The air cracked with raw elemental fury, black flames and divine auras colliding in shockwaves that sent sand spiraling like glass dust. The ground was cratered. War cries echoed in every direction.
But one space—just one—grew unnaturally still.
The eye of the storm.
There, floating in midair, her obsidian armor gleaming like lacquered night, Seraphina Nyxthalia tilted her head, gaze narrowing as she regarded the quiet golden figure standing amidst the wreckage.
Rhalvion.
His hands pulsed with golden rings of light—healing Iffah's ribs, restoring Alaric's stamina, sealing Kaelen's fractures, and infusing Xue Lian with divine clarity. And yet... he did not sweat. He did not breathe heavy. He simply stood, silent, composed.
Seraphina blinked once.
"…You're the quiet one," she murmured. "You seem… quite familiar."
Rhalvion raised his head.
His eyes gleamed, not just with light—but memory.
Something ancient stirred behind them.
"I've seen you before," Seraphina whispered, her expression tightening. "You shouldn't exist."
Rhalvion didn't answer.
Not with his voice.
But when he spoke—
It wasn't his voice at all.
It was deep.
Timeless.
Draconic.
"You know exactly who I am."
Seraphina's crimson eyes widened—just a fraction.
Then her lips curled into a snarl, her aura snapping around her like broken lightning.
"No… no," she hissed. "You— You were destroyed. Buried in that war. You dare—"
Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with rage.
"Even after millions of years, you dragons dare to interfere again?! You dare to delay his return?!"
The temperature dropped. The portal roared louder behind her, pulling shadows from other realms. Her body ignited in a storm of twisted magic, dark flame laced with void and sorrow.
But Rhalvion… smiled.
And his voice returned to its own calm cadence.
"I am the extension of the glorious Dragon Monarch… the very first."
His hands glowed gold again, forming ethereal rings in the air.
"I am the memory that never forgets. The watcher that never blinks."
"I am Rhalvion—servant of Azharel."
"The end that watches all."
A moment of silence.
Even the chaos beyond seemed to pause, just for that breath.
Kaelen, bloodied, wide-eyed: "What the hell did he just say…?"
Alaric, blades trembling in his hands, muttered, "Is this… real?"
Xue Lian lowered her shattered spear, her voice low and reverent. "He's… ancient."
Iffah's brows tightened, sweat sliding down her cheek. "No… not ancient. Eternal."
And then—
Seraphina screamed.
Not a sound of pain.
But fury.
Centuries, eras of rage and ambition boiling over.
"You refuse to die, even in memory! You refuse to kneel!"
She raised both hands—purple-black flame igniting into a chaos vortex, and hurled it straight at Rhalvion.
But he did not dodge.
His hand moved
The ground inside the Nightmare Crucible warped and screamed, trembling beneath the weight of their power. The dome of blackness that Dimitri had summoned writhed like a living void, tendrils of shadow clawing at reality itself. Phantom hands gripped at Ren's ankles. Faces twisted with regret and sorrow whispered from the dark.
And still—Ren Tianlong stood.
Blood dripping down his cheek, his once regal coat torn and burned, his breath heavy but unwavering. Across from him, Dimitri Volkov—a husk of a hero, now a puppet of corruption—floated with hollow eyes and chains of shadow flickering behind him.
"You've lost control, Dimitri," Ren said coldly. "Your will isn't your own anymore."
Dimitri's voice came layered—his own, laced with something else, Seraphina's madness.
"Control… is an illusion."
He raised a finger, and a Gravebind Legion of skeletal knights surged from the sand, charging Ren like a tide of death.
Ren raised his hand.
"Fall."
The Final Order: Sovereign Collapse activated.
A single word—and the entire battlefield inside the Crucible imploded, gravity collapsing with a soundless pulse of gold and void. The shadows screamed. The skeletal legion shattered like ash. Space warped. And Dimitri was slammed into the ground, the light of the spell burning into his soul.
Ren staggered forward, panting, sweat pouring down his brow. His hands trembled—but his eyes never wavered.
Dimitri groaned, his shadow-wrapped form flickering, the Tenebris Shroud peeling away.
Ren approached.
"You're not gone," he said quietly. "Not yet."
Dimitri twitched—his eyes flickering between black and blue. Seraphina's hold was weakening. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to look up.
"R-Ren…"
Ren's eyes widened.
"…She's… bringing the army. Waiting… for the elves to fall…" Dimitri croaked. "You have to stop her…"
And then—
Snap.
A wave of dark energy surged through Dimitri. Seraphina's influence yanked him back like a chain.
His body spasmed. His voice deepened again.
And just like that… Dimitri was gone.
A puppet once more.
But weakened.
Ren's jaw clenched.
"…You told me what I needed."
He raised his hand again, golden sigils spinning in his palm.
"Then sleep."
A Commandment Seal hit Dimitri like a thunderbolt, followed by a devastating roundhouse kick that shattered the Crucible's inner space. Light flooded in. The nightmare shattered. Dimitri collapsed, unconscious—alive, but broken.
Ren turned away, panting heavily. His knees nearly buckled. "One down."
Far above the battlefield, Seraphina's smile cracked.
She felt Dimitri fall. Not die—but slip from her hold.
A flare of psychic pain jolted through her connection with him.
"No…"
She turned—eyes locking on Luxarion, who was still fighting Hakan, his radiant form flickering as if conflicted.
Seraphina bared her teeth.
"Then I'll bet everything on you."
She pooled all her remaining energy—every shred of dark aura she had leashed from the ritual, every ounce of void magic, and even a piece of her own essence—and shoved it into Luxarion.
Luxarion screamed—not in agony, but in violent transformation.
His golden light snapped—burned—twisted into silver.
The sun itself dimmed.
Feathers of divine flame fell like snow.
His eyes blazed with hollow light, no longer seeing Hakan… only destruction.
Hakan's eyes narrowed. He felt the weight shift in the air. This wasn't the Luxarion he knew.
"…This bastard just changed," he muttered.
Luxarion spread his wings—now sharp like spears of moonlight—and roared loud enough to split the skies.
A voice from beyond seemed to echo inside him, Seraphina's whisper:
"Burn the Monarch. Burn everything."
And now—it was Luxarion vs. Hakan.
Two symbols of power.
The corrupted light… and the unchosen king.
And the world held its breath.
The moment Luxarion's wings unfurled, now forged from silver radiance and divine fury, the sky split open.
Light bled down in silver torrents, painting the battlefield in hues of judgment. His roar shattered mountains in the distance, and the pressure of his presence alone warped the sand beneath him into glass.
Hakan stood opposite—no divine glow, no wings, no summoned blades. Just a man. A man with fists.
And fire in his eyes.
The dragon monarch's cloak rippled with the wind, his boots sinking into the shattered ground beneath. For a moment, he didn't move. He simply stared into the monster Luxarion had become.
Then—
"Come."
One word.
Luxarion blurred. A sonic explosion cracked across the desert. He was already in front of Hakan, fist pulled back, glowing with nuclear-level light.
💥 CLASH!
Hakan caught the punch.
C A U G H T I T.
A ripple of sheer kinetic force exploded outward. Valleys cracked open behind Hakan. Storm clouds were pulled into the shockwave, twisting into spirals.
Luxarion's eyes widened—just a flicker.
And Hakan smiled.
"You're slower than I expected."
He twisted his grip and spiked Luxarion into the ground, sending him crashing into bedrock.
Luxarion erupted back up, unfurling his wings and conjuring a Cataclysm Halo—ribbons of silver flame spiraling around him, cutting through the air.
The temperature in the battlefield skyrocketed. Reality warped at the edges. Time itself began to skip, flickering frames like a broken reel of film.
Luxarion raised both hands.
"Divine Lightstorm."
Columns of pure, holy fire rained from the sky—each capable of leveling entire cities.
Hakan didn't move.
He breathed.
And vanished.
Phantom Step.
He blitzed forward, shattering the beams with perfectly timed counters. His body weaved through divine hell like he was born inside it.
He appeared behind Luxarion and—
Sky Rend.
A rotating aerial kick cut clean through one of Luxarion's wings, sending the divine being spiraling.
But the silver light reformed. Luxarion adapted, absorbing the kinetic force and redirecting it.
He appeared above Hakan, eyes glowing with unrestrained power.
"Final Judgment: Argent Eclipse!"
An entire moon-sized sphere of silver fire began descending.
Everyone across the battlefield looked up in awe… and horror.
But Hakan simply jumped.
Higher than anyone thought humanly possible.
As he ascended, he whispered—
"Heaven's Breaker."
And then punched through the moon.
The entire construct of divine fire exploded in a burst of fractured light, cascading like falling stars across the desert. In the eye of the destruction, Hakan stood, suspended in midair, breathing hard, blood dripping down his arm.
Luxarion descended again, screaming, furious, his silver aura cracking the heavens. The battle resumed—blow for blow, technique for technique.
They weren't just fighting with strength now. They were fighting with ideology.
One was divine might, controlled and corrupted.
The other?
Just a man… who refused to kneel.
Light and flesh.
Divine and defiant.
Every blow warped the world.
And still—neither yielded.
This was no longer a battle.
This was war made manifest.
The battlefield trembled with light and dark.
Seraphina hovered in midair, hair flowing like black water, surrounded by rings of corruptive glyphs and waves of void energy. Her presence turned the air to poison, the sand to glass, and hope to ash.
Below her—
Rhalvion stood, golden eyes glowing, his cloak crackling with ancient force. His aura rippled like molten gold—calm, coiled, and deadly.
The Silver Valkyries fanned out beside him.
✨ Emaan Shah hurled radiant blades, light-infused arcs cutting through space. They struck true—only to dissolve against Seraphina's void glyphs.
🌸 Naila unleashed a devastating Solar Bloom, detonating sunlight in a blinding blast. It lit the battlefield for a moment—but Seraphina's aura swallowed the brilliance like a dying ember.
🌈 Sana summoned a refracted Aurora Veil, warping light and boosting her allies' speed. Amara cloaked them in a Luminous Shroud, bending visibility itself.
They moved like ghosts—blades and bursts, phantoms of light and wrath.
And Seraphina?
She laughed.
Twisting through the chaos, void tendrils coiling behind her, every movement a dance of cruelty.
"Is this it?" she said, voice laced with disdain. "This is your answer to annihilation? You bore me."
She lashed out, void energy arcing toward Rhalvion—but he stepped through it, appearing behind her in a blink.
"Incinerate."
A beam of golden dragonfire—compressed, ancient, divine—erupted from his palm.
Seraphina twisted, narrowly avoiding it. Her smirk faltered for just a second. She knew that flame. She knew him.
Before she could react, Alaric crashed into her flank, his body trailing blue kinetic shockwaves.
Boom.
She spun mid-air, snarling, but Alaric was already gone—blurring into her blind spot, fists charged with vibrating force.
"Let's see how a queen handles a revolution," he snarled, unleashing a strike that detonated across her barrier like a small sun.
Kaelen charged next, Stoneform active, fists like hammers, shattering terrain with every swing. The ground fractured beneath him, his momentum growing—Land's Might turning each strike heavier, harder.
And for a moment—
It looked like she was on the defensive.
But then—
She caught Kaelen's fist mid-swing, smiled through the impact, and unleashed a ribbon of void that knocked him back hundreds of feet.
Emaan's blades pierced her shoulder—but Seraphina didn't flinch.
Rhalvion's claws slashed through her back—but she turned with a laugh and shattered the air with a void scream.
Sana's aurora? Neutralized.
Alaric's strikes? Dodged now with precision.
"Still trying to win with numbers?" she hissed. "Still clinging to hope?"
Her body rippled with a blast of void pressure, knocking back all five of them at once.
They staggered, regrouped. Blood dripped from Kaelen's jaw. Alaric's pulse armor cracked. Even Rhalvion's breathing slowed.
And still—Seraphina stood unscathed.
"None of you can stop me," she said, eyes glowing like eclipses. "And once he wakes… you'll beg for extinction."
Eldorwyn — Realm of the Elves
A realm carved from light and song, where the skies shimmered with eternal twilight and crystal trees rose high into the clouds. Floating cities of glass and silver glowed above cascading waterfalls of magic. Peace lived here. Harmony. Balance.
Until now.
Inside the Ivory Citadel, deep in the heart of Eldorwyn, the Elven High King, Elarion Vaereth, sat upon his throne. His robes were woven from living starlight, and his crown bore leaves of eternal gold. He was ageless—older than nations, younger than stars—and his violet eyes pierced through all veils of deceit.
The great hall echoed with soft footsteps as three armored elves approached, kneeling before the throne.
"Your Grace," one of them spoke, urgency in his voice. "We've located the traitor."
Elarion's gaze didn't flicker. He already knew the name.
"Aurelian," he whispered.
The kneeling elf nodded. "He's in Anerion."
That drew a reaction—small, but unmistakable. The king's fingers curled on the armrest of his throne.
"Is he alone?"
The elf hesitated, then shook his head. "No, my king. There is a woman—unknown to all our records. She wields dark forces… older than anything we've encountered. And she commands them—"
Another elf stepped forward.
"Hundreds of thousands of dark elves, Your Grace. Entire legions born of shadow. They march beneath her banner… and his."
The throne room darkened for a moment, as if the realm itself felt the weight of the revelation.
Elarion rose slowly, his expression unreadable. His voice, though quiet, silenced the room.
"Aurelian was once one of us. A protector. A prince of reason. And now… he seeks to extinguish a realm that has never wronged him."
He looked down at his palm—a single rune glowing dimly, one carved into his flesh long ago during the War of Realms. A binding. A vow.
He turned to one of his trusted messengers.
"Bring me the Sage of Dawn."
Moments later, a soft wind swept through the citadel as Elarien Solvannis, the Sage of Dawn, entered the chamber. Draped in robes made of woven light, his silver hair flowed past his shoulders, and his staff bore the crest of the Primordials—those who had once fought in the first war alongside the dragons and celestials.
"You summoned me, Elarion?" the sage asked, his voice like a sunrise—warm but ancient.
Elarion nodded. "You were there, at the end of the war. You knew the signs… the seals. The betrayals. Does this woman… match anything we feared would return?"
The Sage closed his eyes, placing his hand on the ancient runes of the world etched into his staff.
A pause.
Then:
"Yes." His voice trembled slightly. "She was hidden—buried beneath fate itself. But she's awakening. And if her army succeeds…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
"Then we cannot allow Anerion to fall," Elarion declared, already striding toward the starlight balcony of the citadel.
He raised his hand—and a golden flare surged into the sky.
Across the towers, horns echoed.
Banners unfurled. Elven riders mounted starlight beasts. Arcane legions donned their enchanted armors.
The King of the Elves was going to war.
The Sage of Dawn beside him.
For honor. For the Realms.
And to make sure that whatever Seraphina truly was—never reached her master's full resurrection.