Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls

Kael fell to his knees, panting. The tails disappeared into particles of golden light, like embers carried away by the wind. His sword, now cold and dull, stuck into the ground beside him, still vibrating with the echoes of the divine energy that had briefly become flesh through him.

The temple—or what remained of it—was plunged into a heavy silence, as if the world were holding its breath.

Liora staggered toward him, her eyes red with blood, her skin covered in deep cuts, but her hands still steady. She knelt and touched Kael's shoulder.

"You did it," she whispered.

Kael looked up. "I'm not sure."

Exelia followed close behind, her steps slow, her body covered in dust and dried blood, but her sword still in her hands. She stopped in front of the open crater where the altar had once stood. There, amid the melted rocks and charred bones, was only a dull, almost indistinguishable glow.

But there was no body.

"Where is he?" she asked, her tone a mixture of suspicion and fear.

Kael struggled to his feet, looking around. "No... I can't feel him anymore."

Liora stretched out her senses, murmuring incantations of revelation, perception, and evil presence. No sign.

"He's not here," she said at last.

"Either he's completely disintegrated... or he's been sent back to wherever the devil came from," murmured Exelia.

The trio remained there for a few moments, in silence. Each staring at the void in their own way. The minutes dragged on like centuries. The air was still.

But the weight... had lessened.

That constant, suffocating pressure, that certainty that the world was about to end — it was gone.

Kael sat on a fragment of stone, staring at his burned and charred hands. Every fiber of his body ached, every bone.

Liora tore a piece of her own tunic and made a makeshift bandage for his shoulder. The fabric still glowed faintly with healing runes.

"You went too far, Kael. That could have killed you."

"I know," he replied, almost in a whisper. "But we had no choice."

She hesitated, then nodded in acceptance. The moment demanded more than logic. It demanded faith. Faith that this sacrifice had been enough.

Exelia looked toward the horizon. For the first time, the first rays of dawn tinged the edges of the ruins. The eternal night had been broken. The black stars that had aligned in the sky for the invocation were fading, dissolved by natural light.

"It will take centuries to rebuild what has been lost," she said. "But perhaps... hope begins here."

Kael looked around.

The destruction was absolute.

But there was hope.

And somewhere inside him, he could still feel Ahri's warm touch.

There were no words. Just a feeling.

Pride.

And farewell.

She was gone.

The bond, dormant once more.

But the divine spark—however brief—had left a mark on him. Not magical. Not physical.

Spiritual.

Liora stood up, leaning on a broken spear as a cane. "The other Elves will want to know about this. What we face here... will echo in the halls of the world."

"I don't think it's that simple," said Kael, his voice deep and his eyes still alert to the shadows around them.

"I agree with him," added Exelia, adjusting the hilt of her sword. "Better to keep everything secret for now. There are others involved... and they weren't here. They'll show up soon. We can use that to our advantage."

"Are you suggesting an ambush?" Liora asked, breathing heavily, her face pale. Her magical energy was almost depleted.

"Yes," Exelia replied, a cold gleam in her eyes. "We still have the element of surprise. And I have enough mana to set a trap here. An arcane prison. If we're quick, we can catch the next ones off guard."

Kael nodded slowly. "Then let's turn this place into their grave."

Kael stood up again, even though his knees protested with every movement. "Leave it to me. I can prepare the ground."

Liora tried to protest, but exhaustion spoke louder. She nodded slowly.

"Don't be long," Exelia murmured, and the two retreated into the shadows of one of the half-destroyed structures, covered in rubble and silence.

Kael walked alone through the ruins of the temple, feeling the mana that still remained in his body revive with effort. He stretched out his hands, and strands of pale golden energy began to twist in the air around him.

Each step was a rune.

Each gesture, a trap.

Around the crater and along the entrance routes, invisible magic circles formed, disguised beneath the dust and stones. Mana cages, paralysis runes, explosive seals, and dimensional bonds. All made with what remained of him... and a faint fragment of Ahri's touch.

When he was done, Kael withdrew, hiding behind a broken arch where an ancient wall still stood. Exelia and Liora were already hidden among fallen pillars covered in burnt foliage.

The silence continued.

But not for long.

Footsteps echoed.

First, light. Cautious.

Three... four figures emerged from among the dead trees surrounding the temple. Explorers. Curious. Black robes and watchful eyes. Remaining cultists, or just agents sent to check on the outcome of the summoning?

They approached cautiously... until they entered the ritual circle.

That's when one of the traps activated.

Without warning, a blue light exploded from the ground, and two of the intruders were lifted into the air, trapped by chains of pure mana. The others backed away, frightened—too late. The explosive runes fired, consuming them in controlled flames that burned them without sound, only with the distorted light that danced like specters.

But then, another sound emerged.

A different sound.

Heavier.

Long, decisive strides.

A new figure crossed the edge of the temple.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Light armor, forged in black silver and engraved with lunar runes. His skin was pale as ice in the moonlight, his golden eyes shining with restrained fury. His white hair was tied in a simple knot, like that of a warrior who needed no ostentation.

Kael saw him—and felt him. The pressure changed.

This was no ordinary cultist.

"Who is he?" Kael whispered, still hidden, his fingers touching the hilt of his sword.

Liora, lying in the corner under a pile of carefully camouflaged rubble, opened her eyes.

"It's Elen'Var," she whispered, her voice tense. "The Hand of Dawn. The traitor hunter. One of the High Elves' generals. He... is relentless."

Kael frowned. "An ally of yours?"

She hesitated. "Not always."

Elen'Var walked slowly among the wreckage, observing every detail, every inch of the damage. When he saw the crater and the traces of the demon's presence—the black ashes still vibrating in the air—his face changed.

Anger.

Pure. Silent.

He reached out and conjured a beam of silver light that swept across the ground. A visual memory spell.

Images began to appear in the particles of air—fragments of what had happened there. Static, blood, divine light. The echo of the Arch-Abyssal's presence.

The general clenched his fists.

"Who did this?" he said aloud, and his magic amplified the sound like a dry thunderclap.

"Who interfered with the balance?"

Kael looked at Liora, whispering, "He seems... furious."

"He's fanatical about order. About structure. And he hates what he can't control." She swallowed hard. "If he finds out it was us, and that we used divine power... we might be hunted instead of thanked."

Exelia, hidden on the other side, watched with her hand on the hilt of her sword, analyzing the man.

"If I have to, I'll fight," she whispered to herself.

Kael took a deep breath.

"No. Not yet."

If they were to be hunted... let it be after understanding what Elen'Var knew.

The general took another step forward. And then—he stopped.

His eyes slowly turned... and landed exactly where Kael was hiding.

He had sensed it.

Elen'Var's golden eyes pierced Kael's hiding place like spears.

Then, without hesitation, he raised his right arm. The light around him condensed into a silver arc, which took shape—a long sword with an ethereal blade, molded from pure lunar mana.

In a fluid, almost elegant gesture, he threw it.

The blade cut through the air like a silent lightning bolt.

Too fast. Too precise.

Kael barely had time to react.

But he did react.

With a snap, he moved to the side, his hand rising—instinct, reflex, perhaps a remnant of the power that still burned in his veins.

The silver blade was stopped inches from his forehead, caught between Kael's scorched fingers, the runes on the hilt still vibrating with heat and fury.

The impact threw him against the wall behind him, cracking the stone with a dry thud. Dust fell on his shoulders. But he did not fall.

There he stood, holding the general's sword as if it were his own.

His eyes met Elen'Var's.

The silence lasted a full second.

And then Kael spoke—his voice deep, low, and firm:

"I must admit that was dangerous," Kael said, his eyes fixed on Elen'Var. "But since we're here... why don't we talk about traitors?"

Elen'Var's countenance hardened. His gaze, already sharp, became a blade ready to cut.

He took a step forward, his presence imposing like restrained thunder.

"Traitors?" he repeated, his voice low but laden with restrained fury. "I see only one here... and that is you."

He turned his face slightly, casting an icy glance at Exelia and Liora.

"And these two... they kill their own people. What other traitors are there here but you?"