The weight of General Zalogr's scrutiny lingered long after Henry had left the oppressive confines of the command tent.

It was a cold, calculating pressure, a reminder that his carefully guarded secrets were perhaps not as secure as he had hoped. The close call left him exposed, unsettled, the fragile peace of the past weeks shattered.

Seeking a measure of solace, a place to quell the gnawing unease churning within him, Henry found his steps leading him, almost unconsciously, towards the familiar, soaring spires of the Estath Cathedral.

He passed through the garrison gates, merging with the steady stream of afternoon city life. Here, away from the stark functionality of the barracks, East Aerion pulsed with vibrant energy, yet even the bustling crowds and overflowing market stalls couldn't entirely dispel the shadow Zalogr's interrogation had cast. Reaching the cathedral square, Henry paused.

The massive stone edifice rose before him, a testament to centuries of faith and architectural grandeur. Intricate carvings adorned its façade, depicting angels and saints in stoic repose, their stone eyes gazing out over the city with serene indifference.

He often found a strange comfort within its hallowed halls. The scent of incense and the hushed reverence offered a temporary respite. Sunlight streamed through the vast stained-glass windows, painting the flagstones in shifting, jewel-toned patterns, a world away from the harsh realities outside.

As he approached the imposing main entrance, intending to lose himself for a while in quiet prayer, a figure standing near the ornate gates caught his eye, instantly recognizable despite the intervening years and the different paths their lives had taken.

The man wore the gleaming, perfectly fitted plate armor of a high-status officer. He wasn't physically imposing, but a potent but a potent aura of contained power thrummed around him, the deep hum of aether held in check. As he scanned the square with the practiced alertness of a seasoned warrior, Henry recognized the resolute face and angular features of his old friend, Haziel.

A genuine smile, rare and unforced, touched Henry's lips. Haziel - his first true friend made amidst the grit and grind of their early years in the Aerion military, long before Squad 18 had even formed.

Seeing Henry, Haziel's sternness vanished. He broke into a broad, relaxed laugh that erased all the formality of a soldier. "Henry! By the Angels, it's good to see you!"

"Haziel," Henry returned the greeting, clasping the offered forearm firmly. "Thought they'd finally exiled you to some gods-forsaken border post. Haven't seen you around the East Garrison in months."

Haziel laughed, a rich, easy sound Henry hadn't realized he'd missed. "Not exiled, just busy. Command keeps sending my unit further afield these days. Seems trouble is brewing everywhere." His smile faded slightly. "But I just got back yesterday. Short leave before the next deployment."

"Mission-free for a day then?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't hurt to grab a drink at the Dunlyre? Catch up properly? Unless," he added with a grin, "your shiny new Captain rank means you're too good to drink with us lowly scouts now."

Haziel clapped him hard on the shoulder, the impact solid through Henry's lighter gear. "Don't be an idiot. Of course. Drinks are definitely required. My treat." He offered a playful wink. "But only if Sophia joins us. It's been far too long since the three of us actually sat down together."

The easy camaraderie sent a familiar warmth spreading through him, a reminder of simpler, if harder, times. "She'll be there," he promised.

Later, settled into their usual secluded corner booth at the noisy, familiar Dunlyre Tavern, where the rich aromas of roasted meat, spilled ale, and woodsmoke hung in the air, it was almost as if no time had passed at all.

Sophia sat beside Henry, her earlier concern replaced by a soft smile as she listened to Haziel recount some recent, undoubtedly embellished, training anecdote. The easy chemistry between the three of them, forged in shared hardship and youthful misadventures, remained strong despite their diverging paths.

Henry's gaze settled on Haziel, a true and searching look, the kind he hadn't given his friend in years. The boy he remembered scrubbing latrines alongside him was gone, replaced by a confident, powerful officer. So the whispers were true after all. In some circles, they called Haziel 'The Fifth Divine Monarch,' acknowledging his terrifyingly rare potential to reach the demigod tiers of Rank 7 or beyond.

It was a destiny that had placed Haziel on a fiercely accelerated development track, groomed for high command, privy to intelligence far beyond Henry's own clearance.

Yet, here, now, sharing ale and banter, he was still just Haziel.

The table groaned under the weight of the food Haziel had insisted on ordering, a feast far exceeding their usual celebratory splurges. Spicy salt-and-pepper grilled river fish, deboned chicken stuffed with roasted root vegetables, a rich minced-meat and egg pie with a golden crust, and a platter piled high with glistening, oven-baked sweet-and-sour pork ribs.

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Henry surveyed the spread and chuckled. "Since when does a Captain's pay stretch this far, Haziel? Trying to impress us humble scouts?"

Sophia echoed his sentiment, feigning a gasp of surprise. "Seriously, Haziel. This must have cost a fortune. Did Command give you a secret pay raise, or are you just showing off?"

Haziel waved a dismissive hand, though his grin was pleased. "Consider it back pay for all the times you two covered for me during basic," he joked. "Besides, it's not like I get many chances to spend my salary. I'm either in the field or confined to Central Command barracks. Living expenses are covered." He winked broadly at Henry. "Saving up. Got to have a hefty gift ready for your wedding, after all."

Sophia flushed crimson, suddenly finding her mug intensely interesting, while Henry burst into genuine laughter. "Hah! Trying to bribe your way into being best man already?"

His smile faded, replaced by a knowing intensity. "And seeing how you two were looking at each other at the cathedral, I'd say it's getting close, isn't it? Don't drag your feet, Henry. A girl like Sophia won't wait around forever, not even for you."

"Hey!" Sophia protested, though the blush remained. "It's not like anyone's actually proposed!"

"Give me time," Henry grinned, taking Sophia's hand under the table, earning another blush. "Maybe when I hit Rank 4? Need to be able to afford a battalion of Henry Juniors, after all."

"You're being utterly ridiculous," Sophia muttered, though she didn't pull her hand away. "Honestly, put you and the Captain or Haziel together in a tavern, and you revert to being about twelve years old."

Haziel roared with laughter, slapping the table. "Exactly! That's how you know it's real friendship, Sophia! Comfortable enough to be idiots together!"

The lighthearted banter continued, a welcome balm after the tension of the past weeks. They reminisced briefly about their early days - the shared misery of scrubbing pots and mucking stables, the terror and exhilaration of their first fumbling missions, the time they got hopelessly lost chasing a farmer's escaped goat and ended up spending a night treed by angry tusk-boars.

Memories tinged with youthful folly, yes, but foundational stones of a bond that had endured promotions, separation, and the constant shadow of war. They spoke of Sophia declining the prestigious offer from the Church hierarchy to train as a Sacred Maiden years ago - a choice Haziel admitted he still didn't fully understand but respected, his gaze flickering briefly towards Henry.

They spoke of Haziel's grueling specialized training, the immense pressure that came with his "Divine Monarch" potential, a potential Henry couldn't truly comprehend.

But eventually, as the mugs were refilled and the initial exuberance subsided, the conversation inevitably shifted, the weight of the present situation settling back upon them. Henry leaned forward, his earlier levity gone, his gaze locking with Haziel's across the worn table. "Enough joking, Haziel." He spoke in a low murmur. "There's a tension in the city. More than usual. How bad is it, really?"

In place of Haziel's smile, the hardened focus of an officer took hold, a look Henry remembered well from their early training days. He slowly placed his heavy mug down, the clink echoing faintly in a sudden lull in the tavern's noise. The usual mirth on his face vanished, and his features darkened.

"It's escalating," he admitted, his words dropping to a near whisper, forcing Henry and Sophia to lean in. He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, a rare sign of unease. "You felt it on your last mission, didn't you? The Lykuzt incident wasn't isolated. Command has confirmed similar patterns – disappearances, ritualistic killings – in over twenty settlements ringing Aerion."

He paused, his attention darting around the tavern to ensure they weren't overheard.

"The missions specifically targeting these anomalies have increased tenfold. My own rapid response unit has been temporarily merged into a larger task force operating directly under Central Command." He took a deep breath. "We're talking multiple strike groups, thirty elite soldiers per group, each led by a Rank 5 officer." The lines around his eyes tightened, reflecting the gravity of the situation.

"In the eight years I've been in the regular army, Henry, I've never seen a deployment of high-rank personnel on this scale focused solely on internal threats around the capital."

"Rank 5 commanders" Sophia breathed, her hand tightening instinctively on Henry's beneath the table. "Then the threat Command believes the perpetrators are trying for Rank 5 ascension?"

Haziel shook his head slowly, decisively. "Not Rank 5. Not yet. That's the consensus from the analysts and the Archbishop's advisors."

Henry frowned, leaning closer. "Why so certain? If they're sacrificing dozens for power."

"Because reaching Rank 5 through those kinds of dark pacts isn't just about the number of sacrifices," Haziel explained. "It requires a specific, complex, and massive ritual. The exact requirements vary depending on the entity being appeased or the specific strain of dark magic, but historical records unearthed by the Church scholars are consistent on the core components."

He took a slow sip of his ale, gathering his thoughts.

"First, the fuel. You need an insane number of sacrifices. Not dozens, thousands. The Church scholars think at least ten thousand just to get started."

"Ten thousand?" Henry frowning.

Haziel continued, "And that's just the prep work. For the final ritual, you need two things at once. It has to be in a place with a lot of ambient power, like a temple or ancient ruins, but the area right around it has to be plunged into absolute chaos and terror. That raw fear is what they absorb to break through."

"So to get that much chaos... you'd need a huge number of people, all terrified at once." Sophia's breath hitched, and her fingers dug into Henry's arm.

"Exactly. A village is useless. Even a big town isn't enough. To pull off a Rank 5 dark ascension, you're looking at a target with tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of people. A major population center."

He leaned forward. "To successfully fuel a Rank 5 dark ascension ritual, according to all reliable historical precedents you need to target a population center numbering in the tens, if not hundreds, of thousands."

A chilling silence fell over their corner booth, the cheerful noise of the tavern fading into a dull roar. A cold knot tightened in Henry's stomach. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Concentrated in one place.

Sophia took a sharp, unsteady breath, her face paling beneath the warm lamplight. "Then dear Angels." she whispered, "Then that means... if they're really going for Rank 5, they'd have to hit one of the satellite cities." The words caught in her throat. "Or even Central Aerion itself."

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