The sky above Elira was no longer a tapestry of constellations and divine light—it had cracked open, bleeding streaks of voidlight into the collapsing heavens. The spires of the gods shattered like glass struck by inevitability, and the winds howled with the final cries of forgotten hymns. The sacred plane, once untouched, now trembled beneath the weight of a man who was never meant to stand at its center.
Darius walked alone through the ruins of the High Ascension Hall. The walls, once inscribed with sacred law, now bore his mark—lines of corrupted code and drifting ash. Each step echoed like a bell tolling for the end, and in his hands, he carried the final artifact: a circlet of impossibility wrought from paradox, blood, and meaning. The Crown of Finality.
