The sky above Eldoria was thick with storm clouds, charged with mana so dense it felt like the air itself was trembling. Before the ruined gates of the once-prestigious Pacesetters Academy, the people of the city had gathered—thousands upon thousands, their eyes fixed on the figures standing at the forefront.
This was no ordinary crowd. It was Eldoria itself—mages, knights, artisans, cultivators, even ordinary citizens who had no weapons but carried torches, prayers, and raw courage. They had come to watch, to send off, to believe. Because before them stood the final vanguard, the ones who would march into Endless' shadowed kingdom and decide the fate of Aetheris.
At the center was Drake Grey, his armor gleaming silver under the dull light of the storm, his crimson cloak fluttering as the wind whipped across the plaza. His presence was like a beacon; he didn't even have to speak before hearts began to pound with anticipation.
