The golden, ethereal form of the Silent King dissolved into a shower of harmless, glittering light. The last of its ancient will faded away, leaving the Valley of the Silent Kings quiet once more. Across the crystal-clear lake, on the small, grassy island, a swirling, shimmering portal of pure white light had opened. The way forward was clear.
Rhys stood there, a small, perfect, silver flower held gently in his hand. He had done it. He had created life. The second fragment of his forgotten self had been unlocked, and with it, a new, profound understanding of his own nature. He was not just a warrior, not just a king. He was a creator. A gardener. His cultivation, which had been at a level he kept hidden, now felt complete within the mortal realm. He stood at the absolute peak, a single step away from a new world of power.
