The familiar glow of teleportation light faded, and the group landed on the white marble platform at the heart of the Mythral Dawn estate. The sky above was calm, starlit, and blessedly quiet. For the first time in what felt like ages—they were home.
Everyone exhaled.
"WE'RE ALIVE!" someone shouted.
The tension shattered. Cheers erupted. Armor clanked, cloaks fluttered, and laughter spilled into the courtyard like a tide breaking against stone.
Thorne Ironstride—bloodied, battered, and still missing half a pauldron—sprinted toward one of the main support pillars of the estate's grand hall… and hugged it like a long-lost lover.
"My sweet, sweet stable marble! I'll never leave you again!"
Alter chuckled, arms folded, watching the ridiculous display. There was warmth in his eyes now, a lightness to his demeanor. His smile wasn't forced or fleeting—it was real.
Selene stood a few steps away, arms gently crossed, watching him with quiet affection.
He had changed.
This wasn't the cold, untouchable celestial sovereign she once thought unreachable. This was someone who had walked through divine storms, survived the abyss, and returned not broken—but open.
She approached and slid her arms around his.
"You're really smiling a lot these days…" she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.
Alter looked down and gave her a small grin. "Guess I have more reasons to now."
From behind them, a group of female recruits cackled and teased.
"Ooooh someone couldn't wait for that reunion hug~!"
"Claiming him early, huh Selene? The night's just getting started!"
Selene blushed so hard her ears practically glowed. "I—I just—!" she sputtered.
Alter laughed openly.
That night, the entire Mythral Dawn estate erupted in divine chaos.
Barrels of celestial mead, glacial wine, draconic spirits—every rare bottle in the vault had been cracked open. Flames flickered from enchanted torches. Music echoed from bards and enchanted lutes as laughter and shouting filled the halls.
In the heart of the courtyard, two figures faced each other like ancient titans.
Takayoshi vs Soryn—in an all-out drinking contest.
They sat cross-legged on opposite sides of a rune-inscribed table, surrounded by bottles. Each time one downed a jug, a ring of spectators roared in approval.
Meanwhile, at a smaller table, Alter sat surrounded by wide-eyed recruits and commanders.
He regaled them with stories from his time away—stories carefully trimmed of their horrors. He made no mention of the Ascension Trial's torment or the god-killing despair. Instead, he spoke of the Forbidden Veil, the land of dragons, and the madness of riding through dimensional storms on the back of Ignivar.
He even joked about Takayoshi. "The guy somehow knew I was back before I even got to the sky portal. Probably sniffed the air and said 'Yup, my drama-magnet twin's home.'"
The table erupted in laughter.
Then suddenly…
Alter blinked. His face flushed.
"…What the?"
He clutched his stomach, then the edge of the table. His pupils wobbled.
Takayoshi and Soryn looked over from their contest with identical, guilty smirks.
"Oh no," Alter muttered. "You bastards—!"
THUMP.
He face-planted the table with a loud clunk.
Selene gasped. "ALTER?!"
But then… smoke curled from his lips.
He rose slowly.
His head tilted back.
His face was beet red.
"You guys…" he groaned, staggering upright. "You're not making enough noise yet!"
He roared, raising his arms like a mad emperor, and the courtyard erupted again in wild cheers.
Then began the madness.
Alter danced.
No—he threw down.
Twisting, yelling, mimicking the most ridiculous moves of half the Commanders, and roasting every single person with uncanny impersonations and exaggerated voices.
"I remember when Thorne mistook the divine bathhouse for a portal to hell and punched the fountain," he slurred. "You screamed like a phoenix chick!"
"Veyna Lux once enchanted her boots backwards and ran butt-first into a demon. Literal rear-guard assault!"
Laughter roared louder than the drums.
Someone whispered, "...I've never seen Alter drunk before…"
Selene's face paled. "Oh no."
Takayoshi and Soryn looked equally terrified.
"…Only once before," Selene murmured. "He kissed me without warning and said I smelled like cloudberries…"
"…Oh no," Soryn echoed. "What have we done?"
Then—
Clothes flew.
The crowd screamed.
Alter—The Prime Dragonic Sovereign, slayer of demon gods, master of celestial sword styles—was now shirtless.
And he was STRIP DANCING.
He stood atop the banquet table, flexing like a festival idol. Toned muscles glistened with divine sweat, his body carved like a statue blessed by every gym god in existence.
Twelve-pack abs. Eight vertical. Two on each side. Even his obliques had biceps.
His chest? Olympian.
His arms? Myth-tier boulders.
Someone screamed. "LOOK AT THOSE NIPPLES—YOU COULDN'T EVEN TWIST 'EM IF YOU TRIED!"
Women across the courtyard shrieked, throwing cloaks over their faces—or trying to climb the tables.
A voice cried out, "I-I CAN'T HANDLE THIS MUCH PRIME!!"
Then—
"SELENE!!"
All eyes turned.
A rogue commander pointed. "IS THAT DROOL?!"
Selene blinked, instinctively wiped her mouth—
"OH NO I FELL FOR IT—!"
The estate exploded in laughter.
Even Alter—drunk as the divine sun—burst out cackling. He tossed the men off him like paperweights, grinning.
"So you can't wait to start using this body, huh?" he declared, throwing his arms open like a wrestling champion. "Don't worry, baby! There's plenty of time in the Still World! One day out here is a whole month in there!"
Selene screamed, face as red as a volcanic rose.
She tried to flee.
Her elven ears betrayed her. So red. So twitchy.
Then—
"HEY, LET'S DO A CALENDAR SHOOT!" someone shouted.
Everyone froze.
"…Wait. YES."
Photos were summoned via spell. Cameras enchanted.
And thus began the 2025 Mythral Dawn Calendar photo session.
Alter posed. Flexed. Gave his "dragonic smolder." Laughed.
Each picture more absurd and godly than the last.
In the corner, someone muttered, "This night will never end fast enough…"
Another replied, "...I don't want it to."
The sun rose over the Mythral Dawn estate in shimmering golden arcs, filtered through enchanted glass that dimmed the intensity for delicate elven eyes and groggy warriors alike.
Birds chirped gently.
A breeze rolled over the hills.
It was a perfect, peaceful morning.
Then—
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
A scream shattered the calm.
Takayoshi sat bolt upright in the garden pond with a frog stuck to his face.
He ripped it off, looked around—he was half-naked, soaked, and wearing a flower crown.
"…Why am I wet?! Where are my pants?! WHO PUT THIS LOTUS ON MY HEAD?!"
Elsewhere in the courtyard—
Soryn groaned as he blinked awake… upside-down, hanging by his ankle from a clothesline between two trees. His royal robes had been swapped with a pink floral yukata.
He looked to his left.
A group of children were staring at him with pure delight.
One small girl pointed.
"Look mommy! The prince is a flower princess today!"
Soryn let out a long, dead sigh. "…I deserve this."
Inside the estate hall…
The great dining room was a battlefield.
Cups, barrels, pieces of clothing, and three swords were impaled into a roasted boar that had somehow ended up mounted vertically to the wall.
On the floor beneath the table lay Thorne Ironstride.
He was still hugging a bottle. And the pillar.
"…my wife…" he murmured in his sleep, nuzzling the marble support beam.
Nearby, the 12 Commanders lay sprawled out like fallen warriors after a mythic raid. Some had glow sticks enchanted into their hair. Others had mysterious dragon-shaped glitter tattoos on their cheeks.
One of the estate maids cautiously stepped through the carnage, levitating a tray of hangover potion shots. She eyed a particular mound of blankets trembling near the fireplace.
"...Uh, is that Selene?"
The blankets stirred.
From inside, a muffled voice snapped, "Don't. Say. Anything."
"…Yes, ma'am."
Selene peeked out. Her hair was a mess, her eyes bloodshot, and there was a suspicious red lipstick mark on her forehead. She turned slowly to her right—and there was a calendar photo beside her pillow.
It was Alter—shirtless, arms flexed, draconic aura blazing behind him, grinning like a dork.
She screamed and buried her face again.
—
The Grand Banquet Table…
At the head of the table, Alter was seated.
Perfectly still. Perfectly serene.
Eyes closed. Hands together.
He radiated dignity.
Sage energy. Royal command.
"…He looks so regal again," someone whispered in awe. "Maybe he's purging the alcohol with chi."
Suddenly—
BURRRRRP.
A divine belch rolled through the estate like thunder.
Alter's eyes snapped open, glowing gold, and he blinked around like a lizard in a crystal mine.
"…Where am I?"
Takayoshi limped in, holding a broken slipper. "You stripped. Danced. Laughed. Mocked everyone. Called Selene 'your sacred stress pillow'—"
"—Which you actually yelled three times," Soryn added from a laundry basket, still tangled in the floral yukata.
Alter squinted. "I… what?"
"Selene tried to knock you out," Takayoshi continued, "but you kissed her again and passed out on top of the cake table."
Soryn added, "And we ended up in the fountain because you threw us in while screaming 'THE WORLD ISN'T READY FOR MY CALENDAR BODY!'"
Alter turned beet red.
"…No. Please. Tell me it wasn't that bad."
They didn't answer.
Instead, Mira and Finn walked in, both holding freshly printed copies of the calendar.
They slapped one down.
"May – The Prime Dragonic Peacocking Stance."
It showed Alter with one leg raised on a barrel, cape flared, shirtless, flexing both biceps while golden petals rained from the sky.
Alter buried his face in his hands. "By the still gods…"
Finn grinned. "You look great, boss. Real… marketable."
Mira whispered, "My mom already preordered twelve copies."
From the back, someone screamed,
"PRINT MORE! WE NEED POSTERS TOO!"
Another shouted,
"ALTERNATE ANGLES FOR THE COLLECTOR'S EDITION!"
Selene stormed in at that moment, holding a staff, hair still in a bun.
"YOU! You have ruined my dignity! My ears are never going to go back to pale!"
Alter tried to stand. "Selene, I—"
She hit him with a pillow.
And another.
And another.
Everyone started laughing again.
Takayoshi raised a toast.
Soryn passed out again.
And somewhere in the back…
Thorne was still hugging that pillar.
"My love… you're the only one who understands me…"
It took two full days for anything resembling "normal" to return.
Furniture had been reassembled. The scorch marks from Alter's "drunk fire dancing" had been magically scrubbed from the ceiling. A section of the training courtyard was still mysteriously frozen solid with one of Rhed's boots inside it, but no one talked about that anymore.
The Mythral Dawn estate had settled down.
But the legend of that night?
That was eternal.
Alter stood before the assembled group with an exhausted look on his face.
Hands in pockets. Shoulders slouched.
His aura completely relaxed—yet somehow, even more commanding.
He sighed. "Alright. Let's get this out of the way."
Everyone leaned forward. Even the birds perched on the estate walls stopped chirping.
"I don't drink," Alter said flatly, "because I go completely wild when I'm drunk. There's no filter. No restraint. My mind goes somewhere else, and the rest of me follows it."
Takayoshi coughed. "Yeah, dances like thunder, burns like flame, strips like lightning—real 'somewhere else.'"
Soryn high-fived him.
Alter shot them both a death glare, but continued.
"The last time I got drunk," he muttered, "I ended up… sleeping with…"
He trailed off.
One of the Dragoon girls suddenly pointed, "Wait, WHAT?! With who?!"
Another voice shouted from the back, "LIRA? Is that how you met her?!"
Alter flinched.
Everyone went dead silent.
His reaction said it all.
"…You nailed it," he admitted with a chuckle.
"I don't remember the full event," he went on, "but I woke up next to her. She was asleep. I went to get breakfast. The waitress said…"
He paused again.
"…We went at it for five hours and twenty-four minutes."
The room exploded.
The moment those words left Alter's mouth, the entire estate fell into stunned silence.
Takayoshi, mid-sip of tea, choked and sprayed the cup's contents across the table.
Soryn dropped a stack of freshly organized training scrolls.
Selene froze mid-bite of a strawberry pastry.
And then—
"FIVE. HOURS. AND. TWENTY-FOUR. MINUTES?!"
It was Mira who said it—her voice breaking octaves she didn't know she had.
Everyone turned toward Alter.
Finn looked like he just witnessed the fall of a god and the rise of another.
Selene slowly placed her pastry down. "I'm sorry, what did the waitress say… exactly?"
Alter raised both hands, eyes wide, ears turning slightly red. "Wait, wait, let me clarify—I didn't say that. The waitress did."
Talia from the Dragoons, eyes sparkling, leaned forward like she was about to take notes.
"She timed it?!"
Alter shrugged helplessly. "Apparently… she was the innkeeper's daughter. Heard the… noise… through the ceiling."
Rhed let out a wheeze. "What kind of architectural design lets sound carry that far?!"
Selin, seated near the wall, murmured without looking up, "Thin walls. Poor insulation. Common in forest-side inns."
Finn leaned forward, face twitching.
"So wait—was this before or after you met us?"
"Way before," Alter said quickly, then glanced at Selene—
"Waaaay, waaaay before."
Selene's glare could've melted mountain ranges. "So you do remember."
"No," Alter said, waving it off, "I just remember waking up sore and—NO WAIT I MEANT—"
It was too late. The entire room erupted.
Takayoshi had collapsed laughing, literally slapping the floor.
Soryn was sprawled across a couch whispering, "Five hours twenty-four minutes. I can't even last five minutes against Selene's training drills. Truly, he is the Sovereign."
Vellmar muttered from the corner, "No wonder his constitution stat is so high…"
Talia was losing it. "Forget the calendar—this man needs a biography! Chapter One: Sovereign of Stamina!"
Finn looked dazed. "How… how does one even… I thought 12 abs was just cosmetic…"
Selene stood abruptly, her expression blank—but her ears were crimson. "I need… fresh air."
Takayoshi, still dying of laughter, wheezed, "Fresh air won't save you now. You've SEEN the body. You KNOW the timer. There is no going back."
Blushing, Selene muttered, "I was just going to kiss him… not plan for a five-hour life detour…"
Mira snorted. "You better stretch first."
Alter slammed both palms on the table, standing up.
"Enough! That was a long time ago. I've evolved since then!"
The room fell silent.
Then Finn, ever the deadpan assassin, asked,
"…Evolved into what? A twelve-hour monster?"
"GET OUT!" Alter yelled, pointing toward the doors.
Everyone scattered like frightened sheep, howling in laughter as they ran.
As silence settled in again, Alter flopped back into his chair, face in hands.
"…This is why I don't drink."
Selene peeked in through the door.
"Still," she said with a small smirk, "I might have a stopwatch. For science."
Alter groaned into his hands.
The Wyrmgate pulsed faintly beneath the moonlight, its divine energy dimmed to a low, steady breath—like the slumber of a newly born dragon. The surrounding valley was silent now. The Dragoons had returned to their barracks, the royal envoy had withdrawn to their tents, and only the wind remained, whispering through the silver trees that bordered the Hollow.
Soryn stood alone beside the edge of the still-active portal, cloak fluttering, a mug of untouched tea cooling in his hands. The glowing embers of the forge fires behind him cast long shadows. His armor had been set aside. He wore only his inner tunic now—simple, ceremonial, the fabric still scented with draconic smoke and faint oils from hours of work.
Footsteps approached from behind—soft, deliberate, but unhurried.
"…You're not going to drink that," came a voice.
He didn't turn. "Too bitter."
"I added honey," Alyxthia replied gently.
He offered a dry chuckle. "Still bitter."
She stepped beside him, arms wrapped loosely across her midsection. Her long hair had been let down for the night, flowing in gentle auburn-gold waves. She wore a light shawl over her travel dress, the divine short sword strapped casually to her side like a second heartbeat. Her eyes were soft—but no longer naïve.
They both stared forward toward the faint outline of the Wyrmgate.
"…It's beautiful," she murmured.
"It's dangerous," he replied. "But beautiful, yes."
Silence again.
Then, quietly, she asked, "Was any of it real?"
He turned to look at her now.
Her eyes were searching him—beyond his face, beyond his voice. She didn't need an answer. She already knew. But some part of her wanted to hear it anyway.
"I knew," she whispered. "Not at first. But after the sword. After the gate. After… the way you said goodbye without saying goodbye."
Soryn looked down at the cup in his hands. His fingers tightened.
"…Alyxthia," he said softly, "I never meant to deceive you."
"You didn't," she said, smiling faintly. "Not really. You never claimed to be anything else. We all just… made our own assumptions."
She stepped forward, just slightly—enough for the breeze between them to thin.
"I don't care that you're Alter's clone," she said. "Or his shadow. Or his brother. Or whatever name you want to give it. You feel. You speak. You fight. You care. You're you."
She looked up into his eyes.
"And I care about you. Not because you're his reflection. But because you're you. The way you forge, the way you look after the recruits, the way you stand still when the world is burning."
Soryn's jaw tightened.
"Alyxthia…"
Her voice was smaller now, barely above a whisper.
"I know it's selfish. I know it's complicated. I just… I had to say it. I had to tell you how I feel. Even if you don't feel the same. Even if you leave. Even if you—"
He reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I know," he said quietly. "I've known."
She blinked. Her breath caught.
"I know that you've cared for me. Even before you realized why. Even when you sensed it wasn't right. But I can't—"
He looked away, eyes distant now.
"…I can't be that person for you."
There was no harshness in his tone. Only something deep. Heavy. As if weighed down by more than choice.
"I wasn't born to love," he continued. "I was born to shield. To shape. To remain."
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
And he turned back toward her, eyes softer.
"But I can still be your brother."
Alyxthia blinked. "…Brother?"
"I thought you'd figured that part out," Soryn said with a wry smile. "I am a prince now. Of your house. Whether by fate or lie or war, I now bear your name. I already made my vow. I'm staying here in Drakareth."
"But—" she paused. "You're not going with Alter?"
Soryn shook his head.
"He'll return to Seraveth. Just like Takayoshi remained there to protect that world… I'll remain here to guard this one. That is our division."
A breeze passed between them, gentler now. The glow of the Wyrmgate pulsed once more, almost knowingly.
Alyxthia lowered her head, lips trembling—not from sadness, but understanding.
"You'll stay as my brother… not as a lover."
He nodded. "It's the only way I can stay true to what I was meant to do. And to who I really am."
She stepped forward and gently rested her head against his shoulder. He didn't flinch. He let her.
"…Then as your sister, I'll walk beside you," she said. "Even if you're only meant to shield and shape and remain… I'll remain too. And I'll protect you when you forget to protect yourself."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"…That means more than I can say."
The wind blew again—this time through both of them. The night didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.
They stood together beneath the stars, no longer torn between what they couldn't be, but quietly at peace with what they could.
The morning haze over the Mythral Dawn estate shimmered faintly with the memory of dawn.
Twelve Commanders stood in formation across the main courtyard, each cloaked in their factional colors—obsidian, frost, gold, and deep crimson—eyes trained forward, posture respectful. Alongside them stood Princess Alyxthia, wrapped in a silver-blue traveling cloak, her divine short sword sheathed at her side, hair tied in a loose braid behind her shoulder.
At the center of the gathering stood Alter.
His armor glowed subtly in the morning light—silver-blue plate overlaid with living draconic glyphs. The Still World amulet hung around his neck, pulsing gently like a heartbeat sealed in time.
His voice cut through the silence.
"Today, we begin something new."
The Commanders straightened. Selene stepped closer, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"We've trained in the estates. In the valley. In battlefields and skyborne ruins. But there's one place where time itself bends to us. Where months can pass in days. Where the blade meets eternity."
He lifted the amulet slightly.
"We're entering the Still World."
Gasps and murmurs stirred among the Twelve. Even Mira Snowveil and Finn Whiteshadow exchanged glances. Darius narrowed his eyes. Arinelle's breath hitched.
Selene's eyes sharpened—not with surprise, but worry.
Her gaze drifted to the amulet… then to Alter's face. Her mind was already racing ahead—to Lira, to the time he vanished into that frozen realm of silence. That was the place where grief and love had both lingered.
Alter looked at her.
And smiled.
"Don't worry," he said gently. "I've already faced those memories."
Her brows lifted faintly—surprised he'd read her so easily. But then… of course he had.
Her tension slipped away.
She nodded once. "Then we're with you."
Alyxthia stood a little straighter, hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She didn't speak. But the resolve in her eyes said enough. She was ready—whatever they would see.
Alter closed his eyes briefly.
Then placed his hand to the amulet.
FWOOM.
The courtyard folded.
Wind ceased.
Time stopped.
—
They stood in a different world.
No wind. No sound. No sky movement. Only a muted twilight haze, where clouds hung frozen and blades of grass stood eternally mid-sway.
The Still World.
Before them stood a modest stone cottage, ivy-covered and warm despite the frozen air. Beside it stretched a massive workshop, silent but alive—its reinforced walls humming with sealed forging energy and time-bent enchantments.
The Commanders looked around in stunned silence.
"This is insane…" murmured Garran. "It's like we stepped into a dream."
"No," said Selene softly. "A memory."
Alter turned to face them all. His voice was quiet—reverent.
"This was my sanctuary… and Lira's. It was our forge, our home, and our place of rest."
He gestured toward the cobbled stone path that led to the front door. "Come. I'll show you everything."
They followed.
The workshop doors creaked open, and the Commanders filed in.
What they saw inside left many breathless.
Dozens—hundreds—of weapons and armor sets lined the walls. Each forged with care, layered with unique elemental motifs, and branded with a signature rune: A. Twin-banded.
Reinforced swords, storm-slick spears, heavy draconic shields, shimmering frost-dipped cloaks, and full battleplate sets adorned every surface. Each piece was a chronicle.
Alyxthia's eyes widened. "You… forged all of these?"
Alter nodded. "Every one."
He walked up to a weathered armor set displayed proudly at the center—wolf-gray and black steel. Draped over it was a massive wolfskin cloak, its fanged helm still mounted at the top.
"This… was my very first full armor set," he said, voice soft with memory. "The cloak belonged to Varith—my first elite boss kill. A dire wolf lord. Nearly shredded me to pieces."
Selene ran her fingers along the edges of the fur.
"It's beautiful craftsmanship."
He continued around the room, pointing to each set. Each one told a story—battles in frost-laden tombs, desert temples, celestial towers. From beginner gear to refined arcane blades… and finally to artifact-tier divine sets.
"You were always a forgemaster," Mira whispered. "But this…"
Alter smiled faintly. "This was the journey."
—
At last, he led them through the rear door into an open clearing: a sprawling training ground, surrounded by spectral rune posts and memory-forged obstacles—boulders frozen mid-crash, shattered terrain, and frozen combat echoes mid-swing.
"This," Alter said, stepping forward, "is where we'll train from now on."
The air thrummed.
"One month here is equal to one day outside. Time is ours to command."
He turned back to them.
"Our trainers will be myself… Takayoshi… and eventually, Soryn. All three teachings united."
The Commanders exchanged looks.
A new chapter had begun.
Not one of war—yet—but one of legacy.
And it began in the Still World, where time waited… and destiny sharpened its blade.