CLEAVER OF SIN

"Fine. Adequate compensation will be delivered to the Wargrave estate within a day," Cindralis conceded at last, her tone flat, her expression still as apathetic as ever.

"There is no need," Azeron replied smoothly. "Zarek will arrive to collect it himself."

"You mean your weird butler?" she asked, a trace of curiosity threading her otherwise neutral voice.

For a fleeting instant, Azeron's eyes glimmered with coldness, sharp as the edge of Ender itself, before the chill vanished, replaced once more by that stoic calm. He did not dignify her question with an answer.

"If the compensation is lacking, if it is anything less than what we deem appropriate, I will not take a step back next time," Azeron intoned. His golden eyes shifted toward Malrik, pausing briefly before offering his son a small nod of acknowledgment.

Then, his gaze drifted to Asher, who still stood protected within the transparent golden-orange barrier of solar energy. Azeron's face betrayed no smile, no visible emotion, yet inwardly, he was pleased. This moment, witnessed by Asher, would serve as a profound lesson. It would reveal to him the immensity of the world, the sheer weight of power that resided at its summit.

To Azeron, this was victory. His first son had tempered his obsession, growing a step closer to mastery, and his youngest son had seen with his own eyes the scale upon which true giants operated.

Asher, sensing his father's gaze, bowed gently with respect. His lips formed no words, yet his action spoke volumes. Respect was owed, and respect was given.

Azeron's eyes swept across the Separate Dimension once more, lingering upon its starry void. Without another word, his body rose, floating upward until he reached the swirling nebula that consumed the sky. His form slipped into it seamlessly, as though merging with the cosmic tide. And then, the moment his entire presence dissolved, the nebula began to recede. Slowly, steadily, the true sky revealed itself once more.

Gravity returned to its natural balance. Oxygen filled the air again, the suffocating density of power evaporating as Azeron departed. The oppressive weight that had bent reality itself vanished, leaving silence in its wake.

Malrik remained, still standing atop his ray of sunlight. His gaze fell upon Cindralis, and his voice rang clear:

"If this happens again, you will not survive the next time. This is no threat, nor boast, but a promise I make not merely as a Wargrave, but as the First Sun, Malrik. I swear you shall fall, no matter where you flee. Remember my words, Cindralis."

His tone carried no malice, no anger, no visible edge. Yet the Separate Dimension itself trembled in acknowledgment, as if the very laws of reality agreed. The world of Crymora seemed to bow in consensus: should Cindralis oppose the Wargraves again, her end would be absolute.

"Be proud," Malrik continued, his eyes steady. "You are the first to survive after opposing me. That alone is an achievement even the Sinvaira could not claim."

"How arrogant," Cindralis replied, her voice flat, void of emotion. "To think the day would come when I am threatened by a mere child."

Malrik ignored her words. Instead, his gaze softened as he turned toward Asher. With a thought, the radiant dome encasing his younger brother dissolved into fragments of light. The barrier had no purpose now. The battle was over.

"Youngest," Malrik said, warmth flooding his voice, "become stronger. After all, I cannot always be here to protect you from bullies… I have places to be."

A genuine brotherly affection lit his features, a tenderness so profound it seemed capable of melting the very world. Only moments ago, he had promised Cindralis utter destruction, yet now, he radiated familial love as though he had never spoken those words at all.

"Thank you, Big Brother," Asher replied, a smile forming on his lips. His heart surged with awe. 'Who would have thought he was this powerful?' he wondered silently.

Malrik did not hand him another wooden talisman. There was no need. The wooden talisman he had given Asher a year prior was not a single-use trinket, it remained functional until either destroyed or exhausted by time itself.

"You may leave now, First Sun," Cindralis said at last, irritation bleeding through her otherwise blank tone. She was tired of his presence.

"I would not be here at all if you had not tried to shackle a Wargrave into your service," Malrik answered, his voice calm, his blue eyes turning from Asher to the sky above.

Cindralis said nothing. She knew the truth in his words and had no desire to contest it.

"Farewell," Malrik intoned. His form began to fragment into radiant photons, his body dissolving into motes of golden light.

But before he vanished completely, he turned once more toward Cindralis, a final smile curving his lips. Unlike the warmth he had shown Asher, this smile bore no affection. It was the quiet smile of inevitability.

Cindralis' instincts flared violently, a dreadful premonition clawing at her chest. She felt it, the sudden shift in energy. Recognition struck her like a hammer, but by the time she moved to act, it was too late. The fading form of Malrik had already unleashed his will.

"Sundering Solar Slash."

His words echoed like divine decree. In the next instant, madness descended upon the Separate Dimension. Golden-orange sword lines, radiant as miniature suns, erupted across the expanse. They interlaced into an endless net of annihilation, weaving across space itself.

Then came destruction.

The sky roared as the apocalyptic light fell. Forests were reduced to ash in a heartbeat. Oceans, rivers, and lakes evaporated instantly, their waters torn away by unbearable heat. Even the waterbeds beneath the ground shattered, birthing yawning chasms that split the Separate Dimension as though the abyss itself had clawed upward. Countless mountains and structures crumbled to dust, swept away by divine sundering.

It was as though the Separate Dimension stood at the brink of its final hour.

And yet… one place remained untouched. The Star Academy. Not a stone disturbed, not a roof displaced. Malrik had carved his destruction with surgical precision, sparing the one location where his siblings, and countless other talents, would continue to grow.

Cindralis could only watch, her black eyes blazing with fury as the Separate Dimension burned. She had let down her guard, and the First Sun had struck her at her relaxed moment, leaving her no defense, no retaliation.

Anger surged within her, but even in her fury, she knew the truth. Could she claim this act as grounds to withhold the promised compensation? Maybe.

But to do so would be tantamount to inviting annihilation. Malrik's hand had already shown what the "next time" would bring.

Her fists clenched, her jaw tightened, and her teeth ground together audibly. She swallowed her rage with bitter difficulty, burying it beneath her icy mask.

For now, she would endure. For now, she would yield. She had no upper hand, not here, not now.