Back at the Crescent Kingdom, night settled quietly over the mountains.
Riureas and the others stood inside Aguila's mansion, a place carved partly from stone and partly grown into the mountain itself.
Warm lanternlight reflected off marble pillars and wooden beams shaped like wings. The air felt old here—not dusty, but heavy with history.
Aguila approached the long table at the center of the room and carefully set something down.
The moment it touched the surface, the atmosphere changed.
It was the Sun Artifact.
The relic was shaped like a sideways cross, its edges smooth but worn, as if time itself had passed through it too many times. At its center sat a golden gem, dulled and faded, no longer radiant—but still unmistakably powerful. Even in its weakened state, it pulsed faintly, like a dying star refusing to go out.
Silence fell over the room.
Crystella swallowed.
"So… that's it."
Aguila nodded.
"The last remaining Sun Artifact. Its light has nearly burned itself away."
Riureas stepped closer, feeling warmth creep into his chest—not comforting, but heavy.
"What can it do… now?"
Aguila's expression darkened slightly.
"Only one thing."
He placed a hand beside the artifact, not touching it.
"It has one use left. A single activation. Enough to revive a celestial being."
Elra's breath caught.
"…Solana."
"Or Ciara," Aguila added quietly.
The weight of those names settled like stone.
Selvaria crossed her arms, eyes narrowed.
"One chance," she muttered. "One decision."
Aguila looked directly at Riureas.
"Once it's used, the artifact will turn to nothing but metal and glass. No second attempt. No undoing it."
Riureas stared at the faded gem, memories surfacing—Solana's warmth, her guidance, her silence after the truth began to unravel.
Reviving her could bring answers.
Or unleash something the world was never meant to face again.
Riureas slowly closed his hand into a fist.
"So this is it," he said quietly. "One choice… for the entire world."
The Sun Artifact lay between them, dim and fragile—
waiting for a decision that would echo across every remaining loop.
Aguila straightened, his calm presence filling the room as all eyes turned to him. The faint glow of the Sun Artifact reflected in his golden eyes.
"Then let me explain what must be done," he said evenly. "This ritual is old—older than my kingdom, older than most recorded history."
He raised one finger.
"First," Aguila continued, "the Sun Artifact itself must be obtained."
His gaze flicked briefly to the relic resting on the table.
"That part is already complete."
A second finger rose.
"Second," he said, "we must reach the summit of the Hamoa Mountains. At the very peak lies the Activation Pillar—a structure built before the Crescent Kingdom existed. It is the only place where the artifact can respond."
Elra frowned slightly. "The very top… That place isn't mapped, is it?"
Aguila shook his head.
"No. The path shifts. The mountain decides who may reach it."
He raised a third finger.
"Third," Aguila said, his tone turning precise, "we use the Sun Glass. It must be aligned perfectly with the sun's position at its highest point. The light is then refracted and redirected—focused directly into the Sun Artifact."
He paused, letting the silence stretch.
"When the light strikes the artifact," he finished, "the dormant divinity within it will awaken."
Selvaria exhaled slowly.
"And then… the magic happens."
"Yes," Aguila replied. "A resurrection. Not of flesh alone—but of essence."
Riureas looked down at the faded golden gem.
"And if we fail?"
Aguila met his eyes without hesitation.
"Then the artifact shatters, the light is lost… and whatever soul you are trying to call back will never answer again."
The room grew quiet.
Above them, unseen beyond stone and clouds, the sun continued its steady path across the sky—
unaware that soon, its light would be asked to decide the fate of a god.
Riureas broke the silence, his voice low but sharp.
"…That doesn't make sense."
Everyone turned toward him.
He looked up at Aguila, eyes narrowed.
"You're talking about awakening divinity. About resurrecting a god."
He clenched his fist.
"But that raises a bigger question."
The room felt colder.
"Who is higher than a god itself?" Riureas asked.
For the first time, Aguila did not answer immediately.
Selvaria's muskets shifted uneasily behind her. Elra's expression tightened, as if the question itself carried weight.
Aguila finally spoke, his voice quieter now—careful.
"Gods are rulers of forces," he said. "Time. Sun. Night. Life. Death."
"But rulers are not the same as creators."
Riureas's eyes widened slightly.
"There exist beings," Aguila continued, "that do not govern the world… but define the rules it must obey. Even gods are bound to them."
"Elra swallowed. "You mean… the Primordials?"
Aguila nodded once.
"Or what some records call The First Authors. Others name them The Watchers. Different cultures, same truth."
Selvaria crossed her arms.
"The ones who decide when a world begins… and when it is erased."
Aguila's golden eyes hardened.
"Exactly."
Riureas felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"Then Solana wasn't the highest existence," he said slowly.
"She was… a piece on the board."
Aguila met his gaze.
"And if the world is looping," he said, "then someone above the gods is dissatisfied with the outcome."
The Sun Artifact on the table pulsed faintly, as if reacting to the words.
Riureas exhaled, a bitter edge in his voice.
"So the enemy isn't a witch. Not really."
He looked up, eyes burning with resolve.
"It's whoever thinks they have the right to rewrite existence itself."