Ryle's eyes snapped open.
Pain stabbed through every muscle, every bone. His arms trembled just from pushing against the ground. Blood crusted his lips, and his right side burned, pulsing with unbearable heat.
But inside that agony, something new flickered.
Strength.
Hope.
Fire.
He rose, broken but unyielding, his eyes blazing like twin stars.
Ahead of him, Thea stood alone before the radiant figure of Michael.
Her small hand lifted, trembling — but not with fear.
Michael's face twisted into an angelic sneer as he raised the Hero's Sword, now fused as Kriz, high above his head.
But then...
The sword shuddered in his grasp.
Cracks spiderwebbed across its radiant surface.
Michael's eyes widened.
The Hero's Sword rejected him.
With a deafening crack of light, Kriz split apart, reforming into two blades: the Twinlight Swords.
They shot back to Thea, landing perfectly into her waiting hands.
Michael staggered back, disbelieving.
"You—no—impossible—!"
Thea's silver hair danced around her like a halo as she spun, Twinlight flashing.
With a single, fluid motion, she sliced through the air — and severed one of Michael's wings.
Michael screamed, clutching at the stump, light pouring from the wound.
Behind Thea, Ryle's body ignited with purple energy.
His right side glowed — not from human power, but from something deeper.
Ignilth's.
His dragon blood awakened fully for the final time.
Black scales shimmered across his arms, and ghostly wings of shadow and light flickered at his back.
Ryle met Thea's eyes.
No words needed.
Together, they charged.
Michael roared, summoning golden spears and crashing waves of divine magic.
The world split and cracked under his fury.
But Thea danced between the chaos, blades singing.
Ryle crashed through barriers and light, his fists and claws tearing apart Michael's illusions.
Side by side, they pressed forward — faster, brighter, unstoppable.
Twinlight and dragon claws pierced straight through Michael's heart.
The light around him faltered.
His wings collapsed into dust.
His crown shattered.
Michael's lips curled into a strange, gentle smile.
He whispered with his last breath:
"You shine...like a mirror..."
His body disintegrated into stardust, carried away by the final gusts of battle.
Silence.
And then—
The demon army crumbled in an instant.
Flesh twisted and reformed — monstrous forms collapsing back into normal humans.
Men and women fell to their knees, crying in disbelief, clutching at their restored bodies.
The battle was over.
But not without tragedy.
The holy knights swept in, putting an end to the chaos, rounding up survivors, mourning the cost of salvation.
Among them stood Kessia, her eyes hollow, her hands stained.
She turned to Ryle and Thea.
Tears streaked her bruised face.
"I..."
Her voice cracked.
"I'm not part of your story anymore."
She forced a bitter smile, one hand over her heart.
"I'll return to Nyatora. My home."
Without another word, she turned and walked away, the shadows swallowing her slender figure.
Ryle watched her go, his heart heavy with unspoken words.
When he looked down at his right hand — the place where Ignilth's dragon crest had always glowed faintly —
he found it gone.
The mark had vanished.
Ignilth was truly...gone.
Ryle closed his eyes, breathing out slowly.
The world was finally at peace.
Years passed.
The sword was sheathed.
The darkness never returned.
In a small, sunny house at the edge of a lively village, Ryle dozed on a soft couch, snoring lightly.
"Papa! Papa!"
Two small bodies crashed into him.
A little boy with wild silver hair and a girl with golden curls tugged at his sleeves and pants.
"Mama said dinner's ready!" they chirped in unison.
Ryle groaned dramatically, flopping over onto his side.
"Tell Mama five more minutes," he muttered.
"Nooo!" the kids whined, pulling harder.
Across the room, Thea sat smiling at the wooden table, a steaming dinner spread out before her.
The setting sun poured golden light through the windows, painting the scene in warmth and peace.
"Come on, sleepyhead," Thea said, laughing. "You're not getting out of this."
Ryle dragged himself up, scooping both children into his arms with exaggerated grunts.
"I'm being kidnapped by tiny bandits," he declared solemnly.
Their laughter filled the house — pure, joyous, alive.
As they all sat down, the front door burst open with a loud bang.
A familiar voice shrieked across the countryside:
"MY GRANDBABY!!!"
Vaelthia, looking no older, stormed inside, nearly tripping over her own excitement.
Ryle chuckled, resting his chin in his hand.
The world had changed.
Pain had come.
Loss had cut deep.
But in the end — life had gone on.
They had won.
They had lived.
And now, finally, they could smile under the endless, peaceful sky.
The End.