Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Leandra sat quietly on the edge of the bench, her hands folded, her posture upright, like a silent statue, letting the firelight reflect mottled ripples in her eyes.

Unlike other Asrai, she has more complex and heavy emotions towards this sacred land.

Because this is not her first time stepping into this place.

Yes, she had been here, a long, long time ago.

At that time, she was still young, as beautiful as a flower, with no thorns of history in her heart, only longing for her mother and hatred for Druki. She had witnessed the birth of the Phoenix King, the coronation of the fourth Phoenix King, and saw Tysanir step into the sacred fire and then calmly walk out of the flames to become the new generation of king after Caledor I.

This time, when the flames suddenly burned violently and the entire sanctuary was illuminated by the blazing white light, at that moment, her heart seemed to be grasped by an invisible hand. She could not breathe or think, and her whole body was dragged into a critical node.

She is a mage who has lived in the deep forest for a long time, but she knows better than most people here what is hidden in the blazing white holy fire. It is not a simple miracle, nor an illusory illusion, but the intersection of true divinity, will, authority and destiny.

She knew that at this moment, the entire structure of the world was shaking slightly, and the rules of the old era were being broken and reshaped.

Without using the fire-avoiding spell, Malekith walked out of the holy fire slowly, stepping on the embers of history, like a soul phantom that had traveled through thousands of years, and walked from the distant mythological era into the present of all living beings. He was naked, burning but not burnt, and the white flames surrounded him like feathers, swirling, gentle but impossible to look at, like the morning light piercing the night, like light breaking through illusion. The holy fire behind him began to change, the flames gathered and rose, and finally condensed into a phoenix with wings spread out, symbolizing the return of a certain existence.

At this moment, she almost forgot to breathe.

Her eyes opened wide, her pupils rippling like a lake in an earthquake, her lips slightly parted, her hands slipped from her knees, she stood up tremblingly, her knuckles turned white with nervousness, and then she applauded along with everyone else at the table.

The applause was like waves, but her heart was surging more violently than any sound.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but they were not tears of sadness. Instead, they were an emotion that had been accumulating for years and finally collapsed at this moment. It was an emotion that could no longer be suppressed after witnessing a miracle. It was an emotion called relief that slowly spread in her chest.

"He...he really did it..." she whispered, with an undisguised sigh and tremor in her voice.

Yes, she had laughed at him and cursed his arrogance and ambition in her heart; she had questioned him privately, and her resentment and anger were rolling in her whispers and dreams late at night; she had chewed the name Malekith countless times, like biting a bitter seed.

The Great Sundering changed everything and tore her heart apart. Her mother died in the Kingdom of Cosqui to protect her, and she will always remember her mother's death. She built a wall to protect her heart with calmness, sarcasm and hatred, but now...

All those doubts and sarcasms, all those anger and sorrow, were burned away in the holy fire. Standing in front of the holy fire was no longer the prince who had been burdened with failure and exile, no longer the "usurper" who was the target of public criticism.

He is some new being, an echo from the future, a messenger of a new era that is about to begin.

Her palms turned red from clapping, but she was unaware of it. She looked up at the figure that was illuminated by the flames and seemed so sacred. Her lips parted slightly and her voice was as light as the morning breeze.

"The Burning King... has arrived."

Then she smiled.

It was not a smile of relief, nor a smile of liberation, but a smile of extreme helplessness, like the voice of instinct left after reason and faith were completely broken. That smile was like dust that had not been cleaned up for many years suddenly rising from the floor and rushing into the throat, choking and stinging.

It was a mockery, a sarcasm, and a cold sneer at the entire era.

It was as if she finally realized that she had been participating in an illogical and absurd drama from the beginning to the end, and she had always been the prop who was well-dressed, silent and always dignified.

Her laughter rubbed against her throat, low but sharp, like the hissing at the edge of a flame, as if it wanted to tear apart the old things that were sleeping in her memory.

what is this?
She looked beyond the firelight and through the crowd, whose faces were filled with piety and excitement as they were overwhelmed by the miracle. But in her eyes, it was just a funny picture.

What about the Asur who calls himself a follower of Asuryan?
What are those nobles who uphold tradition and honor and talk about ideals and bloodline time and time again?
What of those elves who died for so-called loyalty in the Great Sundering?
And those Phoenix Kings who put on fire-avoiding spells, walked into the holy fire, and eventually turned into ashes and dust...what are they?
A hero? A thief? A blasphemer? Or, a victim?

Her knuckles tightened unconsciously, she bit her lower lip, her shoulders trembled slightly, and even her eyelashes trembled slightly.

It was a kind of sorrow and anger that was suppressed to the extreme.

She remembered what Dacus had said. It was not a blessing, nor a continuation of God's grace, but a curse, a silent punishment imposed by Asuryan on the sons of betrayal and the ignorant people.

Generation after generation of Phoenix Kings, one bloody battle after another, countless city-states destroyed, countless families shattered, countless elves' souls dissipated in the sea and on the land, and now... he who was exiled, cursed, hated, and denied, walked out of the holy fire naked.

She suddenly thought, if back then, at that turning point of fate, Malekith had walked out of the holy fire like this, like he is now, with the divine flame invulnerable and the majestic light flowing, would everything be different?
Would there not be the thousand-year-long confrontation between Asur and Duruchi?

Without that long night that tore the world apart and devoured faith?

Are there no mountains of heads of the loyal, no countless dead and fallen, silent in the cracks of the world?

If Malekith had been elected in that parliamentary session instead of Bel Shana...

She closed her eyes, trying to stop the memories and assumptions from surging, but her thoughts had already overflowed like a dam bursting, layer after layer, hitting her heart like a tidal wave, shaking her internal organs.

That's not a fantasy, it's an if that's thousands of years late.

Finally, she could no longer control herself. Tears fell hot and densely, like a dam bursting, like an avalanche, like magma erupting from the depths of a volcano.

Her face was covered with tears, as if she was crying for the irreversible history, or for the king who finally achieved nirvana. She herself couldn't tell whether she was in pain or relieved. She just felt that the string in her heart that had been stretched for a long time finally broke, silently, but shaking the world.

Her throat trembled slightly, and she suddenly uttered a low word, like an accusation against fate itself, or like a sigh to herself.

"Molayig, cruel fate."

Then, she just stood there, looking up at the figure in the white fire, as if she finally understood that she had been chasing a play that had never been performed all her life.
-
"Welcome back, Your Majesty."

The voice came out of nowhere, causing Malekith to turn his head sharply. This voice was too special, too strange, too stiff, like a stone that had been silent for a thousand years suddenly speaking, rough, heavy, but impossible to ignore. There was no reverence or enthusiasm in the tone, only an old echo from the cracks of time.

"I thought your oath was of silence?" Malekith asked calmly, frowning slightly.

"Yes, it was like that during my service, but now... it's all over." Kadroin nodded, his eyes emotionless but full of weight.

"It is said that all futures are engraved on the wall, isn't it?"

"Not all!" Kazhuoin said frankly, with a tone of indescribable respect and lament, "Many things happening now have indeed happened in the past... and you are one of the very few people who can truly witness the beginning and the end."

"The moment you stepped out of the holy fire, your original destiny was broken." Dacus took a step forward and said, his voice as firm as a sword unsheathed.

"Yes!" Kazhuoin and Gavino nodded at the same time, almost in unison. There was no celebration in their tone, only heaviness, as if even they were not ready to face the arrival of this new era.

Terra and Liv, who had stopped clapping, looked at each other, the light in their eyes wavering slightly. The future scenes that originally existed in their minds, those fragmented images that seemed to be made up of broken mirrors, were dissipating frame by frame, as if they were forcibly cleared by an invisible hand and disappeared completely.

Reset...

"You are not chosen by fate." Dacius looked at Malekith, "You are the one who broke fate itself. You are the manifestation of that will, Malekith."

Yes.

Fate had already written a script for Malekith. From birth, he was destined to be a traitor and a usurper, a tragic character who fell into chaos and hatred and was eventually abandoned by history. All oracles and legends, all family histories and prophecies, said that he was not "the one".

He should become a warning name in the tribe's legends; he should become a synonym for failure and obsession in the poets' chants; he should be engraved on a stone tablet with the words "Don't repeat the same mistakes" and be pointed at, scolded and spit on by future generations.

But now – it’s all turned upside down.

Malekith is no longer a lackey of fate, nor a victim of the times.

He walked into the sacred fire, not to prove the purity of his bloodline, not to atone for his mother's ambition, and not to imitate those noble but long-dead beings.

He was going to smash the shackles of fate, to break the layer of "destiny" that shrouded his life with his own hands, and to challenge fate itself with his will.

And he - succeeded.

The king who was once "destined" to be rejected forever, the child who was wrapped in lies and tempered with hatred by his own mother, the shadow that had been floating in history and hatred for a thousand years, the name that had fallen into the abyss countless times and struggled to climb up countless times, now walked out of the sacred fire, naked and fearless, throwing the past into the flames, burning, clearing, and cutting off.

He is not spared by the flames.

He made himself into flame.

He was no longer the contender for the throne who had to prove his worth, nor was he the loser who was looked down upon by the kings in the tower.

He is now the only one——the "King" who can truly shoulder the future.

The reappearance of Malekith is not only a return, but also a declaration, the end of the old era and the beginning of a new era.

It is not a continuation of tradition, but the tradition has been completely rewritten and recast from this moment on.

From now on, Malekith no longer needs to prove anything to anyone, any god, or any history.

He had broken fate, and now it was fate that was chasing him for an explanation.

"Skrottiz! Anxious Gold."

After hearing what Daqius said, Malekith was stunned for a moment, then the corners of his mouth rose and he smiled, his voice carrying a sense of ease and joy of reunion after a long separation, as if they had not been separated for more than ten minutes, but for a thousand years.

"Thig! Lucky gold."

Daquus also smiled. He immediately understood what Malekith was saying to him. He was responding to a code that belonged to the two of them, a code that only they knew and had been set in a moment in the past that no one knew about. It was a language that was unique to them, and a testimony to their walking side by side through life and death.

Then he stepped back, rejecting Malekith's open embrace.

"You should put your clothes on first, this isn't nice."

After saying this, his eyes naturally fell on Karahir, who was still holding the tray firmly. He nodded and gestured.

On the tray was the attire prepared for the king: the robe and belt, quiet and solemn, waiting for the new king to put on. With the help of Finnubar, this figure who had been rejected by the Holy Fire put on his clothes again. When the heavy brass ring was put back on his finger, it seemed that even the air echoing in the temple was quiet for a moment.

And Daqian stood aside, just looking at Malekith quietly.

He looked at the unwavering expression in Malekith's eyes that were still burning with white flames; he looked at the divinity flowing through Malekith, like silver flames enveloping his body, like a morning star shining through the night.

If the Malekith who once wore the Midnight Armor was a kind of extreme - the extreme of darkness, rage, and destruction; then the current Malekith is the opposite of that extreme - the extreme of light, rebirth, and symbolizing a new era.

Malekith extended his hand to Dacreus, who neither hesitated nor resisted.

"It's just as I guessed, Daquus." Malekith said in a complex tone, as if telling some truth that he had already known.

Dacus did not respond, he just smiled. In the moment of shaking hands, he clearly felt the power of the holy fire released by Malekith.

But that's about it.

He didn't feel any burning, no pain, no fear. He didn't scream, didn't panic, didn't try to break free as if he was touched by some forbidden power. He just stood there, accepting calmly, even responding silently.

He is not afraid of the power of the Holy Fire.

The moment his palms separated, Malekith's eyes fell on the steel headband on the tray. He pointed at the headband with a serious tone.

"You come?"

“No!” Dacius refused decisively, his voice crisp and clear. He repeated to Malekith what he had said before, “This is not a crown! It’s just a headband!”

Malekith pondered for a moment, then looked down at the plain yet heavy crown.

"You're right," he nodded, "it's just a headband!"

After saying that, he reached out and grabbed the headband without hesitation.

"We will recover the Phoenix Crown someday!" he declared loudly, his voice echoing in the hall, striking the hearts of everyone present like a vow.

Then he put the circlet on his head.

At this moment, Finnubar was silent and did not speak. His eyes were deep and complex, without words, but they were more than ten thousand words. He knew the meaning of this sentence better than anyone else. This was not a simple promise, but a redefinition of symbolic meaning.

In the history of the elves, there were three crowns, representing the will and authority of the Phoenix King.

The first one is the "Crown of Nagaryth" worn by Aenarion when he became the Phoenix King. The crown now worn on Aris Anar's head has become the "Crown of Shadow", a dual symbol of glory and disaster.

The second one was the Phoenix Crown made during the Bel-Shana period, which was passed down to Bel-Shana, Imrik, and Tysanir. But after Tysanir died at the hands of the Dwarf High King, the crown became a trophy of the Dwarves. He tried to get it back and asked for it during his visit to Elsin Arwen, but was rejected by the Dwarves.

The third one is a new crown recast by the fifth Phoenix King, "The Peacemaker" Caradrell. It is now worn on Bel-Hathor's head. It is a remnant symbol of a remnant era.

The meaning of Malekith's words was clear. He acknowledged the past, he acknowledged the rulers who had worn the Phoenix Crown. He did not deny history, he did not erase the glory of his predecessors. He never wanted to overthrow everything to prove himself, nor did he intend to replace everything by rebirth.

The past has not been forgotten, nor has the past been denied.

In fact, at this moment, Malekith did not show a satisfied look, nor did he look around with complacency. He was still Malekith, the one who had struggled in hatred and darkness and tempered his will in the fire of hell for thousands of years. But the influence of Daquus did change him - not completely, but profoundly. Otherwise, he would not have taken the initiative to step into the Holy Fire; otherwise, he would not have truly walked out of the Holy Fire and been reborn.

He didn't do what he did during the End War...

"You haven't officially welcomed me back into the world yet, nephew."

"What?" Tigris frowned, shook his head, and tried to continue retreating. His instinct told him that he should leave here, the sooner the better.

“Teclis!” Malekith pointed to the ground beneath his feet, his tone calm but firm, “Pay your respects, nephew.”

"Now?"

"Now!"

Teclis muttered under his breath, but had to walk back to Malekith.

"Hail to the Phoenix King."

He spoke in a hurried tone and bowed his head, but his eyes still retained vigilance and disdain.

"Your performance doesn't convince me. Be more sincere and try again."

Teclis glared at Malekith, a look full of pride, anger and unwillingness. Malekith looked back quietly, his eyes burning with holy flames in the gaps of his helmet, pure white, bright, unfathomable, and unwavering.

That look finally calmed him down, and he nodded slowly. The complex emotions in his eyes faded like the tide, and finally turned into some kind of silent recognition. He put away his pride, knelt on one knee, and placed the staff horizontally in front of him.

"Praise be to Malekith, successor of Aenarion, true Phoenix King of Ulthuan." He raised his head, his expression sincere and resolute, "the redeemer and defender of the elves."

But now, Malekith knew too well that miracles and glory were just the beginning. What was truly heavy was not the weight of the crown, but the unshirkable responsibility behind the crown.

He had envisioned this moment long ago. He did not ask himself, "If I become king," he never doubted. He asked, "When I become king, what should I do?" - He thought not about power itself, but about how to rebuild this broken world.

Now, that moment has arrived.

The buck has come.

This kind of weight does not need anyone to remind him. He does not need a crown or a scepter, the heavy responsibility will fall on his shoulders naturally, like a mountain or an ocean.

Malekith looked up and motioned Finnubar to come closer. Finnubar approached silently, with complicated eyes and no resistance on his face.

Malekith then reached out and held the hands of Dacius and Finnubar respectively.

At that moment, an ancient melody seemed to resound in the air, a melody that did not belong to any instrument or any elf's skill. It was an echo from the depths of history, a will born in war and oath, now reawakened and resounding in this sacred temple.

Malekith raised both of their hands high into the air.

That was a declaration, that was a vow, that was the beginning of a new era——

"listen!"

He spoke, his voice rolling like thunder under the dome, shaking the stone pillars and echoing the dome. The holy fire burned in his voice, as if the echo of an ancient oath was revived from the depths of time. He did not need to roar or howl, his words were full of majesty, which was the innate power of a king, and the immortal will that returned from the flames.

"The beginning of the Age of Miracles has arrived!"

The moment he finished speaking, the holy fire exploded behind him, like the first golden ray of dawn piercing through the darkness. The blazing white flames swept across the entire temple, illuminating every face and dispelling the shadows left by history. Everyone bathed in the glory of this miracle, and for a moment it was as if they had woken up from a dream, as if they had seen another possible future.

“From today on,” Malekith continued, stepping forward, his eyes scanning every soul in the hall, “We will no longer look to the past, no longer cling to those dusty myths and scars, no longer be bound by old traditions, and no longer be controlled by the chains of fate.”

He paused, his eyes deep and powerful, as if he was looking through everyone's heart and directly at the shore of the future.

"The new order will be established by our own hands!"

"The new future will be written by us together!"

"We are no longer enemies, no longer mirror images of each other's hatred!"

"Azur and Duruch are no longer two ends of a rift, but two wings of the phoenix, flapping their wings together and flying high together!"

His words were like thunder, like fire piercing ice, hot and firm.

"Our blood once flowed together, our ancestors once stood before Aenarion's throne together, our honors are not mutually exclusive, but destined to merge. The years that tore us apart are over, and the gods, thrones, and traditions that used us are now reforged together!"

He slowly raised his hands, as if holding up a rising sun.

"The wings of the Phoenix will no longer be broken by internal strife! From today on, the Phoenix will truly spread its wings!"

He looked back at Daquus, his eyes as hard as steel, his tone low but full of determination.

"We no longer wait for miracles, we are the miracles themselves! We will create more miracles!"

At this moment, Daxus had no expression on his face, but his eyes were like a sudden bolt of lightning in the night sky, cold yet deep.

He knew what this moment meant.

It meant that the era of torture that lasted less than a hundred years was over;

It means that the dividing line of history has been crossed, and the future that has been dormant in prophecy and destiny has begun to be rewritten.

Finnubar stood on the other side, still silent. His hands were raised high, and what he and Malekith held up together was hope, faith, and the kingship rebuilt after despair.

He didn't speak, he didn't need to speak.

Because at this moment, everyone understood that a miracle had indeed happened.

But the real challenge has not yet begun.

The road ahead is still long, the mountains and rivers still need to be rebuilt, and the cracks still need to be mended.

But from now on, they will walk this road side by side. They are not kings and servants, nor winners and losers, but spirits resonating in the fire of rebirth. (End of this chapter)