The execution platform stood higher than it needed to.
That was intentional.
From below, it looked like a monument. From above, it looked like judgment.
Chains wrapped around Noctis Ravencroft's wrists and forearms, forged from rune-etched steel meant to suppress both strength and will. They bit into his skin, glowing faintly as if offended that he still stood straight.
He was thirty-one.
Tall even when bound, his six-foot-four frame carried the unmistakable shape of a warrior who had lived inside battle rather than merely visited it. His build was lean and athletic, forged through years of relentless combat—shoulders broad, torso corded with muscle hardened by survival rather than vanity.
His midnight-purple hair, wavy and glossy, fell loose around his face, tangled but defiant, refusing to lose its luster even now. The color alone set him apart—rare, noble, unmistakable.
Scars crossed his body in brutal honesty.
A pale line across his cheekbone where a blade had slipped past a guard. Burn marks along his ribs from magic meant to erase him. Old wounds, newer ones, all layered like a history written into flesh.
Yet despite it all—
He was still handsome.
Not in a pristine way.
In a ruined god way.
His eyes, deep midnight purple and unsettlingly calm, swept over the crowd gathered before the platform.
They could not meet his gaze for long.
Thousands had come.
Citizens. Clerics. Nobles. Soldiers.
People who had once screamed his name in relief.
Now they whispered it like a sin.
The wind carried the scent of iron and incense, of blood scrubbed away too recently. Banners snapped overhead—white and gold, symbols of peace earned at a cost no one here wished to remember.
Noctis shifted slightly, chains clinking.
The executioner flinched.
The man holding the blade was broad-shouldered and sweating beneath his helm, knuckles white around the haft of the execution sword. He had performed executions before. Criminals. Traitors. Murderers.
But this one would be remembered.
"Do you have any final words?" the executioner asked.
His voice cracked despite himself.
Noctis tilted his head slightly, studying the man with mild curiosity.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't mocking.
It wasn't bitter.
It was tired.
"Funny," Noctis said, his voice hoarse from days in chains yet steady all the same. "No one ever asked me that when I was saving you."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
At the front stood the five people who mattered most.
The five who had decided this ending was… necessary.
The Golden Hero Aurelius Kane stood in radiant armor polished to perfection, golden plates catching the light like a symbol carefully maintained. Tall, broad, undeniably handsome, he looked every inch the man songs were written about.
His posture was straight. His expression solemn.
Heroic.
When his gaze met Noctis's, there was no anger there.
No hatred.
Only relief.
The war was over.
The loose end was being cut.
Noctis understood immediately.
So this is what winning looks like.
Beside Aurelius stood Darius Holt, massive even out of armor, arms crossed tightly across his chest. His dark hair was tied back roughly, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
He did not look up.
Not once.
His silence screamed louder than words ever could.
Lysandra Myrr stood slightly apart, adjusting her spectacles with slender fingers. Her robes were immaculate, her posture composed, eyes sharp and distant as if she were already thinking several steps ahead.
To her, this was not betrayal.
It was subtraction.
A necessary correction to preserve stability.
Eldric Vane leaned casually against a marble pillar, arms loose, lips curled in an open smirk. He didn't bother hiding his satisfaction.
Why would he?
The dangerous one was being removed.
And then—
She stepped forward.
Seren Aurelia stood at the center, robed in white and gold.
She was beautiful in a way that silenced crowds.
Golden hair cascaded down her back like a halo, her face soft and radiant, eyes filled with sorrow so convincing it made the onlookers ache for her.
Light clung to her presence naturally, as if the world itself wished to protect her.
She had healed thousands.
She had prayed beside Noctis after battles.
She had whispered promises into his skin when the world was ending.
Her gaze met his.
For a moment, just a moment, something flickered there.
Then it vanished.
"Noctis Ravencroft," Seren said softly, her voice carrying both warmth and authority.
Magic wove through her words—not as coercion, but as conviction. "For the sake of peace… I confirm the charges brought before the court."
The words landed like a blade driven slowly, deliberately, into his chest.
Treason.
Mass murder.
Forbidden rites.
Lies, all of them.
Sanctified by her voice.
Something inside Noctis fractured—not violently, but cleanly, like glass finally accepting it will never be whole again.
He laughed.
Quietly at first.
Then louder.
The crowd recoiled. The clerics stiffened. Aurelius frowned.
Seren's lips trembled.
"You look beautiful today," Noctis said, his voice calm despite the ruin spreading through him. His eyes never left hers. "Tell me… did it hurt, when you decided I was expendable?"
Her fingers tightened around her staff.
"I did what I had to," she whispered. "For everyone."
He nodded slowly.
"I believe you."
The executioner raised the blade.
Mana surged.
The chains burned hotter.
As the sword lifted, Noctis closed his eyes.
I remember her voice more than the blade.
Steel fell.
Darkness took him.
And the world breathed easier.
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[A/N :- Regular chapters will be uploaded almost everyday so please show some support and yes do comment about what you did like and what you did not like about the chapter . & please drop some power stones !!!
Thankyou ]