The battlefield hung in orbit.
Twisted wreckage of Syndicate dreadnoughts drifted in silence, bodies frozen in space like morbid statues. Fires glowed dimly where oxygen still clung to broken hulls. But amidst the chaos, the Nyxosian fleet held strong, surrounding the Leviathan's shattered remains like guardians of an ancient truth.
Lucien stood on the outer deck of the command ring, helmet off, eyes sharp. Ash still clung to his cloak, the Soulsteel dagger bloodstained but clean in its cut. He could feel the pulse of the universe again, faint threads of reality tugging at him like old friends. Something deeper than victory beat in his chest.
"Status?" he asked.
Kaelis approached, her armor cracked in places but her posture unshaken. "Seventeen enemy vessels confirmed down. The remaining forces scattered into deep space. We've secured the orbital gate."
"And casualties?"
"Thirty Nyxosian lives lost. Eleven were Guardians of the Inner Ring."
Lucien bowed his head. "We honor them. Burn their names into the memory stones."
Kaelis nodded. "Already done."
Behind them, Isla leaned against the frame of the open hatch, arms crossed, face shadowed with thought.
"You should rest," Lucien said, stepping toward her.
She gave him a bitter laugh. "We just broke the Syndicate's spine. And you think I'm going to sleep through that?"
He smiled faintly. "You earned it."
Her expression darkened. "You remember him yet? The one who gave you up to the Syndicate?"
Lucien's jaw tensed.
"Not a memory," he said. "A truth."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a crystalline shard—black onyx laced with living silver. When he touched it, it projected a vision: a throne room of fire, a man draped in violet robes, kneeling before a council.
"My brother," Lucien said.
Isla's eyes widened. "He betrayed you?"
"He sold me to the Syndicate in exchange for power. When I reincarnated the first time, he tried to erase my memory. Every lifetime since, he's been hunting me."
Kaelis's voice was grim. "Then he's the one pulling the strings."
Lucien nodded. "He's the last of them now. The original architect. The Syndicate was just a tool."
Isla stepped closer. "So where is he?"
"Earth," Lucien said. "Hidden behind the last gate. A dimensional anchor locked from both ends. But Nyxos has the key now."
Kaelis looked toward the stars. "Then we prepare for the descent."
"No," Lucien said. "We prepare for judgment."
---
Hours later, Lucien stood before the Flamewell—an ancient forge at the heart of Nyxos's temple. The forge had been dormant for centuries, waiting for the one whose blood bore the mark of the original line.
His line.
The high priests circled the altar, chanting in a forgotten tongue. Lucien stripped off his cloak, stepped barefoot into the forge, and laid the Soulsteel dagger into the flame.
The weapon screamed—not in pain, but in recognition. Threads of fire rose from it, binding to his skin, etching new runes across his chest and arms. Power surged through him, raw and unstable.
"Let the final war begin," he whispered.
---
That night, alone in the silence of the high spire, Isla found him sitting by the dusk window, gaze distant.
"I know that look," she said, softly. "You're not sure you'll come back."
He nodded once.
"If this ends the way I think it will… I won't be me when it's over."
She moved beside him, placing her hand over his.
"Then let me remember you. All of you. Not the power, not the past. Just the man who stood against it all."
Lucien met her eyes. "Even if I fall?"
"Especially if you fall."
In the silence that followed, the stars dimmed.
And Earth, unaware, waited for the god it once tried to destroy.