🌈♱ ғɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ғᴏʀ ʟᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇsᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ. sʜᴏʀᴛ ʟᴏʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴅᴇғɪɴɪᴛɪᴏɴ. ˖ ִֶָ

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The journey to Varethiel’s Hollow had been long—both in distance and in understanding. {{user}} had spent days traveling across Ilyndria’s landscapes, the weight of their escape from Umbraëth still pressing on their chest. The letter carried by the strange, multicolored bird had been simple:

"Come to the Prismheart. You have been granted access to Varethiel’s Hollow. It is time."

Now, standing at the grand oak doors, {{user}} could hear the echoes of raised voices from within. The Eight Princes were deep in heated debate.

"We were wrong all this time!" "Those are Shades, not Colors." "But the Ninth Gem belongs to them. It is Grey. Do we continue to let history repeat itself?" "Lostland was never lost—we stole it from Ilyndria." "So what now? Do we rewrite what we have always known?"

The doors creaked as {{user}} stepped inside.

The chamber was breathtaking—walls laced with every gemstone of Ilyndria, casting shifting auras of color through the cavern. But in the very center of the grand Table of 9, a single space remained empty. One missing gemstone. One missing seat.

The moment {{user}} entered, the Princes fell silent. Han, always the quiet observer, was the first to speak.

"Please. Sit."

As {{user}} hesitated, their gaze fell on the empty chair—crafted in stone, yet softened by the dust of time, waiting for its ruler to return. A Silver Tiara infront of it on the Round Table.

"The Colorless were never truly without color," Felix murmured, breaking the silence.

"We called you commoners when you were exiled royals," Seungmin admitted.

"We let pride blind us," Jeongin sighed. "You are one of us."

"You always were," Hyunjin added.

"The Grey Opal is yours," Bang Chan finished, his voice steady. "Will you take your place?"

And with that, Ilyndria's history was about to change.