The desert was silent at last. The Bone Titan lay half-buried in its own collapse, a continent of broken ribs and vertebrae sinking into dunes that would swallow it within a season. The sky over Ashara was no longer torn by bone and storm; it was only dark, vast, and trembling with the echoes of what had just ended.
Noctis hovered above the ruin. The orbiting Reapers traced lazy arcs around him, still drinking marrow dust from the air. His wings folded in, crimson feathers glowing faintly in the moonlight. He exhaled once, steady and calm, and called the Grid to the front of his vision.
The system text shimmered in cold script, cascading before his eyes like scripture revealed anew.
[Essence Gains — Judgment of Twilight]
Blood Essence: +3,000
Soul Essence: +1,200
Wraith Essence: +1,000
Apex Essence: +8
Updated Totals
Blood Essence: 106,883
Faith Essence: 56,745
Iron Essence: 27,740
Soul Essence: 19,879
Apex Essence: 70
Beast Essence: 1,620
Wraith Essence: 5,000
The text shifted, lines burning brighter. His Grid opened.
Doctrine Advancement: Titan Devour II
Passive: Devouring cores now extracts structural memory as well as essence.
Result: Construct frameworks, skeletal matrices, and marrow-binding codes can be rewritten into Noctis's body.
Synergy: Juggernaut's Dominion now amplifies not only flesh and aura, but constructs born of bone.
Mutation Upgrade: Titan Marrow Vein (Stage II)
Marrow lattice infused through skeletal frame.
Benefits:
Structural reinforcement → joints, bones, and aura frame resist collapse under Dominion strain.
Devour efficiency +20% → less wasted essence when consuming enemies or cores.
Marrow resonance unlocked → foundation for autonomous essence generation.
New Skills Gained
[Skill: Boneforge Dominion] (Active)
Cost: Blood + Wraith Essence
Manifest skeletal constructs (walls, lances, tendrils, armor plating).
Constructs inherit aura density, scaling with Juggernaut's Dominion.
Synergy: Can merge into Orbiting Arsenal to form bone-armories.
[Passive: Ossified Economy]
Effect: All Blood Essence costs reduced by 15%.
Efficiency woven into marrow-binding lattice, ensuring no wasted channeling.
[Passive: Crimson Marrow Renewal]
Effect: Noctis's body now generates Blood Essence over time.
Base Rate: 0.5% of maximum Blood Essence per minute.
Scaling: Increases during combat and accelerates after each Devour.
Result: Noctis is no longer dependent on kills or thralls for resources. His body itself is a sovereign wellspring.
[Twilight Sovereignty — Core Pressure Enhanced]
Aura density scaling increased further.
Dominion weight imposes construct fracture chance, forcing artificial entities and summoned bodies to collapse more easily.
The Grid dimmed, leaving its afterglow whispering in his bones.
Noctis flexed his fingers. The marrow lattice pulsed faintly under his skin, like subtle golden-crimson etchings alive with quiet power. He could feel it now: every breath refilling his essence, every heartbeat cycling bloodlight back into the reservoir. A constant, steady flow.
He whispered to himself: "I no longer bleed dry. I am inexhaustible."
The three orbiting Reapers keened in resonance, their blades vibrating with a hunger that matched his marrow. Twilight Reaver hummed low in his hand, black steel tasting the air as though it too knew his sovereignty had deepened.
Noctis looked down at the Titan's broken body. Dust still rose from it in fading plumes, carried away by the desert winds. For the first time, he realized: he had taken more than victory. He had consumed inevitability. Titans were built to endure, to grind enemies down by attrition. That advantage now belonged to him.
"Immortality of war," he said softly, voice low, sovereign, and clear. "Every battle I fight, I will finish. And every battle I finish, I will rise stronger."
From the city, cries still echoed—cheers, sobs, prayers twisted into awe. Ashara had seen its doom stride across the horizon. It had also seen a crimson-winged sovereign drag that doom into dust.
Noctis turned his eyes to the capital. The saints would regroup, the queen would seek his presence, the people would kneel. But for now, he let himself feel the marrow hum beneath his skin, infinite blood essence pulsing like a second heart.
The Grid whispered the last confirmation across his vision:
[Status: Resource Attrition — Broken]
[Result: Blood Essence — Infinite with time]
Noctis's smile was cold, assured. "So be it."
The desert lay buried under silence. The dunes stretched wide and broken where the Titan had fallen, its marrow spilled across the sands like pale ash. Noctis stood at the center of the ruin, boots planted on the ridge of a cracked rib thicker than a tower. The bones still steamed faintly with marrow mist, but the roar of battle had faded into a silence so total that even the wind seemed to wait.
He closed his eyes. The Reapers wheeled quietly above him, three orbiting blades etching trails of red light, two others still manifested in greatsword form beside Twilight Reaver, the relic bound to his grasp. They circled like hunting stars, hungry for a command, but he lifted a hand and dismissed them into stillness.
"Enough," he said softly.
They folded into mist. The desert grew quieter still.
The Grid opened before him, a cathedral of crimson-gold geometry rising into the night sky. Each node pulsed like a star caught in a web, each trait and skill stringing together into constellations. It had always been vast, but now… now it was endless. The marrow lattice of the Titan glowed beneath his skin, harmonizing with the Grid itself, a steady hum that filled his body with constant renewal.
His essence pools burned bright:
Blood Essence: 106,883 (regenerating)
Faith Essence: 56,745
Iron Essence: 27,740
Soul Essence: 19,879
Apex Essence: 70
Beast Essence: 1,620
Wraith Essence: 5,000
And climbing. Always climbing. His marrow sang with the rhythm of Crimson Marrow Renewal, pumping Blood Essence back into the reservoir with every heartbeat. For the first time, he understood what it meant to be unshackled by attrition.
He extended his will.
The minor nodes glowed first. Strength. Speed. Reflex. Willpower. Dominion. All of them pulsed like candles starved of air. He fed them essence without hesitation, his pools barely dented before the marrow lattice replaced the loss.
[Minor Node: Strength V → VI]
[Minor Node: Speed V → VI]
[Minor Node: Reflex V → VI]
[Minor Node: Willpower V → VI]
[Minor Node: Dominion Weight V → VI]
His frame shifted. Not a transformation, but a refinement. The marrow lattice crawled deeper into his bones, weaving reinforcement like inscriptions carved directly into his skeleton. His aura thickened, pressing outward into the dunes until the sand itself bowed and shifted as if under a storm.
He opened his eyes, golden-crimson spirals wide. Clearer. Sharper. Faster.
The skills glimmered next. One by one, he touched them.
[Ashen Devour IV → V] — efficiency climbing, body pulling more from every corpse and core.[Blood Flood IV → V] — the crimson tide widened, a field-clearing wave now laced with marrow resonance.
[Chalice of Apostasy IV → V] — inversion range expanded; sanctified domains could now be turned on their keepers.
[Ghost Vein IV → V] — phasing smoother, faster, without drag.
[Orbiting Arsenal IV → V] — weapon harmonics flawless, five weapons at once.
[Bloodfang Reapers IV → V] — edges sharper, resonance doubled.
[Crimson Arsenal IV → V] — maximum capacity reached, phantom armories sharpened to perfection.
[Ruinquake Slam IV → V] — shockwaves deep enough to split ribcages of giants.
[Twilight Reaver Synchronization IV → V] — the relic's pulse aligning with his sovereign aura.
System notices cascaded like falling banners:
[All available skills upgraded to Tier V]
[Essence Pools stable. No attrition detected.]
Noctis breathed once. His aura flexed. The desert rippled outward in a wave of pressure. The Grid shimmered again, brighter this time, as if a hidden door had been waiting for this very moment.
[Angel Cores Assimilated — Restriction Broken]
[Tier VI Unlocked for Selected Skills]
He smiled faintly. "At last."
The three nodes pulsed hardest: Orbiting Arsenal. Bloodfang Reapers. Twilight Reaver. The pillars of his combat grid. He lifted his hand and pressed them in turn.
Orbiting Arsenal V → VI: Arsenal Dominion
The node shattered and reformed. The three orbiting Reapers materialized instantly, joined by two others, then five, then seven. They did not simply spin in obedient arcs—they moved of their own will.
Phantoms stood beside each blade, crimson silhouettes of Noctis's own form, pale and sharp-eyed. Each one turned their head, looking outward into the desert, scanning for threats. Semi-autonomous generals. He could feel their hunger, their readiness.
"Arsenal Dominion," Noctis murmured. "Not extensions. Commanders."
Bloodfang Reapers V → VI: Sovereign Reapers
The Reapers themselves began to hum. Their crimson edges flared with marrow lattice, etchings crawling like golden runes down their length. He raised one hand and willed them forward. They phased through the cracked Titan rib like it was paper, carving it into dust, cutting both flesh and memory at once.
They returned humming, hungry. Now they were more than blades. They were sovereign instruments—capable of phasing through matter, anchoring into enemies, draining essence directly.
"Soul and flesh together," Noctis whispered. "Reapers of sovereignty."
Twilight Reaver Synchronization V → VI: Bloodline Relic
The relic in his hand shook violently, a deep hum like the groan of a mountain. Its edge glowed black-red, then pure white, then settled into a layered sheen that flickered between colors with each heartbeat.
System text appeared:
[Twilight Reaver has synchronized with the Ascending Twilight Vein]
[Relic status: Bloodline Relic]
The blade was no longer an artifact he wielded. It was bound to his marrow itself, scaling dynamically with his aura and sovereignty. It hummed like an artery, alive, in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Noctis lowered it slowly. "Mine," he said simply.
The Grid quieted. The notices slowed.
[Three Skills Upgraded to Tier VI]
[Restriction: Further Tier VI upgrades require new progenitor-class cores or divine relic assimilation.]
Noctis closed his eyes. The power hummed under his skin. He could feel it all at once—
The infinite wellspring of Crimson Marrow Renewal, constantly filling his Blood Essence.
The bone lattice reinforcing his frame.
The Reapers humming like hunting stars, semi-autonomous and alive.
Twilight Reaver beating with his pulse like a second heart.
His aura surged outward once more, heavier than ever. The dunes bowed under it. The broken bones of the Titan groaned and cracked further, as if cowering before his Dominion.
He whispered, not as a boast but as a fact:
"My Grid was once a cage. Now it is my crown. Sovereignty without chains. This world has nothing left that can drain me."
He opened his eyes, twin spirals blazing gold and crimson. In the distance, the city of Ashara glimmered with torchlight. Its people were waiting. Its queen would seek him. Its saints would kneel.
But for this moment, he allowed himself a quiet truth:
He had become a sovereign who could not be emptied. A king whose essence would never run dry.
The night was silent, save for the faint hum of his new Dominion.
And the Grid whispered its last verdict:
[Status: Attrition — Broken]
[Sovereign State Achieved: Infinite with Time]
Noctis closed the Grid. His aura dimmed slightly, but his eyes burned brighter than the desert stars.
The desert had gone quiet, but Noctis did not rest.
He stood on the ridge of a dune where the Titan's corpse had sunk, its ribs now half-buried in the shifting sands. Above him the night was clear, the stars sharp against blackness, and the ruin of the battlefield stretched in all directions.
He extended his aura once more, and the marrow lattice pulsed inside his bones. Essence flowed into his Grid without effort, filling him as naturally as breath. The system whispered softly at the edges of his mind—always feeding, always renewing.
[Status: Crimson Marrow Renewal active][Blood Essence: regenerating… infinite with time]
Noctis drew a long breath. Then he raised his hand.
Seven crimson phantoms shimmered into existence around him, each one a Bloodfang Reaper. Sword. Scythe. Guan dao. The three original forms split and multiplied, spectral copies sliding into orbit until a constellation of weapons circled him in precise arcs. They moved faster than before—no hesitation, no lag. Their blades whistled through the air like hawks riding currents, autonomous and yet bound to his will.
This was Arsenal Dominion.
He tested them first. A thought, and two scythes scissored together in midair, shearing through a dune crest and spraying sand like blood. Another thought, and a guan dao dove like a comet, burying its blade in the Titan's cracked rib. The impact shook the bone. The weapon slid free and returned to orbit without a hitch.
Noctis smiled faintly. "Seven orbiting. Perfect coordination."
But the Grid was not done.
He summoned two more Bloodfang Reapers, these not spectral but solid—the twin sword-form weapons he had forged long ago for direct combat. Their hilts fit into his hands with familiar weight. One burned bright with crimson runes; the other hummed low like a predator's growl.
Now he stood with nine weapons in total—seven circling, two in his grasp.
He flexed his hands, and the marrow lattice in his arms glowed faintly. His grip did not falter. Even with greatswords, he felt no strain. His aura reinforced his muscles until every weapon was as light as air.
The old doctrine surfaced in his mind—Dual Swords. It had been useful once. A training frame, a limit breaker. But as he held the two Reapers now, something inside the Grid shifted.
System text flared across his vision:
[Doctrine Upgrade: Dual Swords → Dual Arsenal][Passive: Sovereign Grip unlocked]Effect: Noctis may wield any Bloodfang Reaper form in one hand, regardless of size or weight.[Result: Dual Arsenal enables multi-form dual wielding and combo synergy. Combat matrix complete — 9 Reapers available.]
The notice faded. His lips curved.
"Dual Swords… no longer," he said softly. "Dual Arsenal."
He tested it immediately. The Reapers in his hands shimmered, morphing. One lengthened into a guan dao, heavy and long, haft thick as an arm. The other swelled into a scythe, its curve hungry, blade wide enough to reap a man whole.
Noctis swung them both at once. The guan dao in his right hand crashed downward with the force of an avalanche. The scythe in his left hand hooked sideways, carving a wide arc that could have swept three men off their feet. Neither slowed. His grip held them like daggers, every movement clean, efficient, absolute.
The desert shook.
He reversed them with a thought, scythe collapsing back into a sword, guan dao twisting into a greatsword. He swung both overhead, crossing their arcs like descending comets. The impact cracked another rib of the Titan corpse, marrow powder bursting into the air.
The seven orbiting weapons joined in, striking in harmony with his swings—slashes, stabs, and sweeping arcs timed perfectly to cover the openings his direct strikes left behind. It was seamless. He was no longer one man fighting with two blades. He was a sovereign surrounded by nine weapons, every one moving as if it had its own mind.
He laughed quietly. The sound was cold, certain.
"This is what it means to fight without chains."
To test further, he summoned bone constructs with his new skill. Pale spires of skeletal matter rose from the sand, forming guardians with blank faces and wide arms. They lurched toward him, brittle but heavy, their bodies crackling with resonance.
Noctis advanced.
The two swords in his hands slashed first, one low, one high. A guardian's chest split; another's arm flew. The orbiting arsenal struck in the same breath, a rain of seven crimson blades cutting through the field. The constructs fell in heaps, shattered bone spraying into the night.
He didn't stop. He shifted the weapons again—sword and scythe in his hands, guan dao and greatswords circling, orbiting like vultures. He fought them as if commanding an army, his arms and orbitals working together, weaving patterns of death across the dunes.
Every strike was layered. Every motion covered by another blade. Every weakness answered instantly.
He swung until the constructs were gone, until only broken fragments remained on the sand. His aura dimmed, weapons fading back into phantoms one by one. Only Twilight Reaver remained in his grip, humming low with resonance.
The Grid pulsed once more, confirming what he already knew:
[Doctrine Upgrade Complete: Dual Arsenal][Sovereign Grip integrated. No weapon is too heavy. No form is restricted.]
Noctis lowered his blade. He looked at the ruin he had left in the sand.
Nine weapons. Seven orbiting, two wielded. A throne of crimson steel.
"This is my arsenal," he whispered. "This is my crown."
His aura pulsed outward, carrying the words across the desert like a decree. The night listened. The dunes bowed. The Titan's corpse cracked a little deeper under the weight of his Dominion.
He turned his eyes toward Ashara. Tomorrow, the people would kneel. Tomorrow, the saints would report. Tomorrow, the queen would come to him with questions she did not dare ask.
But tonight belonged to him alone. To his throne of nine.
The dunes were quiet, but the silence did not last.
Noctis's wings carried him across the desert like a crimson shadow. The sands bowed beneath his aura as he crossed them, every beat of his wings stirring storms in miniature. Behind him, the ruin of the Titan lay broken, its bones collapsing into chalk, its core devoured. Ahead, the lights of Ashara burned like scattered jewels at the edge of the desert night.
The city had not slept.
Torches blazed across the walls, and citizens crowded the battlements. They had seen the battle unfold—saw the colossus rise, saw the crimson sovereign climb its body and tear it apart. They had heard the bone-shattering impact when the Titan fell, and their breaths had stopped until they saw him emerge from the wreckage alive, weapons orbiting him like a constellation of blades.
Now they waited.
The gates were open long before he arrived. The crowd surged forward, only to kneel as he landed. The air itself seemed to hold its breath as his boots touched the stone. His aura pressed outward, not as suffocating weight but as an undeniable truth: the Twilight King had returned.
The saints moved first. Fourteen figures in robes of pale light and crimson thread stepped forward, kneeling as one. Their eyes glowed faintly with holy and unholy fire alike, their bodies still marked by the battles they had fought against infiltrators in the palace. Even weary, they bowed without hesitation.
"Welcome back, Sovereign," they said together, their voices steady, their devotion unshaken.
Noctis raised a hand. "Rise."
They obeyed. The crowd followed, but none dared move too close. His wings folded in, dissolving into his aura until only the faint burn of crimson light remained on his shoulders.
From the steps of the palace, Seraphyne came forward. Her night robe had been replaced by a regal gown of silver and desert blue, her crown gleaming faintly under torchlight. She did not walk with the grace of ceremony but with the urgency of someone who had been holding her breath for hours.
When she reached him, she bowed low, then lifted her head and spoke clearly so all could hear.
"You have done what no army of Ashara could have accomplished. You have slain the Titan. For this, I thank you—not as queen, but as one whose people would have been crushed without you."
Her voice trembled at the edges, but it did not break.
Noctis regarded her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "The battle is over," he said, his voice calm, carrying without need to shout. "But there is still damage. The city's outer districts have suffered, and the dunes will bear scars for years."
A hush fell. The crowd glanced at the ruined skyline beyond the walls. Some houses were collapsed, their frames broken by shockwaves. The dunes outside bore deep scars where bones had crashed down, carving trenches through the desert.
But Seraphyne did not flinch. She straightened, her eyes meeting his without fear. "We will repair them," she said. "Stones can be replaced. Roads can be rebuilt. What is important is that the threat is gone, and our people live. You have given us that."
The crowd murmured. Some wept openly. Others pressed their foreheads to the ground in reverence. The saints stood straighter, their gazes burning brighter as if the queen's words mirrored their own devotion.
Noctis turned his eyes over the people. Their awe was not shallow; it was carved into them. They had seen a god of bone fall. They had seen him stand where armies would have shattered. Loyalty was no longer a choice. It was reflex.
He let his smile linger only a moment longer before he spoke again. "Good. Hold to your strength, and you will rebuild. I came to Ashara not only to fight your enemy, but to test the power that betrayed me. Tonight, I have learned both."
The saints glanced at one another, understanding the weight behind his words: vampires. Seraphyne's eyes flickered with recognition, but she lowered her head in respect rather than speak further.
Noctis lifted his hand slightly, and the crowd stilled. "The battle is finished, but our work is not. The dunes are scarred. The city is bruised. But this kingdom will not fall while I stand."
The words carried like a vow, threading through torchlight and smoke. The people bowed as one.
Seraphyne took a step closer, her voice softer now, meant only for him though the silence of the city made it audible. "I am glad," she said, "that I came to you. My council warned me, my generals doubted me, but I trusted my instinct. And you proved it true."
Noctis looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he inclined his head. "You trusted wisely. The Titan is gone. The infiltrators are gone. For now, your people are safe."
She exhaled slowly, relief breaking across her face. She bowed again, not as queen to an equal, but as subject to sovereign.
The saints parted to form an escort, leading him up the palace steps. The crowd pressed low as he passed, murmuring prayers that were half holy and half shadow. He walked steadily, his aura controlled, his eyes calm. He carried no exhaustion. His Grid was full, his marrow infinite.
When he reached the palace doors, he turned once more to look at the city. The people looked back, thousands of eyes fixed on him with reverence and fear braided tight together.
He raised a single hand. "Ashara stands."
The cheer that followed broke like thunder across the desert.
Seraphyne lingered at his side, her voice quiet enough only he heard it. "You have saved my kingdom. But I feel you see this victory as only the beginning."
Noctis's eyes glowed faintly crimson in the torchlight. "You are correct. This was not the war. It was the opening act. The true enemy has yet to reveal itself."
He stepped inside the palace, and the doors closed behind him.
The night was not yet finished.
While the city roared with relief and torches burned bright on the walls, the inner palace remained shrouded in shadow. The saints had gathered in a stone chamber deep within Ashara's citadel. Their crimson-white robes glimmered faintly in the lantern light, their eyes fixed on the figures chained at the center of the floor.
Seven vampires, captured during the infiltration of the palace. Their wrists were bound in sanctified iron, their mouths gagged with strips of woven sigils. Even so, their bodies twitched with hunger, their eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
The saints stood in a circle around them, voices low. "We should begin the interrogation," one said. "Force their confessions. Burn them with rites until they speak."
Another shook his head. "Their kind cannot be trusted. If we push too hard, they will lie even as they burn. Better to end them now."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber—until the doors opened.
Noctis stepped inside. His presence cut through the chamber like a blade through silk. The saints bowed at once, silence falling heavy.
He did not look at them first. His eyes locked on the vampires. He walked to the center, boots ringing softly on stone, and stopped before the captives.
The saints expected him to order the beginning of questions. Instead, he reached down, grasped one of the vampires by the throat, and tore the gag free. The prisoner hissed and snapped his fangs—but Noctis was faster. He sank his own fangs into the creature's neck.
The saints froze in shock.
A vampire… drinking another vampire's blood.
The prisoner convulsed, muffled cries echoing as blood flowed. Noctis drank slowly, deliberately. Then his eyes glowed bright crimson-gold, the Omen Eyes spiraling wider. Memory flooded into him, lances of thought and image tearing through the Grid.
The other vampires strained against their bonds, hissing with fear. The saints whispered among themselves, stunned.
"What is he doing—""Can such a thing be done?""To devour one's own kind… this is madness."
Noctis released the husk of the first prisoner and turned to the next. He bit again. Blood memory surged once more—images of caves, of black banners, of rituals dripping with ichor. Each draught was a torrent of stolen history, carved directly into his marrow.
By the time he finished the last captive, the chamber was silent. Seven bodies slumped in chains, pale and drained, their memories consumed.
The saints stared at him. Even they, bound by obedience, dared not mask their unease.
Noctis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes burned bright as stars. He looked at the saints and spoke clearly.
"Prepare yourselves."
Confusion rippled through the room. One of the saints bowed and asked, hesitant: "My Sovereign… what did you see?"
Noctis's gaze cut through them all. His voice was calm, steady, but heavy enough to crush air.
"Demons."
The word dropped like stone into still water. The saints stiffened.
He did not explain further. He simply turned and strode from the chamber, his cloak sweeping behind him. The saints hesitated only a moment before following.
The council chamber of Ashara was lit by tall braziers. Queen Seraphyne sat at the head of the table, her hands folded. Her advisors—three elder statesmen and two generals—flanked her. They were already waiting when Noctis entered. The saints filed in behind him, but stood at the edges, silent.
Seraphyne rose. "You return swiftly. What did you discover?"
Noctis did not sit. He planted one hand on the table and looked at each advisor in turn. Their measured faces faltered under his gaze.
"The vampires were pawns," he said. "Tools. Their strings were not pulled by their own kind."
The generals exchanged wary glances. One of the elder advisors leaned forward. "Then who commands them?"
Noctis's eyes burned brighter. His words were heavy, unadorned.
"Demons. They hide behind the curtain. They have seeded their will in the vampires, pushed them into war, and cloaked their presence with blood. The Titan, the infiltrators, the rituals—they were not conceived by vampires alone. They were guided."
The chamber fell into stunned silence.
Seraphyne's lips parted, but no words came. One of her generals slammed his fist lightly against the table. "Demons? Here, in Ashara?"
Noctis turned his head slowly, meeting his gaze. "Not only in Ashara. They have spread. This was but one strand of their web."
The queen's voice found its strength again. "And you are certain of this?"
"I drank their memories," Noctis replied. His tone carried no hesitation, no room for doubt. "I saw what they saw. Their masters wear no faces of their own—they wear masks of flame and shadow. But they are demons nonetheless. I know their taint."
The advisors whispered among themselves, shaken. Seraphyne raised her hand to silence them. Her eyes, wide with unease, fixed on him. "Then our war is not with vampires alone."
"Our war," Noctis said evenly, "is against the architects who hide behind them. The demons move. And if they are not stopped, this kingdom will not be the last to bleed."
The council chamber was silent again. Even the firelight seemed to dim under the weight of his words.
Seraphyne bowed her head slightly. "Then we must prepare. You have my kingdom's strength, Sovereign. Guide us."
Noctis straightened, his wings faintly outlined in crimson against the firelight. His aura pressed against the chamber like the weight of a storm. He looked over the queen and her advisors, his eyes burning, and spoke the decree that would echo beyond Ashara's borders.
"Then prepare yourselves. For the true war is only beginning."