The meadow shimmered beneath the sun, alive with laughter. A little elven girl—barefoot and bright-eyed—ran through a field of moonlilies with her arms outstretched like wings.

"Fly, Maera! Fly higher!" her father's voice rang like music from behind.

She turned with a giggle, her coppery curls tangled with petals. "You said I could ride the wind if I believed hard enough!"

"And what did the wind tell you?" her father knelt, lifting her up into his arms.

"It said you're heavy," she said, poking his nose.

He chuckled, that deep, warm laugh that made birds join in. "Well, the wind is very rude. But it's not wrong."

He carried her to the banks of the Whispering Spring, where their reflections shimmered together in the waters. She watched his eyes—the same brilliant emerald she bore—filled with pride, wisdom, and endless affection.

"Maera," he said gently, brushing a moonlily into her hair, "one day, when I'm no longer here to hold you, you must still feel me in the leaves. Hear me in the rustle of the wind. Promise me."

She had frowned. "Why would you not be here?"

His smile faltered—just for a heartbeat. "Because even kings must walk roads unknown. But a father... never leaves his daughter."

Her small arms wrapped tightly around his neck. "Then never stop being both."

And he had held her there, beneath the arching sky and whispering branches, as if trying to preserve the moment against time's cruelty.

But little did she know that this memory will be so painful to remember as Maeralyn was trembling. The memory—vivid as though no years had passed—left her soul torn between grief and overwhelming awe.

Her father—the King of Elves, her light, her first swordmaster, her bedtime storyteller—stood once more. Alive.

But his eyes now held a terrible fire. His presence burned like divinity made flesh, empowered by the Divine Tree and the Ancient Council's forbidden arts.

He was no longer just the father she clung to in her youth. He had become a symbol, a last bastion against the chaos tearing the world apart.

And he did not look at her. Not yet.

He stared ahead, at the chaos incarnate—Kael Dragonyx, whose wings of blackened scale now beat like thunder above the glade, flanked by the twisted Chaos twins, Aron and Selene.

The very ones her father would soon face.

"I'm not ready," Maeralyn whispered, fists trembling at her sides. "I didn't get to ask why you left. I didn't get to—"

A hand touched her shoulder.

Velyrian. Wordless. Eyes lowered.

The gravity of the moment bound even the proudest tongue.

And Maeralyn, filled with fury, grief, and gratitude, wiped her tears, bent down to retrieve her sword, and straightened.

Whatever happened next… she would witness it with the pride of a daughter—and the steel of a commander.

Even if her heart broke a second time.

---

At this moment, the world held its breath.

From high above the scorched clearing, where remnants of the Labyrinth Creatures twitched in slow death, a storm of silence descended. The newly risen King of Elves, reborn with the blessing of the Divine Tree and backed by the Ancient Elves' forbidden Arcane Ritual, now stood firm like an eternal monument to nature's wrath and dignity. His cloak of green flame pulsed with each heartbeat, his hair now touched by threads of starlight, his gaze glowing with the wisdom of eras past—and the fury of one unjustly stolen from the world.

Commander Maeralyn who is now with Velyrian, her breath caught in her throat, watched with her hand over her chest. That towering figure, once her father, was now something more—an arbiter of balance and justice, a storm wrapped in regality. Her tears glistened, but she held them back. This wasn't the time for emotions. Not yet.

Just meters away, Kael Dragonyx hovered in the air, his enormous draconic wings spreading wide, casting a shadow like a god of destruction. Chaos pulsed from him in rhythm with a heart that no longer beat for peace. His armor now pulsed with a crimson aura. His eyes, once containing vague emotion, now bore only chaos and grim satisfaction.

Aron and Selene floated behind him, their chaotic signatures braided into the ether like poisonous smoke. Aron smirked while conjuring with the help of a talisman twisted beasts from a portal of bone and shadow, while Selene chanted in a dark, forgotten tongue that caused the air around her to bleed.

The King of Elves raised a single hand.

With that gesture, the world shifted.

The season changed.

In a flash, spring bloomed. Wildflowers sprouted across the ruined earth, and the scent of rebirth filled the air. The vines curled upward, and birdsong filled the skies for a fleeting moment.

Kael let out a grunt, the chaos around him fizzling for half a second. "He's shifting the world itself," he muttered.

Then the King moved.

It wasn't a step—it was a blink across space.

His palm, glowing with pure divine essence, smashed into Kael's chest.

BOOM!

Kael flew across the battlefield like a meteor, crashing through three floating stone outposts and into the edge of the treeline. The impact cracked the crust of the earth.

Before Kael could recover, the King flashed again—appearing beside Aron this time.

With a single chant of Ancient Verdant Tongue, the very roots of the world erupted beneath Aron, coiling around his legs like anacondas of jade.

Aron shouted, "SELENE—!"

But Selene was too late. A flick of the King's finger unleashed a Verdant Pulse, a beam of concentrated world essence. It tore across Aron's shoulder, searing his armor and collapsing a portion of his summoned beasts.

Selene screamed and launched a retaliatory Chaos Nova, a swirling sphere of darkness that hummed with discordant screams.

The King of Elves narrowed his gaze and spread his arms wide.

Summer came.

The world burned. The sky turned orange, the sun blazing like a furious eye. Heatwaves shimmered from his body. Fireflies turned to flaming wisps. And the King, eyes radiating molten green, clenched his fist and slammed it down.

A sunflare formed above him—then crashed to the earth.

Selene and Aron barely escaped by summoning twin shields of pure Chaos. Even Kael, now returned and bloodied, grimaced as the heat washed over him. His draconic form hissed with irritation, steam rising from his scales.

"ARRGH!!!"

Kael growled.

He had had enough.

With a guttural roar, he expanded his wings and drew deep from his chaotic core. His horns extended, his scales now turned a dark obsidian-black with burning gold edges. The skies began to darken once more.

Autumn descended.

But not by the King's hand—this time, it was nature's response to Kael's transformation.

The leaves curled and died mid-air. The trees groaned. The wind wailed like a mourning mother.

Kael charged.

The King met him.

Sword against claw. Magic against breath. Philosophy against madness.

They clashed midair with a shockwave that shattered the clouds.

Each of the King's sword strikes carried the weight of life, history, and divine harmony. He used World Arcana, summoning celestial deer made of stardust, vines that moved faster than sound, and elemental furies that obeyed his silent commands.

Kael responded with chaotic rifts, pulling matter from other dimensions. His claws tore through the air, cracking it like glass. From his mouth erupted Dragonyx Flame, a black fire that consumed mana itself.

As they battled, the seasons changed again and again:

Winter came, freezing the air and crystallizing spells midcast.

Spring returned, only for it to decay into Autumn seconds later.

The moon replaced the sun, and then reversed again.

The world bent under their clash.

But slowly, clearly—

The King of Elves was winning.

His technique was refined beyond mortal comprehension. His power, backed by the Divine Tree, continuously replenished. He outmaneuvered Kael's savagery with artful precision, forcing Kael down to the earth. At one point, he impaled Kael's wing with a spear made from Sunroot, pinning the dragon to the battlefield.

"You are but a shadow, Dragonyx," the King said coldly, walking toward him. "A mockery of order. I am the will of the world itself."

Kael snarled and roared, trying to get up—

—but the King raised his blade high.

All power converged.

A final spell on his lips.

The world turned to dawn. A hush fell.

And then—

CRACK!

A singularity tore into the sky like paper.

From it descended a figure draped in night, lightless and absolute.

Endless.

With a soft breath, he erased the King's spell mid-cast.

The entire world buckled under his presence.

The King of Elves turned slowly, stunned for the first time.

"…You," he murmured.

Endless floated down, bare feet never touching the earth, his voice a whisper that silenced thunder.

"You've had your play," he said to the King. "Now, it's time you remember your place beneath eternity."

Then he extended a finger—

—and the King of Elves was blown backward with a force unlike anything before.

"FATHER!!!!"

Maeralyn screamed.

The skies wept.

And thus began a shift the world would never recover from.