Valerus stood amidst the smoldering ruins of the capital, his body a map of tremors and exhaustion. He leaned heavily on his two swords, Apex and Valor, their tips driven into the cracked earth just to keep himself upright. Every breath felt like inhaling shards of glass, his lungs burning as he stared through the haze at the two figures standing before him.
How? The thought echoed in the hollow chambers of his mind. How in the world are they still standing after all that? He had poured every drop of his Hera into the void, had reached out and shattered a celestial body, and yet they looked as though they had just returned from a stroll in the palace gardens.
Arthur stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying clarity. "You're shocked, aren't you? Wondering how we survived that attack of yours."
He paused, a rare flicker of genuine respect crossing his face. "That Overdrive of yours… it was staggering. Even for us. We couldn't even stand upright. We were completely overwhelmed, drowned in a power that no mortal should possess. Against any other opponent in history, Valerus, you would have won. After all," Arthur's voice dropped to a chilling whisper that seemed to carry across the entire city, "that last attack was powerful enough to destroy the moon itself."
The revelation rippled through the survivors like a physical blow. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the gathered armies before the whispers erupted.
"The moon?" an Aethelgardian soldier stammered, his sword shaking in his hand. "He… he destroyed the moon?"
"What kind of monster possesses that much power?" another questioned, backing away in primal fear.
Even among the Chronohelixians, the mood was one of awe mixed with dread. "I knew he was strong, but this?" one captain muttered. "But wait… if the moon is gone, what will we see when the sun goes down? What happens at sunset?"
"I'm more terrified of the King," another added, his voice trembling. "They took a lunar-shattering blast head-on and they're laughing. They really are immortal. They aren't humans anymore."
Lysandra listened to the panicked murmurs, a thin, cruel smile playing on her lips. "Listen to them, Arthur," she cooed. "Such bewilderment is only natural. It is the sound of insects realizing they are in the presence of absolute power."
Arthur turned his gaze back to Valerus, his pity sharper than any blade. "Look at you. You can hardly stand. It's only natural that you succumb to the fatigue. You took down three thousand of my finest soldiers before you even reached this room—most of them trained hard to master their Hera. These are warriors who had tapped into their own Overdrives. You swept through them like a scythe through wheat without even breaking your stride. You only drew upon your true power when you faced us."
Lysandra's grin widened, showing teeth. "But because you are up against Gods, Valerus, you will lose this battle. Your effort was magnificent, but ultimately… meaningless."
Valerus's grip tightened on his hilts. His knuckles turned white. "Interesting," he wheezed, his voice raspy and deep. "How about I try again?"
With a guttural roar, he forced his spirit to ignite once more. The air began to vibrate. Overdrive: Apocalypse began to flicker back to life.
The confidence on Arthur's face vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of sheer horror and primal fear. "Not again," he hissed, his voice cracking. "No… stay down!"
Purple lightning began to lash out from the clouds, and a violent gale tore through the earth. But just as the black flames began to lick the air, a clear, resonant voice rang inside Valerus's mind.
"Master… Valor and I wish to speak with you." It was Apex, the golden blade, her voice humming through his nervous system.
"Not now, Apex!" Valerus snarled back through their mental link. "This is not the time!"
"Apologies, Master," Apex replied, calm and insistent. "But this is important."
"More important than this battle? Than the revolution?" Valerus questioned, his mind racing even as the storm around him intensified. "What is it?"
"Master," Valor, the black blade, joined in, her voice deeper and grittier. "You are the strongest man alive. Perhaps the strongest to ever live. But even your strength cannot kill these two bastards. Not like this. You cannot murder eternity with raw force."
"There has to be a way!" Valerus shouted internally. "Does their immortality have no weakness? No end?"
"Indeed, there is a way to win," Valor said, the words heavy with a dark gravity. "A way to end this once and for all. However… it comes with a heavy cost."
"I don't care about the cost!" Valerus's mental voice was a scream of desperation. "Name it! I will do anything to stop them!"
"Very well," the swords chorused in a haunting, synchronized harmony. "Then let us all go on a journey… to Wearth."
Suddenly, the pressure in the air vanished. The purple lightning died in the sky, and the windstorm collapsed into a dead, eerie calm. Valerus's Overdrive deactivated instantly, leaving him standing in the silence.
Arthur and Lysandra both let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. Arthur wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his arrogance rushing back to fill the void of his fear. "Looks like he's finally reached his limit," the King laughed, his eyes bright with triumph. "He's exhausted. There is no way he can call upon that annoying power again."
But Valerus didn't fall.
He stood perfectly still before them. Slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes weren't tired anymore; they were glowing with a steady, haunting golden light. A twin aura—one of pure gold and one of deepest shadow—began to envelope his body, weaving together like a shroud. His expression hardened into something cold, ancient, and absolute.
"His eyes… they're alive again," Lysandra whispered, her voice trembling for the first time. The dull glaze of fatigue had vanished, replaced by a terrifying, luminous clarity. "Where is he finding this energy? He should be empty!"
"Don't ask me," Arthur snapped, his body tensing into a defensive crouch.
The royal couple narrowed their focus, every sense pushed to the limit to avoid even the slightest distraction. But the world moved faster than their god-like reflexes. An arched blade of wind, silent and invisible, tore through the space between them. They moved to dodge, but the wind was hungry; it didn't just pass—it bit. In a twin spray of crimson, both Arthur and Lysandra's hands were severed at the wrist, falling to the dust before they even felt the sting.
They recoiled, coughing as the shock hit their systems. "What! What was—" Arthur began, but the sentence died in his throat.
Valerus was no longer in front of them. He was right behind.
With a movement that blurred the line between speed and teleportation, Valerus stepped into their shadows. He didn't slash; he struck with the hilts of his twin blades, touching the center of their backs with a surgical precision. Upon impact, two glowing geometric symbols erupted onto their skin—one a shimmering gold from Apex, the other a void-like black from Valor.
"Sealing Technique: Eternal Void!" Valerus roared.
The Immortals scrambled backward, clutching their rapidly regenerating stumps. "A sealing technique?" Arthur yelled, his voice cracking with panicked realization. "Is he trying to cage us?"
The answer manifested in the heavens. A localized black hole tore open in the sky above the ruins, a swirling vortex of nothingness that began to howl with an irresistible gravitational pull. The wind shifted from a gale to a vacuum. Arthur and Lysandra felt their boots leave the ground as they were slowly hauled toward the event horizon.
Their hands finished knitting together just in time for them to grab hold of reality. Lysandra lunged for Arthur, locking her arms around his waist, while Arthur slammed his fingers into a reinforced iron pole jutting from the palace wreckage.
"No matter what, do not let go!" Lysandra shrieked over the roar of the void.
"I've got you!" Arthur screamed back. His fingers dug into the metal, the pressure so intense that his own bones began to crack and blood seeped from beneath his nails, but he held on with the desperate strength of a man staring into his own grave.
Through the chaos of the storm, Valerus began to walk. He moved majestically, unaffected by the gravity that was shredding the earth around him. He slung his black blade, Valor, across his right shoulder with the casual grace of a reaper finishing his harvest.
"Valerus?" Lysandra gasped, her eyes wide with terror.
"What are you doing…" Arthur choked out.
Valerus stopped just a few paces away, looking at them with a gaze that seemed to span centuries. He let out a long, weary sigh that cut through the noise of the vortex. "This curse… it has gone on far too long."
He gripped the hilt of Valor and brought the black blade down in a blinding arc. "But it ends now!"
The black steel flashed. With a single, precise strike, Valerus slashed across Arthur's eyes. Blinded and reeling from the agonizing pain, Arthur's grip failed. His bloodied fingers slipped from the pole.
"NOOOOO!"
Their twin screams were swallowed by the abyss as the gravity finally claimed them. Like dust in a storm, the King and Queen of Aethelgard were sucked into the black hole. As soon as the last of their silhouettes vanished into the dark, the vortex snapped shut.
The silence that followed was absolute.
A small, dense black sphere—the size of a marble—fell from the sky, bouncing once on the scorched stone before coming to a rest at Valerus's feet.
Valerus reached down and picked it up. He held the prison of the gods in his palm, then raised Valor once more. He pierced the very fabric of the air with the black sword and twisted it, as if turning a key in a lock that had been rusted shut for an eternity.
"The place of no return… Wearth! OPEN!"
A pillar of blinding white light descended, swallowing Valerus whole. When the light faded, Valerus was gone.
The soldiers and citizens stood frozen, looking at the empty space where the battle had raged. "What happened to him?" a Chronohelixian asked, his voice hushed.
"He vanished," another whispered, looking toward the shattered sky. "Is he… is he dead?"
The Dimension of Wearth
Valerus stood alone.
He found himself in a realm that defied description—a silent, vast expanse where the horizon seemed to stretch into infinity. There was no wind here, no fire, no screams. Just a profound, heavy peace.
"So this is Wearth, huh?" he murmured, his voice echoing in the stillness.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small black sphere. He looked at it for a long moment, seeing the faces of everyone he had lost—Caius, the soldiers, the innocent. A deep, hollow sadness settled in his chest. "After this," he whispered, "it's finally over."
He tossed the sphere into the distance. It didn't bounce; it simply existed there, a tiny speck of darkness in a world of grey light, where time had no meaning. Valerus turned his back on his enemies and began to walk away.
Back on Earth, the same blinding light erupted in the center of the ruins.
"It's the light again! Stay back!" a captain shouted, shielding his eyes.
The crowd held their breath as a figure emerged from the glow. Valerus stepped out, his clothes torn and his face weary, and as the light vanished behind him, a roar of pure jubilation broke the silence. The people surged forward, soldiers and citizens alike, throwing their arms around him and jumping in celebration. The nightmare was over.
Valerus forced a small, tired smile as he sheathed Apex and Valor. "Um, excuse me," he said softly to the nearest Chronohelixian, "I'll be back. I just need a moment."
"Of course, hero!" the man replied, beaming.
Valerus walked away from the cheers, slipping behind a standing wall of the ruined palace where the shadows could hide him. The moment he was alone, the strength left his legs. He collapsed against the stone, gasping for air, his lungs hitching as the adrenaline died.
"Athena… I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice breaking. His swords clattered to the floor, forgotten, as the memory of his sister flooded his mind like a torrential rain.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the final words of his swords echoing in his memory—the discussion that had led them to this lonely victory.
The victory was won, but as Valerus sat in the shadows of the ruins, the world began to fade into a cold, rhythmic pulse. To the people outside, he was a god who had conquered the immortals. Only he knew the truth of the bargain he had struck in those final, desperate moments.
As he leaned against the cold stone, the memory of that mental communion flooded back, clear and haunting.
Moments before the final strike…
"Wearth?" Valerus had questioned, the name tasting like ancient dust in his mind.
"Yes, Master," Valor had replied, its voice vibrating with a grim, final authority.
"What is it? What are you showing me?"
"It is a dimension outside of time," Valor explained. "It is a place that requires me—and a heavy sacrifice—to open."
Valerus's brow had furrowed as he stood before the laughing King and Queen. "What do you mean by a sacrifice?"
"Exactly what it sounds like," Valor said, the blade humming against Valerus's palm. "I am only half of the key. The other half is the life of the one who wields me to open the gate. To tear the fabric of reality wide enough to reach Wearth, one must pay with their very existence."
Valerus felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. "What does this have to do with the war? Why now?"
"I was still trapped in that rock the night Arthur and Lysandra completed their immortality project," Apex's voice chimed in, bright and sorrowful. "Emperor Arthur had Valor in his possession then. We felt the birth of their immortality; we knew then that they could never truly die by a blade. So, we decided to team up—to create a sealing technique that would bypass their flesh entirely. We called it the Eternal Void."
"Fine," Valerus countered, his mind racing. "If the Eternal Void seals them forever, why the need for this other dimension? Why Wearth?"
"Normally, the Void would be enough," Valor explained. "But these two are anomalies. They are immortal; they will still be breathing a million years from now. They are powerful enough that, given a thousand years of solitude, they might find a way to crack the seal from the inside. To truly end this, the Eternal Void must be cast into Wearth—a place where 'return' does not exist."
A soft, tragic smile had played at Valerus's lips even as he prepared the attack. "I see. So, once this is over… I'm going to die." He tightened his grip on the hilts, his resolve hardening into diamond. "Well, as long as it breaks this endless cycle, my life is a small price to pay."
The Present
The sounds of jubilation from the city felt like they were coming from another world. Valerus sat alone in the debris, his head bowed, chin resting against his chest.
The sacrifice was taking its toll.
He didn't feel the pain anymore, only a profound, numbing cold. A heavy gout of blood gushed uncontrollably from his side, staining the grey dust of Cinder a deep, dark crimson. The price of the gate was being collected.
"Athena… I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice a mere shadow of a breath.
Thoughts of his lover—her laugh, her face, the life they should have had—rained into his mind like a cooling mist, washing away the fire of the battle and the soot of the volcanoes. His fingers, still curled near the hilts of the swords that had been his only companions, slowly relaxed.
The hero of Cinder, the man who had broken the moon to save the earth, finally became still.
The capital was a sea of sound, a cacophony of relief and triumph that shook the very air. Yet, amidst the roaring cheers of the Chronohelixians, a heavy shroud of unease hung over the Aethelgardians. They stood in the shadows of their ruined homes, eyes darting with the fear of the conquered, certain that the chains of enslavement were already being forged for their wrists.
As the sun began its slow descent, the remaining fifteen spies—the ghosts who had moved unseen through the empire—finally coalesced in the heart of Cinder. They did not speak; they simply reached for one another, pulling into a tight, trembling circle of embraces. Across the vast reach of the empire, the magical broadcasts flickered to life, projecting the ruins of the capital and the faces of the survivors to every province, allowing those miles away to witness the end of an epoch.
Amidst the throng, Athena moved with a restless, frantic energy. Her eyes scanned every face, every shadow, every pile of rubble.
"Athena!" Luisa called out, catching her daughter's arm. "Where are you going in this mess?"
"Mother, I'm looking for Valerus," Athena said, her voice strained and thin. "It's been three hours since I arrived in Cinder and I haven't seen a trace of him. I'm worried, Mother. Something feels wrong."
Luisa softened, seeing the genuine fear in Athena's eyes. She squeezed her hand firmly. "Calm down. We'll find him. Let's search for him together."
"Alright," Athena whispered, though her gaze never stopped searching the horizon.
Nearby, nestled within the dense crowd, Princess Alexandra stood surrounded by the battle-worn members of the Shield. Thane leaned in, his voice low but carrying the weight of a command. "Alexandra. Why don't you address the people?"
Alexandra's brows furrowed, her eyes widening. "Why me?"
"Because you are the sole surviving member of the El Drodragon clan," Isolde said, her hand wrapped in blood-stained bandages. "You are the heir to the throne. You are the one we will follow. You shall be our Empress."
"But what about Valerus?" Alexandra questioned, "He played the biggest role in all of this. He should be the one leading."
"I'm sure that if Valerus were here, he'd be the first to agree that you are the right choice, Princess," Elara said with a weary but encouraging smile.
Alexandra let out a long, shaky sigh, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. "You guys just won't let me have a moment to breathe, will you?"
She turned and began to navigate through the crowd, stepping toward the front of the makeshift stage. As she looked out at the thousands of faces—and the invisible millions watching through the magic relays—nerves threatened to choke her. She took a breath, steadied her hands, and began.
"Good evening, everyone," she started, her voice gaining strength as it echoed through the silent streets. "My name is Alexandra—Princess Alexandra El Drodragon. And I am honored to stand before you as your new Empress."
A tidal wave of cheers and rhythmic clapping erupted from the Chronohelixians. Alexandra waited for the noise to subside, her expression turning somber.
"It has been a rough day," she continued, prompting a few dry laughs of agreement. "The Aethelgardians fought to maintain their rule, while we, the Chronohelixians, fought to reclaim what was stolen. But for now… we can finally take a breather."
A roar of genuine laughter swept through the crowd. Alexandra let the moment land before she deepened her tone.
"We have been fighting for centuries. This war is a curse that has plagued our homes, our families, and our very souls. Every single person here has lost someone they loved. But a friend of mine once said something to me that I will never forget. He said, let us create a future full of light, laughter, and hope. He created this country and called it Chronohelix because he believed that within its borders, there is no Thorenzia, there is no Vylonia… and there is no Aethelgard."
A stunned, electric silence fell over the Aethelgardian refugees as they heard their name spoken with respect instead of malice.
"This is a new journey for a new empire," Alexandra shouted, her voice ringing with a conviction that reached the furthest provinces. "Let us live together as one! Together, we are stronger! Say it with me!"
The response was deafening. Across the empire, from the ruins of Cinder to the distant provinces, the cry rose up in a singular, earth-shaking chorus.
"TOGETHER, WE ARE STRONGER!"
Tears of joy streamed down the faces of those who had known only war. They chanted her name, a rhythm of hope that filled the air, as Alexandra waved to her people—unaware of the silent, still figure resting nearby in the area.
The celebration of the new empire echoed in the distance, but in the desolate graveyard of the castle ruins, the air was thick with a crushing silence. Athena and Luisa moved through the landscape of jagged stone and pulverized marble, their silhouettes small against the backdrop of the leveled district.
They worked with a frantic, rhythmic desperation, prying at heavy slabs of debris and turning over scorched remnants of the foundation. Every piece of rubble they overturned was a hope that he was simply trapped—and a fear that they would find him crushed beneath it.
"Where was he seen last?" Luisa asked, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the exertion.
"Someone… someone said they saw him walking this way," Athena replied, her voice high and thin, vibrating with an edge of panic. She threw a piece of masonry aside, her hands raw and dusted with white ash. "That's why I came here! He has to be here! Where did he go, Mother?! Where is he?!"
Luisa moved quickly, stepping over a fallen pillar to catch Athena's trembling hands. "Calm down, honey," she commanded gently, forcing her daughter to stop. "Look at me. Look at me, Athena."
Athena's eyes, bright with unshed tears, finally locked onto her mother's.
"We will find him," Luisa promised, her voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "Do you hear me? We will find—"
Luisa's voice trailed off. Athena's expression didn't just change; it shattered. Her eyes widened into orbs of sudden, horrific clarity, and her mouth fell open in a silent gasp. She wasn't looking at her mother anymore—she was looking past her, toward a shadowed hollow behind a heap of blackened stone.
"What is it? Athena, what's the matter?" Luisa asked, but she already knew the answer by the way the air seemed to leave the space between them.
Athena didn't answer. She wrenched her hands free and bolted. She scrambled over the debris with a desperate, animal-like speed, her boots slipping on the ash. Luisa followed close behind, her own heart hammering against her ribs.
They skidded into the small clearing and stopped.
There, seated against a jagged spur of the castle's foundation, was Valerus. He looked as though he had simply sat down to rest, his posture quiet and upright. Beside him, the twin blades Apex and Valor lay motionless in the dust, their legendary glow replaced by the dull sheen of cold steel.
He was perfectly still. The blood that had stained his side had long since stopped flowing, leaving a dark, dried mark on the earth.
Athena let out a sound that was less a cry and more a soul-deep wail. She collapsed to her knees, reaching out to pull his heavy, lifeless form toward her. She slid his head onto her lap, her fingers brushing the hair away from his cold forehead as if she could wake him from a mere sleep.
She began to weep, the sound of her grief raw and jagged, echoing off the ruins of the empire he had died to save. Her heart, which had held onto hope through every battle and every loss, finally broke into a thousand pieces.
Luisa stood a few feet away, her strength failing her. She didn't move to comfort her daughter—she couldn't. She simply stood there, a witness to the tragic cost of peace, as the tears finally spilled over and streamed down her own cheeks in the fading light.