𝙉𝙮𝙭𝙚𝙧𝙖 ✧

FOR NATLAN!

The air was thick with tension, but a new resolve burned in each of their hearts.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, their voices low as they began to channel their ancient powers.

One by one, the ancient names resonated through the air, connecting with the essence of Natlan itself.

Energy flowed between them, crackling like fire over dry leaves, as if the land was answering their call.

Frisk glanced left and right, standing among them with their heart racing.

A sense of unity filled the air, stronger than any fear that lingered in their soul.

Without hesitation, they reached deep into their core, summoning the familiar, pulsing glow of their red soul. It flickered briefly, but then surged brighter than ever.

Determination swirled around them, spilling from their soul like an unrelenting current.

They stretched their arms forward and felt the essence of their willpower flow into Mavuika.

The Pyro Archon stood at the center, absorbing the combined strength of the tribes.
Her fiery hair ignited fully, and flames coursed across her body like a living inferno.

“For Natlan!” Frisk shouted with everything they had.

The chant echoed like thunder, spreading across the stadium. “FOR NATLAN!”

The ground trembled as every soul, united in purpose, roared the same words.

Energy surged through the air, wrapping around Mavuika like the heat of a thousand suns.
With a sudden burst, Mavuika soared into the sky, trailing a radiant comet of flames behind her.

She rose higher, higher—until she hung at the zenith of the heavens, and in that moment, she became the sun.

Light burst forth, shattering the darkness that had long gripped the land.
The abyssal clouds recoiled, as though in fear of her brilliance.

“In the name of the Pyro Archon,” her voice boomed, echoing across the ruined landscape like a divine decree.
“I declare the Night Warden Wars underway! The ode of resurrection will guard all life—until the war is over!”

The words reverberated through the ground and air, as though Natlan itself had been waiting for this moment.

Suddenly, a wave of golden flame erupted from the stadium and swept across the battlefield like a tide.

It rolled over the dead warriors, Saurians, and civilians, leaving not destruction in its wake—but life.

Every warrior who had fallen gasped as the flames filled their lungs, their bodies restored by Mavuika’s resurrection.

Saurians stirred, their eyes flickering open. Wounded warriors clutched their weapons, newly healed, as the golden fire burned away their exhaustion.

They rose to their feet, stronger than before, their spirits unbroken.

Mavuika’s power did not stop there. Random massive fireballs rained down from the heavens, striking the abyssal creatures.

Each impact unleashed a shockwave of flame, scattering the monsters and obliterating their dark forms.

The tide of the battle shifted instantly—where despair once loomed, hope now blazed.

Frisk felt the flames brush against their skin, warming them without burning, and their red soul began to pulse stronger.