Birth of the Ruler: The Emergence of the Primordial Race

At the Northern Primordial World. Lumina, Dunstan, and their subordinates were halfway back to their encampment. Their movements were sluggish, feet dragging across the worn earth as though burdened by invisible chains, heavy with grief, and the lingering echoes of the chaos they had endured.

Lumina's gaze remained lowered, fixed on the uneven path ahead, though her thoughts wandered far beyond the present terrain.

"It seems that anonymous figure still haunts your thoughts… clinging to your mind like a shadow that won't let go," Dunstan said, his voice low, steady, and wind-brushed as he walked beside her.

Lumina's eyes widened slightly, the words tugging her back from the haze of her own mind. Her head lifted.

"Hmm… Hah…" she muttered, turning briefly to Dunstan on her left before returning her gaze to the twilight-stained road ahead. "I can't help it. My mind is tangled in questions. Who was that? Why hide their identity? And for what purpose must they remain in the dark?" she said, her voice thoughtful, steady.

She and Dunstan led the front, their followers trailing behind like shadows stretching in the fading light. The daylight, once a golden sentinel on the horizon, had now dipped low, its retreat cloaking the galaxy in melancholic hues. The evening breeze wrapped around them like an unseen companion, soft, persistent, and strangely comforting.

"Oh, that's quite the bundle to unravel," Dunstan said with a faint nod, eyes gently lifting to the dimming galaxy overhead where scattered stars blinked through the fading blue. "Let's leave it be for now. Without answers, we're just chasing dust."

He paused, gaze lingering in the galaxy. "Hmm." A sigh followed, quiet as the night that approached. "I wonder how the Southern forces are holding up."

Lumina turned her gaze toward him again, and for a fleeting moment, Seraphina and Nyxander's images shimmered through her thoughts, appearing and vanishing like reflections on water.

"Yeah… you bringing them up made me wonder too," she murmured.

"Anyway," Dunstan said, voice gathering focus again, "let's set these questions and curiosities aside for now, and face what lies ahead of us."

"Hmm." Lumina nodded in agreement, and with that, the group pressed forward. Their footsteps trailed behind them in the dust like broken symbols, half-erased but quietly defiant, evidence of the journey still unfolding.

At the southern frontline, far away from the strong, intense battle site, where the very air was laced with a pressure so fierce it seemed ready to crush anything beneath it like paper under stone, all the retreated Celestials stood still, their eyes fixed on the hazy horizon ahead. The ground trembled faintly under the weight of silence and anticipation.

Hung sat on the partially sandy ground, legs crossed in solemn patience. As he slowly opened his eyes, his wings, once damaged, now unfurled behind him, glowing with a gradient light that shimmered like polished crystal under the dying sun. Though his frame still bore the fatigue of battle and his body remained far from recovery, he pushed himself to his feet with quiet resolve.

Behind him stood the lower-ranked Celestials, faces a blend of awe and exhaustion. In front of him, facing the heart of the battlefield, stood Kal, Centric, and Seraphina, each of them locked in a distant gaze, as though willing their vision to pierce through the dust and chaos beyond.

Hung stepped forward, each footfall light yet filled with intent. As he drew near, Centric, followed by the others, turned toward the sound of his approach.

"You done? So how's your body situation?" Centric asked, breaking the silence.

"Now okay," Hung replied with a soft smile, nodding slightly. "Thanks for your worry. Though… still far from its peak." His voice was calm, steady, but carried the gravel of weariness.

He shifted his gaze toward Kal, then to Seraphina, whose eyes still strained forward, trembling within their sockets, desperately trying to grasp something beyond the veil of wind-blown dust. Hung gently placed a hand on her shoulder, the gesture both firm and kind.

"Don't worry. He's going to be okay… by himself," he said with quiet assurance.

"Hummm," Seraphina hummed from deep in her throat, then turned to meet his eyes. Her stare wavered, then erupted.

"He's just reckless! We nearly had our souls ripped apart and our bodies crushed just by that beast's presence, how is he going to be okay?" she shouted, tears breaking free, streaming down her cheeks without invitation.

"If it's him… he'll be okay. But you have to trust him a little more," Hung said gently, trying to mend her trembling spirit with reason.

"But sir, there's something that's been bugging me," Centric interrupted, his voice cutting through like a sudden gust of wind. "Why is it that you and the Astro Lord show him so much respect? Why does it seem like you two value every little action he takes?"

Hung's eyes met Centric's, the weight behind them deeper than words could carry. Then his gaze flicked to Kal, then back to Seraphina, who now wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. Their expressions sharpened like blades drawn across paper, ready to cut into truth.

"Hmph," Hung sighed, the sound laced with memories.

"We don't have a very clear answer ourselves," he said at last, his voice distant like an echo from another time. "But one thing is clear, Zion is hiding his true strength. He's not someone you can mop the floor with."

Their eyes widened in perfect unison, struck by the weight of revelation.

"Do you mean… even the Astro Lord doesn't have a guaranteed chance against him?" Kal asked, his voice hushed as if afraid of the answer.

"Yeah," Hung replied without hesitation. "We estimate his strength to already rival that of a Saint in the Godhood Realm of not then close to it, yet he still walks among us, acting weak, unassuming."

A heavy silence followed, deeper than any words they could offer. All three turned their eyes toward the dust-hazed horizon, where the winds swallowed vision and sound alike.

"Let's be patient," Hung's voice echoed faintly behind them. "And leave everything to him."

And so the scene pulled back, traveling over the battlefield where uncertainty, faith, and fate blurred into one, carried on the wind like the whispers of gods.

At the scorched and battered ground of confrontation, tension hung like a blade on the brink of descent. The Primordial Beast King held his stance, an imposing humanoid form cloaked in ancient might, radiating with an aura thick enough to bend the air around it. Behind him, the rest of the twenty-five Primordial Beasts stood like looming statues of destruction, silent but bristling with deadly intent, awaiting the flick of their king's command.

Nyxander stood still, his posture sharp as a drawn sword. For the first time in years, his entire body rose to full alert, every nerve alight, as if answering an ancestral call for battle.

"You, Primordial, what is your purpose with the enemies?" the Primordial Beast King spoke, his voice deep and resonant, laced with a command that could crush stone. His piercing purple gaze, heavy with centuries of dominance, locked onto Nyxander.

"Don't speak as if Primordial Beasts and Primordials have ever shared anything but bloodshed," Nyxander snapped back, his voice cracking through the air like a whip.

"Ha! Look at you," the Beast King chuckled darkly, "Though your form shrunk from its original grandeur, I can tell, you are young, a spark among embers."

"What are you babbling about?" Nyxander's tone sharpened. "Just keep it quiet and let's end this quickly!"

"Null Point, lift the seal," Nyxander commanded silently, his thoughts pulsing through the suit's interface.

In a crackling breath, lightning burst from his body like a tempest freed from a cage. His suit shimmered white-hot, arcs of electricity dancing across its surface as if the heavens themselves had laced his form in raw power. His eyes glowed, a brilliant storm of white lightning, and the ground beneath his feet began to hiss and tremble, scorched by the sheer energy radiating from his being.

"Attack."

On the other side, with a calm wave of his right hand, the Primordial Beast King gave his command.