A new world does not grow like a birth.
It is not bright, not clean, not pure white.
This world grows like a wound slowly drying, adapting to a light that no longer dazzles, yet is warm enough to say it is still alive. In the silence that envelops, there are faint sounds crackling, as if nature itself is struggling against the pain, telling stories that have been forgotten. Each heartbeat and movement seems to depict a battle between hope and despair, adding tension that threatens to burst at any moment.
Little roots touch the unnamed air.
Proto-Speech no longer writes, but begins to murmur. An inner struggle fills the empty space, as distant voices pass by, echoing in the stillness. In her uncertainty, questions haunt her; will the remaining courage be enough to call back the lost souls? And he, with a body nearly shattered, stands in the middle of the circle—Voidlight piercing the ground, slowly dissolving into vaporous light that leaves no trace. The circle vibrates, full of hope and fear, waiting for something to explode.
"Enough," he says.
"The world does not need to be reshaped… it just needs to be allowed to grow." His voice echoes, finding hope in despair, as if inviting all who listen to feel it too. Unconsciously, that power spreads, reaching the hearts of those present. Glimmers of light dance around them, symbolizing hope rising even though it is still fragile.
By his side, she leans against a stone. She has lost all her magic, but not her tone. There is a spirit that does not extinguish, challenging the darkness even in her weakened state. Anxiety fills the air, and she feels the tension around her—a battle that seems never-ending, where every second feels like a year passing.
"Finally, we can sing… even if no one is listening," she murmurs. In the suffocating silence, she can feel her heartbeat, vibrating in the emptiness, waiting to see which will break first: hope or loss.
Yet the world, like a wound, never truly heals. Every second feels repetitive, adding to the burden of pain that already exists, leaving an unforgettable mark on the soul.
The ground beneath the old altar trembles. The sound of rumbling movement spreads through the air, creating a resonance that seems to remind of dark history. The sky begins to spew the color of old blood, not as light, but as a code of delayed will. Darkness seems to dance, bringing them closer to the possible end of all that is known.
He turns. In his gaze, there are signs of a battle that is not yet over, shadows of the past still haunting him. Voidlight trembles again, as if refusing to rise… yet aware:
Althur is not finished. The atmosphere around them becomes tense, every breath feels precious.
And from the midst of the ruins, an ancient voice sounds, echoing like a long-forgotten incantation:
"None of you… know that victory is never written without sacrifice from the deepest throne." Among the rubble, that voice demands attention, a reminder that every decision has consequences.
The silhouette of Althur rises. His face, distorted by suffering and battle, creates a terrifying aura. Yet this time his body is partially shattered. Half of his face is wrapped in cracks of an incomplete crown, as if symbolizing inadequacy and failure.
In his hand, the remnants of Excalibur that have shattered… shine again. The light is like hope that never fully extinguishes. But not as a sword.
Rather as a soul-calling station. The scent of magic smolders in the air, indicating that the opponent still has the strength to rise.
With a hoarse voice, Althur drives Excalibur into the ground. Every second feels as if it slows down, energy vibrating like a fierce wave.
Last Invocation of the Sovereign Line: Knights of the Round, Rise.
This voice echoes not only in the ears but also deep within the souls of those who hear it.
The voice of Excalibur vibrates to the very depths of the dimension.
And from the rift of reality, thirteen figures begin to rise—each not radiating magic, but unwavering will.
The vibration seems to summon the souls of warriors trapped in darkness, who hear the call of their souls to return. The sound reverberates like thunder striking, awakening the dormant collective power. Dim light begins to dance around them, forming a silhouette that is both terrifying and majestic.
The Thirteen Knights of the Throne
Sir Bedivere – The Last Oath
The knight who never breaks a promise, wielding a spear that reflects death from anyone who intends to flee from their oath. Accompanied by the sound of twilight songs, he gazes toward the trembling horizon, whispering in a deep tone, "You have betrayed if you turn away from this path."
Sir Lancelot – The Bladed Heart
The failed lover, carrying twin swords that slice not only through flesh… but also through the love in the hearts of victims. In his dim light, every movement feels like a dance of death, where his swords glimmer, radiating lost hope. "Love is the wound and the strength that binds us in this war," he whispers, his voice capable of burning the soul.
Sir Gawain – The Sun-Endurer
The knight of the day, his body igniting threefold when the sun shines, but this time… the sun is within him. As the sword in his hand glimmers with golden light, he feels the tension enveloping the battlefield. The sound of clashing weapons and cries of battle fills the air, as if every second is a battle between hope and emptiness.
Sir Galahad – The Purged Will
The purest knight, yet now his soul is contaminated by Althur's purpose. He carries a holy sword that only cuts through truth. In every step, he can feel the weight of betrayal gnawing at his heart, as shadows of the past loom over him, demanding the thread of a forsaken destiny.
Sir Percival – The Lost Seeker
He sought the Grail but never found it. Now he searches for names that have yet to be born. In the noise of battle, lost hope scratches at his soul, reigniting buried dreams, as the voice of the wind accompanies him as if whispering promises yet to be fulfilled.
Sir Bors – The Reluctant Flame
The knight who chose to survive for his family, and now burns anyone who calls his sacrifice in vain. The fire of his spirit blazes, producing a warm light that increasingly distances the dark shadows of traitors, in a battle that tests loyalty and true courage behind the sword he swings.
Sir Tristan – The Song of Betrayal
Every movement of his is music. Every attack is a poem of suffering. Like a bright orchestra in the darkness, his steps bring hope, inviting soldiers to join in the symphony of struggle. Yet, every note he plays is filled with longing for lost love, creating a tragic harmony amidst a battlefield filled with the scent of blood.
Sir Kay – The Harsh Voice
The staff of justice that is never fair. He is the laughter of a world too cruel to stop. In a loud voice, he utters cutting words, challenging every opponent and friend who doubts his courage, as if signaling that justice is often trapped in the shadows of uncertainty.
Sir Geraint – The Dimming Honor
A former knight of light who now fights in the shadow of broken honor. Every curve of his body tells of unseen wounds, as he struggles against enemies not only outside but also within himself. In the cloak of night, he speaks to the stars that seem to remind him of a bright past, pleading with them to return a little of the light that remains.
Sir Gareth – The Golden Wound
The youngest knight who died too soon. Now every wound he inflicts can never heal. In the noise of war, he feels every scream of the victims, creating an inseparable bond between suffering and sacrifice. In a corner, his spirit fights with every breath, striving not to let the dark shadows obscure the light of hope that still exists.
Sir Palamedes – The Beast Chaser
He never stopped hunting legendary creatures. But now he is the hunter of existence. In the siege of silence, the giant shadows he once chased have now turned into fears that loom over his steps. Every footprint left feels heavy, as if the ground is not only sucking in hope but also courage.
Sir Agravaine – The Whispered Steel
The traitorous knight. He never attacks from the front. But every word he whispers becomes a curse. In the shadows, loud voices swirl, merging with the wind that moans, creating a chilling tension. Every whisper is an invisible sword, striking the veil of peace with unspoken hatred.
Sir Mordred – The Final Sin
The unruly son. The unacknowledged knight. He is the end of all tragedy, carrying a sword that cannot be broken because he himself is a fragment. The fire of anger blazes within his soul, and as the sun sets, his shadow stretches, signaling that disaster is about to strike. In the silence before the storm, his heartbeat echoes, marking that fate has been determined.
The damaged Stones ground cracks again. The sky screams. Time bends. The shockwaves from the souls of the knights make the earth tremble, causing all small creatures to scurry, fearing the impending wrath. Every crack in the ground seems to depict the suffering that has been buried for centuries.
"Do you think you have won?"
"This… is just the beginning of the eternal throne." That voice resounds, piercing the darkness, breaking the silence. Behind every word lies a terrifying resurrection, shaking the stained hearts.
Althur raises his hand. The knights merge into a final will formation. With rising tension, they prepare to fight against fate, the light igniting in the darkness, united to reverse the tide of destiny that has already been etched.
A new world will be opposed by an old story that refuses to be forgotten. Memories clatter like the footsteps of warriors on the battlefield, creating a symphony of hope and sorrow. With every passing second, the spirit of those buried in the ground strengthens the resolve to fight against the grip of darkness that confines.
He raises the remnants of Voidlight again. She stands beside him, her body nearly spent… but the song within her is heard again. That melody, though weak, vibrates in her soul, voicing a call to survive. In the moments to come, that voice will become the strength to fight against the unimaginable.
"Knights are not always evil," he whispers.
"But they have also… hurt." His words seem to whisper amidst the chaos, stirring a deep curiosity in her eyes, placing desire and doubt in one grasp. Lessons from the past haunt them, affirming that there is no goodness without the shadows that follow.
She gazes at him. In the silence, an unspoken bond weaves between them, an understanding of the struggle and sacrifice they will soon face together.
"Then we will not fight with will. But with a world that refuses to be silenced again."
The atmosphere around them heats up, the flames from the battle boiling in the air, adding to the existing tension. She can feel her heartbeat racing, as if stepping on the boundary between hope and despair.
The ground beneath their feet trembles, as if responding to an unseen call, and the whispering voice of the wind hides behind the clanging metal cries.
"We will not be silenced!" she shouts, her voice rising like a rallying cry that echoes, igniting the embers of spirit that may have long been extinguished.
From the darkness of the night, shadows emerge, ready to embrace the new rising power.