CHAPTER 401: THE JOURNEY OF THE END BEGINS

The dawn that broke over Eldoria was unlike any other.

Its light was pale, subdued, as though the heavens themselves hesitated to bless what was to come. The streets of the once-bustling city lay silent, emptied of laughter, emptied of the warmth of everyday life. Only the echo of footsteps remained, firm and steady, a single unbroken march that carried the weight of every heart left behind.

Kaelen led them.

At his side, Kelvin, Ethan, Lila, Guinevere, Morris, Velyrian, Maeralyn, Eirana, Neana, Drake, Christopher—and behind them stretched the united remnant of Eldoria’s strength: the valiant Grey family knights, their silvered armor dulled by countless battles; the mages of the city, their staffs heavy with runes that flickered in the dim morning; the elves who had left the sanctity of their groves, their cloaks flowing like green shadows beneath the rising sun, the remaining Pacesetters Students who are strong enough to tag along in this battle of the ages, and the Nullcarvers, silent and grim, their presence heavy with the weight of sacrifice.

They were not a grand army.

They were a gathering of survivors, of warriors too stubborn to die, of souls who had chosen to stand rather than wait for ruin. Each knew the truth—that the path ahead was no ordinary march of war. It was a passage into the unknown, into the very jaws of the abyss. And yet not one faltered.

The city gates opened slowly behind them, groaning like an ancient beast reluctant to part with its children. From the walls above, the people who remained watched in silence. Some clasped their hands in prayer, others wept openly, and a few raised trembling voices to offer blessings that fell upon the wind. The marchers did not look back. To do so would be to break the fragile stillness that bound them together.

Beyond Eldoria, the land stretched barren and broken, scarred by Endless’ hunger. The veins of mana that had once pulsed beneath the soil now lay hollow, drained to ash, leaving the earth cracked and gray. Rivers ran thinner, skies darker, as if all the world recoiled from the domain that waited ahead.

For Endless had taken the Outlands—the savage realm once home to orcs, goblins, and trolls—and reshaped it into something monstrous. No longer did it bear the crude marks of warring tribes. Now it was a single, twisted domain: the Land of the Labyrinth and Abyss.

Far on the horizon, where the earth seemed to split open and rise again in impossible shapes, jagged stone spires twisted into the sky, weaving together into labyrinthine walls that stretched for leagues. Valleys dipped into chasms so deep their bottoms could not be seen, and rivers of black mist flowed through them like poisoned veins. Every path forward forked and bent, leading into mazes not meant for mortals to cross.

It was not land.

It was a graveyard built to swallow armies whole.

Yet onward they went.

Kaelen’s cloak trailed behind him, his hand never straying far from the Blade of Eternity strapped across his back. The others cast glances at him—at the Avatar who bore not only the hope of Eldoria but of the world itself. His expression was calm, unreadable, but within his chest, his heart beat like thunder. He could feel Endless ahead, calling to him like a shadow beckoning light.

The air grew heavier the further they marched. Birds no longer flew. Trees withered into skeletal husks. The very sky seemed stained by a dim hue of crimson, as though Endless’ presence had bled into the firmament. Yet their steps did not slow.

It was Neana, walking near the front, who broke the silence first.

"This is not just war," she said softly, her voice carrying a grim finality. "This is a crossing. Once we enter, we do not return."

Eirana, at her side, clenched her fists but kept her head high. "Then let us not think of return. Let us think only of why we go forward."

Lila, her eyes sharp with defiance, added, "To end the shadow that has devoured too much. To free our people from a fear that has chained them for far too long."

Maeralyn raised her sword, letting a soft light flare against the dim horizon. "And if this is the last march of our lives... then let it be one that echoes across the ages."

A murmur rose from the host behind them, not loud, not boisterous, but steady—like the wind before a storm. A vow unspoken, yet shared in every heart.

Kaelen did not speak. He simply tightened his grip on the hilt of the Blade of Eternity, its faint blue aura pulsing like a heartbeat against his palm. His silence was not emptiness, but resolve. Words were not needed. Their very march was their declaration.

And so, with the shadow of Endless’ kingdom looming ever closer, the united force of Eldoria stepped into the path no mortal wished to tread.

The final journey had begun.

And so, their march stretched long into the days that followed. The rhythm of boots striking stone and soil became a dirge, a steady hymn for the dying world. No birds sang above them. No wind rustled through branches. The silence that surrounded Kaelen’s company was heavier than any armor they bore, pressing down on their hearts with every step.

The first land they crossed was a graveyard of memories—the Valoria Kingdom.

Once, it had been a realm of glory, its banners raised high across marble castles and bustling cities as the prestigious Battle convention were held annually. Now, only ruins remained, half-buried beneath blackened earth. Towers that had kissed the heavens lay sundered, their shattered crowns pointing accusingly at the sky. Great bridges that had once spanned rivers now stretched across nothing, their stone arches crumbling into dust.

Morris lingered longest as they passed through. His hand brushed against the broken stones, and his jaw clenched. "This... was once where great minds and prodigies gathered in honor. Where parades filled the streets. Now look."

Guinevere placed a hand on his shoulder, her face shadowed by sorrow. "Endless devoured even the pride of kingdoms. Not even Valoria’s legacy could withstand him."

Drake, grim but unshaken, raised his voice just enough to carry to all. "Remember what it stood for, not what it has become. Valoria fought so we could march today. Let their memory walk beside us."

They continued, their silence made heavier by the ghosts of a fallen kingdom.

The next realm was a deeper wound still—the land of the Elves.

Where once lush forests stretched unbroken in green seas, only emptiness remained. Ash covered the ground like snow, drifting over the skeletal remains of trees that had stood for millennia. Rivers lay dry, their stony beds cracked like the veins of a corpse. The light that filtered through the canopy—what little of it remained—was pale, sickly, as though life itself had recoiled.

The elves in their company—Maeralyn, Velyrian, and those who remained—walked in silence, their faces taut with grief. None spoke for hours. The others dared not intrude upon their mourning.

When they finally halted near a grove of stumps that had once been ancient sentinels, Velyrian sank to one knee and pressed a hand to the ruined earth. His lips trembled as he whispered, "Once, we called this eternal. Eternal." He let the word hang in the air, bitter, hollow, before rising to rejoin the march without another word.

Lila’s gaze lingered on him, then swept across the devastation. "If Endless has stolen this much, then what he guards at the end of this path must be greater still. Greater even than the world he’s broken."

Their march grew heavier with the weight of silence that no words could heal.

Days later, their path brought them to the Deadroot Forest, and though it still stood, it was a mockery of what forests were meant to be. Trees rose high as ever, but their bark was blackened, twisted, their branches brittle as bones. No leaves crowned them—only endless, withered fingers clawing at the sky. The ground beneath was a carpet of rot, roots exposed like veins writhing in torment.

Kelvin stopped at the edge, his hand tightening on the hilt of his blade. "This place feels... wrong."

"It has been wrong since Endless rose," Eirana answered softly. Her Nullcarver eyes flickered, seeing the traces of qi and mana drained into nothing. "Life does not just wither here. It is erased."

Kaelen looked upon the forest, his eyes sharp but distant, as though searching its depths for some whisper of hope. There was none. He tightened his cloak around him, and his voice came quiet, yet strong enough to guide them forward.

"Do not mistake silence for emptiness. The land remembers, even if life does not. Every step we take, we take upon their memory. We will not fail them."

And so they pressed on.

Not once along their march had they seen a single bird in the sky, nor a beast upon the land, nor even the hum of insects in the trees. The utter lifelessness gnawed at them, harsher than hunger, crueler than fatigue. It was a silence that robbed even the strongest of their comfort.

Guinevere, who had borne herself proudly, finally let the strain slip from her voice. "A world without life is not a world. It is a tomb. Endless has already claimed it all."

Kaelen slowed for a moment, his gaze fixed ahead toward the horizon where the blackened peaks of the Abyss began to claw their way into the sky. His hand brushed the Blade of Eternity, feeling its faint hum beneath his palm.

"Then we carve the path," he whispered. "If he has stolen life, we will bring it back. Even if it costs us everything."

The words spread through their company like a fragile spark, carrying them forward.

Through the fallen kingdom, the ashen homeland of the elves, and the withered husk of the Deadroot forest, the grand host of Eldoria pressed onward. Step by step, they neared the heart of ruin—the Labyrinth and the Abyss—where their fate, and the fate of Aetheris itself, awaited.