The light from above remained, a gentle cascade of radiance pouring down onto the obsidian arena, as if the realm itself had acknowledged Leon's ascension. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat clinging to his battered frame, and yet—there was a peace in his heart he hadn't felt in a long time.
He didn't stand immediately.
He let the moment settle.
It wasn't just another victory. It wasn't just a number.
It was the culmination of everything—the Shellfire, the countless battles, the trial of the Mirror, the climb from the depths of the Rift, the losses, the risks, the friends he'd fought beside, the enemies who had nearly broken him.
This was proof that he hadn't just survived.
He had grown.
The platform beneath him began to hum softly.
A rune circle appeared beneath his feet—shifting, ancient, lined with the six sigils of the Obsidian Ant Elders. The voice returned once more, this time accompanied by a warm pulse of spiritual energy.
