Three days after the Battle of Kazhamara Plain, at the Royal Infirmary of Aurelia

  "Doctor Aaron!" A nurse’s urgent voice rang through the halls. "She’s finally awake!”

  The news spread fast. Moments later, Ellie Camberwell entered the room, followed closely by Rendy Stiffer and Hans Nimbersonn. Their expressions, though relieved, carried the weight of the battle they had endured.

  Hans exhaled, his gaze softening as he looked at the newly awakened Cassian. "Praise Mother Gaea, you're finally awake.”

  Cassian blinked, adjusting to the light. The room smelled of herbs and medicine. She took in the sight before her—Ellie and Rendy, both wrapped in bandages, their post-battle wounds evident. But as she scanned the room, a familiar face was missing.

  Her heart tightened.

  "Captain..." she turned to Hans, voice unsteady. "What happened to Vice Captain Jun’de?”

  Hans stepped closer, gently patting her head. "You did well." His voice was calm, almost soothing. "All of you did. I’m proud of you. Take more rest." He offered a reassuring smile. "Jun is fine. Get well soon, and you’ll see him.”

  Something in his tone unsettled her. She wanted to press further, but fatigue weighed her down. Instead, she simply nodded.

  Hans straightened. "Now, I’ll leave you to the medics." His gaze flickered to Rendy. "You’ll stay with her, won’t you, Rendy?”

  Rendy stiffened immediately, placing a hand over his chest in a formal salute. "Yes, Captain!”

  Hans gave a small nod before turning away. Ellie followed, and together they walked out of the infirmary.

  The hallway was silent save for the soft steps of their boots against the polished floor.

  Then Ellie finally spoke. "So... how is he?”

  Hans sighed, shaking his head. "I’m not sure." His voice was laced with uncertainty. "This is the first time a member of the Order has lost a ring. We all know that whether it's a Keeper Ring or an Emperor Ring, the bearer has to be chosen. Without Dusty Dancer, Jun may not be able to serve the Order anymore.”

  His gaze dropped to the floor, the weight of his words settling between them. Ellie clenched her arms tightly, feeling the frustration and helplessness creeping in.

  They continued walking, lost in thought.

  Unseen behind a pillar, Jun’de watched them. His presence was undetectable, his expression unreadable. He said nothing. He simply remained in the shadows.

  “Yo!” A sudden pat on his back startled Jun’de. He spun around, eyes widening in shock. "Your Majesty!”

  Standing behind him was Chris Elysionsonn, golden hair glinting under the dim infirmary corridor lights, sky-blue eyes reflecting with quiet amusement.

  "Why so down and quiet? Did you bite your tongue?" Chris teased, his gaze briefly flicking to where Hans and Ellie had just walked past.

  The king took a step forward, now beside Jun’de. "You know, I haven’t officially thanked you all for saving my future bride." He glanced at Jun’de with a small smile.

  Jun’de straightened. "How is Lady Audries, Your Majesty?”

  Chris turned to him, resting both hands on his shoulders. "She’s fine. Nothing serious—her vitals are stable. But..." his voice dipped, "she seems to have lost access to her ring’s power. The scholars from the Science Division are analyzing it as we speak.”

  Jun’de’s hands curled into fists, frustration settling deep in his chest. "Something other than the Primordial is at play," Chris mused.

  "I know," Jun’de murmured. "But I... I can no longer do anything.”

  Chris studied him for a moment before speaking. "You’re still young, Jun’de. There’s more than one way to serve the kingdom—not just on the battlefield." He turned and motioned forward. "Now, walk with me.”

  Jun’de hesitated.

  Chris smirked. "That’s a king’s order.”

  With no other choice, Jun’de followed as they walked through the corridors.

  The infirmary walls were lined with banners of Elysion’s noble houses, their sigils illuminated under the soft glow of enchanted sconces. The air smelled faintly of healing herbs and incense.

  Chris broke the silence. "You know, losing your ring doesn’t mean losing your worth.”

  Jun’de didn’t respond, keeping his eyes ahead.

  Chris continued, his voice thoughtful. "You’re one of the finest Aegis Enforcers, but beyond that—you’re a brilliant strategist. The Academy could use someone like you.”

  Jun’de glanced at him. "The Academy?”

  Chris nodded. "You’re witty, disciplined, and experienced. You could train the next generation of ring bearers. Teach them how to fight, how to survive. Your knowledge could shape the future of the Order.”

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  Jun’de exhaled sharply. "I'm a soldier, not a teacher.”

  Chris arched an eyebrow. "A soldier with a wealth of experience that could save hundreds of lives before they ever step onto the battlefield." He smirked. "Also, you’re not really a soldier, are you? You were a monk," he added jokingly.

  Jun’de’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.

  Chris pressed on. "And if teaching doesn’t suit you, you have other skills. You know sacred arts, healing techniques—even defensive formations. The Guardian Sentinels or the Serene Healers would welcome someone with your expertise.”

  Jun’de scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re telling me to hide behind castle walls? To sit on the sidelines while others fight?”

  Chris sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m telling you that there’s more than one way to serve. More than one way to protect the people you care about." He glanced at Jun’de. "You think Hans and Ellie would want you to throw yourself into battle recklessly just to feel useful?”

  Jun’de clenched his fists. "You don’t understand, Your Majesty.”

  Chris stopped walking. Jun’de halted too, feeling the weight of the king’s piercing gaze.

  "Then help me understand," Chris said, voice quieter now. "What is it you truly want?”

  Jun’de’s throat tightened. His mind flashed to Hans’ quiet strength, Ellie’s unwavering determination, Rendy’s loyalty, Cassian’s resilience. The people he fought alongside—the people he nearly died for.

  His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "I want to be with them. On the front lines. Fighting beside them. That’s where I belong.”

  Chris studied him for a long moment. Then, he smiled.

  "Then maybe… there's still a way.”

  Jun’de looked up, confused. "What do you mean?”

  Chris turned, gesturing for him to follow. “Follow me.”

  They continued down the corridor, stepping into the grand royal wing’s main hall. Above them, the high-vaulted ceiling was adorned with breathtaking frescoes—the legend of their world unfolded in vibrant color. The creation of Elysion, the forging of the 13 Emperor Rings, the birth of the Order of Equilibrium—all immortalized in art.

  Chris stopped beneath one particular fresco: the forging of the Ring of Wind.

  "You know, Jun’de," he began, voice softer. "Since the founding of the Order, we’ve lost many strong souls. But they left behind legacies—marks on history that will never fade. I believe you will be one of them.”

  His gaze lifted to the painting. "Dusty Dancer..." he murmured. "The Ring of Dust and Wind.”

  The king’s voice shifted, reciting a passage from the sacred scripture of the Thirteen Rings:

  "The Ring of Wind, with its boundless grace,

  A ring of freedom, of airy embrace.

  It whispered its song through valleys wide,

  A restless force no chains could bind.”

  Jun’de listened in silence, his eyes tracing the ancient depiction of the Heavenly Father forging the Ring of Wind.

  Chris exhaled, a hint of nostalgia in his expression. "My brother once held the Ring of Wind—the Cyclone Crown." A wistful smile tugged at his lips. "It has remained dormant for a hundred years... but it would be nice to see it awaken again. To see it serve the kingdom once more.”

  Jun’de turned to him, puzzled. "Your Majesty... what are you suggesting?”

  Chris met his gaze and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You already have the power to control wind. Your element matches. I don’t know if it’s possible—it’s never been done before, at least not in the last thousand years. But... maybe, just maybe, you can awaken the Cyclone Crown.”

  Jun’de’s heart pounded. The idea was unprecedented. And yet…

  He clenched his fists.

  "Your Majesty..." He dropped to one knee, bowing his head. "If this is the only way I can contribute to the kingdom—to return to the front lines—I shall try. With my flesh, my blood, and my soul.”

  Chris grinned. "Then what are we waiting for?”

  With that, the young king turned, leading him towards the chamber where the Cyclone Crown had been sealed for a century.

  Jun’de paused for a moment, glancing up at the open sky. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

  The wind was still there. It whispered against his skin, caressed his ringless fingers.

  And for the first time in days—he felt determined.

  From the tower of the royal wing, Audries sat by her window, gazing over the sprawling royal capital a sight in stark contrast to the desolation of Kazhamara Plain. She sang a soft prayer, her voice carried by the wind as it brushed against her face. For a fleeting moment, her hazel eyes flickered crimson.

  A new wind is rising

  ——

  From the deepest abyss of the untouchable lands, a girl with ombre hair stood amidst a horde of towering titans. With a mere flick of her fingers, lesser serpent titans coiled and intertwined, forming a grand staircase and podium beneath her feet. She ascended with effortless grace, tossing her hair back as her voice rang with authority.

  "My brothers and sisters in titanhood, the time has come. Our father has returned to his former glory. Our uncles and aunts call to us from beyond the gate of the Titans’ Keep. The world has forgotten its true rulers—but we shall remind them. Let it all burn once more! The era of the Primordial Titans begins now!"

  A thunderous roar erupted from the gathering titans, their cries shaking the very ground. She turned away, her form silhouetted against a surging burst of cosmic energy. From the depths of the shadows, a vast presence stirred.

  Coeus, the Primordial Titan of Intelligence, awakened. His cosmic feathers gleamed with an otherworldly brilliance, his beak restored to its former splendor. Spreading his immense, shimmering wings, he let out a piercing shriek—a call that heralded the return of an age long lost.

  And with a single, mighty beat of his wings, he took to the skies once more.

  ——

  In the northernmost reaches of the Kazhamara Plain, where no green remains, the land twists into jagged, ice-crowned mountains. Glaciers stretch endlessly, their frozen veins feeding the mighty Tethys with the purest water.

  Upon one of the largest glaciers, a colossal figure lies entombed a red draconic Titan, sealed in eternal slumber by unyielding ice.

  From the sky, shadows descend. Greater Titans land one by one upon the frozen expanse, their sheer presence shattering the glacial ground beneath them. Cracks spread like veins of impending doom.

  Seven figures now stand before the eternal ice: Midas, Titan of Greed, his golden-touched form gleaming with insatiable hunger. Mnemona, Titan of Deception, her amorphous body shifting ceaselessly, her yellow eyes gleaming with unfathomable cunning.

  Doloros, Titan of Destruction, its form pulsing with malicious energy, its pitch-black exoskeleton hardened by the remnants of countless deaths. Yggdrasil, Titan of Death, draped in the decay of all things past and future.

  Atraxia, Titan of Dreams, its piscine body shimmering with golden powder, siphoning dreams from the air itself. Motherglare, Titan of Fertility, her grotesque form pulsating with dark ooze, black eggs swelling upon her back, ready to hatch at any moment.

  Last to emerge, forming from the ground, Ozymand, the Titan of Fallen Civilizations, his humanoid form a monument to ruin.

  The Titans do not speak. They shriek. They growl. Then, in unison, they bleed.

  Poisonous ichor drips from their elemental bodies, staining the ice in ritualistic patterns, ancient runes identical to those once carved upon the Altar of Griswold’s Hollow. The symbols glow ominously as their blood intertwines, forging a bond of eldritch power.

  The eternal ice trembles. It cracks.

  A force long forgotten begins to stir.

  From beneath its frozen prison, Moraitus, the Greater Titan of Destiny, awakens. Its crimson eyes flicker open for the first time in centuries.

  As the war against the Primordials still rages, the Elysians must prepare.

  For another war is coming, one waged not against the ancient gods, but against the Brotherhood of Greater Titans.