Chapter 42 – Echoes Before Departure

The wind carried a strange calm.

The arena, once blood-soaked and echoing with war cries, now lay silent in reverence. Zavier stood at the epicenter, not just as victor, but as something far greater — a named presence in the multiverse. His silver-mixed-with-prismatic eyes drifted to the Tree, still glowing faintly after granting his wish. He could still feel it inside him — the unfamiliar warmth of creation itself, curled in his chest like a sleeping star.

Lunaria descended once more, graceful and composed, her shimmering silver robes drifting like mist around her body. The crest of the Grand Clinnore Universal Academy shone above her brow, pulsing in rhythm with the Tree's fading glow.

"Zavier Von Drakaryn," she said, her voice quieter now. Not divine, not ceremonial — simply human. "You have won. Your wish has been recorded, your path set in motion. But before the gates open… the Tree grants you a few days."

Zavier blinked. "A few days?"

She nodded. "Time to say farewell. Tie loose ends. Mourn or celebrate. This was no small event."

Her eyes swept the horizon, where survivors — both spectators and participants — gathered in clusters, uncertain what came next. "Only those who entered this tournament may choose which academy to attend. The others will be… observed. Not all will be accepted."

Zavier remained quiet. Something in him clenched. So many had died. So many left behind.

"You chose Grand Clinnore. A fitting choice." Lunaria smiled faintly. "But even now, I feel your bond pulling south."

Zavier's eyes widened. South — the Spring Quadrant.

"She's waiting for you, Zavier. Go."

And with that, Lunaria vanished in a shimmer of stardust, leaving the arena and its weight behind.

By nightfall, Zavier stood once more before the great flowering mountains of Spring — a region thick with pollen storms and glowing canopies. Lyssira and Freya had stayed behind in their own corners of the Four Quadrants. He'd said goodbye in small ways, but even now, it felt like he owed them more. Later, he thought. For now…

He stepped through the meadowed path, where crystalline butterflies clung to his shoulders and flowers bloomed in his footsteps.

At the heart of the mountain, Seraphine waited.

The time dragon stood by the edge of a luminous lake, the surface reflecting the stars overhead — and her tears. She turned when she felt him, smile breaking through ancient sorrow.

Then — without hesitation — she hurled herself at him.

The embrace nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. Her arms curled around him like living chains of love and warmth, wings folded over them like a fortress.

"My baby…" she whispered, voice thick. "My beautiful, miraculous child…"

Zavier, stunned, managed to lift his arms. "You're crying?"

"Of course I am," Seraphine breathed, pulling back only slightly. "Do you think dragons don't cry? I've waited millennia. I can still remember when you first hatched child."

He blinked. "That was only days ago."

She chuckled. "Time… is strange for us, little one."

A silence passed between them. The lake rippled softly.

"I have to leave soon," he said at last.

Seraphine nodded, gently brushing a strand of prismatic hair behind his ear. "The path of a child is to walk forward. But know this, Zavier Von Drakaryn…" she cupped his face, "you are never alone. You are of my blood. My name is Seraphine Von Drakaryn. That name… is yours now too."

He swallowed. "You mean…?"

"Yes," she said proudly. "My brothers and sister — the other dragons of the Four Quadrants — await to meet you. You are family. A prince of draconic blood."

Zavier said nothing. He simply stood there, held in the arms of one who had waited an eternity to call him son.

For the first time since the tournament began… he didn't feel alone.