Commander Thresh had a sharp eye; he saw straight through Orion's ambition.

But even he didn't grasp the full extent of it. Orion wasn't merely shaping a planar world—he was hollowing out a personal abyss. He meant to rise as a Titan beyond all who came before.

"You've a long road before you catch your father," Thresh said, voice rough as gravel.

"Everything he's about to claim, he bled for. It is his will made manifest." His gaze hardened. "You? You are still raw ore waiting for the furnace."

He caught Caelus's wandering attention.

"Quit drifting," Thresh barked, though with a note of rough affection. "Back to training. Swing that blade until your arms give out."

Silverwood Realm. Staghelm City.

While Orion slumbered in the Void, the Moon Elf Isilra remained untouched by the chaos of the outside world.

In the Stoneheart Horde, her status was absolute. Save for her lover, Orion, she answered to no one—not even Lilith. If Isilra chose to seclude herself in Staghelm City, that was her prerogative.

"Mother," she asked softly, "do you think the child will be born of moonlight, like me?"

She sat by the Moonwell, barefoot, her silk robes fluttering in a gentle breeze that felt like an early autumn evening—cool, calm, and devoid of the feverish heat of war. One hand rested on her cheek, the other cradled the slight swell of her abdomen, tuning into the faint pulse of life within.

"He will," the voice replied. "You are an elemental life form. You are the moonlight."

In truth, even the Demigod of the Moonwell couldn't be certain.

Isilra was a Moon Elf. Her husband was a Titan. Would the child be an Elf? A Giant? A hybrid?

It was the only worry Isilra allowed herself these days.

Suddenly, a ripple passed through her. The child within kicked—restless, agitated. It wasn't pain; it was a resonance. A bloodline reaction.

Isilra didn't know the cause, but her intuition told her it was a good sign.

"Mother, I wish he would hurry up and meet us," Isilra said, a soft smile gracing her lips.

In the past, she never imagined she would bear a child for a giant. Now, the anticipation was a warm ache in her chest.

"Patience, child," the Demigod chuckled. A phantom manifested beside Isilra, gazing at her belly with ancient eyes. "You are a unique elemental being. Your offspring will be an anomaly. Based on my senses... this little one won't see the light of day for decades. Perhaps a century."

To both the Demigod and Isilra, this unborn child was the future of Staghelm City.

Neither of them cared for the expansionist ambitions of the Stoneheart Horde. They craved neither resources nor territory. They knew that insatiable desire was the quickest path to a corrupted soul.

This child would be born with everything. He wouldn't need to fight for a legacy; he was the legacy. Their only hope was that he would grow to become a Demigod like them, a guardian of this sanctuary.

"Any news of him?" Isilra asked, her thoughts shifting to Orion.

"Nothing," the Demigod replied. "The Stoneheart Horde is in the dark, too. His avatar was last seen heading toward the southern seas."

Mentioning Orion brought a flush to Isilra's skin.

From the night they first laid together, from the moment their bodies joined and he claimed her, the giant had become her world. The strangeness of their difference had evaporated in the heat of intimacy. Now, she felt only a profound connection. He was family.

"I trust him," Isilra whispered, stroking her abdomen.

She could feel Orion in the bloodline of their child. The rhythmic pulse told her he was alive. He was safe. He would return.

"The Champions Alliance is plotting against the Cult of Four again," the Demigod sighed. Her tone was heavy with pity for the lives that would be lost in the Silverwood Realm.

She didn't understand the violence. The Cult of Four had already abandoned the mainland. Why chase them? Why not use this time to heal?

But the Demigod didn't understand the depth of the grudge. For the Champions Alliance, this wasn't about territory anymore. It was about purging traitors. It was an execution.

"Orion told me that what comes next is a private vendetta between the Alliance and the Cult," Isilra said, soothing her mother. "We don't need to get involved. Staghelm City has no naval forces anyway. We won't be dragged into the ocean."

She dipped her hand into the well. The water glowed with a soft silver light, illuminating the grove.

"Orion picked a name," Isilra said suddenly, changing the subject to lift the gloom. "He wants to call him Lorian."

The name distracted her mother from thoughts of war.

Staghelm City was outside the blast zone. Orion had given her one mission: bring their child into the world, healthy and strong. Here, by the Moonwell, in the most beautiful and peaceful place she knew, she would do just that.

Valkorath Realm. Primordial Void.

After drinking deeply of the chaos gas and the essence of life, Orion's seed finally broke open.

Two tender, emerald leaves unfurled into the darkness.

This was nothing like Caelus's evolution.

Caelus had been power-leveled, pushed upward by the Spring of Life, the Abyssal Springhead, and World Fragments. He had started with a dying World Tree sapling—a shortcut that skipped the foundational struggle. That was why Caelus had to function like a parasite, grafting himself onto the Valkorath Realm to survive.

Orion was different. His growth was agonizingly slow, a true creation from nothingness.

Once he matured and opened his world, he would be independent. No parasites. No hosts.

He floated in absolute nothingness. There was only the Void.

But within that swirling grey madness, a single seed had taken hold. Its roots pierced the fabric of the vacuum, drinking the chaotic energy that should have destroyed it.

The sprout was small, fragile against the backdrop of infinity. But it stood firm, swaying in the turbulent currents of creation, defying the chaos with two defiant, green leaves.

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