The king died three days later. The five surviving warriors returned to the royal palace and told him everything. Rastacan freed. Shabakan separated. The prince's choice. The sacrifice.

The king listened in silence, tears running down his gaunt face.

— My son… he whispered. My brave son…

He closed his eyes and never opened them again.

The funeral was grandiose. All of Terra wept — for the king, for Thordrim, for Draven, and for Rastacan, imprisoned for eternity. No one wanted the throne. The royal line was broken.

Herald proposed a solution: that the fourteen guilds govern together. Terra became a republic of guilds.

The cursed lands slowly began to grow green again. The petrified trees cracked open, letting new shoots through. The red sky brightened. But the process would take decades.

Elyndra and Aelith founded a new order: The Guardians of the Serpent. Their mission: to protect the black marble door. Silas became the new Herald. Grundar became the Keeper of the Sword. Morvena had statues of Draven raised in every port — not as a necromancer, but as a hero.

And Kael wandered. He returned to the old cursed lands, helping ruined villages and broken families. One day, a child asked him if he was a hero.

— No. I was just a man seeking revenge. The real heroes are dead.

The child smiled.

— But you are here now. That counts, doesn't it?

Kael did not answer. But he stayed. And he helped.

In a dark alley of Magla, Layseriuss watched the celebrations from afar. His body dissolved into red smoke, his soul at last rejoining his brothers of the cobra caste. Vengeance was fulfilled. Terra was healing. Slowly. Painfully. But it was healing.