The third, and final day.
They were close.
Close enough that even the air felt different.
Close enough that the forest seemed to lean toward the carriage, listening.
The ride continued for about an hour.
Then—
The atmosphere changed.
Not slowly.
Not subtly.
Instantly.
The horses felt it first.
Their ears shot up.
Their pace faltered.
Their breath fogged in the suddenly colder air.
And then they crossed it.
Something invisible.
Something ancient.
Something that had not been there a moment before.
An unseen border.
What Dyuke, Iris, and Vaelus expected to see — more green trees, more forest, more of the same — was gone.
Completely gone.
The world outside the window had transformed.
The grass was white.
The trees were white.
The leaves shimmered with pale mana, glowing faintly like moonlit frost.
The air itself pulsed with a soft, rhythmic hum — the heartbeat of the Whitecrest Woods.
And ahead of them…
A figure stood in the center of the path.
Unmoving.
Unbothered.
Radiating so much white mana the air around them distorted.
White robe.
White hair.
Bright Grey eyes, half‑lit.
Bloodlust pouring off them like a storm.
"Halt."
The voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The horses froze instantly.
The carriage lurched to a stop.
Inside, Dyuke's breath caught.
Iris's fingers curled into the seat.
Vaelus's eyes widened, all humor gone.
Only two people remained calm.
Eiden.
And Selyndra.
The figure ahead stood perfectly still, arms down, robe sleeves hiding their hands.
Their presence was suffocating — not chaotic, not wild, but controlled, precise, sharpened like a blade.
Vaelus swallowed hard.
"Uhhh… D‑Dyuke?"
Dyuke didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because every mage in that carriage — except Eiden and Selyndra — felt it.
This wasn't just a guardian.
This wasn't just a Whitecrest warrior.
This was a test.
A test meant only for one person.
Eiden slowly lifted his head, eyes narrowing.
"…So they sent you."
The figure didn't move.
But the forest did.
Branches bent toward the path.
White leaves rustled without wind.
Mana thickened until the air felt like warm water.
The Whitecrest Woods had recognized him.
And they were deciding whether he was worthy to enter.
Eiden and Selyndra stepped out of the carriage without hesitation.
No fear.
No confusion.
No surprise.
Just calm.
"Eiden— Selyndra—?" Iris called out, voice tight with worry. But she and Vaelus climbed out anyway, following close behind. Their boots touched the white grass, which shimmered faintly beneath their feet like frost reacting to their mana.
The four of them walked forward until they stood in front of the carriage, about ten feet from the figure.
Dyuke jumped out a second later, stumbling slightly before planting himself in front of the four Sages like a shield.
He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady.
"H‑Hello, we are here to reach the Whitecrest Clan's village. It would be nice if you—"
He never finished.
The figure moved.
No. bolted.
A blur of white.
A streak of mana.
A killing intent so sharp it sliced the air.
Their palm tightened, aura condensing into a razor‑thin blade around their pointed hand. The strike was aimed directly at Dyuke's face— a killing blow, clean and efficient.
It happened in a blink.
Too fast for Iris.
Too fast for Vaelus.
Too fast for Dyuke.
But not too fast for Eiden.
Eiden vanished.
A whisper of movement.
A distortion in the air.
And then—
He was there.
Hand clamped around the figure's throat.
His other hand gripping their wrist, forcing the aura‑blade upward with a strength that made the ground crack beneath their feet.
"That's enough, Tristan."
Eiden's voice was low.
Cold.
Predatory.
Iris stared at the empty space beside her where Eiden had been a heartbeat ago.
How…
How did he move that fast…?
Vaelus's jaw dropped. "Bro— what—"
Selyndra didn't react.
She simply watched, golden eyes calm, as if she expected this.
Eiden's grip tightened.
"Always as weird as usual, aren't you, Tristan."
The figure— Tristan —stopped struggling. His aura flickered, then faded entirely. The blade around his hand dissolved into harmless white particles.
"Let go," Tristan said simply.
Eiden released him.
Tristan stepped back, rubbing his throat with one hand while checking his wrist with the other, as if confirming nothing was broken.
Then he looked up.
His bright grey eyes glowed faintly beneath the hood of his white robe.
"It's nice to see you again, Eiden…"
His gaze shifted.
"…And… Selyndra?"
Selyndra stepped forward, her golden aura softening.
"Hello, Tristan."
Tristan blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then his expression twisted— not into anger, not into confusion—
But into disbelief.
"You're alive," he whispered.
The white forest pulsed again, a slow ripple of mana rolling through the trees like a breath.
A breath of recognition.
A breath of awakening.
The Whitecrest Woods…
finally recognized their lost Divinity.
"Hmph, yes, I know," Eiden replied, as if the forest itself had spoken to him.
Tristan exhaled, shoulders relaxing.
"Please. Follow me. You can walk on foot."
He turned without another word, white robe swaying as he walked down the massive path toward the distant mountain — the one crowned by a roaring waterfall.
Eiden and Selyndra followed immediately, walking side by side with Tristan as if this were routine.
Dyuke turned to the two men responsible for the carriage, then to the fifty mounted mages behind them.
"Follow behind me," Dyuke commanded.
They obeyed instantly.
The procession moved forward.
The walk was quiet.
Too quiet.
Only footsteps, horse hooves, and the soft rumble of the carriage wheels filled the air.
No birds.
No insects.
No wind.
Just the forest watching.
Finally, Eiden broke the silence.
"So," he said, voice calm, "how have you and the village been?"
A leaf crunched under Tristan's boot.
"I've been fine," Tristan answered. "And the village… they're doing fine too."
He paused, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"When the news of your return spread, the whole village went loud like crazy. They were proud. Your mother, on the other hand… well, she smiled."
Eiden blinked.
"…She smiled?"
"That was honestly my first time seeing her smile," Tristan said. "So I knew she was truly happy."
"Well, that's nice to hear," Eiden replied.
Selyndra crossed her arms, golden eyes narrowing slightly.
"You people changed this forest," she said. "I remember there used to be a stone pathway to the village. Why did you change it?"
Tristan went silent for a moment.
Then—
"After you died, Eiden," he said quietly, "a lot of people thought our clan was weak. That we had no protector. So bandits, black ogres, dragons, and other annoying creatures tried to attack the village."
He scoffed.
"But they were idiots. They really thought we were weak. Damn fools."
Iris turned her head toward the forest—
And froze.
A body hung from a tree by the neck.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Bandits.
Ogres.
Dragons — their heads severed and mounted like trophies.
All of them killed brutally.
All of them left as warnings.
Even the mages on horseback saw it.
Some swallowed hard.
Some looked away.
Some counted — and stopped when the numbers became too high.
Tristan continued walking, unfazed.
"So we switched it up," he said. "We changed the location of the village and made a new route."
Eiden nodded. "So where does it lie now?"
Tristan stopped.
They stood before a small pond of water, shimmering faintly beneath the waterfall.
The mountain towered above them, mist drifting like ghostly smoke.
Tristan raised his palm.
White aura gathered in his hand.
The pond glowed — soft blue at first, then bright white, reacting to his mana.
The water evaporated.
The pond dried.
White grass sprouted from the dirt.
The waterfall slowed…
then stopped entirely.
The stone wall behind it revealed itself.
A massive slab of black stone.
Tristan pressed his glowing palm forward.
The stone wall split open like a pair of colossal doors.
And beyond it—
Eiden saw the village.
Black houses lined the stone ground.
White‑robed elves walked between them.
Children ran through the streets, laughing.
Mana flowed through the air like drifting snow.
And at the far end—
A massive black castle rose into the sky.
The Chief's castle.
The heart of the Whitecrest Clan.
As the group stepped inside, the commotion stopped.
Children froze mid‑step, staring at the newcomers.
At one newcomer.
Eiden.
Unlike children from other lands, they didn't ask who he was.
They knew.
The adults stopped too.
Women.
Men.
Elders.
Warriors.
All staring.
All trembling.
A man near the fountain dropped the bucket he was carrying.
"He's back…" he whispered, voice shaking.
Another woman covered her mouth, tears forming instantly.
"The First Divinity… he's really back…"
A young elf fell to his knees.
"Eiden… Eiden has returned…"
The entire village began to gather.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Eiden…"
"It's him…"
"He's alive…"
"He came home…"
"The Whitecrest Divinity…"
"Our protector…"
"Our legend…"
Eiden stood still.
Expression calm.
Eyes half‑lidded.
Cloak fluttering softly in the mana‑rich air.
Selyndra stepped beside him, golden aura glowing faintly.
Iris and Vaelus stood behind him, silent.
Dyuke swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the sheer reverence in the air.
Tristan stepped forward, voice loud and clear.
"Whitecrest Clan—"
He pointed to Eiden.
"Your Divinity has returned."
The village erupted.
Not in chaos.
Not in fear.
In awe.
In reverence.
In joy.
Eiden had come home.
They rushed to him.
Children, elders, warriors, mothers, apprentices — all of them surged forward with the same breathless excitement. Even the youngest children, who had never seen him in their lives, stared at him with wide, sparkling eyes.
They didn't need to know him.
They didn't need to be told.
They felt who he was.
"Eiden! You've gotta tell us how you've been!" an elder cried, grabbing both of his hands with trembling fingers.
"Eiden! You've gotta speak with the Chief!" a child yelled, practically bouncing in place.
More voices joined in.
"Is it really you?"
"How did you survive?"
"Where have you been?"
"Did you really kill a Celestial?"
"Are you staying this time?"
"Eiden, Eiden, Eiden—!"
It was overwhelming.
A tidal wave of joy.
A storm of voices, questions, tears, laughter.
Eiden stood still, letting them crowd around him, his expression calm but his eyes softening just slightly — the smallest shift, but enough for Iris to notice.
Then—
"Everyone, everyone, please give the man space."
A deep voice.
A commanding voice.
The crowd parted instantly.
Silence fell like a blanket.
A man stepped forward.
White robe.
White cloak.
Grey eyes.
White hair tied back.
Brown skin marked with faint mana‑lines.
A white sword sheathed at his waist, humming with restrained power.
He walked with the authority of someone who didn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed.
He stopped in front of Eiden.
The village held its breath.
"Hello, my son," the man said, voice deep and steady. "I'm glad you've returned."
The words hit the air like a spell.
Iris's eyes widened.
Vaelus's jaw dropped.
Dyuke froze mid‑step.
Selyndra's expression softened, just barely.
Eiden looked at the man.
No shock.
No hesitation.
No disbelief.
Just a quiet, steady recognition.
"…Father."
The Chief of the Whitecrest Clan —
the man who raised him,
the man who trained him —
stood before him.
Alive.
Strong.
And smiling.
A rare, quiet smile.
The villagers trembled with emotion as father and son faced each other for the first time in fourteen decades.
The Whitecrest Clan had their Divinity back.
And the Chief had his son.
"Come with me," the Chief said, turning slightly. "Let's walk to the castle."
He glanced at the others.
"Oh, and your friends, you can come too—"
"No thanks," Dyuke cut in immediately. "Our goal was to safely escort Eiden here, and we did just that. So we'll be leaving now."
He turned sharply, signaling his men.
The mounted mages turned their horses around.
The carriage followed, wheels crunching softly over the white stone.
Dyuke paused once, looking back at Eiden.
A nod.
A silent farewell.
Then he walked after his men, disappearing down the path.
The moment they were far enough, Tristan raised his palm and shut the stone wall.
The massive doors sealed with a deep, echoing thud.
"This way," the Chief said.
He walked ahead, white cloak trailing behind him like a banner of authority.
Eiden walked beside him, calm and unreadable.
Iris, Vaelus, and Selyndra followed closely behind, each absorbing the overwhelming atmosphere of the village.
The clan members still stared.
Some with awe.
Some with tears.
Some with trembling hands pressed over their mouths.
Children peeked from behind their parents' robes.
Elders bowed their heads.
Warriors straightened their posture, fists over their hearts.
Every step Eiden took sent a ripple through the crowd.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"He's back…"
"It's really him…"
"The First Divinity…"
"Fourteen decades…"
"He returned…"
The Chief walked with pride, chin high, eyes forward.
Eiden walked with quiet confidence, cloak brushing the stone ground.
Iris watched the villagers' reactions, her heart tightening.
Vaelus grinned slightly, impressed despite himself.
Selyndra walked with her usual grace, golden eyes scanning every detail.
The castle loomed ahead — massive, black stone, towering spires, banners of white and silver fluttering in the mana‑rich air.
The Chief spoke without turning.
"There is much to discuss. Much you must see. Much you must reclaim."
Eiden's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I know."
The Chief smiled again — small, proud, relieved.
Eventually, they reached the castle.
A vast field of white spider lilies surrounded it, blooming in thick clusters across the glowing white grass. Their petals shimmered faintly, reacting to the mana in the air — reacting to Eiden.
The short black stairs rose before them, carved from obsidian‑like stone that reflected their silhouettes in distorted shapes. The castle itself towered above, its black walls veined with white mana lines that pulsed like a heartbeat.
They ascended the steps.
The Chief stopped before the grand doors — towering slabs of black stone engraved with ancient Whitecrest runes. He lifted his palm and channeled aura into it.
The runes ignited.
The doors opened with a deep, resonant rumble.
The Chief stepped inside first, his cloak trailing behind him like a banner of authority. Eiden followed, then Selyndra, Iris, and Vaelus. Their footsteps echoed across the vast hall — a floor of polished black stone that reflected the white mana drifting through the air like falling snow.
The Chief walked to the center of the hall and turned around, facing the four of them.
The silence was heavy.
Reverent.
Ancient.
He looked at Eiden — really looked at him — as if memorizing every detail of his face.
Then he spoke.
"Welcome home, Eiden."