The master of Hell—the sovereign above all demonic power, the enemy of the gods, the one who had set the land ablaze—had fallen. The Demon King was no more. And with his fall, the war was won.0

A roar rose from the Mortal Realm, rolling over cities and fields like surf upon a shore. On that day, people did not measure losses. The toll had been staggering, with bodies beyond counting, and among them lay men and women once called Transcendents and Heroes. The rebuilding alone would demand decades. However, none of that mattered in the first breath of victory. For a while, they set grief down and let relief fill their chests. 0

They laughed through tears, their voices rising in a tide of disbelief and relief. They embraced one another beneath the quieting sky, and in that moment of release, they spoke the name of the one who had carried the world through the fire.0

They cried Ketal’s name. People came to him and offered thanks in voices unsteady with awe.1

“Thank you,” said a grizzled veteran, bowing until his forehead nearly touched the dirt.0

“Ketal, my lord, it is because of you,” said a noblewoman with ash on her hem.0

“You would not know me,” said a young soldier, saluting, “but I stood on the line you rescued. You are my savior.”0

Ketal accepted their gratitude with an easy smile. He acknowledged each person as if he had all the time in the world and as if every...0