Summary:
In this chapter, BJorn and his allies defend the city of Sentinel from the Rising Dawn Syndicate and Bjorn finally confronts Zalam-dar face to face
The horde of undead advanced toward the city like a shadowy mist, creeping and engulfing everything in its path. A mystical-looking fog surrounded the fleshless combatants as their red eyes glowed in the moonlight. Their nightmarish banshee-like howls could be heard from miles away. The archers defending Sentinel took aim, as if centuries of preparation had led to this moment. The rest of the city's defenders, including the Swords of Serenity and their unlikely allies, braced themselves for the impending onslaught.
Bjorn swung his sword with feral aggression, snapping the bones of the skeletal warriors like twigs as they advanced relentlessly. They were no match for his strength and stamina. Beside him, Grishnakh roared as he cut down foes with his massive battle-axe. Jamal was not far from them, using a similar fighting style to Grishnakh, the stench of alcohol on his breath, while Karim cast destruction spells and summoned flame and storm atronachs from a distance.
Amirah, wielding her usual dual scimitars, took down her opponents as if it were a choreographed dance. Margaret and Hela, each wielding two daggers, moved through the battlefield like shadows, their blades finding their marks with every step.
The city guard and the Ali'kr mercenaries clashed with the undead as the stench of decay filled the air. The ethereal warriors moved in unison as if they all were part of the same destructive organism.
Though most of the city had been evacuated, the defenders knew that any misstep could doom the few who remained. Narissa, the Dunmer mage, had provided both the defenders and the remaining civilians with magical energy shields for protection.
Just as the defenders managed to repel the first wave, the Rising Dawn cultists arrived. Hooded figures, draped in red robes, similar to the Mythic Dawn, emerged from the shadows, chanting ominous incantations
"Hail Lord Zalam-dar! The destroyer and the rebuilder!"
In an instant, the air shimmered with unnatural energy as the cultists unleashed their devastating magic. From their fingertips, torrents of electric shocks exploded outward. The ground beneath them buckled and cracked as if it were being torn asunder. It was as if the cultists themselves had become conduits for a storm of pure, unrelenting destruction that consumed everything in its wake.
The Swords of Serenity had some powerful mages, but mostly warriors. Thankfully, Jamal had gotten the Synod to help.
Bjorn fought alongside the Synod mages against the Rising Dawn cultists. In the chaos, a figure emerged, her fiery red hair impossible to miss.
Cordelia Masterham. She was unmistakable.
Bjorn didn't expect to see her here, especially not on a battlefield like this. She looked beautiful, sophisticated and dignified as usual. That day they met in the Tavern a few years ago while Bjorn and Amirah were apart, Cordelia saw something in him. They were together for a brief time, but his heart was still with Amirah, longing to reconnect. He couldn't give Cordelia his all, so they parted ways.
"Amazing woman," Bjorn thought to himself, "I just couldn't be what she needed,"
Cordelia blasted a firebolt at one of the cultists, taking him down with a flick of her wrist. Her eyes then met Bjorn's and, with a smirk, she stepped closer. "Well, if it isn't Bjorn the Swordsmith. I didn't expect to see you here."
Bjorn paused for a beat, a little caught off guard. "Yeah… funny how things turn out."
There was an awkward silence, the noise of the battle in the distance filling the gaps between their words.
"So… how did you end up here?" he asked, trying to shake off the tension.
"Jamal," she said, her lips curling into a grin. "My boyfriend. He asked me to come help."
"Oh," Bjorn's brow furrowed slightly. "He didn't mention you two were dating. He's my friend."
Cordelia shrugged. "Maybe he wanted to avoid the awkwardness." Her grin was playful, but there was something behind her emerald green eyes—something that lingered between them, unspoken.
"Well, if anybody's going to date you, I'm glad it's him," Bjorn said sincerely.
Cordelia shot him a glance, almost amused. "That's… sweet. I guess."
They stood there for a moment, each unsure what to say before the battle picked up again, and they went their separate ways.
As the fight continued, Zalam-dar, Ajira, and Carman Dorell, the leaders of the Rising Dawn Syndicate, entered the fray. Zalam-dar stood further back, directing the cultists like the conductor of a dark and twisted symphony.
The Rising Dawn Syndicate proved formidable, but the Swords of Serenity and their allies stood their ground.
Bjorn saw Amirah was overrun by enemies and immediately rushed to her side. As he fought, he had something he wanted to get off his chest. He knew it wasn't the ideal time to say it, but he wanted to say it now in case they didn't survive this.
"No matter what you think of me now," Bjorn stuttered a bit as he spoke from the heart, "I will always care about you and will stand by you when you need me."
Amirah fought back tears as she battled on. "And no matter how much my view of you may change, I will always care for you."
Amirah saw more enemies advancing. She took a deep breath, knowing it was time to put her new teachings into practice for the first time.
"I can do this," she told herself. She closed her eyes, focused, and in an instant, spawned two spirit swords out of thin air.
Now armed with these powerful ethereal blades, she felled several of the undead with just two swings.
"Where'd you learn that?" Bjorn asked, still processing what he'd just seen, his mind caught between shock and awe.
Amirah smirked. "This isn't exactly the best time for a long story, wouldn't you agree?"
Bjorn nodded and continued to fight off the remainder of the swarm.
Azzan, the leader of the Swords of Serenity, fought with unparalleled skill. His dual scimitars moved as if Onsi, the Redguard warrior god himself was guiding his blades, striking down cultists and undead alike. Narissa, the Dunmer mage, conjured protective barriers and unleashed arcane fury upon their adversaries.
Then Azzan was confronted face-to-face by Zalam-dar.
"We meet again, Azzan," Zalam-Dar rasped, drawing his blade. "Sword-singer or not, Zalam-Dar's blade will drip with your blood!"
Azzan smirked, summoning his glowing spirit swords. "You sure about that?"
He lunged forward, his twin spirit swords burning with ethereal light, slicing through the shadows as they aimed for Zalam-Dar's throat. But the Khajiit was faster. With a fluid, animalistic grace, Zalam-Dar twisted aside, his curved blade screeching against the spirit steel as he deflected the strike.
"Too slow, Sword-Singer!" Zalam-Dar snarled, sweeping his leg low.
Azzan staggered but rolled with the momentum, slashing upward. The Khajiit barely leaned back, the blade grazing the fur on his chest. He hissed in pain but laughed.
Azzan swung wide, aiming to end it, but his spirit blade met only air. Zalam-Dar's dagger bit deep into Azzan's side.
Azzan gasped, faltering, his knees buckling. His grip on the sword weakened, and one of the spirit blades flickered and vanished in a shimmer of light. Blood seeped between his fingers as he clutched his side.
Zalam-Dar struck hard, disarming Azzan with a brutal kick to his wrist.
The last sword vanished in a shimmer of light.
Azzan staggered, his body crumpling toward the ground. He collapsed, gasping for breath, clutching the gaping wound at his side. His blood pooled beneath him as the world around him seemed to blur.
Zalam-dar gave a final, mocking bow before stepping over Azzan's battered form, leaving him to bleed out slowly.
Meanwhile, Amirah and Bjorn got separated as the battle intensified, She found herself face-to-face with Carman Dorell. Their swords clashed in a flurry of strikes, each looking for an opening.
"Well, well, well look who it is!" Carman laughed. "Did you miss me, beautiful?"
"Yes, of course," Amirah shot back, "I always enjoy the company of psychopathic murderers."
Carman's eyes gleamed with malice. She lunged, her blade angling low for Amirah's side. Amirah twisted away just in time, feeling the air shift as the sword barely missed her ribs. She countered with a vicious swipe aimed at Carman's neck, but Carman ducked and drove a boot hard into Amirah's stomach, sending her stumbling back.
"Gonna spare me again this time?" Carman taunted, advancing, her blade flicking in tight, sharp arcs meant to wear Amirah down.
Amirah gritted her teeth, blocking one strike, then another. The strain in her arms burned, sweat stung her eyes, but she stayed focused. Carman pressed harder, slashing high, then low, forcing Amirah to pivot and dodge.
A wild swing from Carman missed by inches, and Amirah saw her chance. She feinted left, drawing Carman off balance, then spun right, her blade slicing deep into Carman's shoulder.
Carman gasped, her smirk breaking as blood gushed from the wound. She staggered, gripping her shoulder, but tried to lift her sword again.
"Not this time," Amirah said coldly. "Too many good people have died for you to keep living."
Carman's eyes narrowed, defiant even in pain, but she was too slow. With one swift, merciless motion, Amirah's sword arced through the air and sliced cleanly through Carman's neck. The head flew, spinning before landing with a dull thud a few feet away. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, and Carman's body collapsed, lifeless.
Amirah stood over her, chest heaving, sword dripping red. No more words. No more games.
It was done.
"Nice work, Redguard," Amirah heard a voice call out to her. She turned and it was Hela, admiring her skills.
"A clean cut, too," she said with approval, "I'm impressed."
Amirah appeared conflicted, yet she forced a smile and nodded in agreement.
At the same time, Margaret confronted Ajira, the necromancer, in a fierce one-on-one duel. At close range, Ajira couldn't cast her spells as easily, so she pulled out a dagger and went blade to blade with Margaret.
Ajira sneered at Margaret. "Well, well, if it isn't the little traitor…"
"Well, well, if it isn't the psychotic bitch," Margaret shot right back at her. "You wanna talk? Choose your words wisely, because they're going to be your last!"
Ajira grinned, thrusting her dagger forward. She shot a quick burst of sparks at Margaret, but Margaret ducked, the sparks missing by inches.
Ajira growled, anger flashing in her eyes. She swung her dagger again and this time released a stronger burst of lightning, but Margaret was already moving, dodging the attack with a swift roll to the side.
Suddenly, Margaret felt a blade cut into her abdomen. She turned to see it was Zalam-dar himself! He let out that demonic laugh she knew all too well. Margaret knew she needed to keep fighting, but she needed to tend to her wound at the same time. She used one hand to cover the injury, and her dagger was drawn in the other. The giant spiders she had summoned for battle came to her aid, but they were no match for Zalam-dar's blade.
"Well, well, well," Zalam-dar began, his voice dripping with mockery. "If it isn't the little Hagraven herself. After everything Zalam-dar did for her, she not only abandons him but now turns against him as well."
Margaret gritted her teeth, her hand still pressing against the wound. Her vision blurred slightly, but she pushed the pain aside. She couldn't afford to falter now.
Her jaw tightened as she staggered, her abdomen burning with pain. The blood loss was clouding her thoughts, but she fought to focus. "You never cared about anyone, least of all me. You manipulated the lost and made them believe they were part of something greater. But you stand for nothing. Chaos, destruction—that's all you crave. Do you think you're changing the world? No. You're a footnote in history, a delusional psychopath who'll soon be cut down."
Zalam-dar chuckled, "This one does not understand. New worlds only begin from the ashes of old ones. Zalam-dar is an instrument of change. You can't have creation without destruction."
"And how about the people who've suffered because of your vision? Just a means to an end?"
"People are suffering anyway, foolish girl," he said sharply, "you of all people should know this. Was the world fair that left you an orphan alone to fend for yourself? What choice did this world leave you except joining Zalam-dar and his cause? An unjust world can not be fixed, it must die and be reborn again."
"All you're doing is fighting fire with fire," she shouted, her pain increasing with the rise in her voice, "you aren't making anything better. You're making things worse."
"Enough!" Zalam-dar growled at her, "It's time to die, little traitor!"
"No!" Bjorn appeared out of nowhere, stepping in front of Margaret, his blade drawn and ready to defend her. "You stay away from her!"
The Khajiit turned to Bjorn and let out a manic laugh, then fixed his lone eye on him in recognition.
"Ah… if it is not the young cub—grown into a warrior!"
Bjorn looked surprised. "You remember me?"
"Oh yes, this one remembers well," Zalam-dar purred. "Zalam-dar has awaited this meeting for many years." He slipped into a fighting stance. "Our threads are tangled, yes? But who shall cut the other's thread first, hmm?"
"I already know the answer to that. You'll be the one dead on the ground!" Bjorn snarled.
Zalam-dar cackled, his laughter sharp and unsettling. "Ah, is this one still using big words? Or will the cub finally show his claws?"
A sardonic smile crept across Zalam-dar's face as he awaited Bjorn's response.
"No more words." Bjorn's response was cold and final. "No more words for a wretch like you. I'll let my sword speak for me.."
The two roared as they lunged at each other, their blades clashing with brutal force. The clinking and clanking of Bjorn's longsword against Zalam-dar's daggers echoed in their ears as they searched for an opening.
"Does the cub not see?" Zalam-dar hissed, striking relentlessly. "No matter what happens, this one merely delays destiny."
"You've already lost, cat!" Bjorn raged, parrying the blows with his shield before slashing again. "Your twisted vision dies here!"
Zalam-dar's laughter echoed like a blade slicing through the air. "Foolish cub! Does Bjorn think this is all? Zalam-dar, the Rising Dawn… we are but claws on a greater paw! The end comes, and this one merely sharpens the knife!"
"I know one thing's for sure," Bjorn snarled, driving his sword into Zalam-dar's side. "Your end is now!"
Zalam-dar staggered, clutching the wound, then dropped to his knees. Blood trickled from his mouth, yet laughter still bubbled forth.
"What's so funny?" Bjorn demanded, sword at the ready. "Doesn't seem like you have much to laugh about."
Zalam-dar coughed, his breath ragged. "This one speaks of endings… but what is Zalam-dar, truly?"
"A cat who talks too much—even after I killed him."
Zalam-dar cackled with malice. "Ahh… such a fool. Zalam-dar is but an avatar. This one… is Alkhan, firstborn of Akha. Death is but a doorway."
Bjorn shook his head. "I thought you wanted to destroy the Gods. You don't even know what you stand for. You're nothing but a madman, Zalam-dar," he stood over him, his blade to his throat, "Babbling about gods and fate like a fool!"
Zalam-dar guffawed. "Zalam-dar is against fools following outdated doctrines, talking about things they don't understand. You thought Zalam-dar believed he'd kill the gods? Zalam-dar knew that was impossible. Zalam-dar was just having fun. Zalam-dar was nothing but a toy to cause chaos in this world. The gods cannot be killed. They are not even one form. They have many names. Bjorn should know this. He has had many names too. But he is like an actor who has lost himself in the role, forgetting who he truly is."
Bjorn was unnerved but tried to maintain his composure. "You're nothing but a dead, crazy cat! Shut up and die already and spare me the demented ramblings."
"Oh, but I think this one knows very well I am much more than that. We've met many times before." Zalam-dar's lone eye locked onto Bjorn's, as if peering into his very soul. Suddenly, Bjorn saw flashes of the black dragon he constantly dreamed of. Zalam-dar now had a malevolent, haunting smile on his face, one that Bjorn would never forget.
"What the hell are you?" Bjorn was genuinely freaked out now.
"As Zalam-dar said, young cub, this one has many names. Just like Kynareth is also Tava, for example, " Zalam-dar paused for a minute until his malevolent grin returned, "Tava, that is also Bjorn's daughter's name, is it not?"
Bjorn's protective instincts came in, "You keep her name out of your mouth! You lay a hand on her and I swear I'll-"
"You'll what? Kill me again?" Zalam-dar quipped, pointing to his mortal wound, "Zalam-dar is already dying. But fear not, even Zalam-dar would not harm a child. Can Bjorn say the same for himself?"
A look of guilt and sorrow crossed Bjorn's face, "that was an accident! I never meant to harm Siward, he came out of nowhere!"
Zalam-dar continued laughing. Bjorn centered himself and decided he wouldn't let this cat get under his skin anymore.
"Look, whatever telepathic magic you're using to get inside my head, it doesn't scare me!" Bjorn said firmly, "You're already defeated. We've already won!"
. "Bjorn thinks this is victory?" Zalam-dar wheezed, struggling to speak through the pain. "You've only delayed the inevitable. When the World-Eater returns, all your triumphs will mean nothing."
Zalam-dar coughed, blood spilling from his mouth, but the twisted glint in his lone eye never faded."Alkhan, the firstborn, devourer of souls... the devourer of worlds. You can't fight what's already been set in motion.."
Bjorn frowned, sword still in hand, but Zalam-dar's words didn't make sense. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Zalam-dar's laugh was a dry, choking sound. "You walk a path forged long ago, but you can't see it yet." He grinned, "But you will. One day, you'll remember who you are, Moon Prince."
"Moon Prince?" Bjorn's brow furrowed, "What are you saying?" he demanded, taking a step back, his grip tightening on his weapon.
Zalam-dar chuckled softly, his lone eye glinting with knowing amusement."You'll see... when the time comes," he wheezed, almost too weak to continue, "But... it's already begun."
Bjorn still looked perplexed.
Zalam-dar's smile widened, but there was no kindness in it—only a dark amusement. "Do not worry," he said with a sarcastic and threatening tone in his voice, "you will never be ready."
With a final chuckle, Zalam-dar collapsed to the ground, his body growing still. Yet, his mocking smile lingered, even as death claimed him.
Karim, Cordelia, and Narissa were now taking the fight to Ajira, the last leader standing of the Rising Dawn Syndicate. Even with three powerful mages against one, she was still a challenge to fight.
Ajira's eyes burned with a dark, unnatural light as she raised her staff, the air crackling with necrotic energy. Shadows coiled around her like living serpents, snapping at the trio as they closed in.
Karim thrust his hand forward, conjuring a lance of searing flame that shot toward Ajira. With a flick of her staff, Ajira twisted the shadows into a shield, the fire dissolving into black smoke.
"Is that all?" Ajira sneered.
She raised her staff high, and the air split with a bone-chilling screech. A jagged tear in reality yawned open behind her, swirling with crimson and black energy. From the breach, two monstrous Daedric beasts emerged—hulking, armor-clad Dremora wielding massive greatswords, their eyes glowing like molten embers.
Karim's face tightened. "Oblivion spawn..."
"She's trying to overwhelm us," Cordelia muttered, crackling energy gathering in her palms. "Then let's overwhelm her first."
The Dremora roared and charged, their swords swinging with brutal force.
Karim conjured a towering wall of flame, forcing one Dremora to halt, snarling as the heat licked at its armor. Cordelia stepped forward, weaving her hands in a rapid motion, sending razor-sharp shards of ice hurtling toward the second Dremora. The icy barrage shattered against its armor, slowing its advance.
Narissa's focus locked onto Ajira. "She can't maintain the summoning if we disrupt the portal!"
Ajira smirked. "You'll have to survive first."
With a vicious sweep of her staff, she unleashed a storm of withering green energy. Ghostly skulls spiraled through the air, each trailing poisonous fumes.
Karim raised a blazing barrier to intercept them, but the force of the blasts rattled him.
Cordelia snarled and thrust both hands forward, calling forth a twisting cyclone of frost and wind that collided with the skulls, neutralizing them midair.
Narissa concentrated, extending her hand toward the rip in reality behind Ajira. "I can destabilize it!"
Ajira's smirk twisted into a scowl.
"Enough!"
With a guttural incantation, Ajira hurled a sphere of condensed shadow directly at Narissa.
Karim reacted instantly, casting a radiant ward to deflect the dark missile, the impact shaking the ground.
"Keep her busy!" Narissa shouted, sweat beading on her brow as she funneled energy into unraveling the rift.
Cordelia's hands crackled with raw lightning. "With pleasure."
She unleashed a blinding arc of electricity that forked toward Ajira. The necromancer grimaced, conjuring a barrier of bone to intercept the strike, but the shield splintered under the relentless assault.
Karim seized the moment, launching a concentrated fireball directly at the rift. The portal shuddered, its edges fracturing.
Ajira's eyes widened.
"No!"
Narissa let out a final burst of energy, and the rift imploded with a deafening crack.
The Dremora howled as they were yanked back into Oblivion, their forms dissolving into ash.
Ajira staggered, fury burning in her eyes.
"You dare…" she hissed, raising her staff.
But the three mages stood firm, magic crackling in unison.
"This ends now," Cordelia growled, gathering another surge of lightning in her palms.
Ajira's rage boiled over, her grip tightening on the dark staff as veins of shadow pulsed along its surface.
"You think you've won?" she hissed, voice laced with venom.
Before any of them could react, Ajira slammed the base of her staff into the ground. A shockwave of dark energy rippled outward, faster than any spell Karim or Cordelia could conjure in time.
Narissa bore the brunt of it.
The blast struck her squarely in the chest, lifting her off her feet. Her scream was cut short as jagged tendrils of shadow magic pierced through her body, anchoring her in midair.
Her eyes widened in shock, mouth opening as if to speak—but only a faint gasp escaped.
"NARISSA!" Cordelia's voice cracked, reaching out instinctively, but it was too late.
The tendrils snapped tight and then violently tore backward, hurling Narissa's lifeless body to the ground.
She hit the ground with a sickening thud, her form still and unmoving.
Karim froze, eyes locked on her fallen body.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield went silent.
Ajira's cruel laughter filled the void.
"One down."
Cordelia trembled, her hands sparking wildly with untamed lightning.
Karim's fists clenched, flames wreathing his arms.
"You'll pay for that," he growled, his voice low and seething.
Ajira only smiled, raising her staff again.
"Come, then. Join her in death."
Suddenly, a faint click was heard. A crossbow bolt tore through the air, embedding itself deep into Ajira's neck with a sickening thud.
Ajira's eyes went wide. She clawed at the shaft jutting from her throat, gurgling as black blood oozed between her fingers.
Slow, deliberate footsteps were heard.
Hela emerged from the shadows, crossbow still raised, her cold eyes locked on Ajira.
Ajira tried to speak, but only a wet rasp escaped.
Hela didn't blink.
She closed the distance, yanked the blood-slick bolt free in one smooth motion, and without hesitation, drove it down into Ajira's skull with a bone-cracking crunch.
Again.
And again.
The necromancer's body twitched, then went still, her skull fractured and caved beneath the relentless assault.
Hela stood over the broken corpse, breathing slow and steady.
No words. No satisfaction.
Just silence.
Slowly, she turned and moved toward Narissa's lifeless form.
The Dunmer mage lay crumpled on the ground, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as if caught mid-breath.. Hela knelt beside her, her fingers trembling only slightly as she stroked the mage's hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. 'You always hated when it got in your eyes,' she said affectionately. She gazed down at her, an indecipherable expression on her face, the weight of the loss sinking deep. Her eyes were cold, but there was something there—something fleeting. It was melancholy, an emotion she rarely allowed herself to feel. Hela reached down and gently closed Narissa's eyes with the tips of her fingers, the gesture slow, and respectful.
Karim, standing off to the side, shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat and approached slowly. "I'm sorry... I know she meant a lot to you."
Hela turned her head slowly, locking eyes with him, her expression cold and unreadable, yet deeply unsettling. Karim froze. After a beat, he quickly backed up. "Alright, alright. I'll just... I'll just leave you to it," he said, retreating quickly.
Once Karim was gone, Hela's gaze shifted to Cordelia. Cordelia gave a slight shrug. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." She turned and left, leaving Hela alone with her grief.
With the leaders of the Rising Dawn Syndicate defeated, the remaining members either fled or surrendered. Margaret had found a spot to sit beneath a palm tree, hidden in the shadows of the night. Blood seeped from her abdomen, and though she pressed her hand to the wound, she knew it was hopeless. She didn't expect to survive—she only hoped to die in peace.
A sudden flash of light caught her eye. A woman in a hooded robe stood before her, radiating warmth and love. Lady Mara. Not a cold statue, but real—watching her with a gentle smile.
Then the light shifted, and suddenly Bjorn was there, kneeling beside her, gripping her hand tightly.
"Come on, Margaret," he urged, holding her gaze. "I haven't given up on you yet. Let's get you healed."
"Stupid boy," she laughed, clearly moved despite the situation. "I don't know why you care about me."
"I don't know either," he said, lifting her up and wrapping his arm around her. "But I do."
"Oh, that looks bad," Cordelia said, bumping into them as they passed. She examined Margaret's wound carefully. "I can use some restoration magic to buy her time, but my skills are limited. She'll need an advanced healer for something like this."
Cordelia closed her eyes, rubbed her hands together, and cast a restoration spell, partially healing the wound.
"There that should do the trick for now," she then turned to Bjorn, "Have Karim teleport her to his Aunt Mahsa's healing temple, that's the kind of advanced treatment she needs."
"I'm already taking her there now, " Bjorn informed her, "Thanks Cordelia, I appreciate it."
"Not a problem," she then turned to Margaret, "And you, hang in there!"
"Thanks, red," Margaret said playfully, "us Bretons gotta stick together, huh?"
"Yes," Cordelia quipped, "We may be short, but we stand tall together!"
They both let out a good laugh, though it pained Margaret a bit in her side.
As Bjorn walked over to Karim with Margaret, he surveyed the destruction in Sentinal. It was minimal, but still too much. The Rising Dawn Syndicate had been defeated, and though a new dawn was rising, it wasn't the one they had envisioned. It was theirs.