The morning sky blushed in hues of amber and gold, as if the heavens themselves were painting a farewell.
Beyond the rolling plains, veiled behind layers of mist and mystery, loomed the silhouette of the Mountain of Ascension—the towering spire of stone and sky where the divine hall, Anthea, whispered ancient truths to those brave enough to seek them.
The soft sound of footsteps echoed behind him.
It was golden, sacred… as if the heavens themselves bowed to the moment.
On the edge of the eastern gates—where stone met sky and forest met hope—a gathering had formed. Thousands lined the marble path, faces glowing with reverence and awe. Children clutched sunflowers, elders wept with quiet gratitude, and warriors raised their blades in solemn salute.
Nova and Scarlet stood at the threshold of a new beginning.
Clad in twilight silver and royal crimson, they stood not just as King and Queen… but as symbols. Of peace, of power, of purpose.
And beside them stood Liora, the flying lion of legends—her wings folded, but her eyes fierce, golden orbs reflecting every soul who'd come to witness their departure.
"Make way! King John of Martha approaches!"
The crowd split like water before an ancient ship.
Riding a majestic war elk draped in emerald silk, King John of Martha descended, flanked by high lords and magicians, each carrying sacred relics.
He dismounted, walked past all titles and ceremony, and stood before Nova.
Without a word, he bowed.
"We are no longer separate," he said. "You are not just a king of Thelara, but of this whole land. Your journey is ours."
From a velvet case, he drew a crystalline object.
A dragon's heart—pulsing faintly, as if still alive.
"This," King John said, lifting it to the light, "is the Heart of Tharos, slain a century ago. It holds a breath of the dragon's soul. Should your body perish… the heart will burn once, restoring you to life."
Nova's eyes narrowed. He reached out and took the relic—its weight more spiritual than physical—and nodded.
"I will use it only if I must. And only to return to her."
Scarlet glanced at him, a soft pain behind her smile. She knew the price of destiny.
Other gifts followed.
A mage from Martha presented a satchel of Everlight Stones, crystals that absorbed darkness and dispelled illusions.
A blacksmith from Thelara unveiled armor cloth—woven from thunder-silk spiders, flexible as linen but strong as plate.
An old woman, tearfully approaching Scarlet, handed her a tiny wooden charm. "It belonged to your real mother," she whispered. "I served her once… before she vanished."
Scarlet clutched the charm to her chest, blinking back tears.
Trumpets sounded.
Nova turned. He raised one hand high, and the murmurs hushed.
"We leave not for glory," he began, "but for truth. Anthea awaits—not just for us, but for the questions this world hides."
He looked at the crowd, thousands strong.
"If we do not return… then live on. And let no kingdom rise through cruelty again."
Liora roared.
With a beat of wings, she rose—Nova and Scarlet astride her back, riding into the dawn.
Petals flew like rain.
Cheers rose like thunder.
And for a moment… the world paused.
Two legends had departed.
A new chapter had begun.