POV 1: Reina Morales – Temporary Base Camp, Antarctic Ice Ridge

They had managed to erect a quick survival dome near the Starlance wreck, using emergency alloy sheets and quantum weave blankets. Reina hadn’t slept in thirty hours, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw the trench again.

Not just the trench.

What lay beneath it.

Solomon hadn’t spoken since the signal. Not really. He stood on the ice, silent as a monolith, absorbing the leyline flux that twisted the skies overhead.

Reina looked at her diagnostic slate—error after error.

Atmospheric pressure fluctuations. Distorted compass fields. Frozen time pockets forming miles out from the pole.

They were living on a dying clock.

“Solomon,” she whispered as she stepped outside the dome, snow whipping her goggles.

He turned. No words, just presence. Still in the abyssal armor, though now it had grown wings—not like a bird, but arching blades of pure un-reality. Like a memory trying to cut its way free.

“I’m not asking what we’re facing,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m asking if you think we can win.”

He finally responded, voice low.

“It’s not about winning. It’s about reminding.”

“Reminding who?”

Solomon looked east, toward the Southern Ocean. The aurora crackled crimson and indigo.

“The ones we left behind.”

POV 2: Admiral Ryoko Sato – Bridge of JSN Mizuchi, Southern Naval Blockade

She watched the storm with sharp eyes. Something wasn’t right.

Radar was too clean. Satellites picked up nothing. But the crew felt it. Like an old nightmare walking on deck.

“Bring up deep-thermal sonar scans again,” she ordered.

Her XO frowned. “Ma’am, all sonar buoys are showing null-state responses. Something’s eating

our signals.”

“Then drop old-school hydrophones. String them by hand if you have to.”

The naval blockade, made of American, Chinese, Indian, Russian, and Japanese vessels, held steady in a massive ring around Antarctica. A line drawn across myth and war.

The last time Earth had stood unified like this, the elves had invaded.

Now?

Now they weren’t sure what was coming.

Ryoko sipped her bitter tea and checked the encrypted alert file Jamie Lancaster had uploaded—Abyssal symbols, Gate Zero, a man in armor echoing with lost memory.

“This isn’t a war,” she muttered. “It’s a reckoning.”

POV 3: Jamie Lancaster – Disavowed, Running Through the Alps

Her feet bled.

She was off-grid, every international agency marking her as a Class Z traitor. The Elves had called for her head. Half the UN wanted her detained before she “broke open more archives.”

But none of them understood.

She carried a data shard—one final truth downloaded from the Geneva Vault before her connection was severed. Not just about the Seals. Not just about the Knights.

But about Earth’s role.

She stopped under an overhang, breathing hard.

The truth was simple.

Earth wasn’t a prison. It wasn’t a battlefield.

Earth… was one of the gates.

A living seal, grown in fertile silence, containing something too vast for conventional space-time.

And someone had just knocked on it.

POV 4: Queen Elara – Inner Moonlight Temple, Forestia

The rite was complete.

Elara had remembered everything—from the stars that bled black flame to the first time she and the Knights burned an entire dimension to seal the Lattice Wound.

She saw now that Forestia was never a true world—it was an echo-world, grown out of myth, built as a dream-shell to shield minds from remembering what came before.

And now that dream was cracking.

She looked at the elven general , kneeling in full armor, eyes wide with anticipation and terror.

“My Queen,” The General whispered, “what are your orders?”

Elara held up her hand.

“Recall the elves. All of them."

“But—”

“The Watchers are no longer the threat,” Elara said. “The ones returning… make the Watchers look like children playing with mirrors.”

Behind her, the True Gate began to open—not just physically, but across memories. Across timelines.

A wind blew through the temple. One that smelled not of air, but of the void between stars.

POV 5: Solomon Kane – Between Realms

The ice cracked beneath his feet—and then, he was gone.

Reina screamed his name, but it was too late.

He fell through the ice, not into water, but into a mirror-layer beneath reality. He emerged into the Twilight Fold—a place made of broken gates, inverted stars, and ancient symbols crawling across non-Euclidean sky.

There, he met them.

The other Abyss Knights.

Some still slept in black stone. Some stirred, groaning with rusted memory.

But a few—three to be precise—stepped forward.

They bore no names now. Only runes. And they remembered

him.

“Solomon,” one said. “Gate Zero is trembling.”

“I know.”

“The Sealed Memory returns. Shall we form the Mantle?”

He looked back through the gate—a shadow image of Earth turning slowly in the distance.

“No. Not yet. First we need to warn them.”

“And if they won’t listen?”

Solomon’s armor blazed with voidlight.

“Then we remind them.”

POV 6: Black Sun Mercenaries – Reaper Base, Sub-Antarctic Island

“We’ve got movement,” the scout said.

The leader, a war-scarred woman named Kassia Morn, lowered her plasma binocs.

“That’s not an elf. That’s… something else.”

Her second-in-command looked sick. “Ma’am, that thing just walked through the elf-barricade at Base Four. It melted every spell and bullet in its way. Then it stared up. Like it saw us—through satellites.”

Kassia activated full lockdown. She knew what this meant.

War was over.

This was now a reclamation. By something far older than either side.

And they were in the way.

POV 7: Queen Elara – Final Scene, Standing Before the Cosmic Loom

The Loom shimmered above her—the first and last memory of creation. Threads of time, identity, memory, and emotion converging like spider-silk at the end of the multiverse.

Luna stood beside her—not as goddess, but as something deeper.

“Elara,” she said softly, “you were never supposed to wake.”

Elara looked to the stars. “Then why show me this?”

“Because he woke first,” Luna said. “And that means the others will follow.”

“What must I do?”

Luna’s eyes turned silver-black. “You must choose who remembers—and who forgets.”

Elara wept.

Because she knew.

This wasn’t the beginning of a war.

It was the end of forgetting.