"The child... save our child..."

Isilra's vision was blurry, but she recognized the face above her. She clawed weakly at Orion's arm, her voice a desperate rasp.

"Hush," Orion whispered, his voice an anchor in the storm. "It's over. It was just the bloodline evolving. I've stabilized the resonance."

He smoothed the damp hair from her forehead. "Rest now. Reach out with your senses. You'll feel him. He is safe."

Isilra hesitated, then closed her eyes, turning her focus inward. A moment later, the tension left her body. Her breathing slowed, and she slipped back into a deep, restorative sleep.

Orion stayed until her rhythm was steady, then gently waded out of the Moonwell.

Gima, the Demigod of the Moonwell, watched him with a grave expression. "That child carries the direct bloodline of a Demigod. Even for an elemental life form like Isilra, the cost is too high. She will burn herself out before he is born. Unless..."

She left the sentence hanging, but Orion knew exactly how it ended.

Unless she ascends. Only a Demigod mother could safely carry a Demigod child.

"I understand," Orion said, drying himself off with a surge of heat. "You treat her as your own, but Staghelm City doesn't have the resources to push her to that level."

He looked back at the sleeping woman. "She is my wife. The Stoneheart Horde will secure her future."

"She rests now," Orion said, his voice hardening into the tone of a warlord. "I will handle the rest."

It was a simple declaration of war. Whether for himself, his family, or his Tribe, the Stoneheart Horde had always thrived on conquest. Expansion wasn't just a strategy; it was their nature.

Gima nodded silently. There was nothing more to say. Her job was to guard Isilra; his was to burn the world to keep her safe.

Southern Ocean, Current's Bend.

The moment Orion stepped into Staghelm City, a ripple shot through the ley lines. Miles away, deep in the ocean trenches, his avatar—the Abyssal Dreadfin—snapped awake from its digestive slumber.

The waters around Atlantis churned. The three Grand Marshals of the underwater empire were convening once again.

"Trouble?" Kraken asked, eyeing the sudden arrival of Orion and Leonidas in the command hall. He hadn't heard the news yet and assumed they were under attack.

"Bro is out of solitary," Leonidas announced, dropping into a seat across from Kraken. "Our manpower issues are solved. We've got the firepower now. It's time to take some land."

Leonidas grabbed a three-foot lobster from the table, cracked its skull with his teeth, and tore into the meat.

Kraken blinked. "Out of solitary?" He looked at Orion. "The Big Guy is out?"

Then the realization hit him. "Wait. You ascended?"

Orion smirked.

"No way," Kraken breathed, standing up. "You're a Demigod?"

It took a second for the shock to wear off, but Kraken quickly composed himself, masking his awe with a grin.

"Squiddy, you're losing your touch. Old you would have been screaming that from the rooftops." Leonidas chewed his lobster, unimpressed. "Don't give him too much credit. The Boss here might be a Demigod now, but he traded his Demigod avatar to get there. Win some, lose some."

It was a half-lie, meant to keep Kraken from feeling too eclipsed, and to ground the group dynamic. Leonidas knew the truth—Orion hadn't "lost" power; he had consolidated it. He was far more dangerous now.

"Seriously?" Kraken sat back down, looking genuinely bummed. "That's a shame. Losing a piece on the board like that sucks."

"Don't mourn it," Orion said, taking a seat. "All the power is in one vessel now. It feels... cleaner." He leaned forward. "I'm free. No more hiding in holes avoiding the crossfire."

Kraken's eyes lit up. He knew what that meant. "Alright then, Bosses. What's the play? Point me at the target, and I'll smash it."

Territory. Resources. Ascension. That was all Kraken cared about. Seeing Orion cross the finish line first only lit a fire under him.

"Patience," Leonidas rumbled, wiping lobster juice from his chin. "First, we're going to have a little chat with that envoy from the Cult of Four."

His eyes narrowed. "I want to hear exactly what kind of trash deal those freaks are offering."

Orion and Kraken exchanged a look. They both wore the same predatory grin.

Titanion Realm, Stoneheart Citadel.

"Sis! Hold on! Let me see the little guy again!"

In the depths of the gardens, Pallas was practically drooling as he watched Elara walk away.

"Come on!" he whined.

Elara's World Dragon had finally hatched. It was magnificent. Her previous pet, the Inferno Dragon—which already had a decent bloodline—had been regifted to Caelus like a hand-me-down toy.

This new hatchling was a tier above. Pallas had tried to grab it, to pet it, to study it, but the little beast had hissed at him, and Elara had lost her patience.

Zap!

She teleported away, leaving Pallas standing among the glowing flora.

"That is definitely a top-tier species," Pallas muttered to himself. His eye for quality had sharpened since his transformation. He had his own dragon, sure, but the World Dragon was something else entirely.

"Stingy," he grumbled. Since he couldn't use magic, he couldn't chase her teleportation. And while his Stoneheart Titan form could fly, Lilith had strictly banned him from taking off inside the castle walls.

Defeated, Pallas turned his short legs toward the exit of the garden.

Just as he looked up, he froze.

The sky in the distance was wrong.

"What is that?"

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

...

The sound didn't just hit his ears; it slammed into his soul.

Nine distinct, earth-shattering knells rang out, shaking the very foundation of the realm.

Pallas stood rooted to the spot. A cold, irrational dread washed over him. It wasn't just a sound. It felt like a countdown.

It felt like the end of the world.

To Pallas, it was a dreamscape brought to life.

The sky had fractured, replaced by a canvas where civilization and wilderness bled into one another in a kaleidoscope of colors.

He saw sprawling cities of impossible architecture interwoven with savage jungles. Massive insectoid hives towered beside crystalline lakes. Mountains pierced the clouds, their peaks crowned with floating palaces. It was a symphony of alien life: shimmering schools of fish in the sky-rivers, bioluminescent flora swaying in unseen winds, and deep in the twilight forests, the writhing shapes of colossal beasts.

And then, the figures. Insectoid warriors, clad in chitinous armor, raising their weapons to the heavens in a roar of fanatic worship.

"What is that?" Pallas beamed, his face upturned like a child watching fireworks.

Unlike Orion, who had clawed his way up from the dirt, Pallas had been born into power. He lacked the scar tissue of experience. To him, the unknown wasn't a threat—it was entertainment.

SCREEEEEE—!

A piercing cry shattered his wonder.

From the highest spire of Stoneheart Citadel, Fenyra the Phoenix shrieked, the sound laced with pure, unfiltered terror.

Seconds later, the city's air raid sirens began to wail.

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