Varvatos had finalized it.
After endless ages, the ancient magic woven into the very framework of reality — the Voice of the World — had been subtly altered by his hand.
The change was delicate, perfect, imperceptible to all but those who truly ruled creation itself. Now, his mark was imprinted into the very essence of existence.
The work was done.
His next destination was clear: the Cardinal World.
Back to where it all began.
Back to his true home.
Back to Nyvaris.
**
It was a normal day across the Cardinal World.
Merchants shouted their prices in bustling markets, the clang of metal on metal rang out from blacksmiths' forges, children laughed and played in sunlit fields, while nobles and politicians schemed behind grandiose closed doors.
In Nyvaris, the city that once flourished under Varvatos' watchful gaze, life continued as it always had.
Benimaru was at the military grounds, drilling a fresh group of recruits. His voice, powerful and commanding, echoed across the courtyard. The soldiers, eager but inexperienced, did their best to meet his rigorous expectations.
At the city's border, Diablo maintained strict vigilance. He, adorned in immaculate black garments, radiated an aura that made even the proudest merchant or nobleman lower their gaze.
Veldora, as usual, was somewhere causing mischief — sparring unnecessarily hard with soldiers, sneaking sweets from shops, or chasing after anything interesting.
Inside Varvatos' old manor, once the center of all power, Velzard sat by a massive crystalline window. Her usually commanding presence was subdued. Her hand pressed against the glass as she gazed at the clouds, her heart heavy, her mind lost in distant memories of the one she had loved and lost.
Life was normal.
And then — the world changed.
**
Without warning, every living being in the Cardinal World felt a sudden stillness, as if the air had turned to glass. The winds themselves seemed to pause. The sun shone more brightly, as if excited. Magic thickened, humming against the skin.
And then — a sound.
No, a voice.
Ancient.
Powerful.
Soft yet commanding, gentle yet absolute.
It wasn't heard with ears, but felt deep in every soul.
"Attention.
To all beings of the Cardinal World.
Prepare yourselves.
The God, the Supreme, the Commander, the One and Only...
Lord Varvatos...
...is about to descend."
**
The world froze.
**
Benimaru was mid-swing, his sword cleaving through the air toward a training dummy.
At the sound, he stopped instantly. His sword slipped from his grasp, embedding itself harmlessly in the dirt. His eyes widened, mouth slightly agape, his fiery spirit stunned into utter silence.
He fell to one knee without realizing it, murmuring:
"Lord... Varvatos..."
The recruits around him dropped their weapons, looking to the skies in awe and fear.
**
At the border, Diablo stood tall, radiating calm authority. When he heard the Voice of the World, his entire body trembled uncontrollably. His pupils dilated, his breathing became ragged.
He staggered back a step.
Then, with a sudden cry of overwhelming emotion, he dropped to both knees, pressing his forehead into the earth.
"My Lord...!" he gasped, tears pouring freely down his cheeks. "My true Lord! You have returned to us!"
**
Veldora, roughhousing with soldiers, froze.
The massive dragon-man stiffened, sniffed the air, then blinked up at the sky.
His usual silly demeanor evaporated.
Instead, he smiled — a true, deep, joyful smile.
"My buddy... He's back..." he whispered, voice thick with emotion.
He wiped a large, rough hand across his face to hide the sudden tears.
**
Inside the manor, Velzard gasped, clutching her chest as she stood up so fast that her chair toppled backward.
Tears flooded her vision instantly.
A broken sob escaped her lips — one of overwhelming relief and joy.
Without thinking, she rushed toward the courtyard, pushing open the massive doors, her bare feet silent on the stone floor, her snowy hair trailing behind her like a banner.
"Varvatos..." she whispered, over and over. "Varvatos...!"
And elsewhere...
Guy Crimson, in his icy throne room in the Ice Continent, was casually sipping a goblet of fine wine. When the announcement resounded, he choked, coughing and almost spitting the wine.
He stood up so fast his chair shattered into splinters. His red eyes blazed with wild, barely contained excitement.
"Hah! That stubborn bastard! I knew he'd come back!"
Gazel Dwargo, the stalwart king of the Dwarves in Dwargon, was sitting with his advisors. As the Voice echoed, he threw back his head and laughed, a loud, hearty sound that filled the room with energy.
He rose to his full imposing height, his heavy armor clanking with each movement.
"Finally, my friend... You return to us! We shall meet again!"
Elmesia, Empress of Sarion, was in the middle of a heated diplomatic negotiation with Erald Grimwald. The moment the words hit her ears, she screamed in sheer delight, startling everyone.
She bolted from her seat, grabbing Erald's hand like a little girl seeing her hero.
"Erald! I am going to Nyvaris! NOW!"
Before he could react, she was already walking away, her joy overflowing like a spring river.
Across the smaller kingdoms, among the tribes, even deep within the oceans, beings of every race turned their gazes skyward.
The forgotten.
The faithful.
The skeptical.
Even those who thought Varvatos was nothing more than an old legend... all now felt the undeniable truth pounding in their chests.
He was real.
And he was coming back.
Then, the skies changed.
Above Nyvaris, high in the heavens, a colossal golden circle formed — larger than a mountain, spinning slowly, inscribed with countless ancient sigils and shifting cosmic patterns.
Within the circle, a door appeared.
Not a normal door.
A door forged from the bones of stars and the blood of creation itself.
It was majesty incarnate.
It radiated authority so great that even standing near it made the strongest warriors feel like ants before a mountain.
The doors slowly, majestically opened — a low, thunderous hum vibrating through the world.
**
And then — he appeared.
Varvatos.
**
He emerged from the gateway with slow, deliberate steps, descending gently through the open sky.
He was transformed — beyond even what the greatest poets could have imagined:
His hair flowed behind him like liquid crystal, shining with every color and none.
His garments were woven from the threads of reality itself, shimmering and changing as he moved — sometimes looking like royal robes, sometimes a warrior's mantle, sometimes a being of pure energy.
His eyes — those deep, ageless eyes — held the weight of eternity, but also the warmth of a father, a brother, a friend.
Around him, a corona of divine light pulsed, stretching across the sky like auroras.
With each step downward, the land beneath bloomed — flowers of gold, silver, and amethyst sprouting in his wake.
The skies above Nyvaris wept gentle tears of light.
The people could not help it — they fell to their knees in waves, like ripples across a pond, overwhelmed by the sacred presence.
Soldiers wept openly.
Children clutched their mothers, awestruck.
Elders who had given up hope laughed and cried in equal measure.
Even Veldora, proud and mighty, sniffled loudly, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Diablo could only sob quietly into the ground, mumbling prayers of thanks.
Benimaru stood tall, trembling with emotion, fists clenched, tears slipping silently down his cheeks.
And Velzard, beautiful and regal, stepped forward from the crowd, her hands trembling, her heart hammering so violently it hurt.
She looked up at him, the tears blurring her vision, and whispered:
"Varvatos... Welcome home..."
**
Finally, Varvatos touched down at the heart of Nyvaris — atop the ancient platform where kings had once sworn their oaths.
He stood for a long moment, surveying his people, his home, his world.
Then, he smiled — a radiant, pure smile — and raised one hand.
The Voice of the World spoke once again:
"The supreme one has returned.
And with him... a new dawn."
The earth itself seemed to sigh in relief.
The Cardinal World rejoiced.
The age of Varvatos... had begun anew.