The winds of Eldarion were never still, but tonight they howled with the fury of an omen. Ashen clouds churned above the forest canopy, and lightning danced across the sky like silver serpents. The storm had returned, but this time, it bore more than thunder.
Kael stood near the ancient ruins, his body still aching from the lightning strike, his eyes heavy with the weight of memories not his own—yet entirely his. Every dream, every flash of war and fire, every whispered name from a forgotten age—they were all his. He had seen his death before. And his birth. And now, something darker stirred.
A gust of wind flared, blinding him momentarily with dust and leaves. And when it cleared, she stood there.
The Archmage.
Lyssara.
Her silver robes shimmered like moonlight on water, and her staff hummed with quiet power. Her gaze met Kael's with an intensity that bent time.
"You remember, don't you?" she asked, voice soft yet resonant.
Kael nodded slowly. "Not all. But enough."
"Then you know why I'm here."
He swallowed hard. "The prophecy. The balance. The Demon Lord…"
Lyssara closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Yes. As it has been written in the Book of Veils: When the Hero awakens, so too shall the Darkness rise. The memories you reclaimed—they were the final key."
Kael's fists clenched at his side. "So it begins again."
"No," Lyssara said. "It ends. Or it must. But not in the way you imagine."
He stepped forward. "I can fight. I've done it before."
"You could have. Once," she said, walking slowly toward him. "But Kael, this Demon Lord… he is not of this era. He is ancient, like you. You were forged for battle, yes. But not this battle. You carry wisdom, scars, and might—but your body… it is too broken."
Kael looked down at the faint scars of lightning still glowing on his arms. "Then give me time. I'll recover."
Lyssara shook her head. "There is no time. The world event has already begun. Seers across Eldarion have fallen into trance. The Black Skies have opened over Draymire. The old seals tremble."
He looked up, defiant. "Then tell me what to do. I won't run."
She stepped closer now, her voice a blend of sorrow and hope. "You must be reborn."
"What?"
"My greatest spell," she said. "The Tenth Tear. Reincarnation Magic—holy, forbidden, lost to all but me. I've waited lifetimes for this moment. I can take your soul, your memories, and fuse them anew into a body untouched by fate."
Kael took a step back. "You want me to die."
"No," Lyssara said softly. "I want you to live—truly live. As a child born with the strength to grow into the hero this world needs. Without the scars. Without the burdens. With time to master what lies inside you."
Kael's breath caught. "Will I remember?"
"Not at first," she admitted. "But the memories will return, one by one. In dreams. In moments of silence. In battle. Your soul will guide you."
He looked to the sky. "And the Demon Lord?"
She looked grim. "He will rise soon. But so shall you. And when your paths cross again, it will be as equals—not as a fading warrior against an ancient shadow."
Kael closed his eyes. The forest was still now. The storm waited.
"Do it," he said.
Lyssara raised her staff.
"Then remember these words, Kael, and let them carry you into your next life."
Her voice grew louder, echoing through the trees, through the stars:
"By the light of the Tenth Tear, I unbind the soul of the protector, I call forth the essence of flame and dawn, Let this spirit be washed anew in the waters of rebirth. Let him rise in the time to come, Not as legend, but as truth. Not as memory, but as fire."
The wind exploded outward, tearing leaves from their roots, the sky erupting in a brilliant column of white light. Kael screamed—not in pain, but release. His body glowed, faded, scattered into a thousand motes of golden light.
And then—
Silence.
The cry of a newborn echoed across a quiet cottage on the far side of Eldarion.
A mother wept tears of joy.
A father held his son in trembling arms.
They named him Kael.
He did not yet know who he was. Not yet. But in the depth of his newborn eyes, something shimmered. A memory. A promise.
And far away, beneath the stars, the Demon Lord opened his eyes in a land of shadows, smiling through fangs of obsidian.
The cycle had begun again.
And this time, the world would burn or rise anew.