"I... I framed Rowan Vaelthorn… into false execution."
Just as those words slipped from King Aldric's trembling lips, the world paused. No storm, no scream, no divine fury could've drowned out the silence that followed. The words echoed—piercing through nobles, royals, commoners, even the beggars in the alleyways.
Every soul heard them.
The silence that followed was suffocating. It wrapped around the capital like a noose. Even breath itself forgot how to move.
All eyes turned to the kneeling king—on the very execution platform meant for Nyx—clutching his son's severed head as if it were the last piece of his shattered soul.
King Aldric's voice wavered, but he continued,
"During the war… when humanity was expanding its influence—Rowan stepped forward like a leader. He… overshadowed me in the battle of succession."
He clenched the bloodied remains tighter, jaw trembling.
"When the battles ended, his influence only grew. More than a king's. The other races… even the Elven Queen called him the First Commander of Humanity."
"I tried to bring him under my wing... to share influence over the empire. But he rejected me. Said—'I don't follow anyone. I just accompany them.'"
His voice broke, eyes glistening with regret.
"My greed... it clouded everything. One by one, I had his allies eliminated inside the kingdom. The rest—I exiled in the name of aiding humanity. And when I couldn't suppress him anymore... I planted fake chimeras in his castle. Branded him a traitor."
Aldric paused, then lowered his head until it hit the platform floor with a loud thud.
"I know what I did. I saw his face in the end... standing tall, unbent... even in death. He never bowed. He died protecting his people."
"I was wrong. I know it now. I've lost everything—my wife, my daughter… and now my son."
He looked up again—broken, desperate, defeated.
"So I beg you... please, Nyx Vaelthorn. End me. Kill me. Take the throne that was always yours by blood."
He slammed his head against the ground again, still clutching Elric's head against his chest, the once-mighty king reduced to a hollow man.
But the one he begged for mercy... remained unmoved.
Nyx didn't blink. Didn't breathe. He stood deathly still, as if time didn't dare move without his permission.
And then…
He opened his eyes.
His voice, when it came, was soft. But every syllable froze the air like an arctic wind.
"I already told you once… and I'll say it again."
"I never fought for the crown… or that fucking throne you cherish so much."
He took a step forward, his shadow dragging long across the stage.
"I only wanted the world to see… just how deep the lies go."
Nyx turned his back on the man groveling at his feet and began to walk.
"I hope you live, Aldric Ironhart. Live a thousand years of despair. And if you ever—ever—dare to lay hands on me or my people again..."
He looked back just once, voice colder than the grave.
"I'll make sure there's no Eleanor left to exist."
With that, Nyx disappeared into the distance, the wind stirring in his wake.
Karl followed him, quiet as ever—
A loyal shadow trailing behind a storm.
And even as the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon took its place in the heavens, no one moved. Not the nobles. Not the guards. Not the peasants gathered in the streets.
Not because they didn't dare to—
But because they couldn't.
They stood frozen, as if moving might shatter the last pieces of who they were.
The truth they had always believed—
The convenient lie they embraced,
The one they mocked, the one they spat on— The "Traitor's son" who was said to have betrayed humanity…
It was never the truth to begin with. And that realization shattered them.
Even the high nobles who had once sneered at the name Vaelthorn—who had raised their goblets and laughed at Rowan's execution—stood rooted in place. Pale. Hollow.
They had known of Rowan Vaelthorn's accomplishments.
The man who united the South to withstand demonic beasts. The commander who gained the respect of other races. The symbol of hope who fought not for power, but for people.
But when he was branded a traitor?
They had believed it. Eagerly.
They told themselves it had all been a charade—a performance to steal influence.
That his honor, his loyalty… was all just propaganda.
But now?
Now, with the truth laid bare—
They were disgusted with themselves.
That night… a march began. No one declared it. No one organized it. No orders were given.
And yet, nobles, guards, commoners, beggars—
They all moved as one.
A single, solemn procession that flowed through the streets of Eleanor like a river of regret. They walked through the night under the pale moonlight,
Faces blank. Eyes wet. Souls hollow.
Each step echoed the same message: "We were wrong."
They walked not as citizens, not as nobles, not as warriors— But as shattered remnants of a kingdom built on lies. Their destination: the grave of one man.
Rowan Vaelthorn.
The man they couldn't protect. The man they couldn't believe. The man they could no longer face.
But when they reached his grave—
He was not there. No shrine.
No remains. No comforting figure to forgive them.
Only silence. Only the night. Only the weight of their guilt.
And so, they knelt. Thousands of them. Heads bowed. Tears fell.
But no words could ever be enough.
That night would be remembered forever—
Passed down in history not as a celebration or a rebellion…
But as something far more painful. A march made not in honor or glory— But in shame.
The Hollow March of Eleanor.
And its echoes would never fade.
---
Days passed—
Quiet and uncounted.
The kingdom remained still, wrapped in a fog of guilt so thick even time seemed reluctant to move.
When the people finally woke from their daze, when the numbness faded and reality came rushing back— They discovered something: Aldric Ironhart was dead.
The man they once cheered for, obeyed, and cursed behind closed doors... Had taken his own life. No final speech. No dramatic end. Just silence—
And a rope.
But what came after was no funeral.
No peace. His corpse was dragged through the streets. Torn limb from limb. Pieces of the once-king were strung up across Eleanor— Above city gates, along walls, nailed to the pillars of the very palace he once ruled.
It wasn't grief. It was rage. A long-overdue fury.
Still, the kingdom needed a ruler. And despite everything, the royal bloodline remained sacred in the eyes of many.
So Leon Ironhart, the last prince, was crowned king. Alongside him, a rebuilt royal court—new faces chosen with cautious hands and trembling hearts.
The nation had changed. But peace? That never came.
Because the man responsible for unraveling the illusion— The one who flipped the world on its head— Was gone.
No celebration. No reward. Not even a trace. Nyx Vaelthorn vanished like smoke.
---
Far from the chaos, under a sky veiled in stars, the Forest of the End stood timeless.
Theo's voice cut through the stillness.
"Nyx… my father's requested an audience with you. Will—"
Before he could finish, Nyx turned to him with a faint smile, warm and tired but human.
"Yeah. I should at least apologize to him… for dragging you into this mess."
His voice carried no venom. No coldness. No weight.
The fury was gone. And not just from him.
That fire which once scorched the capital, the storm that tore down a throne and shattered generations of lies—
Had passed.
In its place… was stillness.
Samantha, for the first time in years, had found peace. The truth—Elric's confession—had untied the knot that had choked her heart since childhood. She wasn't the reason her mother died. She never had been.
And finally… she believed it.
Valon, having fulfilled his vow to Queen Elie, now stood proudly as Samantha's sworn blade.
A knight reborn, no longer chasing guilt—
But purpose.
He'd even managed to confess his feelings to Ruby, the little mage who'd looked more flustered than surprised. She hadn't said anything. But her magic was suspiciously unstable for days afterward.
The others had gone their separate ways, each seeking space to process what they'd survived.
To bury their own ghosts.
But two didn't leave.
Sylvia and her disciple, Luna, remained with them. Which annoyed Karl to no end.
He'd known Sylvia since his youth—
And he knew that behind the sly smiles and terrifying magical ability…
She was a yandere with long-buried feelings.
A nightmare in heels, as he once called her.
Nyx, in his ever-benevolent wisdom, had grinned and handed Karl a "permanent vacation."
"Let's meet again Karl, someday where we can rest easy and enjoy ourselves... just like how we used to."
With nothing more than a nod, two men—no, a guardian and his son—parted ways. Words weren't needed. Years of silent companionship had already said enough.
Karl left with Sylvia, but only after hearing Nyx shout from behind.
"I expect a brother or sister next time we meet, Karl."
Now, in the hush of the forest, Nyx stood atop the tallest tree, the wind teasing the edge of his cloak.
Below him gathered those who still followed: Samantha, Rhea, Valon. Ruby, Reina, Theo, and Luna—who, unsurprisingly, had chosen to walk this path with him.
Just souls—battered, burdened, but still moving forward. Each carried wounds. But none carried regrets.
They had cast off the past. The chains. The lies. Now, they faced a new horizon. Together.
Nyx looked over them all. Each face. Each future.
And for once—
He allowed himself a breath of peace.
But before taking on the world again, they had to face their deadliest challenge yet—Theo and Reina's parents.