"…You idiot," Cyrus muttered.
"You actually did it."
He descended slowly.
Owen couldn't feel his mana anymore.
Nothing flowed.
Nothing responded.
Empty.
Cyrus knelt in front of him.
"You erased my perfected piece."
His expression hardened.
"But you didn't erase me."
He lifted his hand—
Energy gathering.
Weak compared to before.
But enough.
"Was it worth returning to nothing?"
Owen smirked faintly.
"I said… I wouldn't stop at winning."
He forced himself upright.
Blood pouring.
"I wanted to erase you too."
Cyrus' eyes narrowed.
Before he could strike—
The air shifted.
A single step echoed behind Cyrus.
The temperature dropped.
Shadow bent respectfully.
Cyrus froze.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He turned.
A man stood there.
Tall.
Composed.
Eyes hidden beneath a dark hood trimmed in silver.
The aura around him wasn't loud.
It was absolute.
Cyrus' face drained of color.
"…My lord!"
The man looked at the erased devastation.
Then at Owen.
Then at the fading rift.
"…Impressive."
His voice was calm.
Measured.
He raised one hand casually.
A wave of pressure pulsed outward—
Rovan and the two remaining figures fighting Glauderia's unit froze mid-motion—
Then—
Collapsed.
Dead.
Just like that.
Back at the plaza—
Cyrus bowed instantly.
"My apologies. I underestimated—"
The Commander silenced him with a glance.
"You overreached."
His gaze shifted to Owen.
"…And you found something dangerous."
Owen tried to stand.
Failed.
His vision darkening rapidly.
The Commander flicked his fingers.
Space folded.
Cyrus vanished.
Gone.
The Commander looked at Owen one last time.
"…We'll meet again."
Then he stepped backward—
And disappeared into nothing.
Silence.
The smoke cleared.
Footsteps rushed forward—
White lightning first.
Zach dropped beside Owen.
"Owen!"
He grabbed him, shaking him slightly.
"NO PLEASE..."
Owen's eyes were barely open.
Empty.
No mana.
Nothing.
Zach's voice cracked.
"YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME YET."
His grip tightened.
His voice lowered.
"I haven't gotten the chance to thank you yet."
Owen's consciousness slipped.
Darkness swallowing him.
Suddenly he stood on a cliff.
Wind gentle.
Sky endless.
Lysa leaned against a rock.
Brunn sat cross-legged, arms folded.
Owen froze.
"…No."
Lysa smiled softly.
"You're early."
He ran forward and hugged them both.
Crying.
Actually crying.
"I tried," he choked.
Brunn smacked the back of his head.
"What are you doing here?"
Owen laughed weakly through tears.
"I lost."
Brunn snorted.
"This is certainly not the first time we've heard that."
Lysa stepped forward.
Hands warm.
"You don't get to join us yet."
Owen shook his head.
"But I'm tired."
She hugged him tighter.
"I know."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"But you still have things to build."
She pulled back.
"You promised."
Brunn grinned.
"Go open my restaurant, idiot."
Lysa stepped away toward the edge of the cliff.
"Live."
She pushed him gently—
And he fell backward into white.
Zach's voice cut through.
"Owen!"
Glauderia appeared beside them.
Lucius knelt, divine light pressing against Owen's chest.
"…His core is shattered," Lucius said quietly.
Zach shook him again.
"Then we'll fix it!"
Glauderia watched silently.
Her calculating gaze. studied him
Owen's fingers twitched.
Barely.
His breathing returned.
Weak.
But present.
His eyes opened slowly.
Empty of mana.
But alive.
Owen's breathing was shallow.
Lucius' healing light pressed against his chest, but there was nothing to latch onto. No core. No flow. Just empty channels where power once roared.
Zach was still holding him.
"Don't pass out," he muttered. "I swear I'll drag you back myself."
Owen turned his head weakly.
His eyes landed on Seishi.
The blade was cracked.
Fragments spiderwebbing along its length.
Silent.
"…Shut up," Owen muttered hoarsely.
Zach blinked. "Who are you talking to?"
Owen's gaze didn't move.
"You loud bastard."
The world blinked.
White.
No transition.
No fading.
Just—
White.
Owen lay on his back in an endless expanse of light. No sky. No ground. No horizon. Just infinite nothing.
Footsteps echoed.
Measured.
Unhurried.
A shadow stretched across him.
Owen turned his head slowly.
A tall, lean man stood over him.
Long white hair cascading past his shoulders. Sharp blue eyes — not cold, not warm — just piercing. Beautiful in a way that felt unfair. Refined. Composed. Effortless.
He looked like nobility carved from winter.
"…That," the man said mildly, "is not how one addresses his uncle."