Lockbreaker

Lykos’ voice cut through the stupor.

“Eyes up! Listen!” He planted the new spear he was given to the ground, blood still drying at his temple. “Only the Lock can break the core. Everyone else—buy him a path!”

“AYE!”

A dozen rebels straightened at once. Bows rose. Shields squared. The line found its spine.

Nero flicked twin daggers into reverse grip with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Openings, huh? Sounds like my specialty.”

Selka snapped her palms together. Aether kindled along her fingers like captive lightning. “I can overcharge the joints—make it stutter.”

Kagi lifted her keyblade, violet light licking the edge. “I’ll keep it looking at me.”

Rokuro flexed his hand inside the gauntlet, “Got it. I’ll break the heart.”

Around the Crystalor line, whispers slithered.

“Th-that kid—”

“The Lock… the legend… it’s real?”

“He brought that thing down to a knee—!”

A captain hissed, “Hold ranks!” But their shields trembled.

“Forward!” Lykos barked.

They surged as one.

The golem finally heaved up, forcing itself to stand. Its forearm swept once—an iron gale—sending three rebels skidding back. Kagi blinked into its blind spot, blade carving a bright arc across a shoulder seam as sparks and magic flew. It didn’t cut deep, but the hit made the giant re-aim.

“Right here,” Kagi taunted softly, stance low. “Eyes on me.”

The golem swung. She vanished, reappeared, nicked another seam—again, again—stitching tiny violet slashes that irritated more than injured, but forced attention.

Rokuro sprinted. Two Crystalor soldiers lunged to intercept.

“Outta my way!”

First one—feint high, duck low, shoulder jam to the gut. Rokuro hooked an arm, turned his hips, and flung the man clean over his shoulder. The second rushed—shield forward. Rokuro braced, and swung with all his might. The shield shattered upon impact and the guard went flying. When his gauntlet was charged, nothing could stop its force

That’s why Rokuro didn’t stop running.

The golem’s head tracked him.

“Eyes on me, big oaf!” Selka cried, her palms stretched onward. A flurry of Aether orbs swirled around them, shooting out in different directions.

The golem groaned as Aether exploded on its armor, gluing itself between the small gaps of its joints, making its movements sluggish.

“Now’s my chance!” Nero swooped in, his dagger slashing square down its midsection.

“Locked!”

As the golem twisted to hit him, his arms froze in place by a surge of purple chains.

“Where are you going?” Kagi smirked.

“Roku!” She called.

Lykos speared a Crystalor captain who dared to close, pivoted, and smashed a second with the butt of his weapon. He winced, clutching his ribs, but didn’t falter. “All yours, Lock!”

For a moment Rokuro stood in awe. They were fighting for him. Putting it all on the line just for him to land the decisive blow and save the day.

Lykos, Selka, Nero, Kagi… Everybody was relying on him…

Rokuro breathed in, steadying himself. For the first time, he wasn’t afraid of the pressure. He welcomed it.

I won’t run. I won’t lose. Not when I have everything to protect!

Rokuro leapt over a broken cart, skidded across grit, and drove in. He pulled his fist back—then hesitated.

I already tried punching it and it didn’t work… But what else can I do?

Right then, heat bloomed in his palm. Sharp. Focused. He glanced down mid-sprint.

A tight, thrumming sphere of violet-blue energy spun in front of his hand—no larger than a fruit, but dense as a star.

His eyes lit up, a grin forming. “Oh, that might work.”

Rokuro planted his feet, threw his arm forward, fingers splayed wide, the sphere pressed flat to the core. He sucked in a breath and shouted,

“LOOOCK—BREAKER!”

The world slammed white.

A bass crack detonated through the square, wind blasting outward in a ring. The golem’s chest dented inward like crushed tin; hairline fractures spidered across the core. The shard shattered. Light speared out through the fractures and then blew apart with a sound like a bell being torn in half. The golem convulsed; its eyes dimmed; its limbs sagged. The hulking frame folded to its knees, then forward and away from Rokuro, smashing into the dirt beside him with a final, groaning collapse.

Silence hit hard and absolute.

A soldier’s sword clattered from numb fingers. Another stumbled backward, whispering,

“The Lock… he—he broke it—”

Kagi exhaled, shoulders dropping, blade lowering. Selka’s hands trembled as the last of her Aether unraveled into glitter.

Rokuro stood there, palm smoking, hair a mess, blood down one eye, grinning like an idiot.

“Push them!” Lykos barked, voice snapping the rebels awake. “Disarm and bind! Don’t let the line reform!”

Ironwood fighters surged. Crystalor soldiers, stunned and leaderless without the golem, broke. Some threw down blades. Others tried to run and were tackled into the dust. Within moments, the square belonged to Emberhold again.

Rokuro staggered, the adrenaline dump making his knees soft. Kagi was there instantly, shoulder under his, her voice low.

“You did well…” she said. The smallest, proudest smile tugged at her lips. “Roku.”

“Hey,” he rasped, “I had to make it fancy.”

She rolled her eyes but still smiled.

From somewhere behind them, Selka coughed, “Uh… what was that supposed to be?” She tapped her chin, “Lock… breaker?”

“What?” Rokuro turned, still breathing hard. Suddenly everyone was looking at him funny, “…Don’t heroes name their moves?”

Kagi pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing, “…You absolute child.”

Nero started laughing. Couldn’t stop. “No, keep it—Lockbreaker’s stupid— I love it!”

“Wait didn’t Kagi shout something similar?” Rokuro raised a brow, “Locked, was it?”

Suddenly Kagi’s ears went red, “T-That’s different!”

“H-Ho! Is it now?” Selka grinned teasingly.

“Over here!” a rebel shouted. Chains rattled. “Villagers!”

They were huddled by the well, wrists cuffed, faces gaunt and gray with exhaustion. The moment the chains fell, a dozen hands reached—shaky, grateful, disbelieving. A child tried to stand and nearly fell; Selka was there first, catching her, voice soft and bright, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Rokuro’s grin softened. Then—

—something in the air changed.

The shattered golem core, lying in a dozen shards, hummed.

Kagi’s head snapped toward it. “Wait—”

A pulse swept out, soundless but undeniable. Dust lifted in a ring. For a split second, the sunlight above the square warped, sketching a faint, geometric sigil high in the sky… and then it was gone.

Selka stared upward, face draining. “That… wasn’t normal.”

Rokuro swallowed, the triumph in his chest cooling an inch. “Please tell me that wasn’t bad.”

Kagi’s expression tightened. “It felt like… a mark.”

“A mark of what?” Nero raised a brow.

“If it came from that Draven… it definitely isn’t good.” Selka sighed, “I need to analyse the leftover shards as well…” She kneeled in front of the remains.

Nero looked around at the hostages. Then his eyes moved to the Crystalor soldiers they had apprehended. They all had one thing in common.

“They all look so… exhausted.” Rokuro muttered, thinking the same.

“Hostages are one thing but… the oppressors too?”

“Essence drain.” Kagi simply stated, “For that shard to grow in power it was sucking all the life around it. Foe and ally alike.”

“Yeah, that is plausible…” Selka nodded, scooping up the few remaining pieces in a pouch, “Oh! I’ll get to analyse otherworldly magic!” She squealed.

Everyone else simply sighed.

Lykos limped over, one arm wrapped around his ribs.

“We’ll argue about omens later,” he said, steady as stone. “Secure the site. Get the villagers water and wraps. Bind the prisoners. We move when the sun drops.”

The rebels moved. Orders flowed. Rope hissed. Water skins passed from hand to hand.

Nero clapped Rokuro’s shoulder lightly. “You saved our asses today, partner.”

Rokuro winced, but grinned, “Thanks for the cover.”

His gaze swept to Kagi,

“All of you.”

She looked away, just a fraction. “You owe me one.”

Across the square, a captured Crystalor sergeant sat on his knees, staring at the rubble that used to be their invincible guardian. His lips moved like a prayer and a curse all at once.

“…The Lock,” he whispered, hollow. “The Lock has come.”

Rokuro heard it. He didn’t gloat. Didn’t smirk.

He just looked at his gauntlet, then at the freed villagers, and let the weight settle on his shoulders like a cloak he’d finally chosen to wear.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath. “I’m here.”

And above Ashvale’s cracked earth, far too high for any eye to truly catch, a second, fainter glimmer on the horizon answered the pulse that had just been sent—like a point lighting up on a map no one could yet see.

The team didn’t notice.

Not yet.

They were busy saving people.

And that—for now—was enough.