Silence reigned.
Kaito stood atop the Throne of Echoes, bathed in pale light. The swirling void around him calmed, and the broken platforms slowly realigned themselves, orbiting the throne like stars around a sun.
Isha stepped forward, her voice low with awe.
"You did it… You became more than what you were."
Kaito didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his hands—steady, warm. No longer just a weapon. No longer just a shadow.
He was whole.
But peace didn't settle.
From deep beneath the realm, a pulse of energy surged. The throne beneath him trembled. Isha's sword leapt from her sheath on instinct.
A gate appeared in the air.
Not one Kaito had seen before.
It shimmered in seven colors, and from it flowed a breeze unlike anything in the Echo Realm—it carried laughter, sorrow, hunger… and life.
"This realm is dying," Isha whispered. "It was built to contain echoes. Now that they've merged, it has no purpose."
Kaito turned to her. "Then it's time we leave."
"Where will you go?"
He looked toward the gate.
"To the realm where fate still writes stories. Where swords still speak truth. And where the Emperor's return will mean something."
He extended his hand to her.
She hesitated.
Then smiled, and took it.
Together, they stepped through the gate.
---
They emerged into a land of twilight—neither night nor day. Forests of crystal trees, mountains suspended in the clouds, and rivers that flowed upward.
They weren't alone.
Armies waited—soldiers in masks, riding beasts made of starlight. At their front stood a woman cloaked in living flame.
She bowed.
"Welcome, Emperor Kaito," she said. "The Realms of Aether remember your name. And your enemies have not forgotten."
Kaito raised Nightcleaver.
"Then let's remind them what it means."