You Are Free To Leave

The Gauntlet didn't stand a chance.

Michael strode onto the third floor, the Feiling Sword resting on his shoulder.

In the center of the vast arena, the Armored Bear automaton waited, a mountain of polished black steel and malevolent red optics.

It was the beast that had turned him into a bloody pulp, the symbol of his weakness.

NICO: (His voice a tinny buzz in Michael's mind)

"Alright, partner, you ready for round two with Teddy Ruxpin's evil twin? You want my advice? Kick him in the nuts.

Oh, wait, he's a robot. Kick him in the… power core?"

Michael let a slow, dangerous grin spread across his face.

"I have a better idea."

The bear roared, a synthetic blast of sound designed to mimic pure fury. The ground shook as it charged, its clawed feet gouging furrows in the stone.

It was a freight train of destruction.

Michael didn't move. He closed his eyes.

He didn't focus on power or Aether. He focused on a memory, now crystal clear after a decade of being locked away.

His mother's smile. The unbridled joy of it.

And then, the crushing sorrow of its absence.

He laughed.

It was a strange sound in the cold, dead arena, a single, sharp bark of pure, unadulterated emotion, half triumph, half agony.

He swung the Feiling Sword in a wide, sweeping arc, a movement that felt less like an attack and more like a dance.

"Ecstatic Blade: First Verse," he whispered, "A Fleeting Smile."

A wave of pure, shimmering silver light erupted from the blade.

It didn't roar or crackle with energy. It was utterly silent, a beautiful, crescent-shaped ripple of release.

It washed over the charging automaton.

There was no explosion, no crash of metal.

The Armored Bear simply… dissolved.

The roaring steel, the glowing red eyes, the razor-sharp claws, it all vanished into a cascade of silver motes that floated gently to the ground before winking out of existence.

The arena was silent, save for the faint scent of ozone and the lingering echo of Michael's laugh.

NICO: "...Holy shit."

The rest was a formality. The lightning-fast eagle on the fourth floor was dismantled by a weeping slash of sorrowful energy.

The hyper-agile monkey puppet on the fifth floor was frozen in place by a blade of pure, numbing despair.

When Michael reached the final chamber, a simple stone room with a pulsating black stele in the center, he felt nothing but a quiet sense of finality.

He placed his hand on the Nexus Stele, and the entire Sanctum seemed to exhale into his mind.

Knowledge, control, and the path home flooded his senses.

As he stepped out of the tower, the perpetual twilight of the realm casting long shadows, Elder Morn was waiting.

The colossal eye in the ancient tree blinked slowly, taking in the man who had entered the tower as a boy.

ELDER MORN: "So. The little monster has finally grown teeth."

The rumbling voice held a new note, a grudging, undeniable respect.

"You have tamed the stele. The way is open. You are free to leave."

Michael shook his head, his eyes fixed on the desolate island to the south.

"Not yet. There's one more place I have to visit. One more ghost I have to thank."

Elder Morn sighed, a sound like continents grinding together.

"Be warned, boy. The treasures of this realm are bound to this place. They cannot leave with you.

But your power, the very soul you have reforged… that is yours to keep.

The master left these for his successor."

Three items materialized in the air before Michael: a soft leather pouch that pulsed with the light of the glowing Primordial Stones within, a simple silver Interspatial Bracelet, and a jade talisman carved with runes.

ELDER MORN: "The talisman will permit your return. But only once, and only after a decade has passed in your world. Do not be careless with it.

Now, go. Settle your debts."

Michael gave a curt nod, pocketing the gifts.

He turned and strode toward the south, his steps sure and steady.

The black cenotaph stood exactly as he remembered it, a monument of grief in a land of forgotten things.

Veyrith was there, a deeper shadow among the shadows, his presence a void that seemed to swallow the light.

The man in black simply inclined his head, a silent acknowledgment of a trial passed, and stepped aside, granting Michael entry for the very first time.

The air inside was colder than a grave, thick with a sorrow so profound it felt like a physical weight.

In the center of the chamber sat three soul-cultivating chairs, carved from a wood that seemed to weep faint, ethereal light.

Two of them were occupied.

On them sat two identical women, their forms spectral and hauntingly beautiful.

They were the two soul-remnants of Elira Ashborne.

The third chair sat empty, a silent, gaping wound in the room.

ELIRA #1: (Her voice a soft, melancholic whisper)

"You have done it. You have broken the cage your father built."

Michael looked at the faces of his ancestor, the woman, the women, who had subjected him to a decade of unimaginable torment, all to set him free.

The weight of his debt felt heavier than any mountain.

He dropped to his knees, his forehead pressing against the cold, unforgiving stone of the floor.

Michael: "I… I owe you a debt I can never repay."

His voice was rough, choked with an emotion he couldn't name.

One of the Eliras, the one whose eyes held a flicker of ancient fire, she gave a sad, wry smile.

ELIRA #2: "There is no debt. We are family. Debts are for merchants and enemies."

ELIRA #1: "But there was a price," she continued, her gaze falling on the empty chair.

"The seal on your soul was a masterpiece of human cruelty, forged with fear and false love.

To shatter such a thing… it required the sacrifice of a soul of equal, or greater, strength."

Michael lifted his head, his eyes wide with dawning horror.

ELIRA #2: "Don't look so shocked. Power for power. Soul for soul. That is the way of the cosmos. We were once three, you see. Three fragments of a single, shattered spirit."

ELIRA #1: "The third part of our soul… she was the foundation of the final blow. Her essence was the fuel for the fire that melted your chains. It is a price we paid gladly, descendant. A price she paid without hesitation."

The words struck Michael like a physical blow.

A third of her. Gone. Erased from existence for him.

He stared at the empty chair, and for the first time, he could feel the ghost of her absence, a hollow ache in the very fabric of the room.

He slammed his forehead back against the stone, a silent, desperate kowtow of overwhelming, suffocating gratitude. Words were useless. They were dust.

ELIRA #2: "Rise, Michael Ashborne."

Her voice was firm, pulling him from his daze.

"Stop groveling. You carry our blood. You carry our hope. And you carry our fury. That is thanks enough."

He slowly rose to his feet, his mind reeling.

ELIRA #1: "Our time is nearly at an end. The energy that binds us to this place wanes.

But there are things you must know. The story of our family.

And the story of the stubborn, brilliant, infuriating man who built this prison to be my sanctuary."

Her spectral eyes looked past him, into the darkness of memory, and a flicker of ten-thousand-year-old love softened her sorrowful features.

Michael: "Orion Vael."

ELIRA #2: (A soft, ghostly scoff)

"That's the name the heavens know him by. The name he earned after he lost everything else."

ELIRA #1: "If your journey takes you to the highest peaks of existence... if you ever become strong enough to be considered an immortal...

" She leaned forward, her translucent form shimmering. "If you ever meet him… tell him Elira is waiting."

ELIRA #2: "And tell him to get his ass back here," she added, the fire in her eyes undimmed by time.

"Tell him to come home."