"You were never free, Elijah." The Warden’s voice echoed through the ruined battlefield. Dust and ash hung in the air, swirling around his towering figure. Sophia stood beside him, her expression unreadable. Elijah’s grip tightened on his sword. “Enough of your lies.” The Warden chuckled. “Lies? No, Marshal. Only the truth. You and Sophia—your entire existence has been leading to this moment.” He gestured around them. “Did you really think your survival was coincidence? That your strength was simply fate?” Elijah’s jaw clenched. He had spent years fighting, carving his own path through blood and loss. The thought that someone else had been pulling the strings made his stomach turn. Doug stepped closer, his breathing ragged. “Sir… don’t listen to him.” But Elijah had to know. “Explain.” The Warden smiled. “Very well.” He turned his gaze to Sophia. “You, my dear, are the key. The final piece of a long-buried project. Your blood, your abilities—none of it was natural.” So

“She’s waking up.” Elijah turned at Doug’s words. His hands, stained with ink from writing orders, clenched slightly. He had spent days dismantling the last of the corrupt families, ensuring Evendore would never fall into the same darkness again. But none of it had mattered more than this. He pushed the heavy door open, stepping into the dimly lit room. Sophia lay on the bed, her skin no longer deathly pale, but there was something… different. Her eyes, once warm and familiar, now held an eerie stillness. She blinked slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Elijah.” Relief surged through him, but it was laced with caution. He sat beside her, studying her carefully. “You’re awake.” She exhaled, as if testing the very act of breathing. “I feel… strange.” Doug remained near the door, standing guard as always. “Marshal, should I call the healer?” Elijah shook his head. “Not yet.” He looked back at Sophia. “What do you remember?” She frowned slightly, as though pulling me

“Elijah Norton, the world is waiting for your next move.” Elijah glanced up from the map spread across the table. Across from him sat an elder statesman, his expression calm but expectant. Others in the council chamber watched Elijah closely, their gazes filled with a mix of respect and uncertainty. Doug stood at Elijah’s side, his posture rigid. He could feel the tension in the room. The war was over, but leadership brought its own kind of battle. Elijah leaned back in his chair. “The world doesn’t need me to rule it,” he said. The elder gave a knowing smile. “Perhaps not. But it does need someone to guide it.” Elijah tapped a finger on the table. “Evendore must rebuild first. There are still families in mourning, cities in ruin. People need stability, not another ruler.” A younger council member frowned. “But without you at the forefront, chaos could return. Power-hungry men will see this as an opportunity.” Doug finally spoke, his voice firm. “The Marshal is not a kin

“Elijah…” A soft voice broke the quiet evening. Elijah stood at the edge of the city, watching the last light of the sun fade into the horizon. The sky burned with hues of orange and deep crimson, a reflection of the journey that had brought him here. The wind carried a familiar scent, one that stirred memories he had buried deep. Years had passed since the war ended. Evendore had changed under his leadership, rising from the ashes of corruption into something new. The people called him a legend—the Black Dragon who had defied fate and rewritten history. Statues had been built, songs had been sung, and yet none of it truly mattered to him. Because for all his victories, a part of him had remained empty. He turned at the sound of his name, his breath catching in his chest. Sophia stood a few feet away, bathed in the golden light of dusk. She had changed, yet she was still the same—strong, beautiful, and filled with a fire that had never faded. Her eyes held a depth that spoke