The night had settled over the ruins like a heavy veil, but Mael did not stop walking. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, each one echoing against the shattered stones around him. The sky above was silent, stripped of its stars as if the heavens themselves refused to watch what was coming.
Behind him, Seris followed quietly. She did not dare speak. She had seen his power before, but now it was something else—quieter, colder, sharper. A storm contained within a single heartbeat.
Ahead, the remnants of the Imperial Citadel rose like a dark scar. Once a symbol of unyielding authority, now nothing more than cracked pillars and scorched marble. Mael paused at the entrance, eyes half-hidden beneath his hood.
Lioran was already waiting inside.
The former knight stood with his blade drawn, its steel trembling under the weight of tension. His armor was dented, stained with dust and blood. But his gaze—unyielding, loyal, desperate—never once left Mael.
"You came," Lioran said.
Mael stepped forward. "You called."
Lioran's jaw tightened. "I had to know. The rumors… the fear… the power you used against the Legion… Was it truly you?"
"Yes."
No hesitation. No emotion.
Lioran exhaled sharply, as though the confirmation pierced him deeper than any blade.
"You were the one who taught me mercy," he whispered. "And now you carry destruction like a second breath. Mael… what have you become?"
Mael looked up, and for a moment something ancient flickered behind his eyes—sorrow, memory, a wound that never healed.
"Something necessary."
Wind moved through the ruins, cold and hollow.
Lioran raised his sword. "Then I must stop you."
Seris gasped softly, but Mael didn't move. Instead, he spoke with a calmness that chilled the air.
"You cannot."
"I know," Lioran said. "But I must try."
He charged.
The strike came fast—trained, precise, honorable. The kind of strike that once would have made Mael proud. Now, it broke against the invisible pressure that surrounded him. The air shimmered. Lioran's blade slowed, then stopped as though the world itself refused to let it touch Mael.
Lioran froze.
Mael gently placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"I still value you," he said quietly. "But you are holding on to a world that is already gone."
The pressure released. Lioran collapsed to his knees, the sword falling from his grip and clattering across the stone floor.
Mael turned away.
Seris stared at him, trembling. "Are you really going to walk this path alone?"
He didn't answer at first. His gaze drifted toward the torn horizon.
Then, softly:
"I already have."
And he stepped into the darkness of the broken citadel, leaving Lioran, Seris, and the remnants of the past behind him.
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