Hours Later.
Valerian sat atop the ruined spire of what remained of the Wyrmgate chamber, watching the stars shift erratically. Something was coming. Or rather—many things.
He could feel them stirring across the veil: entities that had slumbered, now waking. Archons. Dead kings. Forgotten gods. And the worst of them…
"Alex," he muttered.
His old self. The one the System had splintered. The one orchestrating everything from behind the veil.
Lira approached from behind, her armor newly cleaned, her wounds bandaged.
"The others are calling you the Worldbreaker now," she said, dropping beside him.
He looked at her, a ghost of amusement in his eyes.
"They're not wrong."
She hesitated. "Are you sure this is what we should become?"
Valerian didn't answer for a long time. Then he looked at the stars—at the cracks forming even in the firmament above.
