The sky didn't fall.
It shattered.
Above Olkaira, constellations twisted into spirals and collapsed into screaming black holes of light. A storm of silver flame poured downward—not rain, not ash, but raw memory.
Light stood at the edge of the collapsed temple, blood dripping from his knuckles. His body buzzed with fire that wasn't entirely his own anymore.
Behind him, Barak struggled to rise, Mira tended to Ilyra, and Kyle paced like a wolf that smelled death coming.
Sila stared into the sky. "It's not over…"
Then something fell.
No wings. No roar. Just presence—like gravity taking form.
A humanoid figure landed with such stillness the world seemed to pause in respect. Its mask was cracked down the middle, leaking black smoke. Its arms were thin and jointed like broken branches, body made from shattered glass and molten stone.
The Harbinger of Eidra had arrived.
Its voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
> "You burn gods. You break thrones.
Yet you carry their scent."
Light narrowed his eyes. "What are you?"
> "The last silence before war."
---
The Mirror Duel
Sila stepped forward, defiant. "Don't let it speak! That thing doesn't lie—it rewrites truth."
Too late.
The Harbinger moved—faster than thought.
It touched the ground and the world folded inward. Trees blinked out. Rivers reversed. Even sound felt wrong.
Only Light could move.
The Harbinger whispered with his voice:
> "I am what you would become, if you chose power instead of mercy. I am Light, if Light never looked back."
Light summoned flame, but it felt distant, sluggish. He looked into the Harbinger's face as the cracked mask slid away—
And saw himself.
Older. Hollow. Eyes filled with burning galaxies. A version of him that didn't stop after Morrigan. That consumed every throne.
> "You're not real," Light muttered.
> "I'm more real than the mercy that slows your blade."
The duel began.
Fire met void. Every time Light struck, the Harbinger grew stronger—feeding off his own aggression, his own doubt.
Until Light stopped.
He opened his arms. Let the fire within burn not in rage—but in remembrance.
Memories of Mira's laugh. Barak's stubborn faith. Sila's silent courage.
The flame changed.
No longer wild. No longer inherited.
It became his.
And with that—he struck. One final blow. Pure flame through his reflection's heart.
The Harbinger cracked apart like a mirror dropped in slow motion.
As it dissolved, it whispered:
> "You win today, Flameborn. But Eidra watches.
You are not its enemy.
You are its invitation."
---
Aftermath
The storm above settled. Slowly. But it never fully cleared.
Barak limped to Light's side. "You good?"
"No," Light replied. "But I'm still me."
Mira helped Ilyra stand. The tattoos from the Tome were glowing gently now.
Sila watched the horizon. "The war didn't start yet."
Barak nodded. "That was just the messenger."
Kyle stared into the broken sky.
> "So what now?"
Light turned, his voice low and steady.
> "Now we prepare.
Because the War of Eidra has just begun."