The battlefield slumbered.
With the dawn still hours away and the drums of war silent, Alter gave a single command—rest.
The Dragoons, weary from endless battles and divine training, were ordered to stand down. No drills. No formations. Just time. Time to breathe. Time to recover. Time to remember they were still human—even if touched by divinity.
Takayoshi remained stationed atop the Aetherflame Citadel's high bastion, arms folded, eyes sharp as a storm barely held in check. Beside him, Soryn stood like a monument cast in silver dusk, his sword sheathed but ready. Neither would sleep that night. Not while the Sovereign vanished beyond the veil.
Because Alter had entered the Still World.
Not to fight.
But to build.
He stood alone in the vast silence of that pocket dimension—a realm of infinite starlit dusk and eternal stillness, where time obeyed only his will. Beneath his feet, the soil gleamed with crystallized energy. His home and personal workshop stood nearby, nestled atop a glowing plateau. But tonight, he would expand this place into something greater.
He would build a bastion not just for war—but for a future.
With a slow exhale, he reached into his dimensional storage. Runes spiraled outward from his palm as he summoned crates of divine materials, shimmering ore, mountain-forged obsidian, draconic crystalsteel, and still-rooted celestial timber harvested from the Crownwoods. His arms swept wide, and the entire region around him shimmered—land flattened, winds silenced, and the terrain itself shifted in accordance with his intent.
Then he raised both hands.
A roar not of sound—but of will—echoed through the Still World.
The materials began to rise.
Brick by floating brick, beam by hovering strut, massive loadstones and dragonbone spires lifted from the ground as construction began not by hammer and nail—but by divine will channeled through sovereign flame.
He forged walls in silence. Reinforced foundations with the blood-etched sigils of every divine realm. Enchanted the corridors with passive defensive wards strong enough to repel high-tier reality manipulation. And within the growing heart of the structure, he engraved a name:
Bastion Eternis — The Eternal Bastion.
The palace-citadel was massive—larger than Aetherflame itself, with wings that stretched like the arms of a sleeping titan. Towering spires crowned its upper layers, while below, wide halls and archways gleamed with runes of memory and protection.
Entire courtyards branched from the central core—one transformed into a sacred garden of celestial blooms, another sculpted into a tranquil nursery for his children. Living quarters lined the east and west wings, enough for over ten thousand souls—Dragoons, artisans, medics, and scholars. Commander quarters occupied a high terrace with sweeping views of the entire complex, while his personal disciples had their own warded sanctum, closest to the heart.
And in the deepest basement—locked behind seven divine seals—he forged his workshop and armory, carved directly into the bones of the Still World. Here he would craft the future: weapons, armor, and artifacts to shape what came after the war.
Time passed—but not outside.
When the final sigil locked into place and the last light dimmed over the tower's apex, Alter stood at the center of it all.
Sweatless. Wordless.
But fulfilled.
And then, as the false sun rose in the Still World sky, he stepped out once more into Drakareth.
The next morning, under the still-golden sky of Veyr'Zhalar, Alter emerged onto the upper courtyard of the Aetherflame Palace. His aura pulsed with sovereign clarity—no longer flickering or dim, but steady. Focused.
He raised one hand.
A ripple spread across the valley. Not a command. A call.
The 14 Commanders answered first, appearing from the barracks and outposts. Selene arrived next, carrying the twins, her eyes immediately locking onto his. Mythral Dawn's senior members followed, then the Dragoons—still bleary-eyed from rest, but alert.
In minutes, they had gathered—hundreds of soldiers, leaders, family.
Alter turned to them and simply said:
"Follow me."
No questions.
They obeyed.
In a single breath, he raised his hand—and the world folded.
Light swept over the courtyard, warping space in ripples of sovereign flame. A moment later, the entire gathering blinked through reality—teleported across thousands of miles in a flash of gold.
When they reappeared, the wind was cooler.
They stood in a distant land—a wide open plain cradled between massive mountain ridges. The sky was clear. The earth untouched. No civilization marred this place. No road reached it. This land had never known war.
Only potential.
Alter stepped forward, holding the Still World in his hands like a glowing sphere of compressed reality. He raised it overhead, and his voice rang out—not loud, but resonant, layered with divine cadence.
"Let this world take form."
He spoke the ancient command-chant in the language of the First Flame. The air vibrated. The earth trembled. And above the flat plain, a massive portal spiraled open in the sky—its edges etched with whirling draconic runes.
Below, a vast runic circle ignited on the ground, traced with golden lines and geometric spirals that pulsed in time with Alter's breath. The runes rotated, then rose like a colossal ring of energy, slowly ascending through the air.
Then—it began.
The palace manifested.
Walls of shimmering stone emerged from the rising circle. Towers unfolded like blooming petals. Walkways and bridges appeared mid-air before anchoring themselves into place. Glowing banners fluttered on their own as if caught by the breath of gods.
The entire citadel materialized, layer by layer, structure by structure—until at last, it stood complete. Towering, elegant, fortified. The Eternal Bastion now loomed where once there had been nothing.
The gathering stood stunned.
No one moved.
Even the wind paused.
Then Alter turned to them all, his voice calm—but final.
"This," he said, "is our new home."
Silence stretched.
Until Elira Mistshade whispered, "That's… a city."
Blazebloom blinked twice. "He built that... overnight?"
Mira's jaw dropped. "That's bigger than Aetherflame. Maybe two of them."
Darius stared. "I saw him fall gods. But this… this is insanity."
Soryn, standing at the edge, murmured, "No. This is preparation."
Selene stepped forward, eyes wide, clutching her children as they looked up at the sky-piercing towers with awe.
Alter turned to her last. "They'll grow here. Not in war. In peace."
The twins cooed in response, small hands reaching out toward the new home that shimmered beneath the morning sun.
And as the doors to the Bastion Eternis opened for the first time, the soldiers, commanders, and family of the Sovereign took their first steps toward a future not just built for survival.
The moment Selene's warmth faded from his arms, Alter turned away from the Skybridge.
There was still much to do.
With the Eternal Bastion now standing, he moved with calm, quiet certainty toward the outermost terraces. His expression remained composed, but internally, every breath sharpened—this was not time for rest, not yet. This was time to ensure no hand, mortal or divine, could reach what he had built.
Not while he breathed.
He raised both palms as he stood at the edge of the citadel's western cliff.
Golden runes ignited along his forearms—spiraling out into the air, forming a radiant lattice of living symbols.
"Initiate: Sovereign Perimeter Protocol. Begin containment layering."
At once, rings of draconic script ignited in the air. Like a heartbeat, they pulsed, then spread—sinking into the soil, climbing into the skies, wrapping across the mountain range with invisible fire. The first containment layer sparked into existence: a divine-grade dome barrier, encoded with kinetic and elemental resistance.
Then came the second, threaded with reality-lock glyphs to prevent dimensional breaches.
Then the third, counter-curse inversion fields.
And so it continued.
Twenty-four layers, each one meticulously crafted, stacked, and reinforced—not just defense, but absolute denial. Each rune he placed sang with sovereign authority, feeding from his draconic core, bound directly to the Eternal Bastion's heartstone.
Once the containment layers were complete, he stepped into the central hub and triggered the next sequence.
"Activate Phase II: Sovereign Deadzone Array."
The earth rumbled.
The Death Layer unfolded.
All around the citadel's outer shell, hidden trap formations emerged—disguised platforms, false terrain, floating runic mines woven into cloud patterns, and subterranean sentries linked to anti-divine suppression wards. Ground-based rune glyphs were laced with gravity reversals, flame entrapment, and vacuum collapse nodes. Skyward ambush points were rigged with mirage triggers and ionized net-snares that could bind even elder demons mid-flight.
If an enemy breached the outer shell, they would enter a killing field woven by the hand of a Sovereign who had slain gods.
But Alter didn't stop there.
Behind the death layer, he seeded another 36 layers of defensive barriers—not just repeats of the outer, but advanced evolutions. These ones responded to aura signatures, psychic intent, and hostile distortion fields. He incorporated echo resonance to track displacement users, along with quantum-tethered sigils to arrest time-based manipulation.
By the end, the entire Eternal Bastion was layered in a divine fortress of unprecedented complexity.
If the demons returned with all their gods… they would break themselves upon this shell.
He stood at the summit of the final barrier ring, eyes glowing faintly as the last rune clicked into place. A shimmer passed over the entire mountain. Then silence.
He breathed once.
And let it settle.
With the defenses complete, Alter moved on—scouting supply vaults, summoning hunting teams to gather food, opening recruitment calls for cooks, herbalists, farmers, and logistics handlers through sealed sovereign marks scattered across the continents. All would arrive within days.
He delegated nothing.
He made sure every line, every rune, every signature was perfect.
And when the last of his preparations was complete—the Bastion fully seeded, self-sustaining, secured—
The sky had turned to dusk.
The moonlight brushed the castle towers with silver.
And only then… did Alter return to her.
The inner corridor of the family wing was quiet.
Golden lanterns pulsed low along the hallway walls, casting soft firelight over the carved dragons etched into the pillars. The nursery door remained closed. The twins were asleep. And further down the hallway, past a silk-curtained archway, stood the personal suite assigned to Selene.
Alter stopped before it.
His hair, still slightly tousled by wind and residual magic, hung loose over his shoulders. His aura was calm—dimmed—not out of weakness, but in reverence for the quiet that awaited him.
He raised his hand—
And knocked once.
"Enter," came Selene's voice from within—gentle, low, yet unmistakably warm.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
She was already standing.
A simple silk robe clung to her frame, silver-white and subtly sheer beneath the candlelight. Her long hair had been tied in a high ponytail, leaving her neckline and collarbones completely exposed to the moonlight spilling in from the balcony.
She didn't speak.
She didn't wait.
The moment he stepped through, she jumped.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs encircling his waist. The motion caught him off guard—his balance nearly faltered.
"Selene—!" he murmured, startled.
But she was already kissing him.
Hard.
Without hesitation.
He recovered quickly, catching her with both arms and locking his stance. His back hit the door as it shut behind him. Her lips moved with hunger and relief, fire and familiarity. He returned the kiss fully now, one hand gripping the back of her thigh, the other her lower back, supporting her entire body.
Her breath hitched against his mouth.
He walked them to the bed—each step measured but quick—and slowly lowered her onto the sheets. As he straightened, her arms tried to keep him close, but he gently drew back.
With a single thought, his armor shimmered and vanished in an instant—no clang, no clatter. Only light.
Then he leaned forward again, eyes locked on hers.
"I've been waiting for this," he said, voice low, velvet-deep.
He pressed his lips to hers again, softer this time.
The kiss deepened as their hands found each other. Selene's fingers traced along his jaw, then down his shoulders, then over the firm lines of his chest. Alter's hand moved along her side, up to her ribs, then across her back, caressing every inch of silk and skin beneath.
She moaned softly into his mouth—faint, breathless.
Their kisses grew slower, more deliberate.
The moonlight bathed the room in silver hues. Curtains swayed. The flames of the lanterns flickered gently, but no longer burned high.
Just warmth.
Just closeness.
Just two souls—together.
The chaos of battle was behind them.The Bastion now stood.And tonight… there was only this.
The silk robe slipped from her shoulders with ease.
Selene's breath trembled—not from nerves, but from anticipation—as Alter lowered her onto the bed. The silver fabric pooled beneath her like moonlight poured into the shape of a woman. Her skin shimmered in the candlelit hush, traced with the faint glow of divine markings awakened only when she was with him. Her hair, bound in a high ponytail, had loosened from the fall, now tumbling across the pillow like strands of night.
Alter knelt above her, eyes tracing every inch of her with reverence, not hunger. One hand braced beside her head, the other resting lightly at her hip.
He leaned in, their foreheads touching.
Her voice came in a whisper, eyes half-lidded. "I missed you."
"I was never far," he replied, lips brushing hers.
Then their mouths found each other again—soft at first, as if relearning the language of longing. But that softness gave way to depth, to tension released all at once. Selene's fingers curled into his back as he settled atop her, his weight grounding her, his warmth spilling over her skin.
Their bodies moved in a rhythm too ancient for words. Each touch lit sparks beneath the skin—every caress a promise that neither of them had ever spoken aloud, but both had carried since the first day they bled together.
Selene's breath hitched as his hand slid across her waist, over the rise of her ribs, up to her neck where he cradled her gently. Her own hands explored the breadth of his shoulders, the carved lines of his back, the slow arch of his spine as he moved within her. Each movement was slow. Deep. Measured. No rush. No desperation. Only presence.
The room was alive with the hush of shifting fabric, the soft rhythm of skin against skin, the catch and release of breath between each kiss. The faint scent of lavender still lingered in the room, mixing with the warm scent of him, and the subtle sweetness of her skin. Her moans were quiet—drawn out, broken only when she gasped his name softly against his shoulder.
And Alter—though he had fought gods and carved the sky—moved now as if she were the most fragile, precious thing in existence. His pace remained steady, his every action shaped not by desire alone, but by devotion. She was not a conquest. She was home.
Selene's fingers trembled as they tightened against his back, her breath stuttering once—then again—as her body arched beneath him, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist. She whispered his name in a voice filled with wonder and surrender, and Alter held her closer still as they reached the end together—locked in one another, a perfect silence descending with the final shared breath.
Moments passed.
Selene collapsed against him, her forehead against his collarbone, her hair spilling over his chest. Her body, damp with heat and effort, clung to his as her breath began to slow.
"I love you," she whispered, barely audible.
Alter said nothing—but his arms wrapped tighter around her.
Her breathing softened.
Then slowed.
And then—soundless.
Not from absence.
But from peace.
Selene fell asleep across his chest, her form resting over his heart, her cheek pressed against the warm skin just above his pulse. Her lips parted slightly, her breath feather-light. Her hand, still resting over his heart, twitched once before going still.
Alter didn't move.
Not yet.
He lay there in the quiet with her—his hand stroking slowly through her hair, eyes half-lidded as he watched her slumber.
The moonlight through the rune-glass window bathed them both in silver.
Her face, serene and angelic in rest, had none of the weight she carried in the daylight. No burden. No doubt.
Only calm.
And Alter, the Sovereign of Dragons, the Flameborne Godslayer, closed his eyes and whispered against her temple.
"I'll guard you."
The first light of morning brushed through the rune-woven glass above the bed, casting a pale gold shimmer over the silk sheets. It was gentle—unlike the harsh dawns of war, this light crept like a promise, slow and warm, touching the curves of Selene's sleeping form first.
She stirred faintly.
Her fingers flexed against skin—not silk, not bedding, but warmth. A heartbeat beneath her palm. A chest that rose and fell in a calm rhythm.
Alter.
Still beneath her. Still holding her.
His arm was wrapped securely across her back, his other hand gently tangled in her hair, as if it had never left its place throughout the night. His eyes were open—but quiet. Watching her.
She blinked slowly, then lifted her head just enough to see his face.
"...You're awake?" she murmured, her voice still husky with sleep.
"I never left," he whispered, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "You needed rest."
Selene gave a slow breath and laid her head back down against his chest, her ear resting above his heart. "You stayed the whole time?"
His chest rumbled faintly. "There was nowhere else I'd rather be."
She smiled, soft and languid. "You didn't sleep."
"I didn't want to miss it," he replied.
"Miss what?"
He looked down at her—the glow of the rising sun outlining her cheek, the line of her jaw, the way her skin glowed where moonlight had been. "You. At peace."
Selene closed her eyes again, listening to the steady rhythm of his pulse beneath her ear. Her hand splayed wider across his chest, fingers dragging slightly, grounding herself in the warmth of his skin.
"For so long," she whispered, "every bed felt like waiting. For summons. For alarms. For death knocking."
"I know."
"But last night…" she trailed off, and her voice trembled faintly, "Last night… I forgot what it felt like to wait for anything."
He pulled her tighter. Just a little.
"Then from now on," he murmured, "you won't wait. I'll come to you. Every night. Every time. If I ever must go again, I'll return. Always."
She lifted her head and met his gaze.
There was silence between them—but full of weight, of love unspoken and earned.
Selene leaned in, brushing her lips against his with a softness that could never have existed in the days before. She rested her forehead against his and let out a slow, deep breath.
"I don't want to lead today," she whispered. "I don't want to speak. I don't want to think."
"You don't have to."
"I just want this," she whispered again. "This morning. This warmth. You."
He smiled—gentle, rare.
"Then stay."
And she did.
Late morning sunlight poured through the high archways of the Eternal Bastion's War Garden, where silver trees shimmered softly beside a still pool, and heatless flame-lilies danced along the water's surface. The sound of wind against banners and distant training echoed gently from the lower terraces.
But here… peace reigned.
Alter knelt barefoot on the grass beneath one of the draconic blossom trees, his tunic sleeves rolled to the elbows, hair tied back in a loose binding. A thick quilt had been laid out across the grass, layered with soft toys and embroidered dragon-plushes—some stitched by Selene herself.
And nestled between them—were his twins.
Kaelion was bundled in a dark blue onesie stitched with gold trim and tiny stars. Serenya wore white with a spiral flame motif along her sleeves. Both had inherited their mother's silver-light grace and their father's eyes—brilliant, slitted gold that glowed faintly even in daylight.
They stared up at their father now with the unwavering seriousness only infants could possess, as if deciding whether he was truly worthy of their attention.
Alter leaned over them with exaggerated caution, his hands outstretched like he was preparing to diffuse a holy relic.
"...If you two throw that rattle off the edge again, I will personally seal it in a vault."
Serenya blinked once.
Kaelion giggled—and threw the rattle anyway.
Clink.
It bounced harmlessly against the grass before rolling to the edge of the blanket.
Alter stared.
"...Saboteur."
Serenya laughed this time—short, high-pitched, and triumphant.
From across the garden, a sudden voice rang out—loud and gleeful:
"Well, well, well. Looks like the mighty Sovereign's finally met his match."
Alter didn't even turn. "Blazebloom…"
He sighed as the 14 Commanders began filing into the garden, clearly having planned this ambush.
Selene had allowed them a brief break after morning coordination drills. And they had used it to come here.
To witness this.
Mira was the first to sprint in quietly, dropping beside the twins with a radiant smile. "I knew this is where you'd be." She leaned in close. "Did he fall for the Rattle Trap again?"
Finn stood behind her with an amused sigh. "They're undefeated, honestly."
Blazebloom sauntered up next, arms crossed. "Imagine leading a divine war and losing to two infants armed with plush dragons."
Darius grunted behind her, but his lips twitched. "To be fair, they are dragon-marked. Technically that makes them tactical assets."
Veyna Lux crouched beside the quilt and examined the embroidery. "Who made this?"
"Selene," Alter replied simply, adjusting the edge so Kaelion didn't wriggle off.
Ilyra, perched on a nearby stone, smirked. "And who was embroidered here holding the flaming banner with six clones behind him?"
"That's…" Alter paused. "...a creative interpretation."
The twins babbled again—this time louder—as if pleased to have a crowd. Serenya reached for Alter's hand and then immediately tried to bite it. Tiny teeth, tiny growl.
He didn't pull away.
"Ferocity confirmed," Revyn muttered. "The bloodline continues."
Caelum chuckled under his breath. "Tell me again how you forged thirty-six defensive layers overnight but forgot to baby-proof your own palm."
Alter finally turned to them with a dry look.
"I can still exile all of you to the southern vault to count arrowheads."
"Blasphemy!" Blazebloom gasped, throwing herself to the grass dramatically. "To threaten loyal Commanders in front of the heirs themselves!"
Serenya cooed approvingly.
Kaelion sneezed.
And in the chaos that followed—tissue spells, defensive shields, an exaggerated accusation that the sneeze was a targeted magical detonation—Alter just sat still, smiling faintly.
Because this…
This was what he built the Bastion for.
Not for war.
Not for duty.
But for this chaos.
This life.
These moments.
When the teasing had finally calmed, and most of the Commanders lay in lazy sprawl across the grass, Selene appeared in the doorway to the garden, smiling gently at the sight of them.
She caught Alter's eye.
And he nodded once.
All was well.
And for today… the Sovereign did not need to wield a sword.
Just a smile.And two tiny hands curled into his chest.
The moment Alter stepped into the Sovereign Forge, the air seemed to thicken in reverence.
The obsidian door sealed shut behind him with a deep shhnnnk, the surrounding runes of time and space compression igniting in a slow spiral across the chamber walls. Golden light flowed upward like inverted rain, seeping into the seams of the ceiling.
Here, within this sealed sanctum beneath the Bastion—time obeyed only him.
Alter inhaled slowly.
Then the flame ignited.
FWOOOOM.
The dragon-maw furnace roared to life, fed directly by the heartfire of the Sovereign himself. Sovereign flame burst forth—blue at its core, gold at its edges—casting shifting shadows across the rune-engraved walls. The walls answered in kind, flaring as spatial anchors locked the chamber in place, separating it from the fabric of the world. Nothing could breach. Nothing could interrupt.
He moved to the center.
One hand raised, palm glowing with sovereign script.
"Unseal. Sovereign Armory: Vault Sequence Nine."
In a blinding flash, a circle of dimensional flames opened in the air before him.
VWWMMPHHH—CRACK.
Chunks of raw materials landed with controlled force—Draconic crystalsteel, voidforged alloy, sunfire silk, and fragments of resonating crystal, humming with barely-contained energy. These were not scraps from conquered foes. These were sacred components—salvaged from broken divine sanctuaries and refined by Alter's own hand.
His first task was clear: the prototype armor. A single set.
A Dragoon's second skin.
And it would take shape in the image of their current warplate—but perfected.
He stepped to the forge.
Raised the crystalsteel in one hand.
And brought the sovereign hammer down.
KLANG.
A ring of gold burst outward—shaking the chamber.
KLANG.
The flames shifted color, erupting into a spiral of sapphire and violet.
KLANG—SHRRRKK—KLANG.
Runes lit across the floor, binding the armor's forming shape to an internal frame. Each strike didn't just mold metal—it layered intent into the core of the plating. The pauldrons were formed first, curved with sweeping draconic horns, their surface engraved with lightning-channel grooves. The chestplate followed, shaped like the roaring maw of a dragon mid-flight, its breastbone carved open to make room for the core.
That's where Alter placed the resonating crystal.
It pulsed in his hand like a living heart.
He embedded it into the chest with reverence, guiding it into place with three fingers glowing with runic script.
SSSSS—SHNNNNNKKK.
The moment it clicked into place, a shockwave shuddered through the forge.
VVRRRMMMMMMMMMMMM—!!!
The air thickened instantly. Gravity twisted. Light bled sideways.
Alter's hair whipped around his shoulders, caught in a growing storm of pressure. His body leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowed as he raised both hands and began engraving sovereign runes across the armor's surface—each motion a stroke of art, each line of script designed to bind elemental absorption, enhance physical resilience, and accelerate runic marker conduction.
Every fingerstroke left a glowing trail behind.
SSSKKK—RRRRRR—ZZT!
Then—
He struck the final rune.
And the armor awoke.
KA-THOOOOOOOOM!!
A radiant column of energy exploded upward from the chestplate, lancing into the ceiling rune with a deafening boom. The forge's anvil cracked down the middle—but didn't fall. The air shattered with crystalized echo—a distortion wave that nearly tore through the veil of reality itself.
The armor had become Artifact grade.
All at once, the armor lifted from the anvil on its own, suspended midair by its own aura.
Its draconic visage gleamed as though alive. The chest crystal pulsed—boomp… boomp… boomp—synchronized with the Sovereign's own heartbeat.
The forge trembled.
The runes on the walls flickered violently before stabilizing.
Alter stepped back, his chest rising.
The wind inside the sealed room twisted around him. Sovereign particles drifted from his skin like motes of sunlight. His hair danced across his back, caught in the swirling pull of the armor's newfound weight.
The artifact's aura began to subside—slowly. The storm of pressure pulling inward.
He reached forward, steadying it with a single hand upon the chestplate.
It pulsed once beneath his fingers.
Then stilled.
His eyes, half-lidded and glowing faintly, never looked away.
"It's ready," he whispered.
The prototype—reforged in the image of the Dragoon's original armor—was now perfect. Its dragon-forged silhouette, embedded resonating crystal, and layered sovereign runes gave it presence. A presence that altered space simply by existing.
And it was only the beginning.
He turned slowly, the light of the forge behind him dimming to a smolder as he stepped from the circle, the armor hovering silently at his back.
One down.
The chamber had barely settled.
The prototype armor still hovered midair, glowing faintly with sovereign breath, its resonating crystal pulsing in slow rhythm above the now-cracked anvil. The walls hummed with stabilizing runework, struggling to repair the fractures in space caused by the birth of a single Artifact.
Alter stood before it—unshaken.
He did not rest.
He couldn't.
Because that armor was only the first.
And three hundred waited.
He turned slowly, facing the heart of the forge, where the sealed vault circle still glowed—an ethereal sphere of light suspended above the tiled floor.
He raised his hand once more.
"Unseal: Vault Sequence Ten through Twelve."
CH-CHOOOM—WHHHUUUUMMM—KRSSSH.
The room shuddered as three concentric flame-rings cracked open in the air around him. Hundreds of ingots, woven leathers, gem cores, draconic plating, skyglass threads, soulbound alloy, and resonating crystal fragments began to descend—hovering in silent, symmetrical arcs around the forge like satellites circling a sun.
Each one pulsed faintly. Waiting. Listening.
Alter exhaled once.
Then slammed his palm to the floor.
KRRRRRRR—SHAAAAAKK.
The chamber changed.
Runes crawled outward in divine script across the floor, reaching the farthest walls, forming a full planetary crafting array. It wasn't one forge anymore—it was a sovereign assembly line carved into existence by will. Anvil clusters rose from the ground. Arrays of floating sigils spun midair, forming mold templates and heat fields for shaping.
It was not a workshop now.
It was a cathedral.
One built to birth the future.
He stepped forward, slowly rotating his wrists. Runes reignited along his forearms, and a ring of sovereign fire danced around his boots, marking him as the Forge Core.
"Begin."
KLANG.
KLANG.
KLANGKLANGKLANGKLANG—!!
The sound was relentless.
Metal struck metal. Fire lashed skyward. The room drowned in heatless flame that danced like coiling dragons between every breath. Alter moved like a storm condensed into human form—his hands blurring, his eyes glowing, his breath slow but deep.
He forged twelve at a time.
Twelve suits—each matching the Dragoon standard form. Long-katana scabbards at the hip. Flared winglike pauldrons. Reinforced limb guards. Runes carved beneath the outer plating so as not to distract the warriors. Draconic visors engraved with their crest.
Each chest bore a resonating crystal core, inlaid with sovereign trace filaments branching into the armor like veins.
Sparks burst.Metal hissed.Time bent.Reality quaked.
When the first full wave of twelve activated at once—
VRRRRRMMMMMMMM—!!!!
A shockwave erupted so violently, it cracked the very concept of direction in the room. For a heartbeat, gravity inverted. Runes screamed across the ceiling. The temporal field nearly collapsed.
Alter gritted his teeth and raised both palms.
"Stabilize."
FWOOOOOM.
The forge pulsed outward, stabilizing the space with brute sovereign force. The rings of time bent—but held. Just barely.
His skin steamed. The runes on his forearms flickered under the strain.
But he continued.
Twenty-four.Forty-eight.Seventy-two.Ninety-six.One hundred twenty.One hundred fifty.
His muscles strained. Even he felt it now—burn in the arms, pressure behind the eyes. His sweat evaporated before it could fall. His breath became steam.
But his voice never cracked.
His focus never drifted.
By the time he reached two hundred, the walls were singing. No, not walls—space itself.
The room was glowing with hundreds of radiant armors, hovering silently, each one humming with sovereign frequency. Each one… waiting.
He stopped just long enough to place his hand on one of the armor sets. It responded with a low thrum, like a dragon growling in slumber.
"They will be shielded," Alter whispered. "Each of them."
Then he continued.
Two hundred twenty.Two forty.Two sixty.Two eighty.Two ninety…Three hundred.
KRRRRRRRRAAAATHHHMM—!!!
The moment the final suit's crystal activated, the entire forge chamber howled.
Not from sound.
From presence.
Three hundred artifact-grade armors lit up in perfect harmony. Their resonating cores synchronized at once.
BOOM.
The floor cracked outward in a spiral.
BOOM.
The ceiling fractured in its reflection.
BOOM—!!
The room bent.
Outside the chamber—through the seals—the mountain itself groaned.
Somewhere far above, Soryn paused mid-conversation and turned sharply toward the floor beneath his feet. Takayoshi narrowed his eyes. Selene, rocking the twins, blinked at the sudden shiver in the wind, her eyes soft—but smiling.
Back in the forge—
Alter stood alone, centered amid a sea of glowing suits, each one floating in orbit around him like stars around a singularity.
His arms dropped to his sides.
He staggered once—barely.
Then caught himself.
His hair swayed around him. His skin glowed with residual forge-heat. But his eyes burned steady.
The forge was silent now.
But it felt like the heart of a god still beating.
And the three hundred were ready.
The forge chamber had only just begun to settle.
Three hundred sets of artifact-grade Dragoon armor hovered silently in formation around the sovereign anvil like a pantheon of sleeping titans—each with a core pulsing in rhythm, a testament to the will of their maker.
But Alter was not done.
His breaths were steady, his body sore but holding—sovereign aura flowing beneath his skin like molten gold beneath tempered iron.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing as he stepped toward the second half of his vision.
"The blade," he murmured. "Their edge."
His right hand lifted, and from his dimensional storage, a new array of materials began to appear—one by one—summoned from sealed vaults across realms and time.
—Meteoric dusksteel from the fractured sky-continents.—Starweave alloy smelted in lunar gravity.—Void-honed spine fragments from an ancient wyrm.—Aetherglass thread to reinforce the interior grain.—And shards of radiant obsidian crystal that once rested beneath the foundation of the Still World.
Alter laid the first length of starweave across the flame.
Then he called his hammer.
KLANG.
The metal screamed as he shaped it. It didn't want to bend—it resisted, like it knew it had never been made for hands to touch.
But Alter was no ordinary smith.
KLANG.
He combined forging with alchemy, adjusting elemental polarity to make the alloy merge more willingly. He folded the materials together again and again—each fold precise, controlled. Each motion channeled with divine-level energy precision.
He carved runic threads into the forming blade mid-process—not merely for decoration, but for function. One cluster near the tip increased vibrational sharpness. Another along the inner spine absorbed elemental resistances. And in the heart of the blade, he placed the core rune—a glyph designed to pierce dimensional pressure itself. A rune of severance.
A cousin to the glyphs on Starsever.
His eyes sharpened.
This was no simple replica.
This was the beginning of a legacy.
As the blade neared completion, he inlaid the final enchantments—a lattice of silent-thread sigils that allowed the sword to break through layered defenses and phased shielding. Each glyph shimmered as it sealed into the alloy.
And then—he drew the final rune.
Right along the edge.
The moment it completed—
VWWMMMMMMMMMMM—!!!
The entire chamber shattered.
The forge's time-space anchors shrieked. Runes bled light. The three hundred armor sets were thrown outward from the core as reality itself bent around the blade still hovering above the anvil.
CRKKKKKKKKSSSH—!!
A rift split in the air beside the sword—thin, jagged, flickering like cracked glass in the fabric of space. The sword floated upward on its own, humming with a piercing, high-pitched tone, sharper than any edge it bore.
Alter stepped back, stunned—one arm raised defensively.
His eyes narrowed, glowing with caution as he analyzed the phenomenon.
"…That wasn't supposed to happen."
He moved forward again, cautiously, runes in his eyes flickering as he scanned the blade.
"…Stability… core integrity… enchantment sequence…"
Then he stopped.
His eyes widened.
It wasn't just an artifact.
It had broken through.
"This isn't artifact grade," he whispered, voice low in awe. "It pierced the veil."
He pressed a palm near the hilt. His aura brushed it lightly.
The blade responded with a pulse of raw pressure—silent, formless, and terrifyingly precise.
"…Quasi-Celestial," he said aloud. "Not just artifact… but forged so precisely, so perfectly aligned to the frequency of reality itself… it breached it."
He blinked slowly, astonished.
"I didn't even use true celestial materials…"
The implication struck hard.
If a sword of this magnitude was forged from lesser-grade components…
What could be made with true divine cores?
He shook his head. "One miracle at a time."
He extended a hand toward the floating sword, which slowly rotated to face him.
Its blade glinted with impossible light—edges not fully solid, shimmering with subtle distortion. The air around it wavered, warping ever so slightly, as if reality still struggled to contain it.
He smiled.
"You need a name."
He reached out and placed his hand on the hilt.
The moment he did—his thoughts aligned.
And a name rose from his spirit.
A name that fit a weapon that could bend and break the world.
"Riftcarver."
KRWHHOOOOOM—!!!
The sword exploded with aura.
A wave of gold, violet, and distortion-light erupted outward, shaking the forge again—but this time, it did not destabilize.
Instead, it sang.
The blade had accepted its name.
The runes across its body flared with recognition.
The weapon had become whole.
Alter chuckled softly, standing before the blade as the air bent around its tip.
"You're proud already," he said, amused. "That's good. You'll have many brothers and sisters."
The blade pulsed once—soft, almost affectionate.
Then retracted its aura.
The distortion around its edges remained—faint, but undeniable. It could be sheathed, held, wielded—but the moment it was called to strike, reality would remember what it feared.
A sword that cut beyond.
Alter turned to the next cluster of materials already hovering in waiting.
One sword down.
Two hundred ninety-nine more to go.
The forge had not dimmed.
Not since the moment Riftcarver awakened.
Days passed outside the Eternal Bastion. Seasons seemed to stall around the mountain, as if the world itself paused to wait. But deep within the sealed Sovereign Forge—where time folded under Alter's will—days became weeks, and weeks became minutes.
He never left.
Not once.
The quasi-celestial long katana, forged in the image of Starsever, had shattered reality upon awakening. Its edge distorted air around it, shimmering with dimensional stress. It floated silently, pulsing in slow intervals like a blade dreaming of the battlefield.
But now Alter turned his gaze to the next phase.
The Fourteen Commanders.
His champions.
His family.
He stood alone in the forge's heart, eyes half-lidded with both exhaustion and resolve. His long coat was tied at the waist, sleeves rolled high, arms marked with deep-forged rune-burns—lines of sovereign script seared into his skin through pure crafting strain. He welcomed them. Marks of creation.
"Fourteen more," he murmured. "Not just relics. But reflections of who they are."
He waved his hand.
CLANG—FSSSSHHHHK—KRRRMMM.
A new ring of materials descended into the room—different from those used for the Dragoons. These were rarer. Heavier. Some divine, others ancient beyond catalog.
Obsidian crys-steel smelted in the Tempest Chasm.Wind-tempered dragonbone from fallen sky leviathans.Pure kinetic plates drawn from the Cradle of Shattered Stars.And embersteel silk—harvested from the cocoon threads of the mythical Flame Widow spider.
And for two of them—he started first.
Finn and Mira.
He closed his eyes and breathed.
"Let me remember how they fight."
His sovereign mind replayed it all—Finn's precision, his wind-threaded step techniques, his linear velocity chaining. Mira's flowing elemental resonance, her battlefield grace, her synergy with Finn that bordered on telepathic.
Alter raised his hands.
"Twin Echo Cycle: Begin."
FWOOOOOM—KRSSHHHH.
Twin forges activated at once.
Two separate anvil cores erupted from the floor, shaped as dragon heads turned inward. One glowed with streaks of silver and windlight, the other pulsed with soft blue fire and mirrored glass.
He began shaping the armor plates in tandem.
KLANG.
Finn's chestplate was streamlined, reinforced with aerodynamic drag-break ridges along the back. The spine could pulse with wind burst sigils to enhance vertical and lateral movement. Greaves with low-profile impact flares. Shoulders designed with a compression-release system to enhance high-speed slashes.
KLANG.
Mira's armor shimmered with a heat-dispersal weave. Her robes were interwoven with elemental silk that adjusted to her aura resonance. Her bracers were etched with dual-enchantment loops—one for elemental cycling, one for ward projection. A long waistcoat-like mantle hung behind, enchanted to extend casting duration without aura loss.
For both, he carved unique core runes into the chest:
For Finn: "Aetherstep" – Enhances directional velocity, short-range blink, and flow recall chaining.
For Mira: "Soulweave Spiral" – Harmonizes internal elemental channels with environmental mana, reducing casting fatigue and accelerating dual-element spells.
VWRRRMMMM—!!
The two armor sets surged with light. Wind and flame clashed for a moment before coiling into harmony. Twin pulses echoed across the chamber like twin heartbeats syncing mid-air.
Then came the blades.
He forged two:
For Finn: A thinner, longer curved blade with a wind-cutting channel running down its length. It was designed to sing as it swung—each vibration reinforcing the next strike's precision.
For Mira: A fan-like saber that could fracture into floating mirrored shards on command, orbiting her like sentient feathers before reassembling at will.
Both swords bore embedded resonance links to their armor. Together, they formed a two-part combat system. Together, they were whole.
KRRK-CHOOOOOOM—!!
When he placed both weapons beside their respective armor sets, the aura exploded outward in a spiral of intertwining flame and wind. Runic light painted the walls of the forge. The dragon symbols carved into the ceiling howled with silent force.
Alter stumbled back one step—sweat rolling down his temple—but he smiled.
"They'll love them."
He took a long breath.
Then turned toward the next platform.
Thorne. Selene. Revyn. Blazebloom. Ilyra. Soryn. Darius. Mira. Caelum. Sorei. Arinelle. Garran. Veyna. Cidros. Vellmar. Jaris. Talia. Elira. Selin. Rhed.
Each one had earned their place. Each one would receive armor worthy of who they had become.
But before he moved forward, he turned toward the far corner of the forge.
Toward a small pedestal, still untouched.
For Selene.
He approached it slowly, reverently.
She already wielded celestial-grade armaments. He had forged her armor and weapon with his soul.
But accessories… were different.
He closed his eyes again.
"A shield for her mana. A mirror for her soul. And a veil to keep her hidden from the divine."
He summoned three materials:
Lunarveil Glass, from a divine moon that no longer exists
Obsidian-threaded sovereign silk
Starcore Emberdust from his own forging heart
With those, he began crafting her accessories—delicate, beautiful, yet impossibly powerful. A circlet, a mantle, and a core-linked choker with defensive veil shielding.
And he would make more.
But this—this was the beginning.
He rolled his shoulders and raised the hammer again.
The forge roared back to life.
Time had shifted again.
Inside the Sovereign Forge, days passed like breath—measured in hammer strikes, rune burns, and the rhythm of flame. Outside, the Eternal Bastion remained quiet, watching over the mountain ranges in serene stillness. But inside the forge, the heat had never ceased.
Alter stood at the center, bare-armed and focused, flame-scorched tunic tied at the waist. Sovereign fire curled around him like a living presence as he brought his hammer down on another shoulderplate with a deafening:
KLANG.
Sparks burst across the rune-etched floor, briefly illuminating the rows of completed armor standing in silent ranks around the chamber. Dozens now bore the marks of the Commanders—crafted with care, perfection, and a kind of quiet pride that only one man could forge into steel.
But time… had slipped.
He didn't realize how long it had been until the chamber shifted.
Soft footsteps. A presence.
His eyes lifted, and for the first time in what felt like weeks within the sealed timefield—
He stopped.
Selene stood at the threshold, framed by the golden shimmer of runes. Her silver-blue gown trailed behind her, and in her hands she carried a cloth-covered basket, laced with ribbons of soft lavender.
She smiled gently. "I thought you might be hungry."
Alter blinked once. His breath caught.
"…It's been days already?"
"Four, outside," she said, stepping into the chamber. "I figured you wouldn't notice until you collapsed from muscle lock."
He chuckled faintly, lowering his hammer. His body ached, and his hands were marked with heat-bloomed calluses and rune-burns. Yet—he smiled.
"Thank you," he said, voice low but warm. "Join me?"
He waved a hand, and with a soft pulse of sovereign energy, a table and two chairs materialized in a ripple of firelight—clean, smooth, engraved with soft runes of heat resistance and stability. The forge cooled slightly in respect for her presence.
"I don't need to eat," he added with a sheepish tone, "but… I think I could use the pause."
She raised a brow as she sat beside him. "You think?"
Alter joined her with a quiet sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The chairs adjusted automatically to their postures. The light in the chamber softened.
Selene unwrapped the basket and began placing dishes between them—warm, home-cooked comfort meals. Grilled root-vegetables glazed in honey spice, dragon-egg omelets, a bowl of celestial fruit slices glowing faintly with mana, and a small clay pot of herbal tea still steaming.
Alter blinked again. "You cooked all this?"
"I had help," she admitted. "But the fruit was foraged by Alyx. The tea is mine."
They ate in silence for a few minutes—peaceful, soft clinks of plates and quiet sips of tea. The forge had never known such stillness. For the first time since Riftcarver's awakening, the fire did not roar. It rested.
When they finished, Selene gathered the dishes and cleaned the table with a flick of magic, the cloth gliding back into place with graceful ease.
Alter stood and stretched—his joints cracking faintly, shoulders rolling back. His hair lifted slightly from the shift in temperature, and he exhaled, finally aware of how tight his body had become.
Selene leaned back, watching him with folded arms and a quiet smirk.
"So," she asked, "how's the progress?"
Alter turned toward her with a small grin, his gold eyes glowing with restrained pride. "Better than expected. Every set feels more… alive than the last. Everyone's going to be in for a surprise."
She returned his smile, soft and genuine. "I'm sure they'll feel it too."
Then—without warning—she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest.
Alter stiffened for half a second.
"S-Selene—wait, I—uh…"
He glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. His arms hovered awkwardly. "I've been working for days. I'm drenched. I probably smell like furnace ash and forge oil and—"
"I don't care," she murmured against him. "You always smell like you. And I missed you."
His shoulders relaxed. Slowly, his arms folded around her, drawing her in. The heat of the forge gave way to something warmer—something quiet. A flame that didn't roar, but simply stayed.
She released him after a long moment and stepped back.
"Good luck with the rest," she said, smoothing her dress. Then she rose on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Don't burn the room down."
He laughed quietly. "I'll try not to. I'm almost done. Just… wait a little longer."
"I will."
She picked up the basket, turned—
—and paused at the threshold.
She looked back at him with a glint in her eye and a playful smile curving her lips.
"Oh, and Alter?"
He tilted his head. "Hm?"
"When you're done…"
She winked.
"I will reward you."
And with that, she vanished into the corridor, footsteps light, shoulders poised—but her pace just a little faster than before.
Alter stood there a long moment.
Then his cheeks turned just slightly red.
He ran a hand down his face.
"…That woman," he muttered.
Then he looked up at the forge.
The flames sparked again. His hands lifted. Sovereign fire roared.
He was fired up.
The forge pulsed again.
Fresh after Selene's visit, Alter's mind cleared, his focus sharpened. The warmth of her presence lingered in his chest—quiet, calming, and strong. And now, with his heart steady and resolve rekindled, he turned toward the twin platforms glowing before him.
Two rising pedestals.
Each one flared to life with soft spirals of gold and crimson light, responding to the names engraved into the floor: Finn Whiteshadow and Mira Whiteshadow.
"Let's give the twins of the battlefield their true forms," he said, stepping forward.
He summoned the selected materials, laid them out in perfect mirrored arcs on both sides of the forge:
Star-shard alloy for its speed-conductive properties
Moon-dyed drakeskin for the inner layer—flexible, near-weightless
Voidthread silk, stitched for motion efficiency
And two twin resonating crystals, hand-tuned to their spiritual frequencies
The forge flickered.
Not in warning—in recognition.
Alter rolled his shoulders once. Then brought his sovereign hammer down.
KLANG.
The first set—Finn's.
Armor shaped for velocity, reaction speed, and silent force. His signature silhouette, preserved: sleek but aggressive, with a lean build shaped for airborne control. Each piece was layered in black onyx plating trimmed with golden streaks, like a wolf born from shadow traced by sunfire.
Across the back, etched in shimmering filigree, a snarling black wolf with eyes of fire gazed forward, its fangs bared mid-leap. The armor's helm bore a narrow visor with retractable fangs along the jawline. The plating curved into subtle canine-like ridges near the crown—wolf in form, fury in function.
He embedded the resonating crystal in the chest—directly beneath the snarling wolf sigil.
The moment it locked in:
THRUMMMMM.
A pulse rippled outward—like a heartbeat laced with wind.
Alter then moved to the inside of the armor, inscribing combat-style-specific runes:
Windstep Glyphs across the boots and calves, to enhance lateral burst and blink-shifting
Aetherflow channels around the forearms to synchronize with Finn's blade and allow seamless transitions into velocity chains
A Phase Echo rune hidden within the collar—a delayed movement tracker for battlefield deception
He tested the retractable helmet mechanism next—sweeping the helm back in one smooth snap, locking it against the upper back plate. Seamless. Pressure-balanced. Exactly like his own.
He exhaled.
"Perfect."
Then, he turned to the second platform.
Mira's armor.
Fluid, elegant, dangerous. She was a dancer of elements, a war-mage whose presence bent the field without raising her voice. He honored that in her build—white shimmersteel plating, reflective and regal, edged in crimson streaks that pulsed faintly with mana.
Her wolf emblem, etched along the breastplate and shoulders, curled mid-motion—a white wolf howling upward, surrounded by spiraling spell threads. Her helm echoed Finn's but with sleeker curves—more elegant, a narrowed jawline and a crimson crest that mirrored a wolf's howl frozen in metal. It too could retract, sliding back into her upper armor plate without delay.
He embedded her resonating crystal into the chest as well.
THWMMM—!
This pulse wasn't wind—but magic. The air thickened briefly, as if Mira's aura had responded from across the continent.
He knelt beside the armor to carve her personal enchantments:
Elemental Channel Stabilizers across her wrists and palms, allowing smooth cycling of multi-affinity magic
Refraction Wards laced through the hips and cloak spine, granting her a temporary mirror-shield during evasive maneuvers
Synchronicity Anchor, tied to Finn's armor—allowing their aura pulses to align and reinforce one another's stamina field when fighting side by side
When the final rune was engraved, the armor sparked with internal resonance, glowing softly with white and crimson light.
Alter stood between the two suits.
The twin armors hovered silently, now fully awakened.
One black wolf trimmed in gold, forged for silence and speed.
One white wolf edged in crimson, made for control and resonance.
Together, they radiated a presence not unlike their wearers—inseparable, distinct, yet bound by something deeper than metal.
Alter smiled.
"They'll know."
He looked between them, stepping back as the twin sets folded into a passive hover stance—awaiting their wielders.
Two down. Twelve to go.
The twin wolves were complete.
Their armor sets now hovered silently in the upper sanctum of the Sovereign Forge—one black and gold, the other white and crimson—resonating in perfect harmony. Alter stood at the center of the forge once more, surrounded by sovereign flame and time-anchored silence, the weight of his task still unfinished.
He turned toward the thirteen remaining sigils now floating midair around him—each one bearing the name and class signature of a Mythral Dawn Commander, excluding Selene and Soryn.
Selene's celestial armor and blade needed no recreation. And Soryn would not be included—his role was already unique, distinct from the others. But for the rest?
They were due a rebirth in steel, leather, silk, and sovereign will.
He raised his hand—and with a flick of his fingers, Vault Circle XIII expanded outward.
FWOOOOOM—KRSSHHHHHH.
Crates of materials descended from suspended runic pockets. Not just alloys and divine ores this time—but tailored silks, wyrmhide leather, sunwoven fabric bolts, flexible coreplates, and rare tailoring reagents not found in traditional smithing.
Not all warriors fought in plate.
But all deserved protection worthy of who they had become.
Alter approached the center, eyes narrowing as the forges split into four sub-circles, each tuned for a different crafting discipline:
Divine Metalcrafting
Wyrmhide Leatherworking
Soul-thread Tailoring
Runic Inscripture and Resonance Weaving
The runes around the room adjusted automatically to match the crafting type as Alter called forth the first name.
1. Thorne Ironstride – Warborn Commander
He began with Thorne, whose broad, juggernaut build demanded heavy, close-range optimized armor.
Alter forged the armor in thick layers of volcanic-borne dracosteel—each plate connected by a flexible inner weave that resisted impact shock. The shoulders bore dragon-maw crests, capable of withstanding kinetic burst spells. A resonating crystal embedded in the sternum, shielded beneath a wolf-skull motif, pulsed with brute-force amplification.
Runes carved along the limbs enhanced momentum-based strength—every step, every swing, every shoulder bash became deadlier the longer Thorne remained in motion.
2. Darius Coalbrand – Shield Commander
For Darius, Alter selected tempered obsidian-titan blend, favoring durability and shock absorption over elegance. His armor was dense, quiet, with folded plates layered over his heart and lower back—the most frequent points of his body blocks.
The resonating crystal was embedded into the spine of his backplate, reinforcing his physical and magical resistance via aura shielding.
Additional enchantments were laid into the vambraces, allowing him to channel redirected energy into counter-attacks.
3. Revyn Mistclaw – Shadow Commander
Revyn's armor required precision. Not plate—but layered shadow-thread leather lined with vibration-dampening mesh. Blackened wyrmhide was stitched in overlapping strips, allowing freedom of motion, while ghoststeel shavings laced the sleeves to confuse magical tracking.
Alter embedded the resonating crystal into the collarbone area—small, subtle, but powerful. It allowed momentary phase-stepping or void-stall blink dodges, tied directly to Revyn's breath control.
No shine. No noise. No presence.
4. Mira Snowveil – Frostweaver Commander
While her signature white cloak remained, Alter tailored Mira's armor using cold-tempered silversilk bound with elemental stabilizers.
The chestpiece shimmered with frost-laced aethersteel—lightweight, allowing casting movement. Sleeves ended in looped cuffs designed to pulse with cryo-charges. Runes embroidered down the inside lining allowed rapid shifts between freeze-chain projection and reflection-based defense.
Her resonating crystal was sewn directly beneath her breastbone, cradled in a hexagonal mana cradle, enhancing her casting duration and maintaining spell resonance under stress.
The final armor gleamed with radiant frost aura—cold and beautiful, refined to perfection.
5. Arinelle Dawnwhisper – Spirit Caller Commander
Arinelle's robes were created from soulwoven cloth, enchanted with aura-infused starlight thread. The garment shimmered like silk across a moonlit lake, flowing with grace even while idle.
Alter bound the resonating crystal into the waist sash—anchored to her aura field. Runes across the inner hem resonated with spectral presences, allowing Arinelle to channel guardian spirits with reduced cost and emotional backlash.
Subtle in form, radiant in energy.
6. Caelum Dray – Skyreach Commander
Caelum's armor was flight-adapted—lightweight, wind-resistant, and shaped to allow aerial momentum. A folded, winged mantle was built into the backplate, functioning as both a glider and defensive mana sail.
His resonating crystal was placed directly into the center of the cape's harness, giving Caelum access to a graviton surge field, used to launch skyward or stabilize mid-air strikes.
The enchantments were refined, the structure aerodynamic.
7. Sorei Windshaper – Scout Commander
Light wyrmhide reinforced with movement-sensitive sigils, Sorei's armor was sleeveless, flared at the hips for rapid spin maneuvers, and partially enchanted to ripple with chameleon veiling.
The crystal was built into the back of the neck, granting invisibility bursts under certain breath rhythms.
Fluid, silent, and reactive—stealth armor at its pinnacle.
8. Garran Flamecoil – Pyre Commander
Flame-hardened greaves and vambraces. Open-plate torso with radiant veins to vent excess heat from Garran's volatile aura. The chest crystal was pressed into the breastbone under a flame motif, synchronizing with his battle chants to detonate his aura field at will.
The heat did not burn the armor. It fueled it.
9. Veyna Lux – Crystal Commander
Her armor was elegant and angular—reflective plates interwoven with light-catch threads. Crystalline forearm bracers were designed to store captured light and redirect it into solid projections.
Her crystal core was mounted in a mirrored housing behind her lower back, amplifying prism-based spellcasting and refractive illusions.
The armor glittered like a prism under pressure.
10. Ilyra Faen – Warden Commander
Flowing coat-armor hybrid stitched with bless-thread silk, interlaced with shock-absorption leather beneath. Embedded divine runes along the edges enhanced magical defense and purified corrupted energy.
Her resonating crystal was forged into the clasp of her mantle—a beacon of stillness and willpower under chaos.
Another masterpiece. A protective dress woven with faith.
11. Cidros Vane – Arcblade Commander
His armor was elegant, tight-wrapped, with slimline arc conduits running from gauntlet to thigh. Lightning discharge runes were etched into the edges of his boots and gloves, allowing displacement strikes.
Crystal location: chest core, beneath an arcplate built to release static bursts upon impact or teleportation triggers.
Sleek. Crackling. Lethal. Armor built for mobility and burst damage.
12. Blazebloom – Vanguard Commander
Heavy armor, almost ceremonial, adorned in red-and-gold overlapping plates resembling dragon-scale mail. Shoulder crests curved like molten wings. Flame-trapped runes danced across the surface, releasing sonic bursts when she charged.
Resonating crystal set into the collar—center of her heat vortex field. With it, she could anchor herself mid-storm or detonate her momentum into flame-rushes.
Weighty, fearsome, and powerful. A plate made for shock and awe.
The forge roared again.
Not with pressure—but with memory.
Alter stood silently for a moment, staring at the two pedestals in front of him—shaped like a crescent moon and a howling wolf. He had carved them years ago, instinctively, never knowing who they would serve. Now, he did.
He reached into the temporal vaults of his mind and smiled.
The twins. Their earliest days. The chaos of dungeons. The synchronized flips and leaps. The rain of plasma fire. The bite of steel. The way they moved together—unspoken, inseparable. Wolves in human skin.
He stepped forward.
"Let's give them a gift worthy of who they've become."
The first materials floated into the air—a symphony of divine alloys, plasma-reactive mesh, soul-attuned glassweave, and mythril filament. Twin arcs of energy flared across the rune-lined ceiling as he summoned the shape of the first weapon.
A rifle.
But not ordinary. Not even artifact-tier anymore.
This was something new. Something primal.
Alter shaped the first frame—a sleek obsidian-chrome body lined with lightning glyphs. Then, with a twist of his fingers, he embedded a rotating resonance core directly inside the rifle's barrel chamber. There were no crystals this time—no need. The divine runes gathered ambient mana directly, converting it into liquid plasma in real time.
Each part clicked into place with rhythmic precision.
CLAK. TSHK. FWMMMM.
He locked in the tri-range module—short, mid, and long—using only a rotating thumb dial beneath the trigger line. In earlier versions, long-range mode had taken over three seconds to charge.
This one?
0.5 seconds.
The compression chamber hissed.
SSSS-KRRKKK.
Alter grinned as he stabilized the final circuit.
"Pulverization yield… 93% at half charge. With no mana cost."
He crafted four rifles total—a pair for each of them, perfectly balanced, soul-matched to their twin spirits. He placed them reverently into the stabilization cradle as their barrels hummed with restrained energy.
Then he turned to the final step.
The forge dimmed.
And four dagger cores emerged from the rotating soul crucible—long, jagged shards shaped like howling fangs. They pulsed with inner light. Two dark with gold tracers—Finn's. Two white with a crimson shimmer—Mira's.
He shaped the blades first—lean, curved single-edge daggers, about a foot long. The hilts were styled to match their respective wolf motifs. Reverse-grip enabled. The base flared like a wolf's paw; the tip gleamed like polished fang.
He shaped the steel first—lean, curved single-edge daggers, about a foot long. The hilt was balanced to allow reverse grip or fang-thrust, with a wide base and a tulip taper. Wolf fang weapons, meant for execution and grace alike.
Then came the runes.
Carved. Etched. Buried into the core.
Divine sharpness runes. Penetration enchantments. Movement-assisted aura locks.
The moment he laid the final engraving—
RRRRRAAAWWWRRKK!!
The entire forge screamed. The daggers howled as if they had throats.
Winds erupted around him as both blades exploded outward, tearing through space. Cracks lanced across the ceiling like lightning. Reality flickered—distorting, collapsing, then stitching itself together again.
The daggers hung in midair.
Then… they moved.
Together.
They began to spin—circling one another in intricate spirals, dancing like celestial wolves in a hunt. The light they emitted wasn't just power. It was personality. Identity.
Alter's hair danced from the spiraling pulse. Sweat traced his brow, but he was smiling wide.
"I see," he whispered. "You're not just weapons anymore."
He raised a hand and spoke aloud:
"I name you…"
He turned to Finn's twin black-and-gold blades:"Nightfang" and "Gloomfang."
Then to Mira's white and crimson pair:"Dawnbite" and "Crimsonfang."
The forge exploded again—a wave of sovereign pressure flattening the back wall, knocking over crates, and sending sparks flaring in concentric arcs.
But Alter stood firm.
The blades stopped.
And then, as if bowing in thanks, they lowered themselves into the twin dagger stands.
He let out a slow breath. "You'll have them soon. Just wait a little longer."
Above ground—in the southern wing of the Eternal Bastion—
Mira gasped.
She broke her kiss with Finn, suddenly clutching her chest.
"…Did you feel that?"
Finn's brow furrowed. "Yeah… like something… calling."
Their fingers intertwined. Both stood, turning toward the forge even though they couldn't see it. There was a pull—like heat from a hearth, like instinct from blood.
Something was waking.
And it whispered both their names.
The forge had changed.
No longer a domain of chaotic inspiration—it had become a sanctum of measured rhythm. A temple of divine crafting.
Alter stood at the center, encircled by a constellation of tools, flames, and suspended sigils representing each of the 12 remaining Mythral Dawn Commanders. He had crafted armor for them days ago—each set a masterpiece of function and form.
Now came the second half of the promise:
Their weapons. Their shields. Their legacies.
One by one, he moved.
The first weapon took shape in silence—its frame forged with hammer strikes timed to the heartbeats of war. Each hammerfall rang out like a church bell across the forge, echoing into the time-dilated space.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
A curved glaive, for Arinelle Dawnwhisper. Its silver edge pulsed with spiritual runes that allowed it to phase partially into the spirit realm upon impact. As it neared completion, the glaive trembled—as if aware of its purpose.
Next, a tower shield and war-axe, forged as a set.
The shield bore flame-kissed edges with a mirrored hexacore embedded in the center—made for Garran Flamecoil, whose brute strength and fire affinity made the shield an extension of himself. The axe crackled with runes that reacted to blood and heat, empowering itself with each impact.
Then came the twin arcblades of Cidros Vane—sleek, razor-thin and tempered with stardust alloy. The edges hummed a soundless note that bent the space around them, allowing the user to shift velocity mid-strike. These did not just cut—they repositioned reality.
For Veyna Lux, Alter forged a crystalline staff and mirror-shield hybrid. The staff channeled light into fractal beams of distortion, while the shield refracted attacks across dimensions. Her focus on light magic was infused into every rune. The moment the last sigil was etched, the staff pulsed with light so bright it cast twin shadows on the wall behind Alter—one mortal, one radiant.
Sorei Windshaper's twin sabers took form next—modeled after slicing wind and jagged lightning. They curved like avian wings, forged of enchanted mithrenium and bound with wind runes that could accelerate to shatter speeds. Alter etched in tempest sigils, giving them the name: Skyfangs.
Revyn Mistclaw's shortblade and chained dagger were compact, yet sharp enough to split shadows. With each strike, they carved silence into the air. Their enchantments suppressed noise and aura entirely—perfect for a Shadow Commander who preferred to end battles before they began.
Mira Snowveil's longbow emerged from froststeel and softworld sinew—delicate in appearance, but devastating in capability. Alter shaped the bow to absorb ambient cold, storing it in an elemental core that would freeze the air around her with each shot. The quiver he forged automatically spawned ice-arrows from condensed moisture.
Thorne Ironstride received a colossal warhammer—six feet long, forged from thunder-ore and draconic spine. Each strike could shake the bones of titans. The core of the hammer housed a thunder pulse, detonating with each impact and emitting shockwaves that could level enemy formations.
Darius Coalbrand's kite shield and longsword were heavy and layered—designed for someone who fought at the vanguard. The shield bore the sigil of the 14 Commanders, and the sword was tuned to elemental defense, able to absorb attacks and release them as counterblasts.
Ilyra Faen's weapon was perhaps the most difficult to craft.
A ribbon blade—fluid, flexible, edged with sovereign silksteel. It danced in the air like a living serpent, responding to her movements before she made them. Alter poured hours into fine-tuning its shape. When finished, it coiled gently in his hand and let out a whisper.
"Complete," he murmured.
Finally, Caelum Dray's skyhalberd and energy discus—a unique blend of long-range and aerial combat weapons. The halberd bore gravimetric runes to alter weight mid-flight, allowing aerial maneuvering and charge-thrust techniques. The discus spun with elemental wind, able to return to its master after each throw.
Hours passed. Then days.
Each weapon was treated with care. Enchantments etched slowly, materials layered with harmony, not force. For some, Alter invoked spatial compression techniques to anchor magic across dimensions. For others, divine resonance crystals were implanted at the core—harmonizing with their wielders' blood, mana, and will.
As the final weapon was completed, a pulse echoed through the forge.
TUMMMMMM—
One by one, the weapons flared. Some burned with golden flame. Others glowed with ice, lightning, or elemental pressure.
And among them—three weapons did not just glow… they shimmered.
Their auras rippled time and bent space. The floor cracked slightly beneath them. The enchantments hummed with the frequency of creation.
Alter stepped back, brushing the sweat from his brow.
"…Quasi-celestial," he said softly. "I wasn't even trying."
He smiled.
"They'll know when they touch them. These aren't just tools. They're… destinies."
He looked around the forge, now quiet once more. Every blade, every shield, every bow, staff, and hammer stood still—like soldiers in perfect formation, waiting for their call.
The weapons of the 13 Commanders were complete.
All were artifact-grade by default—three had surpassed even that, crowned with the first shimmerings of celestial potential.
And this… was only the beginning.
The forge was silent once more.
The weapons of the Commanders had been completed—arrayed like a radiant phalanx across the armory halls of the Eternal Bastion's lower sanctum. And yet, Alter did not leave. He remained at the heart of the Sovereign Forge, still bare-chested, hair loose from sweat and soot, arms scarred with the heat of craftsmanship—but eyes burning brighter than ever.
Because this time… he was not forging for a force.
He was forging for her.
Selene.
The light of his days. The anchor of his heart. The flame that rose beside him.
He stepped forward, drawing from the crystalline pedestal a small obsidian case—one that had remained untouched until now. Inside it lay three untouched divine-grade materials, each reserved for something far more delicate than armor or weaponry.
They shimmered with soft, lunar iridescence—faintly pulsing, as if resonating with a heartbeat not present in the room.
Alter whispered to the forge.
It answered.
A small section of the forge's core split open, revealing three celestial ingots suspended within molten aether. Threads of divine filament drifted around them—lighter than air, more reactive than mana. He reached in, gathering only what he needed.
He began with the earrings.
Two teardrop-shaped crystals—carved from pure arcanite essence—were suspended midair. As he rotated them slowly, he channeled mana into his fingertips. No hammer, no tools—only shaping magic. Each crystal gradually twisted into the image of double-winged feathers, etched with micro-runes barely visible to the naked eye.
Each rune was a layer of complex divine mathematics—designed to synchronize with Selene's Ascension Combat Mode. The enchantments had only one purpose:
To harmonize her celestial ascension.
As he engraved the final rune, the earrings pulsed with a choral hum—a single note of divine equilibrium.
Their effects locked into reality:
Ascension Duration Extended by 60%.
Backlash Reduction by 80%.
Mana Synchronization optimized for seamless transitions between states.
They shimmered like quiet starlight, then floated beside him as he turned to the second task.
The bracelets.
Forged from layered platinumsteel and memory-thread, each one bore a scale-like interlocking design. On one wrist, he embedded warding runes—capable of deflecting minor divine attacks passively. On the other, he infused focus amplification glyphs, tuned to channel greater spell density without overloading.
He merged both into matching silver-gold bands, each inscribed with her name—not in script, but in divine frequency. Only she would feel the resonance.
He slipped in a faint enchantment at the end—a whisper of protection:
"If your soul is torn, let this hold it for you. If you fall, let this bring you home."
Lastly, he turned to the ring.
Not ornate. Not ceremonial. This one was purpose-driven.
He shaped the metal into a simple braid—silver entwined with dawn-gold. At its crest sat a single star-etched shard—a relic from the collapsed heavens he once walked. A rare gem that shimmered only in response to loyalty and love.
He imbued it with a single function:
Emergency Temporal Lock – if Selene were ever mortally wounded while wearing it, time around her would be frozen for 5 seconds, allowing teleportation or divine rescue to activate.
He stared at it for a long time before whispering its name:
"Heartline."
The ring pulsed once—then stilled.
When all three items hovered before him—earrings, bracelets, and ring—he took a slow breath and let his aura recede. The forge's light dimmed around him.
A warmth stirred in the air. Not heat from fire… but from presence.
He turned slightly—half-expecting Selene to be behind him.
She wasn't.
But her essence remained.
He gathered the items, wrapped them in a silken black case lined with crimson velvet, and whispered to himself:
"Soon."
He looked up at the ceiling of the forge—at the floating wards, the crackling runes, the storm-forged tools now resting.
Soon, she would wear these.Soon, he would place them on her himself.