Borders of Narn and Archen Land
Year – 6999 NY
Kopa stood tall, his antlers catching the shifting hues of the barrier behind him—soft streaks of sapphire and emerald dancing across their polished edges like riverlight in motion. He was still, composed, the kind of stillness that belongs to those who have stood watch over many things for many years. His eyes, clear and clever, studied the trio before him with the patience of one who had already calculated the moment long before it arrived.
"King Darius has been expecting you," Kopa said smoothly, his voice a calm reed against the vastness of the wind. "He's aware of your journey and your intentions to meet with him. Follow me, and I will escort you to the capital."
Adam glanced first at Trevor, then at Kon, and back again. No words were exchanged, but the look they shared was enough—relief, tempered by weariness, and beneath that, a flicker of something softer: hope. They had come so far. Through storms and blood, riddles and revelations. And now, with Narn's shadow still stretching behind them, the light of something new shimmered ahead. They stood, quite literally, on the threshold of possibility.
Trevor, as ever, broke the heaviness with a grin, leaping up onto a low-hanging branch with the ease of breath. His tail swayed lazily as he hung upside-down like a living question mark.
"Well, it's nice to know we're expected. I was worried we'd have to break in through that big glowing wall behind you."
Adam smiled, the expression subdued but genuine, a trace of warmth breaking through the mask of constant readiness he had worn since the beginning of their long march. "I think we've had enough breaking through walls for now."
Yet even as he joked, Adam couldn't help but think of all the barriers they'd already crossed—both visible and unseen. He thought of the night Razik had nearly crushed Kon beneath the weight of his Arcem… of the moment Trevor transformed into something more than a clownish companion… of the vision of Asalan and the old prophecies that still echoed in his bones like remembered thunder. How strange it was to be here, right now, when so much of the journey had felt like it would never end.
Kon, standing at Adam's left, said nothing at first. His arms were crossed, his posture alert but not hostile. He studied Kopa the same way one warrior studies another—measuring strength without arrogance, reading discipline in the way one stood or breathed.
"How long has Darius known we were coming?" Kon finally asked, his tone even but edged with curiosity. There was no demand in his voice—only the quiet precision of one who had learned to doubt what was convenient.
Kopa met Kon's gaze with equal gravity. "Long enough. The king is aware of many things. The disturbances in Narn have not gone unnoticed, and he knew that the prophecy concerning the Aryas would eventually bring you to our borders."
Trevor dropped lightly to the ground and tilted his head toward the glowing barrier. His voice was playful, but there was a thread of something else running beneath it—uncertainty perhaps, or something close to wonder.
"Prophecies, Aryas, and kings… feels like a lot of responsibility to me. You sure we're up for this?"
Adam looked at him, really looked—at the smudge of frost on his cheek, the energy still lingering in his limbs, the forced lightness in his tone. And in that moment, Adam saw more than a companion. He saw a boy from another world, pulled from his home and thrust into legend, still laughing at shadows because it was better than letting them close in.
Adam turned his gaze toward the barrier, the dancing light reflecting faintly in his eyes. "It's not about being ready, Trevor," he said quietly. "It's about doing what's right."
And he wasn't even sure who he was saying it for—Trevor, himself, or someone long gone. But the words felt true, and in this land of ancient borders and breathing prophecy, truth was all they had to carry.
______________________________________
Just as Kopa turned to lead them deeper into Archen Land, a thunderous boom shattered the fragile quiet of the forest. The sound echoed through the trees like a crack of divine judgment, and the ground beneath them gave a low, ominous tremble. Birds scattered from the treetops in startled bursts of feathers, and for one still instant, the very air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Adam froze mid-step, his ears twitching sharply toward the noise. His breath caught in his throat. The scent of smoke—acrid, foreign—drifted faintly on the rising wind.
"What was that?" he asked, though the question felt rhetorical, almost hollow. Some part of him already knew.
Kon's posture stiffened immediately. His tail went low, his shoulders rising in a defensive stance, and his golden eye narrowed into a razor focus. Every inch of his body bristled with readiness, but underneath the hardened surface, a flicker of dread moved like a cold serpent through his chest. He's here, Kon thought. Again. Always one step ahead.
Even Trevor, whose usual levity often bordered on defiance, dropped his playful mask. His orange eyes scanned the horizon. "That wasn't thunder," he said. The quip he might have made never came.
Kopa's eyes closed for the briefest of seconds. When they opened again, there was something heavy in them—not fear, not yet—but a weariness that came from seeing this pattern repeat too many times.
"It's Razik," he said, the name dropping like a stone into the silence. "I had stationed barrier wards in the outer towns. Clearly… they've failed."
The words struck deeper than any blast. Adam felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He's here— not in shadows or whispers, but in fire. No illusions this time. No scouting Hyenas. This was Razik's hand in full display.
Then, as if to confirm the claim with cruel precision, another explosion ruptured the horizon—closer now, louder, deeper. The treeline flickered orange as flames licked upward into the greying sky. Smoke rose like a banner of war, curling and twisting against the wind.
"This attack is worse than the others," Kopa said, his tone tinged not with panic but with controlled, deliberate frustration. His calm voice contrasted sharply with the chaos unfolding around them. "Razik doesn't usually leave his fortress for minor skirmishes. If he's come himself, this is no mere strike. It's a declaration."
Kon's hands curled into fists, his claws flexing subtly as the cold around his body grew sharper, snow crunching beneath his feet with a sudden crispness. The heat in his veins warred with the ice of his composure. We were so close, he thought bitterly. He knew. Somehow, he knew. And now he's here to drag the light back into shadow.
"Then we'll make a statement of our own," Kon said through clenched teeth, the promise in his voice hard and cold.
Trevor, without his usual grin, had his jaw set. "Let's go," he said. The words weren't loud, but they carried weight. "We can't let him tear apart any more of Narn."
And for once, there was no need for jest.
Kopa turned to Adam, whose gaze was still locked on the fiery bloom rising in the distance. The wolf Tracient's posture had changed. No longer merely reacting to fate, he now stood as one who understood what it meant to answer its call.
"My men are already engaged," Kopa said, his voice low. "But if Razik leads this charge himself… we may not be able to hold out much longer. I ask not as a diplomat, but as a soldier."
Adam met his eyes, and though his heart pounded, there was no hesitation in him. "We're with you."
He didn't look at Kon or Trevor—but he didn't need to. Their silence was louder than assent.
Without another word, the four of them set off, feet crunching swiftly over frost and ash-streaked earth. The glow of fire was no longer distant. The orange blaze grew brighter with each step, and the air thickened with smoke and tension. The sounds of war—screams, roars, and the clash of weapons—grew louder, more chaotic, until it seemed the entire land ahead was crying out in pain.
________________________________________
When they arrived, the sight before them was nothing short of devastating.
The town—if one could still call it that—was in ruins. What once might have been a humble settlement of cobblestone homes and timbered roofs, nestled at the edge of Archen Land like a peaceful outpost, was now a broken skeleton of its former self. Smoke rose in curling black tendrils from gutted buildings, and the charred air tasted of ash and iron. Cries of the wounded rang out across the burning square, mingling with the clash of steel and the cruel cackling of Razik's hyena soldiers.
The snow from earlier had long since melted in the blaze, and the ground beneath their feet was scorched black and red—mud and blood, mingled in an ugly harmony. It was not a battlefield, Adam realized. It was a slaughter.
Kopa's breath caught in his throat. His eyes swept over the carnage with a soldier's gaze, but there was a flicker behind them—a grief so deep it could not be voiced. These were his people. His land. His failure, whispered a cruel voice in the back of his mind. But he said nothing of it. He simply whispered grimly,
"This explains the collapse. With Razik here, it's no wonder our defenses couldn't hold."
And there he was.
Razik.
At the very heart of the destruction, as if the chaos itself bowed in orbit around him, stood the towering form of the hyena Tracient. His fur, matted and thick, was streaked with soot and battle. But the most terrifying thing about him wasn't his stature or his robe, it was the way he stood. Casual. At ease. Like he had done this before. Like it was a game.
The Albido Arcem was active and it's purple mana pulsed around him, warping the air in shimmering waves of invisible pressure. Loose rubble floated near him, only to be crushed mid-air by the sheer density of his gravitational field. His eyes, bright and pitiless, gleamed like twin blades under the flickering orange sky.
Adam's fists clenched. The ground beneath him seemed to tilt slightly as the full weight of the moment crashed over him. This was no longer about prophecy or chosen destinies. This was about survival.
Beside him, Kon stepped forward, the wind catching the hem of his cloak. His expression had gone cold and unreadable—a soldier's mask, perfected over years of training and loss. But Adam knew what lay beneath: fury, sharpened by discipline.
He's here again,Kon thought bitterly. Always here. Always just beyond reach, dragging ruin in his wake. He could feel the Arya ring on his finger begin to glow, a low and steady thrum that echoed through his bones. It didn't call him—it answered him. His rage, his purpose, his will to protect. The ring was not just a weapon; it was a reflection of his soul.
Trevor stood at his side, the golden threads of his Grand Maymum form already swirling around him like a cloak of energy. His staff manifested and He gripped it tightly, his playful demeanor stripped away, replaced by a fierce, simmering resolve. His spandex armor shimmered gold and brown under the light of the flames.
He gave a slow breath, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "Time to give this hyena a lesson he won't forget," he muttered, but there was no jest in it.
Kon nodded once—barely a movement—before he lifted his hand and called upon the power within him. In a blinding pulse of red light, his form shifted, his body enveloped by the sleek armor of the Grand Kaplan. Crimson bands of energy laced across his limbs, and his twin swords materialized in his grasp, humming with barely restrained fury. The moment the transformation completed, the heat around him surged, the very air crackling as the blades ignited with glowing red trails.
Trevor, in turn, raised his staff, now transformed to its true form—black tampered steel banded with gleaming gold. It pulsed with power, his aura flaring as amber light rippled off him in concentric waves.
They stood together—one in red and silver black, one in gold and brown—like twin guardians before the fire, ready to face the heart of ruin.
Adam stayed behind them, steady, focused. His turn had not yet come—but he watched. He felt the moment settle around them, heavy and sacred.
And before them, Razik turned.
He smiled.
Not the smile of a warrior preparing for battle, but of a beast who thought the hunt was already done.
_______________________________________
Razik's gaze fell upon the four of them, and the glint in his eyes turned razor-sharp—predatory. His lips curled into a smile, the kind that was not born of joy but of cruelty. It stretched across his face like a tear in the world's fabric, and the sound of his voice—low, deliberate—carried over the cracked and burning landscape like the knell of doom.
"So," Razik murmured, lifting his arms slowly, ceremonially, "the heroes arrive once again. You escaped me before... but this time," his smile deepened, "this time will be different."
Even before his hand completed its gesture, the air began to twist. A humming, unnatural frequency filled the space between them, vibrating deep into bone and blood. And then—with a flick of his wrist—it began.
"ALBIDO: STRONG FORCE"
From Razik's outstretched palm, a sphere of energy was born—small at first, no bigger than a stone. But it pulsed with terrible light, a violent blue-purple hue that cracked at its edges like lightning imprisoned in glass. It grew fast. Too fast. Like something alive and ravenous. It absorbed the heat around it, drawing in not just air but power, sound, life. The forest behind Razik withered in a heartbeat. Leaves curled and crumbled to ash. Trees twisted in agony before vanishing into vapor.
Kopa stepped back, wide-eyed, the glow of the sphere reflected in his eyes. His voice, usually so composed, came out as a stunned whisper. "I've never seen him use power like this."
Adam felt it immediately—that sickening tug at the pit of his stomach, the pressure building in the air like the moment before a mountain collapses. The energy from Razik's attack pressed down on him, an invisible weight that crushed the breath from his lungs. His fur singed at the tips, and his ears rang with the raw force of the Arcem's pulse. He staggered. His knees buckled. He tried to focus, to breathe, but the heat stole everything—air, strength, thought.
The sphere expanded again, and this time, it screamed—a soundless shriek of pure, devouring force that roared against the world's order. The sky darkened, scorched by the heat of the Albido Arcem. The earth beneath their feet cracked like fragile glass, spidering out in deep, red lines of glowing ruin.
Kopa, beside Adam, dropped to his knees. His antlers trembled as though they too could feel the weight. Then he fell fully, unconscious, his body limp on the burnt soil.
Trevor, in his glowing Grand Maymum form, stood firm—but only barely. His tail, once lively, now drooped behind him. Sweat streamed down his face as he fought the pressure. His hands, clutching his golden staff, trembled under the strain.
I've never… felt anything like this, he thought, dazed. It's like the world itself is collapsing inward.
His staff glowed weakly now, the mana that had once flared with confidence flickering like a candle guttering in a storm.
Beside him, Kon remained upright, but his breathing was ragged, his entire frame locked in strain. His swords, still drawn, shook in his grasp, their light dimming. The Grand Kaplan armor around him hissed with each pulse of Albido's energy, struggling to hold form. His vision blurred. His thoughts fragmented. Only the cold fury in his chest—his unrelenting need to stand between Razik and the others—kept him rooted to the spot.
"This..." Razik's voice, carried on the wind like a dirge, trembled with dark pleasure, "...is the true power of Albido." His grin widened as he stepped closer, the energy sphere now a massive, churning star of death in his hand. "Nothing can survive it."
Kon fell to one knee, his blades sinking into the fractured earth. His heart thundered in his ears, and his breaths came in shallow gasps. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to rise—to fight—but the heat was too much.
"We…" he rasped, his voice barely audible above the hum of destruction. "We can't hold… much longer."
Trevor swayed beside him, blinking hard, trying to stay upright. *Not like this, he thought. Please, not like this. We just made it here. We can't fall here.*
Adam's vision, fading into darkness, caught one last glimpse of the massive sphere of energy above them, and a singular, unspoken thought formed through the haze:
Is this where the story ends?
And then came the silence—that heavy, dreadful silence that comes only before a storm strikes full.
_____________________________________
Just as both Kon and Trevor were on the verge of collapse—moments from being consumed by the crushing storm of Albido—the world shifted.
The ground trembled beneath their feet. Not the cracking, suffocating kind from Razik's power, but something deeper… steadier… intentional. A powerful gust swept over the battlefield, and the air howled with a sudden, commanding force that sent dust and ash swirling into a furious cyclone.
Trevor's legs gave way as he fell to one knee, shielding his eyes against the flying debris. Kon clutched his swords, teeth clenched, as he braced against the surge. The Albido orb—still hanging above them, pulsing like a malignant sun—began to waver in shape, its sphere unraveling slightly as a new pressure pushed against it.
And then, with a sound like the crack of a thunderclap, something dropped from the sky.
The impact rocked the battlefield. Earth exploded upward in a blast of stone and dust, and for a moment, the whole world became smoke and confusion. Razik staggered back a step, caught off-guard, the power in his hand momentarily destabilizing. His cruel grin faltered. His eyes narrowed, scanning the settling haze.
Trevor, breathing hard, looked up through the clouded air, his vision blurred, his heart pounding with something he hadn't felt in a long time—hope.
Kon's gaze followed, his arms trembling at his sides as the silhouette emerged.
And then… they saw him.
From within the dust walked a figure as steady as a mountain and as sure as the turning of the stars. His fur was a deep, earthen brown, warm and weathered, but streaked across his chest, limbs, and head were marks of milky gold that shimmered faintly, like dawn peeking through storm clouds. He moved with effortless grace, his posture regal, his pace unhurried. Draped across his back, a great lemon-green cloak flowed in the still-hot wind, its hem trailing like the banner of a sovereign who belonged not to men or beasts, but to legends.
His eyes—piercing lemon green—gleamed like twin beacons through the clearing dust, and as he approached, his gaze fell upon Kon and Trevor. There was no judgment in his expression, only a serene confidence, as if he had already seen the road ahead and walked it without fear.
"My apologies for being late," he said, his voice warm, smooth, and yet woven with quiet command. "And for having my guests do such difficult work in my absence."
Trevor blinked up at him, lips parted in disbelief. That voice, he thought. It's like calm water running over stone. Like something ancient… and kind.
Kon, still kneeling, lowered his blades and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His chest heaved with exhaustion and awe. The man standing before them radiated power—but it was not like Razik's. This was not the violent, crushing heat of Albido. It was deeper. Rooted. A power that did not need to prove itself.
The stranger turned at last to Razik, who stared across the battlefield like a beast interrupted mid-feast. His eyes burned with fury. The orb in his hand flared again, though now it flickered with instability, as though it sensed something stronger had entered the fray.
The man's eyes met Razik's—and in that moment, even the air seemed to stand still.
"Now then," the figure said, his voice cooling into steel, "it's time to round this up."
Razik's lip curled into a snarl, but he did not speak.
Kon and Trevor exchanged a glance, and in that breathless space between disbelief and dawning understanding, they knew.
This was him.
The one they had spoken of.
The one the border had shimmered to protect.
The fourth Grand Lord.
The bearer of the Arya of Evolution.
This was King Darius.