The rising sun painted the sky with hues of crimson and gold, casting a muted glow across the battlefield. Smoke still curled from the scorched earth, and the air crackled faintly with residual divine energy. The Maw had been sealed—buried beneath the earth by the combined force of ancient rites and blood sacrifices. But even in triumph, there was no celebration.
Isaiah stood among the scorched remains of the sealing circle, exhaustion weighing down his limbs. He clutched a tattered grimoire, pages fluttering in the wind, his gaze scanning the horizon for some sign—any sign—that the worst was truly over.
The silence was broken by a sudden surge of mythic energy, a pulse that rippled through the very air. A shimmer formed in the distance, light bending unnaturally as if the world itself were holding its breath. Then, he stepped through.
Lucian.
Clad in a dark cloak lined with celestial threads, eyes burning with a restrained fire, Lucian emerged from the rift like a figure returned from legend. The wind coiled around him as if recognizing its master. He stood still for a moment, surveying the aftermath.
Isaiah froze. "Lucian... you're alive."
Lucian's gaze landed on him. "Alive—and late."
Isaiah chuckled bitterly, relief fighting with disbelief. "You always did have dramatic timing."
Clara and Velkyr approached quickly, their expressions a mixture of shock and awe. Clara's voice trembled. "We thought we lost you. When the Maw broke through—"
Lucian raised a hand. "There's no time. The Maw's sealing is only temporary."
Velkyr's eyes narrowed. "You've seen something."
Lucian nodded. "I was pulled into the Veiled Realm when the Maw erupted. There, I saw what lies beyond. The gods are not slumbering anymore. They're watching. Waiting."
Isaiah stepped forward, his scholar's curiosity lighting up. "Then it's true—the pantheon is stirring."
Lucian turned to him. "It's more than that. They're awakening one by one. And with each seal that breaks, they return with their ancient hunger. We sealed the Maw, but the Spiral of Descent has begun."
Isaiah flipped to his notes, fingers trembling. "Mount Talos is next. One of the Echo Vaults is buried there."
Lucian gave him a look of approval. "Then that's where we go."
---
That evening, as the stars shifted in unfamiliar constellations, Lucian sat alone by the fire, his blade resting across his knees. He had changed. The world could feel it.
Isaiah approached cautiously. "It's good to have you back."
Lucian didn't look up. "I never truly left. I was just... redirected."
Isaiah sat across from him, his expression serious. "What happened to you in the Veiled Realm?"
Lucian looked into the flames. "I saw the end of this world—and the birth of something worse. Unless we act, the gods won't just return. They'll remake everything in their image."
Isaiah swallowed hard. "So we stop them."
Lucian's eyes finally met his. "Yes. But not just by fighting. By becoming something they can't predict."
Isaiah tilted his head. "What does that mean?"
Lucian smiled faintly. "We redefine what it means to be mythic. We take their power—and wield it as mortals. Not as gods."
A new chapter had begun. And Lucian, the long-lost prince of a forgotten myth, had returned to lead it.