From high above the second Colony City of the Thornveil Dynasty, Achilles stood silent.
Well, his Primordial Avatar, cloaked in violet-gold, burning with the fused might of Draconic assimilations, hovered like a judgment cast by the skies themselves.
Through the keen, merciless sight of his Luminblood Stage Draconic Orc Hybrid, he saw it all.
The husks of what once had been Ancient Ones lay strewn across streets drenched in the afterbirth of battle, Draconic Hybrids towering above their broken corpses like sentinels of a new era.
But not a single Hybrid moved in chaos.
They stood in orderly silence, awaiting the next command.
Above it all, Achilles watched.
Through his Avatar's eyes, the world always seemed…smaller.
He had once thought power was simply having the strength to protect what he loved, to shield Rose, to defy death.
He understood differently after watching all the death and chaos over multiple Colony Cities.
Power was not only strength.
It was the ability to impose will where chaos would otherwise reign.
To ensure survival not for one, but for all.
For the Dynasty that must rise under his family name.
Achilles lifted a hand, golden veins of Primordial and Evolutius Energy pulsing through translucent skin. They were more potent than ever before, as his assimilations continued to get further and further refined due to his bloodline refinement.
With a thought, his fingers danced through the air.
A Runescripture Core bloomed, a golden purple weaving of ancient patterns and evolutionary power, spinning with a royal intent.
He clenched his fist.
The core shot downward, burrowing into the ground like a celestial seed.
Runes blossomed across the broken city, crawling like vines, sealing fissures, mending stone, reweaving structure into a cradle of flight.
Gold and violet light rose in concentric rings, the Titanwall Dome beginning to form, a perfect circle wrapping the city in its arms.
And then, like a great ship freed from its moorings, the city began to lift.
Toward the Adrastia Dynasty that would be in the far distance.
As the city rose, Achilles' other hand lifted.
White flames gathered, swirling, condensing into a roaring storm.
Then, with a silent command, the flames scattered, descending like gentle rain over the injured and groaning of the Colony City.
Each droplet kissed a wound.
Each ember mended torn flesh, knit broken bones, reignited battered hearts.
Across the devastated streets, injured humans gasped.
Dharma Manifestation Overseers and Ethereal Physiology Masters, bloodied, half-defeated, stared skyward as the impossible unfolded.
In less than three minutes, the city was airborne.
And above it all, the figure of Achilles, silent, immovable, and glorious to see.
Some fell to their knees in awe.
But Achilles did not stay to bask in their reverence.
Across the burning expanse of the Cenotaph Wild Lands.
This time, he returned not through the eyes of Hybrids, but through the senses of his Solar and Lunar Constructs, radiant, celestial, always watching.
In the skies above this city, he appeared.
A streak of white flame.
Below, Luna, Nyxaria Moonveil Lunaris, Overseer Jackson, and a dozen other leaders of the liberated Kingdom of Neon gazed upward from the ground, witnessing his figure in awe as he currently did look a tad bit fantastical with the outstretched purple gold wings and swirling starlight.
"What…" Overseer Jackson whispered, voice cracking.
Her emerald eyes shimmered with something close to fear, but also wonder.
Nyxaria stood tense, her silver hair rippling in the chaotic winds, her heart hammering in her chest as she stared at the being she had once dared to believe was simply powerful and had even made a request out of him.
"Is that still…King Primal?" Luna breathed.
Nyxaria could not answer.
The figure above them, wreathed in golden violet flame, forging new Runescriptures with the ease of a master artisan, was both too familiar and wholly alien.
He moved as if the skies belonged to him as he didn't even look down to say anything to them.
He acted as if no being could deny him.
As if kings and titans were merely pieces to be set upon a grander board.
A golden purple weaving unfurled again, Runic Core slamming into the earth.
The city, cracked and broken, began to rise.
The Titanwall Dome blossomed in radiant rings, shielding the city in a sanctum of living scripture.
White flame rain descended.
And all the while, Achilles never spoke.
Each one a fallen bastion.
Each one a scar on the face of humanity.
He came to each, through flames or through the sight of his Constructs and Hybrids, lifting them skyward, protecting them under Titanwall Domes, healing them with Nirvanic Phoenix's fire.
An impossible procession of landmasses rose across the Wild Lands.
The sky above this region changed, where once it was empty, now it was filled with a few floating cities moving like fleets of silent continents that all moved towards a single direction.
Toward the Adrastia Dynasty.
A Dynasty that did not yet have borders.
Did not yet have territories.
But it had a king, and it had people.
Atop his final city for the day, Achilles paused.
And for a moment, he gazed across the skies.
His gaze was not cruel.
But it was not merciful either.
This is the way it must be, he thought.
His violet-gold eyes narrowed, and a small peaceful smile came after he did all he could today.
The old world was gradually fading away with every passing day.
He extended a hand toward the horizon, fingers flexing like one might cradle a crown.
'I will raise a new one.'