The next, he’s gone.
Consumed by the very chaos he tried to unleash.
The plateau goes silent.
For one heartbeat, I think it’s over. Think we might actually survive this. Think maybe—
“NO!”
Lady Virath’s corrupted light blazes as she throws herself forward. Her hollow eyes are wild, desperate, her perfect composure shattered into something feral and afraid.
“You can’t— the ritual— the alignment iscomplete—”
She whirls toward Kaia, hands raised, magic building—
“The Valkyrie corrupted the cycle! She’s the one who—”
The God doesn’t even look at her.
One gesture.
Not violent. Not cruel.
Just… dismissive.
Lady Virath’s scream cuts off mid-breath. Her corrupted light flickers once — twice —
And then she’s gone.
Same as Alekir.
Same as the Nightwraiths still circling overhead.
I watch them dissolve. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Shrieking as they scatter, as they try to flee, as the God’s presence simply… erases them.
Like they never existed.
Like none of this ever happened.
The plateau falls silent.
Reallysilent.
No Alekir. No Lady Virath. No Nightwraiths. No army of corrupted souls waiting to tear us apart.
Just us.
Kaia — still hovering, wings spread, power radiating from her like heat from a star.
The six of us — frozen in our positions, bonds still blazing, magic still connected.
The God — standing before the open Gate, reality bending around him like water around a stone.
And the wind.
That’s it.
That’s all that’s left.
