The storm had not stopped. The skies screamed as if the heavens mourned what was to come.
The battlefield lay in ruins—craters scorched by divine power, corpses buried beneath ash and rain, and the very earth cracked beneath the weight of too much sorrow.
Kael stood at the center of it all.
He was no longer the man they followed. The Crown of Thorns pulsed with corrupted light, the Eye embedded in his chest blazing like a second sun. Wings of black flame flared behind him, and every step he took rippled with godlike pressure.
The Twelve Thorns, scattered and bloodied, gathered again.
Valdran stepped forward, sword dragging behind him. His eyes were hollow, his voice heavy. "We cannot let him continue. This… this is not the King we swore to."
Lyra's voice cracked. "He's still in there."
Eclipse looked away. "That doesn't matter if the thing riding him burns the world."
"Then we die trying to save him," she said. "But I won't kill him."
The Thorns exchanged glances—broken, wounded, furious—and yet, they drew their weapons.
The final battle began.
Kael met them without a word. Shadows warped around him as he clashed with Valdran, their blades igniting shockwaves that split the clouds.
Luna and Eclipse struck next, vanishing in spirals of mist, only to be blown back by a roar of pure power.
Nereza screamed a curse, her storm above answering in kind—bolts of violet lightning tearing down, only to bend around Kael's form like frightened birds.
One by one, the Thorns unleashed everything. Memories. Pain. Love. Rage. And Kael stood against them, not out of hatred… but sorrow.
He didn't speak.
But something in his gaze, behind the glowing eyes and divine madness, whispered: I'm sorry.
Inside Kael's mind, the storm was different.
He stood before a great mirror of stars, watching a memory not his own. A battlefield in ages past. A warrior-king surrounded by gods. The sealing of N'therak—the same god now crawling beneath Kael's skin.
The words. The spell. The price.
The memory ended with a final whisper from the ancient king:
"It is not death that saves the world—it is sacrifice."
Kael opened his eyes.
On the battlefield, blood ran like rivers.
Valdran lay crumpled near the cliffside, his armor shattered. Nereza clutched her side, coughing curses. Luna was unconscious. Only Lyra stood now, trembling, bruised, but unbroken.
One of the Thorns—Eclipse—staggered to her, offering the last of his magic. "Go," he said, "end it. If not for him… for all of us."
Lyra nodded, tears mixing with the rain.
She stepped forward.
Kael waited, sword dragging at his side.
They clashed. It wasn't war—it was grief.
Steel screamed. Magic sang. Lyra poured everything she had into her strikes. Kael parried them all, gently, as if refusing to break her. But every blow weakened him, drew more of the Eye's light from him.
Their blades locked.
Her dagger pressed against his chest.
Tears streamed down her face. "Why won't you fight me!?"
Kael whispered, "Because I already lost the only thing I was trying to protect."
She screamed, pulled back her blade, and raised it for the final strike.
But she stopped.
The blade hovered over his heart.
"I can't kill you, brother."
He looked up—finally, truly—Kael again, not the god. And he smiled.
"I'm glad," he whispered.
He lifted his hand, placing it over hers.
"This… this is the only way I can protect you now."
Runes began to form in the air, spinning around them in ancient tongues.
Kael began to chant.
The spell from the memory. The divine sealing. The Eye screamed in protest as the light swallowed it.
"No!" Lyra shouted, trying to pull away, but he held her hand firmly.
He looked into her eyes—calm, resolute.
"I'll be waiting… in the quiet place between dreams. Don't cry too long."
Light consumed him.
His body fractured into a thousand burning petals, floating upward as the storm finally broke. The sky cleared for the first time in weeks.
Lyra stood alone in the silence.
And the world remembered what it meant to lose a king.