A blinding white light pierced the darkness.
Ryoken's eyes fluttered open.
The sounds of beeping machines and muffled voices filled his ears.
He was no longer standing amid kingdoms or wielding the Nebula Blade. Instead, he was lying in a sterile hospital room — tubes connected to his arms, monitors flashing vital signs.
A gentle hand touched his forehead. "Ryoken… you're awake."
His mother's worried face came into view, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The memories of battles, alliances, and power flooded back — but they felt distant, like echoes from a dream.
Had it all been real?
The truth settled heavy on his chest — the world of divine light, the magic cube, even Ishito, the blade of nebula… all creations of his own mind, a magnificent fantasy born from the silence of his coma.
But as the beeping steadied, Ryoken found strength rising within him — not from magic or gods, but from his own will to live, to fight the real battles ahead.
He squeezed his mother's hand weakly. "I'm here. And I'm not giving up."
Outside, the real world waited — imperfect, raw, and all his to reclaim.