A week had passed in the outside world since Ash vanished into the Greater Chamber, ten weeks of stillness inside the cocoon while his body and soul rewrote themselves into something no prophecy had ever dared name. Velora grew in perfect silence, an entire nation sharpening itself in the Haven's timeless dark while the rest of Elaris scrambled to fill the vacuum everyone pretended didn't exist.
In the Voss capital, the throne room smelled of night-blooming jasmine and old blood.
Kale stood at the foot of the dais, crowned already in all but name. Around him clustered the four women who had followed his star without hesitation.
Sylvara pressed against his left side, fingers curled possessively into the fabric of his sleeve, violet eyes daring anyone to come closer. Rhea stood to his right like a drawn blade, arms folded, crimson battledress still carrying the scent of smoke from the last kingdom that had refused him.
Behind them, Seyra Valethorne who was tall, bronze-skinned, violet-streaked hair cascading like dusk itself rested one elegant hand on Kale's shoulder, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles as if reminding the world whose king he already was.
Little Lyrin Marrowfan had wormed her way to the front, plush curves pressed shamelessly against his chest, teal-green hair spilling over his arm while she stood on tiptoe to nuzzle just beneath his jaw, golden freckles glowing with open adoration.
Kale laughed low and pulled them all closer in one sweeping motion. Sylvara's lips found his throat, Lyrin's mouth brushed his ear with a happy squeal, Seyra's mature smile curved against his cheek as she kissed the corner of his mouth with deliberate, possessive slowness, and even Rhea allowed herself one fierce, claiming press of lips before stepping back with a warrior's discipline.
Hands tangled in hair, fingers dug into hips, soft giggles and growls of mine filling the air until the throne room felt too small for all the want inside it.
He finally released them, eyes dark with promise. "Ladies, I will see you in a few hours. I need my mother… and my aunt."
The corridor to the royal quarters was quiet, torchlight flickering over marble veined with silver. Kale walked alone, steps slow, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as memory took over. He could already feel Sonna beneath him again.
His breath came faster, heat pooling low, and he was so lost in the fantasy he never heard the footsteps behind him.
"She's resting, you know."
Kale jolted, spinning to find Queen Yonna leaning against the wall, arms folded, blue eyes cold as winter steel. Long black hair with red streaks spilled over one shoulder like fresh blood on snow.
"Dammit, Aunt," he hissed, pulse still racing. "I told you sneaking up on me is creepy."
Yonna's smile didn't reach her eyes. He stepped closer anyway, crowding her against the wall, hands sliding to her hips as he leaned in to drag his lips along the column of her throat.
Mwooch.
The sound was wet, hungry.
"She's sleeping? Is everything fine?" he murmured against her skin.
Inside, Yonna's stomach turned, bile rising sharp and acidic, but her face stayed serene as she planted a palm on his chest and shoved gentle, but firm. "She's fine. Just worn out." She produced a rolled cloth from her mana ring and flicked it open. Thirteen kingdom crests glowed faintly on the fabric.
"These are ready. We leave tonight."
Kale's lust evaporated like water on hot iron. He stared at the list, grin widening into something sharp and triumphant. "Thirteen more already… after these we will be able to aim for the world rankings. Whether by war or wager.... it doesn't matter."
As he said those words, he walked away the way he came.
Yonna inclined her head, smile brittle. 'You're the parasite,' she thought, eyes flashing murder for one heartbeat. 'You'll never touch her again.'
Far to the north, beneath skies that had forgotten the sun, Aster sat on a throne carved from obsidian and regret.
White hair hung like frost across his face, hiding eyes that had seen too many futures die. Twelve figures knelt before him in a perfect circle. Black cloaks, black masks, A-rank auras coiled tight as garrote wire.
Seven years of preparation hung in the air like incense... false orphanages built in every kingdom mapped out by Aster, street children fed and trained in secret, restaurants and inns that were really listening posts, markets that doubled as armories. Thousands of broken souls who had been promised a tomorrow that only Aster could give.
He rose.
The temperature in the hall dropped ten degrees.
"Seven years," Aster said, voice soft, almost kind. "Seven years of patience... Tonight, the board flips."
The twelve did not move, but their breathing synced like predators waiting for the leash to snap.
"Each of you knows your kingdom. Each of you knows your legion ... C-rank fodder.... B-rank blades... and all of them ready to die for the future I promised. When I give the word, you will walk into those capitals with 20,000 troops each as heroes, as rebels, as whatever mask they need to see. And you will light the fires."
He stepped down from the dais, white hair shifting like a veil as the wise king smiled and looked at the dark clouds over Ebonreach.
"I myself.... will be here planning," he continued.
"Every corpse is a step toward S-rank. And when I stand there… the world will know what a real king looks like."
The twelve rose as one.
Aster smiled.... small, terrible, and cunning.
"Begin."
When those words sounded.... each of the twelve summoned button like artifacts then.....
Across Elaris, bells that had never been rung began to toll in the dark.