And in that breath of silence, that moment suspended in time, a silent understanding passed between them all.
This wasn’t just her war.
It was theirs.
The four gods behind her, towering and terrible, gave one slight bow, not of submission, but of offering. Power rippled off their skin like lightning over still water.
They had made her.
Now they stood for her.
Maris turned back to face Eiren.
And smiled.
It was not cruel. Not triumphant.
It was final.
Eiren’s facade cracked, not a twitch, not a blink, but a full falter.
She vanished.
Mist exploded where she had stood, scattering like breath into cold wind. A heartbeat later, she reappeared at the far edge of the field, high on a ridge of blackened stone, her war beasts snarling at her feet.
The smile was gone.
Good.
Because Maris was done playing.
She lifted her sword high.
And the moment it gleamed in the sky,
“FOR ACHYRON!”
The cry ripped from the human ranks as they surged leftward, steel flashing, banners flying. Their commanders led with blades raised, war horns echoing through the hollowed valley.
The battle had begun.
Veilspawn shrieked.
The dead charged.
Magic ignited.
The air itself caught fire.
And Maris?
Maris did not wait for the next move.
She sprinted forward, gods at her back and destiny in her grip.
Kael unleashed his shadows, no longer slinking tendrils, but monstrous, living things. They surged like black smoke with claws, snarling through enemy lines, devouring terrors whole. His sword gleamed like moonlight cracked in half, his eyes silver fire. He moved like a blade through fog elegant, merciless, deadly.
Alarik roared his voice cracking the sky as lightning speared from his outstretched hand. Bolts of magic shattered into the ranks of Eiren’s beasts, frying flesh, burning through armor.
