The world trembled beneath Kael's feet as the last of the Architects crumbled into nothingness, their ancient forms disintegrating like sand blown away by a storm. The power he had fought so desperately to claim surged through him like a tidal wave. His muscles ached with the weight of his newfound strength, but his mind felt clearer than it ever had before.
But with victory came a bitter reality: the realms were broken, their foundations shattered, and a fragile peace hung in the air, uncertain and fleeting.
As Kael stood upon the ruins of the Architects' throne room, the voices of the gods echoed in his mind. The power they had once wielded was now his, and yet, the responsibility weighed heavily on his heart. For all his strength, all his rage, Kael was left to confront a new truth: power was not freedom. It was a prison.
He turned to Elara, who stood at the edge of the void, her gaze distant, as though lost in thought. The faintest glimmer of hesitation flickered in her eyes—had she expected Kael to falter now that the gods were gone?
"You look troubled," Kael said, his voice rough. "We've won, haven't we?"
Elara glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "We've destroyed the gods, yes," she replied, her tone steady, "but the balance is delicate. You know what comes after."
Kael's jaw tightened. He had always believed that by defeating the gods, he would free the realms. But Elara's words brought a deeper, darker realization. There was no easy answer to the power vacuum they had created. Without the gods to keep the balance, chaos would soon follow.