A year had passed since the northerners' temporary liberation from the Overlord's grip—a fleeting peace, destined to end when the cycle of corruption inevitably birthed a new successor to its throne.
Late one night, the Great Temple was cloaked in an unnerving quiet. Its few remaining candles guttered weakly as a trespassing wind seeped through ancient stone, making shadows writhe across the walls. Within the main hall, the GodKing—an Entity who had no need for sleep—was nonetheless captive to a dream. His armored form was motionless upon his throne, head resting heavily on a clenched fist.
His eyes opened slowly, two points of faint light piercing the gloom as he lifted his head.
"Another one,"he muttered, the words a low gravelly echo in the hall. He stared at his armored palm as if the dream's residue clung to it.
He rose with silent, fluid purpose, teleporting to a high balcony where the Keeper of Time and Fate stood vigil. She gazed into the star-strewn void, her form subtly outlined by the gentle swirl of golden sands that never stilled.
"Master,"the GodKing greeted, the title carrying its perpetual weight of deference.
"You are troubled," she observed, her voice the soft chime of a distant bell.
"A dream," he said, moving to stand beside her, his own gaze lifting to the indifferent stars. "It persists."
"The same vision that has haunted your rest of late?" she inquired, her head tilting a fraction.
He gave a single, slow nod. "Mhm."
"Describe it again," she pressed, her tone not of curiosity, but of diagnosis. "The two wooden beams in the lightless room. The floor, that unsettling red, fluid and grasping... pulling you down as you struggle toward the beams, and then..."
"...I am thrown back into wakefulness," he finished, a thread of raw frustration in his voice now, laid bare before her. "Their meaning still eludes you?"
"Perhaps it is not a meaning to be understood, but a thread of fate trying to pull you toward something," she suggested, her words measured.
"A vision of the future?"
"One possible future,"she clarified, her attention returning to the cosmos as if reading a text written in starlight. "A thread among millions, yet this one... insists."
The GodKing fell into a heavy silence, his helmeted gaze fixed on the infinite. Within that stillness, his thoughts drifted across the cosmos, not to destinies or dreams, but to a single, pressing concern: his disciple. He wondered what battle she was fighting, at that very moment, so far from the temple's false peace.
---
Meanwhile, on L'uminix, Ezmelral observed from her silent perch in the veil of time. In the war room below, her lookalike presided over the table, her posture radiating command as she dissected the results of their latest harvest with her Consilium Disciplinae, her focus absolute.
"Our intelligence confirms the north is fracturing," Avorlas reported, his finger tapping a location on the map, the air around him stirring with a subtle, restless energy.
"And the people's trust is fracturing with it," Libinea added, the flicker of Fire Essence in her eyes mirroring her unease. "New rumors are spreading through the villages."
Bellavius leaned forward, his Earth Essence lending a solid, grounded weight to his question. "What rumors?"
Libinea's gaze darted toward their leader before she spoke, her voice carefully measured. "They are saying... that m'lady is the one who created the PraLumunix."
A grim silence fell, broken by Iraetius. "I've heard the same whispers in the south." A faint, angry crackle of lightning played around his shoulders.
Bellavius rubbed his jaw, a low growl in his throat. "Who is planting this poison? And why now, when we are on the cusp of uniting the regions?"
"The source remains in shadow," Iraetius replied, his calm tone a contrast to the energy around him. "We will only know when they make a mistake."
"We also cannot accurately measure our progress toward unity," Libinea pointed out, tracing a border on the map, "until Osculi Iudæ returns from the east."
Meryal's voice, fluid and calming, cut through the tension. "I have dispatched the rest of the Consilium to the south to stabilize the situation. When Osculi Iudæ arrives with his report, we will have the clarity we need to act."
A unified nod moved around the table, a silent pact of patience and resolve. The tension in the room was a drawn bowstring, awaiting the release of a single, crucial piece of information.
---
That crucial piece was drawing nearer.
On the eastern edge of the western region, a young man in his late twenties crossed the border. His Paladixtus armor—scuffed and dust-worn from long travel—clanked softly with each measured step as he entered the bustling eastern town. His movements carried purpose, yet his pace was unhurried; his presence, quiet but commanding, a herald of news that would decide the fate of nations.
But before nations, there were the people.
Osculi Iudæ did not hasten toward the Paladixtus outpost. Instead, he walked the streets at a deliberate, contemplative pace, his eyes drinking in the fruits of the order's eight-year struggle—a peace they had bled to build.
Children darted past him, their laughter ringing through the air like silver bells.
"A Paladixtus!" one shouted, pointing at his armor.
"I'll become one when I'm older!" another declared, eyes wide with wonder.
They circled him once, giggling, then sped away down the cobblestone street, leaving ripples of joy in their wake.
A woman approached, her basket heavy with freshly picked fruit. Without a word, she offered it to him, her eyes holding a gratitude that needed no speech. "Thank you for your service," she said softly. These were provisions for her own family, now freely given to fill a guardian's belly. He accepted with a solemn nod, carrying the offering to a nearby food stall where he sat, watching the miracle of ordinary life unfold.
He bit into an apple. Its flavor was a revelation—crisp, sweet, and profoundly simple. It tasted not just of the soil, but of the peace that had nurtured it.
Refreshed, he continued his journey. Near the west gate, he paused again, captivated by a symphony of coordinated effort. Earth Essence users sculpted the foundation, their power drawing stone from the ground. Air Essence users lifted the heavy blocks, setting them into place with care. A swordsman carved them with precise, clean strikes. Fire Essence users welded seams with controlled flames, Water Essence users cooled the stone with gentle mist, and Lightning Essence users etched strengthening formations into the structure. Together, they were building a shelter—a promise of safety for those yet to arrive.
Osculi Iudæ watched in silent tribute, his heart full. Then, turning from the rising walls, he stepped through the east gate and set his course toward the Paladixtus headquarters, the weight of his duty now lighter, fortified by the hope he carried within.