Chapter 36: The Divine Knight Descends—Galatine vs. Soldraknirr

  Garett exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. The weight of Galatine’s presence loomed before him—ancient, expectant. He bent his knees, channeling energy through his limbs, and with a single burst of magic, he propelled himself upward. The divine machine’s cockpit lay at its back, nestled like a throne within the armored shell, waiting.

  As he landed, the hatch hissed open, parting like the gates of a temple. The moment he slid into the command throne, his world collapsed inward.

  A flood of visions consumed him.

  A war beyond reckoning—a clash between a civilization so impossibly advanced that the Celestial Empire seemed primitive in comparison, and something far older, something beyond comprehension. Primordial beings of metal and entropy, their very presence unraveling existence, pilgrimaged across the stars, collapsing entire universes into nothingness. Great heroes rose against them, only to fall—legends burning to cinders in a war fought beyond the limits of time.

  He saw a warrior—the Knight of Elderwynd.

  Not as an enemy. Not as a monster.

  As a man. Alone.

  He felt his emptiness, the abyss of power without companionship, the crushing solitude of standing at the apex with no one beside him.

  The vision twisted, unraveling into forbidden knowledge.

  Formulae, equations—arcane and scientific fused into a single grand design. Quantum physics and magic intertwined, molded into a singular, coherent structure that defied the very laws of reality. Understanding burned into him, knowledge not meant for mortal minds.

  Garett recoiled from the mental feedback, gasping. His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath ragged. His body felt too small to contain what had just been forced into it.

  “Garett!” Lyra’s voice, her voice was sharp, pulling him back. “Are you alright?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself. The echoes of war and knowledge still rang in his skull. He barely managed a nod. “Yeah… yeah, I think so.”

  Nyx observed him with knowing eyes. “This is normal,” she said simply. “Galatine is showing you the past, the burden of those who came before you.”

  Garett turned forward, facing Galatine’s interface. The divine machine hummed, a sound that was not mechanical but alive, resonating deep in his bones. The controls were unlike anything he had felt before—not mere levers and sticks, but extensions of the machine’s will, responding to his thoughts even before he moved. The very air within the cockpit felt charged, thick with presence, as though Galatine itself was aware of him.

  A low thrum pulsed through the core of the machine.

  The Azeroth Drive awakened, resonating with him, with the Starforge, with something far beyond himself. The symbols on the interface flared to life, scanning his biometrics, locking onto him as its pilot—its Resonator.

  Nyx’s voice echoed through the space, unwavering. “Prepare yourself. The moment this space collapses, you will return to the battlefield. Time moves differently here—barely seconds will have passed outside.”

  Lyra’s pink hair whipped around her face, caught in the gale of Galatine’s thrusters, strands of rose-gold dancing like threads of silk. The billowing fabric of her robes clung and twisted around her form, shifting with every pulse of energy emanating from the divine machine. Her freckles, usually soft and delicate, were illuminated by the ambient glow, a constellation of worry and longing across her skin.

  Her golden-hazel eyes flickered with uncertainty, not for the battle ahead—but for what came after. Would Garett return from this the same man she knew? Would they still be the same? Her hands trembled before she clenched them, steadying herself. The air was electric, and yet, all she could focus on was him.

  The energy in the cockpit surged, raw power begging for release.

  Nyx’s gaze flickered toward him, a hint of amusement touching her celestial presence. “Go knock him out, Resonator.”

  The dimension shattered.

  Reality snapped back into place.

  Galatine stood face-to-face with Soldraknirr.

  Lyrius blinked, confusion flashing across his draconic features. One moment, the celestial force—something beyond magic, beyond divinity—had stood against him. Now, before him, Galatine loomed, motionless, unreadable. The divine knight did not react, did not flinch, as if Lyrius’ very presence was beneath its notice.

  His leathered face, now more draconian than before, rippled with frustration. Confusion turned to rage.

  With a deafening roar, Soldraknirr launched forward, golden energy cascading from its frame. Lyrius' claws wreathed in crackling magic, slashed forward with the fury of a god, aiming to carve through Galatine's chestplate—

  But his attack never landed.

  Galatine remained still, its towering form utterly unaffected. As if Lyrius' attack had never existed.

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  Lyrius snarled, his eyes wide. Impossible.

  He struck again. Faster. More violently. A second time. A third. Each blow should have torn through the divine knight's armor, should have shattered it, should have brought his enemy to his knees.

  But it was as if Lyrius was slashing at the fabric of reality itself.

  Soldraknirr’s claws scraped against Galatine’s form, but no sparks flew, no metal buckled. His overwhelming power, the draconic strength that should have obliterated all in his path, was meaningless here.

  Galatine did not move.

  Lyrius’ breath came in ragged gasps. His instincts screamed at him—this wasn’t just an opponent. It was something else. Something ancient. Something untouchable.

  A terrible realization settled in his gut. He was not fighting another man. He was standing before something that had already judged him—and found him lacking.

  A shudder ran through Soldraknirr’s frame. A fleeting moment of doubt.

  Then—Galatine moved.

  It was subtle, a shift of weight, an imperceptible shift of momentum, and in the next instant—

  The world itself seemed to collapse under its strike.

  A single, effortless backhand sent Soldraknirr reeling, its massive form hurled across the battlefield as if it were weightless. The impact shook the very ground, tearing apart the landscape as the dragon-mech crashed through ruined buildings, golden embers trailing in its wake.

  Lyrius' mind reeled, but instinct forced him back to his feet. He snarled, his draconic, spectral wings unfurling in challenge. "I AM THE HEIR OF HOUSE DRACONIS!" he roared. "I AM HOUSE DRACONIS! I AM SUPREME!" Lyrius howled, his voice raw with rage. "WHAT EVEN ARE YOU?! THIS ISN’T A WAR MECH! THIS ISN’T EVEN A SPELLFORGED ENGINE!" His breath came in short gasps, his mind clawing for answers that didn’t exist. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS ARE YOU?!""

  Galatine did not answer.

  With a sudden, fluid motion, Galatine raised its greatsword, spectral capeunfurling like cascading ribbons of light. The very air around it distorted, the sheer force of its presence warping gravity itself.

  Lyrius gritted his teeth, forcing Soldraknirr into motion. He launched forward, his draconic instincts guiding him, weaving past Galatine’s guard with inhuman precision. He was still the better pilot—his reflexes, his skill, his raw ability—he should be winning.

  But none of it mattered.

  His blows landed, yet Galatine stood firm. Unshaken. Unmoved.

  Lyrius screamed in frustration, his movements growing more desperate. "MOVE, DAMN YOU!" His wings flared, golden magic crackling in his palms as he gathered power into Soldraknirr’s claws, lashing out with a crescent arc of condensed starfire.

  Galatine’s spectral cape folded inward. The attack vanished, as if reality itself had swallowed it whole.

  Lyrius barely had time to react before Galatine’s blade whistled through the air. He dodged, his instincts barely keeping him alive as the tip of the sword shaved through Soldraknirr’s armor, cutting through draconic plating like silk.

  Garett’s voice came through the comms, calm yet resolute. “You were right about one thing, Lyrius.”

  Lyrius growled. “Oh? Enlighten me, dead man.”

  Galatine shifted, stepping forward with crushing inevitability. Garett’s voice remained steady. “This isn’t a war mech. It’s something more.”

  Lyrius roared, rage overtaking reason. “I AM A DRACONIS! YOU THINK I FEAR SOME RELIC?!”

  He surged forward, Soldraknirr’s engines igniting with a blinding inferno, propelling him toward Galatine at impossible speeds. Claws extended, fangs bared, his form nothing but a streak of gold fury—

  And then—

  Galatine’s cape spread wide, and with a single, devastating downward swing—

  The battlefield split in two.

  Leona coughed, pain lancing through her ribs. Her breathing was ragged, every inhale a battle against the bruises and burns littering her body. She barely remembered the moment of impact—only the searing pain, the sensation of her mech being torn apart beneath her.

  But she was still here.

  Barely.

  Her hands trembled as she activated what little healing magic she had left. It wasn’t enough—not even close—but it kept her conscious, kept her alive. For now.

  She forced herself to look up, her vision swimming, her mind sluggish. One moment, Lyra—or was it Nyx? Or something else entirely?—had stood against Lyrius, holding back his relentless fury. The next, she had vanished, and now…

  Now there was this.

  A towering knight of silver and teal, standing against Soldraknirr, its presence oppressive, divine. Not just a machine. Not just a war construct. Something more.

  Her fingers clenched. Her mind screamed for an answer, but no logic, no battlefield instinct could explain what she was seeing.

  What was this machine?

  Galatine moved.

  It wasn’t a lunge, nor a desperate counter—it was a declaration. A mere shift of its stance sent a pulse through the battlefield, a ripple through reality itself.

  Lyrius’ Soldraknirr lunged in response, but it was already too late.

  Galatine’s spectral cape flexed, intercepting Soldraknirr’s incoming strike with the effortless grace of something beyond mortal design. Lyrius snarled as his mech rebounded off the radiant energy, his claws scraping uselessly against the ethereal force keeping him at bay. No impact. No damage.

  It was like attacking a dream.

  Garett’s voice rang clear, brimming with finality. “This is over.”

  Lyrius' rage ignited anew. “You dare—”

  Galatine struck.

  A single, fluid motion—a downward cleave that distorted the very air. The greatsword blurred, its teal glow streaking like a comet’s tail, and then—

  Impact.

  Soldraknirr convulsed. The force of the blow tore through its frame, rending golden plates from its form, disrupting the very draconic essence that bound it together. Lyrius screamed as arcs of raw energy erupted across his cockpit. The beast was dying.

  A final surge of instinct, of desperation, triggered Soldraknirr’s emergency ejection sequence.

  The cockpit ripped open, and Lyrius was wrenched from his throne.

  The moment his body was forcibly ejected, he felt it—

  Like flesh being torn from bone.

  The draconic power that had melded him to Soldraknirr, that had made him one with his machine, was now ripping away from him in the most brutal, agonizing way possible. Every nerve in his body screamed as the connection was severed, his breath hitching in a raw, ragged gasp.

  He crashed onto the battlefield below, his body rolling across the war-torn ground, limbs weak, heart hammering. His vision blurred.

  He had lost.

  He forced himself to move. His mind shrieked at him to run.

  Legs shaking, he stumbled into the woods, his breaths shallow, his body barely responding.

  The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was the towering silhouette of Galatine, standing victorious.

  But it wasn’t over.

  Far above, beyond the veil of smoke and ruin, unseen eyes watched. A presence loomed, silent and waiting.

  The war was far from finished. And in the darkness of the cosmos, something shifted.

  Something woke up.