The wind howled through the sacred dimension as if the world itself sensed what had been restored.
Rael stood tall before the Throne of the Dragon Sovereign, the black crown once forged for him now resting upon his head again. Behind him, his Imperial Knights had fully awakened—eleven warriors of old, their faces lost to time, their souls sealed in spectral armor and loyalty eternal.
Ilyara stood at his side, no longer trembling but radiant in sorrow and truth. Her memories were no longer fragments—they were whole. She had not just loved him once. She had bled for him, died for him, and unknowingly betrayed him through a system older than even their empire.
Now, Rael's hand closed around the hilt of Virex Nocturne, the cursed black sword forged from the throne's own malice. It pulsed with power—each thrum echoing across dimensions.
He turned to the knights.
"You remember why we fell," he said, his voice low, thunder beneath still waters. "You remember what they did to us. The betrayal from within, the silence of the world when we perished."
They nodded once, in grim unity.
"But we do not rise for revenge," Rael continued. "We rise for truth. For justice. For the ones who believed the lies… and the ones who need to know the light we carried never died."
He raised his hand—and with a crack of power, a series of ancient golden glyphs formed a massive worldwide spell-circle in the sky. A vision-casting array. It would project an image to every kingdom, every tower, every city.
His knights lined up behind him.
Ilyara stood by his side, dressed in white and silver—his Consort once more.
And then… the image began.
---
Across the world, in the heart of the Human Kingdoms, in the war halls of the Dwarven Bastion, in the elven groves of Ael'Thandor, and the deserts of the Southern Tribes, the skies shimmered with sudden light. A magic screen unfurled over every capital, every citadel.
Gasps echoed.
A figure stepped forward on the screen—crowned, cloaked in imperial black and crimson, with a sword of shadow and starlight on his back.
Rael.
He looked young—but his eyes carried millennia.
"I am Rael Vaelreth Draconis," he said clearly, the name echoing like a divine invocation.
"The Emperor of the Last Age. The one you struck from the pages of history."
Gasps turned to screams.
In the chambers of the Weeping Thorns Court, nobles and spies choked in panic. "He's dead! He was dead!"
But the voice continued.
"I return not to reclaim what was stolen, but to correct what was broken. I was merciful once… and for that, I was killed. Now, I return with justice—and judgment."
Behind him, the Imperial Knights knelt in formation, the Dragon Banner unfurling above them.
The people of the world stared in awe, confusion, fear… and for some—hope.
In the silence that followed, Rael raised his sword high.
And then, in a voice that silenced kingdoms, he declared:
> "It is time to correct my mistakes… and liberate all from the paw of the evil demons whom I once showed mercy."
The sky exploded with the seal of the Draconis Empire—an ancient dragon wrapping the world in flame and light.
---
In the shadows of the Academy, Cassian and Alric watched the sky.
Cassian grinned. "So… it's true."
Aelira fell to her knees, trembling. "He was always more than he claimed."
Evelyne whispered, "We've sworn ourselves to a god... and he's come back for us."
---
Far away, in the black tower of the Weeping Thorns, chaos erupted.
"Kill him! Kill him before the world remembers!" shouted the Elder.
But it was too late.
The Emperor had returned.
And this time, the world would burn or bow.