By the second sunrise, word of the Seventh Rebirth had spread across the reborn lands. Some whispered Lyn's name as salvation. Others—curse.
The old citadel, half-sunken into the obsidian dunes, had become a gathering point for those who could not let go of faith. Banners of woven light hung from its broken towers, glowing faintly with borrowed mana.
Lyn stood at the edge of the valley, watching the flickering silhouettes below.
Rhea joined him, her cloak fluttering in the wind. "They've begun calling it the 'Dawn Creed.' They say the Seventh Rebirth was a divine trial—that the gods chose you to finish what they began."
Lyn's expression didn't change. "Then they still haven't learned."
"They're scared," she said quietly. "The Seals are gone. The world's unstable. They need something to believe in."
"Belief shouldn't mean surrender."
Umbra's voice rippled softly in his mind. —You cannot unteach faith overnight. Even rebellion becomes scripture, given time.
Arden trudged up beside them, his armor dented but gleaming faintly in the morning light. "I counted thirty banners. Maybe forty. They're recruiting fast. If they see you, it'll either spark unity… or another war."
Lyn watched the movement below—tamers kneeling before a half-repaired altar, their spirit beasts flickering in faint imitation of obedience. "No wars," he murmured. "Not again."
Rhea's brow furrowed. "Then what's your plan?"
"We walk among them," Lyn said. "Not as gods. As reminders."
They descended slowly, shadows stretching long behind them. The Creed's sentinels saw them first—robed figures with crests carved into their palms instead of born. Their eyes widened as Lyn approached.
"Shadowborn," one whispered, half in awe, half in fear. "You live."
"Unfortunately," Lyn said evenly.
The guards hesitated, then knelt. "You've come to bless the Dawn."
He looked down at them, voice quiet but unflinching. "No. I've come to make sure it doesn't turn into another night."
A murmur spread through the crowd as more emerged—hundreds now, tamers and spirits alike. At their head stood a young woman wrapped in pale gold robes, her crest shining like sunlight on water.
"I am Solenne, Keeper of the Dawn Creed," she said, voice calm and melodic. "We welcome the Liberator. The one who slew the false gods."
Lyn met her gaze. "Don't call me that."
She tilted her head slightly. "Then what should we call you, if not the bringer of a new age?"
"Call me what I am—a tamer. Nothing more."
Her smile didn't falter, though her eyes grew colder. "Humility is divine, too. Perhaps that's why the Seventh chose you."
Rhea stepped forward. "You speak like the gods are still watching."
"They are," Solenne said softly. "Through us. Through him." She gestured toward Lyn. "The gods did not die, Tamer Rhea. They changed form."
Arden muttered under his breath. "Here we go again…"
Lyn's voice cut through the growing whispers. "The gods didn't change. They ended. And what you worship now is only the echo of fear."
Solenne's calm wavered, then hardened. "Fear keeps the world standing."
"No," he said quietly. "It keeps it on its knees."
The air trembled. Mana rippled between them—two philosophies meeting like blades. Around them, the followers watched, uncertain whether to kneel or stand.
Umbra's whisper coiled through Lyn's thoughts. —Careful. The spark you strike here could light another war.
He exhaled slowly, then turned away. "Keep your Creed. But remember—if your faith starts building chains again, I'll be there to break them."
Without another word, he walked past her and through the crowd. None dared stop him.
Behind him, Solenne watched in silence, her hand trembling slightly as light gathered at her fingertips.
"Chains?" she murmured under her breath. "No, Shadowborn. We are forging wings."
The wind shifted, carrying the first echoes of a new struggle rising beneath the fragile dawn.