CHAPTER 75.

Chapter 75: The Last Covenant

The battlefield no longer resembled a place upon the earth. Sky and land had merged into one chaotic, burning plane—twisted by war, soaked in magic, carved by dragon fire.

And yet, in the eye of this apocalyptic storm stood Jean Luther.

Solstice burned in her left hand—radiant and wild.

Eclipsion thrummed in her right—dark, solemn, and ancient, its blade forged in a forgotten age, once wielded by the only man who had ever scarred the Dragon Lord.

She stood upon the remnants of a fallen hill, Whitney beside her, glowing with divine fury. Around her, Emissaries struggled to stay alive. Karen soared overhead, blood trailing from her mouth. Raigen had one wing broken but still roared defiance. Illyana lay collapsed, her guardian frozen in place to protect her. Seraphine, scorched and flickering, stood amid flame and ruin, eyes locked on Jean.

> "Jean…" she rasped. "We can't win."

Jean said nothing.

Her breath was shallow. Her aura dimmed.

But deep within—deeper than even aura or divinity—something stirred.

A memory. A whisper. A covenant.

> "You will be tested, daughter of light. When that time comes, your soul must choose: to burn or to transcend."

She remembered the Vault. The being of fractured stars and broken time. The one who had gifted her the Primordial Codex. The one who said Martin Luther had not merely wounded Antares—but had sacrificed more than flesh.

He had gone beyond.

Not to become stronger.

But to become final.

Now, it was her turn.

Jean let her aura flare—gold and white, blinding. Solstice rose into the air, spinning in her palm. Eclipsion shimmered darkly as the runes along its spine ignited for the first time in a thousand years.

Her feet lifted from the ground.

Whitney howled—his body beginning to disintegrate into pure light.

> "Jean!" Karen screamed. "Don't—!"

But it was too late.

Jean offered herself. Not just her power. Not her skill.

Her entire being—body, soul, bloodline, memory—to the Light.

And the Light answered.

The sky split—not from Antares, but from Jean. A second sun rose over the battlefield, not of heat, but of hope. Time staggered as every eye turned toward her.

Jean Luther became more than a Transcendent Master.

She became Radiant Absolute.

A being of pure light and will. Aura no longer bound by the physical. Her wounds vanished, not healed, but forgotten. Her eyes no longer glowed—they were stars themselves.

She did not speak.

She willed.

Solstice and Eclipsion fused into a single sword—longer than any mortal blade, its edge flickering between gold and shadow, between mercy and judgment.

The Sword of Twilight.

Antares turned to face her.

Even he—the Burning End—paused.

> "So," he said, voice quieter now, not amused. "You walk the path of your ancestor. You dare to unmake yourself."

Jean said nothing. But her gaze answered.

She wasn't Martin.

She was Jean Luther. And she would end this war.

She moved.

Faster than light.

Her sword met Antares' claws—and where it struck, the Dragon Lord bled stars.

The final battle had begun.

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