The day dawned heavy with silence.
For months, Vastelune and Aurelion had clashed in fire and fury, but now the full weight of history marched into the field. This was no campaign. This was the final war.
The Forces Gather
Across the golden plains of Everfall, two oceans of soldiers assembled.
Aurelion sent its entire might—500,000 troops, battalions of war-beasts, floating citadels, and all seven of their elite Court Mage Generals.
Vastelune, smaller but burning brighter, answered with 450,000 soldiers, unified not by blood, but by a cause. Led by the reawakened heirs of old magic.
The banners fluttered behind four central figures—each a beacon.
The Four Pillars Beside Him
Cerys Aetherrose, riding with the Aether Guard, her Aetherrose Heartvine pulsing in silver light, surrounded by flying runes and protective shields that shimmered like starlight. The soldiers called her:
"The Silver Bastion."
Lysira Cindergale, cloaked in flame, walked alone in front of her troops. Her eyes glowed like burning steel. She laughed into the wind, Blazeguard Sigils blazing. They chanted her name:
"The Ember Queen."
Primira Vastelune, aloof and radiant, walked alongside royalty and commoners alike. Her Crown of Prismlight hovered above her head like a celestial sun, weaving illusions across the battlefield. The troops knelt as she passed:
"The Lightbearer Sovereign."
Eluin Velastra, silent among them, already saw the battle unfold before it began. Her glimmering eyes reflected seven possible outcomes. Her soldiers followed her like a shadow—ready to fight, or disappear without leaving a footprint. They called her:
"The Threadseer."
Idols of the Frontlines
The soldiers didn't just obey them.They idolized them.They cheered for them, fought harder because of them, and believed—truly believed—that victory was no longer an if, but a when.
And then, across the field, a message.
From the center of the Aurelion army, the Archmage-General of the Court Mages, robed in black crystal and crowned in violet flame, floated forward. His voice echoed like thunder warped through time.
"Send out your Compiler. We challenge Ari Solen—final bearer of the Originis—to the Ritual Duel of Cataclysm."
The Duel Begins
The field shifted. An ancient dueling arena materialized—glyph-laced stones rising from the soil, a remnant of a time when magic shaped reality with law and syntax.
Ari stepped forth.
Cloaked in dark silver robes etched with unreadable glyphs, his obsidian-gray eyes swirled with a storm of rings. His steps were quiet—but the world seemed to hush with each one.
Cerys, Lysira, Primira, and Eluin watched from the ridge, silent and ready, knowing he fought alone not out of pride—but out of necessity.
The Court Mage Leader spoke:
"Show me the full power of the Compiler of Originis."
Ari simply nodded.
"No."
He didn't cast.He didn't raise his hand.
He dodged.
For thirty minutes, Ari moved like water flowing through broken code—sidestepping annihilation spells, reality-bending syntax storms, temporal snares, and soulfire lances. Each deflection was elegant, precise.
He parried aether lances with null shifts, absorbed flame with mirrored glyphs, and rewrote time-lag effects mid-air—never attacking once.
The enemy grew furious, then desperate, then afraid.
Ari stood still.
Then whispered:
"If I can do this without fighting… imagine what happens when I do."
The four heroines clenched their fists—ready.
The troops across Vastelune were silent, in awe. The legend of Ari Solen, once Threadless, now Compiler of the One True System, had just begun.