The heavy doors of the council hall closed with a deep, echoing boom, sealing Aren and the Emperor alone in the vast space.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Aren stood with the same relaxed stillness that had once broken armies.The Emperor — his lifelong friend and rival — leaned lightly against the war table, arms folded, studying him with eyes far too old for the youthful face he wore.
The silence stretched — heavy, loaded, full of things that could not be unsaid.
Finally, Aren spoke.
"What news?"
The Emperor's lips thinned into a grim line.
"The world holds its breath," he said quietly."The demons and dragons slaughtered their heralds from heaven, as I did."
"And now?" Aren asked.
"They prepare," the Emperor answered. "Just as we are — quietly, desperately."
He turned and waved a hand over the sprawling maps on the table — maps marked not by political borders, but by ley lines, ancient relics, hidden sanctuaries of magic and life.
"The heavens' army is coming, Aren. Not tomorrow. Not next month.But soon.And when they descend, they will not discriminate between human, demon, dragon, or elf.They will cleanse everything."
He met Aren's gaze, the weight of centuries pressing between them.
"I intend to fight," the Emperor said simply. "Even if the world burns for it."
Aren was silent for a long time.
Then, finally, he moved — slowly, almost thoughtfully — stepping up to the table.
He glanced down at the maps, at the desperate plans of mortals standing against gods.
And he smiled.
A smile without fear.Without hesitation.Without mercy.
"Then you're thinking too small," Aren said softly.
The Emperor straightened.
"Small?"
Aren raised his golden gaze — and for the first time since he entered, the hall seemed to hold its breath.
"You plan for a war of humans," Aren said. "You plan to fight a divine army with mortal kingdoms."
He shook his head slowly.
"It will not be enough."
The Emperor's mouth tightened.
"And what would you suggest?" he asked carefully.
Aren looked him in the eye.
"No more empires. No more separate banners. No more petty rivalries."
He let the words fall like stones into a still pond:
"We must unite."
The Emperor blinked, startled.
"Unite?" he echoed.
"Humans," Aren said."Demons.Dragons."
He let the names fall like hammer blows.
"We have fought each other for thousands of years.But the heavens seek to end all life.We either stand together... or we die alone."
The Emperor stared at him, the weight of the suggestion sinking into his bones.
"And more," Aren said, his voice low and steady. "We need a council. A gathering.A Round Table — not of kings, but of protectors.Of transcended beings.Of those willing to carry the weight of the world's survival."
The idea hung in the air — heavy, audacious, dangerous.
A world where humans, demons, and dragons would sit together.A world where sovereignty was sacrificed for survival.
The Emperor exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead.
"And you think they'll agree?" he asked."The Demon Lord? The Dragon Emperor? They would rather die than bow."
"They won't bow," Aren said."And neither will we."
He stepped closer to the Emperor, his voice dropping to a near whisper — sharp as a blade drawn across glass.
"It will not be a throne.It will not be a crown.It will be an oath.A binding promise — to protect the world until this war ends."
The Emperor stared at him.
And Aren — Aren let him see it:
The unbreakable will.The burning fury.The boundless love.
"I will not see my family erased because of our pride," Aren said.
His voice was calm.But his eyes —His eyes were a storm the gods themselves would fear.
For a long moment, the Emperor said nothing.
Then he straightened fully, and nodded once — a deep, solemn nod.
"You want this?" he asked.
"I demand it," Aren said simply.
The Emperor chuckled — a tired, broken sound — and clapped his hand once against the table.
"Very well," he said."I'll send the messengers."
"But not just to the dragons and demons," Aren added.
The Emperor raised an eyebrow.
"We must inform the other races," Aren continued. "The elves. The dwarves. The merfolk. The fairies.They deserve the truth.They were not told, because they have no transcendent of their own to receive the heavenly decree."
He smiled grimly.
"But they must choose."
The Emperor's smile faded.
"Join us," Aren said."Accept our protection — and our leadership — without a seat at the Round Table.Or remain independent — and risk annihilation."
The Emperor shook his head, half in disbelief, half in admiration.
"You never think small," he said.
Aren shrugged lightly.
"Small dreams are for those who plan to survive.I plan to win."
The Emperor moved to the side of the hall, pulling a parchment from a sealed case — an artifact tied to the imperial bloodline itself.
"I will draft the declarations today," he said."Messengers will ride before nightfall."
Aren nodded once.
"And the Round Table?" the Emperor asked.
Aren thought for a long moment.
Then he spoke:
"We call it the Circle of Guardians," he said."Not kings. Not rulers.Guardians of life."
The Emperor smiled faintly, tired but determined.
"Circle of Guardians it is."
They stood there — two men who had once carved empires from blood and bone — now carving hope from the ashes of despair.
Outside, the sun rose higher over the empire.
And far beyond the horizon, the heavens stirred, sharpening their swords.