The path since Achlys' fall had been quiet. Too quiet—like the world was holding its breath.
Hiro walked beside Athena, his thoughts still tangled in the aftermath. The illusion. The voices. The twisted reflections of himself. Achlys had tried to shatter him. Hiro had fought back. But the way Athena looked at him afterward—sharp, knowing—told him she’d seen something even he didn’t understand.
And then, of course, there was Phinx.
The tiny phoenix perched on Hiro’s shoulder, golden-red feathers flickering in the afternoon sun. Even in its infancy, it pulsed with strange warmth—the same warmth now alive inside Hiro. Something had changed. He had changed.
He exhaled, clenching his fists. Whatever it was, it lived in his bones now.
Elysia, riding atop a borrowed mare, had been quiet too. She’d witnessed Hiro’s trial beneath Achlys’ shadow—and felt something awaken in herself. A power. A gift she didn’t yet understand.
Athena, ever composed, had said little since they left the ruined temple. But Hiro knew her mind—always calculating. She’d seen something in him. In Elysia. Whatever it was, she wasn’t ready to speak of it.
Their journey led them to a small village, nestled between rolling green hills and a dense forest. At first glance, it seemed peaceful—wooden houses lining the dirt roads, the scent of burning firewood curling in the crisp air.
And yet... something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
Eyes in the Village
Hiro felt it before he saw it.
Eyes. Not curious—but afraid.
As they passed through the marketplace, hands tightened around tools—blacksmiths gripping hammers, farmers clutching sickles. Doors whispered shut. Whispers clung to their heels.
A blacksmith froze mid-swing. Children peered from shadowed doorways—then vanished like ghosts.
Elysia pulled her reins, scanning the quiet windows. “Something’s got them terrified.”
A burly man stepped forward. His gray-streaked beard couldn’t hide the exhaustion etched into his face.
“You... You are the Goddess Athena, are you not?”
She inclined her head. “I am.”
His gaze shifted to Hiro. Not judgmental—just weighing something.
“We need help.”
Whispers and Barricades
The elder led them through whispered prayers and shuttered windows. The village felt hollow. A woman swept her doorstep with trembling hands. A merchant glanced warily toward the treeline. Every sound made the men flinch.
They stopped at a crude barricade—sharpened logs, broken carts, and furniture piled high in desperation.
“They come from there,” the elder said, nodding to the forest's edge. “The beasts.”
Athena ran her fingers over claw marks on the wood.
“How often do they come?”
The elder's voice was low. “Too often.”
He looked to the villagers behind him. “A month ago, we lost four men.” A pause. “Last week... two more.”
Hiro clenched his fists.
“We fight when we can,” the elder said. “But we are not warriors.” His eyes met Hiro’s. “That’s why we need you.”
Before the Howl
They gathered around a dim fire. Hiro sharpened his blade in silence. Elysia wrapped her hands with fresh bandages. Athena studied a crude map, her brow furrowed.
“They come after dusk,” the elder said. “Wolves, at first. Then... things we have no name for. ”He rubbed his face, voice low. “We think something’s calling them. From deep in the forest.”
“A curse?” Elysia asked.
Athena didn’t look up. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “Or something older. Something worse.”
Hiro stood, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “Doesn’t matter what it is.” His gaze burned. “It ends tonight.”
When the Wolves Came
Silence. Still. Unnatural. A breath held too long.
Hiro stood at the barricade, sword drawn, eyes fixed on the trees. Phinx perched on his shoulder, still as the air.
Elysia tightened her grip on a torch. “Tell me I’m not about to regret following you into this,” she muttered. Athena stood behind Hiro, arms crossed. Her voice was calm—but edged with challenge. "Let’s see if you’ve learned to command the storm."
Hiro’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll show you a storm.”
A piercing howl split the night.
The trees shook.
Then—
They came.
Dozens of them.
Massive black wolves with ember eyes and dripping maws.
They moved like shadows—fast, unnatural, merciless.
Athena’s voice cut through the chaos. “Frontline, brace. Hiro—move now.”
Hiro was already gone.
Holding the Line
The first wolf lunged—Hiro intercepted mid-air. A silver blur—his blade cut through the beast’s throat in a single, clean stroke.
A perfect kill.
Phinx dived overhead, fire trailing from his wings. Another wolf shrieked as flame consumed its face.
A second beast flanked Hiro. He spun—cracking its ribs with a brutal kick. It crashed into another, and both skidded across the dirt.
Athena’s voice sliced through the chaos.“You’re leaving your left open. Adjust.”
Hiro clicked his tongue—she was right. The wolves were adapting.
He shifted his stance. More movement. Less brute force. His blade danced between them—cutting, dodging, weaving.
The villagers weren’t fighters, but they held the barricade. Hiro didn’t let anything past him.
One by one, the wolves fell.
Then—The air changed.
The remaining beasts froze.
Then they backed away. Not in retreat—In obedience.
The trees trembled. The ground shook.
And Hiro knew. The real battle was about to begin.
The Alpha Steps In
It didn’t charge.
It emerged.
A mountain of muscle and malice, taller than ten feet, its fur a tangled shadow. Eyes burned like molten coal. Its breath steamed, even in the night air. Dark veins pulsed beneath its fur—twisting, unnatural. The same markings Achlys had worn like a second skin.
The wolves parted for it.
The Alpha.
It walked slowly—deliberately. As if it owned the ground it stalked.
Athena’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Be careful. That one’s no ordinary beast.”
Hiro stepped forward, slow and steady. The Alpha sized him up. He did the same.
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But Hiro’s expression shifted—brows drawn, something clicking behind his eyes.
His voice cut through the thick silence, low but unwavering. “It was there that night. It didn’t just watch… it led the attack.”
Phinx flared above, fire trailing from his wings like a banner of memory.
Hiro took another step, lightning curling faintly around his hands. “It came for her. And when I fought back… it retreated.”
The Alpha stilled. Its breath grew heavier.
Athena’s eyes narrowed. “Then it remembers you too.”
Hiro raised his sword.
“So let it come.”
The Alpha moved. Fast.
One moment it stood still—The next, Hiro was slammed into the dirt.
Pain exploded through his ribs. He gasped, rolling just in time to dodge the next strike. Claws raked stone where his head had been.
It circled him, slow and heavy, letting Hiro stand only to strike again—fast, hard, just shy of killing. Each blow bruised but didn’t break. A cruel rhythm. Like it was testing his reactions.
Hiro swung, missed. Another claw batted his shoulder. He stumbled. The Alpha waited.
When he regained his footing, it didn’t attack.
It watched.
It wanted him to fight back. Not for challenge—For sport.
The Alpha towered overhead, a hunter without fear. It opened its jaws—wide, fanged, and final. But it didn’t bite. Not yet. It only hovered there, letting Hiro feel every inch of that death hovering inches from his face.
And Hiro—still on the ground—met its gaze.
He wasn’t afraid. But fear wasn’t the point. The truth was sinking in— He couldn’t win. Not like this.
Brought to the Brink
Elysia saw him fall.
From her place near the barricade, her heart stopped. She dropped her torch, fists clenched at her sides.
“Hiro—”
But her voice was swallowed by the roar of the Alpha.
She tried to move, but Athena’s hand shot out, holding her back.
“Not yet,” the goddess said, eyes fixed forward. “He has to stand.”
Elysia bit her lip until it bled.
Another strike—faster than Hiro could react. A claw raked across his back. Pain tore through him. He rolled—barely dodging the next strike—but he wasn’t fast enough.
CRACK. A kick sent him flying. The dirt hit his face. His breath caught in his throat. His ribs ached—his limbs felt heavy.
Phinx screeched above him, his flames flaring—but the Alpha was already on him again.
Fangs bared. A claw raised. Move.
He tried—but his body wouldn’t listen.
The Alpha slammed him into the dirt. His vision blurred.
Athena’s voice—*shouting his name—*faded into the background.
The Alpha’s weight pressed down on him, its molten eyes gleaming with hunger.
This was different. This wasn’t just a monster. This was a predator. A creature that had never lost. A beast that had never met anything stronger than itself.
And right now—it was right.
The Spark Within
For a breath, the battlefield held its silence. Even the wolves stilled, ears pinned flat, uncertain.
Elysia stared at Hiro’s body beneath the beast—still, broken, unmoving. Then something shifted. The air thickened. The wind whispered with static. Her mouth parted, eyes wide with something between fear and awe.
Athena’s brows lifted ever so slightly. She whispered, "So... the storm chooses now."
Phinx screeched—desperate, flaring his wings. His body burned brighter—more intense.
He dove toward the Alpha, fire trailing from his wings. The beast turned, swatting him from the air with a single swipe.
Phinx tumbled, flames sputtering. A cry of pain tore from his beak.
Hiro felt it. Like a knife in his chest. The pain wasn’t his—but it might as well have been.
Hiro clenched his fists. His mind was fading, slipping—but something inside him refused to go quiet.
No. No. NOT LIKE THIS.
Something snapped.
A pulse of heat. A deep, electric hum inside him. A flicker of light—not from the sky—from within.
The Alpha growled. It sensed the shift.
Phinx’s body sparked—his feathers kindling with unstable heat. A glow pulsed through him, desperate and raw. He tried to rise, one wing lifting feebly—burning with stubborn light.
Hiro’s vision blurred. Then—he felt it. Not just Phinx’s power. His own.
Lightning crawled up his arms—wild, restless, but alive. His body felt lighter, stronger, charged with something beyond strength.
The Alpha snarled—raising its claw for the final blow.
Hiro’s fingers twitched. Then—
He let go.
The sky shattered. A deafening CRACK split the night. The battlefield exploded in light. A bolt of lightning surged from Hiro’s chest—pure, white-hot, and precise. It struck the Alpha square in the chest, blasting it backward.
The Alpha stumbled.
From the ground, Phinx stirred—his wings trembling, embers rising with each breath. He screeched again, defiant despite the pain. He and Hiro were still standing. And they were ready to finish it.
It had hunted men before. It had killed warriors.
But this—
This was not prey. This was a storm wrapped in flesh.
The Final Strike
The Alpha leapt—claws slashing downward, roaring through smoke and wind.
Hiro surged forward to meet it, sword raised.
Lightning spiraled down his arm—wild and blinding—coiling around the blade like a serpent of storm. Phinx’s fire streaked down from above, colliding with the blade mid-swing—turning it into a blazing arc of stormfire.
Steel became storm. Flame became fury.
They moved as one.
Hiro ducked beneath the Alpha’s claw, lightning trailing behind his blade as it cut across the beast’s ribs. Phinx dove low, a stream of fire bursting from his wings, forcing the Alpha’s head back. Hiro leapt, sword raised high. Fire met lightning. And the final strike fell.
And for a heartbeat—the world turned to light.
The Alpha never stood a chance.
The moment Hiro’s blade struck, the battlefield erupted.
Thunder cracked. Fire roared. The sky itself trembled.
A burst of divine power exploded from the impact—so bright, so raw, it swallowed the night.
A deafening boom followed, splitting the heavens. The earth shook. The wolves had vanished into shadow..
The Alpha twisted in agony. Its molten-red eyes widened—then emptied.
And then—It was gone.
The Storm Settles
The battlefield smoldered in the fading firelight. The scent of charred earth and burnt fur clung to the air.
Hiro stood at the center, his chest rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths. His limbs ached, his body still humming with the fading remnants of power.
Phinx landed on his shoulder, his tiny wings dimming, his energy spent.
The Alpha was gone. The beasts had vanished into shadow.
And yet—Hiro felt the weight of it still pressing on his chest.
He turned.
The villagers were watching.
No cheering. No relief. Just staring.
Their silence cut deeper than claws.
Was this fear? Disgust?
He’d won—but at what cost?
The Silence
The blacksmith—a man who had seen battle before—held his hammer at his side, jaw clenched.
The village elder took a slow step forward, his lips parting—
But no words came.
A woman tightened her hold on her child.
Elysia, standing just behind Athena, exhaled softly. She had seen magic, seen gods move through the world.
But this—this was something else.
“…What are you?” someone finally whispered.
Hiro’s breath hitched.
He opened his mouth.
Stopped.
What was he supposed to say?
The First Kneel
The blacksmith was the first to move.
He knelt.
Not a warrior’s bow. Not submission.
Something else.
The village elder followed—slowly, pressing his forehead to the ground.
One by one, the others did the same.
A slow ripple of motion. A silent acknowledgment.
Not all knelt. But enough.
Elysia stepped beside Hiro, her voice barely above a whisper.
“They worship you, Hiro.”
She met his gaze, eyes uncertain. “But they don’t know if they should.”
Athena Watches
From the rooftops, Athena observed, arms crossed.
She had expected victory.
She had not expected this.
The child she had hidden—was hidden no longer.
And yet…
A slow exhale.
Pride.
But not all had accepted him.
And that would be a problem.
The Path Forward
The village elder finally spoke, voice hoarse.
“You saved us.”
Hiro felt it—deep in his chest.
Something beyond power.
Something beyond battle.
Not just strength.
Not just victory.
Faith.
And faith was harder to earn.
The Tree That Remembered
Where the alpha beast had fallen, the earth lay scarred—cracked and lifeless, its soil poisoned by lingering rot.
Hiro stood at its edge, shoulders heavy, unsure if anything could grow there again.
Phinx stepped past him.
The phoenix’s wings folded in, its molten feathers dimming to a quiet shimmer. It lowered its head and let a single ember fall from its beak into the soil.
At first—nothing.
Then the ember pulsed.
From the heart of the burn-marked ground, tiny golden roots unfurled, delicate as thread. A sapling rose—thin and trembling, but alive. Its bark glowed faintly, its leaves warm with flickering light, like flame trapped in green.
The villagers gathered slowly, saying nothing.
No shrine was built.
But they left offerings at its base before sundown—water, bread, a single blue ribbon from a child’s hair.
The land had chosen to remember. And it remembered with fire.
The village was at peace once more—but Hiro was not. He stood at the edge, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. This was not the end. Phinx landed beside him, wings folded, golden-red eyes mirroring Hiro’s own. They both knew—The gods were watching. And one day—soon—They would have to answer to him.
With dawn, the road called again. Gold in their pockets. Armor on their backs. Strength in their hearts. Hiro, Athena, Elysia, and Phinx set out toward the next village, the next trial, the next battle that awaited them. Behind them, the villagers watched—some in gratitude, others in reverence. And some, in quiet fear.
The Capital Reacts – A King’s Command
Far from the wilds and war-torn villages, deep within Aurarios, the golden capital where marble met the sky, the ripples of a rising storm brushed against the thrones of power.
In the grand palace of white stone and solemn gods, beneath a ceiling etched with celestial fury—King Olymion sat still, like a statue carved from prophecy itself.
Whispers slithered through the council chamber.
“He not only rescued the princess... but defeated a god’s influence?” “A child,” one noble muttered. “And yet... temples rise in his name.”“The people call him Stormbringer now. Some already kneel.”
The king said nothing. His fingers tapped the armrest—steady, deliberate. His eyes held the weight of storms yet to break.
Yes, Hiro had saved his daughter’s life. That was no small deed. But what of the tides beneath it? What of the divine echoes that followed him?
A hero rising from mortal soil. A demigod dared be worshipped. And in Olympus, they would not ignore such thunder for long.
He turned, at last, to his most trusted advisor. Voice calm as winter rain.
“Send for Elysia.”
The words were iron. A mortal was rising. A storm was no longer coming—it had already touched the earth.
And a King had taken notice.
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