The wind in the Voidcradle was not wind—it was memory, stitched from echoes of battle cries, broken oaths, and dying stars.
Wang Chung stood amidst the ruin, his crimson robe torn and soaked not with blood, but with starlight. Around him lay the remnants of Lei Hanyi's corrupted Sovereign form — his wings tattered, his mask shattered, his soul flickering like a dying flame. The once-proud Guardian of the Southern Sky had fallen, twisted by the call of the Abyssal Sovereign.
Wang Chung dropped to one knee, cradling Lei Hanyi's head with trembling hands. The coldness in his friend's body pierced deeper than any blade ever could.
> "You said we'd build a new era together," Wang Chung whispered. "You lied… but I wish you hadn't."
A faint pulse responded — not from Lei Hanyi, but from the heavens. The Voidcradle trembled. Above, the constellations blurred as if shedding tears. For the first time in a thousand years, the Celestial Map wept.
Yu Meilan approached slowly, her hands balled into fists. Her eyes, ringed red from battle, glistened with unspoken sorrow. "He was already gone long before we met him again," she murmured. "The Lei Hanyi you knew died in the Rift Wars. This… this was only a remnant wearing his face."
Wang Chung rose, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade.
> "Then I will carve away every remnant… until only truth remains."
As they turned to leave, the stars realigned above them. The formation was ancient, unknown to even the most learned sages. But Yu Meilan recognized it, and her face went pale.
> "That's the Calling of the Final Sovereign," she whispered. "Someone… something… is watching."
And from the shattered skies, an eye blinked open—vast, lidless, impossible.
The true war had only just begun.