There was no throne. No crown. No blood. Only endless light.
King Allen drifted through a boundless, radiant abyss—suspended in silence so complete, it pressed into his soul like the pause before a final war cry. His armor was gone. His wounds were gone. His body was gone.
And yet… he was still aware.
Thoughts floated through the void, untethered by time. Was this death? Or something far worse?
"Is this heaven?" he asked the nothing around him. His voice felt distant, hollow—more like a memory than sound.
But something answered.
Not in words, but in fragments: Fire. Sorrow. Betrayal. Simon's tear-streaked face. The cold bite of steel. The final breath.
Allen clenched his spectral jaw. "No," he muttered. "This isn't heaven. I don't deserve that."
He stared into the overwhelming brilliance. It illuminated everything… and warmed nothing.
"I fought to protect my kingdom," he said to the void. "But I ruled with fear. I trusted no one. I killed too many."
His voice faltered. "I did what I thought was right… but the way I did it—it wasn't."
The silence broke. Not with thunder. But with presence.
A ripple stirred the light—subtle, yet vast. And then a figure emerged. Not descending, not approaching, but unfolding—like the light itself was shedding its disguise.
She stood tall, cloaked in shimmering strands of celestial cloth that pulsed with the glow of galaxies. Her silver eyes held no hatred. No kindness. Only divine stillness. Her presence did not comfort. It humbled.
"I am not here to absolve you," she said. Her voice rang like bells across frozen water.
Allen lifted his gaze. "Then what are you?"
"I am Aria," she replied. "One of the First. A god, born of pure Order."
His brow furrowed. "Then… I'm in the realm of the gods?"
"You are."
He swallowed hard. "Why?"
Aria stepped forward, and space bent around her like it was too fragile to contain her will.
"You are dead, Allen. In body. But not in purpose."
Allen's jaw tightened. "You mean to use me."
"I mean to summon you," she said, calm as ever. "Not for your world. That realm is finished. What lies ahead is a world not your own… and one you must now protect."
"Why me?"
Her gaze struck him like judgment made flesh.
"Because I do not seek a hero born of purity," Aria said. "I seek one forged in ruin."
The light bent at her will again, peeling away to reveal a new world.
Forests stretched endlessly. Mountains shattered into storm. Skies split by wings of darkness. A realm suffocating in chaos.
"The world I guard is not your kingdom," she continued. "It is called Eiraterra. And it is dying."
Allen's voice was low. "Dying from what?"
"From Twelve," she said, her tone darkening. "Twelve who were once divine—now fallen. Not of my court. Not of any order. They are ancient betrayals, given flesh. The Demonic Angels."
Visions flooded his senses—monsters blotting out the sky, cities engulfed in fire. And at the center of it all… a boy.
A boy, no older than seventeen. Sword broken. Knees in the dirt. Facing death alone.
Allen stared at him. "Who is he?"
"Sion Ragnar," Aria answered. "A noble son of the Clover Kingdom, Persia Dukedom. His body lies moments from death. Yours is long gone. But your soul is unbroken. You shall inhabit his vessel."
"You want me to become him?"
"I cannot return you to your body. It burned with your world. But Sion's body still clings to life. And Eiraterra still clings to hope."
Allen's breath was steady now. "Why not raise a champion of your own?"
For the first time, Aria hesitated.
It was only a flicker—a break in her perfect stillness—but Allen saw it. The faintest tremor of desperation beneath divine control.K
"I am forbidden to interfere directly," she said. "Even gods are bound by the Laws of Creation. But I can… borrow a piece from another board."
Allen gave a bitter laugh. "So I'm a pawn."
"No," Aria said. "You are a king without a crown. And I am offering you something kings never get: a second chance."
He turned back to the image of the boy—Sion Ragnar, broken and dying in a world Allen had never known.
"A child whose fate will be rewritten," he murmured.
Allen clenched a fist.
"Then I'll fight."
Aria's lips curved—just slightly. The first trace of humanity in her otherwise perfect stillness.
"I do not need you to fight," she said. "I need you to win."
With a wave of her hand, the void shattered into starlight. The realm of gods began to collapse.
Allen felt himself falling—not into darkness… but into life.
Aria's voice echoed one last time, distant and vast:
"But beware, King of the Lost… The world you awaken in may not be kind to monsters reborn."