Vael moved towards Ervin.

The battlefield's eyes were too sharp, too starved for anchors. He let himself be seen when he emerged on the far flank, carrying the Mage King's body as one might carry a relic rather than an enemy. Soldiers drew back, whispers broke through the wreckage.

When Vael reached Ervin, the air between them was taut. Ervin's hand twitched once, as if to refuse the burden. Then he forced it still, spine straight, and accepted.

The corpse was heavier than it should have been. Not in flesh, but in consequence. Even dead, the Mage King demanded attention. The weight of an epoch, pressed into Ervin's arms.

"From him," Vael said. His voice was even, though his shoulders bled through torn cloth. "He thought you should have it."

Ervin's jaw tightened. Logic flared, cold and relentless.

["Symbolic. The corpse delivered to Arkenhall, not discarded. A statement: Ren does not hoard power, but discards crowns. He will not sit a throne. He refuses it."]

Ervin exhaled once, shallow. "Tell him I understand."

But Vael had already gone, melting back into shadow.

★★★

Ren's gaze did not leave Elara. The fleets above restructured, the pressure of a King's arrival bleeding into the air, yet his focus narrowed to the girl before him.

"You said you are Seroi's daughter."

His words did not rise, yet they carried.

"If that is true, then answer me something."

Elara's fingers curled faintly at her side, golden motes flickering between her knuckles. She held his stare. "Ask."

"What power do you hold?" His tone was stripped clean of softness, as if interrogation was instinct. "Seroi never spoke of a child. Never of you. Why appear here, at this moment, if not for that?"

The silence that followed was brittle. Around them, soldiers listened with equal dread and curiosity. Even the Vestige troops hesitated, the fog of erasure and the shimmer of golden light holding their attention as much as any blade.

Elara inhaled slowly. Her body trembled, injuries unhidden. Then she raised her hand.

Light, pale and gold, unfolded. It was not sharp like flame nor heavy like steel. It was gentler, yet terrifying in its implication. The air thickened. Soil underfoot stirred. Broken stone knit faintly. A flower crushed by bootprint rose and uncurled its petal.

Her voice was quiet but steady.

"I carry Creation."

★★★

Ervin's breath caught. The logic followed at once.

["Ren—erasure. Elara—creation. Opposites. Not weapons, but authorities. Where one unmakes, the other restores. Together, they represent…balance? Or conflict? Dangerous either way."]

His hands clenched harder on the Mage King's corpse.

["Seroi kept her hidden. A commander would know the cost of revelation. Which means, necessity forced this. We are already past the edge of acceptable war."]

Above them, the Vestige fleet answered with silence of its own. Then a voice cut the horizon, amplified through countless hulls, heavy with command.

Their King had spoken.

The battle would resume.

★★★

The golden glow dimmed almost as soon as it bloomed. Elara's hand faltered, and blood streaked down her wrist where bandages had already torn. She was not unbroken. None of them were.

Ren watched in silence. His eyes did not widen. They did not soften. He only observed, like a scribe etching lines into memory.

"Creation," he repeated, voice like stone against stone. "So Seroi kept a god in his household."

Elara's breath hitched, but her chin lifted. "I am not a god."

Ren's head tilted faintly. "That is for others to decide."

★★★

Above them, the fleet shifted again. Not a disorder this time. It was precision. Lines of vessels peeled away from the armada, carving order into chaos. From the largest dreadnought at the center, light cascaded like falling stars.

They were not stars.

The first commander struck earth like a hammer. The ground buckled, dust boiling into the air. His frame was immense, armored in bone-forged plates, his helm carved with marks that pulsed violet. He rose, spear the length of a tower dragging scars across the stone.

The second came as silence. No explosion, no dust. One heartbeat there was nothing, the next, a figure cloaked in threads of void. The air bent around her as if she were absent made flesh. Eyes, pale and cruel, lingered on Ren first, then slid to Elara.

More followed. Five in total, each different, each terrible. They fanned outward, cutting a circle into the battlefield. Their presence pressed like an iron collar around the necks of every soldier still standing.

And then the last voice came.

It rolled down from the flagship, deeper than thunder, colder than frost. Words were not needed; the weight alone announced him. The King of the Vestiges had not yet stepped onto the soil, but his shadow was enough.

★★★

Ervin staggered under that pressure. His ribs were bound, his shoulder scorched, mana reserves gouged raw from hours of combat. Still he planted his feet. The Mage King's body in his arms felt like mockery.

Beside him, Vael reappeared, clutching his side where blood ran freely. His dagger dripped black ichor, and his breathing rasped like broken glass. Yet his eyes remained fixed on the new arrivals, calculating angles, exits, kills.

Elara pressed her hand against her ribs. Gold light flickered, feeble against the tide. She wavered, but she did not kneel.

And Ren…Ren alone stood untouched, though not unscarred. His cloak was torn, his skin marked by burns and cuts, but the fog of erasure curled around him like a living crown.

Four. Each broken, each dangerous.

Opposite them, five commanders, untouched, unbent, the King's shadow stretching above.

The silence between them crackled like a fuse.

Ervin's thoughts cut ruthlessly through the weight.

["We are outnumbered. Outworn. The enemy stands at full strength, their King unspent. Yet we still breathe. That means we must fight. Ren—erasure. Elara—creation. Myself—elements. Vael—assassin. Four pieces. Broken, but aligned. The board resets."]

His jaw set. He looked at the black fog, the golden light, the shadowed blade, his own bloodstained hands.

["This is no longer Arkenhall's war. This is theirs."]

★★★

The first commander lowered his spear, the ground splitting under its weight.

The second smiled, a thin curve without warmth.

The third's wings unfolded, obsidian feathers scattering sparks as they dragged the air.

The fourth and fifth waited, patient, like vultures already certain of the meal.

And above them, the King's voice again, a whisper that drowned the sky.

"Begin."

The earth shuddered.

The final battle had only just started.

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