He was close.
Each breath Zaxton took shimmered faintly in the air, laced with raw celestial energy. Stars pulsed behind his eyes. The Final Pulse of the First Realm hummed just beyond reach—one more battle, one more spark, and he would ascend.
But he could not wait.
The Loc Empire would not rest.
And Zaxton would not give them the time.
---
THE RISING BLADE
He gathered them in the Hall of Flame, where only the trusted few were allowed:
Thalos, blade-master and tactician, veteran of ten wars.
Mara, shadow-weaver and his oldest ally, commanding the new intelligence corps.
Silenn, spiritual cultivator and beast-summoner, whose twin serpent-birds never left her shoulders.
Korrin, of course, his panther spirit companion—silent and coiled with power.
But also new faces:
A fire-wielding orphan whose rage burned hotter than reason.
A silent alchemist with tattoos that whispered when he moved.
A desert scout whose beast was a mirage-born sand wyrm.
They would be called The Ironsworn.
Not for loyalty to the Iron City—it was their vow never to let such a legacy rise again.
---
THE PLAN
Mara's maps unfolded like wings.
MARA
"We won't strike their capital. Not yet.
We bleed them. One vein at a time."
They would hit:
Secret training outposts.
Smuggler hubs.
Communication towers carved into crystal cliffs.
Zaxton's goal was not conquest—it was crippling exposure. To pull the shadows into the light.
---
THE FIRST STRIKE
The first target: The Spine, a fortified cliff-city that trained Loc assassins since before recorded history.
The Ironsworn descended under cover of beast-flight and fog.
Silenn called down lightning through her twin birds.
Thalos cut through twenty men before a single alarm rang.
Zaxton summoned starlight through his palm and unraveled the Spine's gate with one precise strike—neither too weak nor too strong.
He was holding back.
The realm could feel it.
When it was done, nothing remained but burning towers and a single message left carved in blackstone:
"Stoneveil sees you."
---
A GATHERING POWER
Each battle took Zaxton closer. The energy of victory—the rhythm of command, the pressure of fate—drew celestial light into his body.
And still, he waited.
He refused to break through until the moment demanded it. Until the stars called for thunder.
Because he knew:
The Loc Empire would not stay in the shadows much longer.
They would retaliate.
Not with poison or spies—
But with legions. With generals. With dark cultivators who hadn't seen the sun in decades.
And when they did...
Zaxton would rise.
Ash Beneath the Mask
The stars dimmed.
From the northern skies came a procession cloaked in smoke. No armies. No drums. Just silence. And one figure walking through the air—hooded, barefoot, veiled in a black wind that bent light itself.
They called him Mokha the Hollow.
Once a high scholar of the Second Realm, Mokha vanished for twenty years, rumored to have traded his soul for forbidden mastery.
Now, the Loc Empire had unleashed him.
---
THE ATTACK ON NARROWHAVEN
Narrowhaven was a border town, rebuilt by Stoneveil's architects—homes of pale clay, spirit beast sanctuaries, and singing children.
At dawn, it fell.
No alarms. No survivors. Only glass, where buildings once stood. The sand had been melted by Mokha's step.
A message was carved into the mountain face beside the ruins:
> "Return to ash, starborn child."
---
THE COUNTERCOUNTERSTRIKE
Zaxton did not flinch. He could not afford it.
He and the Ironsworn struck out immediately—no rest, no hesitation. Thalos called it suicide. Mara said it was too soon.
But Zaxton felt it.
In his breath.
In his bones.
The cusp of the First Ascension trembled within him like a dam ready to break.
---
BATTLE IN THE SUNKEN VAULT
Mokha waited in the ruins of the ancient Sunken Vault—a lost city sunken into a gorge of black mist and shattered pillars.
Zaxton and the Ironsworn descended at dusk.
The moment they stepped onto the cracked floor, spirit beasts began to panic. Even Ashra faltered, growling in confusion. The air rippled like a reflection of another realm.
Then the shadows moved.
From the mist came dark-touched cultivators, barely human, their bodies bloated with twisted energy. They attacked in silence, blades shimmering with soul-poison.
The Ironsworn fought hard.
Mara's blood painted runes across the stone.
Silenn's twin birds were struck down, screaming.
Thalos lost an arm defending a young recruit.
And then—
Mokha arrived.
He didn't speak. He didn't blink. He simply tore a hole through reality, and hurled it toward Zaxton.
---
THE BREAKTHROUGH
Zaxton blocked it with both arms.
His skin cracked. His bones screamed.
Stars bled from his eyes.
He dropped to one knee.
And then...
It broke.
The dam.
The pulse.
The sky split above the Sunken Vault as if the heavens recognized him.
Constellations realigned. Time slowed. Beast and man froze as Zaxton rose, glowing with silver fire.
Every atom in the air sang his name.
---
ZAXTON (ASCENDING)
"I gave you the chance to hide in shadows.
You chose to walk in my light."
He stepped forward.
The battlefield became a reflection of the night sky—his domain now bound to the Celestial Orbit, the final layer of the First Realm.
Zaxton moved once—just once.
Mokha tried to block.
He was too slow.
Zaxton's fist shattered the mask.
Light devoured the Hollow One from the inside out.
And when the battle ended, the only sound was the quiet return of beast-song in the wind.
---
AFTERMATH
Word of Mokha's fall spread like wildfire.
The Loc Empire staggered. Their Second Realm ace destroyed in moments.
Other powers trembled—what realm would this boy rise to next?
But Zaxton, now glowing with celestial runes upon his back, looked eastward still.
The war was not over.
It had only just begun.