The Academy's ancient bells rang through the misty morning, their deep tones shaking the stone walls with a somber urgency.
This was not a call to classes.
This was not a call to training.
This was a call to destiny.
Arin Veyla stood at the heart of the Grand Plaza — the same place where, long ago, Kai Arashi had fought to protect freedom itself.
She wore a dark uniform stitched with silver threads —
and on her left breast, sewn over her heart, was a symbol:
A spiral of black and white — the merged sigil of Abyss and Hope.
Before her stood the Academy's finest.
Sira, Kael, Drayce, and dozens more —
young warriors, healers, strategists — the first generation raised in Kai's dream.
They stood not as students.
They stood as protectors of the New Dawn.
As Children of the Abyss.
The wind howled as Arin spoke, her voice strong, steady.
"You are not the chosen.
You are not the blessed.
You are not the perfect."
She paused, letting the words sink deep.
"You are the broken.
The scarred.
The stubborn."
She smiled — a fierce, proud smile.
"And that is why you are strong."
Around her, the students clenched their fists, standing taller.
Sira's eyes glowed faintly — silver edged with Abyss-darkness — as she pressed a hand to her heart.
Kael's tactical interface shimmered around him like a thousand golden possibilities.
Drayce cracked his knuckles, lightning and flame flickering between his fingers.
They were ready.
Or as ready as they could ever be.
Across the oceans,
the Purifiers marched.
Hundreds of them.
Thousands.
Their Systems were twisted echoes of old bloodlines —
unstable, monstrous mutations created through stolen relics and forbidden fusions.
At their head walked the figure in shattered golden armor.
Their voice carried across battlefields without needing to shout:
"No more broken worlds.
Only purity.
Only power."
The final war was inevitable.
The Children of the Abyss would stand against the armies of a broken past.
Freedom versus fear.
Hope versus tyranny.
Choice versus control.
In the Academy Plaza,
Arin raised a blade — not of light, not of darkness,
but of both, fused into a burning spiral.
"Today," she roared,
"we fight not to rule —
but to live free."
"Today, we honor Kai Arashi — not by mourning — but by protecting what he gave us!"
The students roared back, the sound shaking the ground:
"TO FREEDOM!"
"TO CHOICE!"
"TO THE ABYSS!"
And somewhere unseen,
high atop the highest spire where mortals could not walk,
a faint silhouette watched.
Silver eyes gleaming.
A broken crown barely visible under the rising sun.
A smile full of pride — and infinite hope.
The Children of the Abyss had risen.
And the world would never be the same again.