The Celestial Maw trembled—its body an impossible amalgamation of starfire, shadow, and roiling essence. Entire constellations blinked out as it twisted through realms that should never have been disturbed. It had been wounded—no longer invincible—but far from defeated.
Altharion hovered at the edge of the breach, the last fragments of the old world fracturing beneath him. The remnants of the Ascended Circle stood behind him: Zepharion, wings scorched but burning bright; Lira, one arm bound in radiant aether; Varn, breathing heavily with one last blood rune glowing on his chest. And beside them, cloaked in tattered veils of twilight, stood the former Veilbearer—now reborn as Elyndra, the Flamebinder.
"Is everyone ready?" Altharion's voice cut through the silence like a blade of purpose.
"Nope," Varn grunted. "But when has that ever stopped us?"
The Celestial Maw howled. It was a sound that broke minds and bent reality—a cosmic scream of hunger and rage. It surged forward, tearing through ley lines and devouring fragments of time.
"Let's end this," Elyndra said, stepping forward. The redemption arc she had walked wasn't just for show. She was once the one who sealed Altharion within the Ebon Core. Now, she would be the key to closing the wound in the fabric of existence.
Altharion reached out his hand. "Together."
Elyndra took it, her flame intertwining with his abyssal light. The two forces—once bitterly opposed—now created a harmony powerful enough to make the heavens tremble.
Their fusion birthed the Binding Flame—a construct of pure balance: destruction and rebirth, oblivion and light. It spiraled upward, carving runes across the sky, setting the battlefield ablaze with divine purpose.
The Maw lunged.
They met in the center of the torn cosmos.
Reality folded.
Every strike between Altharion and the Maw distorted spacetime. The Celestial Maw thrashed, but its wounds refused to close. Elyndra's flame burned within it now—an eternal fire that consumed not only matter but essence itself. Its immortality—its ceaseless hunger—was being unwritten.
Zepharion and Lira channeled protective wards, stabilizing the breach, while Varn etched the final blood sigil into the fractured heart of the realm.
Altharion, his body bleeding light, turned to Elyndra. "Now. It has to be you."
She hesitated, then nodded. Flames surged around her, forming an ancient seal—one older than the Veil itself. "By the Eternal Flame, I bind this wound. Let the Maw be sealed, and the realms breathe once more!"
The Binding Flame roared. The Maw screamed. Its body shattered into shards of stardust and screams, consumed entirely by the very force it once mocked.
Light burst across the realms—every plane touched by the battle felt the shift. The war was over.
Altharion collapsed to one knee, drained, his arcane core flickering. Elyndra stood beside him, her eyes wet with exhausted relief.
"You chose redemption," he said weakly.
"And I would choose it again," she whispered.
The sky mended slowly, like scars healing over time. But the damage had been done—and the consequences would linger.
Lira approached, placing a hand on Elyndra's shoulder. "You saved us all. Both of you."
Zepharion added, "But the work isn't done. Rebuilding the Veil will take more than heroes. It will take guardians."
Elyndra looked to Altharion.
"No," he smiled. "Not guardians—teachers."
The world was new. The war was over.
But the story wasn't finished.