Far from Ellerin Village, beyond the fractured mountains and the blood-painted borderlands, stood the Citadel of Crownlight — the capital of the Kingdom of Aetherion.
A city forged in light, laced with crystal runes and spires that scraped the clouds.
But beneath all the shine and holy banners…they were afraid.
"We received confirmation. A Soul-Bound weapon triggered a divine rupture.""Location?""Sector 9. Near the fringes. A place called Ellerin.""…Unarchived?""Confirmed.""Burn it."
In a room of gold and judgment, twelve figures in polished armor sat around a massive obsidian table.
They were the Arc Keepers — rulers of Aetherion's truths.Not kings.Not mages.But the ones who rewrote history as needed.
Their leader, Seraphine Vel Caelis, leaned forward, her silver braid glowing like starlight.
"Send no army. Send the Choir."
A shiver ran through the room.
Meanwhile… back in Ellerin:
Raen sat on the roof of the forge, staring up at a sky that looked too calm.
The sword lay beside him, still faintly red.He hadn't touched it since the fight.But it whispered. Constantly.
"You're still hiding," it said."The world already knows."
Garrick approached with two mugs of boiled leafwater.
"You know, I used to be a soldier," the old man said, handing him one.
Raen looked at him. "You're not surprised."
Garrick sipped. "Because you bleed like someone who's already died once."
Raen didn't respond.
Garrick kept talking. "You got that look — like the gods wronged you, and now you're looking for the receipt."
Raen smirked. "They never gave me one."
Suddenly, the wind shifted. Birds scattered. The trees bent toward the east.
Raen's eyes narrowed.
A melody.
So faint, most wouldn't hear it.But he could.
A choir.Dozens of voices. Singing without sound.
"They're here," the sword whispered.
Raen stood.
"Who?"
Then he saw her.
Walking down the dirt path toward the village, barefoot and blindfolded.
A girl — no older than fifteen — dressed in ceremonial white. Her arms were wrapped in glowing chains. Her lips never moved, but the air hummed with her presence.
A brand was carved into her throat:
[Scribe of the First Choir]
Villagers began to collapse. Not dead — just asleep. Their minds lulled into silence by her song.
Raen leapt from the roof, landing hard, sword in hand.
The girl stopped walking.
Finally, she spoke — her voice layered with dozens behind it.
"Unarchived Soul. You are hereby summoned by the Crown of Aetherion."
Raen lowered his blade.
"Tell your Crown," he said coldly,"if they want me—"
"They can come bow themselves."