It was an extinction-level event.

The six schools of magic on Elementhia weren't just defeated; they were erased. The entire world was consumed, leaving behind only a single, jagged shard of reality known as the Radiant Continent.

Even that remnant knew no peace. In the centuries that followed, the Radiant Continent became a playground for warring demigods, its sovereignty changing hands with every new cataclysm.

But in that final moment of planetary death—whether by the grace of the World Tree or the desperate will of the planet's consciousness—Elara was born.

She was forged in disaster, tempered by entropy.

As she walked through the [Stoneheart Temple], her eyes reflected a film reel of history that wasn't hers, yet belonged entirely to her. She saw the rise and fall of civilizations, the hubris of mages, the despair of the dying. These were the memories of a dead world, a treasure trove of lessons written in blood and tears.

Time seemed to dissolve. When Elara's consciousness finally surfaced from that ocean of ancient memory, she stood at the far end of the Temple.

"I... I am... a World-Spirit..." Her voice started as a whisper, fragmented and unsure. "No... no... I... am... Elara Stoneheart!"

The hesitation vanished. The declaration hardened with every syllable until it resonated like struck bronze.

"I AM ELARA STONEHEART!"

She threw her head back and roared, a sound that shook the foundations of the Divine Kingdom.

In an instant, the small girl vanished. In her place stood a titan—four heads, eight arms, towering and terrible. She filled the space with the same oppressive, majestic aura that Orion possessed.

Outside the Temple, Orion watched, a wide, genuine smile breaking across his face.

He could feel it—the resonance of his own bloodline singing in harmony with hers.

Elara was the first to inherit his complete form without being his biological offspring. It was proof of concept: if the talent was high enough, the will strong enough, and the compatibility sufficient, any member of the Stoneheart Horde could ascend.

"So that's what it means," Orion murmured, a sudden realization hitting him.

Seeing Elara in her Titan form, his mind flashed back to Kaidric, the Abyssal Ruler of the Sixth Layer. He finally understood why Kaidric had treated him with such strange, familial regard.

Same bloodline. Same Death-Soul race physiology. They were, for all intents and purposes, kin.

Just like Elara. Before this, she was his adopted daughter. After the Temple, she was his people.

As Orion's thoughts drifted, Elara emerged from the Temple.

She had reverted from her combat form. The towering Titan was gone, replaced by the figure of a teenage girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old.

She looked at Orion, her eight arms—still manifest—waving excitedly.

"Daddy!"

"Daddy!"

"Daddy!"

"Daddy!"

Four heads spoke in perfect unison, their voices overlapping in a strange, harmonic chorus.

Orion smiled and pulled a massive cloak from his inventory, draping it over her.

She had entered as a six-year-old child and exited as a young woman. Her features hadn't changed much, just matured, but her clothes had been obliterated by the transformation. She stood naked, radiating power.

Inheriting the full bloodline had unlocked her latent potential. She wasn't just bigger; her power level had skyrocketed to Arch Lord.

It was a unique evolution. Unlike Orion, who had needed vast amounts of Faith Energy to build his divine body, Elara had bypassed that requirement. She had converted her own innate Essence—the concentrated power of a World-Spirit—directly into bloodline power.

Or, more accurately, becoming a Stoneheart Titan was the formation of her Body of Faith. The form itself was her divinity made manifest.

"Little Elara has grown up," Orion teased gently. "A proper young lady now."

As he watched, Elara's body shifted. The extra heads and arms dissolved, merging seamlessly back into her torso until she looked human again.

"Daddy, I feel strong! Like, really strong," she beamed, clenching her fists. "I can fight for the Horde now! For real!"

Her ambition hadn't changed. She still wanted to be a queen, to sit on a throne. But now, she had the firepower to back it up.

"The Titanion Realm is about to face a major upheaval," Orion said, his tone serious. "Once we weather that storm, I will personally help you build the [Elementhia Legions]."

Elara's eyes went wide as saucers. "The Elementhia Legions?"

Orion chuckled and shrugged, offering no further explanation. He pointed a thumb back at the Temple.

"You awakened inside my Divine Kingdom. I make the rules here. I felt everything you felt." He looked at her, his expression warm but firm. "Our Horde is still fragile, Elara. It needs protectors. It needs us."

"Yeah!" Elara nodded vigorously, pulling the cloak tighter around herself. Her cheeks flushed pink—realizing her dad had essentially seen into her memories made her feel a sudden, shy embarrassment.

Orion shook his head, turning his back to give her privacy. "Get changed. We have work to do."

Stoneheart City, Titanion Realm

In the manicured garden of a lavish estate within the inner city, Rendall sat in a large, open-air tent, pouring a drink for Drakthul.

Since returning from the Aenari Island campaign, the two veterans had remained in Stoneheart, assisting Lilith with the administration of the Horde. Men of their rank didn't have many friends; mostly, they just had old war buddies.

"Word on the street is that Dirtclaw's pups are already outshining their old man," Drakthul grunted, clinking his goblet against Rendall's.

He was talking about Anubis and Wepwawet, Dirtclaw's prized sons.

The two young gnolls were practically royalty, acting as the right hands to Elara and Pallas respectively. With the backing of the Horde's First Daughter and the Giant Prince, they walked with a swagger that Dirtclaw never had.

Lilith and Dirtclaw had poured resources into them, making them the undisputed apex predators of their generation. They were arrogant, too—frequent flyers at the city's Colosseum, where they beat grown warriors into the dirt to thunderous applause.

"Pah," Rendall scoffed, taking a swig. "Child's play. They're just puppies who haven't seen a real battlefield. They haven't smelled the blood yet."

It wasn't that Rendall didn't respect their strength. It was just loyalty. No matter how flashy the new generation was, in Rendall's eyes, they would never replace the gritty, trench-warfare reliability of Dirtclaw.

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