Chapter 193
Daniel and Melgil had spent what felt like hours, perhaps even longer, within the Void. Time itself seemed to dissolve here, replaced by a slow, heavy stillness that pressed against their skin like water. The emptiness stretched infinitely around them, a sea of shifting darkness threaded with faint glimmers of light, like dying stars whispering their last prayers. Within this space, Daniel could finally breathe. His wounds, both physical and spiritual, began to mend as the Void's silent hum threaded through his being. It was calm, unnervingly calm. For a fleeting moment, he thought this place could be used to heal the United Guild, to restore their broken ranks after the chaos. But even that thought flickered out as quickly as it came. This realm was not meant for mortals; it was too vast, too unstable, too alive. The deeper he looked into its horizonless dark, the more he felt it watching him back.
He realized then that the changes surrounding him were no mere accidents of fate, they were deliberate, orchestrated by a power he could neither see nor comprehend. The world beyond the Void had already begun to twist and reshape itself, as though reality itself were being rewritten by an unseen hand. He knew whose hand that was: the forgotten god, the one erased from every scripture and memory, now reaching once more into creation. Daniel wanted to resist. He wanted to defy the will behind all this chaos. But how does one refuse a force that even gods had chosen to forget?
His thoughts drifted to the old truths, the stories that spoke of humankind as "perfectly imperfect," crafted with flaws so that they might grow, love, and destroy. Yet those same gods who shaped men had also carved pieces of themselves into their creations. Their tempers, their ambitions, their sorrow, all left echoes across the multiverse.
Every creature, every realm bore traces of their divine personality, like brushstrokes from countless artists who never agreed on what beauty truly was. And now, standing in the Void, Daniel finally understood: the gods had not vanished. They had merely become the worlds themselves, and he was standing inside one of their living thoughts, a fragment of eternity that no mortal mind was ever meant to touch.
Daniel still carried within him the quiet remnants of what his real, biological parents had once given him those fragile, human qualities that no god, no magic, no transformation could ever erase. Even if his parents no longer existed, he knew they had been real. Their memory wasn't a fantasy born from loneliness or delusion it was an undeniable truth, a piece of his soul that anchored him to what he once was. Yet with every passing moment in the Void, those memories began to blur, fading like ink in the rain. The sound of their laughter, the warmth of their hands, even the shape of their faces, all of it slipped through his fingers like dust. And in their place, something new was emerging.
His reflection, if it could be called that, was changing. The faint shimmer of energy that surrounded him pulsed with unfamiliar rhythms, colors that didn't exist in any natural spectrum. His old humanity was shedding away, layer by layer, like the skin of a serpent giving way to something greater. But Daniel wasn't afraid. He didn't resist. There was no grief, no despair only acceptance, and a strange, quiet gratitude. He had lived as a man, fragile and flawed, and now he was becoming something born of both light and void, shaped by experience and choice rather than blood and flesh.
What surprised him most, however, was that even now amidst all this change, he could still feel love. Genuine, tender, deeply human love. The kind that made his chest tighten and his heart burn with warmth instead of pain. It wasn't the simple love of mortals anymore; it was something far deeper, as if creation itself was learning emotion through him. He felt it in the way his thoughts drifted toward those he wished to protect, in the way he longed for connection despite standing between existence and nothingness.
He smiled softly, letting the Void's quiet hum wrap around him like a blanket. This was not the end it was an affirmation , His new self was stepping forward, and he welcomed it with open arms. For the first time in what felt like eternity, Daniel wasn't looking back. He was looking ahead, into a horizon of infinite possibility carrying the love and memory of his humanity as both a gift and a promise.
He stood silently, the faint shimmer of the Void gliding across his skin like ripples on dark water. Behind him, Melgil stirred, her voice soft but filled with a strange tension. She rose from the bed, the echo of her steps barely audible in this silent place, and approached him with uncertainty in her eyes. "Daniel," she murmured, her tone fragile yet searching, "the second gate boss monster the Warden… is it really remnants of what I once was?" She had not expected the question to escape her lips, hadn't even realized the thought had rooted so deeply in her mind until now.
For so long, she had lived with fragments of memory, flashes of a world soaked in fire and thunder, of hunters shouting her name as both curse and legend. In that distant life, she had been a mountain-sized calamity, a being of scales, claws, and storms. The sky itself had bent under her roar. She was hunted by those who sought glory, kings who wished to slay gods, and mortals who wanted to prove they could kill the impossible. Each battle had carved her into myth, but in truth, it was a lonely existence, a creature feared, never understood.
Her gaze softened as she met Daniel's eyes. That monstrous self was gone now. The moment she met him, when their fates collided and she absorbed his mana—it had changed everything. The energy that once raged violently inside her had been reshaped, purified, and reborn. Her colossal body of storm and stone had folded into the delicate frame of a humanoid form, her once-thundering heart now beating with fragile, human rhythm. She had gained something she never thought possible: resemblance. She could see, touch, and feel as mortals did.
Her emotions, once distant echoes of instinct, had grown articulate. She could now name what once felt like chaos, the warmth that spread through her when Daniel smiled, the ache she felt when he was in pain, the strange serenity she found in silence beside him. It was bewildering, yet beautiful. For the first time, Melgil wasn't just existing, she was living.
Daniel turned toward her, his expression calm but touched by quiet awe. In her, he saw a reflection of himself, both of them beings reborn, standing between what they were and what they were becoming. The Void around them pulsed gently, as though listening to their unspoken thoughts. And in that stillness, Daniel realized something profound: even beings born from chaos could learn to love, and even gods could be remade through understanding.
Daniel's expression softened as he looked at her—really looked at her. The faint light from the Void shimmered against Melgil's skin, tracing the faint glow of veins that still hummed with remnants of divine power. Despite the vastness surrounding them, there was something deeply human about this moment: the silence, the closeness, the quiet understanding between two beings who had endured too much to still be standing.
He stepped closer, his hand brushing a strand of her silver-white hair aside before leaning in to press a gentle kiss against her forehead. The gesture was simple, but in the language of the Void, where words carried too much weight, it spoke volumes. It was comfort. It was acknowledgment. It was love, made real.
Melgil closed her eyes briefly, feeling the warmth of his touch linger—a sensation so small, yet so immense compared to the cold lifetimes she had lived before. When she looked up again, there was a faint, almost shy smile curving her lips, something that would have been impossible for the monster she once was.
Daniel chuckled softly, his voice breaking the still air. "Are you hungry?" he asked, his tone teasing but kind. "You've been sleeping longer than any ancient I've ever met."
Melgil tilted her head, blinking slowly as if the question itself was foreign. "Hungry…" she repeated, testing the word. For a moment, she seemed uncertain, and then a soft laugh escaped her—gentle, melodic, very human. "I suppose I am," she admitted. "But I don't think what I crave can be found in food."
Daniel smiled faintly at that, recognizing the meaning behind her words. The Void around them pulsed once, like a heartbeat echoing through infinity. They were two beings caught between worlds, once monsters, once humans, now something more. And in that endless, silent place, even hunger became a reminder that they were still alive.
Daniel walked out of their small cabin's dimly lit bedroom and stepped into the kitchen, the floor creaking softly beneath his feet. As he crossed the threshold, a faint hum filled the air—then, without warning, music began to play. It wasn't coming from any visible source; it rose from the walls themselves, from the air, like the heartbeat of the cabin. A low, melodic rhythm drifted through the room, accompanied by gentle chords that seemed to follow his movements, responding to his very presence.
The kitchen, though simple at first glance, had changed. It was no longer just a shelter built from imagination or memory, it had evolved. The walls pulsed faintly, their wooden textures shifting with slow, organic patterns, like veins beneath living skin. The faint glow from the ceiling swirled like captured sunlight, bending and softening whenever he breathed. The cabin itself was alive. It inhaled when they did, exhaled when they rested, and pulsed faintly in rhythm with their hearts.
What had once been a subconscious sanctuary, a mere reflection of Daniel's mind seeking peace—had now grown into something tangible, aware. The Void had answered him not with silence, but with creation. The cabin's warmth wrapped around him like a living embrace, protective yet watchful, as if it understood their exhaustion and sought to soothe them in its own quiet way.
He moved toward the counter, running his fingers along its surface. The material shifted beneath his touch, forming a cup as though responding to his unspoken thought. Steam rose from it before he even realized what he wanted, a simple drink, warm and fragrant. The scent reminded him faintly of his old home, the one that no longer existed, and for a moment, he felt a pang of nostalgia.
Behind him, Melgil appeared in the doorway, watching silently. The glow of the living walls painted her features in gold and silver hues, giving her an almost ethereal beauty. Daniel smiled faintly, lifting the cup toward her.
"It seems our home's learning to breathe," he said quietly.
Melgil's lips curved into a soft smile as her gaze swept across the room. "Or perhaps," she replied, stepping closer, "it's learning to feel."
And as the music swelled once more, soft and alive, the small cabin in the middle of the endless Void felt less like a prison, and more like the beginning of a world.
Daniel took out a few cooking utensils from the counter, their metallic surfaces gleaming softly under the cabin's ambient glow. He moved with ease, as though he'd been doing this for years, each motion steady and unhurried. When he opened the pantry, neatly arranged shelves greeted him filled with ingredients that he didn't remember placing there. Dried herbs, jars of spices, neatly wrapped cuts of meat, and even loaves of bread sat waiting, preserved perfectly. It felt natural, too natural. He didn't question it; his body simply knew what to do, as if the memory of cooking had been folded deep into his being long before he arrived in the Void.
The moment the first slice of meat touched the hot pan, a rich aroma filled the air, warm, savory, almost nostalgic. The sizzling sound echoed through the kitchen, blending harmoniously with the faint hum of the living cabin.
For a while, Daniel forgot the battle with the Warden. The chaos, the blood, the crushing pressure of divine power, all of it faded into something distant and harmless, like a story someone else had lived. Here, there was only the present: the scent of cooking, the warmth of the fire, and the quiet rhythm of his own heartbeat.
A soft rustle drew his attention. Melgil emerged from the other room, barefoot, her hair slightly tousled. She wore nothing but a loose white shirt that hung off her shoulders, simple and light, yet oddly familiar. Daniel blinked, tilting his head slightly.
"Where did you get that shirt?" he asked, half amused, half bewildered.
Melgil smiled, the kind of smile that carried both playfulness and quiet knowing. "You're silly," she said, walking closer until the faint light caught her silver eyes. "The place you're standing in responds to what you need. You were wondering about the shirt I'm wearing…" She gestured lightly toward the pan, where the meat was browning to perfection. "…but it didn't occur to you to question the food you just pulled out of those cabinets."
Daniel paused, glancing from her to the pantry, then back to the sizzling pan. The realization sank in slowly, like warmth spreading through his chest. The cabin wasn't just alive, it was listening. It wasn't granting wishes or conjuring illusions; it was shaping itself around their intentions, weaving the things they needed from the fabric of the Void itself.
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. "I suppose that means I should be careful what I think about, then."
Melgil's smile deepened. "Yes," she said softly, brushing her fingers across the counter as if to soothe the cabin itself. "Because here, even a thought can become real."
" 06:45:05 "
The wind had quieted. Lanterns flickered around the perimeter of the newly fortified camp, their light reflecting off the makeshift barricades of metal, vines, and hardened stone. The United Guild—over three hundred strong, had finally earned a moment of peace. The ground still carried faint traces of the Warden's corruption, but the oppressive aura that once smothered their spirits had vanished.
Sitting around a circular firepit, the key members of the Lazarus Guild and the White Devil Guild gathered with steaming cups of bitter tea. Their faces bore exhaustion, but their eyes, clear now held new resolve.
Jacob Lazarus (Vice Leader, East Lazarus Guild) leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the glow of the fire cutting across his scarred jawline.Jacob: "Six hours… that's all it took for everything to start feeling real again. I don't know about you, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around what happened down there."
Oliver (Poison Dart User) chuckled weakly, spinning a small vial between his fingers.Oliver: "You mean how Daniel practically charged the Warden like some mad beast while the rest of us were getting our souls squeezed out? Yeah, I'm still seeing that in my dreams."
Farrah (Plant Manipulator) nodded, twirling a vine lazily between her fingers.Farrah: "I thought he was done for. No one just walks into a Warden's den and comes out alive. But he did. He didn't even hesitate."
Rainey (Insect Tamer) crossed her arms, her tone sharp but thoughtful.Rainey: "He's not fearless—he's aware of the risk. That's what makes it terrifying. He knew what could happen and still chose to go first."
Sabine (Shapeshifter) stretched her arms, her muscles faintly rippling under the skin.Sabine: "I fought beside him once during the factory breach. The guy doesn't think like the rest of us. It's not courage—it's instinct. He sees danger and moves before the rest of us can even process it."
Noah (Metal Skin User) smirked faintly, knocking his knuckles together with a metallic clang.Noah: "Instinct or not, it worked. We're all still breathing because of him. If that's foolishness, then maybe we could use a bit more of it."
Cody (Shockwave Caster) added from the other side of the fire, his tone more cautious.Cody: "Maybe. But if he keeps doing that, one day it won't work. You can only cheat death so many times."
A cold voice cut through their debate.Natasha Sokolov (White Devil Vice Captain) stepped closer, her long coat fluttering as she carried a half-empty flask. The faint frost in her breath betrayed her elemental aura.Natasha: "You're wrong about one thing, Cody. He didn't 'cheat' death. He calculated it. He knew the odds, the terrain, the Warden's rhythm. I saw him—every movement had intent. That's not recklessness. That's mastery."
Borislav (Poison Mage) nodded in agreement.Borislav: "He trusted us, too. Told my unit to focus on neutralizing the toxins while Natasha cast the barrier. He didn't even question our ability. That kind of faith… it's rare."
Tamara (Healer) smiled faintly.Tamara: "He believed we could hold our ground, even when half of us were unconscious. He said, 'Just sleep. I'll handle the nightmare.' And he did."
A quiet laugh escaped Mariya (Curse Mage) as she stirred the ashes with a stick.Mariya: "He's either the bravest man I've ever met… or the dumbest."
At that, an older voice joined in, calm, measured, but edged with curiosity.Addison Lazarus, the seasoned veteran and elder and former guild leader of the east Lazarus guild, and mother of Charllote and Jacob Lazarus had been listening silently all along. she stepped forward, her shadow falling across the group.Addison: "So," he said, her tone thoughtful, "do you all believe Daniel is foolish… or merely stubborn?"
The group fell silent. The crackling of the fire filled the gap between their thoughts.
Farrah was the first to speak.Farrah: "Neither. He's human. That's what makes him terrifying. Even when those ungodly creatures fall, he keeps standing."
Jacob nodded slowly, gazing into the fire.Jacob: "Foolish? Maybe. Stubborn? Definitely. But whatever he is, I'd follow that kind of madness any day."
Natasha raised her flask slightly, a faint smile curving her lips.Natasha: "To Daniel, the man too stubborn to die, and too foolish to give up."
The others echoed the gesture, their voices blending into one as they drank to the name that had saved them all.
And somewhere, far beyond their campfire, in the living cabin floating between worlds, Daniel sneezed once without knowing why, while Melgil laughed softly behind him.
" 09:45:05 "
The campfire burned low as laughter rippled through the United Guild's ranks. It wasn't mockery—it was relief disguised as humor. For the first time in what felt like ages, they could breathe. The members of the allied guilds, Lazarus, White Devil, and High Strategy found it strangely amusing to talk about the young lord, Daniel.
He had come into their lives like a storm, uninvited, unpredictable, and unstoppable. Every situation he entered became uncertain, the air itself thick with tension and possibility. Yet, against all logic, he always owned it. He shaped chaos into order, turned disaster into triumph, and walked away as if the world had bent itself to his will. It wasn't natural. It wasn't even believable. But the results spoke for themselves. The chaos that surrounded him did not destroy him it became him.
Still, no one forgot his words before he left them: "This isn't the game anymore."That truth clung to them like mist. This was no simulation, no safe digital world. Here, death was real, and so were the consequences. As the night deepened, dozens of mages began activating their defensive artifacts, pale blue runes flaring to life along the perimeter. Illusionary veils shimmered across the campsite, blending their presence with the surrounding wilderness. Cloaking wards, shadow displacements, and sound-sink enchantments filled the air like invisible armor.
Their goal was simple: survive until morning and find a way back to their stronghold. But the return scrolls were one-way tickets. The cost of safety had grown unbearable.
Addison Lazarus and Alexsei Sokolov, veterans of countless campaigns, had already paid nearly eighty percent of their remaining gold reserves to the Cathedral Tower just to gain access to its transfer gate, a massive, unstable structure that could send hundreds across dimensions in a single cast. It was a gamble that could bankrupt them, but not acting would have doomed their people.
Meanwhile, Mary Kaye Lazarus, leader of the High Strategy Guild, sat quietly near the fire, deep in thought. Her guild wasn't built for combat. They were scholars, builders, and merchants—traders of knowledge rather than blood. She couldn't rely on her parents, both awakened non-combatants who had long abandoned the struggle of this cruel, reborn world. Unlike the Lazarus or White Devil guilds, who earned gold through battle and bounty, her people survived by intellect and trade.
Cody, Bonnie, and the rest of her staff were brilliant but vulnerable. When the Guild of War Forge under Steward Siglorr Bouldergrove refused further dealings unless paid in battle wagons—massive, rune-armored carriers used in fortress sieges, it had nearly crushed her morale. Their construction project was halted, their funds dwindling. Yet even in this moment of peace, Mary's mind was racing, calculating the next move to keep her people alive.
But before any new plan could form, the night sky began to shift.
At first, it was only a faint tremor, a distant, harmonic vibration that ran through the ground like a whispered drumbeat. Then, a light, oft and white appeared far above the clouds. Within seconds, the heavens split open, revealing the Holy Floating Garrison of Álfheim descending through a shroud of distortion spells.
The very air rippled as the colossal fortress revealed itself, a castle suspended on radiant pillars of light, nearly a thousand armored knights standing in formation upon its gleaming terraces. Each soldier bore the crest of the Order of the Holy Vicar, and their banners woven from celestial silk fluttered in divine synchrony. The holy sigils glowing across the hull of the fortress pulsed like living veins of light, their radiance so pure it distorted time itself around them.
At the head of this awe-inspiring armada stood the Holy Vicar Arnis Feldreldre, the so-called "Voice of the Seraphim." His arrival over the royal capital of Karion was not a message, it was a declaration of war.
Inside the capital's palace, the news struck like thunder.
King Deryth Cererindur and Queen Nimriel Cererindur stood together upon the high balcony of their moonlit citadel, their gazes fixed upon the distant, luminous fortress. The silver banners of the Merchant Kingdom of Solnara Cererindu flapped violently in the wind as alarms began to echo across the city.
Behind them stood their son, Crowned Prince Lashrael Cererindur, barely twenty-two yet already tempered by the burdens of royalty. Standing nearly six feet tall, with lean muscle carved by years of swordsmanship and tactical training, Lashrael radiated the quiet authority of a man born not just to lead, but to endure. His dark chestnut hair, tousled by the wind, caught the faint golden light of the chandeliers behind him, and his pale green eyes narrowed as he watched the floating fortress draw closer.
"This is no negotiation," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the rising tension. "They come not as envoys, but as conquerors."
King Deryth's jaw tightened. "Then the Church of Álfheim has broken the Covenant of Faith," he muttered darkly. "After three centuries of peace."
Queen Nimriel turned sharply, her emerald eyes burning with conviction. "Summon the Crescent Magus," she ordered. "Let the world see what happens when faith turns into tyranny."
Moments later, the air rippled as Archmage Sylveth Melriel, known to all as the Crescent Magus, appeared, her silver cloak fluttering like moonlight incarnate. The crescent emblem upon her staff pulsed with ethereal light as she bowed slightly before her queen.
"Your command, my liege?"
"Imprison every cathedral priest in kindom," Queen Nimriel declared, her voice echoing through the hall. "They have broken the sacred treaty the promise that faith shall never chain the free will of man. Our kingdom is secular, not their altar."
Sylveth's eyes glimmered coldly. "And what of the Holy Vicar?"
The Queen's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "He will learn that even angels can fall when they trespass upon the lands of merchants and free minds."
As her command spread through the capital, the temporal disturbance spells of Álfheim shimmered above the horizon. The great floating fortress loomed larger, its holy radiance clashing against the wards now rising from the towers of Karion.
The world stood at the edge of a new conflict, the war of faith and freedom, and at its center, though they did not yet know it, was the young man who had once charged a Warden like a storm and survived: the Crowed prince Lashrael looked at his father the kind and bowed without a single word the the Crowed prince never spoke but the king and queen knew what their son intended to do. as he walked out of the royal throne room the huge enchanted mirror that was broadcasting the cleared quest at the second gate , the prince was determine to ride toward the place and face the holy Empire of Álfheim hunting hounds , as he also knew that the purge wasnt about religion and faith anymore it was to stop the united guild from clearing the empire of graves and open the pathway toward the other realms that were written in their historical books
The Holy Vicar Arnis Feldreldre stood upon the balcony of the Sanctum Spire, the highest point of the floating garrison of Álfheim. Below him, the shimmering clouds were parted by the burning trails of arcane engines that carried the massive citadel through the sky. The light of dawn reflected across the holy armor of the Thousand Knights of the Dawn Choir, their silver lances gleaming like stars. Choirs sang beneath the floating cathedral's wings, but even their sacred hymns sounded hollow, warped by the strange resonance that clung to the air.
Arnis's eyes, once bright with devotion now burned faintly red beneath the golden sigil etched upon his forehead. His voice, calm yet heavy with conviction, echoed in the sanctum as he spoke to the assembled bishops.
"The world below has forgotten the covenant," he said, his tone unwavering. "The merchants of Solnara Cererindu mock the divine, turning faith into trade. They have replaced sanctity with silver, devotion with law. The Light demands correction and I am its hand."
The bishops bowed their heads, but among them, fear stirred. Some sensed what they dared not name: the aura surrounding Arnis was not of Aether's grace it was thick, suffocating, and pulsing with a dark, unnatural mana.
High Prelate Caedmon spoke carefully, "Your Eminence, the treaty of the Twelve Faiths forbids crusades into secular lands. The Solnaran crown has not defied the church directly—"
Arnis's voice thundered across the chamber.
"Blasphemy does not need to speak, it festers in silence. Their refusal to kneel is defiance!"
As he raised his hand, the stained glass behind him flared to life—images of Aether, the Maiden of Light, twisted subtly in form, her radiant face now shadowed by faint demonic horns that only the most attuned could notice.
From afar, in the land below, many of the veteran players already sensed it. especially Addison Lazarus and Alexsei Sokolov The mana leaking from Arnis was unmistakable, tainted by demonic corruption, threaded through the divine like poison through blood. He knew what it meant: a demon had found a vessel inside the holiest man in Álfheim.
Daniel had already sent word to the Duke and Duchess of Solnara Cererindu, warning them that the coming crusade was not an act of divine justice—it was the beginning of a demonic incursion disguised as holy will.
Meanwhile, in the floating fortress, Arnis turned his gaze toward the horizon where Karion, the royal capital, gleamed like a jewel. His lips curved into what was meant to be a prayer, but it came out as a command.
"By the will of the Light, the false kingdom shall burn. Their gold will melt in the streets, their heretics purified. Aether's dawn will rise again—through flame and faith."
But deep within him, something laughed.
A voice, ancient and cruel, coiled in his mind like a whisper made of smoke.
"Yes… faith through fire. Let them kneel, Arnis. Let them beg for light that will never come."
The Holy Vicar stiffened, gripping the edge of the altar as visions flooded his sight, entire cities kneeling before him, their skies painted crimson by divine flames. He believed it was prophecy, but the demon feeding him visions had other designs. It sought chaos, a gateway, a world soaked in holy blood where its kin could pass through unopposed.
Below the clouds, news spread like wildfire.
Towns and villages in the northeastern frontiers of Solnara were attacked by the second wave of the Álfheim Empire's holy forces. Yet, reports began to surface of an unknown army, strange warriors cloaked in shifting light—who appeared without banners or insignias, defending the helpless and repelling the crusaders.
Unbeknownst to the kingdoms, these were Daniel's familiars, powerful manifestations bound to him through ancient pacts. They intercepted the holy army, their combined presence distorting reality itself.
As chaos spread, Queen Nimriel Cererindur convened her court in the royal palace. Her emerald crown shimmered with defensive wards as she turned to Sylveth Melriel, the Crescent Magus.
"Imprison the cathedral priests," she commanded coldly. "They have broken the Covenant of Freedom. This kingdom will not kneel to false gods or corrupted faiths."
Sylveth bowed, her silver hair trailing behind her like moonlight.
"By your will, Your Majesty. The Light they wield will be sealed. Their hypocrisy ends here."
The order sent shockwaves through the continent. For the first time in centuries, a secular kingdom had imprisoned holy emissaries, marking a decisive stand between faith and free will.
From the citadel above, Arnis looked down upon the kingdom that dared defy him, and the demon's voice whispered again, soothing, promising.
"Let the mortals choose their freedom. You will show them what it costs."
His eyes darkened, and his command echoed through the floating garrison:
"Prepare the Judgment Flame. Karion will serve as the altar of the new dawn."
Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester's steed thundered across the cobblestone road, the silver crest of House Rothchester fluttering behind her like a streak of stormlight. The distant hum of the holy fortress's engines vibrated in the air, a sound so deep and otherworldly it made the ground itself seem to pulse with dread.
As she reached the western gate of the royal citadel, she saw the Crown Prince Lashrael Cererindu and Princess Caerthynna rallying their escort—young students from the Royal Academy still wearing their training armor, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and resolve.
"Your Highness!" Elleena called, dismounting in one swift motion. The prince, tall and disciplined beyond his years, turned at once. His emerald eyes reflected the shimmering clouds above, now tinged red by the approaching fortress.
"Duchess Rothchester," Lashrael said, placing a fist to his chest in respect. "Forgive me for ignoring royal protocol, but there is no time. Your son has already forewarned us of this day."
The Duchess froze. "Daniel?"
Lashrael nodded, his expression grim. "He sent me a sealed letter two weeks ago through a pixie courier. I dismissed it at first, thinking it was only a contingency report for border defense—but it was prophecy. Every word of it is happening now. The corruption within Álfheim's clergy, the rise of the False Light, even the timing of the garrison's movement. He predicted it all."
Elleena's breath caught. Her son's habit of preparing for the worst was well-known within her household, but this—this was far beyond any mortal foresight.
The Princess Caerthynna, her silver hair braided in ceremonial fashion, stepped forward clutching a parchment bound by a wax seal in the shape of a crescent flame—the mark of Daniel's personal code. "He also sent one to me," she said softly. "He warned that if the fortress takes position above Karion, the war will no longer be one of politics or faith—it will become a soul harvest."
The Duchess's heart sank. "He knew," she whispered. "He knew the Holy Vicar was not of pure faith."
Lashrael continued, "Daniel has been moving his pieces quietly, Aunt Elleena. He sent warnings not only to us but to several of his trusted allies—mages, scholars, and even guild masters from the outer territories. He distributed knowledge the way a commander sets traps before a war even begins."
Elleena's eyes hardened as realization dawned. "The seeds…" she murmured. "He's been planting them for months."
"Yes," the prince replied. "Pixie messengers carried letters across the kingdoms. Tiny things, impossible to intercept, bound by their own magic to complete their task or vanish into ether. By now, hundreds may already know what is truly happening here."
Behind them, the Royal Academy students readied their weapons. Thalen Merrow raised his longsword and shield, the gleam of determination masking his youthful fear. Ysil Thorne tested her bowstring, whispering a silent prayer to the forest spirits. Galen Althus gripped his heavy axe, resting it on his shoulder as his knuckles whitened. Lora Sithe, her staff glowing with blue light, summoned protective runes into the air while her twin brother Ormin Vos Sithe hammered his weapon into the ground, sending a tremor of mana through the cobblestones.
They were not soldiers, but Daniel's message had reached even them. His words had ignited something deeper than duty: purpose.
"Daniel warned us that the Light of Álfheim would turn crimson," Lashrael continued, his voice low but steady. "He said that the true enemy would wear holiness as a mask, and that fear would blind us if we did not act first."
Duchess Elleena's hands trembled slightly as she looked toward the sky. The enormous floating fortress of Álfheim was now breaching the mountain's veil, its spires like spears of judgment piercing the clouds. Holy runes lined its underbelly, but where divine gold should have glowed, there now pulsed dark veins of blood-red corruption.
"He was right," Elleena said bitterly. "The corruption of the Holy Empire isn't just political—it's infernal. Their faith has been hijacked by something that thrives on devotion twisted into fanaticism."
The princess looked up at her aunt, her voice laced with both fear and defiance. "What should we do, Aunt Elleena? The Queen has ordered the imprisonment of the cathedral priests, but the fortress is nearly upon us."
The Duchess turned toward the horizon where firelight began to shimmer among the clouds. Her expression hardened into that of a veteran warrior and a mother who refused to lose her child to darkness.
"We prepare the city for siege," she said firmly. "Activate the outer wards. Send word to the Mages' Council to raise the Celestial Barrier. Lashrael, assemble every knight and squire you can. We will not let those are sacrificing their lives to clear the empire of graves to fall."
The prince nodded. "And Daniel?"
Elleena's lips curved faintly, a flicker of pride piercing through the dread. "If I know my son, he's already five steps ahead of us. He doesn't plan for battles, he plans for inevitability."
A low tremor rippled across the plains as the Holy Garrison of Álfheim entered Karion's airspace. Thunder rolled, and the first of the Judgment Flames began to gather beneath the fortress, glowing like a second sun ready to descend.
Yet, across the north and east, Daniel's seeds had already sprouted, secret militias mobilizing under unknown banners, protective wards rising in forgotten shrines, and messenger pixies whispering his warnings to nobles and peasants alike.
He had foreseen the Light's corruption.He had prepared the world to resist it.And as the heavens began to burn, the duchess realized with sudden clarity,
"This isn't just a war for survival… Daniel is waging a war for the truth, we march toward the cathedral tower and used their own transfer gate artifact to head toward Karion.