The Herald didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
Didn't exist the way living things did.
It stood at the breach in the Sealed Sky, its voice unraveling meaning itself. One hand raised toward the intruders, another hidden behind its back—holding nothing, yet threatening everything.
Astha stood across from it, cloaked in the ash of shattered laws, his sword glowing with wrath and remembrance. Behind him, Luv pulsed with thunder, his silver armor sparking divine energy into the wind. Beside them, Naira whispered the Song of Origin, her blade humming with raw emotional gravity.
This wasn't a battle for survival.
This was reclamation.
---
The Herald stepped forward.
The ground didn't shake.
Reality did.
Every step it took caused the color to drain from the world—trees withered, stone faded, even the stars above flickered in grayscale.
It opened a palm, revealing an eye—one not bound by shape or species. A pure concept. The Eye of Null.
"You broke the laws," it said.
"So I will undo the pages of your existence."
Astha's grip on Ashvaanta tightened.
"Then let's see if your void can erase what refuses to be forgotten."
---
The first strike came not from blade—but from will.
The Herald whispered, and space folded in upon itself. A thousand collapsing timelines surged at Astha like rivers. Ashvaanta burned white. Smritidhaara coiled like a whip of memory and flame, latching onto the false time-streams.
Astha spun, cutting reality itself with Ashvaanta. The storm of timelines unraveled, revealing the Herald's core.
"You exist to enforce silence," Astha growled.
"But I've become the scream that remembers."
He lunged.
Ashvaanta struck true.
But the blade… passed through the Herald's chest.
Not because it missed.
Because there was nothing there.
---
Luv's Wrath
"Move!"
Luv darted in—his body now a channel of storms. His arms outstretched, lightning spinning in concentric rings around his shoulders. A new technique—Vajra Shankhala—formed mid-air, locking the Herald in a cage of thunder.
"Feel this," Luv muttered.
"Feel the power your gods refused to claim."
He brought both fists down.
A crater of light formed.
The Herald shimmered—but cracks appeared across its torso.
It began rebuilding instantly.
"Not enough," Naira said.
---
Naira closed her eyes.
The Blade of Compassion pulsed once, then split into two—revealing its sealed form: the Scream of the First Deva.
"Mother said this blade remembers more than pain," she whispered.
"It remembers justice."
She leapt.
Her voice surged into the weapon.
The sound cut through the Herald's rebuilding form—each note unraveling one of its conceptual limbs. For the first time…
…the Herald screamed.
Not in pain.
In recognition.
"You carry the scream of the First One," it hissed.
"You should not exist."
"Neither should you," Naira spat.
---
But the Herald began to split.
Seven fragments broke free—each representing a different primal fear: oblivion, silence, extinction, amnesia, collapse, disconnection, and erasure.
They moved toward each warrior.
Astha stood before amnesia—his brother's face flickering inside it.
He froze.
But then… Smritidhaara burned brighter. The memories of the forgotten people—their joy, their lives, their last screams—poured into Astha's chest.
"I won't forget them," he whispered.
"Even if it kills me."
Ashvaanta flared with anti-conceptual fire, a gift from the blade's true form.
He plunged it into the Herald's core—
And spoke three words that echoed across creation:
"You are broken."
---
The Herald cracked.
Not its body.
Its purpose.
Its eye shattered.
Its limbs folded back.
Its maskless face, once empty, now showed a shimmer of fear.
"You are the flame," it whispered to Astha.
"The one even gods will dread."
Then it turned to ash—not erasure, but true death.
The Final Seal fell apart.
Above, the sky opened—not into stars, but into other skies.
Other realms.
Other pantheons.
They were watching.
---
The Aftermath:
Swarnalok trembled.
The citadel cracked.
The Council of Radiance disbanded in silence—each of its remaining members vanishing into exile.
The Divine Laws had fallen.
And three figures now stood at the heart of the fallen world:
Astha, the Flame of Remembrance.
Luv, the Storm of Broken Thrones.
Naira, the Echo of the First Song.
They weren't gods.
Not yet.
But the gods had begun to fear them.