The royal hall was collapsing.
Again.
At this point, I was beginning to think architecture across the multiverse simply had a personal issue with me.
A stone cracked above my head as I sprinted back through the ruins of Solareth with the Ash Fragment burning warm against my chest.
Dust.
Fire.
Falling ceilings.
And somewhere above all of it—
Vira and Ashborn were still trying to settle philosophy with swords.
Honestly?
Relatable.
I climbed through the broken throne chamber while Captain Rhea and her soldiers were still holding the Covenant forces at the outer hall like professionals who had long ago accepted that survival was mostly paperwork with blood.
She saw me first.
Her expression changed from tactical murder to tactical relief.
Huge progress.
"You're alive."
I nodded.
"Emotionally questionable, but yes."
She pointed toward the surface.
"Go. Before my patience develops into violence."
Excellent motivation.
I respected it.
Behind her, one soldier shouted—
"Why does he always return looking more dramatic?"
Because destiny lacked boundaries.
I gave him a respectful nod.
"Thank you for noticing."
Then I ran.
Again.
Because apparently my divine journey was just cardio and emotional damage.
I burst from the ruined royal hall into the dead heart of Solareth—
and immediately stopped.
The entire city square had become a battlefield.
Black mist and red ash stormed through broken streets.
Covenant soldiers fought Ashen Dominion warriors between fallen statues and burnt market stalls.
Captain Rhea's people were holding the line with the stubbornness of people too angry to die politely.
And at the centre—
Vira and Ashborn.
No armies mattered there.
Only them.
She moved like judgement finally losing patience.
Silver-black blade cutting through black mist, every strike precise enough to feel personal.
He fought like inevitability.
No wasted movement.
No panic.
Only the calm of someone who believed history was already on his side.
I hated competent villains.
They were exhausting.
Ashborn blocked another strike and said it was because, apparently, he enjoyed emotional self-destruction—
"You still swing like guilt can undo the dead."
Vira answered with steel.
Good.
Better communication.
He stepped back, black chains rising around him like old decisions refusing to stay buried.
"This city burnt because rulers feared chaos more than injustice."
His voice carried across the square.
"You obeyed them."
There it was.
Always the same wound.
I was getting very tired of this man weaponising truth like a hobby.
Vira's sword cut through the chains.
Her voice was ice.
"And you built a religion around watching it happen."
Excellent.
Much better.
He smiled behind the mask.
"Because I learnt."
She stepped closer.
"No. Because you were too afraid to grieve."
Silence.
Even the battle seemed to pause.
Because yes.
That was it.
Not ideology.
Avoidance.
He had turned pain into doctrine because mourning would have required admitting helplessness.
I almost applauded.
Instead, I did something much worse.
I entered the conversation.
"Honestly, this feels like a therapy session with significantly more attempted murder."
Captain Rhea, somewhere behind me:
"Please stop talking to villains like they're coworkers!"
Never.
I refused.
Ashborn looked at me.
Annoyed.
Excellent.
Progress.
I held up the Ash Fragment.
Its golden fire burnt against the grey ruin of Solareth.
"Bad news," I said.
"The kingdom voted. It still dislikes you."
The battlefield shifted.
Everyone felt it.
The fragment had answered.
Accepted.
Not him.
Me.
Ashborn's posture changed.
Tiny.
But real.
For the first time—
anger.
Good.
Let him feel it.
He stepped toward me.
"The fragment belongs to necessity."
I shook my head.
"No. It belongs to people who choose to keep protecting broken things instead of calling them lessons."
The Ash Fragment flared brighter.
Behind me, I felt Solareth itself answer.
No approval.
Recognition.
The dead city refuses one final time to be used as philosophy.
Ashborn's voice sharpened.
"You think compassion survives reality?"
I looked around.
Rhea is still fighting.
Vira is still standing.
At soldiers defending ruins that would never repay them.
At kingdoms held together by people too stubborn to let grief become policy.
"Yes."
Because it was already surviving.
Messily.
Painfully.
Humanly.
But surviving.
I stepped beside Vira.
Not in front.
Never in front.
Beside.
Because apparently the universe kept teaching the same lesson until I stopped pretending I was surprised.
"She made a terrible choice," I said.
I looked at Ashborn.
"And she kept carrying it."
A pause.
"You made the same fire into permission."
That landed.
Because truth always did.
Vira looked at me once.
Sharp.
Quiet.
Not gratitude.
Something heavier.
Trust.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Ashborn stood in silence.
The black mist around him shifted like uncertainty, trying to remain elegant.
Then he laughed.
Soft.
Tired.
"Perhaps."
That was worse than denial.
Because part of him knew.
He looked at Vira.
"At least you were honest enough to hate yourself."
And there—
finally—
was the real confession.
Not a strategy.
Not doctrine.
Envy.
Because she had mourned.
And he had chosen control instead.
I almost pitied him.
Almost.
Vira lowered her sword slightly.
Not mercy.
Clarity.
"No."
Her voice was calm.
"I hated the part of me that believed sacrifice was wisdom."
She stepped forward.
"And I buried it."
Ashborn did not move.
Good.
Because some endings deserved witnesses.
She pointed her blade at him.
"You made yours a throne."
Silence.
Absolute.
Then the Ash Fragment pulsed in my hand.
Phoenix fire answered.
Moonlight shimmered.
Thunder rolled.
Four fragments.
Four sovereign paths.
And for one brief second—
All of them aligned.
ARINA flashed.
Sovereign Resonance Triggered Judgement Path Available Condition: Enemy must choose Outcome: Binding irreversible
Interesting.
Dangerous.
Probably emotionally expensive.
Perfect.
I looked at Ashborn.
At the man who had mistaken grief for governance.
At someone who had once stood where I stood and chosen the wrong answer until it became an identity.
I hated how human that was.
The system whispered—
"Final confirmation required."
Not kill.
Choose.
Of course.
Always choose.
I stepped forward and asked the one thing no one else had.
"What would happen if you stopped justifying it?"
Ashborn froze.
There.
That.
Not death.
Not defeat.
That was the terrifying question.
What remained if he was no longer right?
The battlefield waited.
Vira waited.
Even the dead city seemed to hold its breath.
And for the first time—
Ashborn had no immediate answer.
Good.
Because monsters were easiest to fight.
People were harder.
And maybe—
just maybe—
This was where war finally met consequence.