EPILOGUE
The days that followed were filled with the bitter taste of survival.
Drakon's fleet withdrew in silence, its retreat measured and disciplined. The Reckoning, its once-dominant presence now dulled by the weight of failure, disappeared into the void without ceremony. No threats, no final words—just a cold departure, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of Vellmont as a reminder of what had transpired. House Draconis had come to purge a world. They had left empty-handed and humiliated.
The Verdant Vale, however, was left to reckon with its survival.
Now, the aftermath remained.
Garett sat on the ruined walls of Vellmont Keep, watching as Cassia’s fleet unloaded relief efforts—medical personnel, rations, fortification materials. The once-proud city was now a carcass of stone and ash, its people hollow-eyed, searching for remnants of what they had lost. Bodies had been buried. The wounded had been tended to. And yet, the air still carried the acrid scent of war.
Leona stood near the survivors, coordinating with Cassia’s officers, her voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. Lyra, still weakened from the ordeal, sat beside Nyx on a makeshift cot, her hazel-gold eyes distant, troubled.
Cassia had done her duty well.
And now, she stood before him.
She was the image of authority—her admiral’s coat crisp, her expression impassive. Before the eyes of her officers, she was the cold, unshakable Countess of House Fenralis. But the moment they were alone, her demeanor cracked, just slightly.
"You look like shit, little brother."
Garett smirked, though it sent a dull ache through his ribs. "You should see the other guy."
Cassia sighed, stepping forward, brushing a gloved hand over his hair before pulling him into an embrace. For just a moment, the weight of their titles, their responsibilities, vanished. He was not Lord Governor Garett Fenralis. She was not Admiral Countess Cassia Fenralis. They were just siblings, reunited after too long.
She pulled away, straightened, and her mask of authority slipped back into place. "We’ll need to formalize the non-aggression pact. House Solarius is already involved, and the last thing we need is for this mess to escalate into something beyond our control."
Garett nodded, his smirk fading. "And the Vale?"
Cassia’s expression was unreadable. "We hold it. For now. But House Draconis will not forget this humiliation. You need to be ready."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
"So, it was the defense pact that called you here," Garett muttered, rubbing his temple as he tried to make sense of it all.
Cassia nodded. "It did exactly what it was designed to do. Detect hostility in a Fenralis-ruled domain and summon aid. The moment Drakon’s fleet entered orbit, the pact activated. It calculated everything—the energy signatures, the displacement of magical currents, the sheer gravitational disturbance of dreadnought-class warships slipping into orbit. And once the call was made, we answered."
Garett scoffed, shaking his head. "A failsafe forged by the paranoia of our ancestors."
Cassia's lips twitched into a smirk. "Paranoia keeps dynasties alive. If not for that, you’d be dead and the Vale would be nothing but another ruin under Drakon’s boot."
Garett frowned, curiosity flickering in his tired eyes. "How does it work, exactly?"
Cassia studied him for a moment before reaching out, taking his hand in hers. There was no pomp, no explanation steeped in politics—just the quiet understanding of an older sister showing her younger brother something fundamental. "It’s in our blood, Garett."
He glanced down at their joined hands, his brows furrowing slightly.
Cassia continued, "Any territory ruled over by a Fenralis has the pact woven into its very foundation. It’s always active, always watching. But it doesn’t trigger for just anything—it only responds to the greatest threats, the kind that could wipe us out if we weren’t prepared."
Garett exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "So we’re just living under a giant, invisible alarm system?"
Cassia chuckled, squeezing his hand before letting go. "A very useful one. Paranoia might be a curse, but it’s also the reason you’re standing here."
Garett sighed, staring at the wreckage beyond them. "Still, I doubt this is over. Drakon isn’t the type to let humiliation sit quietly."
Cassia’s expression darkened. "No. He isn’t. Which is why you need to be ready."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I figured as much."
A pause.
Then, softer, Cassia added, "We’ll stay and assist with reconstruction for a time. But I won’t always be here, Garett. You need to start thinking about what comes next."
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He looked past her, toward the sky where the war had played out in fire and ruin. Toward the distant void where new threats loomed unseen.
What comes next?
Garett didn’t know.
But he knew this was only the beginning.
The memorial service was held at the heart of Vellmont, amid the ruins of the once-thriving city. A great pyre had been constructed, its flames flickering in solemn reverence to those who had perished. Soldiers, civilians, and leaders alike gathered in silence, their faces illuminated by the golden glow.
Anya stood at the forefront, her posture rigid, her expression unreadable. Her armor had been polished, but it felt heavier than ever. The weight of survival pressed against her chest, suffocating in its intensity. She had been promoted—to Garett’s personal guard, serving alongside Leona. It was an honor. It was a punishment. It was a cruel reminder of those who hadn’t made it.
Brody should have been standing beside her, making some crude joke to break the tension. Nissa should have been elbowing him, rolling her eyes while grinning all the same. Jerik, ever the cynic, would have scoffed at the pomp and formality, while Brenn would have stood silent but proud, the steady presence that had anchored them all.
But they were gone. All of them. And Anya was still here.
Leona placed a hand on her shoulder, firm but gentle. "They would have been proud."
Anya swallowed the lump in her throat, staring into the fire. "Then why does it feel like I stole this from them?"
Leona’s grip tightened. "Because you cared. And because you survived. That’s never easy."
Garett stepped forward then, standing before the gathered crowd. His voice, when he spoke, was steady, but the weight of grief was unmistakable. "We do not stand here to mourn alone. We stand to remember. To honor. To ensure that what was lost was not in vain."
Anya closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She would carry this with her. The pain, the guilt, the memories. But she would also carry their legacy.
She was still here.
And she would make it mean something.
The fires of Drakenspire burned eternally, their crimson glow illuminating the obsidian spires that clawed at the storm-ridden skies. But within the confines of his private chamber, Lord Drakon Vaelinor Draconis stood in silence, the only light in the room emanating from the flickering blue holo-display before him.
Prince Lucien Horus Solarius III lounged in his chair on the other side of the holo-link, his golden robes pristine despite the shadows that danced across his features. His expression was one of casual amusement, but his eyes—those sharp, predatory eyes—held something far more dangerous.
"Drakon," Lucien drawled, swirling a goblet of amber wine. "I must say, for all your house’s fearsome reputation, this little endeavor of yours was... uninspired."
Drakon’s jaw tightened. "You’ve been shadowing us since Solara Prime."
Lucien smirked. "Ah, so you finally noticed? I was beginning to think you’d gone soft." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. "Did you really think you could march into the Verdant Vale and claim its secrets without drawing my attention? Without drawing the Emperor’s attention?"
Drakon’s fingers twitched at his sides. "And what has your meddling gained you?"
Lucien exhaled a dramatic sigh. "Perspective, Drakon." His grin widened at Drakon’s scowl."I wanted to see just how much of a threat you still posed. And, judging by the wreckage you left behind, I’d say you’re more reckless than dangerous."
Drakon’s gaze darkened. "Mind your words, Solarius."
Lucien raised a brow, unbothered. "Or what? You’ll throw a tantrum? Declare another campaign of righteous vengeance? Please, Drakon, the galaxy already has enough brooding warlords."
Drakon forced himself to breathe, to keep his anger tempered. "What do you want?"
Lucien’s smirk faded slightly. "House Solarius cannot afford another galactic war. You know this as well as I do. The Verdant Vale is no longer just a backwater planet—it has become a pivot point, an unstable keystone in a much larger game. If you escalate, the Emperor will have no choice but to intervene." He tilted his head. "Do you truly believe House Draconis is ready for that?"
Drakon was silent for a moment. He hated it—hated that Lucien was right. Hated that despite his failure, despite his brother’s death, he had no choice but to stand down.
"This isn’t over," Drakon muttered, his voice low.
Lucien’s smirk returned, though it was colder this time. "Oh, I certainly hope not. It’s been ages since I’ve been properly entertained. But for now, Drakon... behave yourself. The Emperor is watching."
The holo flickered, then cut to black. Drakon stood there, the silence deafening.
Garett sat atop Galatine’s massive shoulder, the cold metal beneath him humming with a faint pulse of energy. Above, the night sky of Vallorien stretched endlessly, a canvas of infinite stars twinkling against the dark expanse. He absentmindedly typed into his portable console, optimizing the Azeroth Drive’s systems, tweaking numbers that were once mere theory in his mind. Now, they were his reality.
A gentle breeze rustled through the ruined landscape, carrying the scent of burnt wood and fresh soil. From here, he imagined the makeshift camps where the survivors of Vellmont were rebuilding, knowing they lay beyond the distant mountains, lit by the soft glow of luminite lanterns. Cassia’s fleet hovered in the distance, silver-white hulls gleaming under the moonlight, their angular forms regal and imposing. Aid was being distributed, supplies ferried down from orbit, but none of it felt like a victory.
He exhaled, tilting his head toward the heavens. The stars shimmered above him, uncaring and eternal. It reminded him of another night, long ago, in another life—his father’s voice pointing out Vega, the light of a dead star still reaching across the cosmos.
"Stars die, anak. But their light keeps traveling, even after they’re gone. Like… like stories."
The thought sat heavy in his chest. Lyrius was dead. Vellmont lay in ruins. The war, if it could be called that, had ended in a stalemate. And yet, what lingered in the air wasn’t peace—it was anticipation. The promise of something greater, something dangerous, lurking just beyond the veil of the unknown.
Footsteps approached. Garett didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Lyra’s voice was soft, hesitant. "You should rest."
"Can’t," he murmured, fingers still dancing over the console. "There’s still so much to do. The Azeroth Drive… it’s just the beginning. I need to understand what I unlocked in Galatine. I need to train, to be stronger."
Leona crossed her arms, standing beside Lyra. "We all do. You’re not carrying this alone."
He glanced at her, offering a tired smirk. "I know."
Nyx materialized beside Lyra, her form barely touching the ground. "The Grove calls for you, Resonator. If you wish to wield Galatine’s full might, you must answer."
Garett exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it. "Yeah, I figured you’d say that. The other Resonators… I saw them. In my visions. What happened to them?"
Nyx’s violet eyes shimmered, unreadable. "They, too, walked the path you now tread. Some found purpose. Others… were consumed by it."
Garett clenched his fists. He would not be consumed.
The night deepened, and silence stretched between them. Yet it wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken promises, of challenges yet to come. The eastern continent awaited, the Grove and its mysteries calling him forward. House Draconis would not forget their humiliation. The Empire’s interest in Galatine had been piqued. And somewhere, out there, other Resonators existed.
Garett looked to the stars one last time before standing, his mind made up.
"Then let’s get to work."
