The echo of battle still rang in the air as Alan and Seris emerged from the Chapel of Tyrants.
The wind was quieter now. No whispers. No illusions.
Only power.
Alan's back still glowed faintly — the First Seal now permanently etched into his soul. A burning halo torn by a serpent's fang. It pulsed with every heartbeat, syncing with the soulblade in his grip.
"Are you alright?" Seris asked, though her voice trembled. Even she could feel it: he was changing.
Alan didn't answer. He was listening.
To the silence.
To the way the world was reacting to his presence.
Far to the east, past the Forest of Glass and the Sapphire Lakes, a shadow stirred.
*****
Deep beneath the ruined cathedral of Vey'rel, cloaked figures chanted in a language not spoken in any current age. The chamber was carved from bone and sorrow, filled with blood-drenched relics and robed disciples — each bearing a brand: a serpent devouring the sun.
The Cult of Crimson Echo.
At the altar stood the Crimson Warden, his face hidden behind an ivory mask in the shape of a grinning skull.
He raised his hands. "It has begun."
The cultists chanted louder. A child, glassy-eyed, floated toward the altar — suspended by magic, eyes glowing red.
"The First Seal has returned to him," the Warden hissed. "The world will seek balance. But we? We will resurrect the Tyrant's True Self."
A colossal horn, carved from the bone of a slain starbeast, lay behind the altar.
The Warden touched its surface. "We blow this horn, and his old memories awaken. The dark ones. The buried ones."
One cultist hesitated. "But… what if the current self fights back?"
The Warden grinned beneath the mask. "Then we will force his ascension. Whether he wants it or not."
*****
Back in the ruins of the Chapel, Alan stared toward the rising moon, cold and unmoved.
Seris looked at him nervously. "Did you feel that?"
Alan nodded. "A horn was blown. A divine one."
"Where?"
He turned slowly, eyes flashing a deeper, darker blue. "South. In Vey'rel. The Crimson Echo."
Seris stiffened. "That's a death cult. Even mercenaries avoid it. They believe you're some kind of apocalypse incarnate."
Alan gave a faint smirk. "They're not entirely wrong."
She blinked. "What now?"
Alan looked up at the stars. "Now… I go claim the Second Seal. But first, I pay a visit to some old friends."
He turned, walking west toward the forest, where legends say a dormant war-golem slept beneath the roots of the World Tree.
As he vanished into the shadows, the winds whispered:
"He returns. He remembers. And soon… he awakens."