The world trembled.
Vorathrax reared back, its molten chest glowing white-hot, shadows spiraling into the heavens. The sky darkened until no light remained — fire and void entwining into one catastrophic sphere of annihilation. The ground shook as if the planet itself feared what was about to be unleashed.
Varian, Kael, Calen, and Rhydor stood bloodied and battered, their weapons trembling in their hands. Soldiers screamed, barriers cracked, and the last of the defenses wavered like dying embers. Even the most hardened warriors felt it — this was the end.
And then… silence.
Lyanna stirred in the ward where her family had shielded her. Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding. Something was wrong. Her father's aura blazed in the distance, Kael's winds howled in defiance, but one presence — one heartbeat she knew better than her own — was missing.
"Eryndor…" she whispered, panic rising. Her hand brushed against her stomach, protective instinct surging. "Where… where are you?"
She looked out from the window of the fortified safehouse just in time to see the impossible: Vorathrax lowering its head, releasing the catastrophic beam.
The dual-element strike — shadow and flame fused into one — cascaded forward, a tide of destruction wide enough to swallow mountains, long enough to cleave the continent. The horizon vanished in its glow.
Varian roared, lifting his sword with the last of his strength. Kael summoned every gale his battered body could muster. Calen and Rhydor leapt forward to shield them. But all knew it was futile.
The end had come.
And then—
A ripple.
The monstrous light split. The apocalyptic blast froze in midair as though time itself bowed before a presence greater.
Out of the storm of fire and shadow, a figure walked forward. Calm. Unshaken. His steps echoed louder than the roar of the cataclysm itself.
"Sorry," a voice said, clear as thunder across the battlefield. "I made you wait so long."
Eryndor.
Clad in a slim-fit black suit, the fabric sleek yet tailored to his form, crafted to allow every movement without restriction. No armor, no cloak, just quiet elegance — as if he had dressed for a duel with destiny itself. His pale hair drifted in the winds of his own power, lightning flickering like whispers along his frame.
With a single gesture, he raised his hand. The storm bent to his will.
The monstrous beam that could end half the world collapsed, unraveling into nothingness. Fire extinguished. Shadows scattered. The sky, once blackened, cleared for the first time in hours.
Vorathrax recoiled, its titanic body shuddering with confusion, its molten chest dimming. The battlefield went silent — thousands of soldiers, generals, even Varian himself frozen in awe.
Eryndor's gaze never left the beast. His voice was soft, but it carried like a blade across the battlefield.
"You've had your turn."
Varian's eyes widened, pride and disbelief clashing within him. "He… he erased it. Effortlessly."
Kael's lips twisted into a grin despite the blood on them. "About damn time, storm-brother."
Calen and Rhydor lowered their weapons, exhaustion etched into their faces, but relief sparking in their eyes.
And Lyanna… tears welled as she pressed her hand against her mouth, her heart surging with equal parts fear and love. "Eryndor…" she whispered. "Our son's father… has returned."
Eryndor's presence was no longer the boy who fought to prove himself. No longer the student struggling against rivals. No longer the soldier desperate to keep up.
He was something else entirely.
The storm reborn.
And the battle for survival had just shifted.