The battlefield stretched farther than any eye could follow—ashlands and bones twisted together beneath a burning red sky. At the front stood Shadow, black-clad, eyes flickering with endless depth, a titan among monsters. Valgorr flanked him, skin cracked and steaming. Seren hovered beside, radiant and cold.
Behind them, the legions of hell stood still, not from fear, but reverence. They weren't just marching into battle. They were marching toward an ending.
Across the horizon, something approached. It was not a being. Not quite.
It crawled, shimmered, whispered—its form ever-changing. A god before gods. A forgotten origin.
"The First Flame," Seren muttered. "It remembers nothing… only hunger."
Shadow didn't reply. He didn't blink.
In the Citadel, Lidow stood over the great mirror of Keralis. The surface shimmered, revealing not his reflection—but his possible selves. In one version, he was a tyrant. In another, a corpse. In one, he ruled all. In another, he walked away from power forever.
He clenched his fists.
"None of them are me."
He turned, eyes glowing—white and black, swirling.
Behind him, a voice: "Then forge something new."
It was Valarie's voice. But she wasn't really there—only her echo, left behind as she rode to war beside Shadow.
Lidow breathed deeply. Then reached for the sword sealed in obsidian. It opened. This time, no resistance. The weapon leapt to his hand like it had waited eons for this moment.
The blade pulsed with golden fire veined with black veins of abyss.
His body shook, and then—he was still.
"I'll burn a path."
On the battlefield, the storm had begun.
Shadow clashed first, rising into the air with dark wings exploding from his back. The First Flame hissed in a voice made of silence. They met in a collision that ruptured the earth. Seren unleashed pure light, carving through horrors that had no form. Valgorr shattered beasts with his fists, his body glowing red-hot from the inside.
But it wasn't enough.
The First Flame breathed. And half of the second legion dissolved into smoke.
Shadow's armor cracked. He bled black.
But he did not fall.
"Fall back," he ordered, voice sharp as iron.
"We can't!" Seren screamed.
"We regroup."
And then—a sound like thunder split the chaos.
A boy soared from the sky, flame and shadow trailing behind him in twin wings. He struck the ground between the armies. The impact sent shockwaves across the plain.
Lidow stood. Sword in hand. Eyes alight.
Shadow stared.
"You should be in the Citadel."
"I'm not a child anymore."
"No," Shadow admitted. "You're not."
Lidow faced the First Flame.
It looked at him—and paused.
That pause was everything.
"Why does it stop?" Seren asked.
"Because he's not like us," Shadow said.
The First Flame moved, surging forward.
Lidow didn't flinch.
He stepped forward—and raised the sword.
When they collided, light and darkness exploded in perfect symmetry. There was no scream. No sound. Only pressure and silence.
The others watched from afar, unable to interfere.
Inside the clash, Lidow saw everything. Worlds rising, burning, dying. The first gods falling to their own pride. Shadow as a child. His mother's grief. A line of endless warriors who all failed.
And then—him.
Alone.
He screamed—and the sword ignited.
Not with gold. Not with shadow.
With balance.
The First Flame hissed, recoiled—but it was too late.
Lidow cut.
The world cracked in half.
When the dust settled, only silence remained.
No sky.
No gods.
Just scorched black plains and quiet.
Shadow approached the crater.
Lidow lay there, breathing heavily, but alive.
Valarie landed next, eyes wide.
"You… won," she whispered.
Lidow looked up, dazed. "Did I?"
Shadow helped him stand. "Yes."
"But what did I win?"
Shadow didn't answer.
Instead, he looked to the empty heavens.
The gods were gone.
The war was over.
But peace?
Peace was a different fight.