The winds of Ashen had fallen silent.
The air, heavy and dry, still carried the scent of fire and blood.
The mountains were nothing but gray ashes, illuminated by the dying breath of draconic flames.
Azdrael stood alone — a figure of gold and cinders — at the heart of the smoking crater.
His broken wings bled streams of light, and every breath seemed to cost him eternity.
Before him, the titanic shadow of Draegon walked away slowly, his steps carving wounds into the earth.
A sacred silence stretched between them.
> "You could have ended it," the King said softly.
"Why stop now?"
Draegon did not answer right away.
The wind lifted the ashes around him, as if the world itself hesitated to touch him.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm — almost mournful.
> "Because the end should not come from me."
"Not yet."
The King clenched his fists, his eyes burning with an ancient, weary light.
> "You are no longer the monster you once were, Draegon."
"But you are far from being a god again."
A deep, thunderous laugh escaped the Fallen One's throat.
> "The gods died of their own light, Azdrael.
And you... you are fading just like them."
Then he lifted his gaze to the heavens, where the scorched clouds formed a dark circle.
His golden eyes seemed to pierce through the world, seeing something far beyond.
> "Someone awaits me above.
And when the time comes, neither you, nor your throne, nor your world will be able to stop Him."
Without another word, he turned his back on the King.
His wings of shadow spread wide, and a single breath from them made even the light waver.
With a deep, rumbling sound, he ascended — vanishing into the unknown.
---
The wind died down.
Azdrael remained in the heart of the chasm, his eyes locked on the empty sky.
His hand trembled — not from fear, but from memory.
> "...He's changed," he murmured.
"But his gaze... still searches."
---
In the distant palace, Ryo watched the dying flames fade into the horizon.
The echo of the battle still thundered in his mind — two voices, two souls, two truths.
He no longer knew which one carried justice.
The sky burned red, the world fell silent.
And yet, somewhere within that silence... a promise remained.
> The war of the gods is not over.
It has merely remembered itself.