The chaos of the magical outburst is a beacon in the night. The shattered windows, the levitating furniture, the palpable sense of a struggle between two immense powers—it is an unmistakable sign for those who have been waiting. A figure emerges from the shadows, not with a burst of power, but with a silent, methodical calm. This is Silas, a high-ranking member of the mage's old organization, who has spent the last thirty-five years in hiding, nursing his bitter defeat and waiting for the moment his master's will could be fulfilled. He wears simple, dark robes, but the air around him crackles with a cold, focused power.
Silas enters the shattered room as if he owns it. His crimson eyes, glowing with a subdued magical light, immediately land on Lyra, who is still convulsing in Aki's arms, her body torn between her two souls.
"There you are," Silas says, his voice as smooth and cold as polished stone. "The divine seed, reborn. Our long vigil has finally ended."
Aki, his own body trembling, can't comprehend the words, but he understands the threat. He tightens his embrace around Lyra, his gaze a fierce, defiant glare. "Get away from her!"
Silas simply chuckles, a sound devoid of mirth. "How touching. A boy with a soul so pure, he could nurture a god. Pity it was a god with a festering parasite. Hand her over. The ritual to cleanse her—to separate her from the corruption—must begin now."
Lyra's convulsions worsen. Her eyes flash between her vibrant green and a chilling crimson. The malevolent power within her surges, a monstrous shadow trying to break free. She is losing the fight.
"You're a fool," Silas says, a new tone of command in his voice. He raises his hand, and the very air in the room solidifies, trapping Aki and Lyra. He then focuses his power, trying to force the malevolent soul to the surface, promising to free her from the "weakness" of a human soul.
Just as Silas is about to take control, a new sound tears through the night. The sound of a magical blade slicing through the air, followed by a sudden, jarring displacement of magic. The solid air shatters. The wall of the room explodes inward, revealing three figures, weathered but resolute, standing side-by-side in the glow of the broken lights.
It is a now aging, gray-haired Jace, his magical blade crackling with power. Beside him stands an equally seasoned Elara, her hand glowing with a final, potent concoction. And in front of them all, a world-weary Kael, their hands outstretched, their Echo Sense alive with the power of a thousand echoes, a power they had not used in a generation.
They have found the source of the terrible echo. They have come to finish what they started.
"Well, you seem more ugly than old men all together," Jace says with a cocky smile.
He raises his hand, and the air around him shimmers with a powerful, concentrated burst of magic. The years seem to melt away in a flash of brilliant light. The wrinkles and gray in his hair vanish, and the youthful, roguish charm returns to his face. He is no longer an old man but the powerful, confident mage he was thirty-five years ago. The trio, in their final act with the Divine Seed, had unknowingly bound themselves to its scattered magic, preserving their vitality. They are not immortal, but they are ageless, and they have been waiting for a reason to reveal this truth.
Elara's form follows suit. The lines on her face smooth out, and her tired eyes regain their sharp, perceptive spark. Her graying hair darkens, and she stands ready, not with the weary wisdom of age, but with the ruthless cunning of her prime.
Kael, who was already world-weary and gaunt, seems to become even more vibrant. Their hair regains its original color, and their face, while still holding the scars of a thousand echoes, is now that of a young person again. The years of silence and seclusion have not dulled their senses but have made their connection to the world's magic even more profound.
The air in the shattered room crackles as the transformed trio stands ready. They are no longer old warriors coming out of retirement but the same youthful heroes from the past, facing down a new enemy. Silas's calm demeanor wavers for the first time. He expected to face weary old men, not a timeless force. He stares, wide-eyed, as if looking at ghosts.
"My master taught me to be patient," Silas sneers, regaining his composure. "But he also taught me to recognize a fool's gamble."
He raises his hands, a dark energy gathering in his palms, ready for a fight. The time for talk is over. The war they thought they had won is about to begin again.