A crushing silence followed.
Ryan spoke at last.
"Half a power," he said calmly,
"is enough to break you."
Siron smiled.
"If it were enough,"
"I would not be standing here."
Eileen's voice followed.
"Half a power with a heart
is better than a complete power without one."
"Hearts do not make kings," Siron replied.
"And they save no one in the end."
Sera added sharply,
"And half powers united
are more dangerous than one complete power alone."
Siron smiled wider.
"Exactly."
"And that is why-"
"I will break you before you unite."
Ryan stepped forward, sword still in hand.
"And you," he asked quietly,
"do you truly believe this is the end of your path?"
Siron's eyes gleamed.
"And what do you want?"
Ryan answered without hesitation.
"I want the throne."
"I want to rule all realms."
Sera turned sharply.
"What—?!"
"That means war," Siron said.
"I don't care," Ryan replied.
He raised his sword slightly.
"I'm done being a weapon."
"Done being a shadow in other men's wars."
"If the kingdoms speak only power,"
"then I will become their language."
Inside Eileen, the woman's voice whispered:
This ambition will burn worlds.
Siron raised his hand.
"Siron," he said slowly,
"is not finished."
"But that name-"
"will not remain."
The black markings dimmed, sinking beneath his skin.
"The name," he said quietly,
"is the first thing to die."
He lifted his head.
"From now on...
my name is Zevyr."
No explosion followed.
Only certainty.
Far away, Queen Mary rose from her throne.
"The energy resonates again," she said firmly.
Dorgal stepped forward.
"Do we move?"
"Yes."
"The army will mobilize immediately."
When a scout returned, breathless-
"The pulse is steady."
"Toward the Mystic Forest."
Queen Mary raised her hand.
"Then we march into the heart of it."
In the forest, Zevyr stood reborn.
In the mountains, armies moved.
And the world stepped forward—
on the edge
of the Great War.