The Last Battle came like thunder on dry land. Gods and mortals alike bled across a broken sky. Nyelira stood in the center of it all, torn between her nature and her heart. In the final hour, Elian fell—not to sword, nor spell, but to the weight of his own madness. His heart gave way before the war did.

And then—silence.

No scream. No defiant last stand. Only Nyelira, standing alone among the ashes, with the world smoldering around her.

She knelt beside his body and wept a single tear.

That tear fell to the earth and split it in two. Mountains bowed. Oceans fled. Stars blinked out in mourning. And with that one tear, the world ended—not with a shout, not with fury, but with the quiet grief of a goddess who loved too much.