The Motherland was no longer a place of celebration. The arena had become a mass grave of marble and ash. Across the shattered tiles, the bodies of A.N.T. soldiers lay tangled with the fallen of the Dark Saints—a grim tapestry of a stalemate between light and shadow.
Yet, amidst the carnage, one figure remained anchored to the earth.
Harold, the Supreme Commander of the A.N.Ts, stood tall, his cape tattered but his posture unbroken. He raised his hand, and a pulse of pure resonance rippled outward, a magical frequency that bypassed the distance of the Sixteen Kingdoms.
"This is a summons to the ten allied nations of Tellus," his voice echoed, broadcast to the far reaches of the continent. "Evil has struck first. The blood of our people waters the ground of the Motherland. Gather your steel. Gather your pride. The final war is at our gates."
Not far from the Captain, the world began to sharpen for Mikaela. She groaned, pushing herself up from the grit. Her body screamed in protest, but her mind was elsewhere.
"Kael."
The name felt like a brand on her heart. She blinked against the orange haze, wondering why his face was the only thing she could see. They barely knew each other—he was a stranger she had shared a few moments with—yet the pull was undeniable. It wasn't just curiosity; it was as if their very souls had been tethered during the eruption.
She looked up and saw Harold's silhouette against the smoke. Shaky but determined, she stood.
"Commander!" she called out, her voice cracking. Harold turned, his expression somber. "I'm joining the emergency party.
I'm going after Noelle. We have to rescue Kael... I won't let that monster keep him."
Deep in the cold dark of the lair, Kael's world was a blur of violet fluid and muffled vibrations. As his consciousness returned, the first thing he saw through the distorted glass was Noelle's face—a scarred, grinning mask of obsession.
Noelle leaned in, his voice vibrating through the liquid. "Why fight the inevitable, boy? Join me. The A.N.Ts, the 'good' men—they are bound by moral chains that make them weak. With me, you will have no master but your own will. I will show you power beyond measure, power that makes Harold look like a flickering candle."
Kael stared back, his golden eyes burning with a cold, concentrated fury. To Noelle, this was "liberation." To Kael, it was nothing but unnecessary manslaughter. He saw the bodies in the arena; he saw the blood on Noelle's hands. To him, Noelle wasn't a revolutionary or a god—he was a monster, a creature far more repulsive than the demon Ammit had ever been.
I won't be your tool, Kael thought, the sheer weight of his mana beginning to vibrate the very liquid inside the tube.
A sharp, high-pitched ping echoed in the chamber.
A jagged hairline fracture appeared on the surface of the glass tube. Noelle's grin died instantly. A cold sweat broke across his brow as a memory surged back—the sound of glass shattering, the sight of Ammit breaking free from this exact prison years ago.
For the first time in his life, as the golden light within the tube intensified, Noelle felt a primal, suffocating sensation.
True fear.