Within the Grave of Darkness—the very tomb where a great soul perished, and an even greater one was reborn…
The grave trembled, and the black substance that had engulfed Frey began to recede, slowly fading as though his body itself was devouring it.
The mask of Nameless, once shattered by Agaroth, reformed anew—this time stronger, more refined, more terrifying.
Sharp eyes like those of a predatory hawk, deep, jagged engravings along its sides… and its color remained as it always had been ... black. The color both Nameless and Frey shared.
Frey's white hair began to glow faintly, as if it had gained a will of its own.
Before Shiva's tear-filled eyes, still mourning Gehrman's death, her king's form began to emerge.
The Armor of Peak Night wrapped around him like an ancient war relic, making him appear as a warrior born from the depths of eternity.
And the Sword of Shadow Dominion stirred on its own, coiling around his hand as if yearning—no, begging—to be wielded once more.
