Silence consumed the Hall of Stars.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The golden symbol of the Eighth Throne floated above the ancient star map, its light pulsing slowly like a heartbeat.
Kael looked around the room.
Every Guardian leader wore the same expression.
Fear.
"What is the Eighth Throne?" Kael asked.
Orion closed his eyes.
"It is a mistake."
"A mistake?" Kael repeated.
"The Seven Thrones were created to protect life," Orion said. "Each represented a Core that upheld the balance of the universe."
He looked at the golden symbol.
"But the Eighth Throne was never meant to exist."
Lyra stepped forward.
"It was created during the final days of the Ancient War."
"By who?" Kael asked.
No one answered immediately.
Then Aetherion spoke.
"By one of our own."
The words echoed through the chamber.
Shock spread across the faces of the Guardians.
"The Eighth Throne was born from desperation."
Orion continued.
"As the Devourers destroyed world after world, one Core Sovereign believed balance was no longer enough."
"He wanted absolute victory."
Kael frowned.
"And what happened?"
"He crossed a line."
The star map shifted.
Ancient images appeared above it.
A lone figure sat upon a golden throne, surrounded by countless stars.
At first, the figure looked noble.
Then the light twisted.
The stars around him darkened.
Entire worlds crumbled beneath his power.
"He sought to control every Core."
"He believed free will was the reason the universe kept falling into chaos."
Kael stared at the vision.
"So he became a tyrant."
Orion nodded.
"The Seven Thrones united against him."
"The battle lasted seven days."
The vision changed again.
The golden throne shattered into countless fragments that scattered across the galaxy.
"We believed it was over."
The vision faded.
"But if the Eighth Throne has awakened..."
Lyra whispered.
"...then someone has gathered the fragments."
A heavy silence followed.
Suddenly—
The palace shook.
A pulse of golden energy swept across the kingdom.
Every Guardian looked toward the sky.
Kael rushed onto the balcony.
High above the clouds, the golden star had grown brighter.
It was no longer a distant light.
It was moving.
Coming closer.
Aetherion's voice became grim.
"It has found us."
The light descended through the clouds.
Not like a falling star.
Like a king returning to his kingdom.
A single figure emerged from the golden radiance.
A man clothed in white and gold robes.
Long silver hair flowed behind him.
A golden crown rested upon his head.
He floated above the capital, looking down with calm, unreadable eyes.
When he spoke, his voice reached every corner of the First World.
"I have searched for the Last Core..."
His gaze settled on Kael.
"...for ten thousand years."
The city fell silent.
Then the stranger smiled.
Not with hatred.
Not with kindness.
But with certainty.
"Come with me willingly..."
His golden aura spread across the heavens.
"...and I will save this universe."
Or, if you refuse...
The smile disappeared.
"I will save it without your permission."