The skies of H'Trae wept light and ash.
Adonis stood, bathed in golden radiance, even as his knees buckled and blood poured down his chin. His crown had cracked. His armor—once immaculate—was scorched and broken in places, revealing torn flesh and burnt skin beneath. But he didn't falter.
Not now.
Not with everyone watching.
Not when this was the only way left.
He raised his sword, eyes locked on the approaching figure—the clone of Adrien, whose power had already leveled everything in sight, whose presence had torn rifts in the sky.
The others had fallen.
Lucielle was unconscious.
The Oracle slumped against the Fairy King, whose breathing was ragged and uneven.
The line had collapsed.
And yet Adonis still stood.
"Rey never wanted me to use this despite showing me how…" he whispered.
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his golden blade.
He looked to the heavens, lips parting in quiet reverence. His voice trembled, not with fear—but with solemn determination.
