She emerged in a sunlit garden.
Soft wind rustled cherry blossoms as Elsa stood in the center of a familiar courtyard—her childhood home. But everything felt… wrong.
Ahead, seated at a table under the flowering tree, was her grandfather, Wallace Jefferson.
He was alive.
But younger. Sharper. Dressed not in hospital gowns, but in regal robes of white and crimson.
"Elsa," he said warmly, gesturing for her to sit.
She stepped forward slowly. "This isn't real."
He smiled. "Real enough to test you. Sit."
She sat.
"Tell me," he said, pouring her a cup of tea. "What does your heart truly want?"
Elsa looked down. "To protect Chess. To find the seals. To stop Kip—"
"No," he interrupted gently. "What does your heart want? Not your duty. Not your fear. You."
She blinked, heart pounding.
"I want to belong," she whispered. "To be seen—not as a CEO's granddaughter, not as a pawn in some ancient war—but just… me."
Wallace nodded slowly. "Then you must understand something, child. Your blood is not Jefferson blood alone. You are the last of the Guardians."
He stood and held out his palm.
A vision sparked.
Images flickered through her mind: ancient priestesses chanting beneath a full moon, warriors with glowing spears guarding a sleeping dragon, a woman who looked just like Elsa holding a seal wrapped in flame.
"You come from those who protected the balance," Wallace said. "But the moment you let love cloud your purpose, you risk failing the bloodline."
Elsa stood defiantly. "I won't choose between duty and love. I can't. Chess isn't a distraction. He's the reason I'm strong."
Wallace's image softened. "Then prove it."
The garden crumbled.
Fire surged around her as a seal floated before her, spinning violently. A voice echoed:
"Will you burn for what you love?"
Elsa reached out.
The flames lashed at her, burning her arm, searing her soul. But she did not flinch.
"I choose him," she whispered. "And I choose the seal."
Light exploded.
Chess's Path – The Ghost of His Past
He stood at the edge of a cliff.
Before him, the ruins of the Supreme Martial Sect. Cracked stone. Bloodstains on marble. The scent of battle.
And standing in the center… was Hubert Golding.
Alive. Whole. Wearing the ceremonial robes of the sect leader.
"Boy," Hubert said, voice like thunder. "You think power is enough?"
Chess bowed slightly. "I know it isn't. That's why I came."
"You failed your brothers," Hubert snapped. "Failed to prevent the fall. And now, you chase seals like a gambler chases luck."
Chess's jaw tightened. "I never asked for this bloodline. But I'll carry it if I must."
"You will bleed for it," Hubert snarled, suddenly drawing a blade from thin air. "Defend your path."
Without hesitation, Chess summoned his own sword.
They clashed—steel against spirit, power against wisdom. Chess fought not with brute strength but with calm fury, each move a memory of the years spent under Hubert's cruel training.
Finally, Chess disarmed him, blade to his old master's throat.
"I don't want your throne," Chess said. "I want to build something better. With her."
The illusion flickered.
Hubert smirked. "Then go. But know this—the seal will test her too. And love alone may not be enough."
Chess lowered his blade.
Light swallowed him whole.
The Reunion
The twin paths rejoined in a glowing chamber, the Third Seal floating between them.
Elsa stumbled in, her arm bandaged with glowing runes.
Chess emerged a moment later, his aura burning white-gold.
They saw each other—wounded, tested, but still standing.
The Third Seal pulsed.
Then, it split into two smaller halves—one floating to each of them.
Bound by love. Chosen by fate.
As they took them, a voice boomed across the temple:
"Together, you are stronger than the blood that made you. Together, you are flame and stone."
The door behind them opened.
They stepped out—seared, shaken, but united.
Only four seals remained.
But for the first time… they weren't afraid.