The stage was set over the ruins of Sorriso. Fairy lights floated in the air, and the golden-and-black emblem of the Tenth House shimmered behind the curtains.

  Morgana appeared first — radiant, dangerous, and utterly mesmerizing. Her crimson dress flowed like living fire.

  She opened her arms to the crowd of fey, legionaries, and curious onlookers.

  — Ladies, gentlemen, and sinners of questionable morals… — her voice dripped like honey and venom. — Tonight isn’t a battle or a trial. It’s a celebration. We, who live in the shadows, have made noise.

  Mana fireworks burst above the ruins, painting the night sky with the number 10,000.

  Morgana continued, her smile wicked and proud.

  — From an old keyboard came a legend. From a failure rose an unbreakable ghost. And now… ten thousand legionaries march beneath the banner of the Tenth.

  The audience roared, the echo shaking the stone walls.

  Next to her, César stood chained in golden bindings, looking deeply offended.

  — I should be hosting this! I’m a Virtue! A General!

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  Morgana sighed dramatically.

  — Yes, general… of patience.

  The crowd erupted in laughter.

  César tried to retort, but she snapped her fingers and muted him. His golden shield glowed in protest, but Morgana only winked.

  — Shh, darling. The strategy tonight… is to listen.

  Then she turned to the crowd again, her tone softening — just slightly.

  — Thank you, all of you, who rose from nowhere — from alleys, from comments, from sleepless nights. You who held the shield and the keyboard when the world looked like an abyss.

  Her voice grew steadier, warm with pride.

  — To the loud Disasters who roar, and to the silent Virtues who wait — your contrast creates balance. That’s what makes this story breathe.

  The crowd began to clap — soft at first, then thundering.

  — We are no longer forgotten. We are here. We are the roar of the South.

  Above them, a glowing banner appeared in the air:

  “The Tenth House Rises.”

  Morgana smiled slyly.

  — And now, the one you’ve all been waiting for… the little ghost of the arena. The boy who became a legend. Ladies and gentlemen… Lukas Fernandes, the Magrelo Invincible!

  The crowd erupted once more as Lukas walked on stage — bandaged, tired, but burning with pride.

  He scratched his neck, awkward as always.

  — Hahaha… honestly? I’m really happy. Ten thousand legionaries… that’s insane. You’re all part of the Tenth now.

  Morgana leaned closer, eyes sparkling.

  — Go on, chocolatinho. Say something beautiful. It’s your moment.

  Lukas chuckled softly.

  — This House existed long before this second life. You didn’t follow me — you awakened it. The Tenth has always belonged to those who endure. To those forgotten, who still fight. You resisted time, collapse, and memory. You are worthy to be called legionaries.

  Applause thundered through the ruins. Some even cried.

  Morgana dabbed a fake tear with her fingertip. — What a speech… I’m almost emotional.

  César’s mute spell broke. Puffing his chest, he shouted:

  — I knew it! They were clapping for me!

  Morgana rolled her eyes. — Dream on, little shield… dream on.

  The audience burst out laughing.

  With a snap of her fingers, golden and black sparks rained from above — light and darkness twined together.

  A final banner appeared, blazing with fire and shadow:

  “The Tenth is no longer alone.”

  And the crowd roared as one:

  “Legionaries! Legionaries!”

  ?? End of the 10K Special — The Past Approaches