A/N: finally I'm done
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*Chapter 20: Ashes and Memory*
The snow fell soft over the ruins of a forgotten stronghold—charred stone and broken banners buried beneath centuries of frost. The air was quiet, too quiet for a battlefield.
Pluto stood alone on the ridge, silver eyes scanning the white plain below, where fragments of the deviant horde lay scattered, burned, frozen, torn apart by blade and beast. Victory had come swiftly. Too swiftly.
Behind him, his subordinates gathered in silence. Ilias nursed a shallow wound. Uruk sat cross-legged, gnawing a bone idly. Kareth faded between shadow and light. Raegon stood vigilant, hand resting on his sword.
But Pluto was distant.
He was staring not at the battlefield—but at a single *frozen skeleton*, seated upright against a broken wall. The remnants of old armor still clung to the bones. Beside it: a rusted spear. A faded cloth emblem stitched with stars.
Pluto approached slowly, then knelt.
In that moment, something stirred inside him—like dust falling through ancient light. A memory, not his own.
A people long forgotten. A warrior who stood against the rise of monsters, centuries before history began. He had no power. No gifts. Just resolve.
And he died here. Alone.
Not as a conqueror. But as a *guardian*.
Pluto looked down at the cracked helmet beside the skeleton. Quiet. Still. Then whispered,
"I see now."
The wind shifted.
Not everything lost was weak. Not every forgotten name was meant to be erased. Power could conquer—but it could not protect. And for the first time, Pluto wondered…
*What was he building? A kingdom? Or a graveyard?*
He rose slowly, brushing frost from his gloves.
Ilias stepped forward. "The last deviant is dead. We've won."
Pluto didn't answer immediately. Then:
"No. We've survived."
The words hung heavy.
Uruk squinted. "What's the difference?"
Pluto turned to them, his cloak catching the wind. "We've chased strength. Fought beasts. Built power. But we've done nothing *with* it. The world is broken. And I've been too blind to see it."
Raegon's voice rumbled. "So what do you see now?"
Pluto looked to the horizon, where the clouds split faintly, revealing a fractured sun.
"I see ashes. But I also see memory. What rises next... will be more than domination."
*"We begin again. Not as hunters—but as builders."*
A slow silence fell, heavier than war.
And the era of wandering ended.
****
The blizzard had quieted, and beneath the ghostly twilight of the snowlands, Pluto descended into the ruins—not to search, not to conquer, but to understand.
Each shattered wall was a page of history. Each forgotten sigil, a whisper. These were not the remains of weakness—they were echoes of resistance, of people who had once *chosen* to stand rather than bend.
He stopped before a mural, nearly erased by time. The image was simple: a man, not crowned, standing between two armies—one of monsters, one of gods. Alone.
He stared at it for a long time.
Kareth's voice emerged from the shadows. "This place has no name."
Pluto didn't look back. "Names are only forgotten when no one lives to remember them."
The weight of his journey crushed inward. Thousands of years of wandering. Killing. Learning. Surviving. But never… shaping.
His power had grown vast—limitless adaptation, immortal blood, a soul bound in strength. But what had he changed?
He clenched his fist. His veins shimmered briefly.
"I can tear mountains in half," he said, voice low. "I can strip power from gods. But if I vanish tomorrow… will the world remember me?"
Ilias stood a few paces back, hesitant. "We remember you."
Pluto turned slowly.
"I don't want to be remembered by just those who follow. I want to build something... that doesn't *need* me."
Raegon stepped forward, silent approval in his eyes. "Then build it."
The system chimed, unprompted:
*[New Personal Path Chosen: Monarch of Flame and Memory]*
— Your journey now seeks legacy over domination.
— World events will adapt around your influence.
— Subordinates gain autonomous growth potential.
— Civil, cultural, and spiritual paths unlocked.
For the first time, the system didn't feel like a machine. It felt like a mirror.
Pluto looked skyward. The sun was bleeding through the clouds now—cracked, dim, but trying.
"We begin here," he said. "We won't just guard the world. We'll reshape it."
Kareth nodded. "Then let this land be named."
Pluto stepped into the center of the ruins and drove his hand into the frost-covered earth. The impact sent a pulse of energy across the land, awakening the very bones of the mountain.
"This place," he said, "is called *Elarion*. The first stone of memory. And the seat of my will."
*A throne without gold. A crown without chains. A king born not of bloodlines—but of purpose.*
The wind shifted again—but this time, it did not howl. It knelt.
***
A/N: I think I should relax for tomorrow so I don't know if I would post tomorrow but I would try my best if you drop comments on idea it will motivate me