The sun had barely risen when Klaus set out, the taste of ash and sorrow still thick on his tongue. The memory of Sofie standing in the glowing beacon of light haunted every step he took. She had changed. The girl he'd grown up with, the one who once danced barefoot in the fields and laughed with him under starlight, had become something else—something powerful, maybe something dangerous.
He had to find her.
With nothing but his worn clothes and a heart burning with unanswered questions, Klaus left the village behind. Beyond the dense woodlands and frostbitten hills lay the Outer Region of the Drazien Empire, a militarized zone filled with towers of steel, watchmen in armored suits, and vehicles that hovered above paved roads like hungry vultures. The capital, Drazien Hold, loomed far in the distance.
It didn't take long to find her.
A convoy of government enforcers moved through the outer gates, escorting a group of newly awakened individuals. In the middle of the crowd, barely restrained by chains laced with runes, was Sofie.
Klaus' heart dropped. Her eyes—once gentle and blue—now glowed faintly gold. Her hair, once a soft chestnut, had lightened to a shimmering silver. She looked like a goddess among mortals. But he knew that face. That soul. That was still her.
He pushed through the outer ring of people.
"Sofie!"
The name thundered from his throat like a battle cry. It silenced the crowd. Guards froze. Civilians turned.
Sofie flinched.
Her golden gaze flickered toward the voice—and recognition shimmered in her eyes.
The guards tensed and immediately moved. In an instant, Klaus was tackled to the ground by three men in obsidian armor. One struck him across the face with a gauntleted hand. The blow should have knocked him out. But Klaus didn't flinch. His eyes, brown and unwavering, never left Sofie.
The world stood still.
Until it didn't.
The pressure arrived like a crashing wave—a force so heavy and ancient that the ground itself groaned beneath it. People screamed and collapsed. Some clutched their chests. A few bled from the eyes and ears.
Only the strongest remained standing, barely holding on.
From above, descending like a god came a figure cloaked in black and crimson armor. His presence was undeniable, his aura a tidal wave of pure destruction.
He was Monarch Varion of House Ignar.
His feet touched the ground with a hiss of searing heat. Flames licked the air around him, and the sky darkened in his presence.
His voice rumbled, deep and full of scorn. "Which one of you insects dares disturb the order of this realm?"
Everyone bowed or dropped to their knees, unable to breathe in his aura. But Klaus—bruised, bloody, and chained by nothing but sheer presence—remained on his feet.
Varion's molten eyes narrowed. "You should be ashes beneath my gaze. Who are you, farmboy?"
Klaus said nothing.
"You look at me as if I am prey. Do you not fear death?"
Klaus clenched his fists. Blood dripped from his split knuckles. His voice was a whisper, but it cut like steel.
"Death can have me when it earns me."
Suddenly, the air screamed. A pulse of power erupted from Klaus, not wild or chaotic—but ancient. It wasn't like the other Archeons. It was deeper. Primordial. His eyes flared.
Not red.
Not gold.
But something beyond. Something old.
The very air around him distorted. Winds spiraled. Flames trembled. Lightning cracked in silence. Even Varion staggered back a step, eyes wide, as if he had just glimpsed something no mortal was ever meant to see.
Klaus stepped forward, his voice now calm.
"I don't need a crown. I carry a legacy."
The ground beneath him cracked.
"And soon... even monarchs will kneel."