The world had changed in fifty days.
When the Chosen of the Gods—eight invincible warriors said to be the hands of heaven—fell to four mortals, the silence that followed was deafening.
Solarion denied the defeat publicly.But their borders closed.Their scouts retreated.Their priests whispered Vanila's name in dread.
And across the continent, across nations, towers, temples, and taverns… the stories spread.
"The Godbearer is real.""He wields all twelve.""He refused ascension—and made the gods kneel instead."
But for Vanila, Kael, Serra, and Caldreth, the fight was only the beginning.
They returned to where it all started:
The village of Dallis.
Vanila — The Son of Stars and Soil
The village had grown. Since the day the statue descended, Dallis had become a holy place—a trade hub, a guild center, a spiritual landmark.
When Vanila stepped through the gates, cloaked in black with silver embroidery, the people parted like mist.
Some fell to their knees.Some stared in awe.Many no longer recognized him.
He had grown taller, broader, his face sharper with cosmic pressure, his aura pressing on the air itself.
But one woman ran through the crowd.Hair greyed from years. Hands scarred from work. Eyes wide, trembling.
His mother.
She stopped in front of him.
And in an instant, her hands cupped his face.She didn't bow.She didn't speak the words of the faithful.
She whispered:
"My boy… You're still warm."
And Vanila—breaker of chosen, bearer of divine Cores—fell to his knees in her arms.
He wept silently, and she held him like he was still small.Because to her, he would always be her son—no matter how many gods whispered his name.
Kael — The Son of Ink and Madness
Kael didn't speak much during the return.He broke away from the group after they passed through the west gate, following a winding path into the forest glade where a crooked house stood—wrapped in vines, covered in hanging charms, and half-collapsed under the weight of spells gone wrong.
His home.
Inside, surrounded by cackling pots and whispering herbs, stood his mother, the herbalist.
Insane. But clever.
She wore a crown of dead flowers and spoke to the walls.
"Back from the ink again?" she asked, not looking at him.
Kael didn't answer. Just stepped forward and embraced her from behind.
She paused.Her madness faded, just for a heartbeat.And her voice became clear.
"You finally stopped drawing with fear, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"Good," she whispered. "Now draw something that doesn't bleed."
He smiled softly.
Serra — The Daughter of War and Shame
Serra's return was the hardest.
Her home had never been warm. Her mother—a blacksmith, proud and hardened—had raised her alone after her father vanished into war.
She was standing at her forge when Serra arrived, soot on her hands, hammer in mid-swing.
She turned slowly.
Her eyes traced Serra's new shape, the cut of her cloak, the way her body now shimmered faintly with refracted light.
"You've grown into your name," she said, dryly.
Serra didn't speak.
She walked forward.
And when she was close enough to smell the iron on her mother's hands, she broke.
"I did something," she whispered. "With Vanila. I—after we found him, I—I just... I needed him."
Her mother stared at her, long and hard.
"Did you love him?"
Serra nodded, eyes wet.
"Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head.
Her mother turned back to the forge, picked up the hammer, and slammed it down hard on the steel.
"Then don't cry for something you needed. Love's not a mistake. Cowardice is."
Serra stood in silence.
Then her mother added, quietly:
"Did you make him happy?"
Serra nodded again.
"Then he's lucky."
The Village That Remembered
That night, the statue at the gate glowed softly under moonlight.
The people gathered in silence, watching as Vanila, Kael, and Serra stood before it once more.
Three children who had left broken.
Three warriors who had returned forged in flame.
No kings. No gods. Just a village.
But Dallis now had a legend walking its streets.
And soon... the heavens would return to claim him.