What descended instead was something unexpected—light.
A surge of chromatic mana cascaded from the broken moon, washing the world below in vivid waves of turquoise, lavender, and amber hues. People stared upward in awe and fear, hearts racing as they anticipated annihilation.
Yet the end never came.
Instead, as the celestial glow swept across the continents, each citizen felt an inexplicable pulse deep within—almost as if a second heart had awakened, beating gently alongside their own.
High atop Beacon's tower, amidst the steady hum of holographic displays, Ozpin—named in a subtle echo of olive—paused, tilting his ever-present coffee mug thoughtfully. Throughout countless reincarnations, his magic had steadily withered away, each rebirth leaving behind weaker Aura, fainter echoes of power, and a paler shadow of the vibrant soul he once had been.
But now, for the first time in generations, that lost vitality stirred within him again.
He first felt it as a soft, unfamiliar tingle at his fingertips, spreading quickly into a river of warmth that surged through his veins. Stunned, he lowered his gaze. His coffee shimmered, turning briefly emerald green, reflecting the awakening strength within.
He whispered softly, eyes wide with quiet wonder:
“Could it be...? Has the moon returned to me what I had lost?”
Beside him, holographic readouts chimed gently, displaying Aura-level data:
+23% increase in baseline Aura—still climbing steadily.
Ozpin allowed himself a rare, genuine smile, the color of renewed hope shining brightly in his green-tinted eyes.
Across Remnant, ancient and forgotten places stirred awake beneath the radiant lunar light.
Conifer Temple, grey ruins nestled in a misty pine valley, suddenly blossomed anew: lichens began to glow in vibrant lime-green, while glyphs—once faded, forgotten, and dead—ignited with mint-colored flames, casting gentle luminescence upon aged stones.
In the stark, barren landscape of the Crimson Crests, where nothing had ever grown, vibrant roses erupted boldly from the cracks of parched earth. Scarlet petals, crystalline and shimmering like ruby glass, unfurled gracefully, defying centuries of desolation.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Within locked vaults beneath Atlas—Forgotten Reliquaries—ancient artifacts sprang suddenly to life. Dust-forged blades spat teal sparks eagerly, inert crystals surged with renewed brilliance, and a long-sealed grimoire snapped open, pages flickering rapidly with arcane symbols glowing in vibrant violet hues.
Even aboard commercial skimmers, mundane dust engines blinked unsteadily, absorbing strange new violet energies from the air itself. Several vessels made urgent landings, their drives demanding immediate recalibration to accommodate the freshly resonating mana.
Across the kingdoms, Humans and Faunus alike felt an inexplicable shift within their bodies and souls:
Palms tingled persistently, as if they were gripping embers—burning, yet painless.
Dreams became woven with brilliant threads of color, vivid and tangible, as though mana itself stitched new pathways through their sleeping minds.
Voices murmured softly from the depths of memory, whispering half-forgotten Semblance names, urging the awakening of long-dormant potentials.
Healers across Remnant quickly named this phenomenon the "Primitive Echo"—a spontaneous rekindling of potentials locked away within flesh and spirit.
In her shadowed citadel, Salem paced restlessly, her pale features tense beneath the cold glow of candles. Flames danced erratically, flaring in unnatural shades of ice-blue and blood-red, reflecting her mounting unease.
Her lips curled into a thin, wary smile, as eyes narrowed in contemplation.
“If the moon dares to sing,” she whispered coldly, her voice dripping with silver-grey malice, “then my Grimm will answer with their dance.”
With practiced grace, Salem traced intricate circles upon the dark stone floors, glowing veins of lilac energy following her fingertips as she began crafting immediate plans to exploit the sudden chaos:
Ebony Harvest: Deploy flying Beringels to capture and secure fragments of mana-infused lunar dust.
Scarlet Order: Assess if this strange new aurora weakens Huntsmen’s Aura defenses—an invaluable tactical advantage if proven true.
Graphite Seeding: Disseminate carefully tailored misinformation, spreading panic-inducing rumors that the lunar light carried plague, "Let their fear bleach away their precious hope."
The Queen of Grimm smiled quietly, poised and patient. Chaos was her loyal ally, and tonight, the moon had offered her a gift wrapped in uncertainty.
Far beyond the clouds, lounging comfortably on a luxurious balcony formed from planetary rings, ROB stretched leisurely, legs propped casually atop a passing comet.
A metallic chuckle escaped softly from behind his porcelain-white mask, eyes shimmering mischievously beneath the carved facade.
He glanced downward, observing Remnant with amused delight.
"A glowing heart hidden within a shattered moon, heroes awakening beneath a kaleidoscope of color, a witch poised on the precipice of dread... what an exquisite palette you’ve painted, my dear Alex!"
With a casual flick of his wrist, ROB rearranged entire constellations effortlessly, spelling out clearly across the cosmic canvas a single, brilliant word:
DRAMA
He reclined again, savoring the unfolding narrative, deeply curious whether Remnant would seize this newfound brilliance, painting its destiny in colors of vibrant hope…
…or descend swiftly into darkness, splattering black ink across the tapestry of fate.
ROB’s laughter echoed faintly between stars, soft yet infinitely pleased. After all, every good story deserved moments of true, vibrant chaos—and Remnant had just been granted its most extraordinary plot twist yet.
End of Expanded Chapter