In the quietest wing of the shattered Suha facility, beneath flickering ceiling lights and the distant quake of battles raging above, a single room remained untouched by chaos.
Inside, the still body of Sir Varion rested on a med-bed his breathing calm, steady. Machines blinked softly beside him. Healing Shen flowed intravenously through his veins. To the waking world, he was unconscious.
But within his mind, Varion was wide awake.
He sat cross-legged on a woven mat, the air warm with the orange glow of firelight. A campfire crackled before him, nestled in a ring of smooth black stones. Beyond it, only darkness stretched in all directions as if the world ended just past the edge of the flame.
On a makeshift spit above the fire, a thick, glistening fish roasted slowly, skin blistering and curling as it turned. Its fat hissed as it dripped into the fire, sending up sparks.
Varion, ever composed even in dream, leaned forward, sniffing once. "Almost done," he muttered to himself.
And then
Laughter.
Soft, melodic, like bells hidden in velvet.
He looked up.
Three women emerged from the dark beyond the fire, as if shaped from smoke and light. They were beautiful uncannily so. Their bodies curved like sculptures, their eyes gleamed like starlight, and their smiles hinted at secrets older than time itself.
Their robes thin silk, semi-transparent clung gently to their forms. Their hips swayed. Their steps made no sound. They said nothing as they sat around the fire, encircling Varion with casual elegance, each taking her place like dancers who'd done this a thousand times before.
One, her hair a deep shade of twilight blue, leaned in and murmured, "I'm catching cold."
Varion blinked once, then cleared his throat. "Ah… would you like some salt water fish?"
The three women exchanged glances. One giggled softly. "No," she said. "We're not hungry especially fishes from the sea nope."
The second reached into her sleeve and pulled out a shimmering needle, her fingers already looping an invisible thread.
"We'd rather knit."
Varion raised an eyebrow, watching as all three began to weave and knot with hypnotic rhythm. Their fingers danced with fluid grace, threads crossing and twisting, vanishing into the folds of some unseen pattern.
The first woman glanced at the fish, her lips curving faintly.
"You should eat it before it burns."
Varion's gaze had drifted drawn involuntarily to the bold curves and generous forms of the women before him. He snapped his eyes back to the fish. "Oh—oh! Right, right. I won't let it go to waste."
He reached out with a long stick and poked the fish. Steam hissed from beneath the crisped skin. He licked his lips and turned it once more.
But one of the women laughed again. "And there goes the fate of that fish."
Varion glanced at her. "Are you a seer?"
"If you call me that," she said, "I wouldn't say no."
His voice dropped lower, thoughtful. "Then tell me this what is the fate of the world?"
The three women paused.
Their needles slowed.
They looked at each other and smiled knowingly, wearily.
Then, without a word, they each pulled a single thread from their work, held it between their fingers… and twisted.
The threads shimmered gold for a moment then snapped.
They resumed knitting.
And spoke in perfect unison:
"Ask something more personal."
Varion exhaled. "I have nothing to ask."
"You will," the twilight-haired one said. "Soon."
A silence settled.
The fire dimmed slightly.
The third woman, whose lips had not parted until now, finally spoke.
"You should eat quickly. The fire's burning out."
Varion stared at the fish.
It was cooked perfectly now skin blistered, meat steaming.
But somehow… he was no longer hungry.
The dream held its breath.
GREENLAND REALITY:
Greenland no longer resembled land at all.
The battlefield was a broken canvas gouged, blackened, pitted with ash and flame. Patches of white-hot steam hissed up from fissures torn open by earlier attacks. Smoke curled like tired ghosts around the rubble. The smell of burnt ozone, scorched bark, and churned earth filled the air.
And cutting through it all two streaks of speed and power,Draven and Sakamoto.
One left a trail of streaking white lightning. The other, a rippling veil of darkness marked by black sparks. They moved in perfect silence, side by side yet worlds apart in rhythm. Each step they took cracked the ruined ground beneath them as they surged toward their shared target,
Lord Arcade.
Above, the god-elf raised both hands. His white cloak fluttered behind him, and a ripple of Shen coursed outward like a pulse of contempt.
The ground answered.
From beneath the crust, sharp roots exploded upward jagged and polished like a lion's fangs, glistening with sap that gleamed like blood. Each one curved wickedly toward the path the two hunters blazed, anticipating their movement with merciless intelligence.
The earth split ahead of Sakamoto and from it, a fang-shaped root surged upward, sharp enough to split a man in half.
But Sakamoto didn't hesitate.
"Out of my way—!"
He leapt, spun, and with a powerful grunt, swung the staff on his hand like a club. The impact was thunderous. The root shattered on contact, splinters flying into the air like bone fragments.
More erupted behind him. He spun, smashed another. And another. Wood splintered, dust rose, and golden sparks burst from the tip of his staff with every impact.
Meanwhile
Draven moved like vapor.
He didn't swing. He slithered.
The roots came for him too seven, eight, ten at once, shooting from the ground like spears. He ducked beneath one, slid between two others, turned his body mid-leap and ran sideways across the wall of a crumbling stone slab as more erupted from below.
He touched the hilt of the Jörmungandr blade and in a single fluid movement, drew it across the air.
SHHHNK.
The root in front of him split clean down the middle before it even reached him. The blade glowed green for a moment, humming softly.
But he wasn't done.
His body rose not from jumping, but because something massive was moving beneath him. From the scorched battlefield, an enormous black-scaled head emerged, fangs curled like sickles, and slitted eyes that burned green with divine intelligence.
Jörmungandr.
The colossal serpent rose like a tidal wave, carrying Draven on its skull. Its throat glowed it was charging.
Draven pointed his sword forward aiming it at lord Arcade and spoke. "Burn him."
The serpent obeyed.
A beam of compressed green energy blasted upward from its mouth a vertical tidal lance of raw destruction. It tore through the air toward Lord Arcade.
But above
Arcade raised his palm. An eye blinked open in the center of it.
The beam struck.
And was devoured.
Completely absorbed.
Arcade's lips parted into a slight grin.
"My pet," he said softly. "Jörmungandr. I tried summoning you months ago when i came back . But it seems…"
His eyes flicked toward Draven, riding the serpent's skull.
"…you made other arrangements."
He sighed. "No matter. That power means nothing to me now."
Then he tilted his head.
And for the first time in this battle his eyes narrowed.
Arcade's voice carried through the smoke like a whisper draped in venom.
"Power is temporary. Allegiances even more so."
He lowered his glowing hand, the eye in his palm closing like a sigh. Below him, Jörmungandr's beam attack had vanished into nothingness consumed completely.
But Draven wasn't finished.
His expression remained hard, calculating. He reached behind him and touched his left eye with his left hand, where a black pulse of Shen shimmered.
From it emerged something massive.
A form stepped out of his shadow a towering black figure draped in layered armor of fractured obsidian and flowing warcloth. Its face was a void. Its hands were gnarled bone covered in smoke. On its back: an impossibly large bow already drawn.
The Sephiroth Warrior.
The Sitra Achra Executioner.
Two enormous arrows of black obsidian and Shen quivered against the string. Draven didn't speak. He merely raised his hand and lowered two fingers.
The executioner released.
FWUUUMMM
The arrows tore through the air, twin trails of pitch-black light spiraling behind them as they hurtled toward Arcade's position.
But Arcade was already moving.
He raised both arms and willed the ground to rise. A massive stone barrier erupted from the earth like the jaw of a slumbering titan. The arrows slammed into it, detonating in a shockwave of shadow and force but did not break through.
For a moment, all went silent.
And then the air cracked.
From beneath the battlefield, directly under Arcade's platform
Sakamoto.
His arms were outstretched, veins glowing faintly under his skin, the monkey staff planted into the soil beside him.
"Let's see you handle it this time—"
He raised his eyes to the sky.
"Come—RAINBOW LIGHTNING!"
The clouds obeyed.
They folded inward, forming a spiraling prism, and from the vortex descended four jagged bolts red, blue, yellow, and green twisting together as they crashed downward toward Arcade.
Arcade's face tightened. "Not again."
He slammed his hands together.
A ripple of white energy pulsed outward, and from that light a massive white tree burst into being in midair its branches curling upward like the fingers of an open hand.
The lightning hit.
CRACK—BOOOMMMMMMM.
The tree glowed, burned, then shattered, its divine bark cracking and falling like ash. The energy from the lightning splintered into wild strikes across the sky, carving through clouds, shaking the ruined earth.
But it was enough.
Arcade had blocked it barely.
Still, something had changed.
He descended fast.
A blur of silver and white cutting through the air. He dropped toward Sakamoto like a falling blade. Sakamoto braced, staff swinging upward to meet the descent.
But Arcade was faster.
"Too slow."
His hand snatched Sakamoto by the head, fingers digging into his scalp like iron hooks. With a flick of his leg, he kicked the staff from Sakamoto's grip, launching it into the distance.
Before Sakamoto could react, he was hauled into the sky with his body flailing upward.
Arcade rose with him.
And above them
Draven stood ready atop Jörmungandr, the serpent coiled again for another strike.
But Arcade had already seen it.
In one brutal motion, ten white rods materialized midair, stabbing through Jörmungandr from tail to skull, skewering the divine beast like a pinned specimen.
Its glow dimmed instantly. Its coils unraveled.
Draven's footing vanished and he began to fall and just there Arcade moved towards him.
He fell straight into Arcade's grasp.
Arcade caught him by the throat.
And then still holding both men, one in each hand he dove.
They smashed into the ground like comets, a shockwave bursting outward, rolling through the landscape like thunder.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—
Their bodies hit, rolled, slid, and finally lay still, sprawled and smoking, ash curling from their skin.
Arcade landed in a crouch between them, expression sharp with disdain. He looked from one body to the other.
"Enough theatrics."
Dust hung in the air like a slow-moving storm. The cracked earth beneath them steamed from the recent impact. Blood smeared in ragged trails beneath broken bodies.
Draven coughed violently, his arms trembling as he pushed himself off the ground. His right shoulder popped back into place with an audible crack.
Sakamoto, only a few feet away, gasped as he rolled onto his back, his Ascension state flickering erratically. Golden sparks still burned in his pupils, but the glow dimmed, struggling to maintain form. His breath hitched with every movement.
Between them stood Lord Arcade, now deathly calm.
On each hand, a gleaming white rod appeared spear-like, pulsing, cold. He twirled them once.
"It seems," he said, voice quiet but resonant, "that I will have to kill you both before leaving this place."
His eyes fell on Draven, lingering just a moment too long. "But first, the traitor."
Draven wiped blood from his lip, not backing down. "Say that again."
Arcade didn't hesitate. "You've always served your purpose, Draven. Even when you didn't know it. The power that burns through your veins? That's mine. The Sitra Achra your cursed bow, your so-called Executioner… all of it. My designs. My experiments. My will."
Sakamoto turned his head sharply. "What?"
Arcade's tone dipped colder. "He was never free, Ichabod's son. None of them were. Every path he's walked each one I paved before my death. Like a dog trained to believe he ran wild."
Draven's expression didn't change.
At first.
But his hand clenched. His blade vibrated faintly.
"You imprisoned my brother," he said, his voice tightening. "Whatever grudge I had against him, whatever he did… it was mine to resolve. You took that from me. That was the last line."
Arcade tilted his head. "And here you are. Fangs bared. Do you plan to bite your master now?"
"I plan to rip his throat out."
Arcade sighed.
A pulse of white energy surged outward. The rods in his hands elongated, solidified. And then he moved just a step forward.
That step was enough.
The moment his foot hit the ground, he was already next to them
But before an answer came
"WATCH OUT!" Draven barked.
SHNK!
One of Arcade's rods stabbed into Sakamoto's shoulder, pinning him instantly to the broken earth. A burst of blood splattered across the ground. Sakamoto screamed, golden energy unraveling from his body as his Ascension mode began to flicker and collapse.
The second rod drove downward toward Draven's chest
But clanged against something unseen.
A shimmering golden gate had materialized between them, etching itself in midair like runes forged from divine ink. The impact flung Arcade backward, his feet skidding across the ruined dirt as sparks erupted from the sudden divine defense.
He steadied himself surprised.
The gate dissolved slowly, like burning scroll-paper, leaving only smoke and a humming silence.
Sakamoto writhed, pinned to the earth, face twisted in pain.
Draven stood tall now, the wind pulling back his coat, exposing the cursed symbols burned into his ribs.
Arcade grinned.
"So there's more to you both than you let on."
Then, for the first time his posture shifted.
He dropped into a stance.
No more playing god.
Now he was ready to kill.