Everlock was nothing like Vexa imagined.
She stood just beyond the gates, eyes wide as the city unfolded before her—bustling markets with vibrant fabrics and exotic spices, street performers casting harmless illusions for children, and rooftops dotted with hanging gardens. Music played from corner balconies. Laughter drifted like perfume through the air. There was no blood in the streets. No smoke in the skies. Just… peace.
It made her nervous.
She shifted slightly as Jalen stepped up beside her, hands casually stuffed into his coat pockets.
"Not bad, right?" he said, smirking.
Vexa didn't answer right away. "It's… alive," she finally said. "I've never seen a city like this. Not without iron gates or screaming."
Jalen's grin softened. "Yeah. Everlock's always been different. Has its scars, sure. But Kullen and the others… they built something here. Something worth protecting."
She scanned the streets again. People waved to Jalen as they passed—some hesitant, others bold. A few even offered blessings. He returned every one with a nod or a smile, though his discomfort showed in the way he scratched his neck or shifted his stance.
"You hate it," Vexa said plainly.
"I don't hate it," Jalen replied. "I just… didn't think I'd be part of it. Or that people would look at me the way they do now."
Vexa eyed a nearby stall selling tiny carved tokens—most of them shaped like Jalen with outstretched arms or the gauntlet he'd used to defeat Kieros.
"You're more than a symbol to them," she said. "You're proof. That gods can do more than destroy."
Jalen didn't have a reply for that. So he just walked.
"C'mon," he said. "I'll show you the best food in the mid-district. No divine nonsense required."
Vexa followed, still taking in the city with every step, still waiting for the moment something would go wrong.
But thankfully… it never came.
In the upper courtyard of Everlock, the sound of steel on steel rang sharp and clear.
Lucio and Kuromi moved like dancers across the marble floor—blades flashing, feet skimming over stone, breath controlled but fast. Spectators from the barracks lined the walls, murmuring and placing bets under their breath, though no one dared interrupt.
"You're hesitating," Kuromi taunted, parrying a strike and sweeping his legs. Lucio rolled through it, springing back up with a cocky grin.
"Not hesitation," he shot back. "I'm just admiring how far you've come."
Kuromi raised a brow. "Flattery? That's your defense strategy now?"
Lucio twirled his blade once, flicking sweat from his brow. "Only when I'm winning."
He lunged. Their blades clashed mid-air, sparks flying. But as they locked weapons, something shifted.
Lucio's hand trembled.
His balance faltered.
He broke away suddenly, one hand going to his forehead. The blade clattered to the floor.
Kuromi froze, concern slicing through her usual composure. "Lucio?"
Lucio staggered back a step, blinking rapidly. His vision swam. Heat pulsed behind his eyes, and his stomach churned with a nausea that hadn't been there a second ago.
"I'm fine," he muttered. "Just… a little dizzy."
"You don't look fine," Kuromi said, already at his side, steadying him by the elbow. "You're burning up."
Lucio's skin was slick with sweat now—far more than from exertion. His breath came too fast, too shallow.
"I'm used to burning up," he joked weakly. "Just not from the inside."
Kuromi frowned and touched his forehead. Her hand recoiled slightly at the heat. "You have a fever. That's not normal—not for someone like you."
Lucio tried to laugh, but it came out more like a cough. "Maybe I'm finally allergic to losing."
Kuromi didn't smile.
She studied him closely, searching for something in his face—some answer neither of them had. His glyph, once dormant since the battle, pulsed faintly beneath the sleeve of his coat, like an ember refusing to die out.
"Go rest," she said, voice firmer now. "I'll get Jalen."
Lucio nodded slowly, allowing her to guide him to a nearby bench. His limbs felt heavier than they should. His head throbbed with pressure.
And his eyes briefly flashed red.
Later, in Everlock's central square…
Banners unfurled from the rooftops. Soldiers stood at attention beside merchants and children, their uniforms pressed, their blades polished. Magic lights hovered in the air, humming with warmth, as the people of Everlock waited beneath the high steps of the palace courtyard.
Kullen stood tall at the balcony above them, regal in his dark jacket. No crown upon his brow—he never wore one. He didn't need to.
A hush swept over the crowd as he raised a hand.
"You stood firm," he began, voice carrying with practiced ease. "You endured through war, through absence, through silence. And when I returned, I did not find a broken kingdom—I found one that had grown."
A roar of cheers erupted.
Kullen smiled, briefly.
"Our work is far from over. The lands south of our kingdom—what we now call the Redlands—are ours to protect. We did not conquer them. We freed them. And with that freedom comes responsibility."
He stepped forward.
"To the refugees who have come to us—we welcome you. To the soldiers who bled for this peace—your names will be remembered. And to every child, every elder, every builder and dreamer who calls this place home—our future is yours to shape."
"Everlock expands—not through domination, but through unity. Through preservation. Of peace. Of strength. Of each other."
Another wave of applause.
Until—
A lone voice cut through the din.
"Then let the God of Freedom liberate my people next!"
Gasps echoed.
All eyes turned toward the lower tier of the courtyard, where a man stood—ragged robes, ash-colored skin, eyes that gleamed like coal under moonlight.
"I hail from the southern depths," the man said, his voice louder now, as guards moved in. "From the Hollow Reaches, beneath the land your maps have forgotten. My people are enslaved by chains you cannot see, under a god your scholars do not name."
The crowd shifted, uneasy.
Jalen—watching from the shadows of the archway—felt something stir in his chest.
Kullen kept his composure. "You ask much, traveler."
"I ask nothing," the man replied. "I beg. The God of Freedom—your shining hero—has walked through fire and storm. Let him walk into darkness."
Kullen hesitated—then smiled thinly. "Our god doesn't take requests. He's hard enough to get a meeting with as is."
The man stepped forward once more, fire in his eyes.
"Then let me speak to him myself."
"Guards," Kullen said flatly. "Remove him."
But the man didn't resist. As chains clamped around his wrists, he simply looked up at Jalen, who had stepped forward unconsciously from the crowd.
"You freed the Redlands," the man whispered. "Now free the forgotten."
In the war room…
The torches flickered low. The parchment map lay open across the stone table, surrounded by the silent weight of three gods-in-the-making and one desperate man.
"You asked his name," the man said quietly.
He looked directly at Jalen.
"Zeraphon."
The name rolled like thunder in the space between them.
"Never heard of him," Lucio muttered.
"You wouldn't have," the stranger said. "He does not exist in records. Only in the whispers of dying souls and ancient stone. He is one of the Primordial Four."
Jalen frowned. "Primordial what now?"
"Before the gods you've slain. Before the pantheon you challenge. Before Everlock. There were Four."
"Four what?" Nathan asked.
"Four truths. Four laws. Four beings who were not born from divinity… but from necessity. When this world first drew breath, it coughed up four things that could never die."
He pointed a trembling finger at the map.
"Zeraphon. Keeper of Souls. He was the first."
Lucio scoffed. "Sounds like a creepy librarian."
"More like a warden," the man hissed. "He does not rule with faith. He rules with silence. His kingdom lies beneath the surface. Not just of land—but of memory. Souls that do not pass into rest are dragged to him. Caged. Counted. Kept."
A heavy pause.
Jalen exhaled slowly. "So he's not just a god. He's something older."
"You cannot bargain with him. You cannot reason. You can only break him."
"And no one else has tried?" Nathan asked.
"They have," the stranger said darkly. "You'll see what's left of them when you get there."
"So let me get this straight," Lucio said. "We've taken down a war god, navigated a death-court on a mountain, and now we're heading into the underworld ruled by an immortal soul-hoarder who's basically death's accountant?"
"Essentially," the man said.
"Cool," Lucio muttered. "Totally normal."
"This isn't just another quest," Jalen said. "We're not walking into a kingdom. We're walking into a myth."
"And we've already burned the map," Nathan added.
The stranger leaned forward. "He has no worshipers. No priests. Only shadows. You won't find honor in his halls—only echoes."
"You came here seeking liberation," Kullen said at last.
"I came seeking freedom."
Everyone turned to Jalen.
He didn't speak at first.
Then, quietly: "Pack the gear. We leave by dawn."
"That's it?" Nathan blinked.
"If Zeraphon really is one of the Four, then we were going to face him eventually."
"Might as well be sooner," Lucio said, cracking his neck.
As the guards led the man away, he looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with Jalen one last time.
"Tell me, God of Freedom… have you ever heard souls beg to be erased?"
Jalen didn't answer.
He just walked away.