The remnants of the battlefield simmered with eerie silence. The storm of blades and roaring chaos had stilled—only for a cruel truth to emerge.
Jin lay in Zhel-vorah's arms, his breathing faint, skin fractured like porcelain about to shatter. Threads of divine ichor seeped from the cracks of his body, as if even his soul was breaking beneath the weight of what he had done.
Nyreth's echoing laughter cracked the void.
"Hahaha! So the mighty hero falls. What irony! You see it now, don't you, Zhel-vorah? If you want to protect him... you must crown him. No being short of a throne can survive what is to come."
Zhel-vorah's gaze never left Jin, yet his lips curled with disdain. "You think I don't
I already knew this." he murmured, his voice low and trembling.
He looked at the last throne—the one untouched by the vortex of collapse—the Throne of the Silver King, an ancient seat forged not by power, but by resolution. The throne stood quietly at the heart of the void, wreathed in silver flames that whispered forgotten oaths to no one.
Carrying Jin like a father shielding a son from the rain of eternity, Zhel-vorah ascended the blackened steps. He gently placed Jin upon the throne.
But… nothing happened.
No light.
No divine surge.
No resurrection.
Only silence.
Zhel-vorah's fingers trembled.
"…He's gone," he whispered.
The void around him bent in sorrow, as if the universe itself paused in mourning.
His hands clenched, veins glowing faintly with ancient energy as he shook his head slowly.
"No... not like this. Not now. Not again." His breath hitched. "Jin… I know… I have done sins that the stars will never forgive. I destroyed realms. I betrayed love. I wore the title of demon even before the world called me one…"
His hand hovered above Jin's cold chest, eyes clouded with memory.
"But I never sought forgiveness," Zhel-vorah whispered, more to himself than to the gods watching beyond the veil. "Forgiveness? Forgiveness is nothing but the fantasy of cowards."
He smiled bitterly.
"I never asked for it… because all I ever wanted… was to protect the one thing I could never recreate. My charm. My last pride."
Then he drove his own hand deep into his chest, piercing through armor, bone, and soul. A burst of divine fire erupted—his core, the crystallized essence of all his lifetimes, glowing like a dying star in his palm.
With gentle care, he placed it within Jin's broken chest.
At first, nothing happened.
Then—light.
A soft pulse, like the heartbeat of a newborn star.
The Silver Throne responded. Its cold flames ignited into cascading rivers of argent light, wrapping around Jin's body. Silver feathers erupted into the air, forming a halo of threads that spun time backward for a single soul.
Zhel-vorah smiled, tears flowing down his face.
But then—the light faltered.
Jin's body began to crack again.
His arm shattered further. His blind eye oozed blood.
Zhel-vorah's breath caught in his throat.
"No—no, no, no…"
He realized it. Jin's body—already broken from the battle, pushed beyond divine limits—could not bear even a fragment of throne power.
One percent was too much.
Zhel-vorah rose to his feet, his body faltering, his power fading fast.
And then… he made his choice.
"Jin… if there's one thing I want you to remember…"
He extended his hand, gathering the last of his divine flame. His body ignited like a star going supernova, burning away pride, ego, history—until only his will remained.
A smile touched his lips, gentle and proud.
He whispered, "…the Cosmos may write gods in golden ink, but only mortals burn stories into stone. You, my son… will not be remembered because you ascended. You will be remembered because you refused to bow."
With a final cry, Zhel-vorah plunged himself into Jin.
His body dissolved into starlight, merging with the silver rivers that now poured from the throne.
The throne roared in acceptance.
Jin's shattered chest healed. His blind eye flickered and turned gold. His broken arm reformed, etched with runes born from sacrifice.
He was no longer a God.
He was the inheritor.
The Silver King.
And then… the air shuddered.
A portal tore open in the sky like a wound.
Its shape—endless. Its color—beyond comprehension.
It was the Gate of the Vast Expansion—the cosmic seal that only opened when the universe itself acknowledged a new throne.
Nyreth stepped back, eyes wide.
"…yes. Now…it's my time to go. This was always my plan. The Vast Expansion has accepted you, Jin. Thanks for your help."
Now he entered the portal.
Jin floated above the throne, eyes closed, silent as a god between breaths.
Zhel-vorah's final voice echoed faintly within him.
"Now… go, Jin. Rewrite the ending. Don't forget you have a greater zeal than mine. Protect the cosmos."
Jin's eyes opened.
And they were no longer the eyes of a pawn.
They were the eyes of one who had seen death, betrayal, truth—and chose to rise anyway. He stood and the throne Vanished into air and his essence merged with Jin