The air stood still after Seraphine’s final words, “Then you die a fool’s death.” Her shadows surged again, darker, heavier—this time not out of rage, but hesitation masked as fury.
Lucian didn't retreat. His hand still hung between them, open. Willing. Unshaken.
But before either of them could strike, a blinding column of light tore through the battlefield—silver and violet, spiraling like divine fire. The earth beneath their feet split open. The storm above churned and bent inward toward the beam. And then—
A voice.
Older than time.
Layered with chains.
Rusted, heavy, divine.
Voice (echoing through the storm):
“Enough.”
Seraphine recoiled. Lucian froze.
The ground cracked again—this time not from battle, but something beneath.
A seal—ancient and burning—sigils the color of dried blood and starlight began to uncoil like roots from the shattered floor.
Lucian fell to one knee, clutching his chest.
The Godslayer inside him stirred violently. Not in fear—but in recognition.
Lucian (gritting his teeth):
“What… what is this…?”
Voice (distant, yet inside his mind):
“I know that power. You carry the wound of the heavens... and the bite of the slayer.”
Suddenly, Lucian was somewhere else.
The battlefield vanished.
He stood within an endless obsidian chamber—black stone, lined with glowing runes and golden chains that reached into eternity. The scent of old flame and divine blood lingered like smoke in a dead cathedral.
Suspended in the center, wrapped in a thousand binding scripts and blades of judgment, hovered a man.
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Eyes shut. Skin glowing with buried light. Hair silver and matted. His chest bore the scar of a divine spear. His arms chained by celestial iron.
---
Lucian (barely whispering):
“…Who are you?”
---
The being slowly opened his eyes.
They burned like suns that had forgotten how to die.
---
???:
“I am Azerion. The First Blade of Heaven. Slayer of a thousand evils.
And the only one Eternal ever feared enough to bury alive.”
---
Lucian stumbled back.
This… this was the being Seraphine could never touch. The being even the gods whispered about. The Supreme Guardian of Heaven, betrayed and banished the moment Eternal stormed paradise.
---
Azerion (narrowing his eyes):
“You are not ready, mortal. But your heart—your pain—summoned me. The Godslayer inside you cracked the last lock.”
---
Lucian:
“Then you’re free?”
---
Azerion:
“No. Not yet. My prison requires a soul greater than divinity… to break the last shackle. But I can teach you. Train you. Prepare you. And when you are ready, you will break me free—not for vengeance... but to end what Eternal began.”
---
Lucian’s fists tightened.
His path was no longer survival.
It was evolution.
Back in the real world, mere seconds had passed.
Seraphine watched as Lucian collapsed to one knee, glowing with the aftershock of that internal vision. But his face… had changed. There was a calmness in his fury now. A precision to the storm in his soul.
Seraphine (voice uncertain):
“What did you see…?”
Lucian rose, slowly, his voice quiet, heavy with promise.
Lucian:
“I met my teacher.”
Seraphine tilted her head, for once unsure what to say.
Lucian (eyes narrowing):
“You’re right, Seraphine. I’m not just mortal anymore. And I’m not afraid of you.”
Suddenly—BOOM!
A portal ripped open behind her, lined in cosmic stardust and shadowfire—Lunara’s gate.
The voice of the Goddess of Stars rang through the breach, clear and commanding:
Lunara:
“Seraphine. Return. Now.”
Seraphine turned toward the voice—but her eyes never left Lucian.
Seraphine (quietly, to Lucian):
“This isn’t over. I’ll be back… stronger.”
Lucian stepped toward her, gaze steady.
Lucian:
“Then I’ll be waiting. Stronger still.”
With a final glance, Seraphine vanished into the portal.
The battlefield fell silent. Only the winds of Vaelith remained—carrying the ash of the old kingdom and the spark of a new war.
Far below, in his obsidian prison, Azerion smiled for the first time in millennia.
Azerion (to himself):
“He will be ready… and when he is… the stars will tremble.”
