The fires of the Bleeding Spire still burned behind us as our fleet cut through the northern winds. The battle was over. The seal had been reforged. And the Harbinger was gone—for now.
But as The Valkyris drifted back toward Aetheris, I didn't feel victorious.
I felt hollow.
I had saved the world. Again.
But at what cost?
Return to Aetheris
The city came into view just as the sun broke through the clouds, casting a golden hue across its towers. But the light did little to ease the tension that greeted us.
The docks were crowded with soldiers, politicians, and tech-priests. Not cheering. Not applauding.
Watching.
Judging.
We disembarked in silence. The wind whispered through the plaza, carrying with it the hum of mana engines and distant murmurs.
"Elara," I said, scanning the crowd. "Do you feel that?"
She nodded. "They're waiting for something. Not news. A verdict."
Kieran dropped beside us from the ramp, eyes narrowed. "The council's called an emergency session. They didn't even wait for our report."
Of course they hadn't.
They wanted to know if I was still the hero—or if I had become the very thing they feared.
The Council Chamber
The High Chamber of Aetheris had changed.
Gone were the warm lights and polished floors. The walls now displayed live projections of the war zones: crumbling cities, corrupted skies, and terrified civilians.
The councilors sat behind a semicircle of floating thrones, each one flanked by steampunk exo-guards and Divin enforcers. Lord Kaelen was among them, arms folded, face unreadable.
They didn't waste time.
"You channeled the Crown against the third seal," Councilor Velis said. "And refused to destroy it. Why?"
I stood at the center of the room, alone.
"Because destruction would've undone the balance," I said. "The Crown isn't a weapon. It's a key. If we destroy the locks, we invite something worse."
"And you alone made this decision?" another councilor challenged.
"No," I replied. "The decision was made by the one standing in front of the seal. By the one who saw what would happen if it broke. Me."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Kaelen stood.
"We can't ignore the question any longer. Is the Crown shaping Sylas… or is Sylas shaping the Crown?"
The Accusation
A sharp voice rose from the rear of the chamber.
"He's not shaping anything. He's hiding."
All eyes turned.
Darian Voss.
He had escaped containment.
He wore no chains, only a simple cloak—and the look of someone who had nothing left to lose.
"You all think he's a savior," Darian said, stepping forward. "But he's just a vessel for the next disaster. You want to talk about truth? Then let's talk."
He activated a glyph stone in his hand. A recording projected in the air.
My voice. From the spire.
"I won't be your jailor… I'll be the wall between both."
He paused the playback. "A wall? Or a throne? He speaks like a god. He wields power meant for gods. And still, you trust him?"
Kaelen's face remained unreadable.
Councilor Velis turned to me. "Do you deny it? Do you intend to rise above us all?"
"I intend," I said slowly, "to keep your world from falling apart."
A Divided Verdict
The council was split.
Half demanded my removal from command, fearing I'd become another Harbinger.
The other half insisted I was the only one capable of stopping him.
Kaelen broke the tie.
"Sylas will retain command," he declared. "But from this point forward, his actions will be monitored. Every mission, every use of the Crown, will be overseen by a neutral observer."
"Who?" I asked.
Kaelen glanced to the side as footsteps echoed through the hall.
Cira.
She stepped forward, gaze calm but firm. "I volunteered."
New Orders
Back at our quarters, the tension hadn't eased.
Kieran paced the war table, arms crossed. "They don't trust you. And putting Cira in charge of watching you? That's not oversight. That's a leash."
"She's still on our side," Elara said, though her tone was tight.
Cira stood in the doorway, arms folded. "I am. But Kaelen's not wrong. The alliance is barely holding together. They need reassurance."
"They need leadership," I said. "Not fear."
Silence followed.
Until Cira finally spoke. "Then lead us through this storm. Prove them wrong."
I nodded.
But even as I agreed… I felt the Crown pulse once more.
It didn't like being questioned.
Harbinger's Message
That night, the Harbinger visited me again.
Not in a dream—but in a vision.
I sat on the balcony, trying to clear my thoughts, when the air shimmered and bent. Shadows stretched, converged, and formed his shape.
"You're losing them," he said softly.
"You've lost," I shot back.
"Have I?" He tilted his head. "Or have I simply given you a taste of what's to come?"
I stood. "You're stalling. Buying time."
"Of course," he smiled. "Because time is the one thing you don't have. The gods are stirring. The seal you reforged was a message."
"What message?"
He leaned closer.
"That you're still just a mortal… trying to hold back a flood."
Then he vanished.
And I was alone again.
The Factions Form
The next morning, Cira delivered a full report.
"The resistance is fragmenting," she said. "Some rebel leaders now follow Darian. Others are threatening to leave the alliance entirely unless we destroy the remaining seals."
"And what about the Forgotten Continent?" Kieran asked.
She hesitated. "A few generals are talking about declaring martial authority. They think Kaelen's too soft."
"So we're bleeding from within," Elara muttered.
I looked over the map.
Three factions were forming:
Those loyal to Sylas and Kaelen.
Those following Darian, who wanted to unseal the Chained God.
And those who wanted to burn everything—the seals, the gods, and the Crown.
War had fractured once more.
Not across continents…
…but within.
The Call for Truth
Later that day, I stood before the people of Aetheris in the central plaza.
Thousands gathered. Broadcast drones hovered above.
I looked out at them—not as a king, or a god, or a savior.
As a man.
And I spoke.
"I have made mistakes. I've walked paths lined with fire, led armies into darkness, and stood at the edge of oblivion. But I am still here. Still fighting—not for power. Not for destiny. But for you."
The crowd was silent.
Then I raised my hand—and let the Crown glow.
Not in wrath.
Not in dominance.
But in truth.
"Judge me if you must. Watch me. Doubt me. But understand this: if we fall now, if we break apart, the Harbinger wins. The gods win. And we lose everything."
Slowly, hands began to raise.
Not in salute.
In solidarity.
But in the Shadows…
Far from the city, deep within the riftlands where no sane soul should walk, the Harbinger knelt before something ancient.
A veil of shifting symbols. A crack in the world.
A voice whispered from it.
Not his.
"Soon. The gate opens. And the true gods will return."
The Harbinger smiled.
Because now, even if Sylas stood strong… the world would tear itself apart before the gods ever needed to raise a hand.