Owen stood at the entrance to the Hatchery, watching dawn break over a kingdom that was no longer empty. The sky shifted from deep violet to soft gold, light catching on towers that had been dark for a thousand years. The Tower of Royals gleamed at its peak. The gardens, still recovering, showed green where there had been only black soil. And the Hatchery behind him pulsed with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.
Three fragments. Three dungeons. Three lifetimes of memory, war, and grief. And now, finally, something new.
Yuki appeared beside him, Uru riding her shoulder. "They're starting to arrive."
Owen nodded. He'd felt them coming—through his bond with Drak'thar, through the mana signatures that crossed into his territory like ripples in still water. Elves first, then dwarves, then druids, then the faint flicker of fairy light.
"Are you ready for this?" she asked.
"No. But we don't have time to wait until I am."
They walked toward the palace together.
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