The shock of their new reality weighed heavily on the air as The Ethereals stood in their familiar but unrecognizable guild hall. The stone walls, once aged with the patina of a thousand years, now gleamed with fresh mortar. It was as if time had rewound itself, placing them back at the very start.

Blade stepped forward, his dragon's eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "A thousand years," he muttered. "How can this be real? We were... we were dead."

"It's real," Ảo replied, her fae features shadowed with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Her delicate fingers traced an arcane symbol in the air, testing the ambient magic. "Whatever sent us back here has given us a chance to rewrite history. We failed, but now, we have the time to become what we need to be."

Yuèliàng, who had been silent until now, stepped toward the center of the hall. Her eyes, deep pools of black, were unreadable. "This is an opportunity. One we can't waste." Her voice, always calm but commanding, carried the weight of their future. "The rifts are coming—again. We were strong, but it wasn't enough. We need to become more."

Kkeungi grunted, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "What's the plan then? We need time. To become stronger. Much stronger."

Blade nodded, his massive hand tightening around the hilt of his greatsword. "Not just warriors. We need to become legends. Gods."

The words hung in the air, both a challenge and a promise.

Ilera, her white wings softly glowing in the dim light, looked around at her comrades. "We're already strong," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "But to defeat the gods and demon lords that will return, we need to be more than just soldiers. We need to master our own potential. To transcend what we were."

Xāh̄ār, leaning on the long handle of a spoon as if it were a weapon, smiled faintly. "I guess that means we're going our separate ways then. I always wondered what I could do with a thousand years of perfecting my craft."

Yuèliàng took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before speaking. "We need to become the gods of our races. Not just warriors, but true powers capable of standing against anything. A hundred years apart, to become what we were always meant to be. And then, we return here. To finish what we started."

The plan was set. But before they separated, they agreed on one thing—one month. A single month to remain together as The Ethereals, to solidify their bond and fortify the guild as the most powerful force on Earth.

For thirty days, they lived, fought, and celebrated like they never had before. They rebuilt their guild's reputation, traveling across continents, completing impossible missions, and facing down threats that had once been the stuff of legend. The Ethereals became known not just as warriors, but as a force of nature. No one could stand against them. They were unrivaled.

But more than battles, they shared laughter. Around a massive table in the heart of their hall, they feasted every night, telling stories of their past and dreams of their future. Xāh̄ār's meals became the stuff of legend, as even the most powerful rulers sought his culinary masterpieces. Kkeungi, when not smashing foes, competed in every contest imaginable, dragging his guildmates into ridiculous challenges that ended in roars of laughter.

Yuèliàng spent long hours with Ilera and Ảo, strategizing for the future, ensuring that when they returned, they would be ready to lead. Blade, ever the silent protector, often stood watch over their celebrations, though his rare smiles and laughter didn't go unnoticed.

Yet, as the month passed, an unspoken tension lingered in the air. They all knew what was coming—the inevitable separation. The days grew shorter, and soon, the time came for them to go their own ways.

The morning of their departure arrived under a pale sky, the sun just barely cresting the horizon. The seven stood in a circle, the air heavy with the weight of farewells.

Blade was the first to speak. "It's not goodbye," he said, his voice a low rumble. "One hundred years. Then we meet here, stronger than ever. We'll be ready for what's coming."

Yuèliàng gave him a small nod. "We'll all return. Until then, trust in your training. Trust in what we're going to become."

Kkeungi, ever brash and bold, stepped forward and clapped Blade on the back. "You better come back with a sword twice the size, dragon." He turned to the others, his usual fire tempered by something quieter. "You lot better not get soft without me around."

Ảo, her fae wings shimmering faintly, gave him a wry smile. "As if we'd need a berserker to keep us sharp. But... take care of yourself, Kkeungi. The world will be a little less loud without you."

Ilera stepped forward, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "We'll meet again. Our bond goes beyond time. No matter what happens, we'll find our way back to one another."

Xāh̄ār, always the quietest of them, simply smiled. "You'll need a chef to make your godly food when we return."

Mijikai, his short frame standing taller than ever, adjusted the strap of his smithing tools. "Don't think I'll just be crafting weapons while I wait. I'll be ready to forge the future when we meet again."

Yuèliàng took a deep breath and faced each of them in turn. "One hundred years. When we return, we will be stronger. Together, we'll stop the rifts, and this time, we'll make sure it's the last battle we ever fight."

They exchanged one last look, each of them filled with a mixture of hope and sadness. And then, one by one, they departed, heading toward their respective homelands, ready to begin the journey of ascension.

The guild hall stood empty, but the fire they left behind burned brighter than ever. The Ethereals would return.

They had one hundred years to become gods.