Chapter 10: Years Later...

Years passed like drifting leaves on the wind, and still Garr walked the world—one weary step at a time.

He journeyed from sun-bleached deserts to snow-covered peaks, from the tiniest hamlets clinging to the edge of forgotten forests to the crowded cities that pulsed with life and noise. Wherever people gathered, Garr searched. Taverns, shrines, merchant caravans—any place where whispers might bloom into rumors. And always, always, he asked the same question:

"Have you seen a dragon?" he asked. The answers varied, but the pattern was the same. Fleeting stories. A shimmer of blue-violet scales against moonlight. A roar in the distance that rattled windows. A shadow soaring overhead, silent as the wind.

And just as predictably, Garr arrived moments too late. Ryu had always moved like the wind—unpredictable, untethered, and free. But Garr remained grounded, anchored by the weight of purpose and guilt. Their last battle haunted him. He had raised his spear against a friend, and though neither of them had died that day, something between them had. Still, Garr searched.

In every village, the rumors took on familiar forms. A dragon saving a village from marauding beasts. A mysterious dragon who arrived in times of crisis, then vanished before dawn. Each time Garr's heart stirred, wondering, "Could it be him?"

In a bustling port town known for its storms and salt-worn ships, Garr overheard a group of sailors in a smoky tavern. Laughter gave way to nervous excitement as they spoke of a sea monster that had nearly dragged their vessel into the depths—until a dragon had descended from the sky, striking with such ferocity that the ocean itself seemed to part. When they looked up, the dragon had vanished into the clouds.

Garr approached, his towering form casting a long shadow across their table. The sailors stiffened, mugs halfway to their lips. But something in Garr's eyes—world-weary, solemn—eased their nerves. They told him everything. Within hours, Garr was gone again, making his way toward the jagged northern mountains.

As he climbed, snow crunching underfoot, Garr let his thoughts wander to Ryu. What was he searching for? A place to belong? Redemption? Or something deeper—something tied to the blood of dragons and the legacy of the Brood?

At the summit, he found it. A cave carved by ancient winds and time. Signs of recent habitation littered the stone floor—the faint shimmer of discarded dragon scales, claw marks dug deep into the stone walls like a restless spirit pacing in silence.

Garr stepped inside, the air warm with the scent of ash and lingering fires. He ran his fingers over a gouge in the rock, feeling its raw edges. He could almost hear Ryu's voice. Almost. But the dragon was gone.

He stood at the mouth of the cave, gazing out over the world below—rolling hills, winding rivers, and the fading light of a sun sinking into tomorrow. Somewhere out there, his friend was still searching. And so would he.

Garr clenched his fist, resting it against his chest. "I will find you, Ryu. No matter how far you fly… I will find you."

With that vow carried on the wind, the ancient guardian descended the mountain, his journey far from over.

As Garr's journey stretched on, the stories began to shift. The once-whispered tales of a majestic purple-armored dragon—an image unmistakably tied to the awe-inspiring Kaiser form—grew fewer and fainter. In their place, newer, more grounded sightings emerged: a dragon cloaked in vibrant green scales, exhaling fire hot enough to melt stone, with wings that stretched wide like the shadow of judgment.

This was no longer the Kaiser. This was the dragon Garr had first met—the standard form Ryu had once taken with ease. The change could only mean one thing: the power of the Kaiser had begun to wane. Garr took it as a sign.

If Ryu had truly lost the strength of the Kaiser, perhaps now—just maybe—he could be found. And if he could be found, he could be helped.

His search led him to the Dauna Region, a land known for its old-world mines and craggy, sun-scarred hills. In the mining town of Dauna hills, the tension in the air was palpable. Whispers followed Garr through every alley and around every corner. Stories abounded—of a dragon nesting deep in the Dauna Mines, of men who ventured too far into the dark and never returned, and of others who did… but not whole.

"The fire never stops," one grizzled miner muttered, eyes wide with fear. "It burns beneath the rock now, like the mountain's grown a heart of flame."

Garr needed no further confirmation. He arrived at the mouth of the Dauna Mines at dawn, when the light was weakest and the chill in the air bit like teeth. What greeted him there stopped him cold—charred bodies strewn like fallen leaves, their armor twisted into grotesque shapes. The earth around them was blackened, the stone fused and glistening with heat. Kneeling beside one of the corpses, Garr pressed a massive hand to the ground.

"Still warm. He's here," he whispered.

The guardian closed his eyes for a moment, murmuring a quiet prayer to ease the souls of the fallen, then stepped into the mines.

Inside, darkness reigned, pierced only by the dull red glow of smoldering embers and flickers of firelight from deeper within. The stench was unbearable—burnt stone, molten metal, and something more visceral… the scent of rage. As he descended, the temperature rose. The air was thick with smoke, every breath searing Garr's lungs, every footstep echoing eerily in the hollow gloom.

The deeper he moved, the more he saw the signs of destruction: scaffolding reduced to ash, cart tracks warped by extreme heat, and tunnels collapsed under the weight of raw fury. Tools lay discarded in pools of slag, pickaxes and drills melted down to useless husks. The mine was no longer a place of industry—it was a battlefield.

Then came the sound. A roar—deep and agonized—thundered through the tunnels like a living earthquake. It was not the regal cry of a dragon in flight, but the guttural bellow of something in torment. The sound reverberated off the stone, crashing against Garr's chest and stirring something ancient in his soul.

He knew that roar. "Ryu…"

He broke into a run, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like the stone above. "I'm coming, old friend," he thought. "Just hold on a little longer."

Because whatever had driven Ryu into this frenzy—whatever pain twisted him into fire and wrath—Garr would face it. Alone, if he must. He would not let the past repeat itself. Not again. Not this time.

Finally, he reaches a vast chamber illuminated by the glow of molten rock. There, at the center resting on a massive boulder, is Ryu in his green dragon form, his body tense and his eyes wild with rage. Flames flicker around him, and his breath comes in heavy, labored bursts. Garr takes a deep breath and steps forward, calling out to him. "Ryu! It's me, Garr. Calm down. You don't need to fight anymore."

The cavern trembled as Ryu leapt from his roost, his emerald scales glinting with molten firelight. He landed before Garr with the force of a falling star, the ground beneath his taloned feet cracking under the impact. Smoke coiled around him like a living shadow, his eyes glowing not with recognition—but with primal fury.

Garr's heart sank. He had hoped for a spark of familiarity, a flicker of the friend he once knew. But there was nothing human in those eyes. Only rage.

Ryu snarled and lunged forward, jaws wide and fangs like blades. Garr's instincts took over—he rolled aside with fluid grace, his wings trailing behind him as he dodged the snapping maw by inches. The wind from the dragon's strike nearly toppled him, but Garr dug his feet in, spear gripped tight in calloused hands.

"You've grown stronger," he muttered, voice grim. "But I'm not here to fight you."

The green dragon hissed, nostrils flaring, and swung its massive tail. The motion was blindingly fast, cutting through the air like a whip. Garr vaulted backward just in time, the tail smashing into the cavern wall and sending shards of stone flying in all directions.

"Ryu!" Garr bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder through the smoke-choked chamber. "Wake up! It's me!"

But the dragon was deaf to reason. Ryu roared—a sound that shook the mine to its core—then reared back and unleashed a torrent of flame. The inferno rushed toward Garr, a river of fire and fury. But Garr stood tall, unmoved. The flames curled harmlessly around him, his ancient skin forged to withstand the wrath of dragons.

When the fire faded, Garr's eyes locked onto the towering figure before him. He narrowed his stance and reversed his spear grip.

"I didn't come to kill you," he growled. "But I will knock some sense into you."

With a cry that split the air, Garr charged. He spun his spear like a storm, not aiming to pierce but to pummel. Ryu slashed at him with claws like swords, but Garr ducked low and drove the butt of his spear into the dragon's jaw, snapping its head sideways.

Ryu staggered—but retaliated instantly. One clawed arm came crashing down, but Garr intercepted the strike, holding it off with the haft of his weapon. The strength behind it was immense, forcing Garr to his knees, the stone beneath him cracking from the pressure. Still, he endured.

"Enough!" Garr roared, springing up with a burst of strength. He pushed, causing the dragon to stagger. He vaulted skyward and brought his spear across like a hammer, slamming it into Ryu's skull—not to kill, but to break the feverish trance.

The impact echoed like a cannon blast. Ryu was hurled across the cavern, his massive body shattering a wall of stone as he crashed through it, rubble and dust raining down around him. Silence fell.

The dust swirled in the glow of the molten rocks. Garr stepped forward cautiously, lowering his weapon as the form before him began to change. The dragon's massive frame shrank, scales dissolving into mist, limbs twisting and reforming.

When the dust finally cleared, Ryu lay motionless amid the wreckage. No longer a dragon—but a man. He was no longer the boy Garr had once known. Time had carved an adult out of him. Naked and unconscious, he lay still, the glow of the dragon now dormant within his chest.

Garr approached the motionless figure of Ryu with heavy steps, his expression unreadable beneath the flickering shadows cast by the dying firelight. He knelt beside his fallen friend, placing a broad, battle-worn hand gently against Ryu's chest. The faint, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing brought a wave of relief—he was alive, merely unconscious.

With a grunt, Garr lifted Ryu into his arms, slinging him over his shoulder with care that belied his formidable strength. The journey through the ruined cavern was slow, deliberate. Smoke still clung to the air, and the scorched walls glowed faintly with the residual heat of the dragon's fury. Garr moved through it all like a ghost returning from war, each step echoing softly in the silence.

Eventually, he reached the miners' resting chamber—a modest space tucked away in the rock, its walls lined with cots and the scattered remnants of supplies left behind in the chaos. It was a sanctuary built for the weary, and now it served as a refuge for the broken.

Garr laid Ryu down gently on one of the cots, pulling a wool blanket over his body. He adjusted the fabric over the unconscious man's shoulders, then sat beside him, his massive form sinking into the creaking wooden bench. The only light came from a single oil lantern hanging above, its amber glow flickering across the stone like a heartbeat. Shadows danced across the walls as Garr watched over Ryu in silence, the stillness broken only by the soft hiss of cooling metal and the occasional drip of water from the cavern ceiling.

Ryu stirred in his sleep, his face contorting in silent torment. The flames of memory licked at the edges of his mind. He dreamed.

In the dreamscape, he stood in the form of a dragon—immense, terrible, beautiful. His wings beat against stormy skies, his claws tore through monstrous foes, and his breath scorched the earth. Battle after battle surged through his thoughts: twisted abominations, grotesque enemies, and forgotten horrors all fell beneath his fury. Yet with each victory came no satisfaction. Only a hollow ache. A gnawing question.

"Why?" his unconscious mind asked from the shadows of his memories.

The memory shifted. He saw himself as the Kaiser Dragon—a titan of unmatched power. That form had once felt like destiny incarnate, but even it had faded, leaving him rudderless, consumed by a vast silence where purpose should have been. He became a wanderer. Not man, not beast. Something in between.

Then came the mines. He remembered approaching the Dauna region—drawn by instinct, by the faint hum of something ancient calling to him. In the distance, he saw the mines glittering with the luminous yellow of Chrysm crystals. But they weren't just minerals to him. They were remnants. Pieces of his kin, the essence of dragons ground into fuel.

A rage unlike anything he had ever known took hold of him. In a blur of fire and madness, he attacked—indiscriminately, uncontrollably. The miners screamed and scattered, caught between awe and terror. They hadn't known what Chrysm truly was. They were just people, scraping a living from the bones of dragons.

And yet he had slain them.

Ryu jolted upright with a gasp, his breath ragged and uneven, chest heaving as if he'd just surfaced from the depths of a terrible dream. Sweat clung to his skin, glistening in the dim amber glow of the lantern hanging above. His eyes, wide and disoriented, darted across the cramped stone chamber, searching for something—anything—familiar.

Garr stepped forward from the shadows, his towering form moving slowly, cautiously.

"Do you recognize me, Ryu?" he asked, voice low and gentle, though beneath it trembled a current of worry.

Ryu blinked several times, his gaze locking onto the broad silhouette of the Guardian. Slowly, his memories began to stitch themselves together—flashes of fire and stone, the sound of clashing steel, the searing betrayal at Angel Tower, and Garr standing before him as both friend and executioner.

Panic surged through him like lightning. "Where is Nina?" he cried out, his voice raw with fear.

Garr knelt beside him, placing a heavy but steady hand on his shoulder. "She's safe," he said, reassuringly. "After… what happened, I took her back to Windia. She was devastated when I returned without you. I told her that you were still alive. That I would find you. And I did."

Ryu's breathing slowed, but only slightly. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his eyes haunted. "How long?" he whispered. "How long has it been?"

There was a pause before Garr answered, and when he did, it was with quiet gravity. "Eight years."

The words hit Ryu like a blade. He stared down at his hands—larger now. His arms were no longer those of a boy but of an adult. His body bore the changes of time and battle, hardened by survival, scarred by loneliness.

"Eight years," he whispered.

He had wandered the world in dragon form, lost in his own fury and confusion. Eight years of silence. Eight years of missed moments—friendships left behind, questions unanswered, bonds that might have frayed with time.

With a grunt, Garr tossed a weathered leather sack onto Ryu's lap. It landed with a soft thud, and the contents shifted with the distinct clink of armor and gear.

"Get dressed," Garr said, his voice steady but firm. "Meet me outside the room when you're ready."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and exited, the heavy footfalls of his departure echoing through the stone chamber.

Ryu blinked down at the bag, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened it. Inside, neatly folded, was a warrior's tunic dyed deep red and white shirt with green pants. A chestplate engraved with a stylized dragon emblem. A pair of supple leather boots, and a pristine white cape that shimmered faintly in the lantern light.

The armor felt right in his hands. Not foreign. Not borrowed. It felt like it belonged to him.

As he slipped into the garments, the fit was almost uncanny—as though the armor had been waiting for him all this time. With each piece he fastened, he felt a layer of his old self returning. Not just the boy who had vanished into dragonhood, but the man shaped by fire, solitude, and memory.

Stepping into the hall, Ryu caught sight of Garr leaning against the wall, arms folded. Ryu approached him, "Not bad, Garr," Ryu said with a grin, tugging the cape into place. "I didn't know you had such good fashion sense."

Garr raised a brow. "I didn't pick it for style. It's Brood craftsmanship. It was meant for you."

Without another word, he reached behind him and unslung a sheathed sword, cradling it with reverence as he held it out. The hilt was carved in the image of a coiled dragon, the pommel set with a faintly glowing chrysm gem.

"This is the Dragon Sword," Garr said.

Ryu took it carefully, as if afraid to break something sacred. He unsheathed it slowly, the steel singing as it slid free. The blade gleamed with an inner light, etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with power. The moment his fingers wrapped around the grip, a rush of warmth surged through him, familiar and fierce.

"It's… amazing," Ryu breathed, awestruck. "I can feel it. Like it remembers me."

Garr nodded solemnly. "It should. This blade and armor belonged to your people. It was taken from them—stolen by the Guardians after the Brood fell. A trophy, like so many other things."

He met Ryu's gaze and added, "But you defeated me at Angel Tower. You spared me. And now, I return them to you—not just as equipment, but as a symbol of what I owe you. Of my honor."

Ryu's grip on the sword tightened. He stared down at the runes, at the reflection of his own eyes in the steel. A knot twisted in his chest. Questions he had tried to bury began to rise.

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "Garr… why did the Guardians kill my kind?"

The words hung in the air like smoke—heavy, bitter. Garr exhaled slowly, the weight of centuries pressing into his shoulders. "You deserve an explanation," he said softly.

"I'll tell you everything," he continued. "The truth—no matter how dark."

Back in the resting quarters, the room was quieter—just the distant hum of wind through the cavern's corridors and the slow, steady breathing of two warriors, long separated by war and fate.

Ryu sat on the edge of a worn cot, his newly clad armor catching the lantern light in gleams of silver and white. Across from him, Garr sat hunched on a stone bench, his massive frame hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, as though weighed down by the sheer gravity of what he was about to confess.

For a moment, he said nothing—only looked into Ryu's eyes. "Ryu…" Garr began at last, his voice low and grave, "I am—was—a servant of the goddess Myria. The goddess of desire… and destruction."

Ryu didn't speak, but his eyes narrowed slightly. Garr continued. "For thousands of years, your kind—the Brood—and Myria have been locked in an endless cycle. Whenever the Brood grew strong, the goddess came from the shadows. And every time, they defeated her. Then after five hundred years of silence, Myria would return to test the Brood again. Her tests brought chaos—wars, upheavals, and despair."

The words hung heavy in the air, thick with ancient history and unspoken sins. Ryu leaned forward, listening closely, the light above flickering across his face.

"But one day," Garr said, his gaze darkening, "she gave birth to something far worse—a seed of corruption that grew into a god of demons: DeathEvan." Ryu's eyes widened.

"DeathEvan," Garr said with quiet venom, "spawned the religion of Saint Eva. A faith built not on hope, but on despair—a cult that worshiped death itself. Those touched by his influence lost their humanity. They became demons, sacrificing innocents to feed his growing power. His goal was simple—to rise from the depths of the world and claim dominion over it."

Ryu's hands clenched into fists, his breath unsteady. "And no one stopped him?"

Garr looked at him then, with sorrow etched deep into the creases of his face. "One did. The brother of the priestess Yua. A child born from the bloodline of the Brood. He carried the Infinity Gene—the last hope against DeathEvan. He uncovered the truth of the false religion, gained the Kaiser gene, confronted DeathEvan… and sacrificed himself to seal the god beneath the earth."

Ryu's expression twisted with grief. He could feel the pain of that sacrifice echoing through time, the echoes of a kindred soul who bore the same burden he now carried.

"But that victory," Garr said grimly, "came at a cost."

His voice grew quieter, shaded with regret. "It angered Myria. She saw DeathEvan's fall as a threat to her control. So she created us—the Guardians. Created from the Endless, shaped for a singular purpose: to destroy the Brood. We were sent across the world to wipe your kind from existence. And we did."

Garr's voice was heavy, laced with the weight of a thousand lifetimes. "We were warned," he said quietly, "that Kaiser—the dragon capable of killing gods—would one day rise to oppose us. That its very existence would unravel everything the Guardians were created for. But the Kaiser Dragon never appeared."

He stared into the flickering lanternlight, his face caught somewhere between sorrow and bitterness.

"So we were free to carry out our mission. Free to exterminate your kind, to erase the Brood from existence. And we nearly succeeded. One by one, the other Guardians completed their tasks. Their hands were stained with dragon blood… and for that, they were granted passage into the Farplane—a paradise reserved for us Endless. A place of eternal rest."

He turned his gaze to Ryu, and the firelight caught in his eyes, revealing a depth of pain even his stoic face could not hide. "But I failed," Garr said simply. "And in failure, I was forsaken."

Ryu didn't interrupt. He sat motionless, listening as Garr's voice deepened, tinged with quiet despair.

"Myria revoked her blessing. Stripped me of the right to ascend. Now I am trapped—too powerful to die, too broken to serve. Cursed to wander this world alone, abandoned by my goddess, shamed by my kin. I am a relic… a remnant."

Ryu lowered his head, his expression solemn as he absorbed the confession. "So… what now?"

Garr drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, like a man setting down a burden he had carried for far too long. When he looked up, there was something different in his eyes—not shame, not guilt, but resolve.

"Since the moment we parted at Angel Tower," he said, "I've come to understand how wrong I was. Myria did not abandon me—she revealed her true nature. I see now that my loyalty was misplaced. Her version of peace… is an illusion, built on control, built on fear."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. "And so, I have chosen a new path. I no longer serve the goddess. I serve the Brood. I serve you, Ryu."

Ryu's breath caught in his chest. The room was utterly silent, save for the low crackle of the fire. "You are the Kaiser Dragon," Garr said. "The embodiment of the one force Myria cannot defeat. Your destiny is clear—to rise, to face her, and to end her tyrrany once again. It's the only way to bring peace to this world, however brief it may be."

Ryu looked down at the Dragon Sword resting across his lap, its edge gleaming faintly in the dim light. His fingers tightened around the hilt. He could feel the echoes of fate stirring within him—the weight of countless fallen, the call of ancient blood, the memory of fire and sky.

"So… I have to fight her," he said quietly. "I have to face the goddess herself."

Garr nodded. "Yes. The cycle will repeat, as it always has. But this time, you won't walk that path alone."

He rose to his feet, towering and unshaken. "We'll gather allies. Prepare for what lies ahead. And when the time comes, Ryu… you will be ready."

Ryu stood as well, the firelight casting the two of them in shadow and flame. Warrior and dragon. Guardian and warrior. Bound by fate, forged by loss.

A renewed fire stirred within Ryu's chest—a sense of purpose he hadn't felt in years. He straightened his back, his expression firm with determination.

"I understand," he said, his voice clear and resolute. "We'll prepare. We'll gather the strength we need. And when the time comes, we'll end this tyranny. We'll bring peace to the world."

Garr stood and reached out and gripped Ryu's shoulder, his golden eyes steady. "We will, Ryu. Together, we will face whatever trials lie ahead. And when the moment comes, you'll fulfill your destiny as the Kaiser Dragon… and bring the goddess to its knees."

Their words sealed a pact between them, not of command and obedience, but of mutual purpose—guardian and dragon, comrades bound by fate and choice. With their course set, the two turned toward the shadows of the tunnels and began the long journey upward.

The Dauna Mines stretched before them like a maze of forgotten scars. As they wound their way through the twisting corridors, the only sounds were the echo of their footsteps and the occasional groan of strained stone or rusted metal. Abandoned minecarts lined the passageways, overflowing with veins of glimmering Chrysm and corroded dynamite. The walls were blackened with soot, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and ash. Occasionally, their path would descend into darkness, only to rise again through creaking elevators that moaned with age.

They moved cautiously, each step a silent prayer not to become lost in the mines' haunted depths. Hours passed.

Eventually, the tunnels began to slope upward, and a faint breeze hinted at the outside world. But just as they neared the surface, something caught Ryu's eye.

Half-buried in the rock wall, veiled in shadows and flickering lanternlight, loomed a massive green fossil. He paused, drawn to it by instinct. As he stepped closer, the dim light revealed its terrible majesty—a colossal dragon's skull, weathered by time, its hollow sockets staring into eternity. Judging by its size, the creature had once towered over the world, perhaps fifty feet tall in life.

Ryu's breath caught in his throat. His heart tightened.

Beneath the skull lay charred remains—twisted bodies of miners, half-buried in rubble and soot. Their tools still lay beside them, melted and warped. The air grew heavy, pressing down on him like the weight of a mountain.

"I… I did this," Ryu whispered, his voice barely audible. He dropped to his knees before the bodies, his shoulders trembling. "I killed them."

Garr stepped forward slowly and placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Ryu… you weren't in control. The dragon's rage consumed you. That fury—it's a curse, not your will."

"They were innocent, Garr," Ryu said, eyes wide and glistening. "They didn't know what the Chrysm was… they were just doing their jobs. And I—" His voice broke. "I ended them."

Garr knelt beside him, his gaze steady and calm. "You're right," he said gently. "They didn't deserve it. But guilt won't change what's done. What will change the future is how you carry that guilt, and what you choose to do with your power from here on."

Ryu looked down at his trembling hands, the same hands that had once held divine flame, that had once torn through sky and stone. Now they were just… hands. Human. Mortal.

Garr's voice was low but firm. "You can't erase the past, Ryu. But you can make sure it doesn't repeat."

Ryu nodded slowly, swallowing the pain. He rose to his feet, the weight still on his shoulders—but this time, he carried it with purpose.

As the last echoes of their footsteps faded into the shadows of the mine, Ryu suddenly halted. A subtle shimmer drifted into view—a faint wisp of light, no larger than a flame, glowing with an ethereal blue hue. It danced in the still air, weightless and gentle. Then, slowly, it began to take shape.

The light coalesced into the form of a woman, her figure radiant and serene. Silken garments fluttered about her like morning mist, and her eyes—deep, sorrowful pools of blue—gazed directly into Ryu's soul. Long blue hair flowed like water down her back, and from her shoulders stretched luminous wings, dragon-like in form, shimmering with a soft iridescence. She was unmistakably of the Brood.

Ryu stood frozen, breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. She glided forward, her feet never touching the ground, until she was close enough to reach out. Slowly, she raised a hand and placed it over Ryu's heart.

A rush of warmth surged through him. Then—visions. A torrent of memories, vivid and visceral, flooded his mind.

He saw a temple, quiet and sacred, hidden deep within emerald mountains. Trees whispered in the wind, and the song of a river echoed in the background. He saw himself there—small, fragile, swaddled in soft cloth—nestled in the arms of the woman now before him. His mother.

Her smile was gentle, her embrace filled with love and fierce protection. But the peace shattered as the temple trembled. Shadows fell over the mountains, and from the sky descended a Guardian—a towering figure of wrath and divine fury. Without warning, it attacked.

Flames and screams filled the air. His kin were torn apart, one by one.

Desperation in her eyes, his mother fled through the temple's crumbling halls, clutching him to her chest. The Guardian pursued. At the temple gates, it struck. She was mortally wounded, blood staining the floor like spilled fire. But even as her strength faded, she refused to let go.

Whispering an ancient incantation, she poured her final breath, her last drops of magic, and her very blood into one final act of love. Her body dissolved into Chrysm—crystalized essence of the Brood—encasing Ryu in a protective cocoon, hiding him from Myria's wrath. A lullaby echoed in the fading light, her final wish etched into the crystal: that he might awaken in a safer time, and live a life free of fear.

The vision dissolved. The spirit of the woman smiled sadly and began to fade into the air, her form scattering like stardust.

Ryu dropped to his knees, his breath ragged, tears streaming silently down his cheeks. The weight of the truth crashed over him like a tidal wave—the loss of his people, the sacrifice of his mother, and the monstrous cruelty of the goddess who sought to erase their existence.

Garr stepped forward, alarmed by the change in Ryu's expression. "Ryu… what did you see?"

Ryu choked on his grief, trying to steady his voice. "It was her. My mother. She tried to save me… from the Guardians. From Myria." His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles white. "They killed her. They killed them all."

Garr's gaze softened, and he knelt beside him. He placed a hand on Ryu's shoulder, the weight of his remorse evident in the gesture. "I am truly sorry. I was blind to what we were doing. I cannot undo the past… but I can help you shape a better future. We will face her together. We will honor your mother's sacrifice."

Ryu looked up, his tears drying in the heat of resolve. He wiped his face and nodded, the fire in his eyes now tempered with purpose. "For her. For all of them. I won't stop until Myria is defeated. She will answer for everything."

And so, the two emerged from the mines, stepping into the daylight as changed men—one reborn with the memories of his bloodline, the other seeking redemption for the sins of his kind. The wind howled through the mountains as if carrying the voice of the Brood across time, and Ryu walked forward, driven now not just by fate, but by the sacred memory of a mother's love.