The night before had been theirs. No titles, no armies, no Titans. Just Eryndor and Lyanna in the quiet of his family's home, where the walls didn't carry echoes of war. They had crossed that final distance at last—not in the violence of battle, but in warmth, in closeness, in trust. For Eryndor, it was the first time in years that he had allowed himself to feel whole.
But war never let its children linger in peace.
The front lines were hell.
A world-class monster loomed over the trenches, a scaled behemoth with jaws that split stone like paper. Its claws carved furrows through steel barricades, its roars breaking the rhythm of seasoned soldiers. Eryndor was there, lightning burning through his veins, fists crashing against hide that refused to yield.
But even with his strength—Tier 5 Ascendant, Storm Reborn—the beast pressed him. Every strike rattled his bones. Every surge of power chewed away at his body. His storm was strong, but these were World Beasts—monsters so ancient and vast that the Hollow Titan was but a shadow of their fury.
He gritted his teeth, dragging his arm across his mouth, sparks spilling from his skin. "Damn it… this thing's tougher than the Titan."
His comms device buzzed. He almost ignored it—until he heard the voice.
"Eryndor." Lyanna.
He froze, heart lurching against his ribs. Her voice was steady, but softer than he remembered. "I need to tell you something before—before anything happens."
The roar of the beast dulled against the pounding in his ears. "Lyanna, where are you? What's wrong?"
"There are monsters near my town." Her breath shook faintly over the line, though she fought to keep it calm. "But that's not all. I—I'm pregnant. Eryndor… it's a boy."
The words hit harder than any monster's strike. Pregnant. Their child.
"Lyanna—" His voice cracked, raw.
"If I don't make it," she whispered, "don't blame yourself. Protect the world. That's who you are."
"Stop—don't say that."
But then—a thunderous bang. Shattering glass, a muffled scream. And silence.
The comm cut out.
Eryndor's world tilted. His knees buckled, his vision blurring red. Something inside him tore loose, a storm too vast to contain.
Rage. Terror. Desperation.
Lightning ripped from his body uncontrolled, arcs scorching the battlefield, soldiers thrown back by the force. His storm twisted with the new wind in his veins, spiraling into a cyclone that carved through the battlefield itself.
The world-class monster roared, lunging forward. Eryndor didn't dodge. He let it come. His fists met scale, bones nearly snapping under the strain, but he didn't stop. Every strike screamed with the weight of his storm.
"I don't care if this kills me!" His roar drowned even the monster's cry. "I will not stop—until my woman and my child are safe!"
His body tore itself apart to hold that power—blood mixing with sparks, flesh splitting under the pressure of storm and gale. But still he drove forward, breaking through the monster's defenses, blow after blow, until its roar broke into silence.
The beast collapsed, the earth quaking beneath its weight.
Eryndor stood shaking, half-conscious, every nerve aflame. His storm flickered around him in a broken halo.
But his eyes burned only with one thought.
Lyanna.
Their son.
He staggered forward, body failing, storm still raging around him. He didn't care. Nothing mattered. Not the pain, not the war, not the world.
He would reach them.
He had to.