The heavens fell in shards of white fire.
Each fragment struck the mountain like a verdict, burning runes into the stone. The divine hunters—pale things wrapped in unlight—descended through the storm. They bore no faces, only halos of fracture where eyes should have been. Their wings were lattices of bone threaded with lightning.
When the first touched the ground, the air folded. Sound died. The fortress shuddered, remembering how to bleed.
Balerion stood in the doorway of the ruined hall, cloak snapping in the wind. Behind him, Selene gathered the child into a hollow between pillars. The runes on the walls pulsed, answering his heartbeat.
One hunter spoke without mouth or breath:
"Hybrid. Yield. Law reclaims its error."
He felt the decree dig into his skull like hooks. It wasn't a voice—it was command made sound.
Balerion bared his teeth. "I'm not your echo."
He moved.
The ground erupted where he had stood. Scales rippled over his skin in jagged mosaics; his eyes flared twin gold and crimson. The first hunter met him halfway, spear of condensed will slashing down. Balerion caught it bare-handed. Light flayed his palm—but the wound sealed before blood could fall. The spear shuddered, flickered, and went out.
The hunter staggered back. Its aura collapsed into static.
"You shouldn't exist," it rasped.
"I keep hearing that."
He struck once—nothing spectacular, just a punch—but the blow carried the weight of the devouring core. The hunter imploded, feathers of white fire spiraling into dust.
The others closed in, seven in all. Spears crossed, weaving a net of light meant to sever thought from flesh.
Selene whispered a curse under her breath. "He can't fight them all."
She drew her sword anyway and stepped beside him. "We'll improvise."
Balerion half-smiled. "Always."
The hunters moved as one. Light and silence flooded the hall. Runes detonated across the walls, forming shields of red glass. Each impact sent waves of force through the stone, shaking centuries of dust from the ceiling.
Selene darted through the gaps, her rapier slicing arcs of silver between blinding flares. Each cut drew a thread of divine light that Balerion seized and devoured, converting their purity into power. The fortress seemed to exhale—its heart beating again through him.
The child cried out. One hunter broke away, wings folding inward as it dived toward her.
Balerion's vision narrowed. Flame burst from his back—half-formed wings, translucent, crimson edged in gold. He was there before the hunter reached her.
He didn't touch it; he commanded it.
"Stop."
The word left his mouth as a pulse that rewrote the air. The hunter froze mid-motion, every atom forced to obedience. The devouring power surged, eager to consume.
Feed, it whispered inside him. One less chain.
Selene's voice cut through the hunger. "Balerion!"
He blinked, the spell shattering. The hunter collapsed, empty husk hitting stone. His wings guttered out, leaving smoke.
"Still yours?" she asked.
"Barely."
"Then stay that way."
He nodded once and turned back to the remaining four. They circled above the throne, halos spinning. The air thickened until even gravity seemed conditional.
One by one they extended their spears toward him. Lines of white fire met overhead, forming a prism of judgment. Inside it, light condensed—a singularity of divine law.
Selene dragged the child behind cover. "They're charging something. Move!"
Balerion didn't move. He listened. The fortress thrummed beneath him. The old Draconyric will still lingered in its bones, waiting for purpose.
He closed his eyes. "Lend me your echo."
The floor split. Pillars of black fire shot upward, intersecting the prism. The divine light faltered. He stepped into the rift, raising both hands as if parting curtains. The two energies collided—law and anomaly. The sound was a chord too deep for mortal hearing.
When it ended, the mountain's peak was gone.
Clouds churned where stone had been. The hunters drifted, their halos cracked. Even the Architect's distant threads recoiled from the impact.
Balerion dropped to one knee, smoke rising from his shoulders. His veins glowed faintly through torn skin. Selene reached him, pulling his arm over her shoulder. "Still breathing?"
"Define breathing."
"You're heavy for a myth," she muttered, hauling him upright.
He smiled weakly. "You sound worried."
"I'm practical. Someone has to clean the corpses."
There were no corpses—only empty armor and falling feathers that turned to ash before they hit the ground. The fortress quieted again, runes dimming to a gentle red pulse.
Then—silence broke. A voice neither male nor female, everywhere and nowhere:
"Impressive."
The mist at the hall's center coalesced into a figure of faint light. Kaelith.
Selene swore softly. "Not again."
Balerion straightened, every muscle screaming. "You said you'd return with company."
"I lied," Kaelith said mildly. "They wanted to watch, not interfere. The Architect is… amused."
"I'm not," Balerion said.
Kaelith studied the ruin around them. "You destroyed a unit forged from divine law. That should not be possible."
"Add it to the list."
"Do you know what you're becoming?"
Balerion met his gaze. "Do you?"
For the first time, the inquisitor hesitated. "The first Draconyric failed because he tried to overwrite creation. You are rewriting it while inside it. That makes you… dangerous even to thought."
"Good," Balerion said. "Maybe thought deserves a little danger."
Kaelith's mouth curved in a sad smile. "Every god believes that just before they fall."
He vanished, leaving only a shimmer.
The wind swept through the broken hall. Selene leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "He's not finished."
"No," Balerion said. "He's taking notes."
The child stirred, blinking awake. "They're gone?"
"For now," Selene said.
Balerion knelt beside her. "You did well staying quiet."
"I was scared."
"So was I," he admitted.
She looked up. "But you didn't run."
He smiled faintly. "Not this time."
Outside, dawn bled slowly into the clouds, painting them in shades of ash and wine. The first light touched the fortress, glinting off the cracked mural of the Ascendant. Its eyes flared once more, faint but alive.
Selene watched the glow spread across his face. "You realize every god up there is arguing about what to do with you now."
"Let them argue," he said. "While they talk, I'll act."
She folded her arms. "And the act today?"
"Rebuild this fortress. If they'll send hunters, I'll need a home that bites back."
"You intend to raise an army?"
"I intend to raise a choice. For every creature they called mistake."
Selene's expression softened. "That's a dangerous dream."
"Then it's worth having."
She shook her head, smiling despite herself. "You really are your parents' son."
He glanced at her. "You sound fond."
"I sound resigned," she said, turning toward the light. "But maybe I'm both."
The child tugged at his sleeve. "What do we do now?"
He looked past her to the empty sky. "We teach the world what it forgot to fear."
Above the clouds, the Astral Zenith trembled. The Balance Goddess whispered, "He survived judgment."
The War Father's laughter rolled like thunder. "He answered it."
The Seer's threads burned at the edges. "If he keeps devouring definition, there will be no law left to measure him."
And the Architect's cold, endless voice replied:
"Then we shall see what a world without law creates."