One month passed.
Within the simulation chambers scattered across the Dragoon stronghold, the sounds of war echoed daily. Divine strikes clashed with projected monstrosities. Spectral Alter clones fell and rose again. The Dragoons trained in solitude and shadow, refining power that once threatened to shatter the world itself.
But outside those sacred halls, the world stirred.
One headline swept across the continents like wildfire:
"A Hero of Light Appears in Seraveth! Divine Aura Verified!"
The claim spread like a ripple through oceans of power. Across the northern realms of Velhast, through the floating isles of Kaelarien, and deep into the ancient dominion of Drakareth, the news reached every court, guild, and sanctum.
When the report reached Alter, he sat upon the central command terrace of the training sanctum, wind stirring the crimson banner of the Dragoons behind him.
He read the scribe's report twice.
Then once more.
He didn't speak at first.
Not until Soryn stepped into view, calm as ever.
"A Hero of Light," Alter finally murmured.
Soryn raised an eyebrow. "That caught your interest."
"No…" Alter said, eyes narrowing slightly. "It gave me a bad feeling."
He closed the scroll, slowly.
"I don't know why," he said, looking out across the horizon, "but something about it feels wrong."
Soryn studied him in silence.
"…Should I go?"
Alter turned to him, then nodded. "Yes. Go as my envoy. See what this 'hero' is. Confirm it."
Soryn smiled faintly. "Got it."
Later that evening, Soryn stood in the golden chamber of the royal palace before the King and Queen of Drakareth. The walls shimmered with draconic sigils. Princess Alyxthia and Prince Ryvar sat nearby, the air tense with curiosity.
"I bring this request directly from Lord Alter," Soryn began. "He senses something amiss with this news from Seraveth."
He bowed slightly. "I will go in his stead—to observe this Hero of Light and judge the truth of their emergence."
Alyxthia immediately sat up. "Then I'll go with you!"
The Queen's sapphire eyes turned sharp as steel. "You will not."
Alyxthia flinched under her gaze, but crossed her arms defiantly.
King Vael'Zarion sighed, resting his chin on one hand before speaking.
"Soryn. You are granted permission. The 6th Division will accompany you, led by Captain Draven."
He glanced toward his daughter.
"And no one else."
Alyxthia pouted—but her eyes narrowed behind her long lashes. Her mind… was already scheming.
The next morning, Captain Draven Stryvalis approached Soryn in the fortress courtyard.
"Everything is prepared. Carriages. Supplies. Map routes. Even gifts if diplomacy is needed."
"Well done," Soryn replied.
As they walked toward the obsidian-plated convoy waiting by the gates, Soryn reached into his dimensional storage and produced a long, cloth-wrapped object.
Draven raised an eyebrow as Soryn unwrapped it with reverence.
Inside gleamed a divine spear, the shaft etched with silver dragon scales, its head forged from tempered starlight steel, glowing softly at the edges. The balance of its design was flawless.
"Lord Alter forged this," Soryn said, offering it forward. "He made it for you."
Draven's eyes widened.
"…For me?"
Soryn nodded. "You've done more than serve. You've stood beside him without question. He wanted this to honor your loyalty."
Draven hesitated. His hand hovered over the weapon, then pulled back.
"I can't—this is…"
"You can," Soryn said firmly. "And you will. Take it."
After a long pause, Draven finally accepted the spear.
The moment his fingers wrapped around it, a subtle pulse traveled through the air—sync achieved. The weapon vibrated once and went still.
Draven tested the weight. "...Perfect. Every inch."
He gave it a single spin, and the air sang with its arc.
"Tell him…" Draven said, quietly, "thank you."
Suddenly, a loud THUMP echoed from one of the luggage crates at the rear of the convoy.
Both men froze.
Another thump. Then a groan.
Then—BOOM.
The lid exploded upward, landing ten feet away.
Out from the cloud of travel blankets and rune-sealed supplies rose a familiar head of silver-blonde hair.
Princess Alyxthia, cheeks puffed in indignation, climbed out and dusted off her cloak.
"I told you I was coming," she said proudly.
Soryn blinked.
Draven blinked harder.
"…What in the divine hells are you doing here?" Draven barked, stunned.
Alyxthia smiled sweetly. "I snuck in. I brought my own provisions. Oh—and some enchanted snacks. Also, I packed a spare tiara."
"You smuggled yourself in with rations?" Soryn asked flatly.
"I upgraded the crate myself," she said matter-of-factly. "Insulated and everything."
Draven looked like he aged ten years on the spot.
"The Queen is going to turn to stone when she hears this."
"She won't," Alyxthia said smugly. "Because I already left a note."
"…I fear no demon," Draven muttered. "But I fear her."
Soryn sighed, rubbing his temples. "Well, we can't exactly ship her back now. If we wait any longer, the hero will start drawing factions."
Draven growled low. "This was supposed to be a quiet envoy mission."
"Now it's a diplomatic incident in the making," Soryn said.
Alyxthia twirled and climbed into the lead carriage with all the grace of a royal ghost.
"Onward to Celestia!" she sang.
Soryn exchanged a look with Draven.
"…Let's just hope this Hero of Light isn't the problem we think they are," he said.
Draven grunted.
"Or worse," Soryn added, boarding the carriage.
"…someone Alter already knows."
The port town of Silverhollow, resting on the southern edge of Seraveth, was quiet under the lull of evening tides. Lanterns flickered gently along the cobblestone streets, their golden glow reflecting over the sea like threads of starlight dancing atop midnight silk.
It had been a week since the envoy had departed from Drakareth.
And now—at last—they stood on the shores of a new continent.
The 6th Division had dispersed for the evening, stationed respectfully at various watchpoints around the town. Their journey had been long but uneventful—no demon sightings, no unexpected threats. Yet tension lingered in the air… because the Hero of Light loomed just ahead.
Celestia, the capital of Seraveth, awaited them inland. But for tonight, they rested.
Soryn sat at a round table in the courtyard of the Azure Petal Inn, beneath the branches of a willow tree that rustled softly in the breeze. Draven had just left after an hour-long discussion, going to check on the soldiers and finalize the supplies for the mountain pass.
Now, the table was quiet.
Soryn leaned back in his chair, the silver lining of his royal-trimmed cloak catching the lantern glow. His long hair, still tied in its usual high tail, moved slightly with the breeze. A half-empty cup of tea sat untouched beside him.
He sensed her approach before he heard her.
Barefoot steps, light—deliberate.
A rustle of silken fabric brushing against the inn's stone corridor.
Then her voice, soft and teasing, floated through the air.
"You always drink half your tea and leave the rest."
Soryn didn't turn, but a faint smile touched the corner of his lips.
"Because that's the most reflective part," he replied. "The second half is for thinking, not drinking."
Princess Alyxthia stepped into view, barefoot on the stone patio, wrapped in a soft royal-blue night shawl over a lighter silk gown embroidered with tiny dragon motifs. Her silver-blonde hair was down, long and unbound, catching the moonlight like drifting frost.
She sat across from him without asking.
"I see you're still the poetic one," she said, tucking a knee to her chest.
"And you're still the rebellious one," he replied smoothly. "Smuggling yourself into the envoy mission? Creative. Not exactly subtle."
She grinned. "I got here, didn't I?"
Soryn arched a brow. "At the cost of my heart rate and Draven's sanity."
She laughed quietly, resting her chin on her knee. For a moment, there was no command, no title, no royal burden—just a girl and a warrior under the willow.
"…Are you nervous?" she asked, voice softer now. "About this Hero of Light?"
He exhaled. "Nervous… no. Wary, yes. The world never announces heroes without consequence. Especially not ones who bear 'Light.'"
Alyxthia tilted her head. "Do you think it's someone dangerous?"
"Possibly. Or someone meant to appear harmless until it's too late."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes reflecting the moon's glow.
"But Alter's instincts don't lie. If he felt dread when he heard the name... then this hero isn't what they seem."
She was quiet for a while.
Then she spoke again, her voice more thoughtful this time.
"You speak like you've seen too much for someone who doesn't age."
Soryn gave her a side glance, lips quirking. "That's because I have seen too much. Just compacted into shorter years."
Alyxthia leaned her cheek against her arms.
"…I'm glad I came."
He blinked. "Are you?"
She nodded slowly. "Everyone sees you as a noble now. A prince of the forge, a war-brother to Alter. But I remember when you first arrived. Unsmiling. Sharp as a blade… just as alone."
Soryn's fingers twitched near his teacup.
"I'm not alone now," he said, voice quieter.
"No," she replied gently. "You're not."
They sat like that for a while. No more words. The wind whispered between the willow branches. Somewhere in the distance, ocean waves lapped the harbor wall.
Then—
She stood, brushing off her shawl.
"Good night, Soryn."
He looked up, meeting her gaze.
"Good night, Alyxthia."
She turned to leave… but paused.
Then, glancing over her shoulder with a playful smile, she added:
"Next time, finish your tea. Before it gets cold."
And with that, she disappeared into the inn, leaving the moon, the wind, and Soryn alone with the still-warm cup.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then—finally—he picked it up.
And drank the second half.
The grand gates of Celestia, the capital jewel of Seraveth, unfolded like the petals of a divine bloom. Towering white walls shimmered with woven arcana, and wind-touched crystal bridges sparkled above as if the skies themselves bent to crown the city.
The streets were alive with movement and anticipation. Rumors of the Hero of Light had ignited a wildfire of curiosity, and every noble, merchant, and guard carried a tension beneath their smiles. Celestia stood not as a city—but as a stage.
And into this stage marched the envoy from Drakareth.
Draven led the front, stoic and watchful. The 6th Division followed in perfect formation, spears glinting under the sun. Behind them, the royal envoy carriage rolled forward, bearing Soryn and Princess Alyxthia—two of the most unpredictable components in this diplomatic powder keg.
Inside the carriage, Alyxthia pressed her nose to the window like an overly curious cat.
"This city is radiant! Look at those glyph-run canals! That's a phoenix garden, isn't it? Oh! Can we visit the celestial bazaar—"
"No," Soryn said, not glancing up from his briefing.
Alyxthia slowly turned. "I didn't even finish the sentence."
"You never do," Soryn replied flatly. "And no, we can't. Not yet."
"We're not here to enjoy the view," Draven added from outside the window. "We're here to meet a supposed hero. One step out of line and this all goes to chaos."
Alyxthia flopped back dramatically. "You two are so dry."
As they passed into the central avenue, their convoy rolled past a sleek blackstone estate with silver etchings—bearing the sigil of a crescent wrapped around a dawnstar.
The Mythral Dawn Headquarters.
Soryn's eyes flicked to it, and a smirk curled onto his lips.
He exhaled through his nose, muttering just loud enough for the carriage walls to catch it.
"…Maybe we execute Operation: Sweep Selene Off Her Feet and Send Her to High Heavens early."
A pause.
Then a blink from Alyxthia. "...What?"
Draven—riding alongside—glanced over. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"
Soryn cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. "You misheard."
"No, no," Alyxthia said quickly, leaning in with a devilish grin. "That was definitely a full operation name. Something about Selene and sweeping and skywards?"
Soryn didn't answer.
She narrowed her eyes. "You're targeting someone. A woman."
Draven stared. "Selene… you mean Selene Virellia? Commander of the Mythral Dawn?"
Soryn turned to gaze casually out the window. "Strong. Tactical. Exceptionally focused. Dangerous. Seems like a decent test case for… shared resource alignment."
"You're trying to flirt via tactical infiltration," Alyxthia gasped.
Soryn didn't blink. "Every plan requires a controlled environment."
"I knew you had no social life," she laughed.
Draven was silent for a long moment before muttering, "...Alter's shadow indeed."
The carriage continued, rolling past arcane towers and magical parks where floating islands slowly turned in elegant orbit above reflecting pools.
The closer they got to the palace, the thicker the air grew with divine pressure—faint but unmistakable.
The Hero of Light was here.
And yet, for a flicker of a moment, Soryn's gaze drifted again toward the Mythral Dawn estate—where Selene Virellia, Sword Commander of Seraveth, was likely already watching the newcomers.
Soon, he thought.
Operation: Sweep Selene Off Her Feet and Send Her to High Heavens was no longer a theory.
It was being scheduled.
And executed with tactical precision.
The Celestial Palace stood like a beacon of divine authority, its towers cutting into the sky like blades of sanctified marble. Magic hummed through the very stones, and the outer gardens bloomed with radiant flora that pulsed softly with mana, as though alive with purpose.
Within its grand atrium, beneath a crystalline dome that refracted sunlight into arcs of color across the marble floor, the Drakareth Envoy was received.
At the forefront stood Soryn Vael'Zarion, composed, unreadable. Behind him, Captain Draven Stryvalis stood with practiced ease, his new divine spear secured at his back—unobtrusive, but unmistakable. And to the side, regal and curious, stood Princess Alyxthia, her silver-blonde hair bound in a royal twist, her eyes taking in every sacred line of the chamber.
Before them sat the High Council of Seraveth, a semi-circular array of marble thrones and enchanted elevation runes, each seat marked by rank and aura.
Archon Ilserae, at the center, her presence serene and ancient, dressed in flamewhite silk that shimmered like morning light on snow.
Chancellor Vaelorin, in deep blue regalia, silver cuffs embossed with judgment glyphs.
Lady Calessia, representative of the Veiled Temple, her expression a calm mirror—piercing, even in silence.
And Magister Arren Volane, younger, sharper, and clearly unimpressed, lounging in his seat as if the whole affair was beneath his intellect.
A scribe completed the formal introductions, and Ilserae spoke with the weight of authority and grace.
"Envoys of Drakareth. We welcome your presence in our capital. May this dialogue bring clarity, and not contention."
Soryn inclined his head with perfect precision. "We come in good faith. But not without concern."
That last word tightened the air just enough to be noticed.
Chancellor Vaelorin raised an eyebrow. "Concern, you say? From a distant continent known for dragons and isolation?"
"From a kingdom that values balance," Soryn replied calmly. "We've been made aware of a sudden appearance—one bearing divine affinity, labeled already as a Hero of Light. With no prior lineage, no divine heralds, and no precedent."
Lady Calessia's eyes did not blink. "Your point?"
Soryn's voice was even. "We seek truth, not accusation. Our intent is observation. Nothing more."
Princess Alyxthia stepped forward gently, her tone respectful but firm. "When miracles appear unannounced, empires rise—or fall—in their shadow. You understand why such a figure would draw scrutiny."
Magister Arren made a dismissive gesture. "He's a hero. He's done nothing but repel bandit hordes and seal two cursed relic sites. Shall we bring every continent's paranoia to our doorstep for every talented prodigy?"
Ilserae raised a hand. "Enough."
She gestured to the far end of the chamber.
"Then see for yourselves."
The main doors opened with a harmonious tone, magic responding like a choir's first breath.
A young man entered, no older than his mid-twenties. He was dressed in robes of pristine white, gold trim lining each fold. A faint glow clung to his skin—not aggressive, not blinding. A sword floated behind him, sheathed in crystalline light, its aura constant and gentle.
He walked with a steady calm, his eyes bright, his posture effortless.
"I am Lucian Valeir," he said with a bow. "Chosen of Lumiel, bearer of the Aspect of Light."
The room remained silent.
Draven's stance didn't change, but his hand lightly drifted closer to his side. His brow furrowed.
Alyxthia tilted her head, one finger resting just beneath her chin. "He doesn't look dangerous…"
Soryn, however, stared with quiet intensity.
Not at Lucian's face.
Not at his aura.
But at the way the light bent around him.
Too uniform. Too consistent.
Real, yes—but too curated.
Lucian straightened and looked directly at Soryn.
"It is an honor to meet the envoys from Drakareth. Your journey was long, and I hope your stay will be peaceful."
Soryn's golden eyes didn't blink.
"May the light you walk with… cast no shadows."
Lucian's smile didn't falter.
"And may your shadows not fear the light."
Alyxthia blinked between them.
Draven exhaled slowly.
From the high platform, Ilserae's gaze narrowed ever so slightly.
There was diplomacy.
There was civility.
But beneath the words… the first cracks of something deeper had already begun to form.
The council chamber's tension had only just begun to settle when a new ripple spread through the chamber.
The grand side doors opened with solemn grace, and in stepped the Commanders of the Mythral Dawn—twelve in total, each cloaked in flowing battle mantles marked with the crescent-dawn sigil of their order. Their steps were silent, but their presence could not be ignored.
Among them:
Selene Virellia, the Vanguard Commander, her silver armor immaculate, her posture poised like a blade ready to move.
Darius Coalbrand, Shield Commander, built like a fortress with eyes like stormclouds.
Revyn Mistclaw, whose hooded eyes missed no detail in the room.
Mira Snowveil, the Frostweaver, expression calm, aura chilling.
Thorne Ironstride, silent, stone-faced, but carrying the weight of battlefield experience in every step.
And others followed, one by one—a chorus of leadership carved by war and tempered by loyalty.
They bowed briefly toward the council dais.
Archon Ilserae raised her voice once more. "We summon the Mythral Dawn to bear witness to this development. The Hero of Light brings forth new revelation."
Lucian Valeir stepped forward.
"A revelation… of treasure lost to time. A site only the divine eye could detect," he began.
He turned to face the room, eyes aglow.
"Wyrmgate Hollow—once thought a collapsed ruin, now proven to house a sealed chamber of ancient origin. Within lies a vault imbued with draconic resonance, filled with relics predating even the Age of Division."
Murmurs broke out across the chamber.
Selene's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The information was acquired through visions bestowed upon me during my last divine communion," Lucian continued. "I have already received confirmation from the palace augurs. Their scrying aligns with my vision."
Chancellor Vaelorin nodded slowly. "A joint expedition, then."
Magister Arren's lips twitched. "Mythral Dawn and the royal army combined. How grand."
Ilserae turned toward the assembled Mythral Dawn Commanders.
"You will form the core of this operation. Proceed to Wyrmgate Hollow at first light tomorrow. Secure the relics. Record all findings. Treat the site as sacred."
Then—
A voice, calm and low, cut through the chamber.
"I would join the expedition."
Every head turned.
Soryn stood with hands behind his back, golden eyes calm but unwavering.
Even Alyxthia blinked.
The council paused. Selene looked toward him, unreadable. Several commanders exchanged glances.
Draven took half a step forward. "Soryn—"
"No," Soryn said gently, still facing the council. "Only I will go."
Alyxthia opened her mouth. "But I—"
"You will remain," Soryn said, glancing back at her. "This is not sightseeing. It's not safe."
"I never get to go anywhere," she muttered under her breath.
Draven protested, stepping close. "Let me come with you."
Soryn turned his head ever so slightly, whispering low enough only Draven could hear.
"You need to stay and protect her."
Draven's jaw tightened. "She has guards—"
"She needs you," Soryn said. "The ones watching her aren't enough. Not for this city. Not with the light glowing so bright it blinds."
Draven hesitated. Then slowly… he nodded.
"I'll keep her safe."
"Good."
The council seemed hesitant—until Lucian raised a hand and smiled with divine calm.
"I see no issue," he said. "If the envoy of Drakareth wishes to bear witness, I welcome him among us."
Ilserae regarded Lucian, then Soryn.
"…Very well. Soryn Vael'Zarion, you are approved for this expedition."
The meeting closed soon after, the tension retreating like the tide—but unease remained in the wake.
As the crowd dispersed, the envoys were met by a courteous invitation:
"The Mythral Dawn welcomes the Drakareth delegation to stay within our estate."
Soryn bowed faintly in acceptance.
That evening, under a silver-lit sky, the envoy carriages rolled into the gated halls of the Mythral Dawn Estate, its obsidian walls glowing with soft blue sigils. The inner courtyard buzzed with activity—scouts, commanders, tacticians moving with quiet purpose.
While Alyxthia and Draven were escorted to their private quarters, Soryn walked through the side corridor of the estate's upper wing, his steps slow… deliberate.
He stopped at a balcony overlooking the garden training field.
A man stood there already—tall, robed in dark martial cloth, arms crossed behind his back, silver hair stirring faintly in the breeze.
Takayoshi.
The moment hung in silence.
Soryn stepped up beside him.
"Been a while," he said.
Takayoshi didn't turn.
"I heard a whisper that a storm was walking into the city," he said quietly. "Didn't expect it to wear a Drakareth crest."
Soryn smirked. "Didn't expect to find the Blade of Twelve playing politics in the holy capital."
Takayoshi turned then, faint amusement in his eyes.
"And yet, here we are."
The two stood in silence.
Then Soryn spoke again, lower this time.
"There's something off about this… hero."
Takayoshi nodded. "I know."
Soryn's gaze sharpened. "I'm going with them tomorrow. I'll find out what this 'Wyrmgate Hollow' really holds."
Takayoshi didn't stop him.
Instead, he folded his arms again and spoke with quiet conviction.
"If you fall… I'll know something's truly wrong."
Soryn's smirk faded.
"So don't."
The training grounds of the Mythral Dawn estate lay bathed in moonlight, quiet but alive with subtle energy. The silver glow reflected off the obsidian tiles and wind-brushed banners, creating a dance of shadows across the arena.
At this hour, the grounds should have been empty.
But Selene Virellia was still there—sword in hand, cloak tied at her waist, her movements precise and sharp as she danced through a silent kata. Her silver armor glinted like starlight in motion. Sweat trailed along her brow, her breath even, her presence unwavering.
She was a warrior sculpted by discipline, unshaken by fatigue or hour.
Which made her even more captivating to the man now watching her from the outer arch.
Soryn stood with arms behind his back, golden eyes flickering in the pale glow, the faintest smirk playing at the edge of his lips.
He stepped forward, his boots making no sound.
"Still training at this hour?" he said, voice smooth and quiet.
Selene stopped mid-motion, blade tilted down. Her body didn't move—only her eyes turned, fixing on him.
Her guard was up instantly.
"You walk too softly," she said. "I almost thought you were an assassin."
Soryn raised a brow. "If I were, I'd be unconscious by now."
Selene's expression remained unreadable, but she didn't lower her blade.
"…What do you want?"
"Conversation," he replied easily, stepping into the ring but keeping a respectful distance. "And a second look at a woman who keeps haunting my thoughts."
That earned him a twitch of the brow.
"I see," she said flatly.
Soryn tilted his head. "Don't worry, I'm not here to flirt. Not yet."
"Then say what you came to say."
He watched her for a moment longer. Her stance never faltered. Even in the moonlight, even after a full day of high council formalities, Selene radiated focus. Strength. Command.
A woman carved from the battlefield.
"I wanted to know your thoughts," he said. "About this… Hero of Light."
Selene narrowed her eyes.
"You trust him?"
Soryn's smile vanished. "No."
Selene sheathed her sword slowly, turning to face him more fully. Her arms folded, posture casual but alert.
"I don't either," she said. "There's something about him that doesn't fit. His presence is too polished. His aura… too synchronized. There are no fluctuations, no shifts. Real light breathes. He doesn't."
Soryn nodded. "Exactly what I thought."
For a moment, the two stood in agreement, the silence between them no longer tense—but measured. Her eyes still watched him, calculating.
Then—without a word—Soryn took a step forward.
And another.
Selene straightened.
"What are you doing?"
He stopped two paces away—close enough to feel the strength in her posture, the steadiness of her breath.
Then, in one smooth motion, he raised his right hand, extending it toward her with absolute clarity.
Golden threads of moonlight wrapped around his outstretched palm.
His expression was calm. Serious.
And then—
"Selene Virellia…" he said softly, locking eyes with her.
"Will you marry me… and be my eternal wife?"
Silence.
The world stilled.
Even the breeze stopped moving.
Selene blinked once.
Twice.
Her eyes narrowed, uncertain if she had just hallucinated.
"…What?"
From the shadows atop the outer roof, Takayoshi stood watching, a moonlit tea cup halfway to his lips.
He froze.
A leaf fell from the tree beside him.
Takayoshi did not move.
"He actually did it," he thought. "He activated the damn operation."
Selene was still frozen.
"You're serious?" she asked, voice low, every syllable laced with steel.
"I don't do empty gestures," Soryn replied, expression unwavering. "I've analyzed twelve strategic outcomes, seven personality archetypes, and one undeniable truth."
He stepped forward again, closing the space.
"You are everything I value. Strength. Clarity. Fire. I'm not asking for now. I'm asking for forever."
Selene opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then finally said:
"…What the hell is wrong with you?"
Soryn didn't blink. "It's a long list. You'll have time to read it—after you say yes."
The silence cracked.
And then—
"…You're insane."
"Only for you."
From the rooftop, Takayoshi sighed and sipped his tea.
"Operation: Sweep Selene Off Her Feet and Send Her to the High Heavens… has officially begun."
The moon still hovered high when silence cracked like glass across the Mythral Dawn training field.
Selene Virellia stood frozen—her sword half-raised, her composure shattered.
Her face, usually calm as a polished blade, had turned… pink.
Her eyes locked with Soryn's, flickering not with fury—but something more volatile. A mix of disbelief, embarrassment, and the horrifying realization that someone had breached the fortress.
Soryn, hand still extended, tilted his head with the faintest grin.
"You blush well," he murmured. "It suits you."
That did it.
Selene's hand snapped up, and her sword whipped through the air in a flash of steel and moonlight.
Soryn dodged casually, leaning just enough for the blade to slice past his collar, not a strand of hair out of place.
He smiled wider. "Now we're dancing."
Selene's second strike came faster—more a warning than a kill—but it cut so close that the wind cracked beside his cheek.
"You—! Idiot—!"
"Guilty."
Her third strike never landed.
Because she turned and bolted, cloak flaring behind her as she vanished into the corridor shadows, like a comet streaking into the night.
Soryn stood there, utterly unfazed, brushing nonexistent dust off his shoulder.
"Feisty," he muttered.
A voice appeared behind him like a ghost.
"...Are you serious?"
Takayoshi stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in complete disbelief.
Soryn didn't even flinch. "Completely."
"You just proposed to the coldest, most controlled commander in Seraveth."
"She's the strongest tactician I've met. It's only logical."
Takayoshi stared. "You blitz proposed with zero courtship."
"I came equipped with sincerity and statistical dominance," Soryn replied. "She blinked. That's progress."
Takayoshi rubbed his temples.
"This isn't a war plan. It's romance."
"Every heart is a fortress," Soryn said, smirking. "You just have to breach the right wall."
Morning came.
The expedition force gathered outside the Mythral Dawn estate. The courtyard buzzed with motion—supply carts, blessed mounts, enchanted packs. The fourteen commanders assembled in rank, their gear shining under the pale light of dawn.
At the center, Selene stood in her signature battle armor, arms crossed, face schooled into its usual ice.
Until her eyes fell on Soryn.
He approached calmly, his usual cool confidence in every step.
She looked away. Sharply.
Not subtly. Not casually.
But with the exact body language of someone refusing to acknowledge the existence of a smug bastard.
That alone set off internal alarms among the women present.
Commander Mira Snowveil leaned toward Arinelle Dawnwhisper, whispering, "Wait… did she just flinch?"
Commander Veyna Lux narrowed her eyes. "That's a behavior anomaly. Record it."
Even the usually aloof Ilyra Faen raised an eyebrow.
At the rear, Princess Alyxthia narrowed her gaze like a sniper locking onto prey.
"I knew something was off," she muttered.
She immediately marched toward Soryn, ignoring everyone else.
"Soryn. What. Did. You. Do."
Soryn blinked innocently. "Absolutely nothing."
"That was not a nothing face," she accused. "That was a guilty victory face. Did you bribe her? Spell her? Kiss her?!"
Soryn smirked. "Would you believe I simply offered my heart?"
"NO," Alyxthia said, grabbing his cloak. "I know Selene Virellia. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't blush. She doesn't look away. YOU DID SOMETHING."
As she raged on, the other female commanders circled in to investigate. They tried pressing Selene for answers.
"What happened?"
"Did he say something to you?"
"Blink twice if he kissed you."
Selene turned her icy gaze to them—stone-faced, unreadable.
One by one, they fell silent.
Even Mira, the boldest, took a step back.
"…Yup," Arinelle whispered. "Definitely something happened."
The ground shifted then as the troops began moving toward the outer city gates. The 14 commanders led the way. The city buzzed with anticipation. Word had spread fast: the Hero of Light, the Mythral Dawn, and the royal army were moving out.
Soryn walked in silence near the center of the column.
Until—
A calm voice echoed from the alley beside the gates.
"I think it's best… if I join this expedition."
Heads turned.
Takayoshi emerged, cloak fluttering, expression unreadable, arms folded behind him.
A hush fell across the commanders.
No one protested.
No one dared to.
Even Lucian, who stood at the front of the force with a gentle expression, did not object.
Soryn looked over.
Takayoshi glanced back.
In perfect silence, their eyes exchanged the unspoken agreement:
We're watching everything.
The expedition's journey to Wyrmgate Hollow had been uneventful.
Too uneventful.
Not a single beast. No weather shifts. No ambient distortions. Just quiet woods, open plains, and the occasional glimmer of sunset through the trees as the team made its steady advance toward the draconic ruin nestled in the canyons beyond.
By the time the caravan reached the cliffs of Wyrmgate, the sky was painted in fire.
Orange, gold, and deep violet streaked across the horizon as the sun dipped behind the distant peaks, casting long shadows over the hollow. The terrain below was dark—jagged rocks, broken stone rings, and a wide yawning cave mouth that opened like a beast's maw just beyond the ridge.
Camp was quickly established just outside the perimeter. Ward circles were etched into the earth, tents set, and bonfires lit. The 6th Division maintained watch along the cliffs. Mythral Dawn's commanders set a perimeter. And the Hero of Light, Lucian Valeir, rested in contemplative silence under a tree not far from the center camp.
Near the cave mouth, Takayoshi crouched beside a boulder, a hand pressed lightly to the earth. His eyes traced the distant flow of energy.
"Doesn't look like much," he muttered.
Beside him, Soryn stood with arms folded, eyes scanning the hollow. "Still reading flat. No aura spikes. No warping."
Takayoshi didn't look away. "Exactly."
Soryn raised an eyebrow.
Takayoshi's voice lowered.
"That's what's dangerous."
They both looked toward Lucian—still, silent, seated by the fire with his hands clasped as if in prayer. Not glowing. Not speaking. Just waiting.
Soryn exhaled, then turned, cloak fluttering as he walked back to camp.
Night fell fully. Bonfires flickered across the camp like miniature stars.
One circle of Mythral Dawn's male commanders sat around a central pit—laughing, eating roasted meat, and sharing battle stories.
Soryn joined them, slipping into the circle with ease, accepting a warm drink handed to him by Commander Thorne.
"Any crazy Drakareth tales, forge prince?" one of them asked.
"Surely you've done something more insane than taking down three demons with a spoon," Rhed Velgroth added with a grin.
Soryn sipped calmly. "I'd say my list of insane decisions has grown recently."
On the other side of the camp, seated in a circle of clean blankets and polished armor, the female commanders had their own gathering—laughing softly beneath the moonlight, their armor set neatly aside, their auras relaxed.
Selene sat near the edge, quiet as always, sipping quietly from a flask of brewed tea.
But her silence only invited more curiosity.
Mira Snowveil leaned in. "You've been acting weird."
Selene raised a brow. "Define 'weird.'"
"You looked away from someone."
Arinelle nodded sagely. "You avoided eye contact. That's a Selene Code Red."
Veyna whispered, "It's Soryn, isn't it?"
Selene's jaw clenched slightly.
The group pounced.
"What happened?"
"Did he say something?"
"Did he touch your hand? Gasp!"
Selene took another sip and stared into the fire.
She said nothing.
And yet the look in her eyes made every single one of them back off instantly.
"…Okay wow, shutting up," Mira said quickly.
Back at the men's circle, the laughter continued.
Until someone asked—jokingly:
"Soryn, be honest. Did something actually happen between you and Commander Selene?"
Soryn, calmly sipping, shook his head at first.
"No, nothing."
Then paused.
And blinked.
"Oh—wait. I proposed."
Silence.
The air itself froze.
Half-chewed meat dropped from open mouths. Cups froze mid-air. A log popped in the fire.
Rhed dropped his skewer. "...You what?"
Thorne choked on his drink.
Darius stared like someone had just told him the moon exploded.
Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
And from behind a tent flap, Takayoshi, who had just been passing by, froze mid-step.
He turned slowly.
"…He told them?"
Takayoshi's eye twitched.
"That fool."
Across the fire, Selene's eyebrow twitched.
She knew.
They all knew.
And then—
THUNK.
A large supply trunk near the rear tent rustled violently.
Another thunk.
Then the lid slammed open—
"YOU WHAT!?"
A blur of hair, silk, and stolen travel snacks erupted from the crate.
Princess Alyxthia, red-faced and furious, climbed out in a tangle of cloaks and travel linen, a half-eaten honey apple in one hand.
"I stowed away in that crate because I thought this would be a stealthy expedition!" she bellowed, brushing leaves off her shoulder. "And you chose now to announce the engagement!?"
Soryn stared, wide-eyed. "You were in the—?"
"Yes! For FIVE HOURS!"
"...Why?"
"I brought snacks and wanted to see a ruin. Then I got stuck under Lucian's armor chestplate and a camp kettle! And then you told the entire command team you proposed?!"
Lucian, without opening his eyes, murmured, "I warned her not to follow."
"She followed in a crate!?" Takayoshi snapped.
Selene just took another sip of tea. Her smile was almost imperceptible.
The commanders were speechless.
Until Rhed burst out laughing and fell onto his back.
"I KNEW that crate was suspiciously princess-shaped!"
Alyxthia marched over, shoved the apple into Soryn's chest, and plopped herself beside the fire.
"Next time you want to shock everyone," she muttered, "wait until I'm not beneath a pan rack."
Soryn exhaled and muttered, "Duly noted."
Thorne raised his cup. "To stealthy princesses."
"Shut it," Alyxthia growled.
The fire crackled.
And everyone knew—
This expedition was no longer uneventful.
Morning sun filtered through the cliffs of Wyrmgate Hollow, casting golden rays across the canyon entrance. The expedition team—fourteen Mythral Dawn Commanders, select royal elites, Soryn, and Takayoshi—stood assembled and sharp-eyed. The wind was brisk, but the atmosphere was calm.
Too calm.
They entered.
The dungeon was lit by veins of dull crystal embedded into blackstone walls. Wide corridors stretched out ahead, but the moment they stepped inside, something felt... off.
Selene was the first to cut down a monster—a batlike wyrmling that squealed once before evaporating into ash.
"That's it?" she muttered.
Mira followed with a twin strike through two more. "They're like paper."
Revyn's dagger pierced a slime. It barely twitched.
Darius didn't even need to activate his shield aura to tank five foes at once. They didn't scratch him.
"Is this a joke?" Thorne grunted, kicking aside a creature that hissed and immediately expired.
Soryn walked near the front beside Takayoshi, both with unreadable expressions. While the others murmured about the lack of resistance, these two remained deathly quiet.
Too easy.
Too controlled.
Lucian, the Hero of Light, walked calmly in the lead, golden armor radiant, face ever-serene.
"This way," he said suddenly, gesturing toward a left passage. "I believe I sense something deeper ahead. Let me take point."
Takayoshi's left eye twitched.
Soryn narrowed his gaze.
Neither said anything.
The team followed.
Down winding paths they went, deeper into the bowels of Wyrmgate Hollow. The enemies never escalated. They remained soft, formless threats. No challenge. No risk. The walls themselves even looked cleaner—unnaturally so.
They reached a chamber.
It opened into a wide, circular cavern with a ceiling so high it was lost to darkness. At the center stood a single stone altar, glowing faintly with runes etched in an unknown tongue.
Everyone paused.
"…What is that?" Mira asked quietly.
Selene stepped forward, hand tightening on her hilt. "I don't like this."
Lucian approached the altar, calm as ever.
"This," he said softly, "is likely the key. A summoning stone, perhaps? Or a seal. If we destroy it, maybe the treasure will appear."
Soryn's heart thudded.
Takayoshi's body tensed.
Alarms screamed through their minds—every instinct sharpened by war, divine trial, and near-death experience.
Soryn stepped forward. "Wait. Don't touch—"
Lucian turned, smiling serenely.
Then struck the altar with a radiant sword of light.
CRACK.
A thunderous boom echoed through the chamber as the altar shattered.
For a heartbeat, the world froze.
Then—
WRRRAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHH—
A roar—not of pain, but of release—exploded from deep beneath the dungeon floor.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the walls.
Rumbling surged like an oncoming tidal wave.
The crystals lining the walls flared blood red.
"IT'S A TRAP!" Takayoshi roared, eyes blazing.
"EVERYONE OUT!" Soryn shouted, already yanking Mira back by the shoulder.
The ground split.
Chunks of the chamber roof began to fall.
Darius summoned a massive barrier dome while Veyna opened a path using her crystal blades.
Selene grabbed Thorne's collar and yanked him out of the way of a collapsing pillar. "MOVE!"
The team sprinted.
Behind them, the dungeon howled, the very stone groaning as the hollow collapsed. Flames erupted from cracks in the ground. Twisted screams echoed in languages not spoken in this era.
They ran with everything they had—Selene flash-stepping beside Mira, Takayoshi using chi bursts to launch debris aside, Soryn dashing like wind incarnate as he shoved collapsing boulders aside to clear the way.
Revyn blinked to the rear with shadowstep, grabbing a stunned footsoldier before he was crushed.
Darius took a falling spike through the shoulder—gritted his teeth—and kept running.
The exit drew near.
"NOW!" Takayoshi bellowed.
With a final burst, the team surged through the main gate—just as the entire cliffside behind them imploded in a wave of dust, smoke, and red light.
The Wyrmgate Hollow… was no more.
Silence.
Coughing.
Panting.
They collapsed to their knees in the sunlight, armor scuffed, faces caked in soot and disbelief.
Lucian stood at the rear of the group—untouched, composed.
"…Well," he said softly. "That was unexpected."
Takayoshi turned to him, eyes narrow, but said nothing.
Soryn stepped forward.
His gaze was cold now.
"…You destroyed something sealed."
Lucian smiled faintly.
"A necessary risk for treasure, no?"
Soryn's jaw tightened. "That wasn't a treasure altar. That was a binding seal."
Lucian didn't respond.
Behind them, the red glow still pulsed faintly beneath the rubble.
The Demon God Unchained
The wind died.
The dust hung in the air like frozen ash, the ruins of Wyrmgate Hollow still crumbling behind the expedition team. Their breaths came shallow, hearts pounding from the narrow escape.
Then—
A low, guttural roar shook the earth.
So deep, so primal, it sounded as if the bones of the world themselves were groaning in warning.
Takayoshi snapped his head toward the ruins.
Soryn spun on his heel, eyes wide.
A cold sweat spread across the backs of every Mythral Dawn commander.
Then—laughter.
A hideous, bone-rattling cackle rolled out from beneath the collapsed dungeon. It echoed like thunder twisted by madness, stretching into the horizon with unnatural reverb. It was joy. It was hatred. It was freedom.
Then—
CRACKKKK–THOOOOOM!!
The ground directly behind the dungeon shattered.
Stone exploded skyward.
Flames and void light spiraled into the sky.
From beneath the fractured earth, something vast surged upward—a monstrous figure breaching the ground like a beast erupting from a grave a millennium too late.
A hulking form emerged—thirty meters tall, clad in scorched obsidian plate bound by chains of dark gold that snapped apart like twigs.
Two massive horns curved backward from a face half-hidden beneath a cracked mask. A third eye of blazing crimson opened on his forehead.
From his back spilled eight massive wings—each malformed, demonic, but pulsing with mana that twisted the sky into an ominous spiral.
The pressure that followed was instant and devastating.
The mana in the air distorted—it warped, groaned, shattered like glass under divine pressure. Trees withered in a hundred-meter radius. Birds dropped dead mid-flight. The sky above flickered between red and black.
The team fell into stunned silence.
Even Takayoshi and Soryn stepped back, hands instinctively on their weapons.
From above, the booming voice rang out:
"Hahahaha… FREE! At last—I, Salvatore, Demon God of the Void-Flame Chains, am unbound!"
He raised a clawed hand skyward. Lightning, flame, and shadow responded as if by instinct, coiling around his form like loyal serpents. His cracked mask pulsed once with a blinding glow.
"For centuries I was buried in this prison… sealed by cowards and celestials alike. But now… now I walk again."
He looked down.
His third eye flared.
"And you… you insects who broke my chains—shall be my first offering to vengeance."
Silence.
Shock.
Fear.
Not a word from anyone.
Then Selene, still staring up, whispered:
"…We released a Demon God."
The tremors from his emergence continued, spreading outward. Even the royal capital of Celestia, miles away, felt the quake. People spilled into the streets. Alarm bells rang. The heavens seemed darker.
Back at the ruins, the team could only stand in horror—glaring up at a power long erased from history, now standing tall with wings of ruin and hatred reborn.
The Sky Trembles – Celestia's Alarm
The city of Celestia, radiant jewel of Seraveth, pulsed with midday warmth—until the heavens darkened without warning.
The air turned still.
Then—the tremor hit.
It wasn't an ordinary quake. It was as if the world had shuddered in fear.
The ground lurched beneath marble towers. Windows rattled, chandeliers swung wildly in noble halls, and people across the upper and lower districts stumbled, clutching at walls and companions.
Then the sky warped—twisting clouds, a flicker of violet light, and a chilling sound like chains breaking across the fabric of reality.
In the royal palace, alarms blared.
Diviners collapsed mid-scry, blood streaming from their noses.
Skyward flames rose from the eastern horizon, seen even from the high balcony.
A court mage gasped, staggering into the throne chamber.
"Your Majesties—! A cataclysmic mana surge… from the east…! Wyrmgate Hollow—!"
King Eldros Thalorien, stern and battle-worn, rose from his throne at once. "Sound the Celestial Horns. I want all scryers focused. Get me a projection—now."
Queen Lyriana stood beside him, her face pale. She whispered, "That aura… it feels like… a seal breaking."
The Celestial Mirror ignited to life moments later. Blurred at first, the image came into focus:
The projection showed a towering demon tearing free from the earth, chains falling from his limbs, wings of corrupted flame spread wide.
A third eye flared from his brow as mana spiraled in grotesque halos around him.
The voice through the mirror boomed with ancient fury:
"I, Salvatore, have returned. Let the world remember its forgotten gods of ruin—!"
Gasps erupted across the chamber.
"No…" the queen breathed. "Not that name…"
King Eldros turned to his generals. "Mobilize the Celestial Vanguard. Deploy all Sky Regiments east. Prepare the Evacuation Directive—Level Black."
"By your will, my King!" they chorused, sprinting from the hall.
The king turned to his wife. "If that's truly Salvatore, then no city in Seraveth is safe. Not even Celestia."
She nodded. "Then let us pray… the envoy we sent was more than a diplomat."
The scene shifts instantly—
Inferno Against the Void – The Stand Begins
Smoke twisted skyward.
The expedition team stared in disbelief at the titanic figure of Salvatore now looming above the shattered ruin of Wyrmgate Hollow.
Takayoshi narrowed his eyes. His divine blood churned in his veins. Beside him, Soryn's aura surged, the wind bending around his body in subtle arcs of heat and draconic light.
"Selene!" Takayoshi barked. "Lead the others west! Now!"
"What about—"
Soryn raised his arm. "Go. We're buying you time."
Revyn, Garran, and Darius stepped forward. "We can fight too—"
"No!" both Takayoshi and Soryn said in unison.
Soryn continued, "If we all stay, we all die. Get them to safety. Protect the princess. That's your mission."
Selene's fists clenched. Her eyes moved from Soryn to Takayoshi. Then she nodded.
"…Understood."
The commanders began the retreat, forming protective ranks around the younger members as they raced across the field.
Lucian stood at the back, arms folded.
Salvatore looked down at them, a twisted smile forming.
"So… you've chosen your champions."
He raised his arm—runes along his flesh glowing infernal red.
"Let me welcome you back to ruin."
A meteor of void flame hurtled from his palm toward the retreating group.
But before it struck—
CLANG!!!
Takayoshi appeared in its path, divine sword unsheathed—Heaven's Breaker—and cleaved the meteor in two with a flash of white flame and thunder.
Soryn was already airborne, twin trails of sovereign draconic light burning behind him as he spun and crashed his blade into Salvatore's outstretched arm—stopping the spell dead in its tracks.
The force shook the plateau.
Salvatore grunted. "You dare strike me?"
Soryn spun back mid-air, sliding to a crouch beside Takayoshi.
Breathing steady, he smiled, eyes burning with thrill.
"I propose we show him why that was a bad idea."
Takayoshi gave him a sidelong glance. "…Did you really have to say propose?"
Soryn shrugged. "Too soon?"
They turned together to face the Demon God.
Two sovereign warriors.
One ancient nightmare.
Behind them, the team vanished into the tree line.
The battle to hold the line had begun.
Crimson Skies of Despair – The Demon God's Domain
The earth had ruptured. Wyrmgate Hollow was no more—swallowed by a pit of surging black flame and abyssal runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Above it all towered Salvatore, the newly unsealed Demon God, his three eyes glowing with cruel delight.
Across the shattered plateau, portals tore through the air like jagged wounds—each one vomiting forth legions of horrors: undead warlords, flame-winged abominations, and shadowbound titans armed with spears that whispered of ancient genocide.
Takayoshi and Soryn stood in the heart of the chaos, blades drawn, breath heavy, but unbroken.
Then it happened—
A soundless pulse.
A black barrier, dome-like and insidious, expanded from Salvatore's body and sealed the entire battlefield.
The expedition team, trying to flee with Selene and the others, turned back—finding themselves trapped inside a blood-red world. The air grew heavy, the sky bleeding with unnatural dusk, and all hope of escape vanished.
Soryn's voice was strained, furious.
"I can't reach out to him… Alter… something's blocking me—"
Takayoshi's eyes narrowed. He slashed through three charging undead with one sweeping strike, the divine flame on his blade erupting like a sunflare. His voice growled with dread.
"It's the damn barrier. It's not just sealing space—it's cutting off divine and draconic channels."
As if in answer, Salvatore's laughter rolled through the skies like thunder twisted by madness.
"Welcome to my reality. Your gods cannot see you here. Your sovereign cannot touch this place. This… is mine now."
With a cruel gesture, he ripped a tear in the air beside him. From the gash, he conjured a monstrous beast clad in burning armor—a former Demon General bound in hatred and reborn with Creator Authority glyphs on its flesh.
It roared and charged.
Takayoshi met it head-on. His foot slammed into the ground, chi igniting around his limbs.
"Fist of Ruin."
He struck. The shockwave flattened the ground behind him and shattered the general's knee.
"Heaven-Piercer Step!"
He blinked through its guard and shattered its core with a rising kick. The demon general howled—and then imploded, consumed by divine combustion.
But there was no time to breathe.
More portals opened. More demons came.
Soryn spun into the air, flames curling around his limbs as he dove into a mass of winged abominations. With each slash of his dual blades, draconic roars echoed, and enemies were torn apart by heat and light.
But every second that passed, the barrier pressed harder on their senses. Their attacks grew heavier. Their aura outputs flickered.
Salvatore, untouchable on his floating throne of spiked bone and gold flame, watched like a god amused by ants.
And then—he unleashed it.
With a voice that warped the air, he spoke an incantation of Authority:
"Collapse, Oh World of Fire. Twist, Oh Chains of Light. I command: Reality Fall."
Empire-level attacks—six of them—struck at once from every direction. Spear storms, flame meteors, temporal ruptures, mirrored copies, soul-shearing screams, and terrain disintegration surged toward the two warriors.
Soryn screamed. "Takayoshi!"
Takayoshi's hands blurred. His body shimmered—gold threads spiraling around his arms.
"Demon God Killing Martial Arts… Strike Fifteen."
"Thousand Cross Fang."
He flash-stepped through the incoming storm, dragging the spell vectors away from Soryn. His afterimages twisted in spiraling paths, carving dimensional breaks into Salvatore's illusions.
But it wasn't enough.
The sixth attack, a Temporal Implosion Sphere, struck directly into Takayoshi's back—blasting him from the sky, crashing into the ground with a divine scream.
Soryn surged to catch him, his breath ragged. "Damn it! Hold on!"
They rose again. Bleeding. Burned. And yet—still standing.
The skies above the barrier deepened into red night.
Behind them, the expedition team was locked in brutal combat. The 14 Commanders fought like wolves: Selene leading intercepts, Darius shielding the injured, Mira unleashing froststorms, Garran hurling flame arcs—holding the line against waves of demons that refused to die.
And at the center…
Two sovereigns. Shoulder to shoulder.
Surrounded.
Soryn's voice was hoarse. "This isn't a fight anymore… it's a siege."
Takayoshi wiped blood from his lip, eyes burning with unyielding fire.
"Then we hold the line until the sky breaks."