The raging, swirling dark vortex above the mine gradually dissipated. Below, amid the rubble and fallen trees, Aki stood upright, his wand steady pointed at Demon Lord Alastair. The once-formidable entity knelt on one knee, his presence faltering as dark, smoke-like magic energy seeped from his pulsating, fading form.
“Gurgh…” Alastair grunted, his head lifting weakly. Fixing his gaze on Aki, he rasped, “This is not the end of me.” His hoarse voice carried a chilling promise, his eyes gleaming with ominous light.
“The dawn of night is inevitable. Soon she will rise—my dearest mother, the Queen of Shadows, Keeper of Night, Bringer of Despair—the Goddess Nishay,” he continued, his tone reverent, laced with unwavering devotion. Finally, with a venomous grin, he declared, “And I shall be reborn. When that time comes, I’ll consume the light and turn it into darkness for eternity.”
Aki, unwavering, met his gaze without flinching. “Light will prevail,” he replied firmly, his voice calm yet resolute. “I’ll make sure of it.”
In an instant, a brilliant magic circle materialized at the tip of Aki’s wand. “Elraes,” Aki chanted. A surge of radiant magic erupted from the circle, engulfing Alastair entirely. His form disintegrated piece by piece, his malicious grin lingering even as his essence unraveled.
When the magic subsided, no trace of Alastair remained. He was wiped out from reality, leaving only silence in his wake.
“Aki, you did it!” Vidia called out, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and joy. Still recovering from Alastair's attack, she steadied herself and slowly flew toward Aki. However, as she drew closer, Aki faltered. His knees buckled, and he collapsed, his body hitting the ground with a thud. His vision blurred and darkened.
“Vi… Vidia,” Aki whispered weakly as her form approached, shimmering faintly in his dimming sight.
“Aki!” Vidia screamed, panic lacing her voice as she hurried toward him.
“I did it… I won,” Aki murmured faintly before his eyes closed, his body succumbing to unconsciousness.
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CRACKKOOM!!!
A loud crack resounded through the air as massive branches from the dark tree splintered and crashed to the ground. The once-imposing tree crumbled slowly, its ominous presence fading into nothingness. Not far from it, the mighty dragon, once a symbol of terror, had disintegrated entirely, leaving behind only dust carried off by the wind.
Sir William sat on the ground, his sword resting before him, his expression composed. Yet, within, a wave of relief washed over him. The ordeal was finally over. Around him, guardsmen and mages lay scattered, some sitting, others assisting one another in tending to their wounds. The battlefield was a tapestry of exhaustion and camaraderie.
“It’s finally over,” the headmistress murmured, stepping carefully toward Sir William and standing beside him. Her gaze softened as she looked toward the scene. “He did it… The savior—no, Aki—he made it.”
Sir William kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “He really did.”
Not far off, Amabel lay on the ground, still cloaked in her hood. With a soft groan, she muttered, “Senior… I’m tired.”
Sylvia, seated beside her, chuckled weakly. “Me too, Amabel. Me too,” she replied with a small, weary smile.
Nearby, Professor Gale and his trusty Terean hounds stood behind, observing the aftermath of the battle. A sight of relief was visible in his eyes.
The scene was one of quiet victory. The exhaustion was palpable, but amidst it all, one undeniable truth remained—they had survived.
Though the sky had cleared, large, gloomy clouds lingered ominously. A cold wind swept through the battlefield, causing Sylvia to shiver. “Eh?” she said softly, noticing something unusual. From the sky above, like autumn leaves descending in slow, deliberate motion, the first snowflake of the season fell. Sylvia extended her hand, catching the delicate flake and watching it melt against her palm. “Winter has come,” she murmured.
The headmistress glanced toward the woods, her tone tinged with concern. “The savior’s last location was near the forest. I hope he’s all right.”
Sir William stood, brushing dust from his armor. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure of it,” he said firmly. As he steadied himself, something dawned on him—something critical. His expression shifted, and in an instant, he turned sharply toward the headmistress. “Sir Francis… He’s still down there in the mine!” he exclaimed.
……
“ACHOOO!”
A loud sneeze echoed through the dimly lit cave, followed by a groan of pain. “Arghh, rats!” Sir Francis cursed, his voice bouncing off the walls of the cavern. He lay sprawled on the ground, just a few feet away from where the summoned body of Demon Lord Alastair had disintegrated into dust after he managed to drove his sword through its heart.
Clutching his side, Sir Francis pressed his hand against a deep wound inflicted during his final assault. The monstrous entity who guard the summoned body had struck him, leaving a jagged gash that now spilled blood onto the cold, damp floor.
His breaths came in ragged gasps as his vision blurred, the pain coursing through his body threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. Despite this, a faint, defiant chuckle escaped his lips. “Heh… ha… ha,” he laughed weakly, his voice laced with a strange mix of bitterness and amusement. He knew the truth—this wound was grave, perhaps too much for even him to endure.
As the shadows around him deepened, Sir Francis’s eyelids grew heavy. In his fading consciousness, he muttered quietly, his words barely audible in the stillness of the cavern:
“Is this… the end?”