Inside Natlan.
Citlali's home was in shambles — the result of Felix's less-than-gentle takeoff. Shards of glass glittered on the ground, flower bushes lay uprooted, and a few chairs had toppled over like casualties of war.
Frieda and Citlali were outside, one sweeping up broken glass, the other kneeling in the dirt, replanting the poor flowers back into the soil with sharp, annoyed motions.
A gust of wind kicked up as Felix descended, wings beating slowly to soften his landing. Orion sat astride his back, calm as ever, while Citlali stood there holding a jagged windowpane in her hands like she was about to use it as a weapon.
"YOU!" Citlali's voice cracked like a whip. "How dare you vanish in the middle of my explanation! Not only did you disrespect me—" she gestured wildly at the wreckage "—but you also turned my front yard into a disaster zone!"
She huffed and turned away, nose in the air.
"No respect for the elderly anymore…" she muttered under her breath.
Felix exhaled through his nose, a faint shadow of guilt flickering in his eyes. Orion slid off his back with quiet grace, boots landing softly on the dirt.
Frieda froze for only a second before her composure broke.
"Oh Archons… you're safe…" Her voice was shaky as she sprinted forward, nearly stumbling before she threw her arms around him.
Orion caught her easily, his arms wrapping around her shoulders with a firmness that spoke of relief on both sides.
"Didn't you say it before?," he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "We are soul bound."
Felix shifted awkwardly nearby, avoiding Citlali's glare while she started loudly muttering about "young people thinking they own the sky."
Citlali didn't waste a second. She marched straight up to Orion, hooked her fingers around his ear, and yanked.
"AND YOU, MISTER!" she barked, forcibly prying him away from Frieda. "Because you've been missing for three years! I had to babysit a dragon and your wife. Do you know how exhausting that is? Now, the least you can do is help us get your son back so I can kick you all out with peace of mind!"
"OW—hey! I—OW!" Orion yelped, shuffling after her like a scolded schoolboy. "Let go of my ear, woman!"
She didn't.
Frieda and Felix exchanged a glance before silently following them back inside, Felix doing his best not to laugh.
Once they were all in the house, Citlali released Orion and snatched up the lavender flower from earlier, holding it between two fingers like it might bite.
"As I was trying to say," she continued, shooting Orion a side-eye, "these flowers can drag you into the Abyss instantly and repel Abyssal beings when they glow. Handy, right? But if we want to bring back this young couple's man-child—" she jabbed the flower toward Orion for emphasis—"we'll also need a way out of the Abyss. Otherwise, congratulations, we're just adding more people to the 'lost forever' list."
She turned the flower slightly, letting the faint glow catch the light.
"Reminder: if you're not me, do not touch it. Unless, of course, you're desperate for an eternal vacation in the void."
Orion raised an eyebrow, frowning. "Wait… what's going on here?"
Inside Nyxhara.
The Training Realm.
An eternal silence stretched endlessly. No footsteps, no wind, no stir of life. Not even the breath of nothingness dared to move here.
In that hollow calm, the only sound was the drumbeat of a heart.
The rush of blood in his veins.
The rhythm of his breath — steady, unbroken.
And the faintest whispers of Cryo, threading around him like cold prayers.
Ignarion sat cross-legged in the lotus position, unmoving, as if carved from stone.
His crimson hair no longer shimmered with firelight — only lay still, obedient. His eyes remained shut, sight turned inward.
The red velvet jacket clung to his frame with the slow rise and fall of his chest. Simple azure bottoms and a violet sash tied at his waist softened his presence, radiating a quiet balance that contrasted with the weight of his aura.
The stillness did not weaken him.
It sharpened him.
Then—
A footstep.
The silence cracked.
Wrapped in red robes, he appeared.
Seraphyx stood tall, his presence carrying the quiet weight of fire barely leashed. Soft pink hair spilled down in gentle waves, but his eyes betrayed no gentleness—within them, the Pyro sigil burned like an eternal brand.
"Ignarion..." Seraphyx's voice cut through the still air, stern and sharp.
"You have been avoiding me lately."
Ignarion's closed eyes flickered open. His voice, calm but edged, followed:
"It is a mere figment of your imagination, brother."
He unfolded his legs, rising from the lotus position with measured grace.
"Calling me brother..." Seraphyx's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"It seems you are in a good mood."
Ignarion's frown deepened as he brushed the dust from his jacket.
"Why did you come here, Seraphyx? You can see clearly—I was in the middle of training. And you know full well my mood sours when I am disturbed."
Seraphyx did not flinch. He stepped closer, each stride steady, deliberate.
"In the last five years," he said, his tone heavy with restrained judgment,
"I have barely spoken with you. Kaelya has blossomed new life. I have given the lost a place to belong. Morven kept time itself steady. Yandelf kept space to her will."
The smirk tugged wider at his lips.
"But you, brother? You've been vacant enough... to train."
Ignarion exhaled slowly, as though the weight of the last five years pressed on his lungs.
"Please… all those tasks you listed were hardly necessary. The Seven Sovereigns could have steadied this place in an instant, the moment they breathed life here five years ago. Mother Rosen held them back—and you know it. Everything else… is training, no matter what name you dress it in."
Seraphyx tilted his head, the fire in his eyes dimming to an ember.
"That may be true. But unlike you, the rest of us did not have the luxury of slipping away to Tevyat, wandering in search of Frieda and Orion's son whenever we pleased."
Ignarion's gaze broke. He turned toward the platform's edge, staring out into the endless void where nothing stirred, nothing whispered back. His voice dropped, heavy with restrained guilt.
"So that is it… Are you asking me why I did not bring Frieda into Nyxhara when I found her?"
The silence between them stretched thin—until Seraphyx answered, a faint smile curving his lips.
"Yes, that is exactly it."
Ignarion's side-eye burned hotter than flame.
"I don't like how each of your seven forms plays with a different mask, Seraphyx. But you are right about one thing—Orion finally had a reason to sharpen himself. Frieda's absence became the blade that cut away his weakness. He has merged with his sword now… and his will has hardened."
Seraphyx chuckled low, the sound like crackling fire.
"And his strength? Nearly at the level of a god of Tevyat, though not yet an Emblem. But at this pace… another thousand years, and he could surpass even the Sovereigns themselves."
The smirk widened, sharp enough to wound.
"And so I wonder, brother… why does it sound as though you are afraid of that?"