Hoshigawa was alive in its quiet way.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Just… moving.
Nax wiped down the counter with exaggerated seriousness, tongue slightly out as if the fate of the world depended on it. Mitsuki stacked bowls with perfect alignment, correcting Rei twice without saying a word. Asar swept the floor near the entrance, humming softly, eyes occasionally flicking toward the window.
Arata watched them for a moment.
Then he turned and walked toward the wide window overlooking the street, the late light pouring in like molten gold. He lowered himself into the chair there—not slouched, not stiff—but with the casual grace of someone who had never needed to prove authority.
Like royalty at rest.
He crossed one leg over the other, rested his elbow on the armrest, and smiled.
"So," he said softly, more to the world than to the room,
"things are finally going to get interesting now."
The kids glanced over instinctively.
Arata's gaze wasn't on them.
It was on everything beyond.
John and Alzwalt had met the Hero.
The Sky Islands had learned restraint—decorum born from loss.
The world had tasted chaos… and survived.
The final stage had been set.
"The Era of Dungeons," Arata murmured, eyes half-lidded, "can finally complete itself."
Outside, the air felt heavier.
As if reality itself agreed.
Morning light crept across the training grounds on Tessandra's island.
Kaelen stood before her, posture straight, breath steady, eyes sharper than they had been weeks ago.
Tessandra studied him quietly.
Then she nodded.
"You're ready," she said.
Kaelen blinked. "Ready…?"
"To clear dungeons alone," she replied. "Without my hand hovering over your back."
She turned, gesturing toward the distant cliffs where the land broke into jagged stone and spiraling ravines.
"There's a dungeon there. On the island itself. Its name is Canyan. It's unstable, layered, and unforgiving."
Kaelen felt his pulse quicken.
"You leave tomorrow morning," Tessandra added. "No escort. No intervention."
She looked back at him, eyes firm but proud.
"Trust what you've built."
Kaelen bowed deeply.
"I won't disappoint you."
She smiled faintly. "I know."
Elsewhere, Kaelven froze mid-step.
His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as something old and terrible pressed against his senses.
"…Zerathis," he muttered.
The air around him felt wrong. Twisted. Screaming in a way only his kind could hear.
"It's being invaded," he said slowly. "Demonic double-count beasts."
Alzwalt looked up from where he was leaning, arms crossed, expression lighting up—not with fear, but interest.
"Oh?" he said.
Then he grinned. "That sounds like fun."
Kaelven turned sharply. "You're coming?"
Alzwalt cracked his neck. "Obviously."
The grin sharpened.
"Let's go remind them whose world they're touching."
And with that, the two vanished—reality folding neatly behind them.
John arrived without announcement.
Kaelen felt him before he saw him—the pressure, the stillness, the way the world subtly adjusted.
John stood beside Tessandra, already removing his black suit, the mask dissolving like smoke as he exhaled.
He looked… human. Calm. Present.
"You've come far," John said, turning to Kaelen.
He reached out—and a blade manifested in his hand.
Not black.
Not violent.
Elegant.
Steel kissed with deep blue veins, the guard etched with sigils that pulsed faintly in rhythm with Kaelen's heartbeat.
"This is Axiomfall," John said, handing it over. "It won't fight for you. It will respond to you."
Kaelen accepted it with both hands.
The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, gravity bent slightly—and time seemed to hold its breath.
John nodded once. "Good."
Kaelen excused himself quietly, moving off to test the balance, the weight, the way it answered him.
Behind him, John stayed.
He sat with Tessandra. No armor. No mask. No titles.
Just time.
They talked.
They laughed softly.
They existed.
And Kaelen, watching from afar, understood something important.
He was stronger now.
Not just because of Tessandra.
Not just because of John and Alzwalt.
But because he had been shaped—challenged, broken, rebuilt.
He was the Hero of this era.
And that title demanded power to match.
Circuit Rank: Veteran.
Dual Circuit Mastery: Chrono & Gravity.
Combat Trait: Adaptive Genius.
This was only the beginning.
ZERATHIS —
The sky of Zerathis burned red.
A vast open field stretched endlessly, cracked earth pulsing with infernal light. Demonic creatures covered the land like a living plague.
Kaelven's breath caught.
"…This many," he whispered.
Alzwalt stood beside him, silent now.
Lower Demons surged in waves—
100,000 to 900,000 double count.
Mid-ranks prowled behind them—
1 to 100 million.
Advanced entities towered like walking calamities—
1 billion to 100 billion.
And then—
Kaelven felt it.
Something wrong.
Something vast.
"…There," he said carefully. "That one."
The leader.
Unmeasurable.
Kaelven swallowed.
He glanced at Alzwalt—and froze.
The man beside him no longer felt casual.
He felt… regal.
Godlike.
Alzwalt exhaled slowly.
"…Yeah," he said. "I see it."
His demeanor shifted—not rage, not joy—just cold certainty.
"One thing I hate most," he continued calmly, "is demons."
The ground trembled.
"And yet," Alzwalt said as six golden wings unfurled from his back, radiant and blinding, "that which I dislike is standing in my sight."
Light condensed in his hand, shaping into a sword so brilliant it cut shadows apart just by existing.
He pointed it forward.
His eyes were empty. Final.
"You filthy creatures," Alzwalt said quietly,
"come and meet your end."
The world screamed.
Three hundred thousand demons roared and surged forward at once—
All except the leader.
And Alzwalt stepped into them.