A blinding golden light split the heavens.
A deafening BOOM rocked the earth as a massive, gleaming figure shot into the sky like a divine spear.
It was Lithaa Bris.
She appeared clad in her royal ch—a majestic titan of polished chro and radiant gold. Arcane engravings glowed along its limbs, and her signature war hamr, massive as a siege tower, humd with caged lightning in her right hand.
A collective gasp swept through the panicked crowd.
"Is that... the Princess?!" soone indicated
"Look! It’s Lithaa! It’s really her"
"Our salvation!We are saved"
Her ch’s engines flared, scattering clouds like chaff before a storm. With a single thunderous leap, she hurled herself toward the cot, her war hamr crackling with a terrifying, celestial force.
As she closed the distance, she roared into her comms, her voice magnified across the city by the ch’s speakers:
"I am Lithaa Bris, daughter of the Monarch! By my hand, no harm shall befall Shurima!"
A tidal wave of cheers erupted from the ground. Even amidst the terror, the people found their voices, chanting her na:
"LITHAA! LITHAA! LITHAA!"
The cot and the ch collided with the force of colliding worlds.
A pulse of light swallowed the sky, drowning the stars in white fire.
The impact shattered the cot into a million shards, and for a breathtaking mont, the heavens blood with colors—scarlet, gold, violet, and sapphire—like the most wondrous fireworks ever seen.
The crowd shielded their eyes as waves of heat and energy washed over the city. Buildings rattled on their foundations. Flags were torn from their poles. The earth itself seed to shudder in awe.
Then—
Silence.
Not the fearful, suffocating kind that had filled the air before.
A sacred, reverent silence. The kind that only follows a miracle.
Slowly, people lifted their gazes to the sky. The cot was gone, reduced to harmless streaks of color raining down like gentle embers. Lithaa Bris hovered there, suspended by her ch’s radiant thrusters, the war hamr spinning once in her hand before she planted it at her side like a banner declaring victory.
Her armor was scuffed. Steam hissed from cracks in the plating. But she remained unbowed, a titan of hope silhouetted against the shattered remnants of annihilation.
The first to move were the children.
They ran forward, arms outstretched, laughing through their tears. Then ca the elders, bowing so low their foreheads touched the stone. rchants dropped their wares to kneel. Warriors thumped their fists against their chests.
From one end of Shurima to the other, a chant rose like the tide:
"LITHAA! LITHAA! LITHAA!"
Up in her cockpit, Lithaa allowed herself a single, trembling breath.
It wasn’t over.
This was just the beginning.
She could already feel the other forces stirring beyond the stars—the ones who had sent the cot in the first place. But for now, she allowed herself to stand tall. To be the symbol her people needed.
It was as if a second sun had been born in the night, only to scatter itself into jeweled rain.
From the scattered shards of the cot, glowing dust rained softly upon Shurima, brushing across rooftops and outstretched hands like a blessing.
A child reached up, giggling, as a shimring ember landed on his palm.
A grizzled warrior, tears in his eyes, pounded a fist against his chest in salute.
"Long live the Monarchy!" he shouted.
"Long live Lithaa!" another cried, and soon the city beca a chorus of gratitude and adulation.
In the sky, Lithaa hovered for a mont longer, frad by the drifting remnants of the shattered cot—a lone guardian silhouetted against a canvas of falling stars.
She lifted her hamr high once more, and the city roared in worship of their savior.
Shurima had been spared.
And its heart beat stronger than ever in the hands of its monarchy.
—
Before the cheers could bloom into a full-blown celebration, the skies darkened once again.
A monstrous silhouette eclipsed the falling stardust—a flying military ship, vast as a floating fortress, its black hull adorned with the blazing crimson and gold sigil of the Glev family.
It was like an on of malice, heavy and suffocating.
"Are we getting invaded?!"
"Is the world declaring war on us?!"
The citizens’ cries of joy twisted into shrieks of panic.
Thousands of soldiers and personnel aboard the ship moved with chanical precision, a synchronized display of overwhelming force.
Compared to the falling cot minutes earlier, the dread this ship evoked felt heavier—colder.
The trap door of the vessel slowly opened, releasing a hissing gust of pressure.
From the heart of the darkness, he appeared.
Nioh.
But not the Nioh they rembered.
Gone was the madman’s reckless charm.
Gone was the carefree slouch and lazy smile.
What descended now was royalty itself.
An embodint of monarchy—beauty, grace, and an eerie, untouchable elegance.
His silver hair was styled ticulously, accentuated by floating silver needles that orbited him like silent guardians.
His attire was regal, almost ceremonial, and each step he took shimred in the falling embers of the shattered cot.
His smile was his prettiest yet—serene, angelic even—but to those with keen eyes, it was more terrifying than any weapon.
"I want to see Akron," Nioh said, his voice delicate, almost musical, as he faced Lithaa’s still-armored ch.
Lithaa’s engines roared in fury, but she remained frozen.
Her instincts scread at her.
What she had just witnessed—this pressure, this power—it was not human.
Only Wardens, those who reigned over civilizations, could wield such oppressive force.
And yet, here it was... leaking from Nioh like a soft, unstoppable tide.
A chill crept down her spine.
"You... you’ve completed the weapon," she said, voice strained.
Nioh’s reply was the sa, a soft repetition, like a mantra:
"I want to see Akron."
Lithaa, after a brief mont of hesitation, deactivated her ch.
The chanical parts disassembled and vanished into shimring particles, leaving her standing vulnerable beneath the starlit sky.
"Follow ," she said tightly. "Only you may step into the Holy City."
Without another word, she dove down toward the heart of Shurima.
Nioh turned briefly to his entourage gathered at the landing bay.
His silver gaze, serene yet sharp, t theirs.
"Find a place to settle around the city," he instructed calmly.
"If you don’t hear from in twenty-four hours... release the news that I was killed by the Skullcrusher Monarch."
They stiffened at his words, but said nothing.
He offered them a reassuring, almost fatherly smile, then leapt after Lithaa, vanishing into the cityscape below.
Their landings stirred the already tense streets of Shurima.
Citizens watched in fearful curiosity, whispering behind closed doors and cracked windows.
Nioh gave his first command without breaking stride:
"Reinforce the city. If they attempt anything... kill them all."
"Yes, Your Highness!" the warriors barked, their voices booming with conviction.
As Nioh followed Lithaa through the twisting streets, he observed the mood around him.
Tense.
Depressive.
A city teetering on the brink of despair.
He exhaled quietly, guilt tightening in his chest.
It was always the sa—normal humans, caught in the whims and wars of Corebinders, powerless to change their fate.
He apologized inwardly, though he knew it would never be enough.
Finally, he broke the silence:
"What is the situation with Akron?"
Lithaa’s jaw tightened.
"Not good," she said, curt.
Nioh’s eyes narrowed.
"What do you an... not good?"
Lithaa glanced back at him, her face shadowed with sorrow.
"She won’t last long," she said grimly.
"Ti is running out."
Nioh surged forward and grabbed Lithaa’s arm, halting her in her tracks.
His voice, usually so polished and calm, now cracked like a whip:
"What do you an?"
His silver eyes, darkened with a storm of emotions, bore into her.
Lithaa, unfazed, yanked her arm free with a sharp motion and threw him a look dripping with disdain.
"How much did she even tell you?" she snapped.
Nioh’s jaw tightened.
"Nothing much..." he admitted, his voice low. "I only began to suspect recently that Akron... was a female."
Lithaa snorted, crossing her arms as she turned to face him fully, the embers of old anger rising.
"Typical male chauvinist," she spat.
"You only ever pay attention to what matters to you."
Nioh didn’t flinch at the accusation.
He had no rebuttal—because it was true.
He thought back to the long year he had spent alongside Akron.
They had fought, laughed, dread.
They had shared friendship, trust...
But he had never asked.
Never looked.
Akron had been a piece of his puzzle, not a person carrying hidden, unbearable pain.
Had he been more diligent... had he cared beyond his own ambitions...
He might have seen it.
Lithaa, seeing the cracks in his stoic façade, spoke again—this ti her voice was harder, more formal, as if delivering a verdict.
"Shurima is a matriarchy," she said.
"For thousands of years, the monarch has always been the eldest daughter. Tradition carved into bone and soul."
She took a step closer, the sorrow in her voice sharpening to a blade.
"By tradition, it should have been . I was the firstborn.
But Akrona... was born a year later.
And she awakened the strongest Biocore ever recorded in our lineage—The Heart of Gaia."
The words hung heavy in the cooling air.
"At two, she could crush boulders in her tiny hands.
By ten, even my mother—the reigning Monarch—struggled to defeat her in a test of strength."
Nioh swallowed hard, listening as the brutal history unfolded.
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