Chapter 99 – Return of the Emissary
The Divine Realm trembled as Jean Luther returned.
Not in body—no mortal shell could withstand such ascension—but in truth, in essence, in presence. Her feet touched no ground, yet every plane of existence felt the weight of her return.
The Codex pulsed at her side, its inked glyphs no longer dormant. They shimmered with intent, aligned not with fate, but with her will. She was no longer just Emissary of Light. She was the Word, chosen and self-forged, bearer of the final utterance.
The mortal world below lay quiet in her absence. Scars of the Dragon War had not yet faded. Cities rebuilt. Skies calmed. The embers of Antares's wrath cooled to dust. And yet the people remembered.
They remembered her.
Jean Luther—the youngest heir, the one who united the fractured nations, led warriors and gods alike. She who stood when all others fell.
And now… she returned not as a symbol, not even as a savior.
But as a force of reality itself.
Aza Roth, the Dreamer of Ends, watched from beyond the veil. His formless eyes gleamed with something foreign—respect. Perhaps even fear.
> "You have rewritten your role," he whispered through infinity. "Not pawn. Not prophet. But… author."
Back on the mortal plane, the skies cracked with golden brilliance. The first to sense her return was Silvia, standing atop the watchtowers of New Eltros. The elder Luther felt her sister's essence wash over her like a second dawn. She fell to her knees, lips trembling.
"Jean…"
Elsewhere, in the Magistery's towers, Erin Magus turned from the tomes of prophecy, her eyes wide.
"The Codex lives," she whispered.
Across the Iron Empire, the Thunderlands, the Frostwilds, the Shadowreach, and even the sacred sanctums of the Spirit Monks—Emissaries stirred.
Karen, the Emissary of Thunder, felt her divine guardian, Raigen the Stormhawk, screech into the heavens.
"She has returned," Karen murmured. "Not as she was. But as something more."
Jean appeared upon the sacred mount of Altaren, where the pact between gods and mortals was first written. There, the very fabric of the world awaited her word.
And she spoke.
One word.
"Rise."
Not a command of rule, but of renewal.
Mountains stirred. Rivers gleamed. Souls forgotten in battle felt peace.
She did not come to reign, nor to conquer.
Jean Luther returned… to begin.
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