The summit of the Behemoth was no longer a city; it was a furnace. The sky above Pangaea had turned a bruised, electric purple, swirling with the concentrated Prana of the entire Hegemony. The Arena of the Sun-King was dressed in gold and bone, but beneath the finery, the vibration was erratic. The great beast beneath their feet was no longer dormant—it was whimpering in a frequency only a Munka could hear.
In the High Regency box, Aris Vane sat on a throne of solid Null-Crystal. Beside him were the twelve High Regents, their faces obscured by masks of shifting quicksilver. They didn't look like men; they looked like hollowed-out gods, their very existence sustained by the spiritual siphons connected to the arena.
"Today," Aris Vane's voice boomed, amplified by the Great Spire's resonance, "we conclude the era of fragments. Today, we achieve the Great Refinement. One chef will provide the catalyst. The rest will provide the fuel."
Konja stood at the center of the obsidian floor. He was alone. Mina, Renzo, and Tali had been relegated to the sidelines, guarded by a phalanx of Regency Sentinels. Zale was at his side, the fox's indigo fur now interwoven with threads of pure white light—the residue of the Trial of the Tainted Soul.
"Konja Munka," Aris Vane said, looking down with a predatory grin. "The Council has decided. There is no second place. You will face me in a Dual-Hearth Synthesis. If you win, Oakhaven is free, and the Regency steps down. If you lose... your soul will be the seasoning for our immortality."
"The deal is missing an ingredient, Vane," Konja replied, his voice calm, echoing through the silent stadium. "When I win, you don't just step down. You open the Siphon-Gates and give the Prana back to the people. All of it."
Aris laughed, a sound like glass breaking. "Agreed. For what use is Prana to the dead?"
The Two Hearths
Two massive pedestals rose from the floor. One was the Altar of the Solar-Flare, a blinding gold stove powered by the harvested essence of a thousand Sun-Falcons. The other was Konja's—the Humble Stone, the same granite block he had used in the Sluices, now reinforced with the bones of the Behemoth.
"The Theme: The Heart of the Titan," Lord Malchor announced, his voice trembling. "Begin!"
Aris Vane moved with the grace of a supernova. He didn't use a knife; he used his fingers to weave threads of pure solar fire. He began to prepare the Phoenix-Consommé, a dish that required the chef to literally burn their own life-force to achieve its golden hue.
The heat coming from Aris's station was so intense that the first three rows of spectators had to flee. The air smelled of ozone and melting metal.
Konja didn't look at the fire. He looked at the Salt of the Ancients and the Blackened Crystal. He reached for a simple iron pot.
"Zale, Sixth Pillar: The Shared Breath."
This was a technique Konja had only hypothesized in the Marrow Library. It wasn't about the chef's power or the companion's power. It was about the Total Synthesis—including the ingredients and the world around them.
Konja closed his eyes. He didn't reach for his own core. He reached down. He reached through the obsidian floor, through the Marrow-Works, into the very soul of the Behemoth.
"I hear you," Konja whispered to the titan.
The Sabotage of the Spire
As the cooking progressed, the Regency activated their trap. The Aurelian Pillars began to spin, creating a spiritual vacuum. They weren't just harvesting the food's energy; they were pulling the Prana out of the spectators and the students.
"Konja! It's starting!" Mina screamed from the sidelines. She tried to use her ribbons to disrupt the pillars, but a Sentinel's spear pinned her sleeve to the stone.
Konja saw his friends being drained. He saw the "Ordinaries" in the stands collapsing. Aris Vane's golden soup was glowing brighter and brighter, feeding on the stolen life-force.
"You're too slow, Munka!" Aris roared, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, artificial light. "You're trying to cook a meal, while I am forging a god!"
Konja didn't panic. He took the Salt of the Ancients and threw it into the air.
"Zale, Lightning-Rod!"
Zale leaped, catching the salt in his mouth. The fox became a conduit, drawing the parasitic energy from the pillars into the salt. The blue crystal turned a blinding white as it absorbed the stolen Prana of the city.
"What are you doing?" Aris screamed. "That salt belongs to the Regency!"
"It belongs to the ocean," Konja said. "And the ocean is about to meet the fire."
The Fifth Gate: The Ancestral Table
Konja took the Heavens-Seared Cleaver-Blade and made a single, horizontal cut in the air.
"Fifth Gate: The Gate of the Ancestral Table—OPEN!"
A wave of absolute, crushing silence rippled out from Konja's station. It wasn't the cold silence of the deep, or the hollow silence of the void. It was the silence of a kitchen before the first meal of the day. It was the silence of home.
The golden fire of Aris Vane's station flickered and died. The Regency's siphons shattered.
Konja began the final plating. He used the Blackened Crystal to grate a fine dust over his dish—a simple Marrow-Broth with Salt-Grains.
As the dust hit the liquid, a vision manifested above the arena. It wasn't a phoenix or a dragon. It was the image of thousands of Munka ancestors, of every ordinary person who had ever labored over a stove, of every heart that had ever beaten in Oakhaven.
"This isn't a miracle, Vane," Konja said, holding up the bowl. "This is just dinner."
The Taste of Truth
The twelve High Regents descended from their box. They moved like shadows toward the stations. They ignored Aris Vane's golden, flickering soup, which was now smelling of burnt pride.
They approached Konja.
Lord Malchor took the first sip. He closed his eyes. Tears—real, human tears—streaked through the shadows on his face. One by one, the Regents tasted the broth.
As they ate, the quicksilver masks on their faces began to crack and fall away. They were revealed not as gods, but as old, tired men and women who had forgotten the taste of a meal that wasn't stolen.
"It is... enough," the eldest Regent whispered. "The hunger... is gone."
Aris Vane was shaking, his solar-Prana backfiring, his skin turning a sickly charcoal gray. "No! I am the Master of the Hearth! I am the Sun-King!"
"You're just a man with a cold stove, Aris," Konja said.
Konja walked toward the center of the arena and slammed the Heavens-Seared Blade into the ground. "Zale, Final Release!"
The white-indigo energy stored in the Salt of the Ancients was released. But it didn't explode. It flowed. It flowed back into the pillars, back into the spectators, and most importantly, back into the Behemoth.
The giant beast beneath the city let out a deep, resonant rumble of contentment. The vibration of the city stabilized. The purple sky cleared, replaced by the soft, natural light of a new dawn.
The Aftermath and the New Horizon
The High Regency was dissolved that morning. Not by force, but by the realization that their "Great Refinement" was a lie. Aris Vane was led away in chains, his power broken by the very fire he tried to steal.
Pangaea began to change. The gates were opened. The Marrow-Works were turned into public gardens. The Apex Institute remained, but its curriculum was rewritten by Mina, Renzo, and Tali.
Konja stood on the "Head" of the Behemoth, looking out over the continent. The Great Spire was behind him, its tip now housing a communal hearth that was never allowed to go out.
"So, the 'Provisional' student becomes the Headmaster," a voice teased.
Konja turned to see Cassian Valere. He was wearing the simple indigo gi of the Oakhaven style. His Lunar-Owl was perched on his shoulder, chirping a happy melody.
"I'm not the Headmaster, Cassian," Konja said, smiling. "I'm just the guy in charge of the menu."
"The world is still a mess out there, you know," Cassian said, gesturing to the distant horizons. "The Void-Howlers are still in the canyons. The Sea of Spices is in turmoil. There are other 'Kings' who won't be as easy to feed as the Regents."
Konja looked at the silver brand on his hand. It was no longer a scar; it was a map. He looked at Zale, who was chasing a cloud-butterfly on the edge of the plateau.
"Then we'd better get started," Konja said. "We have a lot of mouths to feed."
He picked up his travel pack and his blade. Mina, Renzo, and Tali joined him, their faces bright with the excitement of a new journey.
The Pangaea Arc was over. The story of the boy from the Sluices had become a legend, but the world was large, and the ingredients for the future were scattered across the four corners of the earth.
"Where to first?" Tali asked, punching Konja playfully on the shoulder.
Konja looked toward the shimmering blue of the distant ocean.
"The Sea of Spices," Konja said. "I hear they have a fish that tastes like lightning."
And with a roar from Zale that echoed across the vertical city, the group began their descent. The first book was closed, but the fire of the Munka was only just beginning to burn.