[First Era – Year 17 of the Divinity War, Taengoo, plains of Sone]

  The air smelled of decay—of death long past—and the sky overhead churned with unnatural shadows, thick as if the heavens themselves were gasping for breath. Clouds stretched thin across the horizon like a blanket had been too hastily pulled over it. Moraithe moved slowly, his feet pressing into the soft, ashen soil of the world. The Severed were dying—their once insurmountable power wiped out in a single, monumental strike, leaving only a void.

  Yet, despite the world’s grim condition, Moraithe felt strangely at ease. His body was weary from the colossal exertion of the grand entanglement, his mind still bulging with the residue of entropy. But that did not concern him now. Not here, in the heart of the Severed worlds. No matter how the entropy rippled at the edges of his thoughts, it could not overshadow the quiet joy that hummed beneath his skin.

  They had won.

  A tremor of laughter bubbled up inside him at the thought. The Severed had been beaten—destroyed, perhaps, in the most complete way possible. Their corruption had been turned upon themselves in a single, final strike; their twisted influence turned inward by the entanglement—the life covenant. It was still difficult to grasp the weight of the victory. But as the ruins of their realm sprawled before him, there was no mistaking it—the time of the Severed had ended.

  Moraithe stepped carefully through the debris, his footsteps muffled by the fleshy remains of the Severed, writhing underfoot. They had once been mighty, terrifying forces of corruption and manipulation, but now they were nothing but mounds of rotting flesh, their grotesque forms twisted and shriveled. Their faces were frozen in expressions of agony—twisted mockeries of what they had once been. Some of them still twitched faintly, the remnants of whatever consciousness they had left, but few had the strength to rise.

  He passed them without a second thought, though their presence should have been enough to make anyone shiver with disgust. They were broken.

  The Severed lords, barons, and even dukes—those warped leaders who had once commanded armies and enslaved worlds—were scattered among the masses, lying prone and feeble. Moraithe didn’t even glance at them as he walked past, his eyes focused on the path ahead. He was no stranger to the grotesque, but this felt different—these beings were no longer a threat. They were the remnants of something they had finally defeated, the echoes of a forgotten storm.

  Moraithe’s hand flexed at his side, fingers curling as if the power of the entanglement was still thrumming beneath his skin. It was a strange sensation, feeling the echo of something so monumental still lingering inside him. In truth, the entanglement was in all of them, every creature with a soul. Every pure soul remained pure, but every corrupt soul … it had corrupted their bodies.

  The entanglement had required everything from him, every single unit of lord-level self-assurance, every drop of entropy he could hold. He was not the only soul brought to the brink; every drackmoor had put their all into the entanglement, with Elithir to hold them together and direct it. But even now, as entropy stirred in his mind, it felt like a distant thing.

  He could still sense the edges of chaos, like wild beasts rattling the cages in his mind, but they couldn’t break loose. Not anymore.

  He let out a breath, exhaling through his nose. The tension in his body released bit by bit.

  Their victory was no longer a dream—it was a reality. The instant of their triumph, Elithir had sent the drackmoor into the Severed worlds to offer them salvation. Just as he had come here, to divide those who sought protection and pull a part of this world into the revenescent. Now, with the Severed threat eliminated, they could reclaim worlds at a pace they’d never imagined possible.

  And yet, despite their success, there was no time to bask in the glory. The Severed were finished, but the universe still required saving. For Barthum would not allow them to wipe out his Severed without an answer. And his response would be the Amnesia Bomb.

  So, even now, it was a rush to offer all souls who desired it, protection and respite in the revenescent.

  A rustle in the distance caught his attention. A twisted form staggered toward him, its body shuddering in spasms. Moraithe paused, watching the grotesque figure approach, its hands twitching as it reached for him. There were remnants of power in its gaze—frantic, desperate—something that felt vaguely familiar. One of the Severed princes, a pale, skeletal figure, half-formed and barely coherent, raised its head toward him.

  It had once been a creature of immense power, its dark influence capable of bending entire civilizations to its will. But now, it was nothing more than a shell, a husk of a being that could barely hold itself upright.

  Moraithe gazed at the creature. The Severed princes had once been the apex of corruption, twisted reflections of the torture they had once endured at Throm’tor’s hands—manipulators who had ruled with fear. Now, they were little more than a dying gasp, the final sound as life abandoned them.

  “You’re finished,” Moraithe said, his voice flat, as if speaking to an insect he’d found beneath his heel.

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  The Severed prince made a weak attempt to snarl, but it was hollow, a pathetic rasp that carried no weight. Its body twitched again, trying to force itself to stand.

  Moraithe didn’t wait for it to reach him. With a thought, he twisted the fabric of space, entangling the weight of a counterfeit star into a single, crushing point right at the heart of the Severed prince. The entanglement fell uncontested. A mere lord snuffing out a prince. The creature’s body convulsed violently, its form crumpling under the sheer pressure of the entanglement, before it disintegrated into a heap of ash and forgotten power.

  The prince was no more.

  Moraithe didn’t even flinch.

  He turned back toward the rest of the world, seeing the same decay stretching across the horizon. There were still remnants to deal with, remnants of the Severed’s influence, those who were men, servants of the Severed and not Severed themselves, but none of them could hold the universe in thrall any longer. Their reign was over, and the people of the galaxy could begin to rebuild. It wouldn’t be easy, and there was still much to be done, but Moraithe felt an unfamiliar surge of hope—hope that the universe could heal.

  They had won. And now, the real work would begin. He approached one of the villages where those enslaved by the Severed still dwelt.

  His thoughts drifted to the growing number of corrupt souls across the universe—those whose bodies were decaying faster than time could repair. Their souls, too far gone, were dragging their physical forms toward the inevitable. It was a cruel fate, one that echoed the lives of those who had been manipulated by the Severed’s false promises.

  Moraithe's hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of gratitude within him. A nearly bottomless reserve. Nearly endless power to heal. But he remembered his follies of the past, gratitude wasn’t a power to be given lightly. It was like a delicate thread that could unravel a life or change a soul’s path forever. Yet he felt the weight of the decision press down on him, stronger than the chaos.

  The people who were suffering now—could he help them? Should he help them?

  A portal opened beside him and Norgoth emerged. His luminous veins shone in the light of that dim world.

  “It seems you've recovered enough to join me.”

  Norgoth nodded. And together they walked toward the somber village.

  “You’re quiet,” Norgoth said, his voice like distant thunder, rumbling low in the vast silence that surrounded them.

  Moraithe glanced at him, then at a ball of golden gratitude he’d gathered in his hand. Norgoth looked into his eyes, then at his gleaming gratitude with an unspoken understanding. Norgoth didn’t need words. He knew Moraithe was caught in the space between mercy and consequence.

  Moraithe took a slow breath and shook his head, eyes scanning the masses of decaying bodies and the few survivors who still clung to life. “So many lost,” he murmured. “So many who never had a chance to learn, to see the truth.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Norgoth said, the calm authority in his tone laced with an edge of weariness. He knew Moraithe felt the weight of all their struggles on his shoulders. “The Severed worlds have always been a place of darkness, but you’ve shown them the light now. No one can change the past. They’ll have to make their own choices, their own mistakes, and taste the pain of it.”

  Moraithe nodded, but his gaze never wavered from the people who still stumbled through the decaying streets. Their faces were a mixture of pain and hope, flickering in the dim light like dying embers.

  “Maybe,” Moraithe said quietly. He turned to face Norgoth fully. “I could give them gratitude. Offer them an opportunity to change. They could earn it—start fresh. I’ll give them the power to extend their lives if they help each other.”

  Norgoth studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing. “And what will it cost them?”

  Moraithe hesitated. The question was fair. Gratitude couldn’t be given without an exchange, and the price was rarely something tangible. It was a price of the heart.

  “They’ll have to do good deeds, small things at first. Help their neighbors. Take care of their communities. I want them to feel the power of giving, of doing good, so that they can learn to heal themselves. I’ll pay them gratitude for it at first, but soon they’ll learn that good deeds bring gratitude on their own.”

  “And what if they don’t?” Norgoth’s voice was more serious now, the glimmer of a challenge hidden beneath his words.

  Moraithe’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he was silent, the chaos in his mind bubbling uncomfortably. “Then, their bodies will continue to waste away. I can’t force them to change, Norgoth. But, I can point them toward salvation.”

  “And that’s all we can offer them, isn’t it?” Norgoth murmured. “Guidance. Choice.”

  Moraithe’s lips pressed into a thin line. It was always about choice. About free will. It wasn’t about saving everyone—at least, not in the way he’d always hoped. He couldn’t take the burden of every soul upon himself. People had to change on their own terms, through their own choices.

  With a final glance toward the people still struggling in the streets, Moraithe held out his hand. A soft, golden light began to seep from his palm, the energy of gratitude flickering and pulsing like a heartbeat.

  One by one, the people began to notice, their eyes turning toward the light, for they all knew the color of money. So many of them already had the signs of corruption of aging.

  “I offer you this,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “Gratitude. In exchange for good deeds. The greater the deeds the greater the pay. Many of you have become mortal, you will slowly age and die. But gratitude is the power to heal. It will extend your life.”

  At first, they hesitated, unsure of what was being offered. But Moraithe didn’t rush them. He simply stood there, waiting for them to decide.

  Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, a few souls stepped forward—hesitant, unsure, but hopeful. “And how will you know we've done the work you asked?”

  “This stone can read your thoughts.” He held up the fragment of Elithir. “By it, I will know.”

  They took tentative steps toward him, eyes wide as they reached out to warm their hands by the light of his gratitude, as if by a fire. As if mere proximity could heal them.

  Moraithe allowed himself a small sigh of relief. It was a beginning. Maybe it wouldn’t be enough to heal them all, but it was a step toward change, a step toward something better.

  Behind him, Norgoth watched silently, his arms crossed, waiting for Moraithe to finish. He didn’t need to say anything—Moraithe knew. Norgoth trusted him. Perhaps his vast wealth could finally be useful for something.

  This was his offer. Now for Elithir’s. The power of Elithir filled him, and the world inverted, everything falling inward as if into a hollow world …