"The gods wrote the first song.The kings wrote the laws.Now the last song will be written in silence… and ash."—Inscription upon the Gate of Final Verse
The Realms wept.
Skies bled script. Oceans sang backwards. Cities—once eternal—crumbled into spiral towers of dust.
In the wake of Lucien Vaelthorn's ascension, the Worldsong fractured.
Reality had rules once. But the Crown of the Hollow Realms unbound them.
From the tip of his blade to the rhythm of his breath, Lucien was sovereign now.
No code. No fate. No truth beyond what he willed.
And that was exactly why the Sovereign Choir declared war.
Location: The Veinless March, Outer Layer of Final Verse
An army of relics surged across a field made of collapsed language—beasts of forgotten prophecies, soulforged sentinels, chorus-knights whose weapons screamed in tones that unmade thought.
Lucien stood alone.
The Crown pulsed on his head—each beat synchronizing with the fabric of the realm.
Behind him, portals opened. Not from magic. Not from system.
But from memory.
Out of the Hollow Gate stepped allies shaped by echoes and belief.
Aetherin, the Blade-Monk, built from a single moment of mercy.
Kail Sereth, his former rival, now wearing armor stitched from consequence.
Sovael, the Echoflame Warden, reborn from the death of a star.
And behind them: thousands of Exiled Names—fragments of souls that Lucien had touched, saved, or refused to forget.
He raised his voice.
"We write the final verse," he said."Not them."
The void howled in reply.
The First Movement began.
War had no drums here—only tone.
The Sovereign Choir descended not with ships or beasts, but songs.
Each verse they sang shattered terrain, erased laws, rewrote physics.
Lucien countered with Null Stanzas—waves of hollow force that denied all structure. Magic refused to exist inside his radius. Even time staggered when he struck.
His sword, Veyrion, now bound to the completed Crown, could bend distance. One step, and he cut through miles.
He faced four Choir Generals in the first wave. Two fell before they even struck.
But the third—Kravos of the Ninth Tone—sang in pure causality. Lucien's Null barely held.
Kravos slashed the air.
And where the sound landed—entire swaths of memory died.
Lucien bled.
The system screamed.
[Soulframe: 38% Integrity][Null Core Fatigue Reached – Degradation Incoming]
Lucien clenched his fists.
"I don't need the system anymore."
And it shut off.
He walked forward, even as Kravos shattered the sky.
One strike.
Clean.
And Kravos dissolved—reduced to a single note, which Lucien pocketed.
"The Choir must be silenced."
Meanwhile, above the battlefield, in the Citadel of Versefall, Lyrenna stood before the final gate.
"We should have killed him when he was human," hissed Vaskharel.
"We tried," she replied. "But Lucien isn't human anymore."
The True Chanter descended—a spiral of harmonic flame wearing a crown of ancient notes.
"The war ends in three movements," it said."First: Resistance. Second: Collapse. Third…"
It looked at Lyrenna.
"Redemption or Ruin."
Back on the front lines, the battlefield shifted.
Lucien now walked through erased spaces—zones where the Choir had rewritten history. He saw a city he had never been to, but which remembered him as emperor. Statues bore his face. Ash children cried out, reaching for him.
"We died for your peace," they whispered.
Lucien didn't respond.
He couldn't afford to.
This was their trap—weaponized guilt, bent memory, harmonic recursion.
He tore the space open with Null Edge and walked through.
At the center, the Choir had prepared their final weapon.
A prison.
A child.
Bound in golden runes.
Lucien stopped.
It was… him.
A younger version, bound by laws he had not yet broken. Innocent. Hopeful.
The Choir spoke through the child.
"Undo the crown. Rewrite the sin. You may live again."
Lucien walked forward slowly.
Kneeling, he touched the child's cheek.
"No," he whispered."I earned this crown. I chose the ash."
And with that—
He destroyed his past.
The cage shattered.
The Choir screamed.
Elsewhere, the Sovereign Domain began to collapse.
The song they had written across worlds—the control, the prophecy, the divine path—fractured.
The War of the Unwritten Song reached its second movement:
Collapse.
Lucien stood atop the broken body of Versefall's highest spire, the Crown blazing with fireless light.
He raised Veyrion one last time.
The Choir's final forces closed in—shapeless titans of chord and law, desperate to keep their world alive.
Lucien spoke.
"This is not the end of the world.Just the end of the lie."