Hakan stood on the balcony of Eryndor's castle, gazing over the vast expanse of Sylvaris Vale. The castle itself was colossal, built to accommodate the massive forms of dragons, but to him—a human—it felt almost too grand, too vast.
Yet, it was enough.
The Vale stretched endlessly before him, glowing rivers of energy weaving through ancient forests, the sky painted in ethereal hues. It was a land untouched by time, a realm where life itself pulsed in harmony.
A presence approached from behind.
Veyrath knelt. "Monarch, they are waiting for you."
Hakan remained still, his eyes fixed on the landscape.
"I'll be right there."
Veyrath bowed his head. "Yes, Monarch." Then, without another word, he left.
Hakan took one final look at the Vale before turning away and making his way inside.
In front of him lay a grand table, surrounded by dragons in their humanoid forms. Seated at the table were Xyvarion, Eryndor, Veyrath, Veathor, and a new presence—a female dragon he had not seen before.
As Hakan took his seat, he could feel it.
They all knew something was coming.
Hakan sat at the head of the grand table, his gaze sweeping across the gathered dragons. There was a tension in the air—unspoken, yet heavy. They were all waiting, sensing that something important was about to be discussed.
But before he could begin, his eyes landed on the unfamiliar presence.
A woman sat gracefully, her posture elegant yet effortless. Elaris.
Her form shimmered faintly, her white scales reflecting the ambient light like woven moonlight. Even in her humanoid form, the traces of her draconic nature remained—elongated limbs, ivory-tipped claws, a celestial glow in her eyes. Her wings, folded against her back, appeared as though made from woven starlight, translucent and divine. A long, silken tail moved in slow, mesmerizing arcs behind her.
More than her appearance, it was her presence that stood out.
The very air around her felt… lighter. As if the weight of the world lessened in her vicinity. Hakan realized something strange—his body, sore from the battle with Eryndor, felt renewed. The lingering fatigue that clung to his muscles had vanished.
This was no illusion.
Hakan shifted his gaze to Eryndor. "You haven't introduced her."
Eryndor nodded. "This is Elaris, the Luminous Healer."
A Celestial Dragon.
Hakan's eyes narrowed slightly. A Celestial Dragon—yet he had never once heard of their existence.
His gaze flickered toward Xyvarion, who remained silent, his expression unreadable. If even Xyvarion, one of the strongest dragons he had ever known, had never mentioned them…
Then why?
He turned back to Eryndor, his voice even but edged with curiosity. "Celestial Dragons… I was never told of their existence."
Eryndor met his gaze without hesitation. "Because they are not of Drakareth."
Hakan's brows furrowed. "Then where?"
Eryndor exhaled, his gaze drifting momentarily, as if recalling something ancient. "They come from the Astralis Rift."
The name sent a chill through the air. Even the dragons at the table stiffened.
Hakan's fingers curled slightly against the table's surface. And a smirk came to his face .
Astralis Rift.
A realm where the sky was not air, but a vast cosmic ocean. Where dragons did not merely live, but wove the very essence of existence itself.
Hakan's eyes shifted back to Elaris.
Her breath was different—controlled, deliberate. Unlike the others, there was no aura of dominance, no hint of combat-readiness.
Yet something about her unsettled him.
"You were sent here?" Hakan finally asked.
Elaris nodded, her voice smooth, unwavering. "By the Primordial Dragons."
The words weighed in the air.
Hakan leaned back slightly, absorbing the revelation. The Primordials. The oldest, most powerful of dragonkind. Beings that had shaped Drakareth itself.
And they had sent her.
Why?
Hakan's gaze remained locked on Elaris, his expression unreadable. After a moment of silence, he spoke.
"Why were you sent here?"
Elaris met his gaze without hesitation. "The Primordials decree, and we act."
Her voice was smooth, almost melodic, yet carried an unshakable weight. "We are the messengers of the Rift."
Hakan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Messengers?"
Eryndor folded his arms. "The Celestial Dragons do not rule, nor do they interfere in our affairs. They are simply the bridge that connects the two worlds ."
Elaris nodded. "The Astralis Rift and Drakareth must remain connected. The Primordials will not allow complete separation. It is our duty to ensure that news, decrees, and warnings are carried between both realms."
Hakan's fingers tapped lightly against the table. A link between Drakareth and the Rift? That meant that while the dragons of this land fought, built, and ruled, there were always unseen eyes watching, ensuring the Primordials remained informed.
It was an unsettling thought.
His gaze sharpened. "Then tell me, Elaris. Have the Primordials sent you with a message?"
Elaris remained silent for a moment, then slowly nodded. "I bring word, but I wished to observe first."
A flicker of something unreadable passed through her luminous gaze.
"For the first time in our existence… Drakareth has a ruler who is not of our kind."
Her words hung in the air.
"And the Primordials are watching."
Hakan smirked. A sharp, knowing grin that sent a ripple of unease through the room.
He leaned forward slightly, resting an arm on the grand table, his eyes locked onto Elaris with a glint of intrigue. "Tell me then… If you were sent here, that means there's a way back up, isn't there?"
For the first time, Elaris hesitated.
Xyvarion, Veyrath, and Vealthor—the ones who knew Hakan better than anyone else—felt a shift in the air.
They recognized that look in his eyes.
He was planning something.
Xyvarion's black eyes narrowed slightly, his mind already racing through possibilities. What are you up to, my liege?
Veyrath tensed, his wings twitching slightly, while Vealthor exchanged a wary glance with Eryndor.
Elaris, however, remained composed. Her gaze never wavered as she studied Hakan carefully, as if trying to understand his intent. Then, after a long pause, she nodded.
"Yes."
Her voice was calm, but her answer carried the weight of something far greater.
"There is a way."
Hakan's smirk widened, though his expression remained unreadable. He leaned back, tapping a finger against the table in thought.
"A way back up…" he mused, his voice slow and deliberate. "And yet, no one speaks of it."
Elaris met his gaze with an unreadable stillness, as if testing him.
"Because it is not meant for just anyone," she replied. "The Astralis Rift is the domain of the Primordials. Only those deemed worthy may ascend."
Hakan chuckled. "Worthy?" He glanced at the dragons around the table. "I just fought my way through every trial set before me. Do I need to prove myself to them too?"
Eryndor's expression was measured. "The Primordials do not measure strength alone. Even if you forced your way through, you would never reach them. The Astralis Rift is beyond mortal understanding."
Hakan drummed his fingers against the table, his mind turning. A place beyond reach? That only made it more interesting.
He exhaled sharply, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. Then, his gaze locked onto Elaris.
"Then take me there."
Silence.
Elaris's celestial glow dimmed slightly, but her expression remained composed. Yet the very air in the room seemed to shift—as if the weight of his words had disturbed something ancient.
Eryndor's claws curled slightly against the table. "Monarch—"
Hakan raised a hand, cutting him off. His gaze never left Elaris.
"You were sent here as a messenger, correct?" His voice carried an edge of authority. "Then as the Dragon Monarch, I command you—deliver me to the Primordials."
A flicker of something—was it amusement?—passed through Elaris's glowing eyes.
"It does not work that way, Hakan."
Hakan's smirk faded slightly. Not because of what she said—but because of how she said it.
Hakan.
Not Monarch.
For a moment, he was silent, his sharp gaze studying her. It was a subtle breach of protocol—one that even Eryndor and Xyvarion noticed. A messenger of the Primordials should have addressed him by title, as all others did.
Yet she hadn't.
Elaris tilted her head slightly, watching him with that same quiet intensity.
Hakan's stare was unwavering. "Just tell me the way."
Elaris hesitated, her radiant eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Even if I told you, you wouldn't be able to go there."
Hakan leaned forward, his voice edged with impatience. "That's for me to decide."
The air between them tensed. Eryndor, Xyvarion, Veyrath, and Vealthor exchanged glances. They had known Hakan long enough to recognize his resolve. He wouldn't let this go.
Elaris sighed, closing her eyes briefly before speaking. "There are only three ways to reach the Astralis Rift."
She raised one finger. "A messenger must take you."
Then another. "You must be granted permission by the Primordials themselves."
And then, the final one. "Or…" she hesitated, her celestial glow dimming slightly, "you must defeat the Gatekeepers."
A silence followed. Even the air itself seemed to grow heavier.
The Gatekeepers.
Hakan exhaled sharply, his lips curling into a smirk. "That's all I needed to hear. Now, where is it?"
Elaris gave him a measured look. "The path is hidden—woven into the very fabric of Drakareth. It is not a straight road, but a journey through the heart of the six great regoins."
She lifted her hand, and with a flicker of ethereal energy, a holographic map of Drakareth formed in the air. The six realms shimmered like celestial constellations, each pulsating with its own distinct power.
The Pathway to Astralis
At the very center of Drakareth, where all six realms converged, a singular point of energy pulsed—a veiled portal, unseen and untouched by those who did not know of its existence
Elaris extended her hand, and an ethereal glow illuminated the space before them. A map of Drakareth materialized, the six great realms pulsing like celestial constellations. But Hakan's eyes were drawn to a single point—the center, where all energy converged.
"The portal lies here," Elaris said, her voice carrying an almost reverent tone. "It exists in the heart of Drakareth, hidden between the threads of the realms. It can be reached from Sylvaris Vale."
Hakan's gaze sharpened. "And yet, no one speaks of it."
Eryndor crossed his arms. "Because no one dares to approach it."
The air grew heavier.
Elaris continued, "The gateway is not just a portal—it is a veil between Drakareth and the Astralis Rift. It remains unseen to all except those attuned to its existence. Even if you stood before it, you would not see it unless it allowed itself to be seen."
Hakan leaned back, his fingers tapping against the table. "Then tell me how to see it."
Elaris hesitated before speaking. "Only those chosen by the Primordials or accompanied by a messenger can access it. Otherwise…" She paused, her glowing eyes meeting his. "…you would have to break the seal."
Xyvarion, Veyrath, and Vealthor tensed. They knew Hakan too well. They could already see the gears turning in his mind.
Hakan smirked. "Then tell me where exactly it is."
Elaris let out a slow breath. "Deep within Sylvaris Vale, past the Eternal Glade, where the roots of the world intertwine, there lies an ancient shrine—the Astralis Gate. It is the anchor between realms, the point where Drakareth touches the Rift."
Her celestial glow pulsed. "But know this, Hakan… that place has not been touched for eons. Even the dragons of Sylvaris do not venture near it."
Hakan stood, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Then it's time someone did."
A heavy silence followed Hakan's words. The gathered dragons exchanged glances, unease settling in the air.
Eryndor was the first to speak, his voice firm. "Monarch, you don't understand what you're asking for. That place is not meant to be disturbed."
Elaris nodded, her celestial glow flickering with concern. "The Astralis Gate is not merely a passage—it is a boundary. A veil woven by the Primordials themselves. If you attempt to breach it without permission…" She hesitated. "You may not survive."
Hakan's smirk didn't fade. "Then I'll just have to make sure I do."
Eryndor slammed a fist onto the table. "This isn't a battle, Monarch! It's not something you can overpower with sheer will."
Elaris leaned forward, urgency in her glowing eyes. "The energies there are unlike anything you've faced. Even I do not approach it without caution. If you step beyond that veil unprepared, you may be lost between realms—forever."
Veyrath and Vealthor remained silent, their expressions grim.
But Xyvarion? He simply sat there, arms crossed, his golden eyes calm. He had known Hakan long enough to understand there was no changing his mind.
Hakan exhaled through his nose, his gaze lingering on Eryndor and Elaris. They were genuinely trying. And for once, he didn't dismiss their words outright.
He leaned back slightly. "Fine."
Eryndor blinked. "What?"
Hakan shrugged. "I'll wait."
Elaris narrowed her eyes. "You're giving up that easily."
Hakan grinned. "Yeah that place is dangerous ."
Xyvarion let out a quiet chuckle. He knew.
Hakan would wait—for now. But when the time came, he would go.
Hakan sat at the head of the table, fingers interlocked as his gaze swept over the gathered dragons. The flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows across the chamber, but nothing could dim the gravity of the moment.
His voice, low and deliberate, cut through the silence.
"Drakareth is not yet mine."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Eryndor's brow furrowed. "You hold the title. You bear the mantle of Monarch. What more must be done?"
Hakan's eyes burned with quiet resolve. "A title is nothing if it is not recognized. Power means nothing if it is not absolute." He leaned forward, his tone unwavering. "There will be no uncertainty in my reign. Drakareth must kneel as one."
A silence followed, thick with unspoken tension. Even Elaris, whose presence radiated a calming aura, seemed unable to ease the weight of the declaration.
Xyvarion, however, remained still, his expression unreadable. He had expected this.
Hakan continued. "Xyvarion, you will lead the charge—alongside Eryndor, Veyrath, and Vealthor." He shifted his gaze to the latter. "Vealthor, I will not order you to abandon your family. The choice is yours."
For a long moment, Vealthor said nothing. His home, his kin—the very essence of his existence lay within the heart of Drakareth. But as he looked into Hakan's eyes, he saw something undeniable: purpose, a vision greater than any single life.
At last, he clenched his fist. "I will go."
Hakan acknowledged his resolve with a slight nod before continuing. "You will go to each realm. You will give them a choice." His voice was steady, but beneath it, there was an edge of finality. "Offer them the path of unity. Show them what I have done, what I offer. Let them see the truth of who I am."
Then, his tone darkened, as if the very room itself responded to the shift in his presence.
"But if they reject that truth… if they refuse to submit…"
He met each of their gazes in turn, his words laced with cold certainty.
"Then you will remind them why dragons bow to strength."
A deep stillness followed, but it was not hesitation—it was understanding.
Xyvarion exhaled slowly, the faintest smirk playing at his lips. "So, it's conquest, then."
Hakan did not smile.
"It is something that I have to do in order to get my answers ."
Hakans true goal was never conquest it was always the answer to everything that had happened back on earth .
A heavy silence followed Hakan's words. His gaze remained firm, unwavering, as the weight of his true purpose settled over the room.
Xyvarion leaned back slightly, arms crossed, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "If answers are what you seek, then war is merely the road you must walk." His golden eyes burned with a familiar intensity. "Very well, then. Let's talk strategy, my liege."
Eryndor, ever the tactician, leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the table. "If we are to do this efficiently, then we cannot afford reckless battles. We must be precise. Each realm of Drakareth is strong in its own right, but if we divide them, isolate them, we can break their resistance before they even realize they have lost."
He traced his clawed fingers along the map before them, the vast expanse of Drakareth laid out in shimmering light. "Sylvaris Vale is already under our banner. That leaves four remaining regions before we reach the Capital. We must strike carefully."
Xyvarion nodded. "Pyrros Abyss and Zephyros Expanse will be the greatest obstacles. Fire and sky—unrelenting, untamed, and filled with warriors who will not bow without a fight." He looked at Hakan. "If we are forced to battle, we must strike hard and fast, break their strongest first. Dragons do not follow weakness, my liege."
Vealthor, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. "And what of Cryalis Dominion and Tenebral Hollow?"
Eryndor's expression darkened. "Cryalis Dominion will be difficult to move. The frost dragons value patience, and their ruler will not act without great cause. If we can reason with them, they may become allies." His gaze flickered toward Xyvarion. "Tenebral Hollow, however… They do not fear battle, nor do they care for alliances. The abyssal dragons will not be reasoned with. They will fight us the moment they sense our intent."
A smirk returned to Xyvarion's face. "Then we remind them why dragons bow to strength."
A deep stillness followed, but it was not hesitation—it was understanding.
Hakan remained still, his mind not on conquest but the truth buried beyond the Astralis Rift. Still, he had to walk this path.
He stood, his presence commanding absolute silence.
"You will go to each region and offer them the choice. Convince them. Show them who I truly am. But if all means of diplomacy fail—then we take what is ours."
Eryndor, Xyvarion, Veyrath, and Vealthor bowed their heads in acknowledgment.
The war for Drakareth had begun.
As the moon cast its silver glow over Sylvaris Vale, the air was thick with anticipation. Dragons, both in their true forms and humanoid shapes, moved with purpose, their preparations echoing through the vast, luminous forest. Armor was being forged, weapons sharpened, and strategies refined. Tomorrow, they would march.
Within the grand halls of Eryndor's castle, war councils had ended, and silence settled over the fortress. Yet, one meeting remained.
Hakan stood near the balcony, gazing out at the endless expanse of the Vale. The celestial rivers pulsed with energy, a reflection of the life he had now taken responsibility for. Footsteps approached, but he already knew who it was.
Xyvarion.
The dragon knelt briefly before stepping forward, his glowing eyes locked onto Hakan's. "You wished to speak, my liege?"
Hakan exhaled, his voice measured. "I want to hear it from you. What do you think of this war?"
Xyvarion tilted his head slightly. "It is necessary."
"Necessary," Hakan repeated. "Yet, you don't ask why I am doing this."
A smirk tugged at Xyvarion's lips. "Because I already know. Conquest is not your goal—it never was. You seek something greater, something beyond thrones and titles."
Hakan turned to face him fully. "Then tell me, Xyvarion. If I am not fit for this throne, will you strike me down?"
There was no hesitation in Xyvarion's answer. "If you ever become a ruler unworthy of dragons, then I will be the first to challenge you."
Silence stretched between them before Hakan let out a quiet chuckle. "Good. Then I can count on you to keep me in check."
Xyvarion crossed his arms. "That, and to win this war."
A sharp gust of wind rolled through the balcony, rustling their cloaks. The weight of what was to come loomed over them, but neither wavered. Tomorrow, they would march—not just to claim a throne, but to shape the future of Drakareth.
As the first light of dawn touched Sylvaris Vale, an army of dragons stood assembled before Eryndor's castle. Their sheer presence made the land itself feel small. Rows upon rows of warriors, their scales glinting under the rising sun, waited in silence. The air was thick with anticipation, a quiet storm before the inevitable clash.
Hakan stood at the balcony, his expression unreadable. This was it—the first step. His forces had gathered, and soon, the weight of his decisions would shape the fate of Drakareth itself.
Xyvarion, standing at the front, turned to face the gathered warriors. His golden eyes flickered with something deeper than simple duty—understanding. He had fought beside Hakan long enough to know this was not about conquest, not about mere dominance. It was about something only Hakan himself could answer.
Xyvarion exhaled before speaking, his voice carrying across the battlefield with an undeniable weight.
"We do not fight to prove our strength. That has already been done. The moment we stood beneath our Monarch, we accepted our path." His gaze shifted to the sky above. "Today is the first step. We move not because we seek war, but because we must. The world will either recognize him by their own will… or we will remind them."
A pause. No cheers, no roars. Just quiet agreement. They were past the point of blind fervor. Every warrior here had made their choice.
Xyvarion then turned, stepping forward, approaching the castle steps where Hakan stood above them all. His gaze met Hakan's, unwavering.
"My liege," Xyvarion said, lowering his head slightly. "We are ready."
Hakan looked at them all—the warriors, the generals, the dragons who had chosen this path with him. For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, he gave a slow nod. "Go," he said simply. "We take Drakareth on our terms."
With that, Xyvarion stepped back, spreading his wings. A single powerful beat of them sent him into the sky, and behind him, the army followed—ascending into the heavens like a storm on the horizon.
Their first destination—Cryalis Dominion.
As the thunderous wingbeats of the departing army faded, the air over Eryndor's castle grew still. The warriors had left for battle, their purpose clear. But behind them, life continued.
Rather than return to the war room, Hakan found his steps leading him toward the dragon village nestled in the valley below. It was a place untouched by war, where families of those who had taken flight remained—mothers, elders, and children who could only watch as their kin soared into the distance.
The village pulsed with quiet life. Small homes of stone and wood, reinforced with dragon-forged metals, lined the pathways. Hanging lanterns, filled with soft, ethereal flames, swayed gently in the breeze. The sound of running water from a nearby river blended with the distant chatter of those who remained.
As he walked through the village, heads turned.
Mothers paused in their daily tasks, their gazes lingering on him with silent gratitude. Elders, wise and weathered, gave deep bows of respect. But it was the children—their eyes wide with wonder—who reacted first.
"Monarch!" one called out, his small wings flaring as he rushed forward.
A group of younglings followed, their draconic features still unrefined, their scales soft, their tails flicking excitedly. They had never seen war, only heard stories of the one their fathers and brothers followed. To them, Hakan was not just a ruler—he was the legend their families spoke of.
"You'll win, won't you?" one of the boys asked, his gaze filled with unwavering belief.
Hakan stopped, letting the question hang in the air for a moment. He crouched slightly, meeting their eyes. "Of course," he said simply. "I never lose."
The children grinned, their tails swaying. A little girl with shimmering emerald scales stepped forward, holding something out to him—an intricately woven charm made of silver thread.
"For luck," she said shyly.
Hakan took it, turning it over in his hands. It was small, fragile, yet carefully crafted. He stared at it for a moment before nodding. "Then I'll keep it with me."
Her face lit up with pride, and the others cheered, jumping around excitedly.
From a distance, the villagers watched, their expressions filled with quiet reverence. One of the elder dragonesses stepped forward, bowing deeply. "You have given us more than protection, my liege. You have given us something to believe in."
Hakan glanced past them, toward the horizon where his army had vanished.
He had never sought admiration. He had never needed it.
But standing here, among the ones left behind, he understood—he was not just leading a war. He was leading a future.
And for them, he would not fail.
The sky stretched endlessly above the army of dragons, their massive forms cutting through the cold winds as they advanced toward their first target—Cryalis Dominion. The journey had begun, and the weight of the coming battle loomed over them all.
Amidst the formation of warriors, a conversation unfolded within the command group.
Elaris flew beside the others, her radiant form glowing softly even against the pale light of the distant sun. Though she had remained composed throughout the march, an unspoken concern rested behind her eyes.
"I'm worried," she finally admitted, her voice calm yet heavy. "Hakan… he isn't one to sit idle. And if what I suspect is true, he may be thinking of something far more dangerous than taking the throne."
Eryndor, who had been silent, gave a small exhale, his gaze steady. "You believe he's considering going to the Astralis Rift."
Elaris nodded. "If he does, he will stand before the Primordial Dragons themselves. And they do not tolerate disturbances from us dragons —let alone a human."
Eryndor's expression didn't change, but his tone carried a quiet reassurance. "You think too much, Elaris. He gave us an order. He has no intention of abandoning it. If he was planning to leave, he would have done so already."
Though his words were meant to calm her, Elaris still looked unconvinced.
Before she could speak again, Veyrath interjected, his tone lighter. "Enough of that," he said with a smirk. "The Monarch gave his command. Right now, our concern is war, not chasing ghosts in the sky."
"Agreed," Vealthor added. "We need to focus. This war won't win itself."
Their attempts to change the subject were clear, but Elaris was not so easily swayed. She frowned slightly, her gaze flickering toward the distant horizon.
Then, a voice cut through the conversation.
"He never cared about conquest," Xyvarion said suddenly.
The others turned toward him, their expressions shifting.
Xyvarion's gaze remained fixed ahead, unreadable yet certain.
"This war isn't about power," he continued. "It never was. He only wants answers."
A silence followed, heavy and unspoken.
For all of Hakan's commands, his strategies, and the path he had carved through Drakareth, Xyvarion had always known the truth.
Hakan was not here to rule.
He was here to uncover the one thing and until he found that answer, he would never stop searching.
Veyrath exhaled sharply, cutting through the lingering tension. "Let's not let our thoughts stray. Cryalis Dominion is near," he said, his voice steady. "We have a war to win."
The others gave small nods, pushing aside unspoken worries as they steeled themselves. The march continued, their goal clear—to unite Drakareth once more under one ruler.
But as the army pressed forward, Hakan had already turned away from the battlefield in his mind.
He had other matters to attend to.
Returning to Eryndor's castle, he moved through its ancient halls, his footsteps echoing against the stone. The war was inevitable, but he had no intention of charging into it unprepared. He needed equipment—something suited for him.
Yet, as he searched through the castle's armory, his expectations fell short. The weapons and armor, crafted for dragons or their draconic forms, were far too large or impractical for him. Even the few pieces designed for humanoid figures lacked the balance and weight he preferred.
Hakan picked up a gauntlet, turning it over in his hand. Too heavy. A chest plate—too restrictive. He tested the grip of a sword, but it felt unfamiliar.
Frustration settled in.
With a sigh, he set the blade down and stepped back.
"Nothing fits," he muttered to himself.
For all his titles, all his strength, he was still human. The world of dragons had never been made for him.
After a moment of thought, he exhaled sharply and straightened. "Guess I'll have to do this alone."
The words were quiet, but they held weight.
Leaving the armory behind, he made his way outside. As the cold air brushed against his skin, his thoughts drifted back to what Elaris had told him—the portal.
The one that connected all the great realms.
The one that could lead him exactly where he needed to go.
"Deep within Sylvaris Vale, past the Eternal Glade, where the roots of the world intertwine, there lies an ancient shrine—the Astralis Gate. It is the anchor between realms, the point where Drakareth touches the Rift."
Elaris' voice echoed in Hakan's mind as he moved through the dense forest, her words guiding his steps deeper into the unknown.
The towering trees of Sylvaris Vale whispered with an unseen force, their luminescent leaves pulsing faintly like the rhythm of a heartbeat. Vines draped like flowing tapestries, and soft streams of ethereal light filtered through the thick canopy above. Every step he took was met with the subtle hum of life—a constant reminder that this place was more than just a forest. It was alive.
The further he went, the more the air changed. It felt… heavier, not with weight, but with something ancient. As if the very fabric of the world was thinner here, stretched across something vast and unfathomable.
The Eternal Glade was close. He could feel it.
Hakan exhaled sharply, his breath steady, his gaze fixed forward.
The war would rage on without him. But his path lay elsewhere.
Hakan moved with purpose, each step pressing deeper into the untouched heart of Sylvaris Vale. The light grew dimmer as towering trees cast elongated shadows, their roots stretching like veins beneath his feet. The hum of the forest pulsed around him, ancient and alive. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of where he was headed.
Elaris' words still rang in his mind.
"Even if you stood before it, you would not see it unless it allowed itself to be seen."
His eyes flickered with quiet resolve.
If the Primordials thought their barriers would keep him out, they were mistaken.
Pushing through thick vegetation, he reached the edge of the Eternal Glade. Here, the trees parted to reveal a clearing bathed in an otherworldly glow. The ground shimmered faintly, pulsing with energy beneath the emerald grass. A massive, ancient structure stood at the center—a shrine of dragonstone, half-buried in the roots of an ancient tree.
It was silent. Too silent.
Hakan slowed his pace, his senses sharpening. There was no wind, no movement. The very air felt frozen in time.
He approached the shrine, running a hand across its surface. The carvings on the stone were unlike anything he had seen before, spirals and sigils intertwining in patterns that seemed to shift as he looked at them.
Then, something shifted.
A pulse, subtle yet immense, rippled through the space around him. The ground trembled, and the very air warped.
And then… he saw it.
A tear in reality itself.
It was not a physical portal, not a gate of stone or metal. It was a rift—an absence in the world, a sliver of the infinite. The space beyond it shimmered, shifting between color and void. It was as if the universe itself was bending inward, whispering secrets older than time.
This was the Astralis Gate.
He took a slow breath, his fingers curling into fists.
"Only those chosen by the Primordials or accompanied by a messenger can access it. Otherwise… you would have to break the seal."
His gaze hardened. He had not come this far to be stopped by a seal.
Drawing himself to his full height, Hakan exhaled, focusing every ounce of his willpower.
"Let's see if you can stop me."
With that, he stepped forward, intent on challenging the very laws that governed Drakareth itself.
The moment Hakan stepped closer, the air around him ignited with raw energy. The rift pulsed—an unseen force pressing against his very existence, testing him. It was not merely a barrier; it was an entity, something alive, something ancient.
The Astralis Gate did not allow just anyone to pass.
A deep, resonating hum filled the clearing as the seal reacted to his presence. The carvings on the shrine pulsed, glowing with a golden radiance, twisting and rearranging as if whispering among themselves. The ground beneath him cracked, roots recoiling as unseen forces coiled in defense.
Then, the first test came.
A voice—no, not a voice, but something deeper, something that spoke to the very essence of his being—echoed through the air.
"You do not belong here."
Hakan's breath steadied, his expression unshaken. "That's for me to decide."
The world around him twisted. The trees blurred into shadows, the sky darkened to an abyssal void, and the air turned heavy as if existence itself was trying to crush him. The shrine, the glade, the ground—everything vanished into nothingness.
And then—he was somewhere else.
He stood in a vast expanse of starlit darkness, a plane without form, without direction. Floating ahead of him were three colossal figures—titanic draconic silhouettes woven from constellations and cosmic fire. Their eyes burned like suns, gazing down at him with boundless presence.
The Gatekeepers.
The Primordials' chosen sentinels.
The center figure spoke, its voice deep and unyielding, shaking the fabric of reality itself.
"State your purpose, outsider."
Hakan met their gaze, unwavering. "I seek answers."
The leftmost dragon stirred, its celestial wings stretching across the void. "Answers come at a price."
The rightmost figure's voice was colder, distant. "Are you prepared to pay it?"
Hakan smirked. "I've been paying for it my entire life."
The Gatekeepers fell silent, the void around him shifting. Then, the center figure loomed closer, its massive form blotting out the distant stars.
"Then prove your worth."
A storm of cosmic energy erupted around him.
The trial had begun.
The void trembled as the Gatekeepers surged forward, each radiating their own cosmic presence. Vorthion, the Titan of Cosmic Flame, was the first to strike. His colossal frame burned like a living supernova, his wings spreading firestorms across the abyss. He opened his maw, releasing a stream of concentrated stellar flames hotter than the core of dying suns.
Hakan moved.
Phantom Step.
He vanished in an instant, reappearing a mere inch from the stream's edge. The heat singed the air, warping space itself, but he had already shifted. His foot touched the abyss, and he propelled himself forward—straight at Vorthion.
Dragon's Fang.
His fist blurred, cutting through the void with a force so precise that it split the flames apart. Vorthion's armor of cosmic scales shuddered as the blow struck his side, sending him lurching backward. Before he could recover, the abyss itself howled.
Zyphoros, the Abyssal Tempest, descended.
A vortex of wind and lightning engulfed Hakan as twin scythes of condensed storm energy carved toward him. He twisted mid-air, his movements fluid like water yet unrelenting like steel.
Iron Tempest.
His body became a storm of his own, each rotation deflecting, redirecting, and countering Zyphoros's onslaught. His knee drove upward—
Sky Rend.
—a shockwave-infused strike ripped through the howling storm, forcing Zyphoros to recoil. But Aurelion, the Arbiter of Balance, had already moved.
From above, an astral blade descended, woven from the forces of light and darkness, a divine judgment meant to end all resistance.
Hakan's palm met the attack.
Eclipse Palm.
He absorbed the force, twisted it, and sent it roaring back. Aurelion barely had time to react before his own energy lashed against him, driving him back into the abyss.
The Gatekeepers did not relent.
Vorthion reemerged, his body now a burning meteor hurtling through the void. Zyphoros reformed his storm, his scythes now brimming with destructive potential. Aurelion gathered celestial energy, preparing a strike that could unmake reality itself.
Hakan exhaled, steadying himself.
The air bent around him, pressure shifting as he stepped forward. His muscles coiled like a drawn bowstring.
Void Crusher.
His fist met the fractured abyss.
The entire battlefield collapsed inward, the void itself crushed beneath the force of his strike. Vorthion's charge was halted mid-flight, his flames flickering as the distortion disrupted him. Zyphoros staggered, his storm scattering like shattered glass. Aurelion's attack lost balance, its harmony broken.
And then Hakan moved.
Sonic Boom.
A single step sent shockwaves through the void. The sound reached after the impact—too late. He was already on Zyphoros, a rapid succession of strikes leaving concussive bursts in their wake.
Death's Knock.
His fingertips struck precise nerve points along Zyphoros's form. The Abyssal Tempest shuddered, his movements locking, his storm faltering.
Vorthion roared, regaining control, his claws igniting with the fury of dying stars. He slashed, space itself burning away in the wake of his strike. But Hakan met him.
Heaven's Breaker.
One punch.
The void shattered.
Vorthion was sent hurtling backward, his scales cracking from the sheer impact. The Titan of Cosmic Flame, a being of primordial might, had been driven to his knees.
Aurelion, seeing the tide turning, gathered all his strength into a final attack. A sphere of absolute equilibrium formed between his hands, radiating an energy that threatened to erase existence itself.
Hakan's eyes burned with unwavering resolve. He leapt, the air bending around him as he ascended.
Skyward Fist.
His momentum surged, his body becoming a force of nature itself. He struck the sphere of cosmic balance, his fist piercing through its harmonized energy.
Phase Sever.
Reality quaked.
The attack shattered apart, unable to withstand the sheer mastery of his technique. Aurelion was thrown back, the divine energy unraveling into harmless light.
Silence fell.
The Gatekeepers fell . Hakan landed, rolling his shoulders.
"You fought well." His voice was calm, yet firm. "But I'm going forward."
Hakan moved through the defeated bodies of the Gatekeepers as the path to the Astralis Gate lay open. A massive light cam upon and hakan crossed it vanishing into the Light .