Three years had passed.
Eden—rebuilt, reborn, and now radiant—had become the heart of civilization for all surviving factions. The once-fractured world was no longer simply enduring. It thrived.
High above, where the clouds turned silver under the rising twin suns, stood the Orbital Citadel—a bastion not just of war, but of unity. Planetary defense grids extended like ancient roots through the atmosphere, woven with celestial gates and mana-shielded towers constructed by Arlen's ever-evolving technological brilliance.
But none of that mattered right now.
Because in a vast garden carved atop the floating Isle of Origins, six children were laughing.
Elion Velarion, now six, stood at the center of the group. Cloaked in silver-white robes, his amber-gold eyes shimmered with strange focus—wisdom far beyond his age. His aura pulsed gently with innate power, yet his smile was pure.
Beside him was his younger sister, Aeris Velarion, age two, already floating a few inches off the ground in excitement as she squealed, chasing glowing butterflies made from living light.
Opposite them were the twin children of Kael and Rael:
Liora and Riven Kaelborn, both fierce and gentle in their own ways. Liora had inherited her mother's soft eyes and nature-attuned gifts; Riven bore the markings of Kael's battle potential, already commanding shadows during their playful hide-and-seek.
The sixth, the shyest among them, was Nira, Kael's niece's daughter, always tucked close to Elion as if drawn to the clarity in his voice when he spoke.
They weren't trained soldiers. Not yet.
But the way they played—with synchronized awareness, mana-infused gestures, and minds sharpened by stories of past wars—it was clear:
They would be legends.
From a nearby observation spire, Iden, now matured in both spirit and presence, stood with Nyra beside him. Her hand rested gently on his as they watched the children.
"Can you believe it?" she whispered. "From a forgotten mountain... to this."
Iden nodded.
"And still, I wonder if this peace will last forever."
Nyra smiled knowingly.
"It's not meant to. But it will last long enough—for them to forge a better one."
On the distant balcony below, Rael, visibly glowing with life and purpose, handed a new blueprint tablet to a team of agriculture ministers. Beside her, Kael tested a new mana-hybrid blade on the training field—though he kept looking back to his kids more than the sparring dummies.
Even Arlen, now officially the Technocratic Prime, had been overseeing a planetary relay system, connecting every city with a seamless defense barrier.
Each of them had been broken once. Now they stood unshakable.
That night, as stars glimmered across the sky in constellations reshaped by orbital beacons, Iden sat alone.
A soft wind rustled the leaves of the Eternis Trees nearby.
And then… a voice.
Not loud. Not alarming.
Just… ancient.
"He will walk where you never could."
Iden's breath caught.
"Elion carries your light… and something else. Something older than the Architect, older than the World Tear."
He stood slowly, hands clenching the railing.
"Across galaxies beyond Eden… a darkness sleeps. When it wakes, your line must be the first to stand."
Iden's eyes turned to the stars, where streaks of distant satellites hummed softly.
"He is the key—not to power… but to understanding. To uniting what lies beyond. Protect him… until the stars call."
Then silence.
Just the gentle breeze, and Elion's distant laughter echoing in the night.
Iden did not panic. He did not despair.
He smiled.
Because the journey he had begun—the struggle, the tears, the war, the rebuilding—it had never been only for him.
It had been for the future.
For Elion.
For all of them.
He turned and walked back inside, toward the warmth of Nyra, toward the stories he would tell his son tomorrow. And toward the unknown, waiting beyond the sky.
—But the stars are only the beginning.
[The End]