The sky above them stretched vast and endless, a swirl of deep violet and golden hues. The Hollow Seat was gone, reduced to nothing but broken ruins, its once-powerful presence now an echo in the void.
Reinhardt pushed himself up, his muscles aching from the battle. His sword lay beside him, still humming with residual energy. Across from him, Selene sat up, brushing dust from her cloak, her breathing steady but labored.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Selene let out a dry chuckle. "Well… that was dramatic."
Reinhardt exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "That thing—whatever it was—wasn't just a guardian." He turned toward the ruins. "It was the throne itself, trying to keep me bound."
Selene's gaze flickered. "And you fought it off. That's not something many could do."
He looked at her, searching for something in her expression. "You didn't think I would, did you?"
She held his gaze, unreadable for a moment, then sighed. "Honestly? I wasn't sure. Thrones like that—they don't offer power. They consume." She traced a finger along the dirt absently. "Most people wouldn't have had the strength to walk away."
Reinhardt scoffed. "You think I was tempted?"
Selene arched a brow. "Weren't you?"
He didn't answer. Because he had been.
That throne had whispered to him, offered him something—memories, recognition, purpose. And for a split second, he had wanted to sit upon it.
Selene must have noticed his hesitation because she stood up, dusting herself off. "The fact that you didn't means we still have a fighting chance."
Reinhardt followed her lead, sheathing his sword. "Against what?"
She turned to him, her eyes darker than before. "Against whatever comes next."
The air around them shifted.
A gust of wind swept through the ruins, carrying with it a deep, guttural sound—not quite a growl, not quite a whisper.
Reinhardt and Selene froze.
They weren't alone.
Slowly, shadows began to move at the edges of the ruins. Not the formless mist of the Hollow Seat, but figures—cloaked, watching.
Selene cursed under her breath. "Survivors?"
Reinhardt's hand went to his sword. "Or something worse."
The figures stepped forward, revealing glimpses of golden armor beneath their dark robes. Their eyes gleamed like molten metal, their movements too smooth, too precise.
Selene stiffened. "No…"
Reinhardt glanced at her. "What?"
She swallowed. "They're not survivors." Her voice was quiet, but laced with something Reinhardt had never heard from her before.
Fear.
"They're the ones who erased the Fateborn."
The figures stopped a few feet away. The tallest among them removed his hood. Beneath it was a face carved from stone, his features too perfect, too inhuman. When he spoke, his voice was neither loud nor soft—it simply was.
"You have defied the Seat," he said. "And now, you must answer for it."
The battle wasn't over.
It had only just begun.