[3 Months Later...]

The world had become strange and almost unrecognizable. Ever since the attack on the world by the Champions of Hades, it had never remained the same. Almost all of Debranlith had fallen into their hands.

The only standing strongholds were Anbord, Helheim, Fenrir, Alfheim - the Elven Empire, and the Dragon Empire. Helheim had been opened by Lilith after the ascension where she became the official Demon Empress and the sole master of the hidden realm. Ethan created an instant teleportation and space door connecting the two empires, as well as Fenrir, bringing them all together.

In a way, Helheim and Fenrir were now part of Anbord. Alfheim had been able to fight back and protect their empire. Their emperor, Elandor Syltharion turned out to be a demigod. As for the Dragon Empire, no one was surprised that it still stood strong. The Dragon Emperor didn’t even a reason to move. The dragons were already strong enough to form a resistance, despite the casualties.

But they all knew the world was just hanging on a thin line. Not with more than half of the world covered in tangible darkness.

...

[Anbord - The Empire’s Council Room]

The room was filled up with the top authorities of the empire. At the head of the long table was Ethan, the emperor with his two sons, Regnare, the Crown Prince, and Xander seated on his left and right. From Xander’s side, Reginald, Jerry, Thomas, Kira, and a few officials sat. From Regnare’s side, Trevor, Lamair, Ashtora, and the heads of the army sat.

"It’s high time we moved. We will be taking back our lands from the void-borns," Ethan spoke in a calm, his expression serene, but everyone could feel the intensity in his statement.

"If I may, I believe it is the right choice at the moment. But, what of the other two empires?" Kira asked, causing a few to nod.

"I am sure they are also preparing to do the same thing," Ethan answered with narrowed eyes.

"But... What of Fafnir’s declaration a month ago?" Thomas spoke, causing everyone to turn silent and look at Ethan.

"Hmm... If he really decides to attack us, then... There will be no dragon emperor. We fought in the past and he lost. I was benevolent enough to let him live. But, if he decides to attack again, I will destroy him. For every casualty caused by a dragon not of Anbord, he will lose a scale until there’s none. I mean it!" Ethan spoke, his golden eyes glowing intensely, causing everyone to sit up right.

Ethan’s gaze swept the council room, lingering on each face just long enough for them to feel seen and measured.

"Fafnir’s declaration," he continued evenly, "was not a declaration of war. It was a declaration of fear."

A murmur rippled through the room.

"He feels the pressure. All of them do. The Dragon Empire stands because it is ancient and stubborn, not because it is untouched. Dragons bleed the same as any other race when the void gnaws long enough."

Regnare leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped. His presence alone carried a weight that had not existed three months ago. "Father... if we move openly, we become the spearhead. The void-borns will concentrate on us."

Ethan nodded once. "Exactly."

That single word made several of the generals stiffen.

"We are not launching a reckless reconquest," Ethan said. "We are not marching banners into darkness and hoping resolve carries us through. What we will do is cut the rot where it cannot regenerate."

He raised a hand, and the center of the table shimmered. A three-dimensional projection of Debranlith unfolded, once vibrant lands now smothered in spreading void-zones, writhing like tumors across the continent.

"These regions," Ethan said, pointing to several deep-black territories, "are no longer land. They are anchors. The void-borns are not occupying them; they are rooted there."

Jerry frowned. "Ley corruption?"

"More than that," Ethan replied. "They have inverted the ley flow. Instead of power circulating, it drains inward, feeding something beneath the crust. Every battle fought there strengthens the invasion."

Silence followed.

Ashtora’s eyes narrowed. "So we don’t fight where they expect us to."

"No," Ethan agreed. "We starve them."

With another gesture, several points lit up in gold, smaller, scattered nodes near the borders of Anbord’s fallen territories.

"These are fracture zones," Ethan explained. "Unstable overlaps where the void hasn’t fully synchronized with this world. Strike teams will move here first. No large armies. Precision only."

Trevor tapped the table thoughtfully. "Specialized forces?"

"Yes," Ethan said. "Wrath-led shock units. Lust-corps for infiltration and disruption. Alchemical sanctifiers under Kira’s supervision. And... Saint-bound detachments."

A few sharp intakes of breath followed that last one.

Xander’s lips curled faintly. "So we finally stop pretending we’re fighting a conventional war."

Ethan looked at his younger son. "We never were."

Reginald spoke next, cautious. "And the civilians in those regions? Many are still alive, trapped behind void veils."

Ethan’s expression softened, just slightly. "They come first. Any operation that does not prioritize extraction is canceled. We do not reclaim land by sacrificing people. That is how the enemy thinks."

That statement alone settled several unspoken doubts.

Kira straightened. "What about Helheim and Fenrir?"

"They move with us," Ethan said. "But not as reinforcements. Helheim will seal breaches permanently. Fenrir will hunt void-lords once their anchors are severed."

Thomas hesitated, then asked quietly, "And if the Champions of Hades return?"

Ethan’s golden eyes flared, not violently, but with quiet certainty.

"Then they will find this world less forgiving than before."

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.

"This is no longer a war for territory," he said. "It is a war for definition. Either this world remains something that can be called home... or it becomes a feeding ground."

The projection faded.

Ethan rose to his feet, and the room followed instinctively.

"Prepare the strike doctrines," he commanded. "Within seven days, Anbord moves, not as an empire grasping for survival, but as a standard others will rally to."

His gaze hardened.

"And if Fafnir so much as tests our borders during this campaign..."

The temperature in the room dipped.

"...then history will record the Dragon Emperor’s reign as ending not in fire, but in regret."

No one questioned him.

Because everyone in that room knew.

The calm in Ethan’s voice was not restraint.

It was confidence earned.

...

The Dragon Empire had not fallen, but it had changed.

The skies above its capital were a constant storm of ember clouds and fractured auroras, time-displacement ripples flickering faintly at the edges of perception. Mountains that had once been immovable now bore scars, vast gouges where void-born legions had tested draconic might and been erased in fire and fang.

At the heart of it all rose the Castle of the Dragon Emperor, carved from the fused remains of primordial dragonbones and star-forged obsidian.

Upon it sat Fafnir.

His draconic form was colossal, coiled around the throne like a living cataclysm. Scales the color of molten gold and dried blood reflected the stormlight above. His horns curved back like crowned blades, and his eyes, ancient, incandescent, burned with a fury that had not cooled in millennia.

Before him stood the Ten Dragon Rulers, each a sovereign of an aspect older than most civilizations.

They knelt.

Fafnir’s claws tightened against the throne.

"Two of you," he began, his voice reverberating through stone, sky, and bone alike, "have soiled our lineage."

The temperature rose instantly.

"Barki." The name cracked like thunder."Ruler of Flames."

Fire surged across the hall, phantasmal infernos roaring to life, showing visions of crimson wings and laughing embers.

"And Amara," Fafnir continued, his voice dropping, heavier now, warped by something colder than rage."Ruler of Time."

"Traitors," Fafnir spat.

Several of the rulers shifted uneasily.

"They did not merely abandon the Dragon Empire," Fafnir growled. "They bound themselves to him."

The air trembled as his tail struck the floor.

"Ethan of Anbord. The so-called Primord. The architect of defiance."

His eyes narrowed to slits.

"Barki, who once burned continents at my command, now warms the halls of a human empire.""Amara, who once stood beside me at the dawn of measured time, now shares her eternity with his brother."

His wings unfurled slightly, casting shadows like eclipses.

"They are married," Fafnir said, and the word tasted like poison. "They sleep beneath his sky. They have chosen his future over ours."

A low, dangerous silence followed.

One of the rulers, vast, silver-scaled, with crystalline spines along her neck, finally spoke. "They chose survival."

Fafnir’s gaze snapped to her.

"They chose betrayal."

His aura flared, ancient pressure crashing down like a mountain range. Several rulers were forced lower, stone cracking beneath their claws.

"I spared Ethan once," Fafnir continued, voice trembling with restrained violence. "I spared them once. That mercy has fermented into insult."

He rose.

The throne groaned as his massive form lifted, wings spreading fully now, blotting out the storm-lit sky beyond the hall.

"I will take their heads," he vowed. "Not in secret. Not in shadow."

Fire coiled around his jaws.

"I will tear Barki’s flames from her soul and let her freeze in regret.""I will rip Amara from her timelines and show her what eternity feels like when it has nowhere to run."

His eyes burned brighter.

"And Anbord..." he continued softly, dangerously, "...will learn what it means to shelter dragonblood stolen from its rightful sovereign."

A few rulers exchanged glances.

One dared to speak. "If you move against Anbord now, you provoke not just Ethan, but Helheim. Fenrir. Alfheim. The balance..."

"Balance?" Fafnir roared.

The hall shook violently as fire and time distorted simultaneously.

"Balance is a lie told by those too weak to seize dominance!" he thundered. "Dragons are balance. We have always been."

He leaned forward, looming over the Ten.

"I am done waiting," Fafnir said. "Prepare the Dominion Wings. Call the Ancients from slumber."

His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

"I will remind this world why the Dragon Empire never needed allies."

Somewhere far away, beneath a gentler sky, two dragons who had chosen love over dominion felt a faint, familiar pressure coil around their hearts.