Saint Merion did not hide behind towers, sermons, or illusions.
He walked the earth in plain sight.
Where others used divine might to dominate minds or reshape worlds, Merion wielded a single artifact—his blade, Solcaster, a sword said to burn brighter than the sun itself.
And now, the final Saint had issued a challenge.
A single message, carved into the sky by sunlight:
"ASH-BEARER. I WAIT AT THE CITADEL OF DAWN."
No trickery. No ambush.
Just honor.
And a promise of annihilation.
The Final Saint
Merion was unlike the others.
Voril had been a puppet with a stitched mouth. Elasha, a weaver of manipulated peace. But Merion…
He believed.
In justice.
In order.
In Lumiera.
He had no illusions about the price. He had burned cities himself, extinguished bloodlines in the name of balance. But he did not hate Callan.
He respected him.
And that was what made him terrifying.
Because Saint Merion would not hesitate.
He would not flinch.
And he would never stop until the world was "pure."
A Warning from the Past
Before the journey to the Citadel, an unexpected visitor arrived.
An old man, blind, dressed in the robes of the Old Flame.
He called himself Rien, and bore a scar shaped like the old sigil of Draeven across his chest.
"I served your father," he told Callan.
Callan frowned. "You served a monster."
Rien nodded. "We all did. Until the end."
He placed a sealed scroll in Callan's hand. It was brittle, ancient, burned at the edges.
"Draeven knew this day would come. He faced Merion once before."
Callan unrolled the scroll.
There were no battle plans.
Only a single line in blood:
"You cannot extinguish a sun. You must eclipse it."
The Journey to the Citadel
The road to the Citadel of Dawn cut through a scorched desert. It was said the sun never set there—not because of magic, but because Solcaster bent the sky to Merion's will.
Each mile closer, the air grew hotter.
Time slowed.
The sword at Callan's side pulsed like a heartbeat—slower, quieter than before.
Solenne offered protective enchantments. They failed within seconds.
Caedra summoned flame-spirits to shield them. They burned to ash.
Even the stars above refused to look down upon that land.
By the third night, Callan had to order Ren and the others to stop following.
"This fight is mine," he said.
And alone, he walked into the fire.
The Citadel of Dawn
It was not a castle.
It was a spear made of light, plunged into the heart of the desert. Its walls shimmered like mirages, its gates formed from captured rays of the morning star.
Saint Merion stood atop the highest parapet.
Golden armor. A cloak of living flame. Solcaster sheathed on his back.
He smiled when he saw Callan.
"Thank you for coming."
Callan stepped forward, the screaming sword on his hip humming softly.
"I didn't come for conversation."
Merion nodded, drawing the blade.
"Then let us speak in the oldest language."
They descended the stairs together.
And the sky split open.
Duel Under the Sun
There was no crowd.
No audience.
Just two warriors—and the remnants of a broken world.
Solcaster ignited as it left its sheath, its flame so bright it erased shadows. Every swing painted streaks of pure dawn across the battlefield.
Callan answered with contradiction—the screaming blade exhaled sorrow, history, darkness. He didn't try to match light with light.
He fought with weight.
Memories.
Mistakes.
Pain.
Each clash of steel cracked the air. The dunes melted into glass. The heavens themselves rumbled with each exchange.
Merion drove forward relentlessly. "You carry too much! The past weighs you down!"
Callan snarled back, "That weight is what makes me real!"
The Sun Falters
For all his brilliance, Merion began to slow.
His strikes still shone—but the scream of Callan's blade began to echo in his mind.
He saw the children he'd orphaned.
The cities he'd burned.
The prayers of the innocent he had silenced in the name of order.
He faltered—not in body, but in certainty.
And Callan pressed the advantage.
He didn't kill him.
He let Merion fall to his knees.
"I didn't come here to extinguish you," Callan said quietly. "Only to remind you that the sun doesn't shine on everyone."
Merion looked up, tears mixing with sweat.
And dropped Solcaster.
Collapse of the Saints
The fall of Merion was not just symbolic—it was a keystone.
With all three Saints gone, Lumiera's dominion cracked.
The Eye in the Sky pulsed erratically, no longer watching—but reacting.
Towers of Light began to collapse across continents, their magic unraveling without the Saints' faith to anchor them.
People awoke from years of silence.
Forgotten cities reappeared.
And the Goddess?
She finally spoke.
The Voice of Lumiera
Her voice was not thunder.
It was gentle.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
"You defy the design."
"You corrupt the song."
"Return the blade, or suffer uncreation."
Callan stood beneath the breaking sky.
He raised the sword high.
And screamed.
Not in rage.
But in memory.
And the world trembled.
What Comes Next
With the Saints gone, only one war remained.
Not against generals.
Not against armies.
But against the Architect herself.
Lumiera.
Callan turned to the horizon.
"I've burned my way through time, memory, and flame," he whispered.
"Now it's your turn, Goddess."
Behind him, the Forsaken gathered.
Solenne.
Caedra.
Seris.
Ren.
Others too—freed warriors, dreamwalkers, even former disciples of the Saints.
The world no longer needed balance.
It needed a reckoning.