The aftermath of the battle left Astraedus Academy in ruins. The courtyard was a jagged mess of cracked stone, scorched earth, and the remnants of a world that had been bent on the edge of collapse. Aeon stood at the center, the weight of the battle heavy on his shoulders. The air still felt electric, charged with the remnants of dark energy that Vael had conjured.

  Ryssha approached him cautiously, her usual confidence tempered by the palpable tension between them. “Aeon,” she said softly, her voice a blend of concern and determination, “we need to talk.”

  Aeon’s gaze lingered on the horizon, the remains of the Door to Hell flickering in his mind’s eye. "I know... I feel it too," he replied, though the words didn’t bring him any comfort. His hands clenched at his sides, and a shiver ran through his being. The surge of suppressed power that he had tapped into earlier was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

  Ryssha stepped closer, her eyes searching his face. “It’s more than just power, isn’t it?” she asked. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The pull.”

  The pull. Aeon knew exactly what she meant. It was as if something was calling to him—something deep within, buried under layers of forgotten time. A power that felt both like a legacy and a curse.

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me, Ryssha,” Aeon admitted. “But I feel it. This... pull. It’s as though the very fabric of reality itself is trying to force me into something. Something I don’t fully understand.”

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  She placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. “You’re not alone in this, Aeon. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

  Behind them, Darion, Kairo, Elian, and Lucen appeared, their expressions grim. They had seen the battle and its consequences, and now they were all here, united, as they had been since the beginning. The Virelios Core.

  “You’re right,” Kairo said, his voice a rare mix of seriousness. “No one’s walking this path alone. We all fight, we all win, or we all fall together.”

  A flicker of determination sparked in Aeon’s chest. The weight of his lineage, the pull of his cosmic heritage, was undeniable. He had felt the truth in his very soul—the call to something far greater than he had ever imagined.

  But that didn’t mean he had to walk it alone.

  “We fight together, then,” Aeon declared, his voice firm, a spark of his true power igniting in the depths of his being. “And I will uncover the truth about who I am. No more running from it.”

  Just then, the ground beneath their feet trembled, and the air grew thick with a strange energy. A distant voice echoed in the wind—familiar, yet eerie.

  “Aeon Virelios...”

  The voice felt like it was everywhere, echoing from the very depths of the earth. The others looked around in confusion, but Aeon stood still, as if listening to something only he could hear.

  “This is it,” he whispered. “The call.”

  And before anyone could react, a new rift in the air tore open, swirling with dark energy. From the shadows, a figure emerged—one Aeon recognized, though it wasn’t entirely human.