The dawn after the revelations broke across seven worlds, each sunrise illuminating a new chapter for the elemental beings and their newfound companions. The past had been acknowledged, a heavy cloak shrugged off to allow for freer movement into the future they were now actively choosing to build.
******************
The Royal Knights' Hall was a spectacle of polished silver, flowing banners, and solemn tradition. Under the high, vaulted ceiling, amidst the assembled ranks of the kingdom's finest, Ragnar stood before Sir Lancelot. The old knight commander's voice boomed through the hall, officiating the knighting ceremony. The words were formal, a litany of duty and honor, but when Lancelot placed the ceremonial sword on Ragnar's shoulders, his gaze held a personal, unspoken challenge.
"Rise, Sir Ragnar, Knight of the Kingdom of Endragon."
As Ragnar stood, the commander made another announcement that sent a ripple through the crowd, particularly among the younger knights. "Furthermore, by the authority vested in me, I hereby appoint Sir Ragnar as the commanding officer of the newly formed Seventh Knight Company."
The Seventh was the talk of the capital—a unit composed of the most promising, and notoriously problematic, young nobles. It was a collection of heirs and heiresses from great houses like Lucandel and Baskerville, each brimming with talent but also with the arrogance of their station. Their duty was prestigious: maintaining order in the capital and leading subjugation missions against magical beasts. Their reputation, however, was one of insubordination and privilege.
Ragnar, though surprised by the immediate responsibility, understood Lancelot's unspoken logic. The commander needed a force of nature to tame these stormy young nobles, someone whose power and presence could not be ignored or challenged by mere birthright. He met Lancelot's eyes and gave a single, sharp nod. He would lead them. He would forge them into a weapon worthy of the kingdom, or he would break them in the attempt.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the grey light of the apocalypse's dawn, Noctus found Marcus overseeing the fortification of the base's perimeter. "I'm going out," Noctus stated without preamble. "To look for survivors."
Marcus turned, his face etched with exhaustion and immediate concern. "Noctus, that's suicide. The hordes are thicker the closer you get to the city center. We've lost good teams that way."
Noctus said nothing. He didn't need to. The memory of the previous day's carnage was vivid in both their minds—the tornado of gore, the effortless disassembly of the mutant zombies. His silence was more convincing than any argument.
Marcus sighed, running a hand over his face. "Fine. But you're not going alone. We're cooperating now. Take someone from your original team or mine. An extra pair of eyes, another fighter."
The choice was instantaneous for Noctus. There was only one person whose power could keep pace with his own, whose presence felt like a complementary force rather than a liability.
"Artemis," he said.
Marcus raised an eyebrow but didn't object. He'd seen the two of them fight, a synchronized dance of wind and destruction. "Alright. Just… bring both of you back in one piece."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first rays of the sun glittered on the endless ocean visible from Tiama's window. Gaiard watched the light play on the waves, a vast, blue prison that had swallowed a world.
"I don't know much about the world situation," he admitted, turning to Tiama. "The hierarchies, the politics, the other Arkworlds. So, I'll just stay here on the AW-03 for a while, learn what I can. Then I'll leave. What do you think?"
Tiama didn't hesitate. "I'll go with you."
Gaiard was genuinely taken aback. "Huh!?"
"This ship," she explained, gesturing around the luxurious cabin, "was a means to an end. A place of relative safety and resources. But if my goal is no longer just personal survival, if it's something as grand as making the continents rise again, then staying in one place, under the thumb of people like Edward, is pointless. Traveling the seas, seeing the other Arkworlds, understanding the true state of this world… that's a better path." She smiled at him. "And it's a path I'd rather not walk alone."
Gaiard absorbed her words, the simple logic and the profound trust they implied. A slow smile spread across his face. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll listen to you." Then, his expression hardened slightly, a glint of predatory anticipation in his eyes. "But before we start planning our grand voyage, let's deal with some immediate trouble."
Tiama's smile turned sharp and knowing. "That fat guy Edward?"
"You guessed it right."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The corridors of the Space Exploring Officer Academy were a testament to human achievement, but the classroom assigned to Instructor Ignis, room 7-B, was a testament to teenage anarchy. Ignis pushed the door open to a scene of controlled chaos. Students were clustered in distinct cliques, the air thick with the buzz of conversation and the palpable tension of social stratification. He saw it immediately, just as the principal's dossier had outlined: the Upper Group, children of corporate magnates and political elites, lounging with an air of inherited superiority; the Rebel Group, their uniforms modified, radiating a defiant, anti-authority energy; and the Common Group, trying to remain invisible in the crossfire.
A young man with impeccably styled hair and a sneer that cost more than Ignis's entire former wardrobe noticed him. This was Robin, son of a corporate president and a ringleader of the Upper Group.
"Ah! Look what we have here," Robin drawled, his voice cutting through the noise. "The commoner from the entrance exams! You looked strong swinging those fiery fists around, I'll give you that. But let's be clear—this young master doesn't need some slum-rat to teach him anything."
Ignis didn't respond. He didn't even look at Robin. He simply walked, his footsteps eerily silent on the polished floor, towards the lectern at the front of the room. A wave of dismissive chuckles spread through the Upper Group, thinking his silence was submission.
They were wrong.
He reached the lectern, placed his instructor's tablet down, and then he looked at them. It wasn't a glance; it was an assessment. And with that look came a pressure. It wasn't a physical force, but a wave of pure, concentrated intent, the aura of a being who had fought in supernovae and faced down cosmic horrors. The air grew heavy, thick. The chuckles died in their throats. Students gasped, their lungs struggling to draw breath. The casual postures collapsed as they were forced upright in their seats, faces paling. It was the feeling of being a small animal under the gaze of an apex predator.
His voice, when it came, was quiet, yet it carried to every corner of the deathly silent room, each word a shard of ice.
"I don't care what your background is," he began, his gaze sweeping over the terrified Upper Group, then the wide-eyed Rebel Group, and finally the stunned Common Group. "I don't care who your parents are, or how much you think your lineage is worth. I don't care about your raw strength or your fragile egos."
He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edges of the lectern. "Don't play your petty games of status and rules with me. As students under my command, you will follow my rules. You will shed your arrogance here, at this door." His eyes blazed with a hint of the Nova power within, the room's temperature rising several degrees. "Otherwise, I will not hesitate to use physical violence to educate you. I assure you, the Academy's medical wing is very efficient."
He straightened up. "Now. You will stand. You will file out in an orderly manner. You will proceed to Training Field Gamma. You have five minutes." He activated the timer on his tablet with a loud, echoing beep. "Whoever is not present on that field when this timer reaches zero will receive a one-way ticket to the hospital. The choice is yours."
For a heartbeat, there was absolute stillness. Then, a scramble of pure, unadulterated terror. Chairs screeched, students shoved past each other, the social hierarchy utterly forgotten in the face of a greater, more immediate power. Instructor Ignis had taken command of his classroom.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The transportation to the Gate was sleek and comfortable, a luxury vehicle that stood in stark contrast to the grim purpose of their mission. Friz observed his "teammates" with detached amusement. They were a group of five, clad in the most expensive, brand-new tactical gear money could buy. Their weapons—an ornate bow, a gleaming shield, an engraved sword—looked like they had never seen combat. Their chatter was about parties, investments, and the "thrill" of a real Gate.
One of them, a young man with an obnoxiously loud voice, noticed Friz's simple, unadorned clothing. "Hey, you! The S-Rank rookie the Association sent. Hurry up and lead the way, commoner! We don't have all day. Don't make us miss our lunch reservation! Your job is to protect us and make sure we get the best loot, understand?"
Friz didn't even turn his head. He continued looking at the approaching forest where the Rank A Gate pulsed with malevolent energy. "Oh?" he said, his voice flat and devoid of interest. "Say that again."
The young man puffed out his chest. "I said, you're here to—"
"I don't care who you guys are," Friz interrupted, his voice cutting through the babble like a glacier calving. He finally turned his pale blue eyes towards them, and a wave of absolute cold emanated from him, not enough to freeze, but enough to make their bones ache and their blood run cold. "But my mission parameters, as assigned by the International Ranker Association, are clear: to neutralize the threat within the Gate. That is my only objective."
He looked each of them in the eye, his gaze so chilling it silenced their protests before they could form. "I have no obligation, and no intention, of being your babysitter or your personal bodyguard. Do not bother me. Do not get in my way." His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Otherwise, I can assure you, before any monster within that Gate has a chance to harm you, you will already be experiencing the consequences of my displeasure. And I am not nearly as lenient as the monsters."
The arrogant bluster evaporated. The playboys and heiresses shrunk back, their expensive gear suddenly feeling like worthless costumes. They had come for a game, but the man in charge was playing for keeps.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The journey through the primordial world was a constant, low-level conflict. Heim and Flora moved through landscapes of impossible scale, where ferns were as tall as towers and rivers were miles wide. They encountered creatures that defied logic: an eight-headed serpent, each head spewing a different venom; a centaur-like beast with four powerful arms, each wielding a stone club.
Heim dealt with them all with a terrifying, effortless grace. He didn't fight with rage or fury, but with the absolute dominion of nature itself. Vines would erupt to bind the eight-headed serpent, pulling its heads apart until they ripped from its body. The ground would swallow the centaur's legs, while thorned branches speared up from below. He was the forest's will made manifest, and Flora watched, her shyness gradually being replaced by a sense of awe and security.
One day, they stumbled upon a structure that was starkly out of place. It was a ruin, ancient and overgrown, but its architecture—the angular lines, the specific placement of collapsed pillars—was hauntingly familiar to Heim. It echoed the design principles of the ancient temples and Power Sphere repositories from his old universe.
Heim ran a hand over a moss-covered stone block, his Jungle power sensing the immense age and the faint, lingering echo of a powerful, structured energy.
"Let's go inside," he said to Flora, his voice filled with a new, focused intensity. "I don't think this is a natural formation of this world. I think we will find a great deal of information here about what—or who—came before us."
Flora looked at the dark, gaping entrance into the earth, a shiver of apprehension running through her. But she looked at Heim's confident back, the solid presence that had become her anchor in this terrifying world, and her fear receded. She nodded, her voice a soft but firm whisper.
"Hmm!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The seventh day arrived. A system prompt materialized before Alstar and Alexandrite.
// CHALLENGE COMPLETE: SURVIVAL //
// REWARD: +10% to Physical Durability. //
// Returning to Reality... //
The canyon that had once hosted their final battle now lay silent. The light storms had faded, the sky above flickering with lines of distorted data, like cracks in glass.
At the base of the canyon, Alstar and Alexandrite stood side by side, both breathing heavily, their equipments scorched and weapons flickering between solid form and glitching transparency. Around them, the remains of the defeated monsters and players were dissolving into pillars of light.
They had fought together for 7 days and the challenge was finally complete.
Alexandrite wiped a streak of blood from her cheek and smiled faintly, though exhaustion dimmed her usually bright eyes. "That was… the last, right?"
Alstar nodded, his hand tightening around Brightsparrow's hilt before letting the bow dissolve into particles. "Yeah. The system just confirmed it."
The wind howled softly, scattering bits of broken code like ashes.
Alexandrite, glancing back at Alstar. "We'll really go back to the real world now?"
Alstar nodded again, though there was a trace of something in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or hesitation. "That's what it says. We've been stuck here long enough. It's time."
She smiled, though her voice trembled slightly. "Then… see you outside."
The digital canyon, the sky, their own bodies, began to dissolve into streams of shimmering light particles. As the world unraveled around them, Alstar turned his head towards Alexandrite.
"The city library," he said, his voice clear and logical even as his form disintegrated. "Tomorrow, 10:00 hours. We will begin our analysis there."
Alexandrite, her form also breaking apart into data, gave him a brilliant, excited grin, a flash of her mischievous spirit in the dissolving light.
"Okay!"