The sky above Eternia cracked with thunder.
Not yet rain—only pressure. The kind that made men restless and gods silent. The storm was waiting, coiled above the city like a predator.
Within the towering Sanctum of Light, the grand cathedral that pierced the clouds above the Holy District, priests and disciples knelt in solemn prayer. Candles lined the marble floor, their flames trembling in the rising wind seeping through stained-glass windows.
But the prayers tonight were not of peace.
They were of fear.
Because he had returned.
And he was not the same.
The massive sanctum doors, carved from celestial oak and bound in gold, creaked open with the weight of prophecy. The sound echoed through the cathedral like judgment.
Footsteps followed.
Heavy. Slow. Measured. Not by exhaustion, but purpose.
And then he appeared.
Clad in radiant silver armor tarnished by ash and blood, etched with fading glyphs once vibrant with divine power. His golden-blond hair—once gleaming like dawn—now fell in damp strands across his brow. His face bore the chisel of heroism, but the glow that had once set it alight was gone.
The Hero of Light had come back from the abyss.
But something holy in him was missing.
Something sacred had died.
High Priest Gregorin rose from the altar, his white-and-gold robes trailing behind him like wings. "Blessed be the flame that brought you home, Chosen Blade."
The priests echoed softly, "Blessed be the flame…"
Auron's gaze swept over them—once his brethren, his faith, his tether. Now they looked like porcelain masks lined in fear. His voice answered with the weight of a tombstone.
"The flame flickers."
His words struck with more force than any sword.
The air turned brittle. A few younger acolytes bowed lower, their faith shaken by the hollowness in his tone.
Gregorin did not flinch. He stepped forward, smiling with rehearsed serenity. "You have returned at the hour we need you most. The Empire fractures. Heresy rises. A shadow moves behind the throne. We must have a symbol—"
"A pawn," Auron interrupted.
The word rang through the cathedral like a bell of judgment.
Silence.
Then whispers. Unspoken heresies filled the air like smoke.
Gregorin narrowed his eyes. "We all serve in the war between light and darkness. Even kings. Even heroes."
Auron stepped forward slowly, each movement like a hammer blow on sacred ground. "I walked the paths no man dares. I entered the Void at your bidding. I fought monsters beyond nightmares… and all for what?"
"You were chosen," Gregorin said firmly.
"No," Auron said, voice cold. "I was used."
Lightning flashed through the stained glass. For a moment, every face was bathed in color—red, blue, gold—and then darkness returned.
"You saw things," Gregorin said carefully. "But you are not forsaken. The gods—"
"Don't speak of them."
Auron's voice cut like a blade. "They speak, yes. But only in riddles. Only in silence. When I cried out for salvation, they offered silence. And now you ask me to bleed again for a cause already stained with rot."
Gregorin looked at him not with anger—but disappointment. The worst kind. "You were our hope."
Auron turned away. "Then you never truly knew me."
Far beneath the Sanctum, in the catacombs where only the most privileged prayers were whispered, Evelyne stood before Kael in the flickering light of enchanted lanterns. A sealed scroll lay between them—fresh from the Holy Spire.
"He's different," she whispered. "Even the high priests are unsure. He refused their blessing. Would not kneel."
Kael leaned forward, resting his fingers on the rim of a wine glass filled with obsidian-red liquid. "Did he speak of me?"
"No. But he will."
She hesitated, then added, "The divine sigils on his armor are fading. He's either losing the gods… or discarding them."
Kael smirked. "Good. Doubt is the seed. Once it's planted, it blooms into loyalty. Not to gods…"
"…but to you," Evelyne finished. She studied him for a beat. "He's still powerful. Dangerous."
"Yes. And broken things… are easier to reshape."
Outside, thunder cracked once more. The rain had begun.
Auron stood alone in the Garden of Trials, where once he had trained beside divine avatars and relics of the First Flame. Now, the statues of long-dead saints looked down on him with cracked faces and empty eyes.
His sword lay beside him on the marble bench—still gleaming, still perfect.
He hadn't touched it since his return.
"What am I now?" he whispered.
The silence stretched—thick and patient.
Then, a voice.
Not divine. Not demonic.
His own.
"You are the blade. And blades do not choose. They are wielded."
Auron looked up.
Perched on the edge of the stone wall above him was a raven—its feathers blacker than night, glistening like ink in the stormlight. Its eyes burned with an unnatural crimson glow.
Not divine. Not holy.
A message.
A warning.
Or an invitation.
And Auron did not look away.
Back within the Palace, the Empress stood in a forgotten wing sealed since the last imperial purge. Before her was a massive mirror shrouded in silken veils. Not a simple looking glass—but a relic. One older than the Empire.
She whispered an incantation.
The veil dissolved.
The mirror shimmered, showing not her reflection—but visions.
Auron's return. The Sanctuary's tremble. Kael's ascendance.
And something older, darker—shifting beneath the surface of the world.
Behind her, a cloaked figure stepped from the shadows. A voice like falling ash spoke.
"He questions. He seeks answers where there are none."
The Empress turned. "And Kael?"
"He is the question."
She nodded slowly, her fingers brushing the mirror's edge. "The hero will not save the Empire this time."
"No," the shadowed figure replied. "He will destroy it."
In the city below, whispers grew.
The people rejoiced at the Hero's return, unaware of the storm within him.
Children sang songs of the Chosen Blade, while merchants sold charms etched with his sigil.
But in darker corners—assassins, cults, and spies moved with purpose.
Some planned to use him.
Others planned to end him.
And Kael?
Kael planned to turn the Hero into his greatest tool—or his greatest weapon.
But not yet.
Not until the flame within him flickered out completely.
And Kael would be there when it did.
To be continued…