The wind howled across the balcony, high above the city that had learned to kneel in philosophies Caelum once spoke through gritted teeth. Lights blinked below like stars trying to copy the sky.
He stood alone.
Behind him, the Whisper Parliament was expanding—new councils, exported doctrines, art curated to reflect his creed. Every fracture he'd designed now pulsed like infrastructure. He had become gravity.
But something cracked.
Halron Vale had begun rebuilding, faster than expected. Artists refuting his symbols. Alren's third poem trended for days:
"Power is loud. Healing whispers."
The devil appeared.
Not as shadow.
As herself—this time whole, this time smiling. Her voice no longer teasing.
"Choose."
She held out two things:
A contract that would cement Caelum's control across continents. Eternal myth. Doctrine worshipped. Soul spent.
A letter. From Elena Varis. An old ally who'd never stopped hoping he might turn back. It was handwritten. Forgiving.
Caelum stared.
Time didn't tick here.
No audience watched.
His empire wouldn't collapse if he hesitated. But something else might.
He didn't speak.
He placed the contract on the balcony rail.
Watched the wind take it.
The devil blinked once.
"That's not surrender," she said.
Caelum nodded. "It's pause."
She faded.
He stood in quiet.
And somewhere far below, the child's poem echoed:
"We glow."