Heavy clouds rolled in, obscuring the remnants of the Solar Blade's light, while the spiral wounds of Rinoa still faintly marked the ground and roots. The air vibrated with a new aura—angry, bitter, and full of threat. The wind whispered through the ruins, as if lifting the lost voices; the laughter and hope that were now submerged in sorrow.
In the center of the ruins, Fitran stepped out from beneath the Temple, his face hard and scarred, his eyes glowing red with a fire never seen before. He looked like a creature born from darkness, determined to seek justice for what had been lost. Behind him, Rinoa stood, her breath still caught in her throat, but small spirits began to swirl around her, signaling that she had survived the Circle of Scars, albeit with an open wound in her heart. "I will not let them destroy us again," she whispered, her voice filled with longing and determination flowing between the gusts of wind.
Fitran walked straight toward the altar where Kaseo, Satan, Althur, and the Knights had gathered. Each of his steps shattered the silence of the Stones—not the sound of a human, but the sound of a will refusing to be forgotten. The cold wind lifted dust and debris from the ground as he stepped, creating a dramatic image of courage and pent-up anger. The Voidlight in his hand now not only shone a deep blue-black but vibrated with an empty aura that swallowed the colors and names around it. "This will not end here," he shouted, his voice echoing, carrying a question that shook the hearts of all who heard. The atmosphere grew more oppressive, as if time paused for a moment to witness this decisive moment.
Kaseo, still standing near Satan and the emerald crystal of the Avatar's memory, smiled faintly—cold, like a historian confident in his own correctness. The atmosphere around them felt tense, as if every heartbeat intensified the suffocating silence. The air was filled with the damp aroma of wet earth and something that had lost hope, creating a grim backdrop for the impending clash of ideas.
Satan folded her wings, her eyes as red as frozen blood, watching Fitran with a curiosity that was almost amusing. Her cynical smile revealed pleasure in uncertainty, and there, behind that expression, was the knowledge that all of this was just the beginning of a deeper darkness.
Althur turned, momentarily seeing Fitran not as an enemy but as a fellow victim of fate refusing to finish. He could feel the pain in Fitran's eyes, like a candle flame struggling against a strong wind. That struggle made him feel connected, even though the boundaries of enmity between them were thickening.
The Knights of the Round raised their weapons, ready to stand between two wills that were now nearly unbridgeable. The clanging of metal filled the air, resonating with the meeting of steel and strong intent. The dim light painted heroic shadows around them, a price guaranteed for the truth that would be at stake.
"Fitran Fate," Kaseo said flatly, "you come with all the wounds of the world. But this world does not need more heroes who do not know when to stop sacrificing." His voice radiated indifference, yet beneath it lay a subtle doubt, as if he were reconsidering the path he had taken. That emotional pressure hung in the air as each word was spoken, feared to resonate with the fragility within their hearts.
Fitran stared straight ahead, his voice cold yet deep. He took a deep breath, as if gathering strength from the depths of his wounded soul. When his eyes met Kaseo's, there seemed to be a spark of fire blazing, completely unaffected by the threat of a coup. "The world never asked for sacrifice. But as long as you hurt Rinoa—as long as even one name is taken from those I love—I will never stop fighting." With a tone that was almost a promise, Fitran's determination flowed, piercing through the darkness surrounding them, revealing a hope that held the slate of future history. The power of his words flowed like an unbroken river, reflecting the tension that threatened to explode.
Satan stepped forward, slicing through the air with an abyssal aura that seeped into the heart. "What will you do, Monarch without a crown? This new world belongs to those who dare to forget. Not to those who live in vengeance." Her voice flowed slowly, like an echo from the eternal darkness waiting for the rise of forgotten leaders.
Fitran did not answer, only raised the Voidlight—the weapon gleaming sharply, as if absorbing all the light around it, aiming it at Satan and Kaseo. Around him, the air began to vibrate, feeling heavy, the Proto-Speech mixing with whispers of names that had been lost, like memento mori floating between them. Fitran's aura thickened; it was not just magic enveloping him, but a void where all magic, names, and time lost meaning. An unspoken helplessness choked the air, as if the whole world awaited the decision of one individual.
The Knights took half a step back, sensing something older and deeper than all the oaths they had ever held. The vibrations of fear and hope created a streak of darkness that was hard to ignore. Their bodies felt stiff, as if hypnotized by the power growing in the midst of this confrontation.
Althur gazed at Fitran, their eyes meeting as if there were thousands of unspoken questions in the air. His tone was heavy, "Do you wish to be a nameless king, Fitran? Or just a monster demanding the world to suffer with you?" There was a deep note of disappointment, as if Althur felt he had lost something precious.
Fitran looked at Althur, full of wounds, his heart trembling on the edge of hope and despair. "I have rejected names, I have rejected the world. But today, I only want one thing: justice for all the wounds that have been left behind—and answers for all the love that has been erased from history." His voice trembled, each word seemingly etched with blood and tears.
Kaseo let out a short laugh. "Justice? This world knows nothing of fairness. The world only knows who can write the last name at the end of the war." That laughter darkened the atmosphere, adding to the tension that pressed down as if that day would never end. In the pounding heartbeat, this situation felt like an explosion waiting to happen; uncertainty mingled with hope, creating a symphony of unease.
Fitran's aura changed. Black spirals ignited around his body, the Voidlight melting into a shadowy form, no longer an ordinary sword but a manifestation of empty will. In an instant, the atmosphere around him felt heavy, as if even the wind was reluctant to blow, only shrouded in a sharp cold. Fitran's eyes scanned every entity before him—Kaseo, Satan, Althur, the Knights—not as foes, but as witnesses to the world's failure to fulfill its promises.
"Why are you all silent?" his voice echoed, transmitting deep pain. "Do you not feel the same disappointment?"
Proto-Speech resonated from Fitran's mouth: "The names that were burned, the wounds that were never forgiven—today I become the empty space between all thrones and oaths. Those who refuse to forget, let us stand by my side. Those who choose emptiness, never return."
The air cracked, the roots of the Tree of Scars trembled. The crystal in Kaseo's hand shone wildly, reflecting a dim light that seemed to strike the hearts of everyone present. Satan narrowed her eyes, as if trying to find courage among the shadows of fear, and the Knights began to lose their memories one by one, as if Fitran's aura erased the remnants of their attachment to the old world. There, faint whispers from the past reminded them of the gentle light of hope that now felt increasingly distant.
Fitran continued, his voice half trembling, "What have we fought for all this time? Is all of this in vain?" A thick sadness etched on his lips. Every word spoken seemed to split the silence, creating a bridge between memories and the bitter reality that must be faced.
Fitran's voice became hoarse as he added, "This world is not as we imagined; justice sometimes comes late, or not at all. But I will not let these forgotten names be erased so easily."
Rinoa stood behind Fitran, though her body was still weak. With every heartbeat sounding like thunder in her ears, she felt the weight of uncertainty dragging her steps. Small spirits circled around them, trying to strengthen the nearly severed web of harmony. The night wind whispered softly, carrying the damp aroma of the earth that had recently been rained upon, as if reminding them of the life that once existed.
She called Fitran's name—not as a Monarch, not as a hero, but as the man she once loved beneath the tree that used to thrive. "Fitran…" Her voice was thin, yet enough to hold Fitran from completely dissolving into anger and emptiness. There was a deep longing in her tone, as if every letter spoken bridged the gap of time that felt too far away.
Fitran turned briefly, seeing Rinoa's face filled with longing and hope, and for a moment, the black spirals around his body slowed. The atmosphere around them was filled with palpable tension; Kaseo's crystal light shimmered strangely, casting their shadows dancing on the walls, as if illustrating the inner struggle taking place. He knew that the world would truly crumble if that last love also vanished. In that silent moment, Rinoa could feel the pull of his soul, as if wanting to say more but could only rely on their deep gaze to grasp the remaining hope.
The confrontation froze, all powers ready to explode—the Sovereign's oath, the abyssal contract, the Knights' will, and the Monarch's emptiness. The sound of the wind rustling among the dead trees heightened the tension, bringing the damp aroma filled with hope and despair.
Kaseo challenged, "If you want to take this world, Fitran, you must defeat all that remains: me, Satan, Althur, even the Knights who still stand." His face showed indifference, yet his gaze held a spark of anger ready to ignite at any moment.
Satan opened her arms, preparing abyssal magic. The darkness of the dark seemed to swallow the light, creating a terrifying and unsettling aura. Althur raised his emerald sword, the reflection of light creating a green glow around him, offering hope amid the shadows. Meanwhile, the Knights held their breath, waiting for who would write the next chapter, the tension filling the air as if time had stopped.
And in the midst of them stood Fitran, with the form of a nameless Monarch, straightening his back, the power within him coursing through his body. His heart's voice trembled, wanting to create change: "If the world must choose, let it choose under the shadows of the last wounds. I—Nameless Monarch—will not bow until everything finds the meaning of forgiveness, or absolute destruction." That voice echoed, challenging, as if inviting a greater upheaval to the surface.