The victory was short-lived.
As the storm of light faded and the people of Future Pride began to cheer, the city's heart — the plasma core that powered every circuit, every skybridge, every dream — began to tremble.
What had once been the source of its brilliance now pulsed with corruption. The energy that Vexar had tampered with, that Ignis had battled to purify, now spiraled out of control — a chaotic storm devouring itself.
Crimson fissures tore through the skyline. Holo-screens burst into static. The air itself shimmered as if reality were melting.
The people looked up, terrified. The horizon glowed not with dawn — but with doom.
Urja's voice seemed to echo from memory:
"Power unbalanced will always seek to consume what it cannot control."
Ignis felt it deep in his soul — the same fire he once feared now resonating with the chaos below.
He could hear the pulse of the plasma core like a heartbeat on the edge of collapse.
"It's going to blow," one of the surviving heroes gasped. "The entire grid— the whole city—"
Ignis stood silent for a moment, the golden aura around him flickering softly. Then he looked up at the darkened spires, at the millions of lives trembling in the shadows, and smiled — that calm, knowing smile that once belonged to Urja.
"A hero isn't one who lives forever," he said quietly.
"It's one whose light does."
Without hesitation, he rose into the sky — higher and higher, until the city looked like a sea of glass beneath him. His flames ignited around him, golden and white, not in rage but in harmony.
The plasma storm roared as he approached it — a swirling vortex of raw, living energy. It tore at his body, at his soul, threatening to unmake him. But Ignis did not fight it. He embraced it.
Every breath became a vow.
Every heartbeat, a promise.
He drew the chaos inward — not to destroy it, but to contain it. The ALL IN ONE energy, the origin of all creation and corruption, now converged within him.
His body blazed brighter than the sun, a silhouette against a universe of color.
Through the fire, flashes of memory flooded his mind — Urja's last smile, Saurabh's laughter, the faces of every person he'd ever saved, every hand that had reached for hope because of him.
And then... peace.
Ignis looked down one last time at the city that had once hated him, feared him, worshipped him — and now, believed in him.
He whispered softly to the wind:
"Rise again, Future Pride. Rise brighter than me."
And then, with a deep breath, he released everything.
The explosion was silent — a wave of pure golden light rippling outward, swallowing the storm, healing the wounds of the city.
The plasma core dissolved. The chaos stilled.
The night sky burned gold for a moment longer — and then faded into the soft blue of morning.
When the smoke cleared, Ignis was gone.
No ashes. No body. Only light — lingering in the air, drifting like embers over rooftops.
People stepped out of shelters and saw the dawn for the first time without fear. Children pointed upward, where a faint, golden phoenix shimmered in the clouds — wings outstretched, eternal.
Future Pride stood, scarred but alive.
And though the hero had vanished, his flame remained — in every streetlight, every torch, every heart that dared to hope again.
The legend of Ignis became more than a name.
It became a promise.
That even when the fire fades...
the light will never die.