There was an eerie silence after it all ended. Most of the vampires had gone down with their king, the royal who had taken control of more than a thousand falling alongside each one of them.

Where Valerius Duskbane had stood, only a mound of ash remained, just like many of his minions. In comparison to the others, though, their king's ashes left faint embers flickering like a dying flame before vanishing altogether.

The crimson aura that had drowned the throne room was slowly fading, the mana either dispersing into the air or converting into usable energy to keep Roland's shield faintly active.

Before them, some demons remained kneeling, knowing they would face death or possibly something worse.

Roland ignored them. Renar would handle them. He stood over the remains, holy spear planted firmly in the cracked floor. He slumped slightly, knowing there was no one left here who could challenge him. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his mana pulsing weakly as it faded from the weapon's edge. Around his shoulders, the cloak seemed still, as if it knew there was no one else to kill.

"Roland…"

He turned at the sound of Stella's voice, her wards and radiant wings dissolving as she stumbled toward him. The strain of holding her Sanctuary Ward had finally broken her strength. Her knees gave out, and she began to collapse. Roland caught her quickly, one arm steadying her while the other still held his spear in case the demons who had surrendered tried something.

"You held on long enough," he said softly, his voice rough but calming. "Rest now. It's over."

Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into him, exhaustion plain in her pallid face. Even so, her lips curved faintly in the beautiful smile he had grown so accustomed to.

All around them, the throne room began to stir with a different kind of chaos. Now that it had been officially reclaimed, the question was no longer whether they could take it but if they could truly live here once more.

Renar strode through the chamber, his sharp commands rallying the weary soldiers as they began to inspect the hall. "Form up! Secure the doors! Clear out the wounded and finish any hostiles that still breathe!" His voice carried across the throne room, loud enough that those who had not planned to surrender would think twice. At the same time, it gave the army a clear task, an important duty to settle before the day was over if they were to remain here.

Lucien stood near one of the shattered windows, his blade still drawn. He could not yet calm the tension of the fight. Exhaling slowly, he glanced at Morrag, who stood watchfully in front of him. "Do you think there's any chance another general is lying in wait, or that this is all part of a trap?"

Morrag, still half in disbelief at how quickly Roland had ended things, shook her head. She had never imagined Valerius Duskbane, one of the stronger vampires, would fall so swiftly. "No. I think this really is a victory. They must have known the hero would retaliate after failing to destroy the Light Spirits. Most likely, the others fled the moment a new Light Spirit monarch rose to replace the one they killed."

She turned her gaze toward the distance. Even through the window, the sun was visible, its rays breaking through but the horizon remained stained red and dark, lands still held under vampire dominion. Lands the hero would eventually need to liberate.

There was something else she noticed, something Lucien saw as well: the soldiers who stole glances at her. Their eyes held both awe and caution. Yet none dared speak against her demon heritage, not when she had lent them such powerful aid in battle.

Zavar's hands suddenly slammed against the cracked floor, the sound sharp enough to make the soldiers flinch and look away. His intention, however, was not solely to intimidate but to summon stone. The floor heaved and shifted; barriers of rock rose to seal the collapsed passages and secure the chamber.

The surviving demons and vampires, leaderless without Valerius's command, were quickly rounded up to prevent future problems.

Some dropped their weapons and surrendered without resistance. Others tried to flee, but the blessed soldiers of Elris caught them with ease. Those who resisted were cut down where they stood; those who yielded were bound and dragged aside.

Soon, the throne room was silent.

Roland, having caught his breath, lifted his gaze to the seat at the far end of the chamber. Once the proud throne of Elris, it was cracked and stained with dried blood, desecrated by years of corruption.

Yet now, for the first time in decades, it stood empty waiting to be claimed once more.

Two weeks later…

The heavy doors of the throne room opened once more, and into the chamber stepped Halter Helstin, the rightful ruler of Elris.

Age and a life filled with hardship had bent his shoulders, and years of imprisonment and exile had carved deep lines into his face. Yet his eyes still carried the strength of a ruler who had never yielded, one who had always fought to reclaim his place for the sake of his people.

Soldiers bowed their heads as he walked forward, chin raised high as he crossed the halls that reminded him of his youth. When he reached the dais, he paused before the battered throne, the same seat his father had once occupied.

Slowly, he raised a hand and brushed it across the cracked stone. Memories flooded him: the castle in its glory, his father's reign, and the night he fled with his wife and two children when the demons took it all away.

"This hall," he said, his voice echoing with the weight of years, "has been left in ruin for far too long. But today we cleanse not only this castle, but our kingdom itself. Elris… is free again."

Cheers erupted both within the throne room and throughout the courtyards beyond. Freed citizens, weary soldiers, and even the wounded raised their voices together, celebrating the return of their king and their home.

Halter turned then, his gaze lingering on Roland before shifting to his daughter. He beckoned Stella forward. "My time is nearly past. I have lived long, and though this throne was once mine, it must now be carried by those with the strength to lead. By blood and by the people's will, I name my daughter, Stella Helstin, Queen of Elris."

A strange silence lingered in the great hall, but it quickly gave way to another surge of cheers. Stella bowed her head, her hand trembling against her father's as he placed his own upon it. Without realizing it, her emotions slipped through her control, faint pulses of light blooming into wards above her head, shimmering softly in the air.

Lucien, her brother, stepped forward to make his own stance clear. He looked at his father, then at Stella, then at the soldiers who were watching him with uncertainty, for he was the firstborn heir. For a long moment he was silent. Then he shook his head.

"I have decided that I cannot take the throne," he said firmly. "Not while so much remains to be done in this world. My sister carries the people's hope, so she will rule. As for me, I will continue to fight alongside Roland until every neighbor and nation is freed from the tyranny of demons. Until every enemy is purged from this land."

Morrag, who already knew of the prince's intentions, only shrugged her shoulders. She understood why he chose this path. He had already decided never to take the throne if it meant being with her, a full demon. Elris could not afford another war born of suspicion and bloodlines.

His words drew nods from the soldiers and murmurs of approval. The tension eased, replaced once more with a festive, hopeful mood.

Stella straightened, her father's hand still resting on hers, her brother's hand now on her shoulder in a show of closeness and support. She lifted her gaze to Roland, who stood watching her with steady pride, then turned to address the gathered crowd.

She cleared her throat, weaving mana into her voice so that it rang through the throne room, clear and strong. "Then let it be known. Elris stands once more. This throne is not merely for me; it is a symbol that we will not be overrun, that we will not fade from this world. Let it stand as a reminder to be grateful for every soul who fought to free us."

The chamber erupted, the thunderous roar of cheers shaking the very walls of the throne room.

Roland stepped forward through the loud clamor, wrapping his arms around Stella and drawing her close, which only caused more cheers from the audience.

For a moment, the queen and hero stood together and kissed; they were the new future this world needed.