Centuries passed. I returned to familiar lands again, but I barely recognized them. Humans had become the undisputed masters of the continents. Their short but intense lives, multiplied by greed and curiosity, led to incredible progress. They began to build enormous cities—towers of stone and metal that blocked out the sun. They created machines that plowed fields and carried cargo, doing work that once required magic or the strength of dwarves.

  And the other races… they withered.

  Dwarves still lived in their underground kingdoms, but isolation made them backward. Their craft was skillful, but slow. They could not keep up with human production.

  The elves became a sad sight. They began to forget their old technologies and magical secrets. They had no large settlements at all; they still lived in small, scattered forest villages. They seemed surplus in a world where speed and scale were valued. With bitterness I noticed that the human tongue had become the language of trade and culture; even elves began to forget their old melodic language, using it only in rituals.

  Even the Ancient Forces nature had released for its cleansing proved unable to withstand relentless human progress:

  There were fewer and fewer ents. Most of them, weary of endless logging, sank into a deep sleep as ordinary trees. I knew many of them would never awaken.

  Dragons were nearly wiped out. Their killing became the greatest glory for human hunters. Most dragons were slain. The few who survived flew in groups like flocks of birds, hiding high in the mountains. Once they were proud and solitary—now even in groups they struggled to survive against human warriors and mages.

  Titans, too, became more legend than reality. The last of them had long since fallen asleep, turning into silent mountain ranges that humans spoke of only in old tales.

  I walked a world where my archangel power—the power of elements—had been defeated by human ingenuity and greed. My brothers, the Fallen Angels, became myths. And I, the last of them, was an immortal witness to how a world without gods built its own civilization, founded on fleeting existence and boundless growth.

  Several more centuries passed. Everything moved along the spiral I knew: short bursts of creation gave way to greed and war among humans, dwarves, and elves. Humans built vast cities, not of metal but of stone and wood, and constantly fought.

  But one day, like thunder from a clear sky, a new wave crashed down.

  Their attacks were horrific. They seized lands at an unimaginable speed. They were demons again—but something had changed. I felt their power was so great it could wipe out all life.

  I watched the earth burn, and it was nothing like the chaotic madness Ignis once unleashed. This was a precise, coordinated, lethal war. The army was enormous, disciplined, and terrifyingly efficient.

  “They weren’t like this before,” I thought, parrying blow after blow. Every time I heard there was a demon of unprecedented power at their head, but this time it was his army that unsettled me. It was too strong. Too clever.

  I realized I couldn’t do it alone. The time for legends was over.

  I began gathering a band. And my path led me to someone I had known as a small boy.

  Merlin stood before me. Now he was around forty-five, looking almost old—yet astonishingly strong as a mage. He was unbelievably talented, more gifted than anyone I had ever seen. His power was so great that a nervous thought flickered through me: perhaps it rivaled the angels. I remembered Zariil and Ignis, and bitterly understood that humans truly had learned to encode their knowledge.

  Merlin was not surprised by my appearance. It was as if he had been waiting.

  “I knew you would come, Lady of Light,” he said, not even speaking my name.

  Merlin already had a student. A young man with eyes full of fire and a noble face.

  “This is Arthur,” Merlin introduced him. “He will become the King who unites all peoples. He must.”

  And Merlin was right: if Arthur did not unite all peoples—elves, dwarves, humans—they would all perish.

  I took Arthur’s training in hand. I passed on to him my art, honed over millennia. I taught him swordsmanship with the Ice Blade, control of power.

  His ability was astonishing. What required two centuries for me, an Archangel, a twenty-four-year-old human mastered in a few years. My carefully restrained surprise gave way to a smile. I remembered Zariil’s words, and that man’s: they have no time to put things off until tomorrow.

  “You learn faster than wind, Arthur,” I told him once, when he nearly disarmed me.

  “I don’t have eternity, my lady,” he answered. “My teacher says my task is to make it in time.”

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  But the demons did not wait. Half the continent was already burning. They said a demon of unprecedented power stood at the head. I had heard that every time—but what unsettled me was his army. It was too strong, too organized. They weren’t like this before, I thought. This was not mere rage, but calculated strategy.

  I knew there was no time. We had to end the feuds and teach Arthur not merely to be a hero, but to be the King of Unity—the one who could repel this new, mysterious threat.

  The demons were advancing, but the hardest battle awaited in a hall.

  The great council began. In a huge, hastily built chamber, the leaders of all races gathered:

  Humans—lords in gleaming armor, full of ambition and distrust.

  Dwarves—elders with arms crossed over their chests, grim and greedy.

  Elves—arrogant mages in white robes, looking at everyone with contempt.

  And even an Ent—an ancient, dried tree that took up an entire corner of the hall, its very presence a grim sentence.

  The conversation was dreadful.

  “We will not fight beside those who cut down our sacred oaks!” the elven elder shouted.

  “Our steel will not protect those who stole our underground secrets!” the dwarven king hissed through clenched teeth.

  The humans, in turn, accused the elves of snobbery and the dwarves of selfishness—faults that had cost them entire provinces.

  I stood beside Merlin, feeling hopelessness. Eternity was turning once more into a spiral of senseless enmity.

  Then Arthur stepped forward. He was not the oldest, not the most powerful, but his charisma and sheer will made everyone fall silent.

  “Save your hatred for the demons,” his voice was firm, but not loud. “The Demon King doesn’t care which of you is an Ent and which is a Dwarf. He sees only meat.”

  He raised a map, showing how the disciplined demon army was bypassing their scattered fortresses.

  “Our enemy is not like the mad Fallen. He is patient. He is strategic. He uses our quarrels as his main weapon. While you argue over who owns a field, he takes your lands.”

  Arthur did not speak of friendship. He spoke of survival. He appealed to their instincts and their pride.

  “If we unite, our lives—short as they are—will become our weapon. Elven forest magic, dwarven armor forged from deep ore, and human will—everything must work together! If not, we will vanish, and not even a myth will remain of us!”

  At last, the elders nodded. This was not agreement born of love, but agreement born of fear.

  The Ent, who had been silent all this time, let out a loud crack.

  “We will go,” his voice rumbled, the sound like mountains grinding. “But this will be the last time. If you lose, we will sleep forever.”

  The elves flinched. They knew the Ents were gathering their strength—perhaps for the last time.

  Arthur got what he wanted. All races united.

  The hardest part was the dragons. They despised everyone—especially Archangels—remembering the chaos my brothers had brought.

  But Arthur and Merlin managed to strike a deal. I was there myself when the bargain was made. The dragons agreed because this new demon army threatened their last secluded refuges.

  “We do not fight for you, mortals,” one of them growled, scorching the air with its breath. “We fight against the chaos your gods left behind.”

  Soon the march began. The army was an incredible, impossible sight. At the front went heavily armed dwarves in invulnerable armor. They were covered by elven mages hiding in the shadows, and humans with bows and steel swords. Above them flew dragons, and behind them the Ents and Titans walked slowly (the few remaining ones they had managed to awaken).

  I, Lucida, flew above them, watching this miracle.

  My student, Arthur, carried the banner at the center. His strength was astonishing. My art, honed over millennia, he had mastered in two decades. I smiled, remembering Zariil’s words. The speed of mortals is their weapon. And now it was the only weapon capable of standing against the demons.

  But the demons did not wait. Half the continent was already burning. The coming battle would be terrible. I felt that the Demon King was something greater than a mere Fallen—and that he would set forces in motion that would put the very life of this world at stake.

  Forward—toward the final battle.

  Our united campaign was astonishingly successful. City after city was reclaimed. Victory after victory. Humans, elves, and dwarves, fighting shoulder to shoulder, became a force that not even the demons’ flawless formation could stop. Elven arrows blessed with magic pierced black armor; dwarven axes cleaved through lava; and humans carried the banner of indomitable will.

  But the price was terrible. Blood for blood. Thousands died on both sides. The demons did not retreat with honor. As they fell back, they burned forests, poisoned rivers, and destroyed everything living, leaving behind dead land worthy of Ignis’s legacy.

  The demon army was too vast to crush in a single blow. Their forces split into two enormous, deadly masses. To fight effectively, we had to make a risky decision.

  “You will go west, Arthur,” I said, studying the map. “Your task is to destroy the siege engine before it destroys the dwarven capital.”

  “And you, my lady?” Arthur asked.

  “I will lead my army east. Their supply center is there. We’ll cut off their rear.”

  We split. Arthur, Merlin, and most of the Ents went west. I led a more mobile force—elven cavalry, human swordsmen, and a small dwarven detachment.

  I led my troops across battered land. The East was darker than I expected. The ground here wasn’t merely scorched—it was dead.

  At last, we reached a plain. And we saw the target.

  In the middle of the plain stood an enormous Mountain. It was not a volcano—it was a mass of black, melted stone, raised, it seemed, not by nature’s power but by pure evil. The Mountain was unnatural, as if torn from another dimension.

  And the Mountain was alive.

  From its cracks, holes, and caverns, a Swarm of demons poured out. Not just a detachment, but an endless stream—as if the Mountain were their hive. Supplies did not come out of the Mountain. They were born within it.

  I stopped. My immortal heart, which had no need to beat, suddenly hammered in my chest with impossible fear. I had done this thousands of times—fought demons, Archangels, elements. But now there was something different.

  It was a primal fear I hadn’t felt since Father. This swarm… this Mountain…

  I realized this army wasn’t merely well organized. It had a single control center—something beyond the mind of any demon king. It was a system, perfect in its deadliness.

  “They said a demon of unheard-of power stood at the head…” But this wasn’t a demon. It was something that required… an architect.

  I tightened my grip on the Ice Blade.

  “Forward!” I commanded—but my voice came out hoarse.