The holo-screen flickered violently, unable to keep up with the overwhelming data pouring in. All eyes locked onto the scene. Ao Shun, midair, like a midnight eclipse, opened his jaws again—and released another searing torrent of flame.
It cleaved through the sky like a blade of hellfire, slicing twelve mother ships clean in half—massive behemoths, each housing thousands of personnel, instantly incinerated. The wreckage spiraled downward like flaming asteroids, crashing into the cities below. Explosions erupted across the domed sectors, the force so strong it caused shockwaves felt even within the Hall of M.
Silas took a step back. Veymar turned ghost-pale, already muttering calculations under his breath. "That's... Sector 3... Sector 6... and 7," Veymar said quietly.
Silas didn't respond. He just stared at the screen as another ship spiraled downward, crashing like a meteor into the heart of Mirastel Square, the most populated civilian district on Varkath.
Professor M finally moved—His fingers flying across the console, pulling up data. "Estimated confirmed casualties... nearly seven digits."
Ao Shun still carved through the heavens—unstoppable, undeniable. Mother ships fell. Cities burned. Millions screamed, unheard through walls of distance and flame. Nobody spoke. Even Silas, who once mocked the very idea of fear, stood with fists clenched, his cocky façade cracked beyond repair.
It was Veymar who finally broke the silence. The Archmage lowered his head, strands of silver hair falling across his face, hiding the exhaustion in his eyes. He was thinking, calculating—not with equations, but something desperate. Finally, he looked up. His voice, though quiet, cut through the heavy air like a blade. "Langley. You're a telepath. A strong one."
"The strongest." Langley replied flatly.
Veymar nodded slowly, like confirming something terrible he had dreaded. "Can you send me into the Spirit Realm?"
Silas blinked, confused. Even Langley stiffened. "The Spirit Realm is closed to the living," Langley said carefully. "You know that."
"Normally, yes. But not with your telepathy combined with my astral projection," Veymar pressed. "Together, we might tear a hole—small, unstable, but enough for me to slip through."
A heavy pause. Everyone else stared at him, realization dawning slowly. Veymar's hand tightened around the ancient amulet hanging from his neck. "The only thing that can stop Ao Shun… are the others. Ryujin, Baihu Long, Vermirion. The rest of the Four Great Dragons."
Barry, still lying half-bandaged among the others, croaked. "You're insane. Even if you find them... they're not exactly 'friendly.' Right?"
"I don't need them to be friendly." Veymar said. "I just need them to listen."
Silas scoffed. "You're gonna astral-project yourself into a realm older than time itself, find three ancient gods, and convince them to help us... while our entire civilization burns down?"
Veymar only shrugged, tiredly. "If you have a better idea, I'm listening."
No one did. Professor M finally exhaled through his nose—a long, heavy sound—and stepped closer. "Fine. We try."
He placed a hand lightly on Veymar's shoulder, fingertips humming with psychic charge. "You ready?" Langley asked.
Professor M closed his eyes. A deep psychic thrum filled the hall—a vibration felt more in the bones than in the ears. Reality shivered. Veymar sat down cross-legged on the cold floor, heart steadying. He let his mind unfurl—then felt Langley's immense telepathic power wrap around him, weaving into his very soul. "Now." Langley's voice was thunder in his mind.
Veymar seized the moment, snapping his consciousness outward—past the mortal coil, past flesh and fear, slipping like vapor into something other. He fell—no, drifted—through endless mist. Through memories, echoes, ancient songs, and forgotten pain.
Until finally… A furious, blinding light that tore the false from the real. The Spirit Realm.
He stood upon a surface that wasn't a surface, breathing air that wasn't air. Before him rose shapes—immense, ungraspable beings larger than cities.
Their forms twisted the world around them, so vast that even Veymar's mind—strengthened by spells, fortified by years—trembled on the edge of breaking. They noticed him. Three sets of ancient eyes turned toward the tiny mortal who dared breach their slumber. Veymar's knees buckled. His voice nearly failed.
But he stood. And he spoke. "Ao Shun is loose. He brings ruin upon the world. We cannot stop him. We cannot cage him. Not with all our armies, not with all our weapons. Only you can."
The wind of the Spirit Realm howled. Ryujin's voice rumbled like a thousand crashing waves. "Ao Shun is winter Winter does not end because mortals wish it so. Winter ends because it consumes all."
Vermirion, flames dripping from his voice like molten gold, boomed. "He is our brother. We do not intervene lightly. Not without price."
Baihu Long, serene and terrible, simply asked. "What will you pay?"
Veymar swallowed. He felt the connection to Langley fraying—his tether to life burning up fast. He had minutes at most. "Anything. Everything."
Ryujin, the Sea and Storm, stepped forward first. And what the dragon said wasn't salvation. It was judgment. His voice cracked like glaciers splitting. "No."
Veymar staggered back in disbelief. "You—what? You refuse—?"
The skies of the Spirit Realm churned with cosmic tides, the winds laced with divine wrath. "You ask us to intervene, mortal… without understanding the cost. We are not your weapons. We are Celestial Beings, bound by Balance. To war against our own without divine reason would not end in salvation—It would birth an eternal conflict between us."
Vermirion's burning mane flared behind him, silent. Baihu Long closed his eyes, silent as well. But Ryujin continued, unrelenting. "We bound Ao Shun thousands of years ago—Sealed him beneath Mount Kurokiba, in ice forged from the breath of gods. He would have slumbered until the end of days. Until your kind… mimicked the one called Nurarihyon. Enhanced your bodies, corrupted your essence, and dared storm his castle like fools. So he awoke Ao Shun—and sent him to you."
"And now, you crawl here to beg?" Ryujin thundered. "To plead for mercy? Tell me, mage... which should bear the blame? Ao Shun? Nurarihyon? Or the mortal who knocked first?"
Veymar fell to his knees. His hands trembled as he opened his mouth—but Ryujin wasn't done. The dragon's massive head lowered, one glowing eye narrowing as he sniffed the air. "Callistrade." he growled.
Veymar flinched. "...How do you know that name?"
Ryujin's eye flared like a midnight storm. "I do not know you. But I know the reek of your blood."
The clouds behind him began to twist—memories incarnate manifesting as vision. A vision of a man—young, wild-eyed, draped in starlight robes—standing on the edge of a broken celestial gate.
Ryujin's voice returned, colder than ever. "...Aurelias Callistrade. A fool of a mage whom like you, dared cross Realms beyond his place. He shattered seals, broke threads of fate, and invited monsters from the Far Beyond."
The image flickered. Aurelias unleashing something—something wrong—through a tear in reality. A creature made of eyes and void shrieked through the rift, devouring stars before vanishing. "Your ancestor," Ryujin said with disgust, "Was as foolish as you."
Veymar's eyes filled with stunned grief. He had read whispers of the name Aurelias Callistrade in the forbidden vaults—an ancestor the High Circle never spoke of. A legend, a ghost, a shame. "I didn't know," Veymar whispered. "I never wanted this."
Ryujin's maw split in a grin of storm and sorrow. "Intentions matter little, mage. Your bloodline has always been blind." He turned away. "Beg elsewhere. We do not move for mortals bound to consequence."
Veymar knelt, spirit-weary and broken in the howling winds of the Spirit Realm. In a slow, deliberate motion, he tore a chain from around his neck and hurled it to the ground before the dragons. The Pendant of Sol'Thyrael struck the ground with a sickening crack, the faint echo of forbidden magic rippling outward. The air itself shuddered.
Veymar bowed his head until it touched the ground. "Take it. I am not worthy. I am a fool like my ancestor. I should never have held it. But—" His voice broke, rage and despair bleeding together. "But I cannot give up. Ten million lives will be obliterated on Varkath if Ao Shun is not stopped. Please... I don't ask as a mage. I ask as a man."
The Spirit Realm held its breath. Then Veymar lifted his head, eyes burning with reckless, desperate hope, and looked at each of the colossal beings. "Ryujin—You, whose power floods oceans and drowns the skies—you are the most divine among them. The voice of balance. Baihu Long—You, whose mastery of magic bends reality—you hold strength that no mortal sorcerer can match. Vermirion—You, whose seals bound even gods—you alone could lock away destruction itself."
He dragged himself to his feet, swaying. "Only the Three of you, together, can stop him. Ao Shun may boast the most raw destructive force, but with your gifts combined—You can slow him. You can save them."
The celestial winds screamed overhead like mourning spirits. Vermirion was the first to speak. His voice rolled like volcanic thunder. "...I will intervene. The seal I laid upon him once still echoes in my bones. I will not sit idle while he tears the world apart."
Baihu Long stirred next, his radiant silver mane whipping in the wind. His eyes, full of deep, ancient sorrow, turned away. "No. I see too many threads snapped by mortal recklessness. One rescue will breed a thousand more tragedies. I will not defy Balance."
And then… it was Ryujin left. The sea dragon watched Veymar with those impossible eyes—eyes that had seen stars born and die. Long minutes passed. Then Ryujin spoke. "...Very well. If mortals must suffer the consequences of their arrogance, let them also witness a fragment of our mercy. We will move."
The Spirit Realm shattered like a mirror as Veymar was snapped back. Veymar collapsed, gasping, Langley's hand on his shoulder to stabilize the return. Around him, Silas, Professor M, and the others looked up, wide-eyed.
They didn't need words. Because across the holo-screens—the sky above Varkath cracked open. Three colossal figures, burning with raw power, descended from the heavens. They circled Ao Shun like wolves around a wounded lion, the atmosphere itself trembling.
Silas gave a cocky, crooked grin despite the horror. He snapped a sharp, mocking salute toward Veymar. "Well, hell. You actually did it, nerd."
Then his face hardened, voice sharp over comms as he linked with the entire fleet. "All CPG Mother Ships—retreat immediately. Abandon engagement. I repeat: Retreat and evacuate civilians. We leave this mess to the gods now."