The flames of war had long gone cold, but in the Tribunal chamber, something deeper burned. Not the fire of battle. Not the heat of anger. Fear. Not fear of weapons or armies, but fear of what they had awakened.
The chamber, once the seat of control, now felt like a tomb. Screens looped the same images — the five dark forces erased, the sky torn open, the god who rose from death without roar or threat, only presence. Not a man. Not a myth. Something older. Something the universe had forgotten to fear.
Silence sat heavy until one elder, pale and hollow-eyed, broke it. "We did not fight a man… we fought the breath that gave birth to existence." From the shadows, another voice. "We tried to cage the sun in our hands. And now our hands are burning."
The air still held the weight of the Old One's words from, He is not power. He is the reason power exists. One by one, the council lowered their heads — not in shame, but in recognition. "We thought we were kings of the unseen. Now we know we were ants walking on the skin of a god."
They turned toward the war table — maps, names, targets — relics of arrogance. An elder stepped forward, struck a flame, and set them alight. The fire did not rage. It whispered, as if ashamed to burn.
For the first time in their long history, they prepared not a plan, but a confession. The words were written on goldleaf parchment — not for tradition, but for reverence. When the transmission was opened, it would be carried to Sirius, and through it, to him.
They read it aloud in unison, their voices quiet as prayer. To the One Who Created the Beginning, We write not with courage, but with clarity. We believed you were power. Now we know — you are the origin of it. We believed you could be broken. Now we know — even death bows to you. We believed you were rising. Now we know — you never fell. For every shadow we summoned, you answered with light. For every threat we whispered, you replied with silence… and then reminded us why silence is feared. We ask not forgiveness. We ask not grace. We ask… not to be remembered. From this moment on, we vow: no more war. No more interference. No more illusion of control. The stars may rise. The universe may twist. But we will never again speak against the name — MRD. The Tribunal.
Far away, on the island shore, the golden message glowed on Sirius's display. Mirshad sat by the water, the horizon silver under the fading sun. He read it once. Slowly. Word by word. His eyes didn't shift. His breathing didn't change. And then… he smiled. Not with the satisfaction of victory. With the stillness of peace. He lifted his gaze to the open sky. "They finally saw the truth," he murmured. "I didn't rise to destroy them. I rose… because they forgot who I was." The wind moved gently through his hair, carrying his words into the darkening air. And somewhere beyond the stars, the universe exhaled in relief.