The firelight cast long, flickering shadows across the newly rebuilt walls of Black Hollow, the warding runes carved into the obsidian stone glowing faintly in the twilight.Dain sat on a rough-hewn bench near the central fire pit, the Dragonbane resting across his lap, its runes pulsing weakly in time with his heartbeat. His arm ached, the blackened veins of the gauntlet’s mark throbbing like a second pulse, a reminder of the power he carried, and the cost it demanded.Serra sat beside him, her sword sheathed but its blue flame still flickering at the pommel, casting eerie reflections in her tired eyes. She didn’t speak, but the tension in her shoulders was palpable, the weight of the battle with Solara still lingering in the air between them."They’ll come back," Serra said finally, her voice low. "The gods. The Order. Someone. They always do."Dain exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The crown on his brow felt heavier than ever, its molten gold cooling against his skin. "Then

The Stone Sentinel’s Vale was silent, save for the whisper of the wind through the ancient statues and the distant hum of the Heartstone embedded in the Titan’s chest.Dain stood before the Sentinel, the Dragonbane clutched in his hands, its runes pulsing faintly with the seven relics’ power. The crown on his brow felt heavy, its molten gold pressing into his skin like a brand."You must forge a new blade," the Sentinel rumbled, its voice like grinding stone. "One that can cut the bond between the Heir’s blood and the Wyrm’s essence."Dain exhaled, the weight of the choice pressing down on him. "How?"The Sentinel’s eyes flared, the Heartstone in its chest pulsing brighter. "The Dragonbane must be remade. Its power must be reforged into a blade that can sever the bloodline’s curse."Serra stepped forward, her sword igniting, its blue flame casting sharp shadows on the scorched earth. "And what will that cost?"The Sentinel’s gaze shifted to her. "The blood of the Heir. The essence of

The lightning split the sky like a whip, its crack echoing through the village as Aelric, the Champion of the Storm, advanced on Dain. His golden armor gleamed like a second sun, the divine fire wreathing his sword casting jagged shadows across the scorched earth.The villagers huddled behind Dain, their faces pale, their hands clutching hammers and plows repurposed as weapons. The air smelled of ozone and burning metal, thick with the weight of the gods’ wrath.Dain raised the Blade of Severing, its runes pulsing in response to the storm. The weight of the blade was familiar now, its edge humming with the essence of the Wyrm and the power of the seven relics. His arm ached, the blackened veins of the gauntlet’s mark throbbing, but he ignored the pain.The Wyrm’s whispers were silent, but the Forgotten King’s voice still echoed in his mind: "The blood always wins, Heir.""Not today," Dain growled.Aelric’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes burning with divine fire. "You are bold, Hei

The air crackled with divine fury, the ground trembling as Elyon, the Voice of the Gods, raised his sword. The golden fire wreathing his armor cast harsh shadows across the scorched ruins of Black Hollow, the light so intense it burned Dain’s eyes.The Blade of Severing hummed in his grip, its runes pulsing with the seven relics’ power, but the weight of the moment pressed down on him like a physical force."You have defied us for the last time, Heir," Elyon declared, his voice resonating like a thousand bells. "The cycle ends with you."Dain gritted his teeth. "Then let’s end it."Elyon lunged, his sword a blur of golden fire. Dain parried with the Blade of Severing, the clash sending a shockwave through the village. The divine power seared the air, but the Blade of Severing held, its runes flaring as the seven relics’ power pushed back. Dain gritted his teeth, pushing against Elyon’s strength. The god was stronger than any foe he had faced, his blows carrying the weight of eternity.

The Blade of Severing pulsed in Dain’s grip, its runes glowing like embers in the twilight. The storm had passed, but the air still crackled with divine energy, the ground trembling beneath his boots.The villagers had emerged from the tunnels, their faces pale, their eyes wide with awe and fear. Serra stood beside Dain, her sword extinguished, its blue flame flickering weakly at the pommel."It’s over," Serra said, her voice hoarse. "The gods retreated."Dain nodded, but the weight of the Blade of Severing was a constant reminder of what he had done, what he had sacrificed. The blackened veins on his arm had faded, the gauntlet’s mark now dull, its power spent. The Wyrm’s whispers were silent, the Forgotten King’s voice gone."We won," Dain said, his voice raw."For now," Serra corrected, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "The gods don’t forgive. They don’t forget."Dain exhaled, rubbing his face. The villagers were watching him, their eyes filled with hope and something deeper, trust.