The feast had lasted an entire day. Barely had the celebrations ceased when the three leaders got to work. There was no time to waste.
Cronos, Daeron, and Uriel gathered in a private room of the castle, far from the bustle of the revelers. The weight of responsibility hung over them like a sword of Damocles.
Uriel remained silent, focused. He could feel through his connection to the soul-tree how the abominations were annihilating each other in a dance of death and chaos. "Stygia," the name he had given his Supreme Titan, expanded relentlessly, devouring corrupted souls to strengthen its domain and perfect its mastery in combat. Each consumed soul was another pulse of power, an advantage in the war to come. Combined with the strength of the transcendents he had gathered, they would have a respite. Precious time to plot their next move.
"So, what are we going to do?" Uriel asked, fixing his gaze on Cronos.
"The Ark of Time," the Sovereign replied, his voice grave and firm.
"We will build an Ark to transport all the inhabitants of the Tomb to a safe place. It will be a special pocket dimension, designed to recreate the world they know. However, sorcery of such magnitude requires a colossal amount of essence to sustain itself."
"Don't worry about that," Uriel interjected, in a tone that brooked no argument.
"For reasons I won't explain, I possess six divine soul fragments that we can use." A silent sigh escaped his lips. It was a pity he couldn't forge divine weapons with those fragments—tools that could change the course of any battle. But saving hundreds of millions of souls was a nobler purpose, more urgent.
Daeron raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Where did you get six divine fragments?"
"I won't give details," Uriel replied, curtly. His gaze hardened, making it clear he would not yield on that point.
"Very well," Cronos nodded, accepting the answer without further inquiry. "Then we only need to create the pocket dimension. It must be vast and powerful enough to house everyone, and above all, completely free of corruption."
"Use my soul sea," Cronos offered, with the serenity of one who has made an irreversible decision.
"No," Uriel objected immediately. "You are the king of your people and a Sovereign. They need you."
Cronos smiled—a tired smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I am old, Uriel. I am thousands of years old. Though my body still remains young, my mind deteriorates with the passage of time. Besides, my soul sea is special. It can be altered to recreate a habitable and complete biome."
"But..." Uriel tried to interject.
"But nothing. This is my final decision. I can begin working on the sorcery myself, but I need help to create something so vast and complex."
Uriel clenched his fists but nodded. He knew he couldn't dissuade him. "How long will it take?"
"If all goes well, a year. Two at most."
After sealing the agreement, Cronos summoned his wife, an Awakened of great power. When she heard the plan, she did not hesitate to offer her support. Then, they sent messengers to every corner of their domain, gathering the most skilled sorcerers they could find. Soon, several hundred mages gathered in the main hall, ready for the monumental task that awaited them.
Daeron led them all toward Cronos's soul sea. The landscape that stretched before them was a blank canvas—an infinite expanse of nothingness, dotted by a single bright star floating on the horizon like a distant golden sun.
"Let us begin," Daeron ordered.
The sorcerers exchanged glances. There was resignation on their faces, but also an iron conviction. They knew that what they were about to do was historic—a feat that would be etched into the annals of time if they managed to complete it.
To build something of that magnitude, millions of runes would be needed, each placed with absolute precision, without the slightest error. A single mistake could destabilize the entire structure and condemn millions to annihilation. The pressure was immense, the margin for error nonexistent.
The sorcerers began tracing the first patterns, their hands glowing with arcane light as they drew symbols into the void. Each rune was a commitment—a promise of life for those who still inhabited the Tomb.
Meanwhile, Uriel took charge of the defense. He mobilized all his dark creatures and the echoes he had gained in his battles, deploying them in a perimeter around the city. Alongside the Awakened, they formed an impenetrable barrier against any threat that might emerge from the depths of corruption.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The work was exhausting, but none of the sorcerers faltered. Uriel watched from a distance, feeling how Cronos's soul sea was slowly transforming. New forms emerged: mountains, rivers, forests. A new world was being born.
Cronos, exhausted but steadfast, guided the ritual from the center. His figure remained upright—a pillar of determination amidst the creative chaos surrounding him. His wife supported him, channeling energy toward him while the other sorcerers wove the network of runes that would sustain the new reality.
Uriel knew this was only the beginning. The Ark would be completed, and then the hardest part would come: transporting millions of souls to a new home. But for now, as he watched the soul sea come to life under collective effort, he allowed a glimmer of hope to illuminate his heart.
The Tomb of Ariel would not fall. Not as long as he and his allies had the strength to fight and build a better future.
---
The months became an endless cycle of work and battle. Uriel had stopped counting the days; there was only the rhythm of the runes beneath his fingers and the roar of war on the horizon.
Cronos's soul sea had transformed into a hive of arcane activity. Hundreds of sorcerers moved like industrious ants, each in their position, each fulfilling their function in the grand design. Uriel had joined them from the first week, understanding that his talent for rune sorcery was too valuable to waste solely on defense.
"Uriel! We need your touch here!" shouted a silver-haired sorceress, pointing to a section of the foundation that was beginning to show cracks.
Uriel approached quickly, his fingers tracing symbols in the air with surgical precision. The runes glowed with golden light as they embedded themselves into the ethereal structure, sealing the cracks and reinforcing the integrity of the construction. It was delicate work, almost surgical. A misplaced rune could destabilize the entire Ark and condemn millions.
"Thank you," the sorceress whispered, exhausted. She had been awake for three days.
"Rest," Uriel ordered, his voice firm but not without compassion. "You won't be useful if you collapse."
She nodded and withdrew to one of the rest areas they had established, where other sorcerers lay in deep sleep, recovering their strength for the next day's work.
The construction of the Ark followed a meticulous order. First, the foundation: a colossal platform of pure energy that would serve as the bedrock of the entire dimension. It was the most critical part, the one upon which the weight of hundreds of millions of souls would rest. Cronos supervised it personally, his eyes glowing with the knowledge accumulated over millennia.
"The foundation must be perfect," he repeated over and over. "If it fails, everything collapses."
After the foundation, they built the supports. Invisible columns of arcane force that would hold the structure, distributing the weight of the dimension evenly. Each support required thousands of interconnected runes, forming patterns that the younger sorcerers could barely comprehend.
Finally came the most complex part: recreating the biome. Mountains, oceans, forests, cities. Everything had to be recreated with precision, not just as a copy of the original world, but improved, purified of any trace of corruption.
Uriel found himself working on the forest section, engraving runes of life and growth onto the ethereal canvas. Each symbol was a heartbeat of existence, a promise that life would flourish in this new world. As he worked, he couldn't help but think of the souls who would inhabit that place. In the Tomb of Ariel, millions waited, unaware of the titanic effort being made to save them.
"You've improved," Daeron commented, appearing beside him. The Sovereign was pale, dark circles marked beneath his eyes. Using his soul as the core of the Ark was slowly consuming him.
"I have a good teacher," Uriel replied without looking up from his work. "Cronos knows how to streamline the process. His experience with the two previous Arks is invaluable."
Daeron nodded, watching how Uriel's runes intertwined with those of other sorcerers in a harmonious pattern. "We've advanced faster than I expected. But there's still much to be done."
"I know."
A tremor shook the soul sea. The runes flickered dangerously before stabilizing. Uriel raised his head, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Another attack," Daeron said, his voice tinged with concern. "This time it seems larger."
Uriel stood, his fingers still glowing with arcane energy. "The Awakened can handle—"
"Not this time," Daeron interrupted him. "Go. I'll take care of your section."
Uriel hesitated for a moment, looking at the incomplete work he was leaving behind. But the roar of battle coming from outside was unmistakable. The Profanation was attacking with more force than ever.
He exited the soul sea, emerging into the real world just in time to see the horror unfolding before him. The sky had turned a putrid red, and from the horizon surged a tide of abominations. But this was different. They weren't the mindless creatures they had faced before. These abominations had purpose, a dark intelligence guiding them.
"Form defensive lines!" shouted an Awakened commander, his voice barely audible over the din.
Uriel raised his hand and summoned Stygia. The Supreme Titan emerged from the shadows, its imposing form casting a shadow that covered the entire city. Around it, Uriel's dark creatures and the echoes he had gained from previous battles deployed like a black tide.
"Defend the perimeter!" Uriel ordered. "No one gets through!"
The battle began with a ferocity that surpassed everything they had faced before. The abominations advanced in waves, their grotesque forms writhing as they tried to break through toward the city. The Awakened fought desperately, their abilities shining on the battlefield.
Uriel threw himself into combat, his hands weaving sorcery and runes in a deadly dance. Each gesture unleashed a storm of energy that decimated the abominations, but they seemed endless. For every one that fell, ten more took its place.
"Uriel!" shouted a familiar voice. It was Kael, one of the Awakened commanders he had met in his early battles. "There are too many! We can't hold them!"
"Then we'll push them back!" Uriel replied, his voice full of determination.
He summoned his echoes—the spirits of fallen warriors he had absorbed during his travels. They emerged, their translucent forms glowing with ghostly light as they hurled themselves against the abominations. They weren't as powerful as Stygia, but their numbers and ferocity compensated.
The battle lasted hours. Uriel lost track of time as he fought, his body moving by pure instinct. He felt several of his echoes fade away, destroyed by the overwhelming tide of corruption. He felt the Awakened fall one after another, their lives extinguished by the claws and fangs of the abominations.
But he also felt new Awakened being born. Amid the chaos, common citizens who had been hiding emerged with newly awakened powers, their abilities shining for the first time. They weren't enough. They never were.
When the abominations finally withdrew, the battlefield was covered in corpses. Uriel knelt, exhausted, his breath ragged. Around him, the survivors tended to the wounded, their faces marked by fatigue and pain.
"Report," Uriel said, rising with effort.
A commander approached, his uniform torn and bloodied. "We lost nearly a third of our fighters. The wounded are too many to count."
"And the new Awakened?"
"Twenty-three. All young, most without experience."
Uriel closed his eyes, feeling the weight of each loss. "It's not enough. Next time they'll be stronger. They're always stronger."
He returned to the soul sea, where the sorcerers continued working tirelessly. Cronos greeted him with a worried look.
"How was it?"
"Bad. It's getting worse every time." Uriel slumped to the ground, his body begging for rest. "But we held them off."
Cronos nodded, his face showing the same fatigue Uriel felt. "The Ark is progressing. We've completed more than sixty percent."
"So fast?"
"The sorcerers are giving everything they have. Some have already collapsed from exhaustion." Cronos's voice cracked slightly. "I've lost three of my own this week. Their essence dissipated while they worked."
Uriel felt a lump in his throat. "Is it worth it?"
Cronos looked at him, his eyes old but bright. "Ask those we've saved. Ask those who will live in the new world we're creating." He paused. "It's always worth it."
The days continued. Uriel alternated between work on the Ark and the defense of the city. Each battle was worse than the last, but each rune he carved was one step closer to salvation.
Several months passed. The foundation of the Ark was complete, the supports firm, and more than half of the biome had already been recreated. But the cost had been high. The sorcerers had dwindled to less than half, and the Awakened defending the city were fewer and fewer.
One night, while working on recreating an ocean, Uriel felt a familiar presence. Daeron appeared beside him, his form more translucent than before.
"The core is complete," Daeron said, his voice barely a whisper. "The Ark is functional."
Uriel raised his head, his eyes shining with hope. "Really?"
"Not completely. The final stretch remains—the connection to the Tomb of Ariel. But the base structure is finished." Daeron smiled weakly. "We did it, Uriel. We did it."
Uriel felt a tear roll down his cheek. So many months of work, so many losses, so many battles. And finally, a ray of hope.
"Now," Cronos said, appearing beside them, "comes the hardest part. We have to transport everyone. Hundreds of millions of souls, across the void, to their new home."
Uriel nodded, his determination renewed. "Then let's begin."
But even as he spoke, he felt the Profanation stirring in the shadows. He knew the final battle was coming. The corruption would not allow them to take its prey without a fight.
And when it came, they would be ready.