The banquet hall of Luminera glowed like dawn reborn.
Golden chandeliers blazed against the high marble ceilings, and banners of white and blue hung proudly from the pillars. The scent of roasted meat, sweet wine, and burning candles filled the air.
For the first time in centuries, laughter echoed in the palace — not of nobles or courtiers, but of legends.
.....
King Alden Veralis sat at the head of the table, his crown tilted slightly forward in excitement. His booming laughter filled the hall.
"This is it! The gods themselves must be trembling tonight! With the Aetherbounds returned, what demon could dare challenge us?"
He clapped his hands, beaming. "Eat! Drink! Let all of Luminera remember this night — the night the world learned that light never dies!"
Around him, musicians played gentle strings, and servants poured shimmering wine into cups made of crystal and silver.
Suvarn sat quietly, his plate untouched. Kaenmor observed everything with quiet serenity. Deyr was already drinking, and Morian, of course, was devouring half the feast alone.
"Your Majesty," Morian said, mouth half full, "I must say — your cooks have improved. When I was last here, your ancestors could barely boil water!"
The King blinked, unsure whether to be flattered or offended.
From beside him, Queen Seraphine smiled faintly, swirling her wine. "It seems our hospitality has evolved with the centuries."
Morian grinned. "If it hasn't, then the demons would have won long ago."
...
Aria kept looking at the Aetherbounds while she enjoyed the meal.
Elira sitting next to her whispered. "It's unbelievable right? But you made this happen. You brought them together after centuries."
Aria smiled. "You know I was looked down upon when I was first summoned. They didn't believe in me."
Elira laughed under a breath. "That makes everyone wrong, doesn't it. Tonight everyone is having dinner under the same roof along with four legends."
Aria hesistates then asks, "can I ask now how you know them?"
Elira pauses for a few second. "Well, in short let me just tell you that I'm someone who are attached to them."
Aria got confused but doesn't question her. "I see... I just hope I can bring him back as well."
Elira nodded. "Yes. We need him too.."
.....
Alden raised his cup high. "To victory, then! To Aria, to the Aetherbounds, to the dawn of our salvation!"
The hall erupted in cheers.
But Queen Seraphine did not raise her cup. She only watched the dancing light upon her wine, thoughtful.
When the music dimmed and the laughter waned, her voice — soft but clear — cut through the air.
"Alden," she said gently, "you forget. The Demon Lord was defeated once. Yet here we stand again."
The King blinked, caught off guard. "Well, yes, but—this time we have the Aetherbounds! We have the Hero!"
He turned to Aria, who sat humbly near the middle of the table, her hands folded in quiet grace.
"You have done what no summoner, no soldier, no king has done in a thousand years," Alden said, pride swelling in his chest. "You found the Veins of Elyndra. You united them. You are not just a hero — you are the hero."
The words earned nods, murmurs of agreement.
But Seraphine's gaze never left Aria — deep, thoughtful, understanding.
"She is indeed a hero," the queen said softly, "but not in the way history will expect. Even the last time the Demon Lord rose into power, Elyndra had the veins and a hero."
Alden tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Seraphine set her cup down gently. The room fell silent.
"Men have long believed that heroism is born from strength — that swords, fire, and power save the world. But this one…"
"This girl was despised before she was even seen."
Her voice lowered, steady, deliberate.
"I remember how the court looked at her, Alden. How the nobles whispered: a woman cannot save us. They forgot that the gods themselves once took the shape of women to balance creation."
Alden's face softened, his earlier pride dimming into reflection.
"You called her dull once, my king. Weak. Powerless. But look at her now."
Aria's eyes widened, startled by the gentle defense.
"She does not lead through power," Seraphine continued, "but through understanding. She binds those around her not with fear, but with purpose. Even the Aetherbounds — beings beyond mortal reach — walk beside her willingly."
Her gaze swept across the table, meeting each of the four Veins in turn.
"She is not strength. She is resonance. The thread that ties them all. The fire that listens. The light that learns."
The King sat speechless for a long moment.
Then, slowly, his expression broke into a small, humbled smile. "You always did see what others missed."
Seraphine smiled back, serene. "I only see what shines quietly. So, it might be like history is repeating itself, but this time Elyndra has a hero who can finally be the cure to the never ending demonic threats."
The King leaned back in his chair, exhaling. "Then it's settled. With her, and with the Aetherbounds, victory is certain."
But Seraphine's expression darkened — faintly, sadly.
"Four have returned, Alden. But five were born."
A chill settled over the hall.
The King blinked. "You mean—?"
She nodded slowly.
"Where there is light, there must be shadow. Without him, the circle is broken. The Veins are incomplete."
Alden frowned. "You speak as though the shadow were… important."
Seraphine's eyes glimmered like the night sky. "Not just important, my love. Essential."
The King hesitated. "Is he truly that strong?"
Seraphine turned her gaze to the far window, where the moonlight stretched across the banquet floor.
"When the Shadow awakens," she said softly, "even the stars remember how to tremble."
Suvarn spoke up, "That is true. Your Majesty, Dravon is as strong as it comes. The only one among us who can get closest to the dark realm of the demons."
Kind Alden swallows hard.
...
Hours passed. The feast ended.
Music faded, and the nobles retired, still drunk on the legend of victory.
But when the last servant closed the doors, only one man remained.
Morian.
He lay sprawled on the floor beside the table, half a goblet of wine still in his hand, his armor unfastened, the tattoos across his shoulders dimly glowing like cooling embers.
"Damn it," he muttered to himself, "always the same ending."
The room was silent except for the crackling of dying candles.
His gaze drifted toward the ceiling — golden carvings of angels and dragons long forgotten.
"Do you see this, Dravon?" he whispered. "They think we're gods again."
He let out a tired laugh.
"Idiots."
Then his voice softened.
"You'd hate this… wouldn't you?"
He stared into the firelight, eyes distant, and the glow around him began to flicker — not with power, but with memory.
...
It began as a spark.
Morian remembered the first time he'd seen him. Long before he became a Vein of Elyndra.
Not in light — but in darkness.
The sky had been red, the ground shattered by war.
The world had no heroes then, only monsters fighting over the remains of gods.
Morian was younger, wilder. His gauntlets were new, his strength untested — and his arrogance endless.
He'd heard rumors: a swordsman who walked through battlefields without raising his blade, who let armies strike first, then disappeared in shadow before they could scream.
They called him the Abyssal Knight.
Morian had laughed. "A coward," he'd said. "Let him hide in his dark."
So he found him.
In the ruins of Vashra, under a blackened sky.
Dravon stood alone among the corpses — cloak torn, eyes crimson, sword resting loosely against his shoulder.
He didn't turn when Morian approached.
"You're the knight everyone fears?" Morian had said with a grin. "You don't look so frightening."
Dravon finally glanced at him, his voice calm. "And you look like a swine with a beard."
That was all it took.
Morian charged.
The ground shattered beneath his steps, the air screaming with impact.
Dravon moved once — just once — and the gauntlets met nothing but darkness.
A line of shadow carved through the mountain behind them.
Morian laughed like a beast set free.
For days they fought — across plains, through storms, over rivers that boiled with their power.
Every strike shook the world; every clash split heaven from earth.
And yet, not once did Dravon's expression change.
It was infuriating.
It was intoxicating.
By the third week, neither could stand.
They sat among the ashes, breathing the same air that stank of burnt stone.
Morian spat blood and grinned. "You're holding back."
Dravon turned his gaze toward the ruined horizon. "So are you."
Morian laughed — the kind of laugh that came from a man who had finally found something worth bleeding for.
Then, for the first time, Dravon smiled.
Faint, fleeting, but real.
And in that moment, Morian understood.
"You're not my enemy," he'd said.
"You're the mirror I've been waiting for."
Dravon's answer had been quiet. "Then keep your strength ready. You'll need it again someday."
....
Back in the hall, the memory faded with the sound of a single candle guttering out.
Morian sat up slowly, staring into the shadows on the walls.
"You were right," he whispered. "I'm still waiting."
The last flame on the table flickered — and for a second, just before it went dark, Morian thought he saw a silhouette watching him from the edge of the room.
Crimson eyes.
And then nothing.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"Still playing games, huh?"
Then he lay back down, closing his eyes.
"Don't take too long this time, Dravon. The world's waking up again."