One week had passed.
The snow hadn't melted. It never did out here. But the cold—once cruel, once suffocating—felt distant now. Like it no longer belonged to this place.
Dark stood atop a ridge, his cloak stirring softly behind him. Below, the land he had once reduced to silence was stirring again.
Stone walls. Smoke stacks. Towers under construction.
And at the heart of it all—
A black hall.
Not grand. Not golden. Not royal.
But real.
Built into the crater's edge, the Empire Hall stood like a scar reborn. Wide steps led up to a throne platform carved into what was once an altar of pain. The stonework wasn't perfect. The symmetry was off. Some beams still bled frost. But it was there.
Solid.
Dark: (thinking) I was gone for seven days.
Dark: And they already made this?
He walked down the slope slowly.
And the closer he got, the more alive it all felt.
Children ran past the base of the scaffolding, tossing snow at each other. Their laughter didn't echo—it stayed. It hung in the air like breath refusing to fade.
One of them threw a snowball at a Hollow standing guard. The Hollow didn't move. Then, slowly, it picked up its own snowball and tossed it back—just hard enough to knock the child over.
Laughter.
A group of women were seated beneath a half-finished awning, wrapping cloth bandages, whispering stories. One looked up and saw him. She didn't kneel. She didn't flinch. She smiled, tears in her eyes, and whispered a thank you only he could hear.
He reached the base of the hall steps.
Shadows stood silently at each side of the staircase, fully armored, faceless. Statues in motion, guardians of a place still finding its heartbeat.
Beyond them, near the forge built into the far wall, Raz was teaching villagers how to hold steel.
Raz: Grip it like you respect it, not like it owes you money.
A woman cut herself.
Raz healed her instantly, then grunted.
Raz: Try again. And this time, don't bleed like a child.
On scaffolding above, Malik barked orders at two Hollows lifting a steel beam overhead.
Malik: A little higher.
Malik: You're not stacking bones—lift like you want this thing to survive the next storm.
The Hollow looked back.
Malik: Speak.
Hollow: Adjusting as ordered.
Malik: Good.
A black pulse tore gently through the air as Vel appeared near the south wing, overseeing the layout of what would soon be the Empire's archives. His eyes scanned everything. Measured. Judged.
Clum stood at the base of a shattered column, dragging massive stone blocks into place like they weighed nothing. Nearby villagers stared, awed by the sheer force wrapped in silence.
A low hum drifted through the square as Cal walked along the perimeter, watching. Always watching. He didn't talk much. But when he did, everyone listened. He stopped a worker mid-swing of a hammer.
Cal: You're using your shoulder. Use your spine.
The man nodded.
Cal: And breathe through your hits. Not before.
Dark kept walking.
He hadn't said a word yet.
Not until he reached the upper landing of the Hall.
Where they waited.
All ten.
His Champions.
Igor, unmoving, arms crossed, the God Killer.
Malik, still dripping heat, sparks trailing off his boots.
Raz, wiping sweat from his brow, nodding once.
Vel, ghostlike, unreadable, ever-present.
Clum, colossal and grounded, standing behind the others.
Cal, eyes sharp, standing with his hands behind his back.
One, of course, leaning sideways, half-smirking.
Syv, no expression, shadows coiling faintly at his feet.
Brak, massive, scarred, exhaling slow like a beast resting between wars.
And Biru, always quiet, always watching, his presence barely perceptible yet undeniably lethal.
Dark reached the top of the stairs.
He turned.
Below him were the people.
Once broken. Once enslaved. Now building. Laughing. Reaching for something they were told didn't exist anymore.
Dark raised his voice—calm, steady.
Dark: I expected ruin.
Dark: And instead... I see the beginning.
He paused.
Dark: I didn't build this.
Dark: You did.
He looked to the people, then to his Champions.
Dark: You stood up.
Dark: You worked together.
Dark: You didn't wait for kings or gods to save you.
Dark: You chose to rise.
Dark: So now—
Dark: Let's build something real.
He turned to his Champions.
Dark: Help them.
Dark: Shadows will guard them.
Dark: Hollows will lift and carry and serve.
Dark: But you—my Champions—will teach them what the world never gave them.
Dark: Time.
Dark: Patience.
Dark: Strength without cruelty.
He paused again, letting the words settle.
Dark: This empire isn't made of fear.
Dark: It's made of choice.
Dark: And all of you—every soul here—chose to live.
Dark: So live.
Dark: Build.
Dark: And when you're ready—
Dark: Name it.
He gestured toward the banner hung above the throne.
Dark: But if you must...
Dark: Call it the Dark Empire.
No cheers.
Just stillness.
Respect.
And then, movement.
Children ran forward again.
People bowed—not because they were told to, but because they wanted to.
Raz turned to the forge.
Malik returned to the scaffolding.
Clum lifted stone.
Syv walked into the shadows to patrol the edges.
And Igor stood, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Dark sat on the throne for the first time.
Dark took a moment. Then leaned back slightly, adjusting his posture. He inhaled slowly, filling his lungs with the scent of snow, stone, and faint smoke.
He held it.
Then exhaled.
Dark: (thinking) I really am sitting on my own throne...
He looked around the room.
The curved walls. The engraved floor. The banners—stitched by calloused hands. The steel beams reinforced by Shadows. The shelves half-filled with books, journals, records. All of it... built for him.
Dark: I never really thought I'd sit on a throne that people had built for me...
Dark: This feeling...
His gaze drifted forward.
Dark: This sensation...
He smiled.
Dark: Makes me want to get even stronger... save more people... welcome more souls.
And then—
Boom.
A blast echoed from beyond the outer walls.
Dust scattered from the ceiling. Shadows near the windows turned sharply. Dark stood immediately, his boots scraping the blackstone steps. His eyes narrowed.
Outside the main gate—
One was already fighting.
Figures clashed in a blur of sparks and steel. One's laughter rang across the snow-laced courtyard.
One: KHHAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!
One: You dare step into the Dark EMPIRE?!
His aura flared—sharp, red, untamed.
Tier ducked under a swing and leapt back.
Tier: You idiot, it's us! Dark's friends!
Gilmuar stepped forward, his coat flaring from the motion.
Gilmuar: Move aside, Tier.
Gilmuar: Let me break this fool.
But before the sentence even finished—
One vanished.
He reappeared an inch in front of Gilmuar's face—silent, motionless, and monstrous.
His glowing eyes stared into Gilmuar's soul.
His presence wasn't pressure.
It was a warning.
Gilmuar didn't breathe.
Three seconds.
Four.
Eight.
The demon's grin grew wider.
And then—
CRACK.
Gilmuar headbutted One with full force.
One was launched backward, smashing into the snow-packed ground like a meteor cratered in reverse. The ground cracked under the impact.
Gilmuar stepped forward.
Spat.
Gilmuar: Don't get close to me, fool.
One's body rose.
Slowly.
But different.
His demonic energy twisted upward like smoke torn by wind. Horns grew longer. His skin darkened, aura staining the sky. Veins pulsed with cursed light. Every breath he took bent the air around him.
His voice was lower. Rougher.
Cursed.
One: You shouldn't have done that, boy...
The pressure hit instantly.
The snow lifted. The air thickened. Cron stumbled. Leona gasped. Tier braced. It felt like the ground itself was rejecting them.
Then—
Dark appeared behind One.
One froze.
Dark placed a hand on his shoulder.
Dark: Calm down, One.
Dark: Retreat.
The aura vanished.
Just like that.
One dropped to a knee.
His horns retracted. His skin returned to normal. His breath slowed.
One: My apologies, Emperor Dark.
One: I shall not harm anyone without your permission.
Dark nodded.
Dark: It's alright. I'm glad you didn't go all out.
Before he could say more—
Leona ran into him.
Arms wide.
Dark blinked, caught by surprise. He stood stiff for a second, arms barely raised—then closed them around her.
She smiled against his chest.
Leona: Hey Dark... haven't seen you in a while.
Dark looked down at her.
Then up.
Cron, Tier, and Gilmuar stood close now.
Cron: Yeah mate.
Gilmuar: How you been?
Tier: I miss creating shit for you.
Dark laughed lightly.
Dark: Hahaha. I've been doing great, Gilmuar. How about yourself?
Dark: And hey, Tier—perfect timing. I need your help with something.
Tier: Haha, BET.
Gilmuar: I am doing great... knowing you are alive and well, Dark.
Dark: Of course I'm alive. Why would I not be? Hahaha.
They all laughed.
No tension. No worry. Just... relief.
Dark turned.
Dark: Come on in. Meet the people.
He walked toward the gate.
His friends followed.
The Hollow guarding the gate stepped aside and closed it behind them with a heavy thud.
Inside the walls—
They saw peace.
Villagers carrying tools.
Children dragging sleds through the snow.
People sharing food, stories, and light.
Leona looked around in awe.
Leona: Whoaaa...
Dark: Did you know it only took them seven days to build this much?
Dark: My Shadows and Hollows helped, of course, but still. Look at this...
Dark: Even now, I'm still surprised.
Then—
A child burst through the crowd with a wooden stick, sprinting toward Dark.
He leapt—shouting something like a battle cry.
Before the stick even reached mid-air—
Clum and Raz appeared.
One caught the stick.
The other had a blade unsheathed—hovering right at the child's neck.
Dark raised his hand.
Dark: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, guys.
Dark: The kid's just playing. Chill out.
Clum and Raz vanished instantly.
Dark caught the child gently before he hit the ground, then knelt and placed him upright.
He patted the kid's head.
Dark: What's your name, young warrior?
The boy looked up with wide eyes.
Boy: Taka!
Dark: Taka, huh?
Taka: I'm training every day. One day I'll be your guard! Or—or a shadow! Or maybe even one of those scary big guys with the horns!
Dark chuckled.
Dark: Oh I see...
Dark: Be sure to train well, okay?
Dark: You can do this. Believe in yourself.
Taka grinned and ran back into the crowd.
Leona: Hehe... interesting.
They walked a little further.
Dark stopped at the base of the Hall.
Looked up at it.
Dark: This is where I sleep.
Dark: Never slept in it yet... since today's my first day in here.
Leona: WOAAAAHHH SO COOL!!
Dark: Heh. Come on.
Dark: Let me show you inside.
The heavy doors creaked open as Dark pushed them forward. Not with magic. Not with command. Just his own hands.
And inside—
Warmth.
Golden torchlight lit the walls with quiet fire. Stone columns stretched upward, engraved with half-finished carvings—stories waiting to be written. Velvet-black banners hung overhead, marked with the empire's sigil: a crowned flame split down the middle by a single sword.
The Hall was still under construction.
But it already felt lived in.
Dark stepped forward. His footsteps echoed slightly, muffled by thick obsidian carpeting that stretched up to the elevated throne platform. Behind it, a rising sun mural painted in molten shadow—a clash of contrast, day and night bleeding into one.
Cron: Damn...
Cron turned slowly in place, hands in his pockets.
Cron: I was expecting a graveyard.
Gilmuar: Or a bunker.
Leona: Or like... a cave made of blood and bones.
Dark smirked.
Dark: Well, I was thinking about that last one.
Tier: Please don't.
Leona twirled once in place, cloak fluttering behind her.
Leona: It feels... warm.
Leona: Like home, but stronger.
Biru appeared silently beside one of the pillars, arms folded. His eyes scanned the group.
Biru: They're genuine.
Dark: I know.
Brak stepped forward from the shadows of a far hallway, nodding once. Then vanished again.
One leaned against a railing on the upper level, spinning a dagger slowly between his fingers.
One: I still think we should've added lava trenches.
Dark: One.
One: Fine, fine.
They moved through the hall slowly—passing rooms not yet furnished. Kitchens not yet stocked. Walls waiting for names. Children had already started painting symbols with charcoal in some of the lower corridors. Warriors had etched their fallen friends into the cornerstones with nails, not blades.
Cal stood in the back, watching everyone, arms crossed. But he wasn't cold. Just quiet.
Malik sat near one of the windows on a ledge, warming his hands by the flame that pulsed through his skin. He looked at Dark, raised an eyebrow.
Malik: You finally moving in?
Dark: Guess so.
Vel's voice echoed from the shadows overhead.
Vel: Then we'll make sure it stays standing.
Clum appeared through one of the large inner gates, dragging what looked like a section of wall on his shoulder. He dropped it against the far end with a loud thud, then looked over.
Clum: Found another room. It's yours.
Dark: Appreciate it.
Raz was helping a few workers mount iron torch brackets on the wall. He didn't say anything, just nodded in Dark's direction.
Everything felt slow.
Not because of laziness.
But because time was breathing now.
Peaceful.
Earned.
Dark stopped at the center of the main hall. Looked around at his friends. His Champions. His people.
Dark: (thinking) They're safe.
Dark: (thinking) For the first time in years... they're really safe.
He turned his head toward Tier.
Dark: Ay Tier, I want to start building out the second floor. Think you can help reinforce it?
Tier: Say less. Already got three drafts in my mind.
Dark: Gilmuar, I need your eyes on the forge. Raz is teaching well but I want those blades treated properly.
Gilmuar: Already halfway there. I just needed your word.
Dark: Cron. You good?
Cron: Never better.
Dark nodded.
Then looked at Leona.
She was watching a child trace a bird into the stone wall with charcoal. Quietly smiling.
Dark: Leona.
Leona: Hmm?
Dark: Thank you.
She tilted her head.
Leona: For what?
Dark: For coming.
Dark walked toward the throne slowly.
Sat down again.
This time—
He didn't adjust.
He didn't fidget.
He leaned back fully.
And then—
The shadows before the throne shifted.
A silent swell rose from the floor, as if the very darkness had decided to kneel.
And from it, Igor emerged.
Not walked.
Not stepped.
Risen.
His form solidified into shape—black coat dragging, void-marked veins pulsing faintly beneath shadow-woven armor. His head lowered. One knee to the ground. One fist over his heart.
No words.
No breath.
Just allegiance.
Dark looked down at him.
He didn't smile.
He didn't speak right away.
Because this wasn't conversation.
It was recognition.
Igor: My presence is yours.
His voice was low. Not cold. Not warm. Just... complete.
Dark stepped down from the throne, shadows parting at his boots.
Dark: Igor.
Igor remained motionless.
Dark circled once around him—not with suspicion. But understanding. Measuring the weight of what stood before him.
Dark: You're still the strongest of them all.
Igor: And I always will be.
Dark stopped behind him.
Dark: Not because I command it.
Dark: But because you decided it.
Igor slowly raised his head.
His eyes were nothing but abyss. No glow. No flame. Just presence—depth that devoured the world around it.
Igor: I exist to protect the dream.
Igor: The Dark Empire is your will... and I am its blade.
Dark: And if I fall?
Igor: Then I bury the world that broke you.
Dark didn't respond for a moment.
Then—
Dark: Walk with me.
Igor rose without a sound.
He didn't step.
He glided.
Not like mist. Not like a ghost.
Like death given purpose.
They moved together down the blackstone hall, toward the open balcony overlooking the Empire.
Dark didn't look back.
And neither did Igor.
They stood side by side, wind sweeping past the balcony, shadows trailing behind them like silent banners of the past. Below, the new world stirred—hammers striking stone, laughter where screams once lived.
Dark didn't look at him.
Didn't need to.
Dark: You know, Igor...
Dark: A sword without a master is just cold metal.
Dark: But a master without a cause?
Dark: That's worse.
He paused.
Dark: That's just a ghost with a blade.
The silence breathed between them.
Dark: I've carried this blade called purpose for too long alone.
Dark: But now?
Dark turned his head just slightly, just enough for Igor to hear the shift in air.
Dark: Now I've got a second edge beside me.
Dark: One that doesn't swing for power. One that doesn't cut for ego.
Dark: But for peace.
A long silence.
Igor didn't nod. He just spoke.
Igor: Then I am your second swing.
Dark: Hah...
Dark: And when the world draws its sword against us—
Dark: We won't block.
Dark: We'll cut cleaner.
Dark stepped forward again, snow crunching beneath his heel.
Dark: The wind doesn't warn before it strikes.
Dark: Neither will we.
He let the words fade.
Then turned slowly from the edge, the storm brushing past his shoulders like it no longer dared touch him. Behind him, Igor remained still—more monument than man.
Dark walked down the steps from the throne platform, cloak trailing behind him, and passed through the Hall's doors.
And outside—
The sun was starting to rise.
Dim and pale. But real.
The snow caught its light and turned gold.
For the first time... the Empire didn't feel cold.
⸻
Later that day...
A wide open training field had been cleared just outside the main wall—flattened snow, sharpened sticks, wooden dummies built by hand. A group of children stood in a loose circle, clutching short wooden swords. Some were focused. Others wobbled with excitement.
Dark stood in the center.
Arms crossed.
Watching them.
Boy: Like this??
The boy lunged.
Completely missed the dummy. Fell face-first into the snow.
Dark: Close.
Dark walked over and helped the boy up.
Dark: You aimed with your arms, not your stance.
He turned and pointed at another kid.
Dark: Watch her.
The girl stepped forward—feet firm, grip steady. She didn't swing fast.
She swung clean.
The dummy rocked.
Dark: See?
Dark: The sword isn't your strength.
Dark: Your balance is.
They nodded quickly. Some wrote it down in the dirt with sticks. Others practiced again, whispering his advice like it was scripture.
Nearby, Clum helped three older teens lift a massive cart full of stone. They were struggling. One of them cursed under their breath.
Clum: Language.
Clum dropped the entire cart on his shoulder.
Clum: Watch.
He walked ten steps forward and set it down gently.
Clum: Now you.
The teens stared at him.
Clum: Don't make me repeat it.
Back near the south slope, Dark knelt beside a small group of early farmers. They'd dug out a few trenches and were trying to lay seed. But the snow still made it difficult.
Dark pressed his palm to the soil.
A soft pulse of warmth spread outward.
The ice began to loosen.
Dark: Don't use fire.
Dark: It scorches the roots.
He handed one of them a simple enchanted stone—glowing dimly with low, stable heat.
Dark: Bury this under the topsoil. Rotate it every two days. Keep the warmth moving.
Farmer: T-Thank you...
Dark: You're doing the real work.
Dark stood again.
⸻
Midday.
Tier was working on blueprints near the western edge, surrounded by papers and stone blocks.
Tier: Yo, Dark.
Dark: What're we building now?
Tier: Library wing. And a rooftop garden. Gilmuar wants to make a weather chamber or some alchemy greenhouse thing on top.
Dark: Alright. Make it look ugly.
Tier: ...What?
Dark: I'm serious. Too much symmetry and I'll burn it down.
Tier: Say less.
⸻
Evening.
Dark sat on a low bench near a fire pit in the plaza. Villagers were eating around him. Kids were running in circles, one pretending to be Raz, another swinging a stick yelling "I AM DARK!" while doing flips that made no sense.
Dark leaned back, watching them.
One of the younger boys sat beside him.
Boy: Hey uh... Emperor Dark?
Dark: Just Dark.
Boy: Right.
Boy: How come you're helping us do all this?
Dark thought for a moment.
Then pointed to the stars.
Dark: Because for once... the sky isn't telling me no.
Boy: ...What does that mean?
Dark smiled a little.
Dark: You'll get it when you're older.
The boy blinked, clearly not understanding, but nodded anyway.
Then he leaned against Dark's side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dark didn't move.
Didn't tense.
He just sat there, watching the flames crackle and stretch upward like they were trying to touch the stars.
For a few seconds, neither of them said a word.
Then the boy whispered—
Boy: I think I want to protect people too.
Dark: (quietly) Then grow strong enough to do it right.
Boy: Is it hard?
Dark: The hardest thing you'll ever do.
Boy: But worth it?
Dark looked down at him.
Dark: Every time.
The boy smiled and closed his eyes.
Dark stayed still until he fell asleep, head resting gently against his side.
Across the courtyard, Malik and Raz were mock-arguing over something near the forge. Tier was laying flat on a pile of blueprints like he gave up halfway through drawing. Leona was playing tag with four kids, sprinting barefoot across the ice like she didn't even feel the cold. Gilmuar and Clum were seated on the ledge of a watchtower, watching the stars in complete silence like two ancient statues.
Even One—perched on the rooftop like a demon owl—wasn't making trouble.
Dark: (thinking) This is what it looks like when nothing's burning.
He gently picked up the sleeping boy and handed him off to a passing Hollow, nodding once.
The Hollow bowed, then vanished silently with the child cradled safely.
Dark stood again.
And looked out at his empire.
Not one taken.
Not one inherited.
But one earned.
Brick by brick. Word by word. Choice by choice.
Fires flickered from every corner of the crater city. Light danced along scaffold beams. People still walked, still talked, still lived—long past when the world would've told them to stay in their graves.
He watched a mother carry two bowls of soup toward a tent. Her hands were trembling. Not from fear. Just exhaustion. A Hollow silently took one bowl from her and walked beside her like a silent companion. No command was given. No thanks exchanged.
It just happened.
And it felt right.
Dark: (thinking) This is what balance looks like.
The door behind him opened.
Quietly.
But he already knew who it was.
Leona: Thought I'd find you here.
Dark: Thought you'd be winning your fifth round of tag.
Leona walked up beside him, her breath visible in the cold.
Leona: They were getting too good.
Leona: One of them nearly tackled me.
Dark: I would've paid to see that.
She looked out over the city with him.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
Leona: You did this.
Dark: No.
Dark: We did.
Leona: ...You still deflect compliments like an idiot.
Dark: Call it humility.
Leona: I call it nonsense.
She elbowed him gently, then crossed her arms.
Leona: You ever think you'd see this?
Dark: Not once.
Dark: And now I can't imagine not seeing it again.
She smiled a little.
Then—
Leona: What happens when this place gets too big?
Dark: We make it stronger.
Leona: And if the world comes knocking?
Dark: We don't answer the door.
Leona: And if they break it down?
Dark turned to look at her.
Dark: Then we rebuild it stronger.
She stared back at him.
Then nodded.
Leona: Damn right we do.
They stood side by side.
The snow fell light around them.
Dark: (softly) This empire... won't fall.
Dark: Even after my death, it will keep thriving. Because ranks matter less.
End Of Arc 6 Chapter 3.