In the elven enclave's sanctuary, the Starheart Scepter revealed more: prophecies of the Bound One either restoring the Starborn or dooming Terra to void integration. Lirael pressed for action, rallying envoys from the Freeholds and even dissident Arcanum mages. "United, we strike the Netherkin heart and seal the exiles!"
Elarion, scarred and weary, felt the system's pull intensify:
[Integration Threshold: 80%. Emergency Protocol: Suppress host resistance.]
Pain lanced through him, forcing visions of godhood—ruling Terra as the exiles' avatar. He resisted, using the Key to isolate himself in his pocket dimension, a now-vast realm of floating archives and forged sanctums. There, he experimented with the Scepter, attempting to hack the system.
[System Command: Sever Integration.]
[Denied. Threshold too high. Alternative: Full Synchronization for Ascension.]
Outside, tensions boiled. Scouts reported Dominion legions clashing with Arcanum patrols near Aetheric nodes, while Netherkin cults summoned greater horrors, exploiting the chaos. Lirael pleaded through a scrying crystal: "Elarion, the Starborn call—you must lead!"
But in solitude, memories of his predecessor's simple life resurfaced—scavenging without the weight of infinity. The power that saved him now chained him to a world's fate he never asked for. Hubris had felled the Covenant; he wouldn't repeat it.
A final vision from the Scepter: the exiles' realm, a void where vessels like him withered into husks. Severing meant death, but fighting meant becoming the monster.
Elarion made his choice: not to fight, but to flee. A choice long decided, yes, but still his heart wavered.
The climactic battle unfolded at the Spire of Lyrath, the Arcanum's seat, now a nexus of converging forces. Dominion golems besieged its walls, Netherkin wraiths swarmed from rifts, and elven forces struck from the flanks, expecting Elarion's aid.
He arrived, Scepter in hand, infinite mana blazing. For a moment, he turned the tide—dimensional rifts swallowing armies, celestial blasts shattering golems, void tendrils banished. Lirael fought nearby, hope in her eyes. "Together, we reclaim the Elderglow!"
But as integration neared 90%, the exiles spoke through him: "Surrender to us, vessel. Rule eternal."
Elarion faltered, his attacks weakening. Visions overwhelmed: Terra consumed, Starborn imprisoned forever. The system's leash wasn't just power—it was a noose, tightening with every use.
In a desperate surge, he used the Key and Scepter in tandem, not to win, but to create a permanent rift—a one-way portal to an uncharted plane, beyond Terra's Veil.
Lirael realized too late. "Elarion, no! We need you!"
"Forgive me," he whispered, stepping through. The portal sealed behind him, severing the system's link at the threshold's edge. Integration halted at 99%, the exiles' screams echoing into silence.
Terra's battle raged on without him—the factions clashing in a pyrrhic stalemate, the Starborn's return delayed but not denied.