Our heirs

The chamber remained steeped in tense silence, the weight of Althea 's words pressing down on every ruler present. Even those who had seen centuries of war, bloodshed, and betrayal found themselves shaken.

But Althea was not done speaking.

The candlelight flickered strangely around her, casting long, twisting shadows as she exhaled slowly, her violet eyes glowing once more. When she spoke, it was no longer just her voice—it was layered, distant, touched by something beyond mortal comprehension.

"There is one way."

The rulers sat up straighter, every muscle tensed.

"A way to stop this war before it consumes everything. A way to turn fate on itself. But the path is not through us."

"It is through them."

King Alaric frowned. "Them? Who?"

Althea's gaze shifted—and she looked directly at Eryndor, the Gnome King. Then to King Damius. Then to the rulers of the fairies, the elves, the werewolves, the vampires, the elementals.

"Our heirs."

The chamber erupted in murmurs, some of disbelief, others of intrigue.

King Xyros Irontusk scoffed. "You mean to tell us that children—mere students—will be the key to stopping an extinction war?"

Althea did not flinch. "They are more than children."

She stood then, stepping forward into the center of the council chamber, and when she spoke next, the air vibrated with power.

"The war cannot be stopped. Not completely. Even if we slaughter the scouts, even if we fight back with every ounce of magic and might we possess, they will come. They will keep coming. And our world will burn."

"Unless—"

Her voice darkened, her gaze sharpening.

"Unless we take the war beyond this world. Unless we fight them before they can bring their full force upon us."

King Vaerus Tideborn, ruler of the water creatures, narrowed his sea-green eyes. "You mean to strike them first? To take the battle to their lands?"

Althea inclined her head. "Yes. But we cannot do it. Not us. Not the rulers of this age. Our time has passed. We are bound by too much—by laws, by responsibilities, by the weight of our past. But they—"

Her voice grew soft. "They are free. Young. Capable of forging a path we cannot."

She turned to King Alaric then, her voice growing heavier. "Your son is one of them. Kael. A warrior not yet awakened."

Alaric stiffened.

Althea's gaze moved to King Damius. "Your son, Adrian."

"And Bronn. He is my son."

To Eryndor. "Your sons."

To the fairy queen. "Aelric."

To the elven ruler. "Lirien. "

But she did not stop there.

She turned to the Minotaur King. "Your son, Garion. "

To the ruler of water creatures. "Your daughter, Nerissa. "

To the Gargoyle Warlord. "Your twin sons, Dain and Doran."

To the Elemental Monarch. "Your heir, Selene. "

The air in the room shifted. The rulers, once skeptical, now sat in rapt attention.

She exhaled, her fingers brushing over the table's surface. The stone groaned beneath her touch. " Our heirs, all of them. They will be the ones to end this war before it consumes us all."

"How?" King Alaric's voice was low, measured, but beneath it lay an undeniable urgency. "How can they stop what we cannot?"

Althea's violet eyes seemed to peer into something unseen, something distant.

"Because they are not bound by our laws. By our mistakes. Because the magic of this world is shifting, evolving. And they—" her voice dropped lower, almost reverent, "are at the center of it."

She lifted her hand, and in the space above the table, the air warped—visions forming, taking shape.

They saw Kael standing at the edge of a battlefield, shifting—no longer just a lycan, but something greater, something untamed.

The vision above the table twisted, growing clearer. Kael stood at the edge of a battlefield, his body shifting—not just into his lycan form, but something more. His fur was streaked with silver light, his eyes burning gold. Around him, the ground trembled under the force of an unseen energy, something ancient, something undeniably powerful.

A figure stood beside him—Theron.

 He stood with a mechanical exosuit wrapped around his frame, sleek and deadly, its intricate gnome-forged technology pulsing with blue veins of power. His mind was a weapon, sharper than any blade, his creations bending reality itself.

Then came Bronn. His vampire features were sharper, more lethal. But it was his aura that had changed. His veins pulsed with a dark, forbidden energy—not the kind that made him a monster, but the kind that made him a force beyond mortal comprehension. He was not just a vampire; he was something more, something ancient reborn.

Adrian stood among the heirs, a shadow in the chaos of war. Unlike Bronn, whose presence was a storm of raw power, Adrian was silent death. He moved like a wraith, his midnight-black hair unruffled even in the thick of battle, his blood-red eyes gleaming with an eerie, predatory calm.

Aelric hovered above them, his wings no longer the fragile shimmer of an ordinary fairy. They were ablaze with raw, elemental energy, tendrils of nature and light intertwining, making him glow like a celestial being.

And Lirien—

She was standing in front of them all, her bow raised, her entire body infused with the magic of the earth itself. Vines curled around her arms, her arrows crackling with power. The sky darkened behind her, the stars bending toward her presence, as if even the cosmos recognized her strength.

Garion, the minotaur prince, his hooves cracking the battlefield, his axe drenched in enemy blood.

Nerissa, the siren, standing on the ocean's surface, singing a song so deadly that the skies bled.

Dain and Doran, the gargoyle twins, immovable, unyielding, leading a battalion against creatures unlike any the world had seen.

Selene, her eyes burning with an unnatural light, wielding storms, fire, and earth in tandem.

And then, all of them—standing together, the heirs of every race, united.

Althea's voice echoed over the vision.

"They are the answer."

The rulers stared, eyes wide, breath stolen.

King Alaric clenched his fists. "Explain."

Althea's lips parted, and when she spoke, it was with a voice that carried the weight of the world.

"The war cannot be fought on Earth. If we fight here, we will lose. Our lands will crumble, our people will die, our world will be reduced to ash. But our children… they can leave. They can take the fight elsewhere—before the full force of the invasion arrives."

King Damius frowned. "Leave? Where?"

Althea turned to him. "To the stars. To the depths of the unknown. To where the aliens come from."

Silence fell.

"You mean to tell me," Eryndor said slowly, voice thick with disbelief, "that our children, our heirs, must leave this world and fight a war in the very lands of our enemies?"

Althea gave a single, grave nod. "It is the only way."