Noah stepped onto the Torchline coast to meet the other demigods, the sea wind catching the loose shirt as waves crashed against the sand. Salt bit the air, mingling with tension, but he kept his stride even—measured.
Already, he could see the Dorian’s silhouettes ahead—still and watchful, presence as deliberate as ever and matching the tone that made Deimos react. The prisoner was the fulcrum, Dahlia brought to her knees, but the real weight hung in the space between both sides. Noah could feel it in the air. The Forsaken made his way to stand near Sunjata, though his eyes moved betweenHadama and Dorian.
He breathed in, and out. And waited.
Sentinel.
They were here for the world. For its people. For the fragile peace stitched together by those who still believed it mattered.
He didn’t speak. There was strength in their silence—in the way they stood beside each other, gods' blood humming quiet beneath their skin.
There then they were—a line of divinity forged not from likeness, but purpose. Protect Caido. Hold the line.
Already, he could see the Dorian’s silhouettes ahead—still and watchful, presence as deliberate as ever and matching the tone that made Deimos react. The prisoner was the fulcrum, Dahlia brought to her knees, but the real weight hung in the space between both sides. Noah could feel it in the air. The Forsaken made his way to stand near Sunjata, though his eyes moved between
He breathed in, and out. And waited.
Sentinel.
They were here for the world. For its people. For the fragile peace stitched together by those who still believed it mattered.
He didn’t speak. There was strength in their silence—in the way they stood beside each other, gods' blood humming quiet beneath their skin.
There then they were—a line of divinity forged not from likeness, but purpose. Protect Caido. Hold the line.
f o r s a k e n
