> "Power is a prayer spoken in blood. And the gods, if they still listen, are cruel in what they demand."
The rebel camp was hidden beneath the collapsed bones of an ancient cathedral, sunken beneath the earth like a buried sin. Candlelight flickered across old stone, casting shadows like wraiths on the walls.
Gold sat among the remnants of the broken faithful—shattered statues, rusted chains, forgotten prayers carved in crumbling stone. Across from him sat Eira, the silver-eyed tactician of the rebellion. Around her, the others listened: warriors, deserters, former scholars, and those whose lives the Empire had burned.
"You're not from here," Eira said, her gaze sharp. "So you need to understand what you're walking into."
Gold said nothing, but his silence was acceptance.
Eira leaned forward, tapping the map with a blade. "The world was once balanced. The Empire broke it."
"Magic is not born. It is begged. Bargained. Paid in pieces of yourself."
There is no 'innate magic' in this world. Power must be earned—from divine contracts.
Long ago, forgotten gods scattered across realms offered strength to mortals in exchange for sacrifices. These pacts became known as Aether Pactum—the Divine Accord.
Every contract required a part of the soul:
Memories
Emotions
Morality
Identity
Once offered, they are never returned.
No two contracts are the same. A healer may lose their ability to feel joy. A warrior may forget their loved ones. A seer may lose the ability to speak.
Gold clenched his fist. I sacrificed my name… yet why does a whisper still remain? A name… Kane…?
Eira continued, "The Empire weaponized these pacts. Created an army of hollow gods in human skin. But there are limits."
The Empire's capital, Astrid Vale, is built atop the Veins of Divinity—ancient conduits where divine echoes flow freely. It enslaves pact-holders, controls divine access, and devours rural villages to find more 'suitable vessels.'
Those who rebel—are branded heretics. Executed. Forgotten.
Among the fallen… was a girl from the northern frost-villages. She was one of the first to make a pact.
A girl with fire in her veins… and a smile that made the cold bearable.
They say she walks the inner sanctums now, robed in crimson flame, her eyes hollow, her past erased.
Gold's breath caught for just a second.
"We fight," Eira said, voice steady, "not just for vengeance—but to reclaim what was stolen. Our names. Our selves. Our dead."
The room quieted.
Gold rose.
"I'll help you," he said.
Not for their cause.
Not for justice.
But because somewhere in the Empire's hollow halls…
he would find her again.
Even if she didn't remember him.
Even if she burned him alive.
The air inside the rebel outpost was thick with tension. Maps littered the stone table, marked in crimson ink—supply routes, safe zones, movement patterns. None of it mattered now.
"She's moving," whispered Serin, her voice nearly lost in the wind. "The Saint of Cinders. They've unleashed her again."
Silence fell over the room like a funeral shroud. Even the crackling torches on the wall seemed to flinch at that name.
Gold stared at the center of the map, where a red symbol now marked Kane's path—a burning spiral known only to those who had faced her and survived. Few had. Even fewer spoke of it.
"Why now?" asked Veil, the masked tactician. "Why send a Saint for a scattered band of nobodies?"
"Because we're not nobodies anymore," murmured Gold. "We stole an artifact from the Grand Reliquary. We've awakened something ancient. And…"
He clenched his fist.
"She's coming because I'm alive."
The rebels exchanged uneasy glances. Gold had never spoken of his past—of what he lost, who he used to be. But today, his voice carried the weight of something personal. Heavy. Sacred.
"She's my sister," Gold admitted.
Shock washed over the camp like a wave.
"You're saying… the Saint of Cinders… was one of us?" Veil's voice cracked. "And you knew?"
Gold nodded. "Not until recently. I saw her through a Seer's mirror. Her soul—fragmented, but still bound to me. She doesn't remember. The Empire stripped her clean and forged her into a weapon."
Serin stepped forward, her eyes hard. "Then what's the plan? Run? Fight? Pray?"
Gold turned, his gaze distant yet sharp. "None of those."
"We're going to remind her who she is."
The candlelight sways. Gold sits alone, eyes fixed on the shard of the Seer's Mirror. He's unmoving. Haunted. Serin steps in, hesitant.
Serin:
"You've been staring at that thing for hours. What did you see, Gold?"
Gold: (quietly)
"A woman… clad in flame. A Saint. But something in her eyes… something broke me."
Serin:
"A Saint broke you? That's a first." (smirks faintly) "What was it? Her strength?"
Gold:
"No. It was a memory I don't have." (He closes his hand around the shard.)
"I don't know her. But every part of me… screamed that I should. Like I'd found something I'd spent my whole life searching for."
Serin: (expression hardens)
"You think she's from your past?"
Gold:
"I don't think. I feel it. My heart clenched the moment I saw her. It wasn't fear. It was... grief. Familiarity. Like a melody half-remembered."
Serin: (softer now)
"The Aether Pact took your memories. But not your soul."
Gold: (nods slowly)
"Exactly. The soul remembers what the mind forgets. Whoever she is… she's tied to me. Before the ashes. Before the first pact."
Serin:
"She's one of them, Gold. A Saint. The Empire's warblade."
Gold:
"Then I'll find out why my soul remembers her... and why the gods let me forget."
(He turns, eyes blazing. Not with rage, but with something deeper: mourning, conviction, and the faintest trace of hope.)
Ash curled around her boots. The forest, once dense, now smoldered behind her like an old memory burned to cinders. The Divine Crest shimmered faintly on her gauntlet, pulsing as it guided her forward.
She marched alone, but she didn't feel alone.
Not tonight.
Not with that feeling gnawing at her chest.
A whisper in the wind.
A warmth that wasn't fire.
A name she didn't know — but missed.
Kane (whispers):
"Why… do I hesitate?"
She stopped atop a ridge. Below, she could see the faint glow of firelight in the valley. The rebels. She knew it. The divine guidance etched into her bones pointed here.
But why did her heart beat like a war drum? Why did her hand tremble?
Serin:
"She's coming."
The words dropped like stone.
Gold stood in silence, staring into the flames. The others were readying their positions. Arrows dipped in toxin. Traps laid. But none of that mattered. Not to him.
Gold:
"I felt her cross the ridge."
Serin:
"How? The scouts haven't even returned."
Gold:
"Because something inside me stirs when she draws near. Like a tether pulled tight."
(He grips his temple. His nose bleeds — just a trickle.)
"She's not just a Saint. She's a remnant."
Serin: (uneasy)
"Then the question is… of whose past?"
Outside, the wind howled. The fire dimmed. And the mountain seemed to hold its breath.
[Back to Kane — now descending into the valley]
The rebel perimeter buzzed with quiet life. She could sense their fear… and their resolve.
Yet in her mind, a voice not her own whispered:
> "He is below. He is near. He remembers you — even when you forgot yourself."
Kane stopped mid-step. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her divine blade.
For the first time in years, she questioned the righteousness of her mission.
Kane (to herself):
"Who are you… and why does my soul weep at your name?"
The others held their breath as Gold stepped beyond the boundary stones, ignoring Serin's hand on his shoulder, ignoring the warnings.
Serin (low):
"What the hell are you doing?"
Gold:
"She came for me."
He wasn't certain how he knew. The fractured pieces of his soul — remnants scattered by the pact — were stirring. Some part of him recognized the flame approaching.
He walked slowly. Past the fire pits. Past the traplines.
Until he stood in the open clearing beneath the pale moonlight, a thin layer of mist veiling the ground.
Across the field, Kane stepped into view.
[Kane – POV]
She halted when she saw him. Her divine instincts screamed kill, but her body froze. The flames wreathing her shoulders dimmed.
Kane (softly):
"…You."
Something ancient pressed against the walls of her mind, like fingers trying to part locked doors. She clutched her blade tighter, but the heat that usually roared through it felt… calm.
Gold:
"You came to erase us."
Kane:
"I came to end rebellion."
Gold (pauses):
"Then why did you stop?"
Kane's breath caught. His voice. His face. The ache behind her ribs.
It wasn't strategy. It wasn't mercy.
It was grief.
Kane (hoarse):
"…I don't know your name. But it hurts to look at you."
Gold (quietly):
"Yours is Kane. And you were the light I followed before I lost myself."
Her knees nearly buckled.
Kane (shaking):
"Why… why do I feel like I've already failed you?"
Gold (stepping closer):
"Because they took something from both of us."
A divine glyph pulsed faintly over his heart — a broken seal. A mark she recognized.
Her own hand rose involuntarily to her chest, mirroring it.
Gold:
"They made me forget. But not everything dies, Kane. Not all ties break."
[Far above — unseen by both — a divine falcon circles. Watching. Listening. Reporting back to the Empire.]
[Rebel Camp – Outer Perimeter]
Just as Kane and Gold stood frozen in that fragile moment — recognition burning quietly between them — the skies tore open.
A massive sigil, etched in golden fire, unfolded above the valley like an unblinking eye. Divine light poured down, too pure to be holy. It scorched the earth.
Serin (panicked):
"Shit—Scatter! It's a Celestial Gate!"
Rebel Scout (shouting):
"They're here—The Watchers! The Empire's saints!"
Through the burning gate, they descended:
Archon Veylos, Saint of Chains — armor made of imprisoned souls, dragging celestial blades behind him.
Sister Myrae, Saint of Silence — her voice was banned from the mortal plane, yet her presence made thoughts bleed.
And at their center…
Saint-Regent Elavar, the Voice of God — glowing with twenty wings of glass and flame, his expression hollow, just above judgment.
Elavar (to Kane):
"You were meant to strike first. You failed."
Kane (staring at Gold):
"I… remembered."
Elavar (voice sharp, divine):
"Memory is a sin you cannot afford."
Chains clattered. Fire cracked. Gold stepped forward.
Gold (to Elavar):
"She's not yours to command."
Elavar:
"She was never hers to begin with."
He raised a hand — the sky shuddered.
[The rebels' protective wards begin to rupture.]
Kane (breathing ragged):
"…If I raise my sword now, I kill what's left of me."
Elavar:
"Then burn with him."
But she didn't move.
Instead, Kane turned — and stood beside Gold.
Kane (quiet):
"I choose my blood."
Elavar's halo dimmed, just for a second. The other Saints reacted.
Saint Myrae's silence deepened. Saint Veylos unsheathed his soul-bound sword.
Elavar (cold):
"Then you are both traitors."