Ten years had passed.
The continent of Etheron had changed in ways unimaginable. The Kingdom of Mirthea, once just a union between Mirdia and Theodor, now stood as a beacon of strength and prosperity. Their alliance with the Kingdoms of Azalea and Darga had grown firm over the decade, strengthened by diplomatic relations, trade routes, and a joint crusade that had reshaped history.
Together, the three kingdoms had waged war on the Dark Guild—a vast and violent band of rogue Heroes who had seized control of the Kingdom of Bashna and ruled with cruelty. After a long campaign, the allied forces had succeeded. The people of Bashna were freed, their collars broken, their cities reclaimed. Yet neither Azalea, Darga, nor Mirthea took ownership of the fallen kingdom. They left the rebuilding of Bashna to its own people, who, in the aftermath, splintered into tribal factions struggling in poverty, with little manpower, and no unified government or king.
In the capital of Mirthea, the grand royal palace gleamed with polished marble and golden banners. King Vanhil now sat in his royal office, the weight of leadership heavier than ever. He was thirty-two years old, his once youthful face now lined with the quiet sharpness of experience—matured by war, politics, and power.
Dressed in a regal navy coat embroidered with gold, King Vanhil leaned back in his chair and stared at the glowing number on his status bracelet: 90.
"Still stuck," he muttered.
No matter how many monsters he had slain, no matter how intense the battles—he hadn't gained a single level in the past two years. Even Valtheas, his most loyal general, remained stuck at level 90. It had become a topic of whispered concern among his elite.
At that moment, General Valtheas entered the office.
"Your Majesty," Valtheas said, bowing with composed precision.
Vanhil nodded. "Is the conference hall ready?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. King Drumul and Queen Fiana await."
Together, they walked down the wide corridor toward the high council chamber. The banners of Mirthea, Darga, and Azalea lined the walls. Today, a summit was to be held—a rare gathering of the three remaining powers of Etheron.
Inside the marble-clad chamber, King Drumul of Darga stood tall in his mountain-forged armor, and Queen Fiana of Azalea, graceful in emerald robes, nodded calmly as Vanhil entered. The air grew tense as the chamber doors opened once more.
Dozens of cloaked individuals filed in, silent, focused. Each wore a small silver ring bearing a torch symbol.
True Heroes.
Among them were two very familiar figures—Arriel and Lira, now also level 90, their presence matured but still sharp with the light of conviction. Kell followed close behind, older but no less steady.
At the head of the cloaked group stood Elder Zefiri. He bowed politely. "Your Majesties."
Queen Fiana was first to speak. "The True Heroes have long fought in secret. But now, they come in peace—seeking recognition, not rebellion."
King Drumul added, "They have helped protect our borders, our people, and fought valiantly in the war against the Dark Guild."
All eyes turned to King Vanhil.
His fingers tapped against the table as he gazed across the room—dozens of Heroes who answered no king. They were not bound by Hero Pendants. They were free.
And powerful.
After a long pause, Vanhil spoke, "You seek to operate freely, without oversight. What assurances do we have you will not turn your strength against the people?"
Arriel stepped forward. "We never have. And we never will. Our mission has never changed. We protect the innocent. We destroy monsters. And we do not spill human blood unless absolutely necessary."
Lira added, her voice calm, "We are Heroes in the truest sense—not weapons, not tools."
Vanhil studied them quietly. In truth, he had little choice. Over the years, True Heroes had grown in number and strength, more than his own elite army. To oppose them would mean war. To accept them might mean balance.
Finally, he nodded.
"Very well. The Kingdom of Mirthea acknowledges the existence of True Heroes and grants them freedom to operate—under their own banner—as protectors of peace."
A breath of relief passed through the chamber.
Elder Zefiri bowed deeply. "Then let this be the beginning of peace."
That evening, Arriel, Lira, and Kell returned to their old home in Veilden. The familiar house stood unchanged, welcoming them with quiet warmth.
Inside, they set the table, prepared food, and sat together, celebrating the moment they had long fought for.
True freedom.
Outside, the wind swept through the quiet trees, and the stars above shimmered—bright and full of promise.