The battlefield groaned under the weight of impossible forces. Time fractured. Space recoiled. And Lucian, bathed in the glow of his myth-infused armor, faced the Unnamed.
They stood still—one a god restored, the other a god forgotten.
Around them, memories cascaded like waterfalls, visible to the naked eye. Civilizations long dead. Crowns forged from stardust. Oaths sworn in divine blood. Every myth ever told now circled this place, waiting to see who would write the next.
Lucian took the first step.
The ground responded—paving itself in golden light, as if recognizing its rightful sovereign.
"Speak," Lucian demanded, his voice steady. "Why did you begin the Sundering?"
The Unnamed did not answer in words, but thoughts. They surged into Lucian's mind—an overwhelming flood of agony and betrayal. Images of being cast out by the pantheon. Labeled an aberration. A myth too dangerous to be remembered.
You were afraid, the voice said. You caged stories that defied your order.
Lucian winced. He remembered the Council of Dawn. He remembered voting.
We made choices, he replied silently. But what you've done—tearing the Veil, devouring realms, corrupting mortals—that is no justice.
Then come prove it, the Unnamed whispered.
The sky screamed. Lightning made of concept and song crackled. The heavens darkened as the first blow fell.
The Unnamed surged forward, wielding a blade that cleaved ideas. Lucian met it with Dawnbreaker—his myth-born sword that fed on truth. The collision birthed a shockwave that shattered every falsehood in a hundred-mile radius. Trees became seeds. Ruins rebuilt themselves, then aged again into dust.
Isaiah, Clara, and the others were cast backward, shielding themselves with raw will.
Lucian leapt, spinning midair, slashing across the Unnamed's mask. Sparks of unmade stories burst outward. A tidal wave of voices shrieked and sang.
---
Far from the battlefield, in the city of Talendreth, people watched as the skies opened. Children pointed. Elders wept. Those who carried myth-blood could feel it—something ancient, sacred, and final was underway.
In the Council Spire, Grand Scribe Helena of the Ember Archives recorded feverishly.
"This is the War of Realignment," she whispered. "The clash that will define which myths shape our future."
Scrolls burned. Books floated. Language rewrote itself.
All eyes turned to the battlefield beyond the Veil.
---
Lucian struck again, this time channeling the combined power of the seven myth shards. Each strike carried a different essence—Truth, Hope, Flame, Stone, Storm, Light, and Echo.
The Unnamed countered with Null.
Concepts unraveled. Words lost meaning. For a moment, Lucian forgot who he was. Forgot his name.
Until...
"Lucian!" Isaiah's voice, sharp as thunder, cut through the null field.
Lucian gasped, memory flooding back. His name. His purpose. His love. His loss.
"I am the Everking!" he roared.
He plunged Dawnbreaker into the ground. Golden roots burst outward, anchoring reality. The battlefield stabilized.
Clara chanted from afar, calling forth ancient rites. Glyphs exploded in the air, forming a prism around the Unnamed.
But he laughed. Not a human sound—something deeper, a cosmic defiance.
You still don't understand, he said. I do not seek destruction. I seek evolution.
He raised both arms, and the Veil shattered entirely.
---
Across the world, myth bled into reality.
In New Tokyo, dragons coiled around skyscrapers.
In the ruins of Rome, spectral centurions reawakened.
In Antarctica, beneath the ice, the Leviathan stirred.
No place was untouched.
Lucian could feel them all. Every ancient thread unraveling. Every hidden truth roaring into being. His chest burned—but it wasn't pain. It was responsibility.
He launched into the air, wings of radiant fire flaring from his back. The Unnamed rose to meet him. The clash was instantaneous. Their swords sang and shrieked. Time loops formed and collapsed. Space folded and unfolded like origami.
They were no longer fighting in the battlefield—they were fighting as the battlefield.
Mountains rose and crumbled with every swing. Oceans appeared, then boiled away.
---
"Lucian is slipping!" Clara screamed. She looked to Isaiah. "He's channeling too much!"
Isaiah didn't hesitate. He plunged his shadowblade into the soil, opening a tether. He reached through it with raw magic and connected directly to Lucian.
"I'm here, brother. Lean on me."
Lucian felt the tether—a lifeline of shared strength. He inhaled, steadying.
With a cry of divine fury, he unleashed the final form of Dawnbreaker.
The blade expanded, turning into a spear of pure creation. He hurled it.
The spear pierced the Unnamed's heart.
Everything stopped.
The battlefield fell into silence.
The Unnamed staggered, his mask cracking, revealing... Lucian's face.
A younger, more terrified version.
"I am... what you cast away," the Unnamed whispered. "Your potential. Your fear."
Lucian understood.
The Unnamed had never been another god.
He had been Lucian's shadow, born of doubt and sealed away. Over eons, forgotten. Abandoned.
Lucian reached forward, tears in his eyes. "Then let's finish this together."
He embraced the Unnamed.
The fusion was quiet. The sky wept stars.
---
When Lucian opened his eyes again, the battlefield was gone.
He stood in a field of golden light, surrounded by Clara, Isaiah, and the others. The Veil was whole—but transformed. It now shimmered with the colors of every myth.
"Is it over?" Clara asked.
Lucian shook his head. "No. But the war is."
Isaiah clapped his shoulder. "And the world?"
Lucian turned to the horizon, where modern cities now blended seamlessly with ancient temples, forests of lore, and floating citadels.
"It's beginning anew," he said. "One where myths aren't hidden... but lived."