

Ray looked at the buckler on his waist.

Ray Matthews: We need to contact the university, the police, possibly the National Guard, and at least three peer-reviewed journals.

Lena rubbed her forehead.

Lena Solia: I'm not so sure about that. I think this one is on us.

Miles looked at Mercer.

Miles Rowan: We...we did this...didn't we, Sir Knight Guy?

Sir Mercer: Vantrex will gather strength. His Dreadlings will spread through Avalon. The curse will seek fear, anger, greed, and sorrow. It will feed on them.

Ashlyn stepped closer to him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Then we stop it.

Mercer looked at her again, and the hardness of the old battlefield softened in his face.

Sir Mercer: You speak as if you have already decided.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I opened the tomb. I helped release this. I am not walking away.

Sir Mercer studied her, and for a second, and nodded.

Sir Mercer: Then I am honored to fight beside you, my lady. Ashlyn Westbrook.

Ashlyn smiled.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Just Ashlyn is fine.

Miles looked between them again.

Miles Rowan: Oh, I'm picking up some major vibes.

Lena elbowed him.

Lena Solis: Shhh! Let it happen!

Sir Mercer: I just have one really important question for all of you?

Sir Mercer finally took off his helmet...

Sir Mercer: What year is it?

To Be Continued...

Last edited by Machismo (5/02/2026 12:28 am)

Machismo · 5/01/2026 1:26 am

Episode 2 – A Knight Out of Time

The sky above Avalon City had been clear, bright, and full of life only hours before, but far beyond what mortal eyes could perceive, darkness began to swell.

High above the modern skyline, something pulsed like a wound that refused to close. Purple-black energy spiraled inward, twisting into a vortex that led somewhere no human had ever seen and lived to describe.

Through that tear, something stepped. The curse contained for centuries had been released. And now, in a realm that existed just adjacent to Avalon City, layered over it like a shadow cast by another world, Lord Vantrex returned home.

The Dark Domain was not a place of natural formation. It had been built through conquest, shaped by will, and sustained by malice. A towering castle of jagged black stone loomed over a warped reflection of Avalon City below, the skyline visible but distorted, as if viewed through rippling water.

Lightning cracked across a sky that never changed, illuminating spires that clawed upward like skeletal fingers. Rivers of violet energy coursed through the air itself, feeding into the throne room at the heart of the fortress.

There, seated upon a throne carved from obsidian and bone, Lord Vantrex leaned forward.

Lord Vantrex: They awakened him.

His voice echoed through the chamber, low and deliberate, carrying the weight of inevitability.

Lord Vantrex: And in doing so...they freed me.

He rose slowly, the chamber responding to his presence as if alive, shadows bending toward him.

With a flick of his hand, four circles of dark energy ignited in the air before him.

Lord Vantrex: My generals...awaken...and come forth.

The portals widened, each one swirling with a different shade of corruption, crimson, sickly green, deep violet, and void black.

One by one, figures emerged.

The first stepped through with heavy, deliberate movements, clad in armor that resembled layered stone and bone, his presence causing the very floor to crack beneath him.

The second appeared like a wisp before solidifying, her form sleek and sharp, her eyes calculating, always observing.

The third arrived with a burst of chaotic energy, landing with a grin that bordered on feral, his aura flickering unpredictably.

But the fourth portal remained open.

Empty.

The silence that followed was not long, but it was noticeable.

Lord Vantrex’s gaze shifted slowly to the vacant portal.

Lord Vantrex: Absent?

The three generals lowered their heads, but the large and imposing General named Garrikus spoke up.

Garrikus: The human betrayer, Mordred, fell in combat all those years ago. He did not enter a slumber like we did.

The smarmy general chuckled. His name was Vire the Swift.

Vire the Swift: Hehehe. We're not all as weak as he was.

Lord Vantrex stepped forward.

Lord Vantrex: No matter. He served his purpose, and his bloodline inherited his curse. We shall find another to wield the cursed sword in my name.

He turned, looking out over the distorted image of Avalon City below.

Lord Vantrex: The world has changed.

His reflection in the warped skyline looked almost amused.

Lord Vantrex: But humanity has not.

He extended his hand, and far below, faint flickers of dark energy began to pulse across the city, unseen, and unnoticed.

Lord Vantrex: We begin again.

Inside a modest but cluttered theater department in Avalon City, chaos had taken on a much more domestic form.

Trace Mercer sat rigidly in a chair, his posture still that of a knight, even as he found himself surrounded by objects and tools he did not understand. His long, unkempt hair fell past his shoulders, and his beard, thick and wild, framed a face that had seen centuries of battle and slumber.

Miles Rowan stood behind him, holding a pair of scissors with the confidence of someone who absolutely should not have been trusted with them.

Miles Rowan: Alright, Sir Legend, don’t move.

Trace Mercer: I have stood against armies without flinching.

Miles Rowan: Cool!

Lena Solis leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with clear skepticism.

Lena Solis: This could be a terrible idea.

Ashlyn Westbrook, however, was focused, carefully preparing what little proper grooming equipment they had managed to gather.

Ashlyn Westbrook: He can’t exactly walk around like that without attracting attention.

Lena Solis: Getting a fifteen hundred year old knight a shave and a haircut is one thing, but what next? Where is he going to live?

Ashlyn Westbrook paused.

Ashlyn Westbrook: ...One problem at a time.

Miles Rowan gently tugged at Mercer’s hair, inspecting it like a project.

Miles Rowan: You’ve got historical levels of split ends, my dude.

Trace Mercer: I do not know what that means.

Miles Rowan: No worries. I got you covered.

Without warning, Rowan made the first cut.

Trace Mercer did not flinch, but his eyes widened just slightly.

Trace Mercer: You wield that blade with alarming confidence.

Miles Rowan: I’ve watched videos.

Trace Mercer: Videos?

Lena Solis: That does not make it better. Let the engineer handle it. I have more experience.

Miles Rowan: Hey! Come on!

Lena Solis: You pick out what he's wearing!

Trace Mercer: I'm not wearing my armor?

Lena Solis: Not in public.

Trace Mercer: Strange. These orbs...they light up the room, though I see no flames. Is it the same power that the adepts of the Magnus Foundation wielded? Intriguing to see in such practical use.

As the hair began to fall away, something changed.

It wasn’t just that Mercer looked cleaner...he looked different. Younger, almost. His features became more defined, his expression easier to read.

Ashlyn Westbrook hesitated for just a moment as she met his eyes.

There was something there she hadn’t expected.

Something...warm.

Trace Mercer: Is something wrong, my lady?

Ashlyn Westbrook blinked, quickly looking away.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No. Nothing at all.

Lena Solis noticed immediately.

Her smirk was subtle, but unmistakable.

Lena Solis: Oh, this just got interesting.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Lena.

Lena Solis: I didn’t say anything.

Lena finished the final adjustments, stepping back.

Trace Mercer ran a hand along his jaw, now cleanly shaved, his expression thoughtful.

Trace Mercer: I scarcely recognize the man I was.

Miles Rowan: Yeah, you look way less “ancient forest hermit.”

Lena Solis: I am a miracle worker.

Trace Mercer: Indeed, you just might be.

Ashlyn Westbrook glanced back at him again, trying and failing to be subtle.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Wow.

Lena Solis covered her mouth, clearly amused.

The moment settled, and with it, the tone shifted slightly.

Trace Mercer stood, his posture straightening, his expression becoming more serious.

Trace Mercer: You deserve to know the truth of what has happened.

The room quieted.

Trace Mercer: Long ago, the King of Avalon selected several knights to take up arms against Vantrex, a dark wizard, once human, who made communion with the Worzol Dimension, a place of twisted darkness and monsters, and it changed him. It inflicted a curse upon him and gave him a task. As a conduit of the Worzol Dimension, he was to open a gate between the two worlds forever. A war was waged unlike anything you've ever seen. When we defeated Lord Vantrex and his army...we believed the war had ended.

He turned slightly, his gaze distant, as if seeing something far away.

Trace Mercer: But the darkness he commanded was not bound to him alone. It was a curse...one that could not be destroyed.

Miles Rowan: So you locked it away?

Trace Mercer: We tried. I took it upon myself. I was locked into slumber, holding onto the curse, keeping it trapped.

Lena Solis: You became the prison.

Trace Mercer nodded.

Trace Mercer: It seemed like the only way. After I lost....when I...I-I was the only one left...who could take the curse.

Silence lingered.

Miles Rowan: ...And we opened it.

Trace Mercer: You did.

He did not say it with anger. That somehow made it heavier.

Trace Mercer: And in doing so...it allowed Lord Vantrex to return.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Then we’ll stop him again.

Trace Mercer looked at her. For a moment, something like pride crossed his face.

Trace Mercer: Commendable. Please know, that I do not blame you for what happened. If you saw the markers appearing, then the curse had already began to call out. It gathered enough strength. It was only a matter of time I suppose. Please don't blame yourselves.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We can't carry the burden of guilt, it won't allow us to do what we've got to do.

Trace Mercer: Heh. Again...very commendable. I'm glad to see the spirit of knights still exists in this age.

He turned slightly, preparing to continue-

Trace Mercer: Some of his forces possess the ability to-

A loud burst of sound cut him off. Everyone turned. The television flickered to life, filling the room with bright colors and rapid movement.

Trace Mercer froze.

Trace Mercer: ...

On screen, an overly energetic commercial played, complete with flashing text and exaggerated voices and a roaring lion.

Trace Mercer took a cautious step forward.

Trace Mercer: What...is this?

Miles Rowan lit up.

Miles Rowan: Oh man.

Lena Solis: Here we go.

Trace Mercer approached the screen slowly, as if it might attack him.

Trace Mercer: Tiny people? A portal of some kind?

Ashlyn Westbrook: It’s called television.

Trace Mercer: Tele...vision.

He leaned in slightly.

Trace Mercer: This era possesses strange magic.

Lena Solis: You have no idea.

Trace Mercer remained fixated on the screen.

Trace Mercer: I do believe...I like it.

Ashlyn Westbrook smiled despite herself.

And for just a moment, the weight of everything lifted.

Ray Matthews stepped out of the Avalon University Materials Laboratory with his messenger bag over one shoulder, his glasses slightly crooked from the number of times he had pushed them up in nervous thought, and his phone clutched in one hand. He had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Oath Buckler locking around his waist, ancient armor forming around his body, and a monstrous creature exploding into dark smoke under the combined power of ancient. He had tried writing a rational list of explanations at three in the morning, but the list had collapsed somewhere around “mass hallucination” and “possible gas leak".

By sunrise, Ray had made a decision. He would go to work. He would finish logging the data from the artifact analysis. He would submit a very carefully worded equipment irregularity report that did not include the phrases “mystic knight,” “dark lord,” or “I became a blue armored superhero.” Then he would go home, drink tea, and spend the evening pretending that the world was still normal.

Ray Matthews: I am going to get tea, I am going to answer emails, I am going to finish the carbon residue report, and I am absolutely not going to think about what happened yesterday. Yeah. I'm absolutely not going to think about...every second of the day. Not at all.

He stopped on the university walkway and looked around quickly to make sure nobody had heard him talking to himself. A student passed by on a scooter. Two professors argued about parking. Someone’s backpack zipper broke, scattering notebooks onto the pavement. Everything was ordinary, which somehow made Ray feel worse.

Ray Matthews: Good. Normal. Wonderful. I love normal.

He took three more steps before a voice behind him cut through the morning air with surgical calm.

Dorian Vale: Then you may wish to avoid lying to yourself in public, Mr. Matthews. It gives the impression that you are under strain.

Ray stopped as if someone had placed a hand on the back of his neck. He turned slowly and found Dorian Vale standing near the edge of the walkway beneath the shade of a campus elm tree. Dorian was impeccably dressed, composed, silver hair neatly arranged, dark suit without a wrinkle, cane held loosely in one hand.

Ray Matthews tried to keep his expression neutral and failed immediately.

Ray Matthews: I-I'm sorry...have we met?

Dorian Vale: Your associates have met me. We haven't had the pleasure yet.

Ray Matthews: Oh, you're that gentleman. You made a very strong impression. Mostly because you arrived at an archaeological site with robed men and legal threats.

Dorian Vale: I will not waste your time pretending this is a casual meeting.

Ray Matthews shifted his grip on his bag.

Ray Matthews: That would be refreshing.

Dorian Vale walked closer, slow enough that he did not seem threatening, but direct enough that Ray understood he was not being allowed to leave.

Dorian Vale: The eastern ridge excavation was sealed under Foundation authority. You and your associates entered the restricted site after being told to leave. Shortly afterward, a containment chamber beneath the ruins was opened, a long dormant curse was released, and several Foundation instruments registered a dimensional breach above Avalon City. Does that all sound about right?

Ray swallowed.

Ray Matthews: Hypothetically, if someone entered a sealed ruin, found a device that appeared to respond to another device, and opened something without knowing the full historical, mystical, or possibly apocalyptic significance, I would describe that as accidental.

Dorian Vale: That was more elaborate than a denial.

Ray Matthews: I work in a lab. Elaborate explanations are part of the culture.

Dorian’s gaze settled on Ray’s waist. Ray had covered the Oath Buckler with his shirt, but the subtle shape beneath the fabric was not impossible to notice if someone knew what to look for.

Dorian Vale: Did the artifact bond to you?

Ray’s face gave him away before his mouth could recover.

Ray Matthews: I do not know what you mean by bond.

Dorian Vale: I think you do.

Ray Matthews: I think you think I do.

Dorian Vale: Mr. Matthews, you are intelligent enough to understand that deflection will not help you, but inexperienced enough to keep trying it.

Ray opened his mouth, then shut it. He hated that the insult had been accurate.

Dorian Vale stepped closer and lowered his voice.

Dorian Vale: I need to know where Sir Trace Mercer is.

Ray Matthews: Why?

Dorian Vale: Because if Sir Mercer has awakened, then every buried defense, every sealed oath, every ancient enemy, and every forgotten obligation tied to Avalon has awakened with him.

Ray Matthews: That sounds like something you should have mentioned before you tried to kick everyone away from the site.

Dorian Vale: We were trying to keep the site closed, and his location and purpose a secret. We're a secret organization. That's what we do. We protect people.

Ray Matthews: By not explaining anything.

Dorian Vale: Explanation invites curiosity. Curiosity opened the tomb.

Ray wanted to argue, but the words jammed in his throat because Dorian was not entirely wrong. Curiosity had opened the tomb. Curiosity had released Vantrex. Curiosity had taken a strange device from a lab table and turned Ray into something he still did not understand.

Ray Matthews: I don’t know where he is right now.

Dorian Vale watched him carefully.

Dorian Vale: But you have seen him.

Ray hesitated for half a second too long.

Dorian Vale: Thank you.

Ray Matthews: I did not answer.

Dorian Vale: You did.

Ray exhaled sharply, annoyed with himself.

Dorian Vale: Then I will ask you something else. Has he mentioned the Stahlritter?

Ray Matthews: The what?

Dorian Vale: The Stahlritter.

Ray repeated the word silently, turning it over in his head. He had heard enough old Eurolandic linguistic fragments in academic circles to recognize the roots, though his pronunciation was probably terrible.

Ray Matthews: Stahl sounds like steel, and Ritter means knights, I think. Steel Knights? Is that what you mean?

Dorian Vale: You're good at linguistics as well? Remarkable.

Ray Matthews: Nobody tells me anything. Yesterday, I was asked to date residue on an artifact, and now I am apparently involved in a medieval apocalypse with accessories. But no, he has not told me about Steel Knights.

Dorian Vale: They are not accessories.

Ray Matthews: That was not the important part of what I said.

Dorian looked past him toward the city, where the university buildings gave way to the taller towers of downtown Avalon. For a moment, his calm seemed less like arrogance and more like strain held under perfect control.

Dorian Vale: If Sir Mercer is awake, then Avalon’s enemies will move quickly. They will seek fear. They will seek public chaos. They will seek to prove that the modern world is helpless.

Ray Matthews felt cold despite the warmth of the morning.

Ray Matthews: Vantrex.

Dorian Vale: Yes.

Ray Matthews: You know about him?

Dorian Vale: The Magnus Foundation remembers.

Ray Matthews: Then why didn’t you stop this?

Dorian’s eyes snapped back to him.

Dorian Vale: Because for centuries, the best way to stop it was to make sure no one touched the tomb. Then your group arrived.

Ray bristled.

Ray Matthews: You mean Ashlyn and Lena discovered history that your Foundation hid, and then you swooped in with dramatic robes and zero transparency. Forgive me if I’m not ready to accept the idea that this is entirely our fault. If you'd have said anything about this danger I don't think anyone would've opened it!

Dorian Vale: It was perhaps inevitable. The runes erupting from the ground, they were getting hard to hide...to contain. Fragments of a past war buried under surface. I-

Before Dorian could finish, the air shifted.

It was not wind. It was pressure. Every sound around them dulled at once, as though the city had been pushed beneath deep water. The traffic on the nearby street continued moving, but its noise faded to a low throb. Birds lifted from the trees in a sudden burst. Ray looked toward the downtown skyline and saw a patch of sky above the business district turn the color of old bruises.

Dorian Vale: Here they come.

Ray Matthews: What does that mean?

A ring of green-black energy tore open between two office towers several blocks away. The distortion spun violently, warping reflections in glass windows, bending streetlights, and sending a shockwave down the avenue. People screamed as car alarms erupted. A city bus skidded to a halt, and its passengers stumbled out in panic as the portal widened.

From the portal came a footstep.

The pavement cracked.

Another footstep followed, and the creature that emerged from the dimensional tear was not a mindless Dreadling. He was taller than any man by several feet, broad enough to block an entire lane of traffic, and encased in armor that looked as if it had been carved from layered stone, black iron, and fossilized bone. Jagged plates jutted from his shoulders and forearms. Horn-like ridges curled from his helm. His eyes burned red within a skull-shaped visor. In one hand, he dragged a huge mace whose head was a mass of spikes and dark crystal.

The general turned his head slowly, surveying Avalon City like a builder appraising a wall he intended to demolish.

Garrakis: This world is weak. This will all too easy.

His voice rolled through the street with enough force to rattle windows.

Ray Matthews: Who is that?!

Dorian Vale: Garrakis.

Ray Matthews: Wait, you actually know him? That question was rhetorical, I assure you.

Dorian Vale: One of Vantrex’s generals. The breaker of keeps. The one that old battle records called the "Stone Maw".

Ray Matthews: Of course. Of course his nickname is worse.

Garrakis lifted his mace and struck the pavement once. The shockwave spread in a circle, cracking asphalt, knocking people from their feet, and shattering the glass front of a nearby Cafe Noir coffee shop. Behind him, the portal expanded again, and something else crawled through.

It was a monster from the Worzol Dimension, though Ray did not know the name yet. Its shoulders were hunched high, its arms long enough for its claws to scrape the ground, and its body was wrapped in plates of dark green hide that shifted with sickly light underneath. Its face split vertically when it opened its mouth, revealing too many teeth arranged like broken glass. Several tendrils twitched from its back, tasting the air.

The monster let out a shriek that sent civilians running in every direction.

Ray’s hand went instinctively to his covered Oath Buckler.

Dorian saw the movement.

Dorian Vale: Do not wield the Buckler unless you are prepared for what comes after.

Ray Matthews: People are going to die if someone doesn’t do something! Me being prepared is irrelevant! I have to act!

He ran toward the chaos, pulling out his phone as he moved. His hands shook just enough that he nearly dropped it before finding the emergency group chat Miles had created at some point after the tomb incident. The chat name was “Kishi Business,” which Ray had immediately tried to change and Miles had immediately changed back.

Ray Matthews typed one message with his thumb.

"Monster downtown. General too. Need everyone now."

Within seconds, Miles replied.

"ON MY WAY. ALSO CALLED IT."

Lena replied next.

"Do not say “called it” during a monster attack."

Ashlyn’s reply followed.

"Where exactly?"

Ray looked up as the Worzol monster climbed onto a stopped delivery truck and hurled it into the side of a bank building.

Ray Matthews typed back with his teeth clenched.

"Follow the sound."

Across the city, Trace Mercer had been standing in the university's costume department, still trying to understand the modern invention called television. He had been watching a cooking program with the complete seriousness of a commander studying enemy tactics. A cheerful host had been explaining how to prepare an omelet, and Mercer had leaned forward, fascinated by the idea that a person could speak to millions from inside a rectangle.

Trace Mercer: She creates fire with ease, and with remarkable confidence.

Suddenly, Ashlyn came back into the room holding her phone.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Sir Mercer. Downtown. Something is happening.

Trace Mercer turned from the television, and the softness in his expression vanished.

Trace Mercer: Vantrex has moved.

Lena Solis grabbed her bag.

Lena Solis: That didn’t take long.

Miles Rowan popped to his feet, still holding the cereal box.

Miles Rowan: Don't worry Sir Legend, we can pause it, and you can finish it later.

Trace Mercer: You can freeze the time inside of the portal? Incredible.

Miles Rowan: Uh...sure.

Ashlyn looked down at her Oath Buckler, her fingers brushing the edge of it. She still felt the absence that had bothered her since the tomb. The others had weapons. Ray had already shown signs of channeling his blue energy into defensive constructs. Miles had manifested a green spear almost accidentally. Lena’s yellow power had produced a weapon that felt natural to her the moment it appeared. But Ashlyn’s power had not given her one. Not yet. She could transform. She could fight. She could channel energy. But there was a silence in her Oath Buckler that she could not explain.

Trace noticed her expression.

Trace Mercer: My lady.

She looked up.

Trace Mercer: You do not need to know every answer before you move.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That sounds like something said by someone who already knows the answer.

Trace Mercer almost smiled.

Trace Mercer: Trust me. I will explain the fate of the Black Kishiranger...when we have time.

Ashlyn nodded, and the four of them ran.

By the time they reached the business district, the scene had become a disaster zone. Smoke rose from broken storefronts. Cars sat overturned or abandoned. The Worzol monster stalked through the street, swiping at anything that moved, while Garrakis stood in the middle of the avenue with his mace resting on one shoulder. He did not chase civilians. He did not need to. His presence alone had turned the city’s morning rhythm into chaos.

Ray arrived from the opposite direction, breathless, his hair disheveled, his lab coat flapping behind him because he had not had time to remove it. He skidded to a stop beside the others.

Miles Rowan: Ray, buddy, you look terrible.

Ray Matthews: I was interrogated by a secret foundation representative, then a monster appeared, and I ran seven blocks.

Lena Solis: The new normal.

Ray Matthews: I hate that you might be right.

Trace stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Garrakis.

Trace Mercer: Stone Maw!

The massive general turned slowly. At the sight of Trace, his red eyes brightened with recognition.

Garrakis: The Burning Oath wakes.

Trace Mercer: You should have remained in the dark.

Garrakis: The dark has grown tired of waiting.

The Worzol monster crouched behind him, claws digging into the street.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That thing came from the portal?

Ray Matthews: Yes.

Lena Solis: Is it a Dreadling?

Trace Mercer: No. It is from the Worzol Dimension. A breeding ground for war beasts.

Miles Rowan: Oh is that all. Heh...heh.

Garrakis raised his mace and pointed it at the team.

Garrakis: The new oath-bearers are smaller than I expected.

Miles Rowan: I'm going to take that personally.

Trace Mercer lifted his Oath Buckler.

Trace Mercer: Kishirangers, stand ready.

The five formed a line in the street, with Trace in the center, Ray to one side, Ashlyn beside him, Miles on Trace’s other side, and Lena at the end.

The Oath Bucklers glowed.

Trace Mercer: Oath forged.

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn.

Miles Rowan: Wild heart awakened.

Lena Solis: Truth shone.

Together, they raised their arms.

All Five: Kishiranger, arise!

Light burst outward in five colors, clean and brilliant against the gray smoke of the damaged street. Armor formed over them in sweeping plates of red, blue, black, green, and yellow, each suit carrying the same knightly crest but shaped to its wearer’s spirit. Trace’s red armor formed with the authority of an old king’s champion. Ray’s blue armor locked into place with sharp, precise lines. Ashlyn’s black armor flowed around her like night edged with gold, elegant but incomplete in a way only she seemed to feel. Miles’ green armor sparked with restless energy. Lena’s yellow armor settled around her with solid confidence, bright and fierce.

Garrakis rumbled with amusement.

Garrakis: Armor does not make warriors.

Trace Mercer: Upholding one's oath, THAT makes a warrior, Iron Maw.

The Worzol monster attacked before Garrakis could answer.

It bounded forward on all fours, crossing the distance with horrifying speed. Trace met it first, Oathrender flashing red as he deflected its claws and drove it backward. The monster twisted unnaturally, one shoulder bending farther than it should have, allowing a tendril to whip around toward his side. Miles leapt in, green energy forming into a spear as he slashed the tendril away.

Lena moved with him, striking low with her yellow weapon, an axe that extended from her Oath Buckler in a burst of gold light. She swept the monster’s front leg, forcing it off balance. Ray raised both hands and projected a blue shield just as the creature’s mouth split open and spat a stream of corrosive green energy. The blast hit Ray’s shield and splashed apart, sizzling against the pavement.

Ray Matthews: Acid. It spits acid. Naturally. Don't let it touch you!

Ashlyn rushed in from the side, ducking under a claw and striking with her armored forearm. Without a weapon, she had to fight closer than the others, using speed, precision, and her own instincts. She caught one of the monster’s wrists, twisted hard, and slammed her knee into its ribs. The black energy around her armor pulsed, but no blade formed.

Garrakis watched her with interest.

Garrakis: As expected. That armor would be incomplete.

Ashlyn heard him and stiffened. Trace did too.

Trace Mercer: Do not listen to him!

Ashlyn Westbrook: I won't.

The monster took advantage of the moment and slammed its shoulder into her, sending her skidding across the street. Trace moved instantly, putting himself between her and the beast.

Trace Mercer: My lady, with me.

Ashlyn pushed herself up.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Right.

Ray and Lena forced the monster back with coordinated strikes, while Miles bounded off a dented car hood and kicked the creature in the side of the head. The monster reeled, shrieking, and Trace seized the opening.

Trace Mercer: Now. Channel your strength into Oathrender!

The team gathered around him, forming a circle as the monster stumbled back. Ray placed his hand near the blade, blue energy flowing into the runes. Miles added green light that crackled like living wind. Lena added gold power, steady and bright. Ashlyn hesitated for the briefest moment before placing her hand near the others. Black energy emerged from her Oath Buckler, deep and smooth, but it flickered as if searching for a shape it had not yet found.

Trace glanced at her.

Trace Mercer: Trust it.

Ashlyn breathed in and the black energy steadied.

Oathrender blazed with five colors folded into crimson light.

Trace Mercer: Oathrender Final Vow!

They drove the combined power into the monster. The blast hit the Worzol beast square in the chest, launching it backward through the air. It crashed into the street and rolled, tearing up pavement before coming to a stop in a heap of smoke and sparks. For a moment, it looked as if the battle was over.

Miles Rowan: That was very satisfying.

Ray Matthews: Don’t say that yet.

Miles Rowan: Why?

Garrakis lifted one hand.

Ray Matthews: I've got a really bad feeling.

Garrakis snapped his fingers.

The sound was loud and the effect was immediate. Dark red energy surged from Garrakis’s hand and struck the fallen monster like lightning. The creature convulsed. Its body swelled, bones cracking loudly, tendrils thickening, claws expanding. The street buckled beneath it as it grew larger and larger, rising above the surrounding buildings until its shadow fell across several city blocks.

People screamed again, this time from rooftops, windows, and sidewalks far beyond the immediate battlefield.

Miles looked up.

Miles Rowan: Okay. Now we have a BIG problem.

Ray Matthews: Bad time for puns. Not inaccurate though.

The giant Worzol monster roared, its voice rattling windows across downtown Avalon.

Trace stood at the center of the street, looking up without panic.

Trace Mercer: Garrakis has retained the old dark craft.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Meaning?

Trace Mercer: Meaning this battle now requires a larger solution.

Miles Rowan: Please tell me you have one.

Trace Mercer: If my faithful companion endured the long slumber with me.

Ray Matthews: If? IF?!

Trace raised Oathrender toward the sky.

Trace Mercer: Krieger, Burning Stahlritter, awaken and ride to war!

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the clouds above Avalon City split open with a ring of fire.

A massive shape descended through the light, surrounded by falling embers that burned out before touching the ground. It did not fall like debris. It arrived like a summoned champion. The colossal knight struck the ground, landing on one knee with enough force to shake the avenue. It stood slowly, revealing armor like a giant medieval warrior forged in red steel, black iron, and molten gold. Its chest burned with a furnace-like core.

Miles Rowan: That is the greatest thing I have ever seen!

Ray Matthews: What is that thing?

Lena Solis: I would LOVE to get a gander at how that's all functioning!

Trace’s body glowed red, and in the next instant, he vanished from the street and appeared inside Krieger’s cockpit, a chamber of ancient machinery and burning runes. The interface was not a set of controls so much as a bond between knight and machine. The walls pulsed with heat, and Trace placed one hand over a glowing sigil.

Trace Mercer: Krieger, stand with me once more.

The giant mech’s eyes flared.

Krieger drew its sword.

The Worzol monster lunged through the city, swinging one huge claw toward a tower. Krieger intercepted the blow, catching the monster’s arm with one hand and forcing it away from the building. The impact sent a shockwave down the street, but Krieger held firm. Trace moved with it as if he had awakened an extension of himself rather than a machine.

Down below, the other four Rangers watched in awe.

Ashlyn Westbrook: He knew this was here.

Lena Solis: He had a giant burning knight hidden somewhere under the city, and he didn't mention it earlier?

Miles Rowan: In his defense, we got distracted by television. I forgive him completely.

Ashlyn Westbrook: He just woke up. This is all new. I'm sure he has a lot to tell us all. We're immersed in living history here. Let's watch it play out.

Miles Rowan: Alright, but I want a giant robot too!

The Worzol monster spat acid at Krieger’s face. Krieger raised its arm, and a wall of burning red fire formed, deflecting the blast into the sky. Trace drove Krieger forward, slamming his shoulder into the creature and sending it stumbling into a plaza. The monster regained its footing and lashed out with its tendrils, wrapping them around Krieger’s sword arm. Trace pulled against them, but more tendrils snapped into place, binding the mech momentarily.

Garrakis watched from the street below, arms crossed.

Flames burst from the mech’s arm vents, burning through the tendrils. Krieger wrenched free, seized the monster by one horn, and drove a massive knee into its chest. The monster staggered backward, and Krieger swung its sword in a horizontal arc that carved sparks across the beast’s armor-like hide.

The creature roared and leapt, trying to crush Krieger with its full weight. Trace waited until the last possible moment before commanding Krieger to pivot. The monster crashed past him, tearing up the street, and Krieger brought its sword down across the creature’s back, pinning it briefly to the ground.

Trace Mercer: Burning Stahlritter, Flare Up!!

The furnace core in Krieger’s chest blazed white-hot. Fire raced down the mech’s arms and into its sword, transforming the blade into a pillar of concentrated flame. The monster struggled to rise, but Krieger stepped forward, lifted the sword high, and brought it down in a decisive arc.

Trace Mercer: Krieger Flame Verdict!

The strike cut through the Worzol monster, and for one suspended moment the creature froze in place, outlined by burning light. Then it erupted into a tower of dark energy and flame that spiraled upward before collapsing into harmless sparks. The shockwave scattered smoke across the skyline, but the buildings remained standing.

Krieger stood in the center of the city, sword lowered, flames fading from its armor.

Garrakis looked up at Krieger, then down at the remaining Rangers.

Garrakis: The weapons still answer, and your strength will grow, but so will the call to darkness, just like before. How long can you hold back the flames, old friend?

Trace reappeared on the street as Krieger flew away, vanishing as suddenly as it had arrived. The transformation faded from the team, leaving them in their civilian clothes amid cracked pavement and drifting smoke.

Trace Mercer faced Garrakis.

Trace Mercer: Tell Vantrex that Avalon remains guarded.

Garrakis tilted his head.

Garrakis: I will tell him that the guards aren't prepared.

A portal opened behind him, as Garrakis stepped backward into it, his mace dragging sparks across the ground.

Garrakis: We will meet again soon.

His gaze locked onto Ashlyn specifically before the portal swallowed him.

The street fell silent except for sirens and distant voices.

Ashlyn looked down at her hands.

Lena stepped beside her, voice softer than usual.

Lena Solis: Look like he was trying to get in your head.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Yeah, I felt that. Why me?

Miles Rowan: For what it’s worth, he's probably just cranky that he can't fit through doors like normal people.

Ray Matthews: That was almost comforting.

Miles Rowan: I specialize in that!

Trace looked toward the sky where Krieger had vanished.

Ray Matthews approached him slowly.

Ray Matthews: You had a giant mech?

Trace Mercer: A Stahlritter.

Ray Matthews: A giant mech called a Stahlritter.

Lena Solis: And yet TELEVISION enthralled you. I have several thousand questions!

Trace Mercer: So do I. I'm surrounded by a world I don't recognize.

The team moved quickly, slipping away from the center of the destruction before the authorities could fully organize around them. But Ray glanced back once and saw Dorian Vale standing across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of a damaged building. Dorian did not approach. He simply watched them go, his expression unreadable.

Much later, far from Avalon City, high in the mountains outside Hanta City, the Magnus Foundation’s central facility stood behind layers of stone, steel, and secrecy. From a distance, it resembled an old estate built into the mountainside, but beneath its visible structure lay a network of vaults, archives, labs, and sealed chambers that had preserved knowledge the rest of the world had allowed to fade into myth.

Dorian Vale walked through a long corridor lined with relics behind reinforced glass. Ancient Rider emblems. Broken monster armor. Sealed books. Fragments of weapons too dangerous to display anywhere else. He passed them without slowing, his cane tapping softly against the polished floor.

At the end of the corridor, two Foundation guards opened a heavy door.

Inside, the room was dim. A single wall of glass overlooked the mountains, and a man stood before it with his back turned, watching clouds gather around the peaks.

Dorian stopped several paces behind him.

Dorian Vale: The reports were accurate.

The man did not turn.

Dorian Vale: The Burning Oath is awake.

Silence filled the room.

Then the man by the window spoke, his voice quiet but heavy with recognition.

Asher: After all this time.

Dorian Vale: He has already summoned Krieger.

Asher finally turned slightly, enough for the light to catch the outline of his face.

Asher: Then Vantrex has returned with strength.

Dorian Vale: Garrakis appeared in Avalon City and brought a Worzol beast with him. The new oath-bearers defeated it, but they are inexperienced. One of them has not manifested a weapon.

Asher’s eyes narrowed.

Asher: Which one?

Dorian Vale: The expected one. The black knight. Ashlyn Westbrook.

The name seemed to land with unexpected weight.

Asher: Westbrook?

Dorian Vale: Yes. Coincidence?

Another silence followed, deeper than the first.

Asher looked back toward the mountain clouds.

Asher: I don't believe in coincidences.

Dorian Vale: What would you have us do?

Asher: Prepare the Foundation.

Dorian Vale: And the Stahlritter?

Asher closed his eyes for a moment.

Asher: Find them. Awaken them.

Outside, thunder rolled through the mountains.

Asher: If Trace Mercer is awake, then the old war has found us again. I'm sorry you had to awaken to this world in turmoil, my friend.

The lights in the room flickered once as something deep beneath the Foundation facility began to hum.

To be continued...

Last edited by Machismo (5/01/2026 11:07 am)

Machismo · 5/01/2026 9:32 am

Episode 3: Oaths That Bind

Avalon City looked almost peaceful in the late morning sun, which seemed deeply unfair to Ashlyn Westbrook because nothing about her life felt peaceful anymore. The streets were clean, bright, and busy, full of people who still had the luxury of believing that yesterday’s news footage of armored heroes, monsters, and a giant burning knight had either been some kind of elaborate viral stunt or one of those impossible events that would become background noise by lunchtime thanks in part to events happening in other cities. Cars moved through intersections. Cafés served iced coffee. Students crowded sidewalks. Office workers grumbled into phones. Above them, digital billboards shifted from advertisements for concerts and restaurants to scrolling news updates about “unexplained downtown destruction,” “costumed responders,” and “giant armored figure sighted above Avalon business district.”

Trace Mercer stood in the middle of all of it, wearing the modern clothes Miles Rowan had insisted made him look “less like he escaped from a cursed mural and more like he was about to front a garage band.” He wore a red-and-black jacket over a plain shirt, jeans, and shoes that still had a faint knightly sensibility despite being purchased from a regular store. His beard had been reduced to stubble, his hair had been cut short enough to look contemporary, and yet his posture remained unmistakably ancient. He stood too straight, watched too carefully.

Ashlyn walked beside him, pretending not to notice how much the makeover had worked. It had worked too well. Trace Mercer was still awkward around vending machines and elevator buttons, but now he was awkward in a way that made him look like a brooding hero trying to understand the future rather than a half-feral legend dragged out of a tomb. Lena Solis had noticed Ashlyn noticing, because Lena noticed everything that could be used later as ammunition.

Lena Solis walked on Trace’s other side with her hands in the pockets of her yellow jacket, her sunglasses pushed up into her blonde hair, and a smirk that had not left her face since breakfast.

Lena Solis: You’re staring again.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Lena, I am still in awe over the fact that we have a mythological hero standing next to us. I wrote a thesis on him!

Lena Solis: And it got a C+ if I recall.

Ashlyn Westbrook: They said I was supposed to be writing a report on actual history and he wasn't real. Well look at him now! He looks real to me! Now, I'm evaluating our incredible find.

Lena Solis: Sure. You’re academically evaluating his jawline.

Trace Mercer turned slightly, his brows lifting.

Trace Mercer: Is something wrong with my jaw?

Ashlyn’s face heated immediately.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Lena’s smirk became delighted. Trace looked genuinely uncertain, which somehow made it worse.

Trace Mercer: I am glad it is not a concern. I'm struggling to keep up with the conversation honestly. This place is just so...incredible.

They had decided that if Trace was going to live in Avalon City, he needed more than clothing and a basic explanation of traffic signals. He needed to understand the rhythm of the modern world, not to blend in perfectly, but because the more confused he looked every time an automatic door opened, the harder it would be to keep him from becoming a public spectacle. Ray Matthews had suggested giving him a carefully organized introduction to technology in controlled stages. Miles had suggested dropping him in a shopping mall and seeing what happened. Lena had suggested something in between, which was how Ashlyn found herself escorting a legendary knight through downtown Avalon with a list of “modern highlights” she had typed into her phone at midnight.

They began with a coffee shop, mostly because Trace had grown suspicious of Java Coffington after seeing the smiling mascot on three separate advertisements and wanted to know what kind of lord commanded so many public images. Ashlyn explained brand mascots while Lena ordered drinks. Trace listened carefully, then stared at a cardboard cutout of Java Coffington holding a steaming mug and giving a thumbs-up.

Trace Mercer: So this warrior is not real?

Ashlyn Westbrook: He’s not a warrior. He’s a mascot.

Trace Mercer: A symbolic champion of roasted beans.

Lena Solis: Honestly, that’s the best description of Java Coffington I’ve ever heard.

Trace accepted his coffee with solemn caution, sniffed it, took a sip, and froze. His eyes widened slightly.

Trace Mercer: This is bitter.

Lena Solis: That’s because you got it black.

Trace Mercer: It is called coffee.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Most people add cream or sugar.

Trace looked down at the cup as if it had betrayed him.

Trace Mercer: But I like it bitter. A warrior's drink.

Lena nearly dropped her drink laughing.

After the coffee shop came the escalator at the transit center, which Trace initially treated as a moving trap. He watched people step onto it, rise upward, and depart unharmed, but he still placed one foot on the first step with the seriousness of a man entering enemy territory. When the stairs carried him upward, he gripped the railing, steadied himself, and nodded once as if accepting a worthy opponent.

Trace Mercer: My legs work just fine. I don't need to be carried.

Then came automatic doors, which opened as Trace approached. He stopped, stepped back, watched them close, stepped forward again, and watched them open. Ashlyn waited patiently for three cycles before Lena started timing him.

Lena Solis: That’s four. I think five makes it flirting.

Trace Mercer: It sees me.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It detects motion.

Trace Mercer: That is what I said.

They showed him a bookstore, where he was deeply impressed by the number of books available to common citizens and deeply offended that several were titled as if dragons were suitable romantic partners. They showed him a phone store from the outside, which proved too dangerous to explain fully because Trace stood in front of the display window and stared at a wall of glowing devices with the same expression he had worn while facing Garrakis.

Trace Mercer: Each of these small mirrors can speak across distance?

Ashlyn Westbrook: More or less.

Trace Mercer: And everyone carries one?

Lena Solis: Almost everyone.

Trace Mercer: Then this age has armed its entire population with communication relics.

Ashlyn opened her mouth to correct him, stopped, and realized the sentence was not entirely wrong.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Umm...I guess?

By the time they reached the arcade, Trace had handled coffee, doors, escalators, advertisements, and the concept of digital banking without causing a scene, which Ashlyn considered an excellent success. The arcade, however, was different. It was loud, bright, crowded, and ridiculous in a way that seemed designed specifically to overwhelm someone from the ancient world. Machines flashed with cartoon explosions. Racing cabinets shook as teenagers leaned into sharp turns. Rhythm games thumped with music. Prize machines blinked with unreachable plush toys. The room smelled like popcorn and warm electronics.

Trace stopped just inside the entrance and did not move.

Ashlyn watched him carefully.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Too much?

Trace Mercer: No.

His voice had become quiet with focus.

Trace Mercer: This is a training hall.

Lena Solis: Oh no.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Not exactly.

Trace Mercer moved forward, drawn past fighting games, shooting games, racing games, and claw machines until he found a cabinet with bright orange trim and a cartoon coffee cup mascot on the side. The title flashed across the screen in cheerful letters: Java Coffington’s Bean Blitz. Java Coffington himself appeared on screen wearing a little adventurer hat and leaping over rolling barrels of coffee beans.

Trace’s eyes narrowed with recognition.

Trace Mercer: The bean champion.

Lena Solis: I knew he’d find him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: This might be dangerous.

Trace studied the screen. The game prompted him to insert credits. Lena stepped forward, tapped a card against the payment reader, and the machine chimed happily.

Lena Solis: There. Try not to break it.

Trace Mercer: I will determine its rules first.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That’s probably a good idea.

He placed his hands on the controls. At first, he moved carefully, testing buttons, watching how the character responded. Then something clicked. His face changed. The ancient warrior was gone only in appearance, because the mind beneath had recognized patterns, hazards, timing, advantage, recovery, risk, and reward. Java Coffington leapt, dodged, rolled, climbed, and collected glowing coffee beans with ruthless precision. The cheerful mascot danced across platforms while Trace leaned slightly forward, his eyes locked on the cabinet.

A young boy nearby stopped playing his own game to watch. Then two more people drifted over. Then a teenager with a soda leaned over the neighboring cabinet and whispered that the “red jacket guy” was destroying Bean Blitz. Trace cleared the first stage. Then the second. Then the third.

Lena Solis folded her arms.

Lena Solis: He’s scary good at this.

Ashlyn smiled despite herself.

Ashlyn Westbrook: He treats everything like combat.

Lena Solis: Including cartoon coffee.

Trace’s score kept climbing. The screen flashed BONUS ROUND, and he responded with such flawless timing that the machine erupted with cheerful sound effects. He finally lost one life when Java Coffington was struck by a rolling espresso barrel, and Trace leaned closer with grave concern.

Trace Mercer: He fell...because I grew arrogant.

Lena Solis: It's alright, you have another life.

Trace Mercer: He lives again? Truly!

Ashlyn laughed softly, and for a moment, she forgot the missing weapon, the curse, Vantrex, Garrakis, and the way Dorian Vale had looked at Ray as if they had opened something far worse than a tomb. For a moment, Trace was just a man out of time discovering a ridiculous modern joy, and Ashlyn was surprised by how badly she wanted him to keep having moments like that.

That was when Dorian Vale found them.

He entered the arcade without appearing impressed by the noise, the lights, or the chaos. His dark suit looked completely out of place beside neon racing cabinets and claw machines filled with plush dragons, but Dorian carried himself with such calm authority that the place seemed to bend around him. He spotted Trace immediately, then looked to Ashlyn and Lena with a brief, polite nod.

Dorian Vale: Miss Westbrook. Miss Solis.

Ashlyn stiffened.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Dorian Vale.

Lena Solis: You can't kick us out of here. It's not a sacred relic!

Dorian Vale: He is.

Lena Solis: Ouch.

Trace did not turn around immediately. He was in the middle of what the machine called the “Molten Mocha Mines,” and his concentration remained absolute.

Dorian Vale stepped closer.

Dorian Vale: Sir Trace Mercer.

Trace Mercer: One moment.

Ashlyn glanced at Dorian, expecting offense, but Dorian only waited. Trace guided Java Coffington across collapsing platforms, collected the final golden bean, and defeated a cartoon villain who appeared to be a sentient kettle. The screen exploded into victory fireworks, and the machine announced a new high score. Trace celebrated with the kids around him and learned what a high five was.

Only then did Trace release the controls and turn.

Trace Mercer: You....you are...of the Magnus Foundation?

Dorian bowed deeply.

The gesture stunned Ashlyn. It stunned Lena too, though she hid it better. Dorian had been cool, controlled, secretive, and faintly threatening in every previous interaction. Seeing him bow to Trace with sincere reverence made the air feel suddenly heavier.

Dorian Vale: Sir Mercer, I am Dorian Vale. It is an honor to stand before the Burning Oath.

The arcade noises continued around them, absurdly cheerful against the weight of that title.

Trace Mercer: Seems like you know me.

Dorian straightened.

Dorian Vale: Within the Magnus Foundation, your legacy never died. Your sacrifice is preserved in our oldest records, and there are those among us who were raised to regard you as one of the world's greatest defenders.

Ashlyn looked at Trace. He did not seem proud. If anything, he looked uncomfortable, as if praise were a cloak that did not fit him.

Trace Mercer: I did what was required. It was my duty and my oath. I'm not a hero.

Dorian Vale: That is often what heroes say when they do not wish to be called heroes.

Lena glanced at Ashlyn.

Lena Solis: Okay, this just got weirdly formal for a place with a skee-ball machine.

Dorian’s face softened by the smallest possible amount.

Dorian Vale: I have come to inform you that the Magnus Foundation has acquired a building in Avalon City for your purposes. It is modest, secure, and outfitted for operational support. You may live there if you wish, and the Foundation will provide resources to aid your fight against Vantrex.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You bought a building overnight?

Dorian Vale: The purchase was already in motion before yesterday’s attack. The paperwork was accelerated.

Lena Solis: Of course it was. Secret foundations never have trouble with paperwork.

Trace Mercer: The Magnus Foundation...still supporting me as an ally in this age. That is a comfort.

Dorian Vale: Lord Vantrex has returned, and the ancient defenses are no longer theoretical. The Kishirangers are active again. Avalon City will fall if you fight without support, and that's just the beginning.

Trace studied him for a long moment and smiled.

Trace Mercer: Well met, comrade. Our list of allies grows, fair maidens. Please Sir Vale, lead us there.

Dorian nodded.

Dorian Vale: The others have already been contacted.

Trace glanced back toward the arcade cabinet.

Trace Mercer: The bean champion will remain here?

Lena Solis: Yes, Trace. Java Coffington will bravely hold the arcade until you return.

Trace Mercer nodded with complete seriousness.

Trace Mercer: Good...good.

Ashlyn had to turn away so he would not see her smiling.

The building Dorian had prepared sat on a street that looked too ordinary to hide anything important. It was a two-story structure. A blue delivery van sat parked in the narrow side lot, and the sign above the door read Knight Express Delivery in clean, simple letters.

Miles stood out front with Ray Matthews, both waiting with different forms of suspicion. Miles had his hands in his jacket pockets and looked delighted by the absurdity. Ray had a notebook under one arm, his glasses slipping down his nose.

Miles Rowan: Knight Express Delivery. KED Building. That’s either brilliant cover work or the least subtle thing I’ve ever seen.

Ray Matthews: I cannot decide whether I respect the acronym or hate it.

Lena Solis: You need to be more decisive.

Ray looked at Trace, as he was holding a Java Coffington keychain obtained from a gacha machine.

Ray Matthews: You went to an arcade without me?

Trace Mercer: It was a hall of tests involving the bean champion.

Miles gasped.

Miles Rowan: Java Coffington’s Bean Blitz?

Trace Mercer: You know of him?!

Miles Rowan: Know him? I held the high score at the boardwalk location for eleven months before some child named “ZAP” ruined my life.

Trace Mercer: ZAP is your rival?

Miles Rowan: Spiritually, yes.

Trace Mercer: I understand this.

Dorian opened the front door before that conversation could deepen into something dangerous.

Dorian Vale: Please come inside.

The first floor looked like a delivery business at a glance. There was a front desk, shelves with labeled boxes, a map of Avalon City with delivery zones marked in different colors, and a few clipboards arranged with almost suspicious neatness. But Dorian walked past the front counter and placed his hand against a blank section of wall near the back. A hidden panel lit beneath his palm. The wall clicked, slid aside, and revealed a reinforced stairwell leading downward and upward.

Miles Rowan: Secret wall. Nice.

Ray Matthews: Is this building up to code?

Dorian Vale: It would be an issue, but we don't require inspection.

Ray Matthews: That does not make it better.

Dorian led them upstairs first. The second floor had been converted into a living and planning space. There were bedrooms still being furnished, a kitchen, a common area, and several rooms lined with shelves, monitors, and sealed equipment cases. It was not luxurious, but it was practical, and it was clear that someone had anticipated what a team of young defenders might need if their lives had suddenly been swallowed by a mythic war.

Ashlyn moved through the common room, touching the back of a chair, looking at the city map mounted on one wall. She tried not to let herself feel relieved, but she did. Since the tomb opened, everything had felt temporary, scattered, and reactive. This building, strange as it was, gave the chaos a shape.

Dorian Vale: The front business will remain functional enough to withstand casual scrutiny. Deliveries will be handled by Foundation personnel. The upper floor can provide housing, planning space, and rest. The lower level contains the command systems and sealed equipment.

Ray Matthews: Sealed equipment?

Dorian Vale: You will be shown only what is relevant.

Ray Matthews: That is exactly the kind of sentence that makes me want to look at everything.

Lena Solis: He’s going to be a problem here.

Dorian Vale: We anticipated that.

Ray looked offended.

Ray Matthews: You anticipated me specifically? I find that hard to believe.

Dorian Vale: We anticipated that at least one of you would be unable to resist restricted places.

Miles pointed at Ray instantly.

Miles Rowan: That’s him!

Ray Matthews: That's ALL of us! That's why we're here in the first place!

They followed Dorian downstairs. The hidden lower level was far more impressive than the upper floors. It had reinforced stone and steel walls, but not cold modern sterility. There were old symbols carved into the support columns, cables running beside engraved channels, and a central table shaped like a broad shield. Screens displayed Avalon City from multiple angles, including traffic feeds, news stations, Foundation scans, and something that looked like dimensional pressure readings. At the far end of the room, five pedestals stood beneath a carved crest of a lion with wings spread behind it.

On those pedestals rested five ancient devices.

Each one was about the size of a compact communicator, built from dark metal, gold filigree, and a central gem. They looked old enough to belong in a museum and advanced enough to belong on a starship. Each device bore a place for a color-coded gem, though only one of them, the red one, pulsed with the light of its gem.

Trace stopped so abruptly that Ashlyn nearly bumped into him.

Trace Mercer: Oathlink Relics. You found them all.

Dorian inclined his head.

Dorian Vale: That is the Foundation’s translation as well. We were not certain if the name had remained accurate.

Trace approached the red device with unusual care. When he lifted it, the gem glowed brighter, and a low hum passed through the room. He turned it in his hand, and something in his expression softened with recognition.

Trace Mercer: Praise the Heavens. Mine survived intact.

Ashlyn stepped closer.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You had one of these?

Trace Mercer: We...we all did. They were given to the original knights during the war against Vantrex. They allowed us to speak across distance, coordinate movements, and call upon the Stahlritter when the summoning gems were present.

Miles leaned toward Ray.

Miles Rowan: Magic cellphones.

Ray Matthews: Ancient tactical communication devices.

Trace looked down at the red gem in the center of his relic.

Trace Mercer: This explains why I was able to summon Krieger. The summoning gem remains in place.

Dorian Vale: Correct. Krieger’s gem is the only one recovered with its Oathlink Relic intact. The other four relics remain functional for communication and team-link purposes, but their Stahlritter summoning gems were lost in the final battle.

Lena picked up the yellow device. It glowed faintly in her hand.

Lena Solis: It feels warm.

Ray lifted the blue one, and the screen nearest him flickered as if responding to his presence.

Ray Matthews: This is not simply magical. There is a structured interface. There are signal pathways, resonance channels, maybe even adaptive energy processing. More advanced technology from ancient times. Completely shatters what we know about our past. I need to process this historic discovery.

Miles picked up the green one and immediately held it like a walkie-talkie.

Miles Rowan: Green Ranger to secret base, requesting snacks.

Dorian Vale: Please do not misuse sacred relics in the first five minutes.

Miles Rowan: Oh...sorry.

Ashlyn hesitated before taking the black one. The moment her fingers closed around it, it glowed with a deep, lustrous light that felt different from the others. She felt it in the same place where she felt the absence of her weapon. There was an answer inside the relic, but it did not speak yet.

Trace noticed her expression.

Trace Mercer: My lady?

Ashlyn looked up quickly.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’m fine.

Lena gave her a look that clearly said she was not buying that, but she let it go for the moment.

Dorian stepped to the central table, and a projection formed above it, showing five lines of light connecting to one another in a pentagonal pattern.

Dorian Vale: The Oathlink Relics are more than communication devices. They were designed to connect the Kishirangers not merely in speech, but in spirit, combat rhythm, and power output. When the team fights as individuals, each member draws upon their own oath. When the team bonds, trusts, and acts as one, the relics amplify that connection and allow power to pass between members.

Ray Matthews: So emotional synchronization has measurable battlefield impact.

Dorian Vale: Yes.

Miles Rowan: Friendship is a stat boost.

Ray Matthews: That is a terrible way to phrase it.

Lena Solis: It is also accurate.

Dorian Vale: The stronger your bonds become, the stronger the Kishiranger system becomes. Under ideal conditions, the Oathlink Relics allow you to fight beyond normal limits, share defensive strength, reinforce transformations, and eventually channel individual powers through the Stahlritter.

Trace nodded slowly.

Trace Mercer: That was how the old armies endured battles that should have destroyed them. The Oathlink did not erase fear, pain, or doubt, but it allowed warriors to carry one another through them.

Ashlyn looked at him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You said the other summoning gems were lost.

Trace Mercer: Yes. The final battle scattered them. I remember flashes of it. Fire, rain, broken ground, Vantrex’s curse spreading faster than we could contain it. The Stahlritter fought until their gems were separated from their relics, and without those gems, they could not be called again.

Dorian touched a control on the table, and a map of Avalon City and the surrounding region appeared. Several marked zones glowed across the outskirts, the mountains, old tunnels, and places where historical records overlapped with strange energy readings.

Dorian Vale: The Magnus Foundation has found evidence that the remaining summoning gems survived. We have not recovered them yet, but we are actively searching.

Miles Rowan: So eventually we all get giant robots.

Ray Matthews: Stahlritter.

Miles Rowan: Giant robots.

Trace Mercer: Steel Knights.

Miles Rowan: Giant...robots.

Lena Solis: He’s going to keep doing this until someone gives up.

Dorian looked at Miles as if he had already decided not to engage.

Dorian Vale: Recovering the gems is now a priority, but it must not distract from immediate defense. Vantrex will continue sending Worzol beasts, Dreadlings, and his generals. Each battle will force the Oath Bucklers and Oathlink Relics to adapt.

Ray Matthews: Adapt how?

Dorian’s expression grew more serious.

Dorian Vale: You will become stronger. You may unlock new abilities, stronger weapon forms, improved armor functions, and deeper access to the old system. That growth is necessary, but it carries risk.

Trace’s face tightened.

Ashlyn saw it again. That same discomfort from earlier. Not surprise. Recognition.

Dorian Vale: The Worzol Dimension is a realm corrupted by Vantrex’s dark power. Its beasts are not merely monsters. They are living conduits of hunger, rage, fear, and domination. When you fight them, your powers will respond. As you overcome them, the Oathlink may draw strength from the conflict. But darkness is seductive when it wears the mask of strength. The more power you gain, the easier it becomes to justify using it carelessly.

Lena Solis: You’re saying the powers can corrupt us?

Dorian Vale: I am saying power does not corrupt by itself. It reveals weakness, tempts pride, and rewards shortcuts.

Ray Matthews: That is not comforting.

Dorian Vale: It was not intended to be.

Ashlyn watched Trace, whose hand had closed around the red relic so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace, I'm willing to bet you know a lot about this.

Trace did not answer immediately.

Trace Mercer: I know that in war, darkness rarely arrives as darkness. It arrives as necessity. It tells you that one more compromise will save lives. It tells you that anger is clarity. It tells you mercy is weakness.

The room went quiet.

Trace Mercer: Sometimes it is easy to believe...for some...it was all they believed in the end.

Before anyone could ask him to elaborate, every screen in the lower level flashed red.

A sharp alarm cut through the room.

Dorian turned to the main display. Avalon City appeared from several traffic cameras, and the image stabilized on a broad commercial district near the river. People were running. Dreadlings poured from a green-edged portal in the middle of the street, their twisted bodies scattering civilians as a young man in black, jagged armor crouched on top of a traffic light with one hand draped lazily over his knee.

His hair was dark with streaks of violet, his grin was sharp, and his eyes burned with feral amusement. He looked too fast even when standing still.

Trace Mercer: Vire the Swift.

Miles Rowan: He looks like fun.

Lena Solis: He looks like a jerk!

On the screen, Vire lifted his hand and waved toward a camera as if he knew exactly where they were watching from.

Vire the Swift: Come on out, oath-bearers. Garrakis had his turn, and he is painfully boring! Let's have a good time!

A Worzol monster crawled from the portal behind him. This one was leaner than the last, with long blade-like forearms, a body covered in dark flexible plates, and a head that split open horizontally to reveal a glowing throat.

Trace set the red Oathlink Relic into a slot on his belt, where it locked into place with a burst of light.

Trace Mercer: Kishirangers, move.

The team ran.

The KED Building’s side garage opened onto a narrow alley where Foundation-prepared motorcycles waited. Miles made an approving sound so loud that Ray nearly tripped.

Miles Rowan: Oh, they got us bikes!

Ray Matthews: I have not agreed to ride one.

Lena Solis: Then hold on to someone who has.

Ray Matthews: I beg your pardon!

Trace mounted his motorcycle with the confidence of a knight taking the reins of a warhorse. Ashlyn swung onto another beside him, and their eyes met for a second longer than necessary before Ashlyn realized something.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Wait...you can't ride a motorcycle!

Trace Mercer: I don't even know what this is.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What were you planning to do here?

Trace Mercer: ...Copy what you were doing?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Hop onto my bike!

Trace Mercer: ...My lady, that would require holding onto-

Ashlyn Westbrook: We don't have time!

Trace Mercer: ...You're absolutely right.

Trace awkwardly sat on the seat behind Ashlyn, and put his hands on her shoulders after considering wrapping around her waist. They tore out into the city.

The attack zone had become chaos by the time they arrived. Dreadlings swarmed the street, slashing at cars, overturning vendor carts, and chasing civilians into storefronts. Vire leapt from the traffic light to the side of a building, then kicked off it and landed on a bus shelter without bending his knees. The Worzol monster moved beneath him, cutting through street signs with casual swipes of its blade-arms.

The team skidded to a stop. Trace was quick to leap off Ashlyn's bike.

Trace Mercer: Protect the civilians first. Then we take the monster.

Ray Matthews: Affirmative.

Miles Rowan: That’s what we do now!

They raised their Oath Bucklers.

Trace Mercer: Oath forged.

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn.

Miles Rowan: Wild heart awakened.

Lena Solis: Truth shone.

All Five: Kishiranger, arise!

Transformation light flared across the street, and the five heroes charged into battle. Red struck first, Oathrender flashing as Trace cut through a cluster of Dreadlings and drove them away from a group of trapped pedestrians. Blue followed with precise strikes, using his weapon to disarm two Dreadlings before slamming them backward with a burst of blue energy. Green moved with quick, unpredictable footwork, launching himself off a taxi hood and striking three enemies in a spinning arc. Yellow kept near the civilians, her weapon sweeping in controlled defensive motions that created space for people to escape. Black fought near the center, armor gleaming as Ashlyn moved with disciplined aggression, still without a manifested weapon but no less determined.

Vire watched them, grinning wider.

Vire the Swift: Not bad. Not great, but not bad.

Miles Rowan: I already hate him.

Vire vanished from the bus shelter and appeared in front of Green so quickly that Miles barely got his arm up in time. Vire’s blade sparked against Miles’ spear.

Vire the Swift: Keep your eyes on the enemy!

Miles Rowan: I’m willing to multitask.

Vire laughed and disappeared again, leaving Miles swinging at empty air.

The Worzol monster lunged at Black, its blade-arms crossing in a scissor motion. Ashlyn ducked under one and rolled past the other, but the creature twisted midair and lashed at her with its tail. She blocked with her forearm, skidding backward. Trace moved to intercept, but Ashlyn raised a hand.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’ve got it.

Trace hesitated, then nodded and turned back to the Dreadlings.

Ashlyn took a breath, feeling the Oathlink Relic at her side pulse. The resonance answered her heartbeat. The monster charged again. Ashlyn stepped forward instead of back, slipped between the blade-arms, and slammed both palms into the creature’s chest, red energy came out as a wave that staggered the monster and cracked its armor plates.

Lena saw it happen.

Lena Solis: Ashlyn, you linked with Trace!

Ashlyn Westbrook: I noticed.

Ray moved beside her, bringing his shield up.

Ray Matthews: Can you do it again?

Ashlyn Westbrook: I have no idea.

The monster shrieked and attacked again. Ray held up his shield, Ashlyn pushed blue energy through it, and the combined force knocked the creature across the street into the side of a parked truck. The impact dented the vehicle deeply.

Trace turned his head.

Trace Mercer: Good. The Oathlink is already responding.

Vire landed atop the truck, crouched above the fallen monster, and tapped the creature’s head with one finger.

Vire the Swift: Up. You are embarrassing me.

The monster snapped upright.

Trace raised Oathrender.

Trace Mercer: Together.

The five regrouped around him. Their weapons and armor glowed as they channeled power into Oathrender. Ashlyn’s black energy flickered at first, but then the Oathlink Relic pulsed, and the energy steadied, flowing smoothly into the blade with the others. The sword burned with fivefold power.

Trace Mercer: Oathrender Final Vow!

They struck as one. The blast slammed into the Worzol monster, tearing through its armor and sending it crashing into the street. The creature let out a final shriek and collapsed into smoking darkness.

Miles lowered his weapon.

Miles Rowan: Please tell me nobody is going to snap.

Vire smiled.

Vire the Swift: I was absolutely going to snap, but now I feel judged. Oh well!

He snapped his fingers anyway.

Dark energy struck the monster’s remains. The creature reformed violently, growing upward as its limbs stretched and its blade-arms became massive scythes. Buildings reflected its expanding shadow, and civilians screamed as the giant Worzol beast towered over the district.

Ray Matthews: I am beginning to resent the snapping.

Lena Solis: Same.

Trace stepped forward.

Trace Mercer: Krieger, Burning Stahlritter, awaken and ride to war!

The clouds above Avalon split with red-gold fire. Krieger descended in a controlled blaze, landing beyond the intersection with a force that shook the street but avoided crushing the buildings around it. Trace vanished into the cockpit as the giant knight’s eyes flared.

Inside Krieger, the red Oathlink Relic glowed on the command pedestal.

Trace Mercer: Krieger, stand with me.

Krieger drew its blade and charged. The giant Worzol monster swung both scythe-arms, forcing Krieger to block and step back. Sparks showered over the street. The monster was faster than the previous beast, darting around Krieger’s side and slashing at its armor before leaping away. Vire watched from a rooftop, delighted.

Vire the Swift: Faster, faster, faster. Make the old knight dizzy!

Krieger turned and struck, but the monster twisted around the blow and landed a slash across Krieger’s shoulder. Trace grimaced as the cockpit shook.

On the ground, Ashlyn watched the fight with growing tension. The black Oathlink Relic pulsed again.

Trace’s voice came through the relics.

Trace Mercer: My lady, listen to me.

Ashlyn touched the device.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’m listening.

Trace Mercer: Channel your power through the Oathlink Relic. Do not force it into a weapon. Let it flow into Krieger.

Ashlyn looked up at the giant mech.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What will that do?

Trace Mercer: Trust me and witness what you can do.

Lena Solis: Go for it, Ashlyn!

Ashlyn closed her eyes and focused. She felt the relic respond. Black light surged from her relic, rising in a stream toward Krieger. It struck the giant knight’s chest, and the mech’s red armor gained black accents that shimmered like polished obsidian. Krieger’s blade changed too, its fiery edge narrowing into a cleaner, brighter line, glowing with a pale, lustrous aura.

Trace felt the power enter the system.

Trace Mercer: That's the Black Knight’s power...feels familiar...I miss you, old friend.

The giant Worzol monster lunged again, faster than before. Krieger did not try to overpower it. Instead, guided by Ashlyn’s energy, Trace waited until the last moment and turned the blade in a graceful arc. The monster’s attack passed by harmlessly, and Krieger stepped inside its guard.

Trace Mercer: Lustrous Slash!

Krieger’s sword flashed with black-white brilliance. The strike passed through the monster in one clean motion, leaving a bright line across its body. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the monster split apart into fading dark energy, which dissolved before it could touch the city below.

Vire stood on the rooftop, his grin finally fading.

Vire the Swift: Fun...so much fun!

Trace turned Krieger’s head toward him.

Vire raised both hands playfully.

Vire the Swift: Another time, Burning Oath!

He vanished in a flicker of green-black speed.

Krieger stood tall as the danger passed. Then it took off once again, and Trace returned to the street beside the others. Ashlyn staggered slightly as the channeling ended, but Lena caught her arm.

Lena Solis: You okay?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Yeah. I think so.

Trace approached her.

Trace Mercer: You did well.

Ashlyn looked up at him, trying not to show how much that mattered.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I still don’t have a weapon. Why?

Trace Mercer: ...Ask me again another time. Please.

That answer did not solve the mystery, but it gave Ashlyn something else to hold onto.

Later, back at the KED Building, the mood had lightened despite the unanswered questions. Ray had already started writing notes about the Oathlink Relics, Lena was pouring over the schematics to Krieger, and Miles was trying to convince Dorian that a secret base needed a snack wall for morale.

Trace stood near the common room table with a modern cellphone in one hand and his Oathlink Relic in the other.

Trace Mercer: This device sends words, voices, and images across distance.

Ray Matthews: Yes.

Trace lifted the Oathlink.

Trace Mercer: This device sends words, voices, power, battlefield commands, and summons ancient steel knights.

Miles Rowan: Also yes.

Trace looked between them.

Trace Mercer: Then why is everyone impressed by the smaller one?

Lena Solis burst out laughing.

Lena Solis: Because the smaller one can order pizza and it's got a mobile version of Bean Blitz!

Trace considered that.

Trace Mercer: Truly powerful.

Ashlyn smiled.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You already had a magic phone the whole time.

Trace looked down at the Oathlink, then at the cellphone, as if comparing two rival schools of sorcery.

Trace Mercer: This era is strange.

Miles Rowan: You'll love it.

Trace did not deny it.

A knock came at the front door. Everyone turned. Dorian checked the security feed, then paused. On the screen stood a promotional Java Coffington mascot from the coffee shop down the street, waving cheerfully with a stack of coupons in one padded hand.

Trace stepped toward the stairs immediately.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace, wait.

Trace Mercer: The bean champion has come to our fortress!

Lena Solis: Oh, I am absolutely watching this.

Trace opened the front door and stood face-to-face with Java Coffington. The mascot waved.

Trace studied him with grave respect.

Trace Mercer: You fight well, champion of beans.

The person inside the costume slowly offered him a coupon.

Trace accepted it as if receiving a royal decree.

Trace Mercer: Your terms are acceptable.

Ashlyn covered her mouth, laughing. Lena leaned against the wall, completely gone. Miles whispered that this was the best team base opening ceremony possible. Ray looked into the middle distance like a man realizing this was his life now.

Trace turned back to them, holding up the coupon.

Trace Mercer: It offers victory through....discounted beverages!

The laughter filled the KED Building, and for a brief moment, the war waiting outside felt far away.

But deep beneath the city, where old magic stirred and lost gems slept in hidden places, something answered the pulse of the Oathlink Relics.

And somewhere beyond the veil of Avalon, Vantrex felt it too.

To Be Continued...

Machismo · 5/02/2026 4:37 am

Episode 4: Oath and Echo

The lower level of the Knight Express Delivery building carried a different kind of silence in the early hours of the morning, one that was layered with the quiet hum of systems running continuously beneath the surface. The reinforced stone columns rose up alongside panels of integrated technology, cables feeding into terminals that displayed the city in overlapping streams of data, and the faint glow of screens reflected across the polished surface of the shield-shaped command table at the center of the room. It was a place built for preparation, for observation, for war, and Ray Matthews stood alone in the middle of it, staring at Avalon City.

He had been awake for hours, long before anyone else had made their way from the University campus, and he had tried to convince himself that he was there to learn, to understand, to make sense of the information that the Magnus Foundation had placed at their disposal. He had cycled through traffic feeds, and even paused to analyze the grainy footage of the previous day’s battle that had already begun circulating through unofficial channels. None of it had helped. None of it had made things clearer. If anything, the more he looked, the more it confirmed that nothing about what had happened could be explained in a way that fit into the world he had understood just days ago.

Ray leaned forward slightly, bracing his hands against the edge of the table as he watched a live feed of a downtown intersection where the cleanup crews were still working. Barricades had been set up, police were directing traffic around damaged sections of the street, and a reporter stood just outside the cordoned area, speaking animatedly about “unidentified phenomena” and “heroic intervention.” Ray stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary before he let out a slow breath and pushed himself upright.

Ray Matthews: Unidentified phenomena. That’s one way to put it. I know better though. I wish I didn't.

He adjusted his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he turned away from the screens and toward the far end of the room, where the five pedestals stood beneath the carved crest of the winged lion. The Oathlink Relics had rested there. Ray grabbed his relic from his belt and flipped it open. It was an elaborate system for a time he believed was nothing but antiquity. It changed everything, including the way he saw the world, and the ordered system he had created for himself.

Ray Matthews: I just had to be curious.

He folded his arms, looking down at the pedestal where a blue relic had been resting.

Ray Matthews: Ray Matthews, the busy body know it all, who unleashed a curse because he couldn't help himself. The one time I decided to bust out of the lab. The one time I thought I was actually doing something incredible. I did nothing but harm!

He shook his head almost immediately, as though rejecting the thought even as it formed.

Ray Matthews: No. That’s not entirely right.

He took a step closer, his expression tightening as he forced himself to confront what was actually bothering him.

Ray Matthews: I was there. I didn’t sit back. I didn’t run. I fought. I did fight.

The memory of it hit him harder than he expected, the weight of the weapon in his hands, the impact of the blows, the moment where fear had tried to take over and he had pushed through it anyway.

Ray Matthews: That counts for something.

He let the silence sit for a moment, his eyes still locked on the empty pedestal.

Ray Matthews: That counts.

He turned on his heel and headed toward the stairs, his pace quickening as the decision settled into place.

Ray Matthews: I need to get to work, and not wait around. I need to find it.

Upstairs, the atmosphere carried a very different energy, though the tension of the previous day had not fully left the room. The kitchen area had become a loose gathering point, with Miles Rowan seated at the table, leaning back in his chair trying not to fall backwards, while Lena Solis sat across from him, one leg crossed over the other as she scrolled through her phone with a faintly amused expression. Ashlyn Westbrook stood near the counter, arms crossed, her attention split between the two of them and the ancient book she snagged from the shelf.

Miles balanced a spoon precariously on the edge of a mug, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

Lena Solis: You’ve been doing that for ten minutes.

Miles Rowan: It helps me think.

Lena Solis: You don't tend to think too hard from what I've seen.

Miles Rowan: It’s about the principle.

Ashlyn let out a quiet breath through her nose, though there was a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What principle?

Miles Rowan: That I refuse to be defeated by basic logic.

The spoon tipped and clattered onto the table.

Miles stared at it for a moment.

Miles Rowan: It's the mug. It's faulty.

Lena shook her head, finally setting her phone down. While Ashlyn pushed off the counter, walking over to the table.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We should be focusing.

Miles looked up at her.

Miles Rowan: On what, exactly? We’re in a hidden base, we’ve got relics, we’ve got a guy from the past, and as far as I can tell, nothing is actively trying to kill us at this exact moment. I feel like we’re allowed a break.

Lena tilted her head slightly.

Lena Solis: He’s not wrong.

Ashlyn opened her mouth to respond, but her attention shifted across the room instead.

Trace Mercer stood near the window, his posture straight, his gaze fixed on the city beyond the glass, but there was something distant about him that made it clear he was not actually seeing what was in front of him. The reflection staring back at him was present, but the man himself seemed somewhere else entirely.

Ashlyn’s expression softened as she stepped away from the table and approached him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’ve been doing that a lot.

Trace did not respond immediately.

Ashlyn Westbrook: The staring thing.

Trace exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the glass for just a moment before fading.

Trace Mercer: I am just...remembering.

Ashlyn stepped closer, her voice quieter now.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Can I ask? What are you remembering?

There was a pause, not uncertain, but deliberate.

Trace Mercer: How this began. How I got...here...so far from home.

In Trace's mind, the clean lines of Avalon City gave way to stone and fire, the hum of electricity replaced by the distant roar of battle and the crackle of flames that burned across a kingdom under siege. The sky was thick with smoke, choked with ash that drifted slowly downward like blackened snow, and the ground beneath Trace’s feet felt uneven, broken by the weight of conflict that had already claimed too many lives.

He stood there again, his armor damaged, his breath uneven as he struggled to stay upright. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, not just physically, but in the way that only a battlefield could.

At the center of the devastation stood Vantrex, his mere presence alone enough to silence the chaos around him.

Between them lay the fallen Red Knight, his armor cracked, his body unmoving, Oathrender resting just beyond his reach.

Trace stumbled forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him as he dropped to one knee beside the fallen figure.

Trace Mercer: N-no. NO! Master! Get up!

There was no response. The silence was absolute.

Vantrex turned slowly, his gaze settling on Trace with a faint, almost curious interest.

Lord Vantrex: Another "champion" falls.

Trace’s eyes shifted to the sword.

Then back to the fallen knight.

Then back again.

Fear was there. Doubt was there. But something else pushed through it.

Resolve.

Trace moved quickly. He lunged. His hand closed around Oathrender. And the moment it did, the blade ignited.

The moment Trace Mercer’s hand closed around Oathrender in the memory, the battlefield seemed to hold its breath. The blade reacted strongly, possibly more so than it had for its actual owner. It awakened as if it had been waiting for him, as if the oath inside the ancient sword had heard something in Trace’s heart that even Trace himself had not yet understood. Crimson light traveled from the hilt into the runes etched along the blade, burning brighter with each pulse, and that light spread up his arm, across the battered plates of his armor, and into his chest like a second heartbeat.

Trace Mercer had been afraid. He would have admitted that much, even years later, because only a fool stood before Lord Vantrex and felt nothing. He had watched knights greater than himself fall. He had watched the rightful wielder of Oathrender, his master and commander, collapse beneath Vantrex’s strike. He had seen a battlefield full of courage fail to stop one dark lord’s advance. Fear had filled him so completely that for a moment he had barely been able to breathe.

But fear was not the same as surrender.

He forced himself upright, gripping Oathrender with both hands while the blade’s light steadied. Vantrex’s armored head tilted slightly, the motion slow and measured, as if Trace had finally become interesting enough to study.

Lord Vantrex: The sword answers you? But you're merely a child.

Trace Mercer: Then maybe it knows something you don’t!

The words came out rougher than he intended, carried by exhaustion and grief more than confidence, but they were enough. The soldiers still standing nearby turned toward him. Those who had fallen to one knee lifted their heads. The battlefield became hopeful all at once, A young warrior had taken up Oathrender, and it had not rejected him.

Vantrex stepped forward, his black armor grinding faintly with the motion.

Lord Vantrex: Worth is not proven by holding a relic.

Trace raised the blade.

Trace Mercer: Then I’ll prove it another way!

Vantrex struck first. His dark sword came down with a force that split the ground where Trace had been standing, but Trace moved with desperate instinct. Oathrender dragged him into motion as much as he guided it, the weapon pulling his stance into alignment, correcting his grip with pulses of heat through his hands. Vantrex turned the missed strike into a sweeping backhand slash, and Trace barely caught it, the impact driving him backward through the mud.

Pain shot through his arms. His knees bent. His breath left him in a sharp gasp. Vantrex pressed down, the dark blade grinding against Oathrender’s burning edge.

Lord Vantrex: You are not him. You're not your master, and even he couldn't touch me.

Trace looked past Vantrex for one heartbeat, toward the fallen Red Knight, toward the army breaking behind him, toward the torn banners of Avalon sinking into the mud.

Trace Mercer: No.

He shifted his weight, stepped inside the pressure, and let Oathrender flare.

Trace Mercer: I'm not him...but I'm still here. I'm still standing!

He twisted the blade upward, breaking the lock, then lunged. Vantrex moved to deflect him, but Trace did not aim for the kill. He aimed for the opening his master had created before falling, the thin crack in Vantrex’s breastplate where one earlier strike had scorched the black metal. Oathrender struck that exact point with a burst of crimson light, and this time the blade bit through.

Vantrex recoiled. Dark blood smoked against the edge of Oathrender.

The battlefield saw it. For the first time...Lord Vantrex had been hurt.

A shout rose somewhere behind Trace. Then another. A shield slammed against a sword. A soldier screamed Avalon’s name with renewed strength, and the line that had been ready to collapse began to push forward again.

Vantrex looked down at the wound, then back at Trace, and for the first time, there was no amusement in him.

Lord Vantrex: You will remember this mistake, Boy!

Trace Mercer: I intend to make many more before I'm done with you.

Vantrex swung his arm, and a wave of dark force blasted Trace backward. He struck the ground hard enough to lose his grip on Oathrender, but the sword did not fly far. Trace tried to rise, failed once, then pushed himself to one knee.

By then, the rest of Avalon’s defenders had surged forward, dragging Vantrex’s attention away. Trace’s master was gone, but the sword had answered. The battle had not been won that day, not fully, but the line had held long enough for Avalon to survive.

The memory turned, carrying Trace away from the mud and blood of the battlefield and into the grand hall of Avalon’s royal keep days later. The hall had been cleaned for ceremony, but no amount of polish could erase the cost that had brought them there. Banners hung from the rafters, some restored, some still singed at the edges. Knights stood along the walls, many wounded, many wearing armor that had been repaired in haste. The King of Avalon waited at the far end of the hall, not upon his throne, but standing before it.

Trace knelt before him with Oathrender held across both palms.

His hands trembled slightly, though not from fear of the king. They trembled because the weight of the sword still felt impossible. It had belonged to someone else. Someone better. Someone prepared. Trace had only been the one foolish enough, desperate enough, or stubborn enough to pick it up.

The King studied him for a long moment.

King of Avalon: Your master carried Oathrender with honor.

Trace lowered his head.

Trace Mercer: Yes, my king.

King of Avalon: He was chosen by trial, by lineage, by discipline, and by the judgment of the Sacred Round. No one questioned his right to lead the Kishiranger into battle.

Trace swallowed.

King of Avalon: And yet when he fell, the sword did not remain silent.

The hall was completely still.

King of Avalon: It answered you.

Trace Mercer: I do not know why.

King of Avalon: That is why you are worth hearing.

Trace looked up, confused.

King of Avalon: The arrogant believe every honor belongs to them before it is given. The unworthy seize power and call it proof. But you, Trace Mercer, took up the blade because someone had to stand between Avalon and darkness. You did not reach for glory. You reached because surrender was not in you.

The King stepped closer.

King of Avalon: That is an oath you took before words were even spoken.

Trace’s eyes shifted to the sword.

Trace Mercer: I only did what my master would have done.

King of Avalon: No. You did what you would do. Do not dishonor your courage by pretending it belonged to another man.

The King drew his ceremonial sword and touched it lightly to Trace’s shoulder.

King of Avalon: Rise, Sir Trace Mercer, rightful bearer of Oathrender, Red Kishiranger of Avalon, and commander of the Oathbound Knights.

Trace stood slowly. The hall erupted in wild celebration. He turned, and the memory carried his gaze across the first team he had been chosen to lead.

The Blue Kishiranger stood with her helm beneath one arm, calm-eyed and steady, a strategist with the patience of stone. The Green Kishiranger smiled at him with the restless confidence of someone who treated danger as an invitation. The Yellow Kishiranger stood with hands folded over the hilt of his weapon, fierce and composed. Trace’s eyes moved from one to the next, trying to understand how he could ever deserve their trust.

Then his gaze drifted toward the final place in the formation. He drifted to the Black Kishiranger, and suddenly snapped out of it.

Trace woke back into the present with a sharp breath, one hand braced against the window of the KED Building’s common room. Ashlyn Westbrook stood beside him, concern clear on her face. Lena Solis had risen from the table, and Miles Rowan’s humor had vanished, replaced by genuine worry.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace?

Trace looked at them, then down at his own hand as if surprised to find it empty of Oathrender.

Trace Mercer: I-I was remembering the day I became Red Kishiranger.

Lena Solis: That sounds like the kind of memory that does not exactly leave you feeling refreshed.

Trace’s mouth tightened into something that was almost a smile but did not quite make it.

Trace Mercer: No. It does not.

Miles Rowan stepped closer, careful in a way he rarely was.

Miles Rowan: Was it bad?

Trace looked out over Avalon City again. The skyline was modern, bright, and alive, but in his eyes it briefly overlapped with towers of stone, burning banners, and the shadow of Vantrex standing untouched amid the fallen.

Trace Mercer: It was the day I learned courage could feel exactly like fear. It was bad.

Ashlyn absorbed that quietly.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You murmured something about the Black Knight under your breath.

Trace’s expression darkened.

Trace Mercer: I did? I was remembering my party, and our quest. I remember Blue, Green, and Yellow. I remember their voices, their skill, their loyalty. But when I remember the Black Kishiranger....

Lena Solis: What?

Trace shook his head.

Trace Mercer: Not something I'd like to get into right now.

The room fell quiet.

Ashlyn looked down at her own hands, then toward the Oathlink Relic clipped at her belt. It gave off a faint, steady glow, but it still felt like a closed door. She did not have a weapon. Krieger had heard her through the relic, but her own power had not fully answered. Now Trace was keeping quiet about the original Black Kishiranger.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Is it because of me?

Trace turned toward her immediately.

Trace Mercer: No. Not at all, my lady. Not at all. It's just...complex.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That is not as comforting as I hoped.

Trace’s voice softened.

Trace Mercer: I don't wish to lie to you, even to comfort you. The story of the Kishi Black...is not a happy one...but that's not you.

Ashlyn met his eyes, and despite the worry rising in her chest, she found herself appreciating that more than she wanted to admit.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Good. I would hate it if you lied to me, even to make me feel better.

Before the conversation could continue, Ray Matthews entered from the stairwell at a hurried pace, messenger bag over his shoulder, hair slightly disheveled, and a look on his face that mixed urgency, excitement, and the dawning realization that his day had already escaped his control.

Miles Rowan: Ray, you look like you either solved something or angered a librarian.

Ray Matthews: Both are possible in my life, but not today.

Lena Solis: Where were you?

Ray hesitated, then lifted his hand. In his palm rested a blue gem, small enough to fit between his fingers, but glowing with unmistakable ancient power. The light inside it pulsed like a contained storm.

Trace’s eyes widened.

Trace Mercer: A summoning gem?!

Ashlyn stepped closer.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Ray, where did you get that?

Ray Matthews: A shop in the south commercial district. It was behind glass with a bunch of estate items and old jewelry. The owner said it came from a private collection that had been sitting in storage for decades. I was following the path of possible locations given to us by the Magnus Foundation. I felt it, in my chest. I felt that I was close. This thing...this Oathlink....let me know.

Miles Rowan: That is extremely destiny-coded.

Ray Matthews: I don't know what that means, but I know that the gems are still in Avalon City, at least this one was. They can be found, and we really need to focus on finding them!

Lena Solis: Did you buy it?

Ray shifted awkwardly.

Ray Matthews: I may have panicked and paid more than I should have.

Miles Rowan: You bought your giant robot gem retail?

Ray Matthews: I did not know what else to do. I was not going to steal it.

Trace stepped forward and held out a hand, not to take the gem, but to feel the energy radiating from it.

Trace Mercer: Hector. Hello, old friend.

Ray’s expression changed.

Ray Matthews: That’s the name?

Trace nodded slowly.

Trace Mercer: Hector, the Azure Bastion. The Blue Stahlritter. A fortress of a knight, a guardian built to break sieges and shield armies.

Ray looked down at the gem again, his earlier nervousness giving way to something quieter.

Ray Matthews: A shield.

Trace Mercer: A shield that can strike back.

Miles Rowan: That feels very you, Ray.

Ray looked up.

Ray Matthews: Does it?

Lena Solis: Yes.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Completely.

Ray blinked, clearly caught off guard by how quickly they agreed.

Ray Matthews: I thought I was just the anxious one.

Miles Rowan: You are the anxious one. But you are also the one who makes sure we do not all run directly into disaster without at least naming the disaster first.

Lena Solis: You took the initiative to go find your gem. You're psychotically pragmatic, but you know what you're doing.

Ray stared at her.

Ray Matthews: That may be the strangest compliment I have ever received.

Lena Solis: Take it or leave it.

Ray looked back at the gem, and for the first time that day, his expression settled into something resembling acceptance.

Ray Matthews: I’ll take it.

The lower level alarms sounded before anyone could say more.

The sharp tone cut through the building, and the screens upstairs flashed with a red warning. Dorian Vale’s voice came through the speakers from the command room below, controlled but urgent.

Dorian Vale: Kishirangers, report to the lower level immediately.

The five moved at once. Trace led the way down the stairs, with Ashlyn close behind him, Ray still gripping the blue gem tightly, Miles bounding after them with restless energy, and Lena bringing up the rear with a focused expression. By the time they reached the command room, the central table had already projected a live map of Avalon City.

Dorian stood at the controls, silver hair neat as ever, cane hooked over one arm while his hands moved across the interface with practiced efficiency. Several screens displayed a district near the eastern riverwalk, where people were already fleeing from a spreading distortion in the air.

Dorian Vale: Dimensional breach near the Eastbank Market district. Several Dreadlings have emerged, and there is a Worzol beast forming inside the breach.

Miles Rowan: Of course there is.

Trace Mercer: Who is accompanying the Worzol beast?

Dorian changed the feed. The image sharpened to show a woman standing calmly atop a raised plaza fountain while chaos spread around her. Her armor was sleek and layered, black and violet with silver edges that curved like crescent blades. A long mantle drifted behind her even without wind, and faint symbols circled her hands like rings of smoke. She was beautiful in a cold, dangerous way, but there was nothing soft in her expression. Her eyes glowed pale lavender, and a staff of twisted black metal floated beside her rather than resting in her hand.

Dorian Vale: The old records seem to indicate she is Malvora, Witch of the Worzol Veil.

Trace’s posture stiffened.

Trace Mercer: She is. Your old records are correct. Vantrex’s sorceress.

Ray Matthews: Witch. As in actual witch.

Dorian Vale: Yes.

Ray Matthews: I was afraid that was going to be the answer.

On the screen, Malvora lifted one hand, and Dreadlings poured from the breach in greater numbers, dragging a hunched monster behind them by chains made of green light. The creature was stocky and powerful. Its body was wrapped in thick layers of dark plated hide, its arms were heavy and knotted with muscle, and its head carried a crown of jagged bone-like protrusions. Its chest glowed from within, as if something molten and sickly lived behind its ribs.

Malvora smiled faintly as civilians screamed and scattered.

Malvora: Run, little lights. Fear makes the veil easier to tear.

Ashlyn watched the feed, jaw tightening.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We need to move.

Trace nodded.

Trace Mercer: Ray Matthews, bring the gem.

Ray looked at him.

Ray Matthews: You think I can use it already?

Trace Mercer: I think Hector chose to be found today.

Ray closed his fist around the gem.

Ray Matthews: That is not a technical answer.

Trace Mercer: It is the only one I have.

Ray swallowed, then nodded.

Ray Matthews: Alright. Alright...it'll be good enough. Let's go!

They ran for the garage. The KED Building’s side doors opened automatically, revealing the Foundation-prepared motorcycles waiting in a neat row. Miles swung onto his first, grinning despite the danger.

Miles Rowan: I love this thing.

Lena Solis: But does it love you?

Miles Rowan: I did polish it.

Ashlyn mounted her bike, glancing toward Ray as he tucked the gem into the secure compartment beside his Oath Buckler.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You okay?

Ray Matthews: Weirdly, I am better than expected.

Trace sat behind Ashlyn again awkwardly.

Trace Mercer: I need to learn how to ride the metal mount. Everyone else, ride with purpose!

Miles Rowan: He makes everything sound like a royal command.

Lena Solis: It kind of is, and it works for him, doesn't it Ashlyn?

Ashlyn did not comment, which Lena noticed immediately.

The team tore out into Avalon City, weaving through traffic as Foundation systems altered signals ahead of them and opened a route toward the Eastbank Market district. The closer they got, the more visible the breach became. Green-black energy churned above the plaza, sending ripples through nearby windows. Dreadlings scattered through the market stalls, overturning carts, smashing signs, and forcing civilians into narrow side streets. Malvora remained atop the fountain, poised and patient, while the Worzol monster waited below like a chained executioner.

The Kishirangers arrived in a hard turn, tires skidding against pavement as the five bikes formed a line at the edge of the plaza. Trace dismounted first, Oath Buckler already glowing.

Malvora turned her head toward him.

Malvora: Trace Mercer. The boy is awake at last. The boy who tried to be a man, and the only one...who ever rejected my..."advances".

Trace stepped forward.

Trace Mercer: Malvora.

Ashlyn looked at him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Wait...you know her? Advances?

Trace Mercer: She poisoned kingdoms without entering their borders and turned an army against itself with a whisper. Do not trust anything she says.

Malvora smiled wider.

Malvora: He remembers the flattering parts. The good old days. We had such wonderful times together.

Lena stepped off her bike and lifted her Oath Buckler.

Lena Solis: I already hate her voice.

Miles Rowan: Careful. She'll get you, and your little dog too.

Ray adjusted his glasses with one hand while holding his buckler ready with the other.

Ray Matthews: She won't even get that reference! Can we maybe not insult the witch before we transform?

Miles Rowan: Too late.

Malvora raised her hand, and the Dreadlings surged forward.

Trace Mercer: Kishirangers, stand ready.

The five formed their line.

Trace Mercer: Oath forged.

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn.

Miles Rowan: Wild heart awakened.

Lena Solis: Truth shone.

All Five: Kishiranger, arise!

Light erupted around them, transforming the team in clean bursts of red, blue, black, green, and yellow. Armor formed over their bodies, the knightly crests flaring against their chests as their helmets locked into place. Red stepped forward with Oathrender in hand, Blue raised his weapon with new steadiness, Black’s armor shone with dark elegance, Green bounced lightly on his heels, and Yellow spun her weapon into a ready stance.

Trace Mercer: By the way, Ray Matthews. Your weapon...the shield that has saved many lives...is named Vangaurd.

Ray Matthews: Vanguard. Wow. It saved people before...and it will save people now!

The Dreadlings hit them like a wave.

Trace met the center line, Oathrender cutting clean arcs through the first rank and forcing the creatures back from a group of civilians trapped behind a market stall. Ashlyn moved to his right, blocking two Dreadlings with precise strikes of her armored forearms before driving one backward with a pulse of black energy from her Oath Buckler. She still had no weapon, and the absence frustrated her, but she had stopped letting it slow her down. She fought closer, faster, using the enemy’s momentum against them.

Lena moved near the civilians, her yellow axe flashing as she knocked Dreadlings away from the escape path.

Lena Solis: This way! Keep moving and stay low!

A frightened man froze near the fountain as a Dreadling lunged at him. Miles swept in from the side, green energy flaring around his arm as he kicked the creature into a stack of crates.

Miles Rowan: Sir, this is a terrible place to reconsider your schedule.

The man stared at him.

Miles Rowan: Run now, think green thoughts in gratitude later. Alright?

The man ran.

Ray fought near the rear, protecting civilians, and positioning himself where he could see the whole field. A Dreadling came at him from the left, and he blocked, twisted, and struck it down with a controlled burst of blue energy. Another tried to flank Lena, but Ray saw it first and launched the shield and slammed it into the pavement.

Lena glanced back.

Lena Solis: Nice catch.

Ray Matthews: It was a throw.

Lena Solis: Take the compliment.

Ray did not have time to respond before the Worzol monster broke its chains and charged.

Its first impact shattered the ground where Trace had stood. Trace rolled aside, came up swinging, and struck the creature across the chest. Oathrender sparked against its plated hide but did not cut through.

Trace Mercer: Its armor is dense.

Ray moved in beside him.

Ray Matthews: Let me help you find an opening!

The monster swung one massive arm, and Ray blocked it with Vanguard, while Ashlyn jumped on its back and landed harsh shots. This allowed Trace to slash at the monster with Oathrender.

Miles Rowan: Anybody else feel like this one is sturdier than the last few?

Lena drove her weapon into the ground, sending a yellow shockwave across the plaza that knocked several Dreadlings away.

Lena Solis: Definitely sturdier.

Malvora watched from above, her expression unchanged.

Malvora: You are out of your depth. Vantrex was right to find this entertaining.

Trace turned toward her briefly.

Trace Mercer: Enough of you, witch!

Malvora lifted one hand, and violet symbols circled her fingers.

Malvora: When you taste the darkness, you can never get enough, Trace. I'd be happy to show you.

She pointed toward Ashlyn.

Malvora: Or maybe it would be easier to show her.

Ashlyn stiffened.

Trace’s grip tightened around Oathrender.

Trace Mercer: Stay away from her!

The monster took advantage of the distraction, charging forward with a roar. Ray stepped into its path before anyone else could move, raising Vanguard as the blue gem at his side pulsed. A stronger shield formed in front of him, larger than any he had created before. The monster slammed into it, and Ray’s boots scraped backward across the pavement, but he held.

Ray Matthews: What happened to Vanguard?

Trace saw the blue light of the Oathlink running through Ray’s shield.

Trace Mercer: Ray Matthews, the gem is responding to you!

Ray Matthews: Great!

The shield flared brighter, and Ray shoved forward. The monster stumbled back, giving Trace the opening he needed.

Trace Mercer: Together now!

The team regrouped around him. Red raised Oathrender while Blue, Black, Green, and Yellow channeled their power into the blade. Ray’s blue light was stronger this time, steadier, and as it entered Oathrender, the sword’s runes changed, forming a brief image of a fortress wall before blending back into the crimson glow. Ashlyn’s black power still moved differently from the others, but it joined the flow.

Trace Mercer: Oathrender Final Vow!

The combined blast hit the Worzol monster and finally broke through its plated hide. The creature roared as its armor cracked across the chest, then collapsed into the plaza with smoke rising from its body. The Dreadlings shrieked and began to scatter, some dissolving back into the green breach.

Miles lowered his weapon slightly.

Miles Rowan: Nobody snap. Nobody gesture ominously. Nobody say anything that rhymes with grow.

Malvora’s smile returned.

Malvora: How charming.

She raised her staff.

Malvora: Grow.

Miles Rowan: I specifically requested.

Dark energy surged from the breach and poured into the fallen monster. Its body convulsed, then expanded violently. The plaza cracked beneath it as it grew larger, armor plates thickening into massive shields across its body, arms becoming heavy enough to crush buildings, and the glow inside its chest brightening into a sickly furnace. In seconds, it towered above the Eastbank district, casting a shadow over the riverwalk and nearby streets.

Trace stepped forward without hesitation.

Trace Mercer: Krieger, Burning Stahlritter, awaken and ride to war!

The clouds split with red-gold fire. Krieger descended through the light and landed beyond the plaza, one knee striking the ground with a controlled impact that rattled windows but avoided the surrounding buildings. The giant red-and-black knight rose, drawing its flaming sword as Trace vanished into its cockpit.

Inside Krieger, Trace placed his hand on the control sigil, and the Burning Stahlritter’s systems responded with familiar heat.

Trace Mercer: Krieger, stand with me.

The giant monster charged immediately. Krieger met it head-on, sword against armored claws, and the impact thundered across the district. For a moment, Krieger held firm. Then the monster pushed harder, driving the Burning Stahlritter back step by step. It began to strike repeatedly, sparking damage to his chest over and over.

On the ground, Ray watched the exchange, his heart pounding.

Ray Matthews: That thing is overpowering him!

Ashlyn looked toward the blue gem at Ray’s belt.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Ray.

Ray knew what she meant before she finished.

Ray Matthews: I know.

Lena stepped beside him.

Lena Solis: You don't want to sit on the sidelines.

Miles leaned in from the other side.

Miles Rowan: Great news. The sidelines are currently being smashed by a giant monster, so you are out of options.

Ray looked up as Krieger took a heavy strike to the shoulder, sparks bursting from its armor.

Ray Matthews: That is weirdly motivating.

Ray gripped the Oathlink. It pulsed hard enough to send blue light between his fingers.

Ray Matthews: Hector, Azure Bastion, if you can hear me, this would be an excellent time to prove that I did not wildly overpay for a glowing rock!

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the ground beneath the city rumbled. Not from above, but from below.

The street several blocks away split open, revealing an ancient launch channel hidden beneath Avalon City itself. Blue light surged upward from the opening, and a massive form rose from beneath the street like a fortress emerging from the earth. Hector was built lower and broader than Krieger, a blue Stahlritter with heavy armored shoulders and reinforced plating. Its arms were thick, and its chest wide.

Ray stared.

Miles Rowan: Ray, your giant robot is a tank knight.

Ray Matthews: Outstanding.

Blue light surrounded Ray, and in the next instant he vanished from the ground and appeared inside Hector’s cockpit. Unlike Krieger’s furnace-like chamber, Hector’s cockpit felt cool, structured, and steady. Blue panels lit around Ray. The system organized itself around him.

Ray placed his hands on the controls, and Hector’s eyes lit with blue fire.

Ray Matthews: Okay. Okay, I can work with this.

Trace’s voice came through the link.

Trace Mercer: Ray Matthews, can you move?

Ray looked at the displays.

Ray Matthews: I think so.

Hector lurched forward suddenly.

Ray Matthews: Yes. Too much. I moved too much.

Hector rolled forward and slammed shoulder-first into the Worzol monster, knocking it off Krieger and sending it stumbling backward into the edge of the plaza. Krieger recovered, sword raised.

Trace Mercer: Good entry.

Ray Matthews: I panicked forward.

Trace Mercer: It worked.

Ray Matthews: I am noticing that is a recurring standard around here.

The monster roared and swung at Hector. Ray raised the mech’s left arm, and a massive blue shield unfolded from the forearm, catching the blow with a ringing impact. Hector barely moved. Ray’s eyes widened behind his glasses.

Ray Matthews: Oh, I like this.

Trace Mercer: Then hold it.

Krieger moved around the monster’s side, slashing across one cracked armor plate while Hector kept the creature’s attention. The monster tried to shift toward Krieger, but Ray fired Hector’s shoulder cannon. The blast struck the monster in the chest, staggering it back and exposing more of the glowing core beneath the cracked plating.

Ray Matthews: It has a weak point in the chest. The armor is thickest around the shoulders but fractured near the center from the Oathrender strike.

Trace Mercer: Can you hold it back?

Ray studied the readouts, then adjusted his stance.

Ray Matthews: Yes.

Hector drove forward, shield first, pinning the monster’s arms wide. The creature struggled, but Hector’s treads locked into the ground, anchoring the mech. Krieger raised its sword, flames gathering along the blade.

Malvora watched from below, her expression finally sharpening with irritation.

Malvora: The second Stahlritter awakens.

Lena looked up at her.

Lena Solis: You sound disappointed.

Malvora’s gaze shifted to Lena.

Malvora: No. Merely reminded that insects can still bite, but a good slap will remove the pests either way.

Miles Rowan: She is terrible at banter.

Ashlyn kept her eyes on the giant battle, her own Oathlink pulsing faintly as Ray and Trace fought together. She felt the connection between Krieger and Hector through the relics, red fire and blue strength reinforcing one another. It was not just two mechs fighting beside each other. It was two oaths recognizing the same purpose.

Trace Mercer: Ray Matthews, in a moment, lift up your shield and roll away, firing at the monster with your weapons.

Ray Matthews: You want me to abandon you, and shot where you're going to be?

Trace Mercer: I want you to trust me.

Ray hesitated for only a second.

Ray Matthews: That is objectively terrifying.

Trace Mercer: Understood, but please.

Ray Matthews: Right. Doing it anyway.

Krieger charged, flames gathering around its sword. Hector released the monster and rolled back. As Krieger leapt, Ray fired.

Trace Mercer: Burning Stahlritter, Flare Up! Krieger Flame Verdict!

Ray Matthews: Hector Bastion Cannon!

The combined attack drove through the monster’s exposed core. The Worzol beast froze, its body cracking from chest to limbs as red fire and blue energy tore through it from within. Krieger landed behind it, sword lowered, while Hector braced with its cannon smoking.

The monster exploded into a storm of dark sparks that dissolved before reaching the ground.

For several seconds, Avalon City was silent except for alarms and the distant rush of the river.

Inside Hector, Ray sat very still, hands still on the controls, breathing hard.

Ray Matthews: We...we did it!

Trace’s voice came through the link, calmer now.

Trace Mercer: Well done, Ray Matthews.

Ray Matthews: It's just Ray. You can call me Ray.

Trace Mercer: ...Ray.

Ray looked at the glowing controls around him, and his voice softened.

Ray Matthews: I know what I have to do.

Hector and Krieger evacuated the area into blue and red light, returning Ray and Trace to the street with the others. Ray stumbled slightly when his feet hit the ground, but Lena caught him by the arm before he could fall.

Lena Solis: Easy there, tank knight.

Ray adjusted his glasses with a shaky hand.

Ray Matthews: I hope that nickname is not sticking.

Miles Rowan: It is absolutely sticking.

Ashlyn stepped closer, smiling.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You feel better?

Ray looked at the blue gem, now set into his Oathlink Relic, glowing steadily.

Ray Matthews: I'm getting there.

Trace nodded approvingly, but his expression grew distant again when he looked toward the crater where the monster had fallen. Ashlyn noticed, but let him have him moment of peace.

Later, in the hidden realm beyond Avalon City, the Dark Domain brooded under a sky that never brightened. Vantrex sat upon his throne in silence while violet lightning crawled across the distant towers of his castle. Before him, Garrakis stood like a mountain of bone and stone, Vire lounged against a cracked pillar with visible impatience, and Malvora stepped through a veil of smoke, her expression controlled, but sharpened by failure.

Vantrex did not speak when she entered. That was worse than anger. His silence made the entire throne room feel smaller.

Malvora lowered her head.

Malvora: Hector has awakened.

Vire gave a low whistle.

Vire the Swift: That makes two Stahlritter. The old toys are crawling out of their graves.

Garrakis’s voice rumbled.

Garrakis: Then we crush them before the rest wake.

Vantrex rose from the throne slowly. The room darkened around him as he descended the steps toward his generals.

Lord Vantrex: You speak as if the gems are merely weapons.

Garrakis bowed his head slightly.

Garrakis: They are more than weapons.

Lord Vantrex: They are anchors. Memories. Oaths given shape. Every gem they recover strengthens the chain between the Kishirangers and the Stahlritter. Every battle teaches them how to become what they once were.

Malvora’s eyes narrowed.

Malvora: Then we should sever the chain.

Vantrex turned toward her.

Lord Vantrex: We will do more than sever it.

He extended one hand toward the shadows beside his throne. The darkness rippled, and from within it emerged a sword. It was long, black, and beautifully cruel, with a blade that seemed to absorb the light around it. Its edge shimmered like midnight oil, and dark runes pulsed along its length with a faint violet glow. The hilt bore a black gem set into its guard. It glowed with captivity.

Vantrex took the sword in hand.

The generals went still, as Malvora’s voice lowered.

Malvora: Gravebrand.

Vire straightened for once, his grin fading into something more cautious.

Vire the Swift: So that is where it ended up.

Garrakis looked at the weapon with recognition.

Garrakis: The sword of Kishi Black.

Vantrex held Gravebrand at an angle, watching the darkness slide across its surface.

Vantrex: The Black Knight’s weapon rests in my hand, his memory is ash, and the new bearer walks without her blade.

Malvora’s smile returned faintly.

Malvora: The girl. She's so pretty. She may stand in the way of me tearing out Trace's heart for myself. I might hate her.

Vantrex’s eyes burned.

Lord Vantrex: Find the remaining gems. Capture them. I want the Stahlritter for myself.

Garrakis bowed deeply.

Garrakis: It will be done.

Vire rolled his shoulders, the dangerous grin returning.

Vire the Swift: Finally. The game begins.

Malvora turned her gaze toward the image of Avalon City forming in the air before the throne.

Malvora: And if they get their hands on one first?

Vantrex lowered Gravebrand, its tip scraping against the stone floor and leaving a thin line of darkness behind.

Lord Vantrex: Then bring me the hands too.

Malvora licked her lips at the thought.

Ray stood near the railing, looking out over the city with his blue relic in hand. Miles was saying something animated that made Lena shake her head. Ashlyn stood slightly apart with Trace, both of them watching the skyline where the breach had closed.

Trace looked older in that moment, not in body, but in memory. Ashlyn noticed, because she had already started noticing the things he tried to hide.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You miss it.

Trace did not pretend not to understand.

Trace Mercer: My time?

Ashlyn nodded.

Trace looked out over the modern city. Cars moved below. Lights changed at intersections. People carried phones, coffee, groceries, and worries that had nothing to do with ancient wars. It was beautiful in ways he was still learning to understand, but it was not the world that had made him.

Trace Mercer: I miss the people. I miss knowing where I stood. I miss a sky that did not have machines crossing it, and halls where the names of my friends were spoken aloud. But I do not wish to return if returning meant abandoning this world to the same darkness. I would never do that.

Ashlyn leaned against the railing beside him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That sounds lonely.

Trace looked at her.

Trace Mercer: It is.

The honesty of it settled between them.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Maybe it doesn’t have to stay that way.

Trace’s expression softened, and for a moment, the noise of the city seemed distant.

Ashlyn smiled, and Trace, after a moment, did too.

For now, the team stood together, stronger than they had been the day before.

To Be Continued...

Last edited by Machismo (5/03/2026 3:23 am)

Machismo · 5/02/2026 11:50 am

Episode 5: The Wind That Answers

Ashlyn Westbrook woke before sunrise with a scream trapped in her throat, her body twisting upright in bed while one hand shot forward as though she were still holding something. For one terrible second she did not recognize the room around her. The pale blue light slipping through the blinds did not belong to the nightmare, and the quiet hum of the city outside her campus apartment window did not belong to the battlefield she had seen, but the feeling in her hand remained. Her fingers were clenched around nothing, yet she could still feel the shape of a sword hilt against her palm.

She forced herself to breathe. Once, then again, then a third time, each breath heavier than the last until the room finally began to settle into something familiar. Her desk was still covered in field notes from the dig outside Avalon City. Her jacket was still hanging over the back of her chair. Her Oathlink Relic rested on the nightstand where she had left it, dark metal and gold filigree catching the first hints of dawn, the empty socket inside it glowing with a faint, steady pulse.

Ashlyn stared at it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That was a dream. That was just a dream.

She remembered the rain in the nightmare, remembered the ruined battlefield, remembered standing close enough to Kishi Red to feel the shock. She remembered the dark sword in her hands, its blade black and hungry, its edge glowing with violet cracks like broken moonlight. She remembered Kishi Red trying to speak. Then she remembered the sword moving, remembered her own arms following through, remembered the blade sinking into the red armor of Kishi Red as if his protection meant nothing.

She pressed both hands over her face, trying to shove the image away.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It was a dream!

The Oathlink Relic pulsed again.

Ashlyn lowered her hands and looked at it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You are not helping.

By the time she reached the Knight Express Delivery building later that morning, she had convinced herself that none of that meant anything. The KED Building looked peaceful in the late morning light. The brick exterior was warm beneath the sun, as workers loaded up the delivery they were hired to make. One of them had a name tag that read Gary.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Good morning..."Gary"?

Gary: Good morning, mam!

Ashlyn Westbrook: Is Gary even your real name?

Gary: Not even close. Have a great day.

Inside, Ray Matthews was seated at the table with a tablet, a notebook, and a pen he'd click a lot when deep in thought. Miles Rowan stood beside him, leaning so far over Ray’s shoulder that he was practically on top of him. Lena Solis sat across from them with one knee tucked under her, sipping from an iced drink and watching the interaction with a kind of calm amusement. Trace Mercer stood near the window, studying a vending machine across the street.

Trace Mercer: So...those are called "snacks", and I could have one if I had the currency to feed treasure trove over there?

Lena Solis: Yep. You nailed it.

Trace Mercer: Hehe, this era holds many wonders.

Lena Solis: I don't know if your ancient stomach is ready for half of what's in there.

Miles Rowan: Guys, listen. I am simply saying that if Ray got his gem by wandering past a shop window, there is no reason mine could not be somewhere equally obvious.

Ray Matthews: That is not what happened.

Miles Rowan: You saw it glowing in a shop window.

Ray Matthews: After following some maps that were given to us, that tried to approximate the exact site of the ancient battle. Even then, I thought I'd have to do a lot of digging when I got close.

Miles Rowan: You walked past a shop window and saw the shiny destiny rock.

Ray Matthews: That is the least scientific version of what happened.

Miles Rowan: But not inaccurate.

Ray looked up from the tablet and slowly turned his head toward Miles.

Ray Matthews: That turned out to be luck.

Lena Solis: I am not sure that is a category.

Ray Matthews: Don't help him. He's more than enough.

Miles placed one hand dramatically over his chest.

Miles Rowan: I bring color into your life.

Ray Matthews: You bring noise into my life.

Miles Rowan: Sometimes noise is joyful!

Ray Matthews: Sometimes noise is just noise.

Ashlyn managed a small smile despite the pressure still sitting in her chest. She looked toward Trace and found him watching the vending machine with complete seriousness.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I can get you something out of that machine if you want.

Trace turned toward her.

Trace Mercer: It accepts coins and produces sealed drinks. I understand the transaction in principle, but I do not trust the process with which it performs the exchange. I opened a "can" the other day and it attacked me.

Lena Solis nearly choked on her drink.

Lena Solis: That is fair, actually. They do get shaken up.

Trace looked back at the vending machine.

Trace Mercer: It holds many choices behind glass but grants only one at a time. Tempting...same traits as a mimic.

Miles Rowan: A what?

Trace Mercer: An ancient type of monster that would take the shape of objects to lure people to their dooms.

Miles Rowan: Want to...fight it and find out?

Ray Matthews: Nobody is dueling the vending machine.

Trace Mercer: I did not say duel.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You were considering it though.

Trace looked at her, and for a brief moment the seriousness on his face softened into the faintest smile.

Trace Mercer: I considered negotiation first. It was always my hope I could talk sense into my enemies. Could I discuss with it the hope that I get an "unshaken can"?

His smile hit Ashlyn harder than she expected. It was small and natural, not the solemn expression of an ancient knight trying to understand the modern world, but something closer to the young man he might have been before oaths and curses and centuries of sleep had wrapped themselves around him. The nightmare flashed back for half a second, the image of the dark sword entering his armor, and Ashlyn’s expression faltered.

Trace noticed immediately.

Trace Mercer: My last, are you well?

The room quieted just enough for everyone to notice.

Ashlyn forced herself to recover.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I am fine.

Lena looked at her with open disbelief.

Lena Solis: That was the least convincing “fine” I have heard this week, since Miles tried to tell us he was “fine” after tripping over a mop bucket yesterday.

Miles Rowan: The mop bucket moved.

Ray Matthews: It did not.

Miles Rowan: You're right. It did not.

Ashlyn shook her head, grateful for the distraction but not fully able to use it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I just did not sleep well.

Trace’s concern did not fade.

Trace Mercer: Was there danger?

Ashlyn hesitated.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No. Just a nightmare.

Trace stepped closer, and the movement was so earnest that it made her chest tighten all over again.

Trace Mercer: Dreams can wound if they carry fear that the waking heart has not faced.

Miles blinked.

Miles Rowan: That was way better than anything I was about to say.

Ray Matthews: Please never say the thing you were about to say.

Miles Rowan: I was going to suggest pancakes.

Lena Solis: I could go for pancakes.

Ray Matthews: ...I could also go for pancakes.

Ashlyn looked at Trace, trying to hold his gaze without letting him see too much.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I need to get out of my own head for a while.

Lena’s expression changed instantly, a spark of interest lighting her eyes.

Lena Solis: You should take Trace out! Just the two of you!

Ashlyn turned toward her too quickly.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What?

Miles grinned.

Miles Rowan: Oh, absolutely.

Ray looked between them, confused by the sudden tonal shift.

Ray Matthews: Take Trace out where?

Lena Solis: Modern culture tour. Food, shops, maybe the arcade again? You could go somewhere not date like if you need plausible deniability.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I do not need plausible deniability because there is nothing to deny.

Miles Rowan: That is usually what people say when there is a lot to deny.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It wouldn't be a date!

Trace tilted his head slightly.

Trace Mercer: What is a date?

The silence that followed was perfect and terrible.

Miles slowly turned toward Ashlyn with the face of a man handed a gift by the universe.

Miles Rowan: Oh, this is tremendous.

Ashlyn pointed at him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Do not.

Miles Rowan: I have said nothing.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Your face is saying several things!

Trace looked from Miles to Ashlyn.

Trace Mercer: If a date is a form of outing, then I will accompany Ashlyn Westbrook if she wishes it!

Lena smiled behind her drink.

Lena Solis: Very formal. Very promising.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It is educational. Trace still thinks vending machines might be sacred trials or something.

Trace Mercer: I said mimic. I think it's a mimic.

Ray Matthews: In his defense, half the payment apps in this city are quite monstrous.

Miles Rowan: Dude, I keep telling you to use Geist Pay!

Trace stepped toward Ashlyn, completely unaware of the trap everyone else saw forming around him.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn Westbrook seeks relief from troubling dreams. If modern culture offers such relief, then I will stand beside her in that effort.

Miles leaned toward Ray.

Miles Rowan: He is defending the date without knowing what a date is.

Ray Matthews: I am begging you to let this be normal.

Miles Rowan: Impossible.

Ashlyn’s cheeks warmed.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It is not a date.

Trace nodded solemnly.

Trace Mercer: It is not a date.

Lena Solis: Do you know what you just agreed to?

Trace Mercer: I agreed that it is not a date.

Lena Solis: Do you know what a date is?

Trace Mercer: Not yet.

Miles Rowan: This is great.

Ashlyn grabbed her bag from the chair.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We are leaving before this gets worse.

Miles Rowan: It already got wonderful.

Trace followed Ashlyn toward the door, then paused and turned back to Miles and Ray.

Trace Mercer: If danger arises, call through the Oathlink Relic.

Miles gave him a thumbs-up.

Miles Rowan: If romance arises, also call through the Oathlink.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Miles Rowan.

Miles Rowan: For strategic support.

Trace nodded thoughtfully.

Trace Mercer: Romance is a battlefield?

Lena Solis: For some people.

Ashlyn covered her face with one hand and pushed the door open with the other.

Outside, the warmth of the day wrapped around them as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Ashlyn walked beside Trace, trying to calm herself, but the quiet between them had weight.

Trace Mercer: They believe this is a date?

Ashlyn nearly stumbled.

Ashlyn Westbrook: They are wrong.

Trace Mercer: I believe you.

She looked at him, startled by how immediately he said it.

Trace Mercer: I do not know what a date is, but I know when a person wishes to be understood rather than mocked.

The words landed softly, and for a moment she had no idea what to do with them.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Thank you.

Trace Mercer: You have guided me through this age with patience. If today you wish to walk through it for your own peace, then I am honored to accompany you on your quest.

Ashlyn looked away before he could see her expression too clearly.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You know, men do not usually talk like that anymore.

Trace Mercer: Have I spoken poorly?

Ashlyn Westbrook: No. That is the problem.

Trace studied that for a moment.

Trace Mercer: Modern customs are so difficult.

Ashlyn smiled despite herself.

Ashlyn Westbrook: They are not all difficult. Some are just disappointing.

Trace seemed troubled by that, but he did not press her. Instead, when they reached a crosswalk and the light changed, he instinctively stepped slightly closer to the street side of the sidewalk, placing himself between her and passing traffic. It was such a small thing, so automatic and unperformed.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Did you just move to the outside of the sidewalk?

Trace glanced at the street.

Trace Mercer: Yes.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Why?

Trace Mercer: If a horseless carriage strikes from the road, it would strike me first.

Ashlyn stopped walking and stared at him.

Trace Mercer: I understand these vehicles are not carriages as I understand them, but their speed suggests the principle remains sound.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That is ridiculous.

Trace Mercer: Is it?

Ashlyn Westbrook: It is also kind of sweet.

Trace accepted that with the grave dignity of someone being given a medal.

Trace Mercer: Then I will continue.

Ashlyn laughed, the sound surprising both of them. It did not erase the nightmare, but it loosened its grip. That was enough for the moment.

Back at the KED Building, Miles Rowan had lasted exactly four minutes before returning to the subject of his gem.

Miles Rowan: I am not saying I need the green gem immediately. I am just saying that if Ray found Hector already, the universe could at least provide a hint.

Ray Matthews did not look up from the tablet.

Ray Matthews: Maybe it did provide a hint. You ignored it because you were talking.

Miles blinked.

Miles Rowan: Well that hurt.

Ray Matthews: It was accurate!

Lena Solis, who had moved to the counter and was now sorting through a bag of snacks, looked between them.

Lena Solis: This is going to be good.

Miles leaned against the table.

Miles Rowan: I totally listen.

Ray finally looked up.

Ray Matthews: Miles, yesterday Dorian explained how dimensional resonance might identify summoning gem locations, and you interrupted him to ask if the Stahlritter could be launched from the parking lot behind the building!

Miles Rowan: That was a valid question, and a cool one! I mean we don't know where they're going! Wouldn't it help if they were closer?

Ray Matthews: Then he started explaining the Oathlink frequency response, and you asked if your Stalritter, assuming you get one, could do a barrel roll.

Miles Rowan: Also valid. Important fight tactics.

Ray Matthews: Then when I tried to learn about the technology at play so I could analyze the city grid, you asked if your gem would “vibe harder” if you wore more green.

Miles Rowan: To get in a green state of mind!

Ray closed his eyes for a moment, breathing carefully.

Ray Matthews: Miles, quiet down for once and listen.

The words came out sharper than he intended.

Miles’s grin did not vanish though.

Ray Matthews: Miles, I did not mean—

Miles Rowan: No, you are right, Ray! I get that green vibes aren't enough! After all, if I were to truly be vibing with green, I'd have to be retired too. I think I'm just getting started. I got more work to do!

Lena’s expression softened.

Lena Solis: Miles.

Miles Rowan: Seriously. I am going to go listen. Quietly. Like a normal mystical warrior with healthy emotional processing skills!

He turned and headed for the door before anyone could stop him.

Ray stood halfway out of his chair.

Ray Matthews: Miles, wait.

Miles lifted a hand without turning around.

Miles Rowan: Destiny waits for no one, Ray Ray!

The door closed behind him.

For several seconds, Ray stood there in silence, then slowly sank back into the chair.

Ray Matthews: Was I being jerk?

Lena leaned against the counter, her voice gentler than usual.

Lena Solis: It came out like you were frustrated.

Ray Matthews: I was frustrated.

Lena Solis: Then it came out right. Just not kindly.

Ray rubbed both hands over his face.

Ray Matthews: I do not understand him.

Lena Solis: You do not have to understand him all at once.

Ray looked at the door.

Ray Matthews: I still shouldn't have said it like that.

Outside, Miles walked down the street with his hands in his pockets. The city was loud around him. Engines, footsteps, conversations, distant horns, the whir of bike chains, the hum of power lines, all of it blending into the usual music of Avalon City. Normally he liked that. Normally he could ride the noise like a wave, adding his own voice until he was not alone inside his own head.

Now he tried to do what Ray had said.

He quieted down.

At first, he hated it.

Without talking, without joking, without filling the air before the air could fill him, everything inside him became louder. Thoughts pressed against each other, worries he usually outran catching up with him in clusters. What if his gem did not answer? What if Ray was chosen because Ray was useful and Miles was just loud? What if everyone else kept moving forward and he stayed the funny one, the extra one, the guy who made people laugh until the moment they needed someone serious?

He stopped near the corner of the block, his reflection faintly visible in the window of a closed storefront. For a second, he did not recognize the expression on his own face.

Miles Rowan: Wow.

His voice was quiet enough that it barely counted as speaking.

Miles Rowan: That is not a great look.

He closed his eyes. Ray’s words came back to him. Quiet down for once and listen.

Miles breathed in. Then out. He listened.

The city remained loud, but beneath it, there was something else. It was not a sound exactly, not at first. It was a pull. A pressure in the air. A direction. The wind slid down the street, curled around his jacket, and tugged lightly at the green Oathlink Relic hanging at his side.

Miles opened his eyes.

The wind moved again. This time, he followed.

Across the city, Ashlyn and Trace had made their way into a busy shopping district near the river, where storefronts lined the sidewalks and outdoor cafes had filled with people enjoying the mild afternoon. Ashlyn had chosen the area because it was modern enough to distract Trace, but normal enough that she could pretend she had not chosen anything with too much romantic potential. That plan failed immediately when Trace insisted on opening every door for her with such calm sincerity that three separate strangers smiled at them.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You do not have to keep doing that.

Trace Mercer: The doors are not heavy.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That is not the point.

Trace Mercer: Then what is the point?

Ashlyn hesitated.

Ashlyn Westbrook: People might think things.

Trace looked around.

Trace Mercer: People think constantly. It appears difficult to prevent.

Ashlyn stared at him for one beat and then laughed again.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Right. Forget I said it.

They stopped at a small street vendor selling flavored ice drinks. Trace examined the menu with complete seriousness.

Trace Mercer: Blue raspberry is a fruit?

Ashlyn Westbrook: No.

Trace Mercer: Then they make the raspberry blue somehow?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Somehow, yes. It's really good.

Trace Mercer: I will try it.

When the vendor handed them the drinks, Trace immediately attempted to pay with a small old coin from his belt pouch. Ashlyn stopped him with one hand on his wrist.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No ancient coins.

Trace looked at the coin, then at the vendor, then back at Ashlyn.

Trace Mercer: It is silver.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It is probably priceless.

The vendor’s eyes widened.

Ashlyn smiled tightly and paid with her Geist Pay card.

Trace accepted the drink and regarded the straw with suspicion before watching Ashlyn use hers. He copied her, tasted the blue raspberry slush, and froze.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Is it bad?

Trace Mercer: It tastes like a festival of lightning!

Ashlyn laughed so hard that she had to cover her mouth.

Trace looked pleased, though he did not fully understand why.

Trace Mercer: I chose well?

Ashlyn Westbrook: You chose perfectly. Just don't drink it too quickly or-

Trace Mercer: Ah! Sudden agony! What is this?!

Ashlyn West: That would be brain freeze.

They walked along the riverfront, and Ashlyn found herself talking more easily than she expected. She told him about her first dig with Lena, about how she used to spend hours reading about ruins and lost cities when other kids were watching cartoons, and about how Avalon City had always felt like a place built over a secret. Trace listened with complete attention, never checking the crowd, never interrupting, never waiting for his turn to speak. When she mentioned her fear that the ruins had chosen her for something she did not understand, he did not dismiss it.

Trace Mercer: Being chosen is not always a kindness.

Ashlyn looked at him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You would know.

Trace nodded.

Trace Mercer: Yes.

She almost told him about the nightmare then. The words rose, reached the edge of her mouth, and stopped. She could not bring herself to say that she had seen herself stabbing him. Not while he was standing beside her with that same steady trust that made the nightmare unbearable.

Instead, she looked toward a clothing shop window, where a mannequin wore a ridiculous formal jacket covered in decorative chains.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Would you have worn that in your era?

Trace studied it.

Trace Mercer: Into battle?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Or just to wear?

Trace considered this seriously.

Trace Mercer: It lacks shoulder protection.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That is your main concern?

Trace Mercer: I mean...it looks...nice?

Ashlyn smiled again, and for a while, the nightmare stayed quiet.

Miles’s path took him farther from the KED Building and into a district under redevelopment, where construction cranes rose above fenced-off lots and half-finished structures stood like skeletons against the sky. The wind moved strangely there, slipping between exposed beams and loose tarps, carrying dust and the smell of wet concrete though the day was dry. Miles slowed as he approached a construction site marked by bright warning signs and temporary barriers.

His Oathlink pulsed.

Miles Rowan: Okay.

He swallowed.

Miles Rowan: My destiny involves trespassing.

A crash sounded from inside the site.

Miles ducked behind a stack of construction barriers and peered through the chain-link fence. At the center of the site, a green-edged portal churned low against the ground. Dreadlings moved around it, hauling chunks of broken concrete aside while a Worzol monster dug into the earth with enormous shovel-like forearms. Its body was lean and angular, wrapped in dark plates that looked like hardened soil and rusted metal. Its head was shaped like a jagged excavation helmet fused to a skull, and each time it drove its bladed arms into the ground, sickly green sparks flashed from the impact point.

Standing atop a stack of steel beams nearby, Vire the Swift watched with visible impatience. He crouched with one elbow resting on his knee, violet-streaked hair shifting in the wind, his jagged black armor catching the light. His grin was sharp enough to look painful.

Vire the Swift: Faster. The witch says the gem is beneath this site, and I would rather not spend my afternoon watching you garden.

The Worzol monster snarled and dug harder.

Miles felt his pulse climb. The green gem was there. He could feel it, not in his ears but in his bones, calling with the same restless wind that had led him there.

He reached for his Oath Buckler.

Miles Rowan: Great. I found it.

He looked around.

Miles Rowan: Alone.

For half a second, the old instinct rose. Make a joke. Fill the silence. Pretend this was funny before fear could make it real. But the wind moved again, tugging at his jacket, and this time he listened.

Miles Rowan: No more waiting.

He stepped through the broken section of fence.

Miles Rowan: Hey!

Every Dreadling turned.

Vire looked down, and his grin widened.

Vire the Swift: Well, well. The green one came loose from the pack.

Miles raised his Oath Buckler.

Miles Rowan: I'm being “independently stylish" and cool right now.

Vire laughed.

Vire the Swift: You are funny. I like that. That humor is about to turn into panic.

Miles tried to ignore how close that hit.

Miles Rowan: Wild heart awakened. Kishiranger, arise!

Green light wrapped around him, armor forming in sharp, clean plates as his helmet locked into place. Kishi Green landed in a ready stance, spear appearing in his hands with a burst of wind.

Vire tilted his head.

Vire the Swift: There it is.

The Dreadlings rushed him.

Miles moved fast, because speed was the one thing he knew he had. He spun his spear, deflecting the first two attackers and sweeping a third off its feet. He vaulted over a pile of concrete, used the spear as a pivot, and kicked another Dreadling into the fence hard enough to rattle the metal. For a few seconds, he looked exactly as confident as he always pretended to be.

Then the Worzol monster hit him.

Its shovel-like arm slammed into his side, throwing him through a stack of wooden pallets. Pain flashed across his ribs as he rolled, but he forced himself up before the monster could strike again. He caught the next blow with the shaft of his spear, but the force drove him down to one knee.

Vire hopped lightly from the steel beams to the ground.

Vire the Swift: Not bad. Not enough, but not bad.

Miles shoved the monster back and rolled aside as its other arm carved through the ground where he had been.

Miles Rowan: I am choosing to take that as encouragement to improve!

Vire appeared in front of him so suddenly that Miles barely saw him move. One armored foot struck Miles in the chest, sending him skidding backward through dust.

Vire the Swift: Choose differently.

Miles gasped, pushing himself up with the spear. A General had struck for the first time, and he launched him like he was nothing. They were dangerous. His Oathlink pulsed harder now, the green light strobing in time with something beneath the ground. The Worzol monster turned back to its digging, and Miles saw it. A glow. Small, bright, green as wind through summer leaves.

The gem.

Miles forced himself to stand. Vire noticed his gaze.

Vire the Swift: Ah. There it is!

They both moved.

Vire was faster, but Miles had already learned something from listening. The wind shifted. Miles felt the direction of the movement an instant before it happened, and instead of chasing Vire, he stepped into the path the wind warned him about. Vire’s eyes widened as Miles intercepted him, shoulder-checking him off course just long enough to dive toward the exposed gem.

His fingers closed around it.

The world went green.

Miles’s Oathlink Relic flared, and the gem snapped into place as though it had always belonged there. Wind exploded outward from him, knocking Dreadlings off their feet and forcing the Worzol monster back. His spear transformed in his hands, the shaft lengthening, the blade becoming sharper and brighter, green energy curling around it like a controlled storm.

Miles stared at it.

Miles Rowan: Oh!

Vire rose slowly, his grin returning with real excitement now.

Vire the Swift: And now you have Gungnir?! I might have to actually get a little serious with you.

Miles spun the powered spear once, and the movement left a crescent of wind in the air.

Miles Rowan: Yeah. I have it. I have the gem too. Want it?

He set his stance.

Miles Rowan: Come and get it!

The second round was different. His spear caught the wind and pulled him into motion, letting him redirect attacks that should have overwhelmed him. He struck the Worzol monster across one arm, sending green sparks bursting from the plated hide, then swept his spear in a wide arc that knocked several Dreadlings into a pile of rebar.

Vire came in from behind, but Miles turned at the last second and blocked with the spear.

Vire the Swift: You heard me coming?

Miles Rowan: First time for everything.

Vire pressed closer.

Vire the Swift: You're not faster than me!

Miles’s arms shook under the pressure.

Miles Rowan: No.

He shifted his grip, letting the wind gather along the spear.

Miles Rowan: I am less stupid.

He released a burst of air point-blank, forcing Vire back several steps. The effort cost him. His knees nearly buckled. He was buying time, not winning, and they both knew it.

The Oathlink at his side crackled.

Ray Matthews: Miles, where are you?

Miles nearly laughed with relief.

Miles Rowan: Construction site near the south redevelopment district. Vire is here. Monster too. Gem acquired. Situation extremely...extreme!

Ray Matthews: Are you hurt?

Miles blocked a Dreadling and kicked it away.

Miles Rowan: Emotionally or physically?

Lena Solis: Miles.

Miles Rowan: Yes.

Trace Mercer’s voice cut through, steady and commanding.

Trace Mercer: Hold your ground. We are coming.

Miles looked up as the Worzol monster roared and charged.

Miles Rowan: Holding is currently a flexible concept.

He planted the spear and let the wind gather again.

Miles Rowan: But I will do my best.

The others arrived in a rush of bikes and screeching tires moments later, bursting through the open construction gate as Miles was driven back against a concrete pillar. Trace was off Ashlyn's bike before it fully stopped, Oath Buckler raised. Ashlyn followed, eyes immediately locking onto Miles’s staggered stance. Ray looked from Miles to the gem glowing in his Oathlink and then to Vire, guilt flashing across his face. Lena stepped forward towards their friend.

Ray Matthews: Miles!

Miles turned his helmet slightly.

Miles Rowan: Good news. You were right.

Ray Matthews: This is not how I wanted to be right.

Vire groaned dramatically.

Vire the Swift: The rest of you arrived. How predictable.

Trace Mercer: Kishirangers, transform. Oath forged.

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn.

Lena Solis: Truth shone.

All Four: Kishiranger, arise!

The four transformed in bursts of black, blue, red, and yellow light, landing beside Green as the full team assembled.

Lena glanced at Miles.

Lena Solis: You look terrible.

Miles Rowan: You should see the other guy.

The Worzol monster snarled.

Miles Rowan: Actually, he looks fine. Bad example.

The team charged together. This time, the fight turned sharply in their favor. Trace took the center, Oathrender clashing against the monster’s shovel arms with enough force to push it back. Ray guarded Miles’s left side with Vanguard that blocked incoming Dreadlings before they could swarm him. Ashlyn moved with aggressive precision, striking pressure points along the monster’s armor. Lena stayed mobile, using large axe swings to keep the enemy from surrounding them. Miles, now steadier with Gungnir, moved between them like wind through blades of grass.

Trace Mercer: Miles Rowan, strike when I open its guard.

Miles Rowan: Copy that, and please, just call me Miles, Sir Legend Dude!

Trace drove Oathrender down against one shovel arm, pinning it low. Ashlyn struck the monster’s opposite shoulder, and Ray blocked its counterattack. Lena’s axed smashed across its legs, forcing it off balance.

Trace Mercer: Now!

Miles leapt, spear spinning above him as green wind gathered into a sharp spiral.

Miles Rowan: Gale Spear Break!

He struck the monster in the chest, driving it backward into a half-built concrete wall. The structure cracked but held, and the monster slumped forward, smoking.

Vire clapped slowly from atop a crane hook, having retreated there with infuriating ease.

Vire the Swift: That was almost impressive.

Miles looked up.

Miles Rowan: You know you loved it!

Vire snapped his fingers.

Vire the Swift: Heh. Grow.

Dark green energy shot from the portal and wrapped around the fallen Worzol monster. The construction site shook as the creature expanded, its shovel arms becoming massive excavation blades, its plated body thickening, its back sprouting jagged digging spines. The half-built building frame groaned as the giant monster rose above it, tearing free from the construction site and stepping into the street beyond.

Trace raised Oathrender.

Trace Mercer: Krieger, Burning Stahlritter, awaken and ride to war!

Ray lifted his Oathlink.

Ray Matthews: Hector, Azure Bastion, awaken to defend!

Krieger descended in a pillar of flame, landing with sword drawn, while Hector rose from beneath the street in a controlled eruption of pavement and dust, its heavy frame locking into place beside the Burning Stahlritter. The two giant mechs moved together immediately, Krieger taking the offensive while Hector braced to protect the surrounding buildings.

The monster struck first, slamming one shovel arm into Hector’s shield hard enough to drive the blue Stahlritter back. Krieger moved in with a flaming slash, but the Worzol monster twisted and caught the blade between its massive digging claws. Sparks flew as it shoved Krieger sideways into a half-finished tower, scattering steel beams across the street.

Inside Krieger’s cockpit, Trace gritted his teeth.

Trace Mercer: Stronger than before.

Inside Hector, Ray’s displays flashed warnings.

Ray Matthews: Its arms are reinforced for impact. It is built to break ground and armor.

The monster struck the street, sending a shockwave through the pavement that staggered both Stahlritter. Hector anchored its legs, but Krieger was forced back again.

On the ground, Miles watched with his green gem pulsing wildly.

Miles Rowan: Okay. That is the part where I come in.

Lena looked at him.

Lena Solis: Go get 'em!

He raised his Oathlink Relic. The name came to him on the wind.

Miles Rowan: Kestrel, Emerald Wind Stahlritter, answer me!

The air above Avalon City split with green light. A sharp, Stahlritter descended from the clouds, sleeker than Krieger and Hector, with emerald armor, silver accents, and swept-back wing structures that caught the wind like blades. Kestrel did not land with brute force. It cut through the air, circled once, and dropped into the battle with a burst of wind that cleared dust from the street below.

Miles vanished into green light and appeared in Kestrel’s cockpit, where the controls formed around him in sweeping arcs rather than rigid panels. Everything moved with him, responding not just to touch but to breath, balance, and intent.

Miles Rowan: Oh, you are fast.

Kestrel surged forward before he finished speaking.

Miles Rowan: Very fast!

Kestrel struck the Worzol monster from the side, spear forming in its hands as it carved a green line across the monster’s shoulder. The creature roared and turned, giving Krieger room to recover and Hector time to reset its shield.

Trace Mercer: Miles, well timed.

Miles Rowan: I would love to say that was on purpose.

Ray Matthews: I won't say otherwise.

Miles Rowan: Heh. Thanks.

For a moment, the three Stahlritter fought in sync, and the battlefield opened. Krieger pressured from the front, Hector blocked and countered from the side, and Kestrel moved around the monster in fast strikes that kept it turning. But the Worzol monster adapted quickly. It drove both shovel arms into the ground and tore up a massive wall of stone and asphalt, hurling it into Kestrel’s path. Miles tried to dodge, but the debris clipped one wing and sent him spiraling into a building.

Lena’s voice snapped through the Oathlink.

Lena Solis: Miles!

Miles groaned as Kestrel pushed off the damaged building.

Miles Rowan: Still here. Really getting into architecture.

The monster advanced, raising one massive arm to crush Kestrel before it could fully recover.

Lena looked down at her Oathlink Relic. It began to pulse.

Lena Solis: Miles, I am sending you my power.

Miles Rowan: I am accepting all donations.

Lena closed her eyes, focusing her energy through the link the way Trace had taught them. Yellow light flowed from her relic into Kestrel, wrapping around its damaged wing and stabilizing the mech’s balance. Inside the cockpit, Miles felt the change immediately.

Miles breathed in. Then out.

The monster swung.

Kestrel vanished into a burst of green and yellow wind.

It reappeared above the monster, spear raised, the blade wrapped in a spiraling current of emerald air and golden light.

Miles Rowan: Kestrel Gale Strike!

Kestrel dove. The spear pierced the monster’s exposed chest and released a tornado of compressed wind from within. Krieger and Hector moved at the same time, Krieger slashing through the monster’s weakened armor while Hector fired its cannon into the opening. The combined force tore the Worzol monster apart in a clean, brilliant explosion of green, red, blue, and yellow light that dissolved harmlessly above the city.

The three Stahlritter landed together amid settling dust.

For once, Miles did not say anything immediately.

Back on the ground, after the mechs departed and the team regrouped near the construction site, the silence around Miles remained. He looked tired, scuffed, and thoughtful in a way that made the others give him space without needing to be told. Vire was gone, having vanished during the explosion, but the green gem remained secure in Miles’s Oathlink, glowing steadily.

Ray approached him slowly.

Ray Matthews: Miles.

Miles looked over.

Miles Rowan: If this is about me entering an active construction site without backup, I-

Ray smiled faintly, but the guilt in his eyes stayed.

Ray Matthews: I am sorry.

Miles’s expression shifted.

Ray Matthews: I have been too unkind to you...for too long...even before all of this. I thought I had my reasons...but I have no good reason to put you down.

Miles looked away for a moment.

Miles Rowan: I do talk a lot.

Ray Matthews: Yes.

Miles snorted.

Ray Matthews: But that is not all you do. I know that. I just do not always understand you.

Miles turned back toward him.

Ray Matthews: I am trying to understand someone very unlike myself, and I am finding out that it takes more patience than I expected. But it is worth it.

Miles was quiet for a long moment.

Then he smiled, small at first, then more like himself.

Miles Rowan: That was almost emotionally devastating, Ray.

Ray Matthews: I can rephrase it with more technical language if that helps.

Miles Rowan: Please never do that.

Miles held out a fist.

Ray hesitated, then bumped it awkwardly.

Miles Rowan: We are improving.

Ray Matthews: Methodically.

Miles Rowan: Hey, that is your favorite speed!

Ray laughed despite himself.

Across the street, Ashlyn watched them with a soft smile, but her attention drifted back toward Trace. He stood near the edge of the construction site, looking at the place where the monster had fallen. The sunset had begun to color the sky, and the light caught the red of his jacket in a way that made him look briefly like the warrior from another age that he was.

Ashlyn stepped beside him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Today was supposed to distract me.

Trace looked at her.

Trace Mercer: Did it?

She thought about lying. Then she thought about the nightmare, about the dark sword in her hands.

Ashlyn Westbrook: For a while.

Trace nodded.

Trace Mercer: Then we will try again.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Another modern culture tour?

Trace Mercer: If that is what you wish.

Ashlyn smiled.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Still not a date.

Trace nodded solemnly.

Trace Mercer: Still don't know what that is.

The five of them began the walk back toward the KED Building as the last of the dust settled behind them. Miles’s green Oathlink gem pulsed with a steady rhythm, no longer calling from somewhere distant, but answering from his side. Ashlyn’s uncertainty lingered. Trace walked beside her without pressing for answers she was not ready to give. Ray and Miles argued gently about whether “Kestrel operational documentation” was an acceptable folder name, while Lena quietly prepared to veto both of them if necessary.

Above Avalon City, the evening wind moved between the buildings, carrying the promise of battles still to come.

To Be Continued...

Last edited by Machismo (5/05/2026 11:49 pm)

Machismo · 5/06/2026 12:02 am

Episode 6: Sunlit Heart, Shadowed Tome

Ashlyn Westbrook had begun to recognize the difference between ordinary nightmares and the kind that followed her after she opened her eyes. Ordinary nightmares faded when morning arrived. They thinned out as light came through the window, became strange and embarrassing after breakfast, and eventually broke apart into scattered images that no longer carried the same sharpness. The nightmare that woke her before dawn did not fade. It remained inside her chest like a secret injury, cold and exact, forcing her to lie still beneath her blankets while the ceiling above her slowly returned to being the ceiling of her apartment instead of the storm black sky of a ruined battlefield.

She had dreamed of Kishi Red again.

The dream had not given her the mercy of distance. She had been close enough to see the rain strike his armor and run in thin streams down the crimson plates. She had been close enough to hear the strained sound that escaped him when the dark sword entered his chest. She had been close enough to know that he had not been afraid of dying, not at first. He had been confused. Hurt. Not by the blade, but by the person holding it.

Ashlyn sat up slowly and looked at her hands.

They were empty now, but in the dream they had been wrapped around the hilt of a sword called Gravebrand, the black sword whose name she knew before anyone had told her. The blade had been dark and elegant, cruel in the way beautiful things could sometimes be cruel, with violet lines running through it like veins of poisoned light. She remembered driving it forward. She remembered the resistance of armor giving way. She remembered Kishi Red reaching toward her with one hand, trying to stop her from falling into whatever darkness had taken hold.

Ashlyn drew her knees toward her chest and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She tried to tell herself the dream had been planted by fear, by Malvora’s words. She tried to tell herself that she would never hurt Trace, because whatever strange pull existed between them, she knew the difference between fear and desire.

By the time she arrived at Avalon University later that morning, she had convinced herself that research would take her mind off things. She was going to scour old books that talked about the "myths" of ancient times. If there was anything about the past, maybe it could help her find some clues to the whereabouts of her own black gem.

Avalon University stood in the older academic district, surrounded by modern glass research buildings, brick lecture halls, manicured lawns, and walkways lined with trees whose leaves moved gently in the late morning breeze. The University looked like an institution with prestige, money, and history, but Ashlyn noticed details now that she might have missed before becoming a Kishiranger. There were shields carved into stone arches that resembled the Magnus Foundation’s crest. A winged lion appeared in the ironwork above one of the side gates. The oldest building on campus had modern access panels installed beside doors that were clearly much older than the city claimed they were.

Ashlyn stopped outside the library and stared at the crest above the entrance.

A winged lion.

Of course.

Ray Matthews had worked at the University. That had seemed normal before, or at least as normal as anything in their lives had been recently. Now Ashlyn wondered whether Ray had ever truly been working in an ordinary lab, or whether the Magnus Foundation had quietly built a pipeline of scholars, researchers, and relic analysts under the guise of academic study. Knowing Dorian Vale, she suspected the answer.

She stepped into the library and was immediately hit by the scent of paper, polished wood, and old stone. Sunlight poured through tall windows, falling across long tables where students worked quietly beneath green-shaded lamps. The main floor looked normal enough at first glance, with rows of catalog terminals, study rooms, and shelves labeled for history, engineering, literature, and the usual academic divisions. But farther back, past the public facing sections, a normally locked door was wide open. She got curious and peeked inside. The building seemed to deepen. The shelves grew taller. The light dimmed slightly. The air cooled. The floor beneath her boots changed from polished modern tile to older stone that had been carefully preserved beneath protective varnish.

Ashlyn walked past a display case filled with old campus photographs. The earliest image showed the library under construction, though the date attached to the plaque made her frown. The architecture in the photograph looked too too old, as if the University had not been built from nothing, but uncovered and renamed.

She leaned closer to read the small text beneath it.

Founded through the support of private patrons dedicated to preserving Avalon’s intellectual legacy.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Private patrons. Sure.

A voice answered from behind her.

Librarian: That phrase usually means either generous benefactors or people hiding something. Sometimes both. Sorry. I did not mean to startle you.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You didn’t.

Librarian: Of course not.

Librarian: Maribel Thorn. Visiting archival specialist. I help with restricted collections, misfiled history, and the occasional student who wanders in looking for ancient answers.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That is a very specific job description.

Maribel Thorn: I like to be varied and useful.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You are very friendly for someone who works with restricted collections.

Maribel Thorn: Why wouldn't I be? Dusty books are fascinating.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Are they?

Maribel Thorn: You would be amazed what old things will tell you if you give them enough attention.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I am looking for records about ancient Avalon.

Maribel Thorn: That is a very broad subject, especially when dealing with fact or fiction.

Ashlyn Westbrook: The Black Knight.

Maribel Thorn: That is not broad at all.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Then you know something.

Maribel Thorn: I know that most students who ask about ancient Avalon want legends, romantic battles, noble sacrifices, and just enough tragedy to make a thesis advisor feel generous. They do not usually ask about The Black Knight.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I am not most students.

Maribel Thorn: No. You are not. I can tell. Archeology major? History buff? You hunger for answers from the past. Those old runes that turned up around town recently must've caught your interest. I love it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Is this where you tell me the restricted section is restricted?

Maribel Thorn: No. You seem to know that already. However, you found your way back here on your own, and maybe I didn't see you?

Maribel turned and walked deeper into the library, clearly expecting Ashlyn to follow. Ashlyn hesitated only a second before stepping after her, the unease in her chest now matched by a growing sense that she was being led somewhere very intentional.

Ashlyn Westbrook: These definitely aren’t decorative.

Maribel Thorn: No. They’re not.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Are these legit?

Maribel didn’t slow.

Maribel Thorn: What do your instincts tell you?

Ashlyn Westbrook: That these are tomes that have somehow survived since the time of antiquity?

Maribel Thorn: Very perceptive.

They reached a row of books that looked particularly old. Maribel carefully pulled one free and unwrapped it, revealing a book bound in dark leather. The surface was cracked with age, but intact, and at its center was an embossed symbol that made Ashlyn’s breath catch.

A sword. A black sword.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That’s...

Maribel Thorn: Familiar?

Ashlyn didn’t answer immediately. Her hand moved toward the book, then paused just short of touching it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What is it?

Maribel Thorn: A record.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Of what?

Maribel’s eyes held hers.

Maribel Thorn: The legend of the Black Knight.

The moment her fingers brushed the cover, her Oathlink Relic pulsed sharply against her side. For a fraction of a second, the world shifted.

She saw a hall of stone, lit by torches instead of electric lights. She saw Kishi Red, standing beside another figure clad in black. The second knight turned slightly, and Ashlyn strained to see their face, but the image shattered before it could form.

Ashlyn pulled her hand back, her breath catching.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I...saw something!

Maribel Thorn: History is very vibrant.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No, I mean I actually saw something. That wasn't normal!

Maribel Thorn: No. It wasn’t.

Ashlyn looked at her, sharper now.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You knew that would happen?

Maribel didn’t deny it.

Maribel Thorn: I suspected.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Suspected what?

Maribel stepped closer, her voice lowering just enough to feel like a secret.

Maribel Thorn: That you’re not just looking for answers. You’re connected to them.

Ashlyn’s jaw tightened.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That doesn’t mean anything.

Maribel Thorn: I think you've figured out what this place is by now. Is it any wonder I know who you are?

Ashlyn looked back at the book.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Kishi Black.

Maribel watched her carefully.

Maribel Thorn: You came looking for the history of the one who last wielded your power.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I came looking for the truth.

Maribel Thorn: Precisely.

Ashlyn exhaled slowly.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Then stop talking around it.

Maribel smiled again, softer this time.

Maribel Thorn: Start with a name.

Ashlyn’s eyes narrowed.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What name?

Maribel held her gaze.

Maribel Thorn: Mordred.

Across Avalon City, the rear section of the Knight Express Delivery building looked like it was undergoing routine maintenance. A temporary barrier had been set up, bright orange cones marking the area while a small crew of workers moved equipment in and out of the open space beside the building. From the outside, it was completely unremarkable.

Inside, beneath the surface, it was anything but.

The hidden lower level had changed.

What had once been a concealed command center now extended further than before, the walls opened to reveal reinforced compartments built with precision and intent. Massive support structures lined the chamber, each one designed to house something far larger than the building above would suggest.

Ray Matthews stood at the edge of the platform, staring.

Ray Matthews: They actually did it.

Lena Solis stood beside him, already leaning forward slightly, her eyes scanning every visible detail with the focus of someone trying to memorize the entire system at once.

Lena Solis: You’ve said that already.

Ray Matthews: I’m saying it again because it still doesn’t feel real.

The platform in front of them shifted, locking into place with a deep, mechanical resonance that echoed through the chamber. As it settled, the silhouette of Hector became fully visible within its docking frame, secured by reinforced braces that held the massive Stahlritter in a dormant, ready state.

Ray adjusted his glasses, shaking his head slightly.

Ray Matthews: When Miles made that ridiculous suggestion...I did not expect them to build an entire underground docking facility in response.

Lena Solis: I was looking at the schematics. This space was already here. I suspect that they knew we'd need it. This isn’t just a docking facility.

She stepped closer, her hand hovering just short of the surface.

Lena Solis: This is integrated infrastructure. Power routing, stabilization anchors, and something called dimensional alignment points. They didn’t just store the Stahlritter, they built the space around them....I think. I'm still learning everything that they'll even allow us to know. They use a different kind of power source, I know that. The Magnus Foundation use relic-powered modern technology, called Aethergrid systems and Oath Circuitry, blending magic, engineering, and ancient Avalon science. They were able to craft the Oathlink which helps the Kishiranger, and something called Rune Lenses. I haven't seen those though, and I have no idea what they'd be used for. This Magnus Foundation that is helping us is still full of secrets.

Ray Matthews: That’s what concerns me.

Lena Solis: That’s what excites me.

Dorian Vale stood behind them, observing quietly, his cane resting lightly against the floor.

Dorian Vale: Both reactions are appropriate.

Lena glanced back.

Lena Solis: Where’s mine?

Ray looked at her.

Ray Matthews: Lena—

Lena Solis: If they built this, then they planned for all of them. So where is it?

Dorian’s expression remained calm.

Dorian Vale: We have the space, but you have to find the gem.

Lena frowned.

Lena Solis: I looked and listened like Miles. Why haven't I found it?

Dorian Vale: Because it has not answered you yet.

Lena Solis: Well I know that, obviously. I mean duh!

Dorian cleared his throat.

Dorian Vale: Sorry, but you have to find other means to reach out for your Zircon.

Lena Solis: My what?

Dorian Vale: Your "gem". They were called Zircon.

Lena Solis: How come I've never heard Trace call them that?

Dorian Vale: I suspect even he didn't have time to always "read the manuel" as it were. He was a war time Commander after all.

Lena crossed her arms.

Lena Solis: Hmmm.

He shifted slightly, his tone steady.

Dorian Vale: Ray found his by seeking patterns. Miles found his by learning to listen. Trace already carried his because his oath never left him.

Lena looked away.

Lena Solis: And me?

Dorian’s gaze sharpened just slightly.

Dorian Vale: You solve problems. You work things out. You're an engineer.

Lena Solis: That’s what I do.

Dorian Vale: But your power also comes from the sun. You need to shine in what you do.

Lena didn’t respond.

Dorian Vale: Some answers present themselves when they are needed. I feel that yours will since you're seeking it.

She exhaled.

Lena Solis: ...Your nebulous banter is more baffling than the knight from fifteen hundred years ago!

Lena Solis stepped back out into the afternoon light with Dorian’s word still echoing in her thoughts in a way that refused to settle. The city moved around her as it always did, alive with ordinary urgency, but something about it felt different now that she was trying to listen for something she could not define. She stood there for a moment beside the blue delivery truck, sunlight warming her shoulders, and looked up at the sky as if the answer might be written somewhere in the brightness above her.

Lena Solis: Alright...talk to me.

She pushed herself off the wall and started walking.

It made sense that her gem might be somewhere exposed, somewhere connected to the sun, somewhere where light was constant and unobstructed. Rooftops, observatories, open plazas, riverbanks where reflections multiplied brightness across the water. She moved through the city with purpose, letting those ideas guide her path.

The problem was that she could feel herself overthinking it.

She passed through a busy street, then a quieter one, then a stretch of shops that gave way to a wide pedestrian walkway leading toward the river. The sunlight reflected off the water in shifting gold patterns, and for a moment she slowed, watching it move.

Lena Solis: Beautiful day, but I can't tell if I'm getting closer.

The Oathlink Relic at her side remained still.

Lena Solis: I have to find this thing. I have to be helpful! We opened up the world to this curse.

She leaned against the railing overlooking the river, closing her eyes for just a second, forcing herself to stop moving long enough to actually listen instead of think. The city’s noise washed over her. Water. Footsteps. Distant traffic. Voices blending together into something that felt constant and meaningless at the same time.

Then something cut through it.

A scream.

Lena’s eyes snapped open.

A cluster of children stood several yards down the walkway, one of them leaning dangerously over the railing while the others shouted in confusion and fear.

Child: He fell in! He fell in!

Lena was already moving.

She ran toward them, shoving past a pair of startled pedestrians as she reached the railing and looked down. The current was fast enough to carry a small body away. The boy surfaced once, gasping, then slipped under again.

Lena Solis: Stay back!

She didn’t wait for anyone to respond. She vaulted the railing and dove.

The river hit cold and heavy, the impact knocking the air from her lungs for half a second before instinct took over. She kicked hard, cutting through the water toward where she had last seen him. The current pushed sideways, trying to carry her past him, but she adjusted, angling her body and driving forward until she saw him again just beneath the surface. She grabbed him.

He thrashed immediately, panicked, grabbing at her shoulders and pulling them both off balance.

Lena Solis: Hey! Hey, stop! I’ve got you!

He didn’t stop.

Boy: It’s coming! It’s coming!

Lena Solis: You’re fine! Breathe! Just breathe!

She turned him, locking his back against her chest, one arm around his torso as she kicked toward the embankment. His hands clutched something tightly against his chest, refusing to let go even as he struggled. They reached the edge. Lena lifted the boy upward onto the walkway while Lena hauled herself up after him, water pouring from her clothes as she scrambled onto solid ground.

Lena Solis: You’re okay. You’re okay.

The boy coughed, gasping, shaking his head violently.

Boy: No! It’s coming!

The river exploded.

Water surged upward in a violent column as something massive forced its way to the surface. The creature that emerged was a fusion of scales and metal. Fins flared from its arms like bladed extensions, and its head split open slightly along the jawline, revealing rows of thin, needle-like teeth behind a mask of hardened bone.

Its eyes locked onto the boy immediately.

Worzol Monster: The stone. Return it.

Lena stepped in front of him without thinking.

Lena Solis: Not happening.

The monster moved forward, water dripping from its frame.

Worzol Monster: It belongs below.

Boy: I didn’t take it! I found it!

The boy opened his hands just enough for Lena to see what he was holding. Yellow. The gem pulsed faintly in his grip. Lena’s Oathlink responded instantly, a soft, steady warmth spreading outward from her side.

Lena Solis: The Zircon!

The monster lunged.

Lena shoved the boy back toward the others.

Lena Solis: Run! All of you, get out of here!

People scattered, panic breaking the moment apart as the creature advanced. Lena held her ground, eyes locked on the gem for one more second before snapping back to the threat in front of her.

She couldn’t transform here. Not yet.

The monster swung. Lena ducked under the first strike, grabbing a nearby metal railing and wrenching it free as an improvised weapon. She drove it into the creature’s side, the impact ringing out but doing little to slow it. The creature retaliated immediately, its arm slamming into her shoulder and sending her skidding across the walkway. Pain flared, but she pushed through it.

Lena Solis: Okay. That’s not great.

The monster advanced again, slower this time, more deliberate.

Worzol Monster: You delay the inevitable.

Lena Solis: Yeah. As long as I can.

She needed space.

She grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him toward a lower access path beneath the walkway, a shadowed area just out of sight from the main crowd. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be enough.

Lena Solis: Stay here. Don’t move.

Boy: It wants this.

He held the gem up. Lena looked at it.

Lena Solis: Yeah. I figured.

She stepped back, raising her Oath Buckler.

Lena Solis: Truth shone. Kishiranger, arise!

Yellow light wrapped around her, forming armor in sharp, clean lines as the transformation completed in a flash. Kishi Yellow stepped forward into the open space, axe forming in her grip as she faced the monster head-on.

Yellow moved fast, closing the distance before the creature could build momentum. She struck first, the axe cutting across its torso and sending a burst of sparks into the air. The monster staggered, then recovered with a violent counter, its fin-like arm sweeping low. Yellow jumped, twisting midair to avoid the strike before bringing the axe down again.

The monster grabbed her mid-swing and slammed her into the ground, cracking the pavement beneath her. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, but she forced herself to roll, narrowly avoiding the follow-up strike that tore into the concrete where she had been.

Lena Solis: You fight harder than every other fish I've caught!

Worzol Monster: You will break.

Lena Solis: Not today.

She charged again, but the monster was ready this time. It caught her weapon, twisted, and threw her backward into a support pillar. The structure shuddered on impact, dust falling from above as Lena dropped to one knee. The gap in strength was obvious.

A new presence suddenly settled over the battlefield.

Malvora: You’re improving!

Lena looked up.

Malvora stood above them, balanced effortlessly on the edge of the structure.

Lena Solis: You sent this thing.

Malvora: Of course I did.

Lena Solis: It went after a kid!

Malvora: Of course it did! The boy has the gem! Besides! This is war, sweetie. You're all going to be gobbled up by it! Hahaha!

Lena’s grip tightened.

Lena Solis: How could you?

Malvora: You're not that slow. Think it through. Evil. Remember?

The monster lunged again, and Lena barely managed to block. The force drove her backward, her boots carving into the ground as she struggled to hold her position.

Malvora descended slowly, landing lightly a short distance away.

Malvora: You’re alone.

Lena Solis: Not for long.

Malvora: You’re confident.

Lena Solis: I’m really really hopeful.

The monster struck again. She let the attack pass just close enough to feel the wind of it, then drove forward instead of back, slipping inside its range and striking directly at the weak point she had identified during the earlier exchange. It wasn't enough. The boy stood behind her, hands shaking, the gem glowing brighter now than before. He realized the object the monster wanted was meant for the woman in the front of him.

Boy: Take it!

Lena hesitated. Only for a second. Then she moved. She grabbed the gem, and everything changed.

The instant Lena Solis’s fingers closed around the yellow gem, everything sharpened. Everything grew brighter. She was brighter.

The Oathlink Relic at her side responded immediately, the gem locking into place. The warmth that spread through her armor was steady, and powerful like sunshine.

Her axe shifted in her grip.

The metal brightened.

Lines of ancient etching flared to life along its surface, tracing patterns that had been dormant until that moment. The blade widened slightly, its edge becoming cleaner, sharper, more defined.

Malvora: Aymr.

Lena turned her head slightly, the visor of her helmet catching the light as she looked toward the witch.

Lena Solis: Aymr. Sure, why not?

The Worzol monster did not wait.

It lunged again, its bladed arm carved downward in a heavy arc meant to split her where she stood.

Lena stepped into it.

Aymr rose.

The impact rang out like a struck bell, but this time the force did not drive her back. Instead, it split. The blow broke along the edge of her weapon, redirected outward in a flare of golden light that forced the creature off balance. Before it could recover, Lena pivoted and drove the axe forward in a clean, controlled strike that cut directly into the cracked section of its armor.

The blade bit deep.

The monster recoiled violently, a distorted roar tearing from its throat as sparks and fragments of its plated hide burst outward.

Lena did not hesitate. She followed through. One step forward, a second strike, and then third.

Malvora: Interesting.

The monster roared and charged again, abandoning caution entirely in favor of raw force. Lena met it head-on, stepping inside its reach and driving the butt of Aymr into its midsection before bringing the blade up in a rising arc that sent it stumbling backward toward the river’s edge.

The witch Malvora lifted her staff and drew a line through the air, and reality seemed to bend around the gesture. Violet rings of energy formed instantly, snapping into place around Lena’s arms and shoulders, tightening with crushing force.

Lena’s movement halted mid-strike.

Aymr trembled in her grip.

Lena Solis: Oh come on!

Malvora: Growth is admirable.

The rings tightened further.

Malvora: But it's impeding my mission. We can't have that.

The Worzol monster surged forward again, regaining its footing as it prepared to strike while Lena was restrained. She strained against the bindings, the energy resisting her strength, holding her just long enough for the creature to close the distance.

Then her Oathlink crackled.

Trace Mercer: Lena Solis, stand firm.

Relief hit, sharp and immediate.

Lena Solis: Took you long enough, and just call me Lena!

Miles Rowan: We had to dramatically arrive. It’s a whole thing.

Ray Matthews: Miles—

Ashlyn Westbrook: We’re here.

Four figures moved into the space in a coordinated rush, each already raising their Oath Bucklers as they closed the distance.

Trace Mercer: Oath forged.

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn.

Miles Rowan: Wild heart awakened.

All Four: Kishiranger, arise!

Red, blue, green, and black light burst into form beside Lena as the team transformed mid-motion, landing in formation just as the Worzol monster reached striking range.

Trace met the monster head-on, Oathrender igniting as it clashed against the creature’s bladed arm. The impact forced it backward just enough to break its momentum, and in that instant, Ray stepped in, using Vanguard to block the follow up meant for Lena.

Miles moved next, slipping through the opening with a burst of speed, Gungnir striking twice in rapid succession to drive the monster further off balance.

Ashlyn followed, her movements sharp and precise, targeting the weakened section Lena had already opened.

The pressure shifted.

Malvora’s bindings shattered under the combined disruption, releasing Lena as the team fell into rhythm around her.

Lena Solis: You’re late.

Miles Rowan: Just in time actually.

Ray Matthews: Status.

Lena Solis: I’ve got the gem.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Outstanding.

Trace Mercer: Then we end this.

The Worzol monster roared, gathering itself for another charge, but this time it faced all five of them.

They moved together. Red broke its guard. Blue held the line. Green disrupted its footing. Black struck with precision. Yellow drove through the opening.

The combined assault forced the creature down, its body crashing against the pavement as cracks spread beneath it.

Trace Mercer: Now!

Oathrender ignited fully, flames gathering along its length as Trace raised it high. The other four poured their power into it.

Trace Mercer: Oathrender! Final Vow!

The strike came down clean.

The impact split the monster’s core, energy erupting outward as the creature let out one final, distorted roar before collapsing into a cascade of fading fragments.

For a moment, it was over.

Then Malvora laughed.

Malvora: Predictable, but then again, so is this.

The remains of the monster pulsed.

Ray Matthews: Of course it grows.

Miles Rowan: They always grow.

Trace Mercer: Krieger, Burning Stahlritter, awaken and ride to war!

Ray Matthews: Hector, Azure Bastion, awaken to defend!

Miles Rowan: Kestrel, Emerald Wind Stahlritter, awaken on the wind!

The three Stahlritter answered, launching from their new position behind the KED Building. They made it to the waterfront in no time at all.

Krieger descended first, fire tearing through the air as the red Stahlritter landed with force. Hector followed, in a controlled burst of blue-lit machinery. Kestral gently glided in and floated above the water.

The now-giant Worzol monster roared, towering over the riverwalk as it prepared to strike again. The three pushed the fight into the water, which turned into a disadvantage for Kreiger, but allowed the fight damage to be minimized. The water became a weapon as it was blasted in jets to put out the flames of Kreiger, and knocked Kestrel out of the air. Hector was able to block the shots with its shield, but couldn't press forward.

Lena looked up. With Zircon affixed to her Oathlink, she could feel it now. The name was on her tongue. Spiegel.

Lena Solis: Okay.

She raised her Oathlink.

Lena Solis: Spiegel, Golden Light, awaken to shine!

The sky split.

A streak of gold cut through the clouds, fast and precise, descending in a controlled arc before resolving into form. Spiegel emerged fully as it broke through the atmosphere, its design sleeker than Hector, more angular than Krieger, its surfaces reflecting sunlight in sharp, controlled flashes.

Lena vanished into light as she was drawn into its cockpit, the controls forming around her in response to her presence.

Lena Solis: Oh, that’s nice.

Spiegel moved immediately.

The battle resumed at full scale.

Krieger engaged directly, drawing the monster’s focus. Hector anchored the field, absorbing and redirecting the heaviest blows. Spiegel moved between them, faster than expected, its strikes precise and efficient, each motion blinding with shining light.

The monster swung wide. Hector blocked. Krieger backed away.

Spiegel cut through the opening.

The four Stahlritter moved as one.

The monster faltered.

Ray Matthews: We have it contained!

Trace Mercer: Then finish it!

Lena took a breath.

Everything aligned again.

Lena Solis: Spiegel! Golden Aymr Strike!

The attack formed instantly, a focused surge of golden energy drawn along the length of Aymr’s projection within the Stahlritter. Spiegel surged forward, the strike landing directly at the creature’s core as Krieger, Kestrel, and Hector reinforced the impact from either side.

The explosion was blinding, as the monster dissolved completely.

Malvora stood at a distance, untouched, observing.

Malvora: You learn quickly.

Lena Solis: I try.

Malvora smiled.

Malvora: It won’t be enough.

She stepped back.

Malvora: You cannot claim them all...if we already have one.

She vanished. The group stood looking out at the water front as the four Stahlritter returned to the docking bay.

Ray Matthews: Congratulations, Lena. You found it.

Lena Solis: Yes. Apparently, they're called Zircon? Why didn't you tell us that, Trace?

Trace Mercer: ...I was asleep for a very long time.

Miles Rowan: That's a great point. I forget all sorts of stuff when I sleep, where my socks are, and stuff like that.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Did you hear what she just said though? We can't claim them all...if-

Trace Mercer: I heard her, my lady. I heard her. We can only hope she's lying. The witch lies...a lot.

Ashlyn Westbrook: .....

Later, back in the library, Ashlyn stood with the tome in her hands, the weight of it feeling heavier now than before.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’m worried.

Maribel stood nearby, watching her closely.

Maribel Thorn: About what?

Ashlyn hesitated.

Ashlyn Westbrook: About what I might do.

Maribel stepped closer, placing the book more firmly into her hands.

Maribel Thorn: Then you should learn why you would do it.

Ashlyn looked down at the cover.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Where do I start?

Maribel’s smile returned, softer now.

Maribel Thorn: With the name I gave you.

Ashlyn looked up.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Mordred.

Maribel nodded.

Maribel Thorn: Take it with you.

Ashlyn blinked.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You’re just letting me walk out with this?

Maribel’s eyes gleamed faintly.

Maribel Thorn: I’m not letting you do anything.

She stepped back.

Maribel Thorn: I didn't see anything. Shhhh.

Ashlyn turned, the book held tightly against her chest as she walked toward the exit, her thoughts already racing ahead of her.

Behind her, the smile on Maribel’s face changed.

Shifted.

Darkened.

The warmth drained from it, leaving something far more dangerous in its place.

Malvora stood alone in the aisle.

Malvora: Mordred.

To Be Continued...

Last edited by Machismo (5/06/2026 2:46 am)

Machismo · 5/06/2026 2:28 am

Episode 7: The Black Knight's Waltz

Sunlight slid over the towers of the academy district, caught on glass windows, and scattered across the stone walkways of Avalon Academy until the whole campus seemed polished and harmless. Students crossed the courtyards with coffee cups, messenger bags, and sleepy expressions, while red banners bearing the Avalon lion crest stirred in the breeze above the archways. Ashlyn felt herself at unease.

The book under her arm did nothing to improve that feeling.

It had not stopped feeling heavy since she had taken it from the hidden section of the library. She had wrapped it in a dark cloth and slipped it into her bag when she left the previous night. Every few steps, she became aware of it again, as though the tome had a pulse of its own. It was absurd, she knew that, and the rational part of her mind kept trying to remind her that books did not watch people, whisper beneath cloth, or wait to be opened at exactly the wrong moment. Unfortunately, that same rational part of her mind had recently learned that ancient magical communication relics, dimensional monsters, and giant knight machines were also real, so it had lost a certain amount of authority.

She entered the library through a side door before the main student rush and made her way toward the older section with practiced caution. The librarian at the public desk gave her a polite nod, but Ashlyn did not see Maribel Thorn anywhere. There was something about that woman that made Ashlyn’s instincts sharpen. She was not sure whether Maribel was dangerous, but she was certain Maribel wanted Ashlyn to find the book, and that alone made Ashlyn suspicious.

The hidden section waited in cool silence beyond the restricted archives. Dust hung in the air beneath the high lamps. Tall rolling ladders stood against shelves that climbed far above her head, their rails polished by years of use. The room smelled of paper, waxed wood, old leather, and secrets carefully buried beneath academic order. Ashlyn set her bag on a long table, unwrapped the tome, and stared at the black shield embossed on its cover.

She had opened it only twice since taking it. Both attempts had gone poorly.

The first time, the pages had shown her an image of a knight in black armor standing beside Kishi Red in an ancient hall. The second time, she had found a passage written in script she should not have been able to read and yet somehow understood with sickening clarity. It had named Mordred. It had called him the first Black Kishiranger. It had described him as Trace’s ally and the oath-bound shadow who stood at the red knight’s right hand.

Then the script had shifted.

The same page had called Mordred traitor.

Ashlyn had closed the book so quickly that dust flew from the cover.

Now she opened it again.

The pages turned without her touch.

Ashlyn stiffened as they settled on an illustration spread across both sides. Five armored figures stood in formation beneath a banner she recognized in red, blue, green, yellow, and black. Red stood at the center, Oathrender lifted high. Black stood beside him, one hand resting on the hilt of a dark sword that Ashlyn now knew far too well in her dreams.

Gravebrand.

The image should have been simple history. Instead, Ashlyn felt the old nightmare press against the back of her eyes. Rain. Broken ground. Kishi Red looking at her through a fractured visor. Her own hands around the hilt of that sword.

She forced herself to keep reading.

A soft sound from one of the upper shelves made her look up.

A book leaned dangerously over the edge of a high row, half-displaced from the shelf. Ashlyn frowned. There was no one else in the aisle. No footsteps. No movement. The book shifted another inch by itself.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Absolutely not.

The book tipped farther.

Ashlyn sighed and grabbed the rolling ladder.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Oh no you don't.

She climbed carefully, one hand on the rail, the other reaching upward. The volume sat just beyond comfortable reach, wedged between two cracked histories. She stretched, fingers brushing the spine.

At the base of the ladder, Trace Mercer entered the aisle carrying a stack of books so neatly balanced that it looked ceremonial. He was dressed in his usual modern clothes, red jacket open over a white shirt, the hood resting behind his neck, the swordless version of his posture somehow still making him look ready for a battlefield. He stopped the moment he saw her above him.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn Westbrook, that appears unsafe.

Ashlyn did not look down.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Good morning to you too.

Trace Mercer: Good morning. Please descend before you injure yourself.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It's alright. I know what I'm-

The ladder wheel caught on a slight groove in the floor, jolted, and rolled an inch.

Ashlyn froze.

A chain reaction ran through the shelf. Ancient volumes slid sideways, thumped against one another, and spilled outward in a dusty avalanche. Ashlyn jerked back, her boot slipping on the ladder rung.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace!

Trace dropped the books he carried without hesitation and lunged forward.

Ashlyn fell with a yelp, arms flailing as loose pages and hardbound tomes burst into the air around her. Trace caught her, but the momentum drove him backward. His heel struck one of the fallen books, his balance vanished, and both of them went down in a tangle of limbs, cloth, and flying paper.

They landed on the carpeted floor between the shelves with a muffled thud.

For one stunned second, everything was still.

Then Ashlyn realized exactly where she had landed.

She was sprawled across Trace, one knee pressed awkwardly beside his hip, one hand braced against his chest, her hair falling around both of them like a curtain. Trace’s arms were still locked around her from the catch, his face a hand’s breadth from hers, eyes wide with equal parts concern and absolute panic. One fallen book rested open beside his head. Another slid off the ladder and landed nearby with a deeply judgmental thump.

Ashlyn’s face turned bright red.

Trace’s did too.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I am so sorry.

Trace Mercer: Are you hurt?

Ashlyn Westbrook: You are asking that while I am currently crushing you.

Trace Mercer: I have endured heavier armor.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That did not make this less embarrassing. In fact, it's MORE embarrassing!

She tried to push herself up, but her glove slipped on the polished edge of his jacket. She dropped slightly closer, and both of them froze again.

Trace Mercer: I believe movement may worsen the situation.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace, I need you to stop being noble for five seconds and help me figure out where my leg is.

Trace Mercer: I am afraid to answer that.

A laugh echoed from the end of the aisle.

Ashlyn closed her eyes in immediate despair.

Miles Rowan: Wow. The library got way more educational while I was gone.

Miles leaned around the shelf, grinning with the kind of joy that made Ashlyn consider violence. Lena stood beside him with one hand over her mouth, trying and failing to look supportive instead of delighted.

Lena Solis: We came to ask if you wanted breakfast. Then we find you both lurking in this dank secret room? We heard a yell and worried you were falling.

Miles Rowan: Looks like you already fell for something.

Ashlyn slowly turned her head toward him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Miles!

Miles Rowan: Yes, terrifying woman currently using our leader as furniture?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Run.

Miles took one step back.

Miles Rowan: Sensible.

Lena crossed her arms, still smiling.

Lena Solis: Trace, are you okay?

Trace had gone very still, as if emotional paralysis had become a tactical choice.

Trace Mercer: I am physically unharmed.

Miles Rowan: Emotionally?

Trace Mercer: Confused.

Ashlyn finally managed to scramble off him, nearly tripping over the hem of her skirt as she stood. Trace rose immediately afterward, then bent to retrieve one of the fallen books, clearly grateful for anything to do with his hands. Ashlyn brushed dust off her clothes and refused to look at anyone.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We are never talking about this again.

Miles Rowan: Wouldn't want to ruin the moment.

Ashlyn snatched a book from the floor and lifted it threateningly.

Miles Rowan: I am quiet now.

Lena stepped closer to Ashlyn, her teasing expression softening when she noticed the black tome on the table.

Lena Solis: What's that?

Ashlyn’s embarrassment faded into something heavier. She looked toward the book without answering at first.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Just a book I found. By the way, what were you doing here, Trace? I thought I was the only one that found out about this place.

Trace Mercer: You might be right about that. I was originally using the library to try and catch up on history.

Lena Solis: ...Fifteen hundred years of history?

Trace Mercer: I was told by a little man in the magic box that books contained historical knowledge.

Miles Rowan: Did the little man ask for a credit card?

Trace Mercer: Yes, he did. You've seen him! What IS a credit card?

Lena Solis: You're better off not knowing.

Trace Mercer: Interesting. I came here to read some of these books, and I saw you coming in here, so I thought...I thought I might join you.

Ashlyn looked at him carefully.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace? What can you tell me about the person who was Kishi Black before me?

Trace’s brow tightened.

Trace Mercer: Oh. I'm a little caught off guard by the question. It's so sudden.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Sorry, I-

Trace Mercer: No, I should apologize. I asked you all to stand with me, and fight with me, and yet I remain guarded. I guess it would be because it's painful to think back on my old comrades. It's pain to think back on any of it, because it's all gone.

Miles’s grin disappeared.

Miles Rowan: Oh...sorry Sir Legend Dude. We never even thought about how hard that aspect must be on you.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Miles is right.

Ray Matthews: He is?

Ray’s voice came from behind them.

He entered the aisle carrying a tablet and wearing the expression of someone who had slept badly the night before. He looked from the scattered books to Ashlyn and Trace, noticed everyone’s red faces, and paused.

Ray Matthews: Do I want context?

Ashlyn Westbrook: No.

Trace Mercer: Gravity betrayed her.

Miles Rowan: And then romance saved her.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Miles.

Miles Rowan: Silence has claimed me again.

Ray made the wise decision to ignore all of it and approached the group.

Ray Matthews: Well, since we're all here...shall we eat?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Yes. Good idea. Tell me more about them later, Trace. Please?

Trace looked at her, concern lingering despite the awkwardness from moments before.

Trace Mercer: Of course.

Ashlyn met his gaze.

The warmth in her face returned, but gentler this time.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Thank you. Thank you for a lot, actually.

The moment hung between them longer than either expected.

Lena noticed.

Miles noticed.

Ray noticed and immediately looked at his tablet to avoid being dragged into whatever emotional weather system had formed.

Later that morning, Ray Matthews walked alone across Avalon Academy’s chapel courtyard with his hands tucked into the pockets of his blue jacket and his thoughts arranged in increasingly unstable layers. The chapel stood apart from the rest of the campus, old stone surrounded by newer buildings, its stained-glass windows catching light in blues and golds. Most students passed it without much thought, treating it as a historic landmark or a quiet place to sit between classes. Ray knew better.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of candle smoke and polished wood. Rows of pews stretched toward a modest altar beneath a carved winged lion. Colored light fell across the floor through tall windows showing scenes from Avalon’s older legends: knights standing over ruins, saints holding shields, scholars lifting relics from beneath the earth. Ray paused beneath one window where a young figure carried a broken sword wrapped in cloth.

Father Lughbow stood near the front lighting a candle. He was an older man with a narrow face, kind eyes, and a calm presence. His robes were simple, dark, and trimmed with muted gold. He turned when Ray entered.

Father Lughbow: You are early, Raymond.

Ray stopped halfway down the aisle.

Ray Matthews: You asked me to come before noon.

Father Lughbow: I never expect you to show up on time.

Ray Matthews: I've been a little busy lately. Perhaps I should be more direct?

Father Lughbow smiled faintly and finished lighting the candle.

Father Lughbow: Directness is valuable. So is caution.

Ray Matthews: Then I’ll be direct cautiously. I’m involved in things that are much bigger than the original work.

The priest turned at last.

Father Lughbow: You're directly involved with the Knights.

Ray’s eyes narrowed.

Ray Matthews: You know.

Father Lughbow: We make it our business to know. Of that you should be all too aware.

Ray walked closer, lowering his voice even though they were alone.

Ray Matthews: I was told to recover historical artifacts. That was the job. Small items. Old inscriptions. Anything tied to pre-modern Avalon activity. I was not told those artifacts were connected to living weapons, alternate dimensions, ancient monsters, or a secret organization operating beneath a delivery company.

Father Lughbow studied him with quiet patience.

Father Lughbow: You were made aware of most of those things long ago.

Ray Matthews: I don't think I ever believed it was possible.

Father Lughbow: We asked you to salvage artifacts because we believed those artifacts mattered.

Ray Matthews: Believed they mattered historically.

Father Lughbow: Did we say historically?

Ray stopped.

That bothered him.

Because they had not.

They had used words like preservation, containment, and acquisition.

Ray Matthews: I understand the goals of Der Gralsbund, but I think you might have the wrong idea about them. Magnus doesn't appear to have nefarious intent. I mean you've seen us in action. You know who they are.

Father Lughbow: I know what they have been called.

Ray Matthews: Then say it.

The priest looked toward the stained glass.

Father Lughbow: The Infernal Apocalypse.

The KED Building felt almost aggressively normal by early afternoon. The blue delivery truck sat beside the building. The sign out front still promised Knight Express Delivery with the bland confidence of a business no one would investigate unless a package was late. Inside, however, the team had gathered around the central table in the hidden lower level, where screens showed maps of Avalon City, dimensional readings, and news feeds still speculating about recent monster attacks.

Dorian Vale stood at the head of the room, cane resting neatly beside him. He had been explaining Foundation security updates for fifteen minutes, and Miles had been trying very hard to sit still. His success was limited.

Dorian Vale: The Foundation has increased surveillance near known relic sites, including Avalon Academy, the Riverwalk district, and three older municipal access points beneath the city.

Miles raised a hand.

Miles Rowan: Are any of the municipal access points near a Cafe Noir?

Ray did not look up.

Ray Matthews: That is irrelevant.

Miles Rowan: It is relevant if we go there without some java!

Lena Solis: I think you've had enough coffee today.

Miles Rowan: No such thing as enough.

Dorian continued with impressive discipline.

Dorian Vale: At present, no confirmed coffee shops are included in the operational briefing.

Miles Rowan: At present. Noted.

Ashlyn sat quieter than usual, the Mordred tome resting closed in front of her. Trace stood beside her chair rather than sitting, which was unusual enough for Lena to notice. He had been near Ashlyn all morning without hovering so obviously that she could accuse him of it. That somehow made it worse.

Lena watched them both, eyes narrowing with calculation.

Then she remembered the flyer in her pocket.

Her entire face brightened.

Lena Solis: I have a solution.

Ray looked wary.

Ray Matthews: To which problem?

Lena Solis: Emotional tension! Everyone being painfully serious.

Miles sat up.

Miles Rowan: I'm listening!

Lena slapped a glossy flyer onto the table.

The header read: AVALON ACADEMY MASQUERADE NIGHT

A Costume-Themed Dance Benefiting Historical Preservation

Miles leaned over it immediately.

Miles Rowan: Ooooooh. Fancy.

Ashlyn glanced once and shook her head.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No.

Lena Solis: You didn’t hear the pitch!

Ashlyn Westbrook: I heard enough from the word dance.

Miles Rowan: I heard enough from the word masquerade. We’re going.

Ray adjusted his glasses.

Ray Matthews: An academy event could provide some relief from the stress we've been under. All of this, while trying to maintain our grades? Even I can see the benefit.

Lena pointed at him.

Lena Solis: Thank you for making fun sound tactical.

Ray Matthews: That was not my intention.

Miles Rowan: Too late. You weaponized partying.

Ashlyn crossed her arms.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I have research to do.

Lena leaned over the table toward her.

Lena Solis: You have been reading old books for days. Your idea of self-care is lackluster!

Ashlyn Westbrook: What I'm doing is important.

Lena Solis: So is not becoming a library goblin.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I am not becoming a library goblin!

Miles looked at Trace.

Miles Rowan: She says with all those old books.

Trace looked at the flyer carefully.

Trace Mercer: What is required at this masquerade?

Lena turned toward him with the bright smile of someone seeing a door open by itself.

Lena Solis: Costumes. Dancing. Music. Maybe food if the academy budget isn’t tragic.

Trace considered this with grave seriousness.

Trace Mercer: Are masks worn for concealment or ceremony?

Lena Solis: Yes.

Trace Mercer: That answer lacks clarity.

Miles Rowan: Welcome to social events in the 21st Century.

Trace Mercer: These types of events also existed in my time. I just wanted to make sure it hadn't changed much.

Ashlyn closed the tome with more force than necessary.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I am not going to a dance.

Lena sat beside her, lowering her voice.

Lena Solis: Ashlyn. You’re scared. I get it. But hiding in that book won’t make the nightmare easier.

Ashlyn stiffened.

Trace’s eyes shifted to her.

Lena’s expression softened.

Lena Solis: Come with us. Wear something dramatic. Let yourself have one evening where your worries aren't dragging you around by the throat.

Ashlyn looked away.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You make it sound simple.

Lena Solis: It isn’t. That’s why we’re going together.

A long pause followed.

Ashlyn glanced at Trace without meaning to.

He was still studying the flyer, brow furrowed, as though trying to determine whether the masquerade was a ritual or a trap. He walked off with the flyer in hand.

Once he was gone from the room, her mouth betrayed her before her pride could stop it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What would I even wear?

Lena’s smile returned slowly.

Miles gasped.

Miles Rowan: The door opens.

Ashlyn pointed at him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Not a word.

Miles Rowan: I am but a silent breeze.

Lena found Trace on the rooftop of the KED Building as sunset painted the city in copper light. He stood near the guard rail, looking out over Avalon City while Oathrender rested sheathed at his side. The wind lifted his hair slightly, and for a moment, Lena could almost imagine the ancient battlefield he had come from overlapping the modern skyline.

She stepped onto the roof with two garment bags over one shoulder.

Lena Solis: Trace.

He turned.

Trace Mercer: Lady Lena.

Lena Solis: Just Lena, remember? I need help with a mission.

That worked immediately.

Trace straightened.

Trace Mercer: Speak it, and I will do what I can.

Lena held up one garment bag.

Lena Solis: You need to attend the masquerade tonight.

Trace blinked once.

Trace Mercer: This is the mission?

Lena Solis: Yes.

Trace Mercer: I was under the impression this was a dance.

Lena Solis: Social missions are still missions.

Trace looked genuinely disturbed.

Trace Mercer: That explains much about this era.

Lena laughed and handed him the garment bag.

Lena Solis: Ashlyn is going.

Trace’s grip tightened slightly.

Trace Mercer: She agreed?

Lena Solis: Mostly.

Trace Mercer: That word carries danger.

Lena Solis: Doesn't it?

Trace looked down at the garment bag.

Trace Mercer: Why do you wish me there?

Lena leaned against the rail beside him, her tone becoming more sincere.

Lena Solis: Because she relaxes around you, even when she pretends she doesn’t. And you relax around her, even when you don’t know what relaxing is supposed to look like.

Trace was quiet for a moment.

Trace Mercer: She is troubled by something. She must wonder why things have been harder for her than the rest of you. No weapon. No Zircon.

Lena Solis: I know.

Trace Mercer: To be honest, I don't know why it's been so hard myself. I do not know how to help her.

Lena Solis: Then be there. That counts for more than you think.

Trace looked out over the city again.

Trace Mercer: In my time, companionship before battle was often solemn. Words were chosen carefully because any conversation could become the last.

Lena Solis: That sounds exhausting.

Trace Mercer: It was honest.

Lena Solis: Tonight can be honest too. It just has music.

Trace considered this.

Then he nodded.

Trace Mercer: I will attend.

Lena smiled.

Lena Solis: Good. Also, wear the mask.

Trace Mercer: Is it required?

Lena Solis: Better. It's fun!

Night fell over Avalon Academy with theatrical perfection. The old campus seemed made for a masquerade. Warm lights glowed from arched windows. Students in costumes crossed the courtyard in laughing groups. Some wore elaborate fantasy armor, others elegant gowns, animal masks, historical uniforms, or absurdly expensive rental outfits that suggested noble-family money still had a firm grip on academy culture.

The grand ballroom occupied the academy’s oldest central hall. Its ceiling rose high above the polished floor, painted with scenes of Avalon’s founding myths. Crystal chandeliers hung between carved beams, their light softened by colored glass. Musicians played from an elevated balcony while masked students danced beneath banners of red, gold, and midnight blue.

Miles arrived in a green feathered cloak and a mask shaped like a hawk.

Ray wore a formal blue academic coat with silver trim and a simple domino mask, which he insisted was historically grounded.

Lena wore a bright yellow masquerade dress with practical boots hidden underneath.

Trace arrived last among the boys, and the room noticed.

He wore a black and silver medieval suit tailored with knightly lines, formal enough for the ballroom and close enough to armor that he did not look uncomfortable in it. A silver half-mask framed his eyes. A dark cloak draped over one shoulder, clasped with a small red crest. Without Oathrender visible, he still carried himself like a knight entering court.

Miles leaned toward Ray.

Miles Rowan: I hate how naturally he pulls that off.

Ray Matthews: He is literally from that aesthetic.

Miles Rowan: Still.

Trace looked around the ballroom cautiously.

Trace Mercer: This place...it reminds me...of another time.

Miles Rowan: He's feeling nostalgic.

Ray Matthews: Wouldn't you?

Miles Rowan: I guess I would.

Then Ashlyn entered.

The teasing stopped.

She wore a medieval-inspired gown in deep red and black, fitted at the bodice and flowing into layered skirts that moved with a quiet sweep around her. Silver embroidery traced subtle patterns along the fabric, and her crimson mask rested delicately across her eyes. Her black hair fell freely around her shoulders, with one small red clip holding it back at the side.

Trace turned toward her and forgot everything else in the room.

Ashlyn saw his reaction and immediately looked down, embarrassed.

Lena beamed like a proud menace.

Lena Solis: Nailed it.

Ashlyn approached slowly, trying to look calm and failing just enough for Trace to notice.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What?

Trace Mercer: You look...you look like you stepped from a royal hall in my memories.

That was worse than simply calling her beautiful.

Better too.

Ashlyn’s cheeks flushed.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That is unfairly poetic.

Trace Mercer: I spoke plainly.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That’s the problem.

Miles leaned toward Lena.

Miles Rowan: I give them three minutes before one of them finally discovers courtship.

Lena Solis: Be nice.

Miles Rowan: I am being supportive with commentary.

The orchestra shifted into a slower piece.

Lena moved behind Ashlyn and gave her a very gentle push.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Lena.

Lena Solis: Dance floor is that way.

Trace extended his hand toward Ashlyn with formal care.

Trace Mercer: Would you honor me with a dance?

Ashlyn looked at his hand.

Then at his face.

The ballroom noise softened around them.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You really do make it difficult to say no.

She placed her hand in his.

He led her onto the floor.

At first, Trace danced as though his life depended on it. His posture remained perfect. His steps were correct, but rigid. Ashlyn tried not to laugh, though the effort showed in the corners of her mouth.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace.

Trace Mercer: Yes?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Relax.

Trace Mercer: I am attempting to do so.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You look like you’re escorting me through enemy territory.

Trace glanced toward the crowd.

Trace Mercer: There are many masked strangers.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It is a dance.

Trace Mercer: Right. A dance.

She laughed softly, and that made him relax more than the instruction did. His hand settled naturally at her waist. Her fingers rested against his shoulder. The music gave them a rhythm, and gradually Trace stopped counting steps and started moving with her.

Ashlyn felt it happen.

The shift.

The ease.

The way the room faded when he stopped thinking so hard.

Trace Mercer: I understand this better now.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Dancing?

Trace Mercer: Trusting your movements.

She looked up at him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That is a very Trace way to understand dancing.

Trace Mercer: Is that good?

Ashlyn Westbrook: I think it is.

The orchestra softened. Around them, other couples turned slowly beneath the chandelier light.

Trace’s voice lowered.

Trace Mercer: This world often feels like a hall filled with unfamiliar music.

Ashlyn’s expression softened.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You don’t have to learn all of it at once.

Trace Mercer: When I woke in this era, I thought my life had become an echo. My king is gone. My comrades are gone. The battles I remember are treated as myth or dust. Even my failures have outlived everyone who could explain them.

Ashlyn’s fingers tightened slightly against his shoulder.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That sounds lonely.

Trace looked at her with an honesty that made the words feel almost too intimate for the middle of a ballroom.

Trace Mercer: It was.

The past tense caught her.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Was?

He nodded.

Trace Mercer: You anchor me, Ashlyn Westbrook. When I am with you, this era feels less like exile.

Her breath caught.

For a moment, the nightmare tried to rise again. Gravebrand. Rain. His hand reaching toward her. But his hand was already there now, warm at her waist, steady and trusting.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You shouldn’t say things like that so easily.

Trace Mercer: It was not easy.

The answer silenced her.

He looked suddenly vulnerable in a way she had rarely seen. The legendary Burning Oath, the red knight chosen by a king, stood before her masked and uncertain, trying to say something his old world had never trained him to say.

Trace Mercer: I do not know what the future asks of us. I know only that I trust you.

Ashlyn’s eyes stung.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace...

Trace Mercer: If you're uncertain in this uncertain time, I will be there by your side. I'm not alone, and neither are you.

That nearly broke her.

She stepped closer, forehead almost touching his.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I wish I knew that as surely as you do.

Trace Mercer: Then borrow my certainty until yours returns.

The music swelled.

Ashlyn closed her eyes.

Trace lowered his head.

For one suspended heartbeat, they were close enough that the world seemed to hold its breath with them.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I-

Trace: Let's just...enjoy this moment.

Ashlyn Westbrook: ....Right.

They continued to dance in a way that attracted the whole room. Suddenly everyone had opened up the floor to them, as Lena and Miles watched from the crowd grinning from ear to ear. Ray Matthews even smirked a little as he fixed his glasses. Trace tilted her face up to his, and in that moment they lost each other in an unblinking gaze. They felt at peace.

Then the ballroom doors exploded inward.

The chandelier shook.

Students screamed.

Smoke poured across the polished floor as chunks of broken wood skidded between dancers. Trace pulled Ashlyn behind him instantly, the tenderness in his posture replaced by battle readiness in a single breath.

At the ruined entrance stood Garrikus.

The enormous general filled the doorway like a moving fortress, stone and bone armor layered over his massive frame. His presence brought weight into the room, an oppressive pressure that made the floor seem too fragile beneath him.

Beside him crouched Vire the Swift, grinning as though crashing a dance were the best entertainment he had found all week.

Between them stood the monster.

It resembled a black knight.

That was the first horror.

The second was it's sword.

Its armor was jagged, black, and crowned with cruel edges. Crimson cracks glowed beneath the plates like embers trapped under stone. Its helmet formed a corrupted knightly visage, narrow-eyed and merciless. A torn cape dragged behind it across the marble, leaving black streaks where it touched.

Ashlyn’s body went cold.

The tome flashed in her memory.

Mordred.

The Black Kishiranger.

The ally who had betrayed the first team.

The knight who aligned himself with Lord Vantrex and the Worzol Dimension. The one she was afraid of turning into.

Vire the Swift: Sorry to interrupt whatever deeply awkward romantic tension was happening here.

Miles, already ushering students toward the side exits, shouted back over his shoulder.

Miles Rowan: Nobody invited you! This isn't murder prom!

Ray pulled his Oathlink Relic free while guiding a panicked student away from the debris.

Ray Matthews: Everyone out! Move toward the east exits!

Lena Solis: That thing feels wrong.

Garrikus stepped forward, each footfall cracking marble.

Garrikus: It was made from the memory of betrayal. Wrong is its nature.

Vire held up a dark crystal between two fingers.

It was blacker than shadow, faceted like a gem but pulsing like a heart.

Vire the Swift: Behold, the Black Zircon. Very rare. Very cursed. Very stylish.

Garrikus produced the sword.

Gravebrand.

Ashlyn staggered as if struck.

The sight of it tore open the nightmare. She saw Kishi Red again, saw the blade entering his chest, saw her hands wrapped around the hilt. Trace noticed her reaction immediately.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn?

She could barely speak.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That sword...

Vire’s grin sharpened.

Vire the Swift: Oh, she recognizes it. That is delicious.

The black knight took the Black Zircon first. It pressed the crystal into its chest, where the armor opened like a wound and sealed around it. Crimson-black energy surged through its body. Then Garrikus handed it Gravebrand.

The sword awakened.

The ballroom lights flickered.

Violet darkness crawled along the blade.

Garrikus: Rise as Sir Dreadmour. Carry the shame of Mordred. Break the oath that binds them.

Sir Dreadmour lifted Gravebrand.

Sir Dreadmour: Oath... broken.

Trace’s face hardened.

Trace Mercer: Mordred...Kishirangers!

The team moved together.

Trace Mercer: Oath forged.

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn.

Miles Rowan: Wild heart awakened.

Lena Solis: Truth shone.

All Five: Kishiranger, arise!

Color burst through the smoke.

Red, black, blue, green, and yellow armor formed in a flash, the five Kishirangers landing in front of Sir Dreadmour in the emptied dance hall.

Kishi Red charged first with Oathrender drawn in one smooth motion. Sir Dreadmour met him blade to blade, Gravebrand crashing against Oathrender with a sound that rattled the windows. Red pressed forward, but Dreadmour did not give ground. It moved with formal precision. It knew Trace's moves.

Black attacked from the side, striking at its wrist to break the sword grip. Dreadmour turned without looking and caught her strike against its forearm armor, then drove a knee into her midsection, sending her sliding across the floor.

Trace shouted and drove forward harder.

Trace Mercer: Stay away from her!

Sir Dreadmour: Connections means nothing.

Trace Mercer: It gives life meaning. I guess you never really knew that!

Dreadmour struck.

Trace barely blocked in time.

Blue and Green moved together next. Ray used Vanguard to pin Dreadmour’s movement, while Miles circled fast with Gungnir, looking for an opening. For a moment, it worked. Dreadmour’s sword arm was forced high, and Miles lunged.

Then Dreadmour stepped backward into the exact blind spot between their angles.

Gravebrand flashed.

Ray’s shield was thrown back, and Miles was thrown across the ballroom into a line of overturned chairs.

Miles Rowan: Hate the evil knight. Officially hate him.

Yellow came in with Aymr, using the weight of the axe to drive Dreadmour back. Her first strike cracked one shoulder plate. Her second forced him to block. Her third nearly opened the chest armor around the Black Zircon.

Vire appeared behind her in a blur and kicked her legs out from under her.

Vire the Swift: Awww! You were doing so well!

Lena rolled and swung Aymr at him, but he vanished before the blade could land.

Garrikus advanced toward the fight until Ray intercepted him. Blue raised both arms with Vanguard, forming a barrier across the doorway.

Ray Matthews: You have to go through me.

Garrikus lowered his head.

Garrikus: Then you will be beneath me.

He slammed both fists into Vanguard.

Ray held.

His boots scraped backward.

He held again.

Miles staggered up and struck Garrikus from behind with Gungnir, forcing the giant general to turn.

Miles Rowan: Hey, mountain man! Pick on somebody annoying!

Garrikus: Gladly.

Miles Rowan: I regret my branding.

Back near the center of the ballroom, Ashlyn faced Sir Dreadmour alone for three terrible seconds.

It looked at her.

The Black Zircon pulsed.

Gravebrand’s edge darkened.

Her Oathlink flickered.

A whisper slid through her thoughts.

Mordred.

Ashlyn tightened her grip on her weapon.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Get out of my head!

Sir Dreadmour stepped closer.

Sir Dreadmour: The Black Oath...is destined for betrayal. You will betray him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I am not Mordred.

Sir Dreadmour: Yet.

Trace crashed into Dreadmour from the side, driving it away from her.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn, with me!

She snapped back into motion.

Together, Red and Black attacked. For the first time in the battle, Dreadmour faltered. Trace’s strength and Ashlyn’s precision created openings neither could make alone. Oathrender forced Gravebrand high. Ashlyn struck low. Trace followed with a blazing slash across the chest.

The Black Zircon was visible for the taking.

Ray Matthews: Formation! Now!

The team regrouped with difficulty, all five Oathlinks glowing as they formed the Final Vow alignment. Energy gathered, red at the center, black and blue stabilizing, green and yellow driving power through the edges.

For one breath, it worked. Then Ashlyn’s black Oathlink flickered. Her hand trembled. The nightmare surged again.

Gravebrand in her hands.

Trace falling.

Mordred’s name burning on a page.

The alignment collapsed.

Miles Rowan: Why did it stop?!

Ray Matthews: The link destabilized!

Lena Solis: Ashlyn!

Purple magic curled around Ashlyn’s feet.

Malvora appeared behind her, full witch regalia flowing like smoke, her smile sharp with satisfaction.

Malvora: Poor thing. You read just enough to frighten yourself.

Trace turned with immediate fury.

Trace Mercer: Release her!

Sir Dreadmour blocked him before he could reach her.

Gravebrand and Oathrender crashed together again.

Malvora placed one hand lightly near Ashlyn’s shoulder, not quite touching at first. The gesture was intimate and cruel.

Malvora: The mind is a library, Ashlyn Westbrook. You would be amazed what can be hidden inside.

Ashlyn tried to move.

Her body would not obey.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No...

Malvora’s fingers brushed the side of Ashlyn’s helmet.

Purple light flooded Ashlyn’s visor.

Malvora: Look deeper.

Ashlyn screamed.

The sound broke Trace’s composure completely.

He drove Dreadmour back with a furious strike, but Garrikus slammed into him from the side, sending Kishi Red crashing through a banquet table.

Ray, Miles, and Lena tried to reach Ashlyn, but Vire cut through them in a blur, knocking each off balance just long enough for Malvora’s spell to complete.

Ashlyn stood motionless.

Her visor glowed violet.

Malvora wrapped an arm around her shoulders like a mentor guiding a student.

Malvora: Come along. There is so much more to remember.

Trace Mercer: My lady? MY LADY! ASHLYN!

Ashlyn turned toward him.

For one brief moment, the purple glow flickered.

Her voice came out strained, afraid, and barely her own.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace...

Then Malvora vanished with her in a spiral of violet-black magic.

The ballroom went silent except for crackling fires, distant alarms, and the heavy breathing of the remaining Kishirangers.

Sir Dreadmour lowered Gravebrand.

Vire gave a theatrical bow.

Vire the Swift: First loss hurts, doesn’t it?

Garrikus turned toward the shattered doors.

Garrikus: The witch has what she came for.

Sir Dreadmour looked once more at Trace.

Sir Dreadmour: Revenge.

The three enemies withdrew into a black portal, leaving destruction behind them.

For several seconds, no one spoke.

The ballroom had become a ruin of torn banners, broken tables, scattered masks, and cracked marble. The music stands lay overturned. The dance floor where Trace and Ashlyn had nearly kissed was split by a dark scar from Gravebrand’s energy.

Trace slowly rose.

His armor sparked in several places. One hand gripped Oathrender so tightly that the blade trembled.

Ray approached carefully.

Ray Matthews: Trace.

Trace stared at the empty space where Ashlyn had vanished.

Trace Mercer: I failed her.

Lena stepped beside him.

Lena Solis: We all lost that fight.

Miles was quieter than usual, his spear lowered.

Miles Rowan: Then we go get her.

Trace turned toward them.

There was pain in his stance, but beneath it burned something stronger.

Trace Mercer: Right. RIGHT! We go get her! I will bring Ashlyn back.

Ray nodded, expression grim.

Ray Matthews: We are going with you.

Lena Solis: All of us.

Miles Rowan: The evil prom crashers are getting a formal complaint.

Trace looked once more at the ruined floor.

At the place where he had held her hand.

At the place where he had nearly kissed her.

At the place where the darkness had taken her.

Trace Mercer: Then we follow before the trail fades.

Far from Avalon Academy, beyond the city’s light, Ashlyn opened her eyes in darkness.

She was no longer in armor.

She stood in a vast hall of black stone beneath a sky that did not belong to Earth. Violet clouds twisted overhead through broken arches. Red light pulsed from cracks in the floor. At the far end of the hall stood a throne shaped from jagged metal and ancient bone.

Beside it rested a black sword stand.

Empty.

Malvora’s voice echoed from somewhere behind her.

Malvora: Welcome home, little shadow.

Ashlyn turned slowly.

Malvora stood smiling in the dark.

Beyond her, a mural stretched across the wall.

Five ancient Kishirangers stood together.

The black knight’s face had been scratched away.

Beneath the ruined image, one name remained carved in stone.

Mordred.

Ashlyn’s Oathlink pulsed black.

To Be Continued...

Last edited by Machismo (5/06/2026 3:42 am)

Machismo · 5/08/2026 2:14 am

Episode 8: The Oath Beyond Shadow

The Knight Express Delivery building had never felt smaller than it did in the hours after Ashlyn Westbrook was taken.

Outside, the modest brick building still sat between ordinary neighbors beneath the early morning sky, its blue sign promising deliveries, pickups, and reliable service with a cheerfully bland professionalism. The blue delivery truck remained parked beside the building. The rooftop rail caught the pale sunlight. The front windows reflected the city, hiding the command center beneath so completely that anyone passing on the sidewalk would have assumed nothing.

Below the building, the hidden command center felt like a room holding its breath.

The shield-shaped central table glowed with layered maps of Avalon City and footage of the ruined ballroom. Screens showed frozen security footage from Avalon Academy, replaying fragments of the previous night in loops no one wanted to watch but no one could stop studying. One screen displayed Sir Dreadmour entering through the shattered doors. Another showed Malvora’s spell spiraling around Kishi Black. A third held on the final frame before Ashlyn vanished, her visor glowing violet while Trace Mercer reached for her across a battlefield made of broken marble and scattered masks.

Trace at the table. He had not removed his red jacket since returning from the academy. His hair was disheveled, his expression drawn tight, and Oathrender rested beside him in its sheath like it had become heavier overnight. He stared at the map without blinking, though Ray Matthews was fairly certain Trace had stopped seeing the map several minutes ago.

Lena Solis sat on the edge of the central platform, arms folded, one foot tapping with barely contained frustration. Miles Rowan paced around the room in short bursts, stopping every few seconds as though he wanted to say something and knew that almost anything he said would either be useless or irritating.

Dorian Vale stood near the main screen, cane in hand, his silver hair neat and his expression composed in the controlled way that suggested effort. He had given them space at first, then information, then silence. None of those had fixed the wound in the room.

Miles stopped pacing.

Miles Rowan: Okay, I’m going to say the bad thing because nobody else is saying the bad thing, and the bad thing is currently doing jumping jacks in my brain.

Ray did not look away from the console.

Ray Matthews: Do go on.

Miles Rowan: We do not know where she is.

Lena’s tapping foot stopped.

Trace’s hands tightened against the table.

Miles immediately looked guilty, but he did not take it back.

Miles Rowan: We know Malvora took her. We know it involved Worzol magic. But we do not know where she landed, how stable the path is, whether she is guarded, or whether that evil knight thing is waiting for us.

Lena Solis: I'm sure he is.

Miles Rowan: Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of.

Ray finally turned.

Ray Matthews: The breach Malvora used collapsed almost immediately. We couldn't have followed if we tried.

Trace lifted his head.

Trace Mercer: We should have tried. We should be trying now. There are ways to open a path.

Everyone looked at him. Dorian’s eyes sharpened slightly.

Dorian Vale: You have entered the Worzol Dimension before?

Trace nodded.

Trace Mercer: Once. Near the end of my war. Vantrex had withdrawn beyond the veil after losing one of his outer fortresses. We pursued him because we believed hesitation would allow him to rebuild. All five Kishirangers were present then. Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, and Black. The Oathlinks were aligned, the Stahlritter answered without resistance, and even then I didn't realize how close death was to my very neck.

Lena stood from the platform.

Lena Solis: That is extremely comforting.

Trace Mercer: I would not insult you with comfort where the truth is needed.

Miles pointed gently toward Trace.

Miles Rowan: See, that is the kind of sentence that makes me want comfort.

Ray stepped closer to the table and brought up the ballroom scan.

Ray Matthews: If you have done this before, can Oathrender act as the anchor? Last night, Gravebrand and the Black Zircon seemed to do it. If Oathrender is the counterpart, it may be able to open a path. Is that right?

Trace looked down at the sword.

Trace Mercer: Oathrender can open the way if we're strong enough. If we're connected enough.

Miles Rowan: Great. We love vague sword mechanics.

Lena Solis: Miles.

Miles Rowan: Sorry. Stress jokes. They hatch when unsupervised.

Dorian walked slowly around the table.

Dorian Vale: Before you risk opening a breach beneath the city, we must understand what we are facing. Trace, what did we see last night? That creature was more than a Worzol monster. I think I already know, but I would certainly prefer confirmation.

Trace’s jaw tightened.

He turned toward the frozen image of Sir Dreadmour.

For several seconds he said nothing.

When he finally spoke, his voice had changed. It was quieter, older, and filled with something that had not fully surfaced in him before.

Trace Mercer: You saw the revenant of Mordred.

The name settled over the room.

Lena swallowed.

Miles stopped moving entirely.

Ray Matthews: The original Kishi Black?

Trace nodded.

Trace Mercer: When the powers were first forged, they did not come to us as colors alone. Each oath carried a duty. Red led. Blue guarded wisdom. Green carried motion and instinct. Yellow bore light and truth. Black was the hidden blade, the hand in shadow, and the one who stood closest to the red knight when all other defenses failed.

Lena’s voice softened.

Lena Solis: He was supposed to protect Kishi Red.

Trace looked down.

Trace Mercer: He was the closest companion of my master.

That single word changed the air again.

My master.

Trace rarely spoke of the man who had carried Oathrender before him. When he did, it was with reverence and restraint, as though grief had been folded carefully and placed somewhere formal. Now the grief came closer to the surface.

Trace Mercer: Before I became Kishi Red, I was a knight in training under Sir Caelum Ardent, the Burning Oath before me. He wielded Oathrender with a courage that made soldiers stand taller simply by seeing him pass. Mordred was his companion from youth. They trained together. Fought together. Shared counsel when kings and generals had already spoken too much.

Miles spoke carefully, his usual humor absent.

Miles Rowan: What happened?

Trace closed his eyes for a moment.

Trace Mercer: We thought Lord Vantrex killed him.

No one interrupted.

Trace opened his eyes.

Trace Mercer: That was the story I told myself because I needed it to be true. Vantrex struck the final blow on the battlefield, and we all saw him standing over Caelum’s body. But the wound that doomed my master had been made before Vantrex reached him. It was not made by a Worzol blade.

Ray’s face tightened with realization.

Ray Matthews: Gravebrand.

Trace nodded once.

Trace Mercer: Mordred stabbed him.

The words landed like iron.

Lena Solis: Why?

Trace looked toward the image of Dreadmour.

Trace Mercer: Remember when Dorian Vale warned you about power corrupting? Darkness found a place inside him and spoke in the language of duty. It told him that the Black Knight’s burden was greater than loyalty. It told him that shadows existed to swallow light when light became weak. It told him that Caelum would fail and that only Mordred had the strength to claim what came after.

Miles exhaled slowly.

Miles Rowan: That sounds a lot like what Malvora is trying to do to Ashlyn.

Trace’s expression sharpened with pain.

Trace Mercer: Yes.

Lena stepped closer to him.

Lena Solis: Trace, Ashlyn is not Mordred.

Trace Mercer: I know that. I know that oh so well. I could tell the moment I saw her. Listen, I was given a team to lead that had already formed, when I first wielded Oathrender. They were good friends...the closest friends, but they were chosen by a king. They had a duty to uphold. You all...you chose this of your own volition. You took up arms because it was the right thing to do. I knew right then and there, that I could trust you.

Ray Matthews suddenly felt the need to clear his throat.

Trace Mercer: I trust...I trust her...implicitly.

Lena Solis: Then we go get her before Malvora can finish what she started.

Trace’s hand moved toward Oathrender, but he still did not lift it.

Trace Mercer: After my master died, I carried Oathrender because it answered me. The King knighted me. The others accepted me as Red. But Mordred had not vanished. He returned at the siege of Thornwatch Keep wearing the same armor, carrying the same sword, speaking as if betrayal had become revelation.

Ray lowered his voice.

Ray Matthews: You fought him.

Trace’s eyes remained fixed on the table.

Trace Mercer: I defeated him.

No one spoke.

The weight of that decision sat in the center of the room beside the maps and scans.

Trace Mercer: I have carried that victory through the ages like a wound that never closed. Mordred betrayed us. He murdered the man who made me a knight. He nearly opened Avalon to the Worzol Dimension. Yet when I struck him down, I saw the face of a man my master had loved like a brother.

Miles looked away.

Lena’s eyes softened.

Ray studied Trace in silence, his own secrets sitting heavily behind his glasses.

Dorian finally spoke.

Dorian Vale: Malvora chose her method carefully.

Trace looked up.

Dorian Vale: She did not merely abduct Kishi Black. She planted seeds. She knew what she was doing. She abducted someone already afraid of repeating history.

Trace’s voice hardened.

Trace Mercer: Then we will reach her before that fear is forged into an unbreakable chain that drags her into the abyss.

The Worzol Dimension did not have a sky as Ashlyn knew it, so much as a screaming storm of wrath. She understood that the moment she woke beneath it.

There was something overhead, yes, a vaulted expanse of violet-black clouds twisting above shattered towers, but it did not behave like a sky. It pressed downward. Red cracks pulsed within it like veins beneath bruised skin. Lightning crawled sideways between floating stone fragments and then vanished into nothing. Far below, the ground was black rock and ash, broken by rivers of dim crimson light that moved too slowly to be lava and too deliberately to be natural.

Ashlyn stood in the center of a ruined hall open to that terrible above. Massive pillars lined the space, each carved with scenes of kneeling figures offering swords to crowned shadows. At the far end stood a throne of jagged metal and bone, empty but waiting. Beside it was a sword stand. Also empty.

Her Oathlink Relic hung at her side, the Black Zircon socket flickering weakly.

She remembered the ballroom. Trace’s hand at her waist. His voice telling her she anchored him. The almost-kiss.

The doors breaking.

Gravebrand.

Malvora’s hand near her helmet, and purple light.

Ashlyn staggered back one step and reached for her Oathlink.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace? Ray? Lena? Miles? Can anyone hear me?

Only static answered, then laughter.

Malvora stepped from behind one of the broken pillars wearing her full regalia, violet-black cloak moving as if underwater. She looked completely at ease, which made the world around her feel even more hostile.

Malvora: You are very far from home, little shadow.

Ashlyn turned sharply.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Do not call me that.

Malvora: Would you prefer Kishi Black? Mordred wore it proudly once.

Ashlyn’s stomach tightened.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I am not Mordred.

Malvora walked slowly toward the throne.

Malvora: Of course you are not. Mordred was a man with vision, pain, resentment, and ambition enough to listen when the Worzol Dimension whispered the truth of his oath. You are still at the frightened stage.

Ashlyn’s hand tightened into a fist.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You kidnapped me to insult me?

Malvora: I brought you home.

The word made Ashlyn’s skin crawl.

Ashlyn Westbrook: This is not my home.

Malvora lifted a hand, and the air before them rippled. Images formed in the darkness like reflections in black glass.

Kishi Red on a battlefield.

Rain.

A dark blade.

Ashlyn flinched. She had seen it play out in her nightmares.

The vision sharpened. It had never looked so clear to her.

Malvora spoke gently, almost kindly.

Malvora: This is the truth waiting for you.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Stop it.

The vision replayed.

The stab.

The red knight falling.

The black knight standing over him.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Malvora: The Black Knight was never meant to remain in Red’s shadow. The Worzol Dimension understood what Avalon refused to admit. Black is not a servant color. Black is the gate. Black is the crownless authority beneath every oath.

Ashlyn squeezed her eyes shut, but the image remained behind them.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That is not what Trace said.

Malvora: Trace lied to you. Trace wishes to control you. Trace wishes to be a king himself.

Ashlyn opened her eyes.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You're crazy if you think I'm buying any of that. I know my history. I know my evidence. I know Trace.

Malvora smiled.

Malvora: Good. There is the scholar. Still sharpening her mind even while terrified.

She moved closer, circling Ashlyn with slow grace.

Malvora: You have studied history your entire life. You have dug through ruins, translated dead languages, chased fragments of lost truth through dust and broken stone. Tell me honestly, Ashlyn Westbrook. Did you never wonder what it would feel like to become the history someone else studies?

Ashlyn did not answer.

Malvora: Vantrex has three generals. Garrikus, Vire, and myself. Mordred...was secretly the fourth. You could stand among us as the fourth. Kishi Black reborn. Mordred’s legacy completed. No longer a girl chasing the past, but a name carved into it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I will never serve Vantrex.

Malvora: Brave words. Yet your greatest fear is not servitude. It is hurting him.

The vision changed.

Now is was Trace standing before her.

The blade entered his chest.

Ashlyn’s hands held the hilt.

Her breath failed.

Malvora: The vision comes because if you remain beside him, you will fulfill it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No.

Malvora: You fear yourself. That fear can save him, if you let it guide you.

Ashlyn shook her head, but her resolve trembled.

Malvora: Take Gravebrand. Take Oathrender. Bring both blades together under Vantrex’s will, and we will possess the key to the Grail. With the Grail, no oath need end in grief again.

Ashlyn looked up sharply.

Ashlyn Westbrook: The Grail?

Malvora’s smile was small and satisfied.

Malvora: So many doors remain closed to you.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What is the Grail?

Malvora: The Grail is...our goal.

Ashlyn Westbrook: And you need Oathrender to reach it.

Malvora: It's a key.

Ashlyn’s voice hardened.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace is not a key.

Malvora: Everyone is a key to something.

A heavy footstep sounded behind Ashlyn.

She turned.

Sir Dreadmour emerged from a side arch, Gravebrand in hand, the Black Zircon pulsing from its chest. Here, in the Worzol Dimension, it looked even stronger. Shadows moved across its armor like living things.

Malvora lifted her staff.

Malvora: If persuasion fails, perhaps motivation will awaken through combat.

Dreadmour raised Gravebrand.

Sir Dreadmour: Betrayal.

Ashlyn stepped back, then stopped.

Her fear did not leave. She acted anyway.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn. Kishiranger, arise!

Black armor formed around her in a flash of dark light. Kishi Black landed ready as Dreadmour charged.

They clashed.

The impact ran through her arms and into her shoulders. Dreadmour was stronger here, faster too, but Ashlyn moved with desperation and sharp instinct. She ducked under Gravebrand’s second strike, punched across its ribs, and saw sparks fly from the armor without real damage.

Dreadmour turned and slammed an armored elbow into her chest.

She hit the floor hard, rolled, and barely avoided the dark blade as it stabbed down where her head had been.

Malvora watched from beside the throne.

Malvora: Do you feel it? That sword is calling to you. You're incomplete without it.

Ashlyn pushed herself up and attacked again.

Dreadmour met her with the discipline of a well trained knight, each strike efficient, each counter cruel. Gravebrand’s energy scraped against her armor and the pain filled her thoughts with flashes of the nightmare until it all blurred together. Dreadmour punished every mistake.

Back in Avalon City, the street shook as Oathrender was pointed outward by Trace. Red light spread in front of them. Dorian stood watching at a distance. Ray, Miles, and Lena stood beside Trace, their Oathlink Relics raised.

Trace held Oathrender’s hilt with both hands.

Trace Mercer: This will open only a wound in the veil. It may not hold long.

Lena Solis: Long enough to get Ashlyn.

Miles Rowan: Wound in the veil is a terrible phrase, by the way. Very metal. Hate it.

Ray looked at the readings.

Ray Matthews: Dimensional pressure is climbing. If we are doing this, we need to transform now.

The four raised their Oathlinks.

Trace Mercer: Oath forged.

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded.

Miles Rowan: Wild heart awakened.

Lena Solis: Truth shone.

All Four: Kishiranger, arise!

Armor formed around them in bursts of red, blue, green, and yellow.

Trace forced Oathrender forward.

Trace Mercer: By oath and flame, I command the veil to open!

The air split with red light.

A vertical tear opened, unstable and jagged, showing flashes of black stone, violet clouds, and finally Ashlyn fighting for her life against Sir Dreadmour.

Trace stepped toward it.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn!

Across the breach, Ashlyn heard him.

She blocked Gravebrand with her gauntlets, stumbled backward, and turned toward the impossible red light tearing open the air.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace?

Her voice broke through the command center speakers in a distorted burst.

Trace reached toward the opening.

Trace Mercer: Hold on. We are coming.

Ashlyn staggered as Dreadmour struck her again. She caught herself beside a broken pillar, breathing hard.

Ashlyn Westbrook: No. You need to leave me here.

The command center went still.

Trace Mercer: I will not.

Ashlyn Westbrook: If I come back with you, I will kill you.

Trace froze.

Miles looked from Trace to the portal.

Lena took one step closer.

Lena Solis: Ashlyn, that is Malvora talking.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It’s my nightmare. I keep seeing it. I stab Kishi Red with Gravebrand. I feel it in my hands. I hear the armor break. Trace, I see myself killing you!

Trace’s entire posture changed.

Not with fear.

With understanding.

Trace Mercer: Ashlyn, listen to me.

Dreadmour advanced behind her.

Ashlyn gripped her weapon tighter.

Trace Mercer: The vision is real, but it is not yours.

She looked toward him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What?

Trace Mercer: You are seeing Mordred. He stabbed my master, Sir Caelum Ardent. The first Kishi Red. That memory has been twisted and placed upon you. You're seeing a vision of something that has already happened, not what will happen!

Ashlyn’s breath caught.

The battlefield in her dream shifted in her mind.

The armor had been different.

The stance unfamiliar.

The hand reaching out had not been Trace’s hand.

Malvora’s voice cut through the Worzol hall.

Malvora: Do not listen to him! He lies to protect you. Noble, but foolish!

Trace’s voice rose with absolute certainty.

Trace Mercer: Kishi Black is not destined for evil. Betrayal was Mordred’s choice. Your oath is yours.

Ashlyn trembled.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What if I make the same choice?

Trace stepped as close to the breach as the unstable energy allowed.

Trace Mercer: You will not.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You can’t know that.

Trace Mercer: I know you.

The words reached her like warmth through a frozen door.

Trace continued, voice steady and fierce.

Trace Mercer: On the dance floor, I told you I trust you. I meant it with every part of me. I trust you in Avalon. I trust you in shadow. I trust you with my life, and no lie from Malvora will change that.

Ashlyn saw him again as he had been beneath the chandelier light, masked, vulnerable, honest.

Trace Mercer: If darkness speaks with your voice, I will still know the difference.

Dreadmour swung Gravebrand.

This time she did not retreat from the sword.

She stepped inside the arc, grabbed Dreadmour’s wrist with both hands, and twisted with all the force the Black Oath gave her. The corrupted knight tried to wrench free, but Ashlyn drove her knee into its arm joint and ripped Gravebrand from its grasp.

Malvora’s eyes widened.

Malvora: No.

Ashlyn caught the dark sword.

It screamed through her mind.

She screamed back.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I decide what I am!

She slashed across Dreadmour’s chest.

The Black Zircon tore loose in a burst of crimson-black light. Dreadmour staggered, armor convulsing as the crystal was caught by Ashlyn, who placed it into the Oathlink.

Ashlyn turned toward the breach and lifted Gravebrand.

Trace stared at her through the tear.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace, move!

She drove Gravebrand’s energy into the portal.

Darkness collided with Oathrender’s red flame.

The small breach ripped wider, shaking the street and the Worzol hall at once. Miles grabbed Ray to keep him from falling back. Lena braced herself against them both. Dorian’s cane sparked as he held his ground.

Ashlyn ran.

Dreadmour reached for her.

She leapt through the widening tear.

Trace caught her on the other side.

They crashed together onto the ground, and for one breath, the entire team saw only that Ashlyn was back.

Her armor dissolved first.

Trace’s followed.

Ashlyn clutched Gravebrand in one hand and Trace’s jacket in the other, breathing hard as if the air of Avalon City had become something precious.

Trace held her carefully, afraid to let go too soon.

Trace Mercer: You came back.

Ashlyn looked up at him, shaken but alive.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You came for me.

Trace Mercer: Always.

Miles wiped at his eyes with one finger and immediately pretended he had not.

Miles Rowan: Great rescue. Terrible for my blood pressure. Ten out of ten. Never again. I'm not crying by the way.

Lena dropped to one knee beside Ashlyn.

Lena Solis: Are you hurt?

Ashlyn Westbrook: Everywhere, but I’m here.

Ray stared at Gravebrand.

Ray Matthews: You brought the sword back.

Dorian’s expression tightened.

Dorian Vale: That may not be the only thing that followed.

Avalon City shook.

Sir Dreadmour emerged into the city as a giant.

The black portal tore open in the middle of a broad avenue near the academy district, spilling violet lightning across glass buildings and stone facades. Sir Dreadmour stepped through at a scale far beyond the previous Worzol monsters. It towered over the city blocks, larger than Krieger, larger than Hector, its jagged knight armor burning with unstable darkness where the Black Zircon had been torn away. Gravebrand was gone from its hand, but a vast shadow-blade formed from its own corrupted energy.

Civilians ran as alarms blared.

The Kishirangers reached the street moments later.

Miles Rowan: So we made it angrier and taller.

Lena Solis: We can still bring it down.

Ashlyn stood slightly behind them, Gravebrand in hand. Her black Oathlink gem pulsed heavily at her side.

Dreadmour raised its shadow-blade and carved through the corner of an office tower. Glass rained down.
Trace drew Oathrender.

Trace Mercer: Stahlritter!

The sky and ground answered.

Krieger descended in red fire, landing before Dreadmour with sword drawn. Hector landed beside it, heavy armor locking into place. Kestrel cut down from the clouds in a green arc, spear ready. Spiegel descended through moonlight, yellow armor flashing with clean brilliance.

The four Kishiranger disappeared into their Stahlritter and attacked together.

Krieger struck first, sword meeting shadow-blade with city-shaking force. Hector fired from the side, blue cannon fire slamming into Dreadmour’s shoulder. Kestrel swept behind it and drove the spear into a knee joint. Spiegel came down with a golden axe strike aimed at the exposed core.

Dreadmour endured all of it.

Then it countered.

One sweep of the shadow-blade knocked Krieger through a row of parked cars and into a building facade. A backhanded strike sent Hector sliding backward through the street, tearing asphalt beneath its feet. Kestrel dodged the first follow-up but was caught by a burst of dark energy that threw it into a rooftop. Spiegel blocked with Aymr and still lost ground, the impact sending yellow sparks across the avenue.

Inside Krieger’s cockpit, Trace gripped the controls.

Trace Mercer: It is too strong.

Inside Hector, Ray’s panels flashed warnings.

Ray Matthews: Its output exceeds all prior monsters by a factor I do not enjoy calculating.

Miles Rowan: Then don’t calculate it!

Ray Matthews: That does not make it go away!

Spiegel braced near the damaged avenue.

Lena Solis: Ashlyn, we need you.

On the ground, Ashlyn looked at her Oathlink.

Trace’s voice came through.

Trace Mercer: Your oath is yours.

Ashlyn closed her hand around the black gem.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Then answer me.

She raised the Oathlink toward the darkening sky. The name entered her mind like a whisper.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Drakken, Black Shadow Stahlritter, arise!

The air behind the clouds split.

A roar shook Avalon City.

Drakken descended like a black comet edged in crimson light. It was sleek, armored in black with silver accents, its shoulders swept back like folded wings and its helm shaped with a knightly dragon crest. It landed beside the others with one hand clawed into the pavement, then rose to its full height as Ashlyn appeared in the cockpit.

Ashlyn Westbrook: I’m done running from this.

Drakken slammed into the street between Dreadmour and the others hard enough to crater the entire intersection.

Smoke erupted outward.

Then Drakken slowly rose from the impact crouch and leveled its massive black-and-gold blade toward Dreadmour.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You will pay for what you've done!

Dreadmour roared.

The two black knights charged simultaneously.

Dreadmour's blade collided against Drakken’s blade in a violent burst of sparks that illuminated the surrounding skyline. The sheer force of the clash shattered windows across nearby buildings.

Drakken twisted first.

Ashlyn redirected the heavier sword aside before slamming an armored elbow directly into Dreadmour’s chest.

The revenant stumbled backward.

Miles Rowan: SHE’S WINNING?!

Ray Matthews: Don’t jinx it!

Dreadmour recovered instantly and swung again in a savage horizontal arc.

Drakken ducked beneath it.

Ashlyn drove forward aggressively, each movement sharper and more decisive than before. Drakken’s sword hammered repeatedly against Dreadmour’s armor, forcing the revenant backward through the city street.

One strike.

Two.

Three.

The fourth carved directly across Dreadmour’s chestplate and sent black energy spraying into the air.

Lena Solis: Ashlyn! That’s it! Keep pressing it!

Dreadmour answered with brute force.

The monster grabbed Drakken by the throat and hurled the Stahlritter through an elevated train rail.

Metal exploded around the mech as Drakken crashed onto its back amidst collapsing debris.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Ngh—!

Warning lights flashed across her cockpit.

Dreadmour advanced through the smoke with its blade raised high.

Then emerald energy streaked downward from above.

Kestrel intercepted the descending sword with its spear.

Miles Rowan: Okay! Dramatic rescue accomplished!

Hector immediately moved beside him, shield raised while Krieger approached from the opposite side with Oathrender igniting in flames.

Spiegel planted Aymr into the pavement beside them.

Dreadmour looked between them.

United.

For the first time, all five Stahlritter stood together in the modern age.

Krieger, Hector, Kestrel, Spiegel, and Drakken.

The Oathlinks aligned across the battlefield.

Trace felt it immediately.

Trace Mercer: The full formation. Fifteen hundred years in the making.

Miles leaned forward in Kestrel’s cockpit.

Miles Rowan: You got to stop mentioning how long it's been. Makes you sound incredibly old.

Ray Matthews: Trace, what's the plan?

Trace lifted Oathrender within Krieger’s cockpit.

Trace Mercer: When all five Stahlritter answer, they can unite. A greater knight. The complete oath given form.

Lena’s eyes widened.

Lena Solis: We combine?

Miles Rowan: We combine?! Why did nobody lead with that?!

Trace Mercer: Because we needed all five.

Ashlyn looked across the link, her voice steady despite the fear still lingering beneath it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Then let’s make history.

The five Oathlinks blazed.

Trace Mercer: Stahlritter, unite!

Krieger rose at the center in a pillar of red flame. Hector transformed around it, heavy blue armor forming the left arm. Kestrel split into sweeping green wing-structures and the right arm. Spiegel became radiant yellow armor across the leg, its sunlight core stabilizing the formation. Drakken wrapped the combined body in black forming the other leg.

The combined warrior landed with a force that shook every window for blocks.

Voll Stahlritter stood against Sir Dreadmour.

It was massive, taller than any of the individual Stahlritter, a complete knight of red, blue, green, yellow, and black armor, with a winged lion crest burning at its chest and a great sword formed from Oathrender’s flame and Gravebrand’s captured shadow now purified through the fivefold oath.

Inside the shared cockpit space, the five Kishirangers stood in linked stations.

Ashlyn looked at Trace.

He looked back.

No fear.

Only trust.

Trace Mercer: Together.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Together.

Dreadmour charged.

Voll Stahlritter met it head-on.

The clash was thunder.

For the first time, Dreadmour was driven back.

Hector’s strength blocked him. Krieger’s flame powered the sword. Kestrel’s speed guided the movement. Spiegel’s light reinforced every strike. Drakken’s shadow armor absorbed the dark energy and turned it aside.

Dreadmour swung its shadow-blade.

Voll Stahlritter blocked.

The great knight stepped forward and punched Dreadmour across the chest, cracking the corrupted armor. It followed with a sweeping slash that severed the shadow-blade, then drove its shoulder into Dreadmour and shoved it away from the civilian evacuation zone.

Ray Matthews: Core exposed!

Lena Solis: We need one clean strike!

Miles Rowan: I vote for the biggest clean strike possible!

Trace raised the great sword.

Ashlyn placed her hand beside his on the central control.

The other three followed.

All five Oathlinks flared.

Trace Mercer: Voll Stahlritter...

Miles Rowan: Evil knight cancellation ready.

The great sword ignited in five colors.

All Five: Grand Cross!

Voll Stahlritter charged.

The blade cut through Dreadmour in a single brilliant arc of red, blue, green, yellow, and black light. The corrupted knight froze, cracks spreading across its body as the lingering shape of Mordred’s revenant dissolved from within.

For one moment, the black knight’s helmet turned toward Trace.

Tracer Mercer: Fade into memory, Mordred.

Then it exploded into harmless light above Avalon City.

The breach closed.

The city fell silent.

Voll Stahlritter stood beneath the bright sky, all five colors gleaming together for the first time.

Evening found the Kishirangers back inside the KED command center, exhausted, bruised, and alive.

Ashlyn sat at the central table with a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of tea she had not touched. Trace stood close enough to reach her if she needed him but far enough not to crowd her. Lena leaned against the table beside Miles, who had announced three times that combining giant robots was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him and then gone quiet every time he looked at Ashlyn. Ray stood near a console with his arms folded, listening carefully.

Ashlyn told them everything.

Malvora’s lies. The vision. Mordred.

The offer to stand as Vantrex’s fourth general.

The claim that Oathrender and Gravebrand were keys.

When she reached the final part, her brow furrowed.

Ashlyn Westbrook: She said they needed the blades to reach something called the Grail.

The room changed.

Trace looked genuinely confused.

Trace Mercer: The Grail?

Ashlyn Westbrook: You don’t know it?

Trace shook his head.

Trace Mercer: I don't.

Lena looked toward Dorian.

Lena Solis: Please tell me you don’t have a secret Grail file.

Dorian’s silence was not encouraging.

Miles Rowan: He's got nothing.

Ray said nothing.

He had gone very still.

No one noticed at first.

Except Ashlyn, who was too tired to understand the look that passed briefly behind his eyes.

He adjusted his glasses, hiding his expression behind the reflection of the command center lights.

Ray Matthews: Then while we're defending the city, we need to learn more about what it is and obtain it before Vantrex does.

Trace looked back at Ashlyn.

Trace Mercer: Whatever it is, we face it together.

Above them, the monitors still displayed the final image of Voll Stahlritter standing over Avalon City, five oaths united in one impossible knight.

Somewhere far beneath the academy chapel, a hidden chamber no student had ever seen.

Father Lughbow held an artifact in his hands.

He closed his eyes.

Father Lughbow: So it begins.

To Be Continued...

Last edited by Machismo (5/08/2026 3:01 am)

Machismo · 5/09/2026 12:08 am

Episode 9: The Zauberer

Morning sunlight spilled through the upper windows of the KED Building while the sounds of Avalon City drifted faintly in from outside. Traffic moved below. Music from a nearby shop echoed between buildings. Somewhere down the street, somebody was aggressively losing an argument with a vending machine.

Inside the hidden command center beneath the building, however, the atmosphere felt considerably more tense.

Trace stood near the central table with his arms crossed while holographic projections rotated slowly above the surface. Ancient ruins. Fractured stone pillars. Underground pathways beneath Avalon City.

The site of his long slumber.

Ashlyn stood beside him studying the display while trying very hard not to look directly at him for too long. Unfortunately for her, she couldn't stop. Ray noticed. Ray noticed immediately. And because fate enjoyed tormenting him specifically, he had somehow ended up assigned to accompany them both.

Ray Matthews: So just to be clear, I’m going into ancient ruins with the two people currently generating enough romantic tension to power Avalon City.

Ashlyn Westbrook: There is no romantic tension.

Trace Mercer: I do not know what that phrase means.

Ray Matthews: Of course you wouldn't.

Lena snorted from her seat nearby.

Lena Solis: You’re absolutely the third wheel.

Miles Rowan: The giga third wheel.

Ray Matthews: I'm not happy about this.

Trace ignored the conversation entirely and gestured toward the projection.

Trace Mercer: This chamber lies beneath the ridge outside Avalon City. It was once connected to the fortress where the original Kishiranger fought Vantrex’s armies.

Ashlyn Westbrook: And you think there may be information about the Grail there?

Trace’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of the name.

Trace Mercer: Maybe. I was a Kishiranger for a couple years, but this war started before me. I took up the sword and didn't ask too many questions. In the process I was able to unite several different groups under one cause, but again, I didn't ask too many questions. I knew what had to be done. I think Vantrex would not seek this "Grail" unless it possessed terrible importance.

Ray adjusted his glasses.

Ray Matthews: And this isn't wasn't his goal before?

Trace Mercer: Maybe it was. We fought him as he attempted to bleed the Worzol Dimension into our world. Little did I know, he had Gravebrand, and I was right there with Oathrender.

Miles leaned back dramatically in his chair.

Miles Rowan: It was a trap? Maybe he wanted to bring you to a place to initiate his plan.

Lena Solis: Or he came straight to you, like he was ready, or thought he was.

Ashlyn quietly glanced toward the projection again.

Toward the ruins.

Toward the growing fear that every answer they found only opened the door to larger questions.

Several hours later, the transport jeep bounced along an overgrown mountain path beneath cloudy skies.

Ray sat in the back seat looking increasingly exhausted despite the mission barely having started.

Mostly because Trace and Ashlyn were in total sync on their mission.

If Ashlyn leaned forward to study the map, Trace leaned in too.

If Trace pointed something out, Ashlyn immediately turned toward him.

It was unbearable.

Ray Matthews: I’m going to throw myself out of this moving vehicle.

Ashlyn Westbrook: What are you talking about now?

Ray Matthews: Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Trace looked confused.

Trace Mercer: Is he unwell?

Ashlyn Westbrook: I think he’s just dramatic.

Ray Matthews: I’m trapped in a jeep of emotions.

Trace Mercer: So many of the things you all say are lost on me. I'm very sorry.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Don't be sorry. They're being nebulous on purpose. Ray! Behave!

Trace frowned thoughtfully.

Trace Mercer: I need to learn to control things like this.

Ray Matthews: Relationships?

Trace Mercer: This thing we're in. What was it? A jeep?

Ray Matthews: Right. Of course that's what you meant. You should probably learn to drive the motorcycle first so you don't have to ride holding onto Ashlyn.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It's really not a problem.

Ray Matthews: Apparently not.

Trace Mercer: ...Motor...cycle. The "motor" is what causes it to move. Got it.

Ray Matthews: The man pilots an advanced robot from the past, and is still coming to grips with motorcycles.

Ray groaned and leaned back against the seat.

The jeep eventually emerged near the edge of a broken cliffside where ancient stone ruins disappeared into the mountain itself.

Wind moved through collapsed archways while faded carvings covered the stone. Moss crept across fractured statues of armored knights whose faces had long since worn away.

Trace stepped out first.

And immediately fell silent.

Ashlyn noticed the subtle shift in his expression.

The weight in it.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace...?

He slowly looked across the ruins.

Trace Mercer: I remember this place. I didn't have a good chance to look at it before...when the curse was released, and I woke up.

No jokes followed that statement.

Even Ray quieted.

Trace walked slowly toward the entrance while his hand brushed against cracked stone walls.

Trace Mercer: This was where we made our final stand before I entered slumber. We believed Vantrex defeated. We believed the war had ended, and all I needed to do was take the curse upon myself and sleep.

Ashlyn watched him carefully.

There was pain in his voice.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You don’t have to carry all of it alone anymore. We might have accidentally started this, but we're with you. We all have a stake in this. We all believe in the mission.

Trace looked toward her.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Ray loudly cleared his throat.

Ray Matthews: Great emotional moment. Super touching. We should probably investigate the ancient cave now.

Ashlyn glared at him.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You are unbelievable.

Ray Matthews: What?!

Deep beneath Avalon City, another conversation unfolded.

Purple light reflected across black stone walls as Malvora stood before a massive circular sigil carved into the floor.

Beside her waited a new Worzol monster.

Its body resembled a tall ceremonial executioner wrapped in layered robes of dark fabric and tarnished bronze armor. Its face was hidden behind a smooth mask marked with spiraling runes, while dozens of dangling charms and bells hung from its sleeves.

Each one whispered softly.

Like people talking in their sleep.

Malvora: This city will sleep.

The monster bowed slowly.

Malvora: While they dream...we search...we will seek. We will find. Where are they hiding? Magnus has done well to shield you from my eyes...for now.

Her fingers drifted across the glowing runic circle.

Malvora: The Grail draws nearer every day.

Then, for just a moment...

Her expression changed.

Malvora: Avalon always believed its knights would save everyone.

The monster remained silent.

Malvora smiled faintly.

Malvora: I believed it too once.

Miles and Lena walked through downtown Avalon carrying bags of takeout while arguing about something completely ridiculous.

Miles Rowan: I’m just saying if we’re combining giant robots now, we should absolutely scream out attack names.

Lena Solis: We already scream every attack name! You want more? Why?

Miles Rowan: Because it improves morale.

Lena Solis: Trace said that. Don't act like it was your idea. The Oathlink responds to these things. Draws out the power in us as we bond...or something like that. I don't know. I don't always get it, but I'm enthusiastic about the not getting it.

Miles pointed dramatically.

Miles Rowan: You lack vision!

Lena Solis: You lack an indoor voice.

Miles Rowan: We're outside! Why are we outside? I mean, I know why I am. I was hungry, and I'm on watch duty. Why are you with me?

Lena Solis: I was getting food for my Grandfather. I visit him when I can, to make sure he's doing well.

Miles Rowan: If I knew that I would've paid for the food!

Lena Solis: How do you have money?

Miles Rowan: That's a great point, however, I-

Then the bells started ringing.

Soft at first.

Lena stopped walking.

Lena Solis: ...Do you hear that?

Miles blinked.

Miles Rowan: Hear wha—

Purple light suddenly spread across the street.

Runes ignited beneath their feet.

People froze.

Cars stopped moving.

Conversations halted mid-sentence.

Then one by one...

Everyone collapsed.

Miles swayed violently.

Miles Rowan: Oh that’s...not good—

He hit the pavement face-first. Out cold.

All around them, Avalon City fell asleep.

Lena stared in shock.

Then slowly looked down at herself. Still awake.

The glowing runes reflected in her eyes. Nothing happened.

Lena Solis: ...What?

A voice answered from above.

Malvora: Fascinating.

Lena looked upward.

Malvora stood atop a nearby building while the masked Worzol monster loomed beside her.

Purple wind spiraled around them, as Lena fell back in surprise.

Malvora: You should be sleeping with the rest of the sheep.

Lena Solis: Yeah? News to me. I'm not really tired.

Malvora tilted her head slightly.

Malvora: Your compliance isn't really a factor. You saw the sigil clearly.

Lena Solis: I’m looking at it right now.

Something unreadable crossed Malvora’s face.

Then, quietly—

Malvora: ...Zauberer.

Lena frowned.

Lena Solis: Gesundheit?

For the first time...Malvora actually laughed.

Malvora: You truly do not know.

The Worzol monster stepped forward.

Its bells rang louder.

The air itself seemed to grow heavier.

Malvora: Long ago there existed an order capable of shaping magic itself. The Zauberer.

Purple energy spiraled around her fingers.

Malvora: Avalon feared them. Revered them. Used them.

Her expression hardened.

Malvora: I was chosen because I possessed that bloodline.

Lena slowly helped Miles behind cover.

Lena Solis: So what, this whole nightmare with the Worzol Dimension is your revenge?

Malvora looked genuinely surprised.

Malvora: Revenge?

Then she smiled sadly.

Malvora: No.

The city slept around them.

Malvora: I believe this is salvation.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Malvora: The world is doomed without Vantrex. Doomed without his vision. You might not believe it, but I'm trying to do the right thing.

The bells rang louder.

Malvora: Fighting the Kishiranger is simply...enjoyable. It's my bonus...for being a "good girl".

The monster attacked.

Back within the ruins, Ashlyn nearly lost her footing climbing over broken stone before Trace instinctively caught her around the waist.

Ashlyn froze.

Trace froze.

Ray stared at the ceiling.

Ray Matthews: Incredible. Amazing. Fantastic.

Ashlyn immediately stepped back.

Trace Mercer: Forgive me!

Ashlyn Westbrook: It's alright. I was slipping.

Trace Mercer: I did not wish for you to fall.

Ray Matthews: I’m going to walk directly into a trap on purpose.

Ashlyn tried to ignore how warm her face felt.

Trace looked equally confused by his own reaction.

Neither of them noticed Ray quietly moving toward a side corridor.

Toward a hidden chamber marked with the symbol of Der Gralsbund.

His expression changed completely. He didn't bring attention to it.

Ray Matthews: I might be onto something.

Back in Avalon City, Lena transformed.

Yellow light erupted around her as Kishi Yellow burst onto the sleeping streets.

The Worzol monster lunged immediately.

Its sleeves whipped outward while purple symbols flooded the area.

Lena blocked with Aymr, sparks exploding across the street.

Lena Solis: Okay! Sleep wizard freak! Let’s go!

The monster’s bells screamed.

Shockwaves hammered the street.

Lena skidded backward.

Then Malvora descended lightly onto the pavement nearby.

Malvora: You truly cannot feel it?

Lena Solis: Feel what?

Malvora: The call of magic?

Lena Solis: No idea what you're talking about, but it's probably just lies anyway. Like how you tried to lie to Ashlyn. We owe you for that one!

Back in the ruins, Ray Matthews are taking discreet pictures of the symbols he saw on the wall. Trace was looking at Ashlyn, studying her, and she seemed to notice.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Do I have something on my face?

Trace Mercer: Forgive me again. I'm just noticing something about you. You remind me of someone I met in my youth.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Oh yeah?

Trace Mercer: Yes. She was a young warrior. She appeared out of nowhere, with a noble mission. She was the first one to warn the king about Vantrex. Women at the time were not as prevalent in the ways of the warrior, so it seemed odd to many, but I looked up to her. Her name was Jea-

Ray Matthews: Hey, are you seeing this? Our Oathlinks are glowing.

Trace Mercer: Oh. Of course they would. We're all linked by the gems now. They react in times of danger.

Ray Matthews: Considering we're two shy of a full team, we can probably guess who is in danger.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We need to go.

In a hazy, dreamlike state, Miles wandered around a warped version of Avalon City. He looked around and saw many others floating around in a similar haze, as if they were all trapped in the same dream together.

Miles Rowan: This is very different from my normal dreams. I don't see HER anywhere, and I'm nowhere near a beach. Wait...I was walking with Lena. We were talking, and then suddenly- I can't remember.

Suddenly, Miles noticed something. A figure walking around the people. Walking straight towards him.

?: Hello?

Miles Rowan: ...Yo.

?: Interesting. You're still coherent. Lucid dreamer?

Miles Rowan: Typically.

?: And yet everyone else in here is just...lost. This is interesting. Oh, forgive me, my name is Nacht.

Miles Rowan: Miles.

Nacht: Yeah, I know that. You should be on a beach right now.

Miles Rowan: How do you know that?

Nacht: Actually...you shouldn't be asleep right now. You were forced asleep. I think you should probably wake up. You're in trouble.

Miles Rowan: I'd love to, but how?

Nacht: Oh! Sorry! That's where I come in. Allow me!

Miles shot awake with a holler, not because of what just happened, but because Lena had just barely blocked the Worzol Monster from killing him.

Miles Rowan: That was close! My head is killing me!

Lena Solis: You landed on it!

Miles Rowan: You didn't catch me?!

Lena Solis: A little busy!

Malvora: You woke up? This keeps getting more intriguing! I wonder if the Nightmelion had a hand in it.

A crimson slash tore across the battlefield.

Trace arrived first.

Oathrender carved directly through the air as Kishi Red landed beside Lena.

Trace Mercer: Are you injured?

Lena Solis: Just perturbed and confused. Nothing new.

Green light flashed overhead.

Kishi Green transformed quickly and pulled out Gungnir.

Blue energy followed immediately after.

Kishi Blue landed heavily beside them with shield raised.

Ray Matthews: Miles, you alright?

Miles Rowan: Killer headache. Thanks for caring though.

Then black flames erupted nearby.

Ashlyn stepped from the shadows in Kishi Black form, Gravebrand sheathed at her side while her black armor reflected the city lights.

Malvora’s expression sharpened slightly upon seeing her.

Malvora: So you made your decision, little shadow.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Sorry. Friendship won.

Miles Rowan: Aw.

Ray Matthews: Not the time.

The Worzol Monster lifted both arms.

The bells rang again.

This time dozens of circular runes materialized across the battlefield before firing concentrated beams of sleeping magic directly at the team.

Trace Mercer: Scatter!

The Rangers exploded apart.

Purple blasts hammered the street.

Cars flipped through the air.

Entire sections of pavement collapsed under the bombardment.

Kishi Green darted between the beams with impossible speed while launching rapid spear strikes toward the monster. Green energy streaked across the battlefield as he vaulted from overturned vehicles and shattered signs.

Miles Rowan: Hey ugly! Ding dong ditch THIS!

He lunged.

Gungnir struck the monster’s torso—

And immediately stopped.

The robes shifted.

Not cloth.

Chains.

Hundreds of layered enchanted chains hidden beneath the robes absorbed the impact.

Miles Rowan: Oh come ON—

The monster seized him instantly.

Its massive sleeve wrapped around Miles and slammed him through the side of a department store.

Kishi Blue charged immediately.

Ray drove Vanguard directly into the monster’s side hard enough to force it backward across the intersection.

Ray Matthews: Miles!

The monster answered by ringing the bells again point-blank.

A wave of sleeping magic detonated against Vanguard

Ray’s boots carved trenches through the pavement as he fought to hold his ground.

Ray Matthews: Hard to hold this thing back! Why is it so strong?

Trace Mercer: Its magic is feeding on the sleeping city!

Trace and Ashlyn attacked together.

Red and black energy crossed through the mist as Oathrender and Gravebrand slashed simultaneously toward the monster’s center mass.

The Sleep Monster finally reacted defensively.

The chains beneath its robes burst outward like living serpents.

Trace severed several instantly.

Ashlyn cut through another wave.

But one chain wrapped around Gravebrand.

Another around Oathrender.

The monster yanked both Rangers violently forward.

Its bells rang directly between them.

The sound exploded outward.

The monster raised one clawed hand toward them—

Then Lena drove Aymr directly into its side.

The axe exploded with yellow energy.

Lena Solis: I don't think so!

The impact launched the monster through an entire office lobby.

Glass and steel rained into the street.

Ashlyn blinked rapidly, recovering first.

Ashlyn Westbrook: ...Thank you.

Lena Solis: What are friends for!

The Sleep Monster emerged from the collapsing building.

The runes across Avalon City ignited simultaneously.

Purple energy surged upward from every sleeping civilian.

Malvora slowly descended toward the battlefield.

Malvora: Enough games.

The entire city darkened.

The monster spread its arms.

And a colossal magic circle appeared above Avalon.

Miles stared upward.

Miles Rowan: Okay THAT feels apocalyptic.

Trace Mercer: Everyone! Final Vow formation!

The Rangers moved instantly.

The five Oathlinks ignited.

Red.

Blue.

Black.

Green.

Yellow.

Energy spiraled around them as the five formed up, giving their energy to Oathrender.

Trace Mercer: Bonds united! Say it with me, everyone!

All Five: FINAL VOW!

The combined blast erupted upward like a pillar of sunlight.

The giant rune shattered instantly.

The Worzol Monster screamed as the attack engulfed it.

Then the monster exploded.

For one brief moment, silence returned.

Then Malvora calmly lifted one hand.

Malvora: You know what happens next.

Purple lightning erupted from the sky.

The remains of the monster expanded instantly.

The giant form towered above Avalon City.

The Stahlritter launched moments later.

Krieger burst from the KED launch bay first trailing red flames through the night sky.

Hector followed beside it with massive blue thrusters igniting the clouds.

Kestrel spiraled overhead in green light while Spiegel erupted upward from beneath the city streets like a golden knight ascending from underground.

Finally, Drakken descended through the clouds in black light.

The five giant knights landed around the towering Sleep Monster.

The battle exploded immediately.

The giant monster swung an enormous chain across downtown Avalon.

Krieger intercepted it with its sword.

The impact split the street beneath them.

Hector slammed its shield forward from the side, helping force the chain backward while Kestrel darted overhead carving green energy across the monster’s shoulders.

Spiegel charged directly into melee. She swung her axe with both hands.

The massive axe crashed into the monster’s side hard enough to send it stumbling to the ground.

The monster retaliated instantly. The bells rang out.

Shockwaves exploded across the city.

Kestrel lost control first and crashed through a parking structure while Hector’s shield barrier flickered violently under the magical assault.

Inside Drakken, Ashlyn gripped the controls tightly.

Ashlyn looked toward Spiegel.

Toward her friend.

Ashlyn Westbrook: We need to unite!

Trace Mercer: Absolutely! Stahlritter, unite!

Golden light engulfed the battlefield.

The five Stahlritter transformed.

Combined.

And the colossal form of Voll Stahlritter emerged beneath the storm clouds.

Its massive frame equaled the Worzol Monster.

The giant sword ignited with radiant energy.

The Worzol Monster lunged desperately.

Voll Stahlritter met it head-on.

The two titans clashed across the skyline while shockwaves rolled through the city.

Then Trace’s voice rang through every cockpit.

Trace Mercer: Let's finish it quick!

The sword rose skyward.

Light gathered around the blade.

A massive glowing cross formed behind Voll Stahlritter itself.

All Five: GRAND CROSS!

The finishing slash descended.

The city vanished beneath white-gold light.

The Sleep Monster froze completely.

A glowing cross-shaped wound appeared across its body.

Then—it exploded into countless fragments of fading purple energy beneath Avalon’s night sky.

Malvora watched from afar.

Malvora: We're going to have to start putting up a fight. I think they have some tricks up their sleeves...even they don't know about.

Much later that evening, Lena quietly entered her grandfather’s home carrying food containers.

The old man sat asleep in his chair beside the television.

Soft jazz music played quietly nearby.

Lena smiled faintly.

Lena Solis: You’re supposed to eat first and pass out second, old man.

She moved through the house cleaning up slightly before pausing near one of the bookshelves.

A single book had clearly been moved recently.

No dust.

She slowly pulled it free.

Her expression changed instantly.

The symbol on the cover—

The same circular rune Malvora used.

Her grandfather stirred behind her.

Lena slowly turned toward him while holding the book.

Lena Solis: ...Grandpa?

To Be Continued...

Last edited by Machismo (5/09/2026 12:14 am)

Machismo · 5/10/2026 12:08 am

Episode 10: Shaken Vows

Night settled softly over Avalon City as Lena Solis stood in her grandfather’s home with the strange book clutched tightly against her chest.

The neighborhood was quiet. Warm porch lights glowed faintly across the street while cicadas buzzed somewhere deeper in the trees. Normally the familiar old house calmed her down instantly. Tonight it only made her stomach twist harder.

The symbol on the cover seemed heavier now.

That same circular sigil.

The same one Malvora had used.

Lena stepped inside quietly.

Her grandfather sat in his chair in a gray cardigan, reading glasses low on his nose.

He looked up immediately.

And smiled.

Edgar Solis: Lena. I didn't hear you come in. Did I nod off again?

Lena froze for half a second.

Then walked forward quickly and dropped the book onto the kitchen table.

The old man’s smile disappeared.

Completely.

Silence settled between them.

Lena Solis: ...You wanna explain this?

Edgar stared at the symbol on the cover for several long seconds before removing his glasses carefully.

He looked older suddenly.

Much older.

Edgar Solis: Where did you find it?

Lena Solis: Your shelf.

Edgar Solis: ...I see. Very perceptive. I had grabbed it earlier. Something about today made me think about it.

Lena Solis: Grandpa.

Her voice tightened despite herself.

Lena Solis: What is this thing?

Edgar leaned back slowly in his chair.

The kitchen suddenly felt far too small.

Edgar Solis: That book does not belong to me.

Lena Solis: Then whose is it?

The old man hesitated.

Then answered quietly.

Edgar Solis: Your mother’s.

Lena blinked.

Lena Solis: ...Mom’s?

Edgar Solis: Yes.

The answer hit harder than she expected.

Her mother had always existed in fragments to her. Warm memories. A laugh. Blonde hair catching sunlight. Strong hands fixing things around the house. Stories half remembered from childhood.

Edgar folded his hands together.

Edgar Solis: Lena... your mother came from a very old bloodline. Older than Avalon City itself. Older than most kingdoms that once stood here.

Lena stared at him.

Lena Solis: The Zauberer.

He nodded slowly.

Edgar Solis: Yes. You know. Of course you do. You've done your research. You never left this city. You enrolled in Avalon Academy. This place is swimming with relics of antiquity. We built a city right on top of it. It would make sense you'd eventually find out.

The word settled over the room heavily.

Edgar Solis: The Zauberer were guardians once. Scholars. Mystics. Historians. Their magic shaped parts of Avalon long before modern civilization rose around it. They protected knowledge that ordinary people were never meant to touch.

Lena Solis: Like Malvora.

Edgar’s eyes sharpened slightly.

Edgar Solis: You’ve seen one?

Lena’s heart nearly jumped into her throat.

She forced herself to stay calm.

Lena Solis: ...Just rumors.

Edgar studied her face carefully.

Edgar Solis: Your mother hated this legacy. She believed the Zauberer were becoming corrupted. Obsessed with power. Obsessed with old forces that should have remained buried. She wanted you to be safe.

His eyes lowered toward the book.

Edgar Solis: When she had you... she decided the bloodline would end with her.

Lena’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

Lena Solis: She... hid it from me?

Edgar Solis: To protect you.

The old man’s voice softened.

Edgar Solis: The Zauberer legacy brings danger with it. Your mother wanted you to live a normal life. Friends. School. Family. Happiness.

Lena nearly laughed at the word normal.

Instead she sat down slowly.

Internally, panic churned harder and harder.

Because she was already in danger.

Already fighting monsters.

Already connected to all of this somehow.

And now—

Now she had just learned she came from the same clan as Malvora.

The same woman trying to plunge Avalon into darkness.

Her stomach twisted.

Lena Solis: Did Mom use magic?

Edgar smiled faintly.

Sadness flickered through his eyes.

Edgar Solis: She tried not to.

Lena looked toward the book again.

The sigil seemed to stare back at her.

Watching.

Waiting.

And somewhere deep inside herself...

Something responded to it.

The next afternoon, the underground training chamber beneath the KED Building echoed with the sound of steel striking steel.

Ashlyn staggered backward breathing hard as Trace’s practice sword cracked sharply against hers again.

Trace Mercer: Tighten your grip.

Ashlyn Westbrook: My grip is fine.

Trace raised an eyebrow.

Then immediately disarmed her.

The sword spun across the floor.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Okay, so maybe it wasn't.

Trace lowered his weapon calmly.

Sweat glistened across his neck beneath the collar of his shirt while loose strands of brown hair stuck slightly against his forehead. Unlike his usual composed knightly appearance, training stripped away some of that untouchable aura around him.

And somehow that made him harder not to look at.

Ashlyn bent to retrieve her sword.

Which unfortunately gave Trace enough time to notice she was wearing a sleeveless black athletic top and fitted training pants instead of her usual jacket.

Which unfortunately caused Trace’s brain to stop functioning correctly for approximately three seconds.

Ashlyn noticed immediately.

A tiny smirk appeared.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Something wrong, Sir Trace?

Trace straightened instantly.

Trace Mercer: No.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You hesitated.

Trace Mercer: I did not.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You absolutely did.

Trace cleared his throat.

Trace Mercer: Again.

Ashlyn grinned. Then attacked first this time.

Their blades cracked together rapidly as they moved across the chamber floor. Ashlyn had improved dramatically over the past week. Her movements were faster now. More precise.

Their swords collided again.

Again.

Again.

Ashlyn pressed harder.

This time Trace intentionally overextended his right side slightly.

Ashlyn saw the opening immediately.

She moved in fast—

And suddenly Trace switched hands.

His sword reversed fluidly into his left hand before striking her guard aside entirely.

Ashlyn froze.

Ashlyn Westbrook: ...You’re left-handed?!

Trace Mercer: No, I trained to use both hands.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That's got to be cheating.

Trace stepped forward smoothly before she could recover.

Ashlyn backed up quickly.

Then hit the wall behind her.

Her breath caught.

Trace planted one arm against the stone beside her head while his sword pinned hers harmlessly downward.

And suddenly—

Neither of them moved.

The room felt very small.

Ashlyn’s breathing had become uneven from training.

So had Trace’s.

Sweat glistened faintly across both of them beneath the warm chamber lights.

Trace stood close enough now that Ashlyn could feel heat radiating from him.

Close enough to see every tiny movement in his expression.

The confident knightly composure he usually wore had cracked slightly.

And that somehow made this infinitely worse.

Or better.

Ashlyn looked up at him slowly.

Red eyes meeting amber.

Neither spoke.

Trace’s chest rose and fell heavily.

Ashlyn became painfully aware of literally everything at once.

His arm beside her head.

The tension in his shoulders.

The faint scent of leather and steel and sweat.

The way his gaze briefly flickered downward before immediately forcing itself back upward again like he was actively fighting himself.

Her face burned hotter.

Ashlyn Westbrook: ...You're very good.

Trace Mercer: ...And you are learning very quickly.

Ashlyn swallowed hard.

Ashlyn Westbrook: This feels less like training.

Trace stared at her silently for another second.

Ashlyn genuinely thought he might kiss her.

And judging by the look in his eyes—

He thought so too.

Which was exactly why Trace suddenly stepped backward like he’d just realized he was standing too close.

He lowered the sword immediately.

Trace Mercer: ...My apologies.

Ashlyn blinked rapidly.

Ashlyn Westbrook: For winning?

Trace Mercer: For losing focus.

His voice sounded quieter now.

Ashlyn slowly pushed herself off the wall.

Ashlyn Westbrook: You're a great teacher. I'd found old swords before, but I never actually used one. With you, it'll become second nature. A lot of things are....becoming like that.

Trace turned away slightly.

Which only confirmed her suspicion.

Ashlyn smiled softly.

A dangerous amount of confidence returned immediately.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Trace.

Trace Mercer: Yes?

Ashlyn Westbrook: We're very sweaty.

Ashlyn burst into laughter instantly.

Real laughter.

Bright and genuine.

Trace stared at her for a long moment before finally laughing with her.

And somewhere deeper inside the KED Building...

Neither of them noticed Ray Matthews watching briefly from the hallway entrance before immediately backing away.

Ray Matthews: Nope. Not dealing with whatever THAT was.

He turned and walked away immediately.

Ray Matthews: I suddenly understand why Miles keeps disappearing during training days.

Ray Matthews moved to be alone in the archive room. The ancient information that the Magnus Foundation "allowed" them to have. The dim underground chamber hummed softly with electrical noise from old monitors and scanning equipment while stacks of ancient notes covered the metal table in front of him.

But one sketch sat separate from the others. The one Ray kept to himself.

Ray stared at it silently.

The Grail.

The rough pencil drawing showed a large ornate chalice resting deep within the burial chamber where Trace had slept for centuries. Even as a simple sketch. Ancient engravings spiraled around the cup in concentric circles resembling the same runic language Lena had found in the Zauberer book.

Ray slowly lifted his phone and took a picture of the sketch.

For a moment he hesitated.

Then he opened an encrypted messaging application hidden beneath several layers of mundane software and sent the image.

The response came far faster than he expected.

His phone buzzed once.

Father Lughman was requesting a live call.

Ray exhaled quietly before accepting.

The screen flickered.

Father Lughman appeared seated within a dark chamber somewhere beneath the cathedral. Only the lower half of his face remained fully visible beneath the reflection covering his thick glasses. Candlelight flickered across shelves packed with ancient books and sealed relics behind him.

He studied the image silently for several seconds.

Then his expression darkened.

Father Lughman: So, he might not be aware of the Grail, but someone close to him was.

Ray Matthews: It was in the tomb, but Trace didn't seem to know what anything inside of it was. He said he didn't ask a lot of questions about things like grails back in his time, but Vantrex clearly wants it.

Father Lughman folded his hands together carefully.

Father Lughman: Of course he does.

Ray leaned back slightly.

Ray Matthews: Right. Of course.

Father Lughman: The Grail has appeared throughout history under many names. Kingdoms destroyed themselves seeking it. Entire bloodlines vanished protecting it. The Zauberer hoarded knowledge connected to it long before Der Gralsbund existed.

Ray’s eyes narrowed slightly at that.

Ray Matthews: The Zauberer.

Father Lughman: Witches and wizards...our enemies, Raymond. Our enemies. Be cautious around them.

The old priest’s tone sharpened subtly.

Father Lughman: Raymond...you must proceed carefully now. Our enemies are beginning to move into position.

Ray Matthews: Meaning?

Father Lughman: Vantrex has become active again. The Black Curse has resurfaced. Ancient bloodlines are awakening. And if the Grail has truly come back into play...then forces older than Avalon itself will begin emerging from the shadows.

Ray looked again toward the sketch sitting on the table.

Something about the drawing unsettled him deeply.

Ray Matthews: You think the Zauberer are involved?

Father Lughman’s face remained unreadable beneath the glare on his glasses.

Father Lughman: Yes. Beware the Zauberer.

The words landed heavily.

Father Lughman: Some among them believed magic existed to guide humanity. Others believed humanity existed to serve magic itself. Those divisions nearly destroyed Avalon once before.

Then Lughman leaned slightly closer to the screen.

Father Lughman: Continue monitoring the Kishiranger closely, especially Trace Mercer.

Ray frowned.

Ray Matthews: He's our leader, not a surveillance target.

Father Lughman studied him quietly.

Father Lughman: Do not lose sight of why you are there, Raymond.

The priest continued calmly.

Father Lughman: Your attachment to them may cloud your judgment.

Ray Matthews: They’re risking their lives every day for this city.

Father Lughman: So are you, for a greater cause.

The call ended immediately afterward.

Ray stared at the black screen for several long seconds.

Then slowly looked back toward the sketch of the Grail.

For the first time since joining the team, he felt genuinely trapped between two worlds.

Upstairs, meanwhile, Miles Rowan had achieved what he personally considered the peak of civilization.

He was sprawled sideways across the couch in the KED lounge wearing sweatpants and aggressively eating microwave noodles while half-watching television.

Miles Rowan: This is living.

The television volume suddenly increased.

A breaking news report interrupted the wrestling program he had been watching.

Miles groaned dramatically.

Miles Rowan: Noooo. Come on. I was invested in what that Tack guy was doing!

The screen shifted to aerial footage of downtown Avalon City. Construction drones moved between damaged skyscrapers while massive repair crews worked through the aftermath of the recent giant battles.

The female news anchor spoke seriously.

News Anchor: Recovery efforts continue tonight following the unprecedented destruction caused by recent incidents across Avalon City. Much of the reconstruction funding has come directly from Vander Industries CEO Roland Vander.

The screen shifted again.

A tall man stepped confidently through a construction site wearing a dark navy suit with silver trim. His blue hair was immaculately kept despite the dust and chaos around him, and his broad build made him look more like a knight wearing a business suit than an executive.

Workers moved respectfully aside as he passed.

His calm blue eyes studied the ruined city with controlled intensity.

Miles lowered his noodles slightly.

Miles Rowan: He seems important.

The reporter continued.

News Anchor: Roland Vander is the latest descendant of the historic Vander noble family, whose lineage dates back to Avalon’s founding era.

The interview footage began.

Roland stood before dozens of cameras while towering holographic blueprints rotated behind him.

Roland Vander: Avalon City has endured because its people endure. We will rebuild what has been lost, stronger than before.

His voice carried calm authority.

Measured.

Confident.

Roland Vander: The world changes every day now. Superhuman conflicts once hidden from ordinary citizens have become public reality. Monsters appear in our streets. Legends walk among us once again.

The holographic display shifted into a rotating energy dome surrounding Avalon.

Miles slowly sat up straighter.

Roland Vander: In Hanta City, Blake Faust chooses to play the role of visible savior. That is his decision. I do not intend to become such a spectacle.

Despite the polite wording, there was unmistakable edge beneath it.

Roland Vander: But Avalon City was built upon the bones of a kingdom. Its history deserves protection. Vander Industries will therefore begin development of a defensive infrastructure system capable of shielding this city from future attacks.

The dome projection brightened behind him.

Roland Vander: If this new age insists on arriving, then Avalon will not meet it unprepared.

Miles blinked slowly.

Miles Rowan: ...Okay that dude is something. This got interesting.

Behind him, Lena entered the lounge carrying a stack of books.

Lena Solis: What are you watching?

Miles pointed dramatically at the television.

Miles Rowan: Rich guy just declared war on our property damage.

Lena looked toward the screen.

Roland Vander’s image remained displayed.

Lena Solis: ...Vander.

The peaceful atmosphere inside the KED Building was immediately shattered, as the entire underground command center suddenly lurched sideways hard enough to throw Miles directly into the wall.

Miles Rowan: What?! Whoa! What was that?!

Warning sirens immediately erupted throughout the lower level while screens flashed red across the circular operations chamber. Dust rained lightly from the ceiling as another violent tremor shook the structure, rattling tools and knocking over several stacks of books Ashlyn had left near one of the workstations.

Lena caught herself against the central table while Ray immediately grabbed the edge of a console to steady himself.

Ray Matthews: Earthquake?

Trace Mercer: Not exactly.

Trace already stood perfectly balanced despite the shaking around him. His expression had sharpened instantly.

Trace Mercer: This feels targeted.

Almost on cue, another massive impact thundered through the city above them.

The monitors flickered.

One of the Avalon City surveillance feeds abruptly came online, revealing chaos erupting downtown as entire streets cracked apart beneath fleeing civilians. Cars bounced violently as the pavement split open in jagged lines that spread outward like spiderweb fractures.

Standing in the middle of the destruction was Vire the Swift.

The cocky Worzol general spun one of his curved blades lazily across his shoulders while grinning at the terrified crowds around him, surrounded by Dreadlings.

Beside them all towered a monstrous armored creature resembling a hulking stone executioner. Thick slabs of black rock covered its body while glowing magma-like cracks pulsed beneath the armor plating. Massive hammer-like fists slammed repeatedly into the street, each impact sending new shockwaves rippling through the city.

Vire the Swift: Ohohohoho! Where are they? I am beginning to wonder if their little clubhouse collapsed already!

The monster roared and drove both fists into the ground simultaneously.

The shockwave nearly blew out the camera feed.

Miles stared at the screen in horror.

Miles Rowan: Oh cool. Fantastic. Awesome. An earthquake monster.

Lena Solis: He’s shaking the ground beneath the entire district.

Ashlyn Westbrook: If that keeps going, buildings are going to start collapsing.

Vire leaned closer toward the camera drone circling above him.

Vire the Swift: Come out already, Kishiranger! Lord Vantrex grows bored waiting for you to die dramatically!

Trace stepped forward immediately.

Trace Mercer: We're not going to keep you waiting, Vire!

Ray Matthews: ...That's not how the drone works. He can't hear us.

Trace Mercer: ...Technology is confusing. Then let us not keep him waiting!

The others looked toward him.

The tension that had weighed on the group after recent events seemed different now. Stronger somehow. More unified.

Ashlyn noticed it too.

Even after everything involving Mordred and the Worzol Dimension, nobody hesitated anymore.

They were a team now.

Trace raised his Oathlink Relic.

Trace Mercer: Kishiranger! Move out!

Avalon City had descended into panic by the time the team arrived.

Entire intersections had collapsed inward while emergency crews struggled to evacuate civilians away from the spreading fractures in the streets. Windows shattered across nearby buildings every time the monster struck the ground, and chunks of concrete continued erupting upward like artillery fire.

Vire stood atop a broken traffic light laughing hysterically.

Vire the Swift: There they are! Fashionably late as always!

The five Rangers stepped forward together through the smoke and debris. They quickly fought off a horde of Dreadlings, using their powered up weapons to dispatch of what would have been a problem mere weeks ago.

Trace drew Oathrender.

Trace Mercer: Your rampage ends here.

Vire the Swift: Big words from the loser who couldn't contain the curse!

Ashlyn’s expression darkened instantly at that remark.

Trace, however, remained calm.

Which honestly seemed to annoy Vire more.

Vire the Swift: Ugh. You’re no fun anymore.

The massive quake monster slammed its fists together, sending sparks and chunks of molten rock scattering around its body.

Ashlyn Westbrook: That thing is huge.

Miles Rowan: Watch out for the fist hammers.

Lena Solis: We should probably stop talking and start hitting.

Trace nodded once.

Trace Mercer: Agreed.

The Oathbucklers glowed and resonated with the Oathlinks.

Trace Mercer: Oath forged.

Ray Matthews: Knowledge guarded.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Courage sworn.

Miles Rowan: Wild heart awakened.

Lena Solis: Truth shone.

All Five: Kishiranger, arise!

Brilliant colored energy exploded outward as the Rangers transformed together beneath the darkened skyline. Red, blue, black, green, and yellow light surged across the ruined intersection while ancient armor materialized around them in flashes of gold-lined energy.

The monster charged immediately.

Its enormous fist smashed downward toward the group like a meteor.

Trace reacted first.

Trace Mercer: Scatter!

The Rangers burst apart in different directions just before the impact obliterated the street beneath them. The explosion of rubble blasted cars sideways while Vire cackled from above.

Kishi Green sprinted up the side of a collapsing bus and launched himself toward the monster’s shoulders.

Miles Rowan: HEY ROCKY! CATCH THIS!

He drove Gungnir directly into the creature’s neck joints.

The monster roared and swung violently backward, slamming him through a storefront.

Miles Rowan: Ow! Okay! Very rude!

Kishi Yellow immediately vaulted into the air.

Lena Solis: Aymir!

Her golden axe rained downward, detonating across the monster’s chest and staggering it backward.

Kishi Black dashed beneath its legs at incredible speed before slicing upward across the back of its knees.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Gravebrand! Make the Worzol taste the darkness!

Dark energy carved through the creature’s stone armor, finally forcing it down onto one knee.

Trace seized the opening instantly.

Trace Mercer: Together!

Kishi Blue and Kishi Red charged side by side.

Vanguard slammed directly into the monster’s torso while Trace leapt upward and brought Oathrender crashing down onto its shoulder in a shower of sparks.

The quake monster howled and unleashed a devastating shockwave from its body.

The blast hurled all five Rangers backward simultaneously.

Vire nearly fell over laughing.

Vire the Swift: Ahahahaha! Oh, that one looked painful! Do it again!

The monster obeyed immediately, smashing both fists repeatedly into the street.

The entire battlefield began collapsing.

Chunks of asphalt rose and fell violently while nearby buildings started tilting dangerously from the constant tremors.

Even the Rangers struggled to maintain their footing now.

Ray Matthews: We can’t keep fighting it like this!

Lena Solis: The ground itself is becoming unstable!

Trace looked toward the others.

Then toward the civilians still evacuating nearby.

Decision made.

Trace Mercer: Then we finish this now.

He raised Oathrender skyward.

Trace Mercer: Kishiranger! Unite your vows!

The others immediately understood.

All five Rangers sprinted forward together as energy surged towards Oathrender.

The monster roared and charged directly toward them.

All Five: FINAL VOW!

A massive crest of combined energy erupted outward, and struck the monster head-on. For one blinding instant, the entire street disappeared beneath gold light.

Then the explosion hit.

The shockwave blasted clouds apart overhead while the quake monster screamed as enormous cracks spread across its body.

The creature exploded.

Vire shielded his face from the blast before lowering his arm slowly.

Vire the Swift: You guys like to break my toys!

But then the smoke shifted.

Dark purple lightning erupted upward from the remains.

Vire grinned again immediately.

Vire the Swift: Ahhhhh there we go.

The shattered remains of the monster began expanding grotesquely.

Buildings trembled.

The sky darkened.

Within seconds, the creature towered over Avalon City at colossal size.

Miles groaned loudly.

Miles Rowan: Of course! It got bigger.

Trace Mercer: Stahlritter formation!

Kreiger, Hector, Kestel, Spiegel, and Drakken all launched from behind the KED Building, and quickly found themselves at the scene of the fight, as the Kishiranger disappeared within them.

The giant monster swung downward instantly.

Drakken intercepted the blow head-on.

The impact alone shattered nearby windows for blocks.

Inside Drakken’s cockpit, Ashlyn gritted her teeth while struggling against the sheer force behind the strike.

Ashlyn Westbrook: This thing’s stronger than Dreadmour was!

Trace Mercer: So are you! So are all of you! We can do this.

The five Stahlritter launched into coordinated battle.

Hector absorbed devastating shockwaves with its massive blue shield while Green’s Stahlritter circled rapidly around the creature, carving sparking cuts into its sides. Yellow bombarded it with axe shots, while Drakken engaged directly in brutal sword exchanges against the monster’s magma fists.

The battle tore through downtown Avalon like a natural disaster.

Finally, Trace raised Oathrender within Krieger’s cockpit.

Trace Mercer: Formation sequence! Voll Stahlritter!

The combined transformation erupted across the skyline.

Armor shifted.

Steel thundered.

Energy spiraled skyward.

Within moments, the towering form of Voll Stahlritter stood complete above Avalon City.

The giant knight drew its colossal blade.

The quake monster charged recklessly.

Voll Stahlritter met it head-on.

Their clash split the clouds overhead.

The monster hammered against the massive shield arm repeatedly while Voll Stahlritter drove backward through entire intersections under the force.

Inside the shared cockpit chamber, all five Rangers strained together.

Miles Rowan: It hits like a freight train!

Ray Matthews: Focus!

Lena Solis: We have an opening!

Ashlyn looked toward Trace.

He nodded once.

They all understood immediately.

All Five: GRAND CROSS!

Voll Stahlritter raised its sword high overhead as radiant energy spiraled around the blade in the shape of a massive glowing cross.

Then the giant knight swung downward.

The attack cleaved directly through the monster’s torso.

Silence.

The creature froze completely.

Then exploded in a massive pillar of light visible across the entire city.

Vire stared at the destruction for several moments.

Vire the Swift: ...Okay. Rude. I really liked that one.

Then he vanished into darkness before the Rangers could reach him.

Avalon City had finally grown quiet again. From a distance, a man in a skyscraper had watched the battle unfold, standing confidently while others around him cowered in terror.

Roland Vander: To wield power so recklessly. Do they have the steady hand to control destiny? I will find out for myself.

The next day, Trace stood beside a motorcycle near an empty industrial lot while Ashlyn leaned casually against the bike with barely restrained amusement.

Ashlyn Westbrook: So let me get this straight. You can fight ancient dark lords, pilot giant robots, and survive dimensional warfare... but this scares you?

Trace eyed the motorcycle suspiciously.

Trace Mercer: It appears unstable.

Ashlyn Westbrook: It has two wheels.

Trace Mercer: Exactly. A horse has four legs. I still don't know how you steady this thing.

Ashlyn laughed despite herself.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Okay, Trace. Relax. I’ll teach you.

Trace slowly climbed onto the motorcycle like a man preparing to mount a wild animal.

Ashlyn stepped behind him and reached around carefully to guide his hands onto the controls.

The sudden closeness immediately made both of them slightly tense.

Ashlyn Westbrook: Right hand controls the throttle. Left hand is the clutch.

Trace nodded very seriously.

Trace Mercer: Understood.

He immediately revved the engine far too hard.

The motorcycle launched forward violently.

Trace Mercer: This machine is cursed!

Ashlyn burst into helpless laughter as Trace barely managed to stop the bike before crashing into a fence.

For perhaps the first time since awakening in the modern era...

The ancient knight looked genuinely embarrassed.

To Be Continued...

Index
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» Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

4/29/2026 4:17 am #1

Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/01/2026 1:26 am #2

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/01/2026 9:32 am #3

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/02/2026 4:37 am #4

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/02/2026 11:50 am #5

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/06/2026 12:02 am #6

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/06/2026 2:28 am #7

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/08/2026 2:14 am #8

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/09/2026 12:08 am #9

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

5/10/2026 12:08 am #10

Re: Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

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» Tokuverse - Mythic Sentai Kishiranger

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