The clash of white and green light raged above the ruined kingdom, violent bursts tearing through the clouds and shaking the very foundations of the heavens. But then, at last, the frantic rhythm of the battle shifted. The two distant figures faltered, and a final, cataclysmic collision split the sky wide open in a blinding flash.
Both Yajin and the Angel King were hurled downward, trailing streaks of light like falling stars before slamming into the earth. The impact rolled across the plains like a massive earthquake; the ground buckled, and dust erupted in a towering, jagged plume. A secondary shockwave rippled through the grass at the Sages' feet.
Eiden narrowed his eyes, his voice a low anchor in the sudden silence. "They have landed."
As the dust slowly thinned, two silhouettes emerged amid the shattered earth. Both figures rose to their feet, shoulders heaving with exhaustion. Their auras flickered like dying flames struggling to reignite—the Angel King's wings hung low, his silver feathers dimmed to a dull, tarnished grey, while Yajin's green light sputtered and crackled weakly as he steadied himself. They faced each other in a heavy, breathing silence.
The Sages watched from their vantage point, unmoving. Selyndra's hands tightened at her sides, and Morvath's blade remained anchored in the ground. Vaelus's emerald eyes narrowed with restless anticipation, while Iris stood with her cloak brushing her legs, her gaze locked on the fallen kings. Seraphaine observed with a distant calm, and Dravien's ears twitched, his tail frozen in the stillness.
The sun was gone now. The sky had deepened into a heavy, starless blue as the last traces of daylight bled away, swallowing the world in shadow. Then, the moon rose—slowly, silently, cold and pale. Its silver light washed over the land, transforming the broken kingdom into a field of ghostly, shimmering ruins. The sky darkened fully, extinguishing the last hints of color until only the moon remained, hanging above the world like a watchful, unblinking eye.
The Sages stood in the quiet, waiting. They waited for the moment the night demanded action; they waited for the kings to move again; they waited for the moment Eiden would finally speak.
Below, Yajin and the Angel King stood in the moonlit dust, breathing hard, their power dimmed but far from extinguished. Night had taken the sky, and the true battle was about to begin.