Not long after the turbulence in the sky began its violent dance, a pillar of golden light descended upon the land—a column of pure, radiant power that pierced through the storm clouds like a spear thrown by the heavens themselves. The light crashed down not far from Orario's walls, carrying with it an aura so overwhelming, so saturated with holiness and divine authority, that even hardened adventurers miles away felt their knees weaken and their hearts thunder in their chests.
Where the golden radiance touched the earth, something miraculous occurred. The barren ground trembled and split, and from those cracks emerged flowers unlike any seen in the mortal realm—blossoms of species that had no names, varieties that existed nowhere in any botanical record or elvish legend. Their petals shifted between vibrant crimsons and ethereal violets, deep sapphires and luminescent golds, stems that hummed with ancient magic. They bloomed in impossible spirals and patterns, forming a small garden that looked as though it had been torn from the fairy realms themselves and transplanted into the world of men.
The air above this otherworldly garden shimmered with residual divine power, creating aurora-like waves of color that danced and swirled. The flowers released a fragrance so pure, so achingly beautiful, that birds fell silent mid-song just to breathe it in. This garden would soon become legendary—the elves would come to Orario in pilgrimage, fighting bitterly among themselves to claim guardianship over it, declaring it as sacred as their ancient spirit trees, a treasure worth protecting with their very lives.
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Aestoria opened her eyes slowly, her golden gaze falling upon the city of adventurers sprawled across the horizon like a wounded beast trying to gather its strength. She felt no excitement bubbling in her chest, no nervous anticipation about the future unfolding before her. Her mind had been set long before her descent, her purpose crystallized into diamond-hard resolve. There was work to be done, filth to be purged, and she would see it through with the same merciless efficiency she had always possessed.
On her shoulder, a small white creature nestled comfortably against her neck—something that appeared to be an adorable fusion of cat and squirrel, impossibly fluffy and endearing. It produced only two sounds: "Fou!" and "Kyuu!" This was Fou, the beloved mascot she had created using the Holy Grail's power during her lonely moments before descent. She had needed a companion, something pure and untainted, so she had crafted this creature with all of Cath Palug's power but none of the Evil of Humanity that had once corrupted it. The small being chittered happily, completely oblivious to the weight of destiny its master carried.
After taking in the scene before her and allowing herself a moment to adjust to this new world, Aestoria emitted a low, sharp whistle that cut through the air like a blade. In response, her shadow rippled and churned as though the darkness itself had become liquid. From that pool of living shadow, a magnificent white horse emerged—Dun Stallion, her faithful mount, its coat gleaming like freshly fallen snow, its eyes burning with intelligence and otherworldly power.
The beast stood proudly beside its master, and Aestoria reached out to caress its head gently, her gauntleted fingers surprisingly tender against its mane. Then, with fluid grace that spoke of countless battles fought from horseback, she mounted in one smooth motion. Horse and rider began their march toward Orario at a measured, unhurried pace, as though they had all the time in the world.
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Two hours of steady travel brought them through varied landscape—rolling hills that had once been beautiful before war and chaos had scarred them, abandoned farms where families had fled in terror, roads littered with the debris of merchant caravans that had been attacked and looted. Aestoria observed it all with calculating eyes, cataloging every sign of Evilus's corruption, every piece of evidence of the suffering they had inflicted.
Finally, she reached the massive city gates of Orario. The guards stationed there stood in constant vigilance, their eyes darting nervously to every shadow, their hands never straying far from their weapons. The fear was palpable—these men had seen too much death, witnessed too many horrors. They scrutinized everyone who approached with deep suspicion and wariness, trusting no one.
But when they caught sight of the armored woman approaching on her ethereal white steed, wearing a lion-emblazoned cape and an imposing mask that concealed her features, time seemed to slow. They knew immediately—instinctively—that she was a goddess. But her aura... by the gods, her aura was beyond anything they had ever faced before. It pressed down on them like a physical weight, making the air thick and difficult to breathe. It felt like standing before an approaching avalanche, beautiful and terrible in equal measure, knowing that it could crush you without even noticing your existence.
One guard had to physically shake himself, forcing his mind to wake from the daze and daydreaming that threatened to overwhelm his senses. With a dry mouth and a voice that trembled despite his best efforts to control it, he called out: "W-Welcome to Orario, city of adventurers. May we know your name and purpose for visiting?"
The goddess's voice, when it came, was like tempered steel wrapped in silk—beautiful but unmistakably deadly. "The name is Rhongomyniad. And for my purpose, you shouldn't need to guess what a newly descended goddess will do, but for the sake of formality, I shall tell you: I am here to form a Familia."
The guard nodded solemnly, but concern creased his weathered face. He felt compelled to warn her, even knowing that a being of such obvious power likely needed no warnings from mortals like himself. "I should warn you, Goddess-sama—the situation is not under control right now. A dark faction called Evilus is trying to destroy this city, targeting adventurers and civilians alike. Some of the crazier ones even target gods and goddesses. Please be vigilant and watch your surroundings. You never know where they'll appear, as they walk among common people and can't be detected until they begin their attacks."
Aestoria's response carried a note of absolute certainty that sent chills down the guards' spines—not from fear of her, but from pity for anyone foolish enough to attack her. "They will not have the chance to even get near me before meeting their demise. But your warning is noted and appreciated."
"Please take care of yourself, Goddess-sama," the guard said with genuine concern.
Aestoria nodded acknowledgment and continued her march toward the Tower of Babel, Dun Stallion's hooves clicking rhythmically against the cobblestone streets. But the guard's warning proved prophetic—she had only covered half the distance when shadows suddenly erupted from the surrounding alleys like vipers striking from tall grass.
Assassins. Dozens of them, all members of Evilus, their faces twisted with fanatical madness and bloodlust. They came from every direction simultaneously in a coordinated ambush—some wielding magic swords that crackled with destructive energy, others with poison-tipped arrows already nocked in their bows, and still others clutching explosive stones close to their chests, prepared for suicide attacks that would take them and their target into oblivion together.
"DIE FOR EVILUS!" they screamed in unison, their battle cry echoing through the empty streets as they launched their attack.
They never finished their charge.
Before a single blade could swing, before a single arrow could loose, before a single explosive could detonate—darkness engulfed them. Not the darkness of night or shadow, but something far more absolute. This was the darkness of the End itself, the void that awaited all things at the conclusion of their existence.
The assassins' vision went black instantly. Their screams died in their throats, unvoiced. Their bodies stopped mid-leap, mid-draw, mid-throw. They had no time to think, no moment to comprehend what had happened to them. One instant they were attacking, flush with the certainty of their ambush's success. The next instant—nothing. Just the eternal, absolute darkness of death.
Their corpses hit the ground like puppets with cut strings, lifeless before they even registered pain. Blood pooled beneath them, staining the cobblestones crimson, but no cries of agony accompanied their deaths. They had been snuffed out as easily as one might blow out a candle—no struggle, no resistance, just the immediate and total cessation of life.
Aestoria hadn't even slowed her horse's pace. Fou chittered on her shoulder, completely undisturbed, as though nothing of consequence had occurred. The goddess's golden eyes remained fixed ahead on the Tower of Babel, her destination, her purpose unchanged.
Around her, the darkness that had erupted to defend her slowly receded, sliding back into her shadow like loyal hounds returning to their master's side. The Authority of the End had been invoked, and it had executed its function with ruthless efficiency.
Any Evilus members watching from a distance felt ice water flood their veins. The rumors would spread like wildfire—there was a new goddess in Orario, and she didn't need to lift a finger to kill. Death itself obeyed her command, and those who opposed her would find no mercy, no chance for final words, not even the dignity of knowing how they died.
They would simply cease to be, swallowed by an ending as absolute and inescapable as the turning of the cosmos itself.