The wind howled like a beast loosed from a cage as Ael emerged from the glacial tomb. The sky above had shifted—a sickly red hue bleeding through the overcast clouds. Thunder rumbled, not from the heavens, but from the ground itself.
They felt it before they saw him.
Arienne turned first, her blade halfway drawn. Elric's knuckles whitened around his staff. Even Lyra, who'd always kept her emotions in check, took a cautious step back.
Because the man who stepped from the ruins was not the same one who had entered.
Ael stood taller, though his posture was still composed. His silver hair now shimmered faintly with threads of blue. His eyes—once cold and steely—now glowed faintly with an otherworldly arcane swirl. The runes of the ancient tomb still faintly traced his skin like frostbite turned gold.
And the air around him shifted, as if even the wind obeyed some silent command.
"…Ael?" Arienne asked, hesitant.
He looked at her, and for a moment, there was silence.
Then he nodded. "It's me. Mostly."
Elric stepped forward, lowering his staff. "You opened the seal."
"I didn't just open it," Ael replied, his voice heavier now—like he carried not one, but many voices within. "I accepted what lay inside. The Sleeper is gone. But his memories, his magic… his burden—they're mine now."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "That wasn't just a prison, was it?"
"No," Ael said. "It was a vault. And a tomb. The thing we sealed down there… it's stirring. The Executioner seeks to free it completely."
Elric swore under his breath. "What is it? A god? A monster?"
"A source," Ael said. "Of magic itself."
Arienne blinked. "Wait—you mean…"
"Yes," Ael interrupted. "The origin of all mana, the raw wellspring that the gods themselves feared. And if it wakes in full, this world will unravel."
Silence followed.
Then Arienne sheathed her sword with a slow, steady motion. "Then we stop him."
Ael looked at her—really looked. And for the first time in lifetimes, felt something real.
Trust.
Not born from manipulation, loyalty, or fear—but earned.
"We will," he said softly. "But I need you to understand—this war is no longer just about kingdoms or crowns. The Executioner serves something older, something he barely understands. He's not just after me anymore."
Elric frowned. "Then what?"
Ael turned toward the horizon. In the distance, pillars of black smoke rose where villages once stood. The sky shimmered faintly, like reality itself was stretching thin.
"He's trying to merge our world with the Void—the realm beyond magic," Ael said. "Where the first sorcerers went mad, and the gods bled themselves dry to contain it. If he succeeds…"
"There will be no world left," Lyra finished grimly.
Ael nodded.
There was a pause before he spoke again—quieter this time. "And I'll need you to stop me… if I change."
Arienne stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're changing already. But not into a monster."
He looked at her, eyes filled with flickering mana.
She smiled. "You're becoming human."
For a moment, he didn't know what to say. He had ruled without emotion. Had died without regret. And now, here he stood—alive again, no longer alone, and feeling something that made his chest ache.
Hope.
"I never wanted this," he murmured.
"But you accepted it," Lyra said. "That's what makes you different from him."
Elric lifted his staff. "So what's the plan, my king?"
Ael turned to face them all.
"We move south," he said. "To the Ashen Wastes. That's where the next seal is. If the Executioner gets there before us, the Void will break through."
"And if we get there first?" Lyra asked.
"Then we seal it again," Ael said. "With me as the key, if necessary."
"You'd die," Arienne said sharply.
"I already did once."
"No," she snapped. "Not again."
He looked at her, truly seeing the tears she refused to let fall.
And for the first time, he felt warmth stir in his chest. A dangerous, beautiful warmth.
He reached out and touched her hand gently.
"Then let's make sure it doesn't come to that."
They mounted their steeds, wind snapping at their cloaks. The skies churned above, and the faint hum of unstable magic whispered across the land.
But for the first time in centuries—no, in two lives—Ael did not ride forward as a conqueror.
He rode as a protector.
As a man who had once been without emotion.
And now carried the weight of them all.