The Purifiers broke.
First in their eyes.
Then in their hearts.
And finally, in their ranks.
The moment their Commander fell,
the certainty that fueled their endless hatred crumbled into dust.
Their weapons dropped, clattering against the scorched stone.
Their corrupted Systems, once bloated with stolen strength,
flickered and failed, collapsing under the weight of their own despair.
Some fled into the broken wilderness,
others fell to their knees,
hands raised in surrender.
The Purifier army —
the last bastion of the old world's cruelty —
died not with a roar.
But with a whimper.
Across the battlefield,
the Children of the Abyss stood victorious.
But there were no cheers.
No gloating.
Only quiet, solemn relief.
Because they knew:
They had not won to conquer.
They had won to free.
Arin Veyla, bloodstained but unbroken,
lowered her Blade of Dawn and Dusk.
The light around her pulsed gently,
reflecting off the stitched flags that now fluttered freely in the clear morning air.
She looked out across the battlefield.
At her people.
At her future.
At the legacy she now carried.
And she whispered, voice trembling with pride:
"We kept your dream alive, Kai."
The ashes of the old world —
of tyranny, cruelty, and hollow heroism —
drifted into the rising sun.
They were not forgotten.
But they were no longer chains.
They were lessons,
etched into the bones of the earth,
so that the new world could be stronger.
Across the lands once ruled by fear:
Cities rebuilt with open gates instead of walls.
Systems were no longer judged by strength alone, but by the spirit of their bearers.
Children once abandoned were raised as equals, their dreams protected like sacred treasures.
The world healed.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But truly.
And throughout it all —
whenever a new child laughed,
whenever a broken soul found a home,
whenever someone chose hope over hate —
the wind seemed to carry a name:
"Kai Arashi."
Above it all, unseen by mortal eyes,
in the space between what was and what could be,
a silver-eyed figure stood silently.
Watching.
Smiling.
Waiting.
The Abyss was no longer a place of fear.
It had become something new:
A sanctuary for dreams.
A cradle for freedom.
A symbol that even in brokenness, there was beauty.
The old world was gone.
The new one had begun.
And its heartbeat echoed with the spirit of the boy who once defied gods —
not to rule.
But to set the world free.