It lay buried beneath a sea of stars—his blade.
Not a weapon, but a legacy. Forged in silence, tempered in sovereign fire, it had once cleaved through the heavens to rewrite the laws of battle. When Zeirion fell, it sealed itself within the Celestial Abyss, awaiting only his return.
Now he stood before it again.
A great sphere of shattered gravity hovered in the void. Inside, a single sword pulsed like a sleeping heart.
Zeirion stepped forward.
The space bent, folding with every breath he took.
He reached out.
The void screamed.
The blade—black with streaks of crimson light, named Eclipsion—awakened.
It flew to his hand like a lover to its home.
The stars around them dimmed in reverence. Even Aralya bowed her head.
Zeirion raised it.
A tremor passed through the realms. War gods fled temples. Demons choked on their own fire. And somewhere, a child dreaming of glory wept without knowing why.
The Sovereign of All had reclaimed his blade.
And with it, the storm would come.