For a moment, Jaenor just stood there, swaying, his entire body trembling with exhaustion. His reserves were almost depleted, his healing barely keeping pace with his injuries.

But he was alive, and Vasthren wasn't.

"Impressive."

The voice was weak but defiant. Jaenor turned to see Hilda struggling to her feet at the base of the temple steps. Her robes were scorched and torn, and blood ran from her nose and ears, but she was still conscious.

Still dangerous.

"You actually killed Commander Vasthren," she continued, each word clearly painful.

"The Lord will be... displeased. That man was worth a dozen normal warriors."

He furrowed his brows. "Lord?"

"The Lord can be displeased all he wants," Jaenor said, retrieving his sword.

"I will go after him too, don't worry."

Hilda laughed, a wet, broken sound. "You think you've won? You've barely survived against two of us. The Lord commands legions. He wields power you can't imagine. You're nothing but an insect to him."

"Then he shouldn't have taken my friend."

"And let me show you how it feels to let your loved one get taken away," he said as he moved swiftly and precisely towards the young man beside her.

Hilda was a second later to catch up to his movements; by the time she saw where he was, Jaenor was already standing behind Caelum.

He had his hand Caelum's shoulder and his sword ready to strike.

"NO!" Hilda screamed.

"Wait, wait," Jaenor warned her.

Hilda was terrified, seeing her son trembling. He didn't even see Jaenor coming towards him and was completely overpowered by him.

"Your son, he had done a stupid thing, which I presume he didn't tell you."

"Well, don't worry; you can talk all you want in the afterlife leisurely."

Then he pushed his sword right into the heart of Caelum, killing him.

Caelum let out a groan as he felt the pain and fear eat him up, and slowly he fell to the ground.

Jaenor walked away as Hilda came to her, rushing and screaming at the top of her lungs.

"NOOO!! CAELUM!!"

She looked at her dead son, but there were no tears. She looked serious, staring at her lifeless son.

Then she put him on the ground as she stood up. At once, her original energy surged drastically, and it was different from what everybody knew.

Raelana and Morgana, who were watching her, the former said, "That is…"

Morgana said, "DurgOru'c."

The DurgOru'c was the complete opposite of Origin energy, with malice and evilness of the realm. The only people who are associated with such vile energy are the demons of the sins.

Hilda's hands came up, gathering what power she could muster. DurgOru'c crackled between her fingers, but it was weak and unstable.

It was clear that she wasn't able to solidify that vile energy, and it seemed to fluctuate.

"I don't care what my son did. You shouldn't have killed him."

"Huh? What should I have done? Should I have let your son run his mouth?"

"You can still die," Jaenor said flatly.

"And go be with your son."

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH! You arrogant bastard!"

Hilda unleashed her attack—a desperate, all-out assault. DurgOru'c erupted from her hands in a wild torrent, uncontrolled and chaotic. It tore through the space between them, destroying everything in its path.

Jaenor met it with his own origin energy.

The two forces collided midway between them, and the resulting explosion was like a thunderclap. The shockwave flattened nearby debris and cracked the temple steps.

For several seconds, they stood locked in a contest of pure power, each trying to overwhelm the other.

But Hilda was injured, depleted, and running on fumes.

And Jaenor, despite his exhaustion, still had reserves she'd already burned through.

His power began pushing hers back. Inch by inch, the collision point moved toward Hilda. Her eyes went wide with terror as she realized what was happening.

The combined energy reached her, and she ignited.

Her scream was mercifully brief.

One moment she was there; the next she was consumed by a force too primal to resist. Her body simply came apart, reduced to ash and vapor in an instant.

When the energy dissipated, there was nothing left but a scorched mark on the temple steps and the lingering smell of ozone.

Jaenor stood alone among the dead, surrounded by the ruins of the Ki'thara village, his body screaming with pain and exhaustion.

Behind him, he could hear his friends approaching—Rena, Taeryn and Darian. He could feel Morgana's presence, steady and reassuring.

But his attention was fixed on the temple entrance, on the darkness beyond.

The voice spoke in his mind again, clearer now.

Jaenor, you are to take the sword and the crown. They are yours to claim.

Go now.

Jaenor took a step toward the entrance, then another. His friends called out to him, but the words seemed distant, unimportant.

Morgana frowned as she watched Jaenor move towards the temple, inside of the temple, to be particular.

Rena, Taeryn and Darian too—they just stood and watched him. They were standing a bit far from him.

But right at that moment, something happened.

The air itself seemed to shudder as reality bent and twisted.

A tear appeared in the fabric of space above the temple steps, edges crackling with raw power that made even the lingering traces of Jaenor's battle look like candle flames compared to a bonfire.

Through this rift stepped a figure that commanded immediate, absolute attention.

She was tall, perhaps six feet, with raven hair that fell past her waist in waves that seemed to move independent of any wind. Her skin was pale as moonlight, unmarked by age despite the ancient weight in her eyes—eyes that were striking, seeing far more than the physical world. She wore robes of pristine white trimmed with gold thread that formed intricate patterns of moons and stars.

Power radiated from her like heat from a forge.

The very ground beneath her feet began sprouting flowers—white lilies that bloomed and died in seconds, a cycle of life and death responding to her presence. The air thrummed with contained energy that made Rena's teeth ache and caused Taeryn to unconsciously take several steps backward.

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