The days after the battle passed in a haze of repairs, grief, and rebuilding. Ashen had survived—but the scars left behind would not fade so quickly. Twenty-six graves lined the edge of the village now. A silent reminder of the cost of defiance.
Ethan worked beside the others, hammering nails into walls, lifting beams, patching roofs. He tried to blend in, to disappear into the rhythm of normal life.
But nothing felt normal anymore.
News traveled faster than any of them expected.
By the end of the week, messengers began arriving. Dirty-faced riders from villages Ethan had never heard of, bearing questions and warnings.
"Is it true you killed Varkos?"
"Is it true you carry fire in your hands?"
"Did the gods send you to free us?"
Some came begging for help.
Others came offering alliances.
And a few came to spy.
Ethan knew the moment a cloaked figure with too-fine boots and an embroidered satchel stepped through Ashen's gates. The man barely looked at the wounded or the graves. He asked for names, asked to speak to Ethan directly.
Lyra turned him away.
They all did.
But the message was clear: Avalon had taken notice.
And not everyone was happy.
That night, Ethan dreamed.
He stood on a cliff, surrounded by swirling mist. The stars above him burned with strange colors. The land below stretched endlessly—forests, deserts, mountains, cities of gold and glass.
And at the heart of it all was a tree.
The Tree of Realms.
Its branches reached the heavens, and its roots twisted into the bones of every world. Its bark shimmered like starlight. Ethan took a step forward—and felt something call to him from its heart.
Then came a voice.
"Do you understand what you are now?"
He turned.
The God of Creation stood beneath the tree's boughs.
"A traveler. A bridge. A spark in dry grass."
Ethan frowned. "Why show me this?"
"Because the fire has only just begun to spread."
And suddenly, the sky above was full of cracks—realms splitting open, each one showing a different world. A futuristic city. A dying desert. A frozen wasteland. A world ruled by beasts. And others still, swirling with darkness.
From one, a shadow crawled forth—eyes glowing red, hunched and armored in black.
It saw him.
And it grinned.
Ethan woke in a cold sweat, gasping for air.
The next morning, Lyra found a letter nailed to the village gate.
The seal was unfamiliar—black wax stamped with a serpent devouring its own tail.
Joren read it aloud in the square.
To the Outlanders of Ashen,
Your rebellion is known. Your crime—harboring the one called "Ethan Carter"—is not forgiven.
You will surrender him within ten days.
If you do not, Ashen will burn, and all who resist will share his fate.
The Serpent Court
Silence fell.
Then the murmuring began.
"Who are they?"
"Is it another noble house?"
"No. This is worse."
Lyra took Ethan aside. "Do you know what this means?"
He nodded grimly. "It means someone with power knows exactly who I am."
That night, around the fire, the village council gathered.
Joren, Lyra, and the elders sat beside Ethan, their faces lined with fear and determination.
"We can't stand against this Serpent Court," said one elder. "They're old, and they're cruel. They have armies. Spies. Assassins."
Another spoke. "But giving Ethan up means giving up our future."
A heavy silence followed.
Then Joren stood. "We fought off Varkos. That was no small feat. Maybe it's true what they say. Maybe this man really was sent here for a reason."
He turned to Ethan. "We follow your lead now. What do you say?"
Ethan looked around at the faces watching him.
He thought of the guns and swords still hidden away in a locked shed. He thought of Earth. Of Avalon. Of the God who had called him a spark in dry grass.
And he realized: he couldn't go back to pretending anymore.
He had chosen this place.
He had chosen these people.
And now he had to protect them.
"No one's giving me up," Ethan said, his voice firm. "And we're not waiting to be attacked."
He met their eyes one by one.
"We strike first."
In the shadow of their victory, a new war brews—one born not of survival, but of purpose.
Ethan has embraced who he is. The Serpent Court is coming.
And Avalon will never be the same.