The scent of ash still clung to the ruined outskirts of Thalenreach as dawn broke over the horizon, bleeding gold and crimson across the war-torn skies. The city still stood—but barely.
Alaric sat atop the fractured battlements of the outer wall, arms folded, face set like carved obsidian. His cloak, once pristine, now fluttered in ragged strips behind him. Below, repair crews moved through the streets, guided by flame-lanterns and cautious optimism. Lysera had organized them before sunrise, already directing efforts with a commander's grace.
"She got away," Lysera said behind him. Her voice was quiet, but edged like tempered steel.
"I let her," Alaric replied after a long pause.
Lysera blinked, stepping forward. "What?"
"She fused with the Essence of an Evil Titan. I could've pressed the fight… but she wasn't Maeryn anymore. Not fully." His hand clenched into a fist, faint trails of heat curling around it. "Not yet. I want the real her back."
Lysera's expression softened. "You still believe she can be saved."
Alaric didn't answer. He stared east, toward the storm-swallowed mountains. Toward the Voidbinder stronghold.
In the heart of Thalenreach's High Council Tower, the political storm had already begun.
"Your actions risked the entire city!" boomed Councilor Draeven, a thick-fingered warlord of the north. "You brought a Titan-forged monster into our gates and let her escape!"
Alaric stood before them, silent. He was clad now in ceremonial black with silver-threaded aether runes—noble, grim, and composed.
"Enough," said Lady Caerelle, head of the Celestial Concord. "You all saw what he did. He saved Thalenreach. We lost nothing of value that wasn't already tainted by Voidbinder influence."
"Besides," Lysera added, stepping into the chamber with her healer's robes still stained in ash, "had Alaric not intervened, the breach would've reached the Inner Sanctum. You'd be arguing over a crater."
Murmurs filled the chamber. No one could deny that.
Still, whispers persisted—about Alaric's power, about what he could become.
About what he already was.
Later, in the sacred Crucible Hall beneath the city, Alaric returned to the Heartforge Shrine—a chamber older than any mortal nation, its walls humming with aetheric breath. Floating above the center was his Crucible Flame, pulsing in sync with his core.
He held out his hand, and the Crucible flared to life.
Three orbs rotated around his palm: Stone, Fire, and Chrono—his triune Affinities, harmonized but not yet perfected. A fourth shadow flickered at the edge of his perception—a missing Affinity, a whisper of light and soul.
He reached toward it.
The fire dimmed.
Not yet.
"You won't master it by force," said Lysera, entering behind him. She knelt and placed a vial of glowing aether-salve beside him. "Even Mythforged have limits."
"I know." Alaric let the power recede. "But I feel something coming. A test."
She looked at him, her voice softer. "What scares you more, Alaric? The power you hold—or what you might become to use it?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
That night, far beyond the borders of Thalenreach, beneath the shattered spires of the Vilemoon Wastes, Maeryn knelt before a cloaked figure wreathed in Void.
"Your delay cost us the city," the figure growled, voice layered with something not entirely human.
Maeryn raised her head. Her skin shimmered with corrupted energy, her eyes a storm of violet flame.
"I tasted him," she said, smiling bitterly. "He's still mortal enough to hesitate."
The figure stepped into the moonlight. His face was hidden beneath a bone-carved mask, his presence a shadow that warped the world around it.
"You will return. With the full force of the Voidbinders. He has grown too quickly. His Mythforged soul must be devoured before he ascends further."
Maeryn bowed her head. But deep inside her—buried beneath the Titan's influence—a spark of memory stirred.
A name.
Alaric.
Back in Thalenreach, as the stars emerged overhead, Alaric stood alone at the top of the Tower of Aetherglass, wind tugging at his cloak.
He had faced gods and monsters. Lost allies. Gained power that bent reality. Yet the path ahead felt more uncertain than ever.
"I won't lose you again," he whispered to the wind, eyes distant. Whether it was to Maeryn, or Lysera, or even himself, he wasn't sure.
But war was coming.
And this time, even being Mythforged might not be enough.