Above the battlefield, a voice echoed—not the Ancestral Creator, not the Kingly Ruler of Above.
But something more ancient.
More universal.
"LET ONE TRUTH STAND."
The golden light surged and chose...
NEITHER.
The impossible happened.
A third truth emerged.
Vatae, standing in the Curtain of Light Projection, began to laugh—low and slow.
"Of course.
A third crown, a third path… birthed by contradiction.
Born not of law.
Not of chaos.
But of the gap between."
The battlefield shook.
Anu stumbled.
Sul gasped.
Moac's heart skipped.
Cal narrowed his eyes.
"Who… who wears that third truth?"
Then, from within the paradox womb, a being emerged.
Neither male nor female.
Neither divine nor rebellious.
An eye of cosmos in their forehead.
A body woven from both order and chaos.
The voice was both all voices and none.
"I am… the Will of the Unchosen."
---
The Rise of the Unchosen
Vatae, watching, removed his mask.
Beneath it was not a face.
But a sphere of infinite reflections.
Each reflection was a possible truth. A possible ending. A possible crown.
"I was never the fourth competitor," Vatae whispered.
"I was the seed of the third path."
Eon, frozen in time-space horror, fell silent.
Seu, tears evaporating into flame, bowed her head.
Esteemed Pikra, for the first time in eternity, prostrated himself.
"We have seen it. The True Apex."
And the Will of the Unchosen turned to Anu.
To Cal.
To Sul and Moac.
And with a whisper, said:
"Only one shall remain.
The others… shall be forgotten."
---