In the bleak halls, chains rattled and pained groans echoed, a line of human captives shuffled forward, wearing nothing but scraps of worn cloth. Bruised and battered, they swayed with exhaustion, guided by towering figures clad in imposing armor made of materials foreign to earth, jagged masks concealed their faces, each breastplate marked with a crest, a symbol of reverence and dominion. In their hands, they carried strange weapons forged to subjugate.
Thud.
A young man faltered, collapsing and dragging the chain line down with him, he crashed into the mud, thick with blood, the metallic stench enough to turn the stomach. One of the armored guards yanked him upright with brutal strength, shoving him forward, breath ragged, spirit broken, he stumbled on until another guard seized him, tearing him from the line. With contempt, they hurled him into a dark cell, where he collapsed. Coughing sickly, he wept silently until the haze of unconsciousness swallowed him whole.
He dreamed.
A forest stretched before him, alive with the laughter of companions, together they hunted mystic beasts, shared meals by the fire, warmth flickering on smiling faces. A woman reached out to him, her hand adorned with a golden ring that glimmered in the flames. He took it, and for a moment, joy embraced him.
But then, the sky split, a Veyrith descended, levitating in white armor traced with gold, flowing garments billowed like holy vestments, and long white hair drifted as though carried by unseen winds. To look upon it was to mistake it for salvation, yet its presence was doom.
Peace dissolved into horror, Cael's body locked in terror, unable to move. The woman tugged at him, dragging him away, but his gaze lingered, long enough to see his companions torn apart, their blood stained the soil, their screams shattered the dream. Pain ripped through his chest as the Veyrith closed the distance, the woman threw herself before him, shielding him, without warning, she was struck down, her blood fell like crimson petals across his face, his world ended in silence.
"Aaaagh! Aina! Aina…!"
Cael jolted awake, screaming, a fist met his cheek, slamming him to the ground.
"Geez, you noisy little brat!" a voice snarled.
Groaning, he touched his swelling face, then glanced toward the corner of the cell. An old man stepped into the light, bandages wrapped around his arms and legs, his garb worn and torn, a scar ran across his weathered face, the mark of a soldier who had seen too much war. He knelt beside Cael, studying him with his curious eyes.
"Hmph. You've got quite a story in you, boy."
Cael staggered back, terror gripping him as the old man stepped closer. His long white hair dredged up a bitter memory, the Veyrith. Panic surged, and Cael thrashed in fear, kicking and squirming against the cold stone floor.
"Calm yourself, boy!" the old man barked, seizing his shoulders with iron hands, his voice cut through the haze of terror, forcing Cael to breathe. Slowly, his senses returned, blinking, he realized this was no Veyrith but a man scarred, weary, human.
Yet when the old man's gaze drifted to Cael's right shoulder, his heart sank. There, faintly glowing, the stigma had begun to spread. For an instant sorrow flashed across his eyes. But instead of despair, he masked it with resolve. He would not see a dying boy, he would see someone worth saving.
With a heavy sigh, he said, "You're not the only one, kid. Snap out of it."
Rising to his feet, the old man introduced himself as Arthur, he gripped the steel bars of their prison, his eyes hardened as he spoke, voice echoing against the cold walls. "Whatever happened to you, to all of us, it is not the will of gods, there is an interference, a foreign yet greedy entities, nothing more than a wall, and every wall can be broken."
From his pocket, Arthur drew a small locket, within it, a faded image of his family smiled back. His scarred lips curled into a rare grin as he showed it with quiet pride, "They're out there. Alive. Waiting. I know it." For the first time since his capture, Cael felt something stir inside him, hope.
But hope was fleeting.
A guard's voice barked from outside the cell, not calling Arthur by name, but by his brand Crosent, shackles clamped onto his wrists, and Arthur was led away in chains.
The next day, rations came in a rusted bowl, the slop writhed like living worms, releasing a foul black wisp that stung the air. Cael curled into the corner, his thoughts dragging him back to brighter days, days of laughter, warmth, and love. Tears streaked his face as regret crushed his chest.
Darkness swallowed time. Days? Weeks? He could no longer tell. His body grew frail, his spirit weaker still. Arthur never returned, peering at the empty bunk where the old man once lay, Cael's heart sank. "Dead… he must be dead."
And yet, even as the guards marched past his cell, he clung to the faintest sliver of belief. Against reason, against despair, he hoped Arthur would come back.
The next day, the guards wrenched open his cell and dragged him away, Cael thought, "Perhaps this is the end". A strange calm settled over him as he braced for the sweet release of death.
Through the darkened halls they pulled him, until a sudden burst of light seared his eyes. Blinded, he stumbled, then fell, tumbling onto hot sand. his face struck the coarse soil, grit filling his mouth. Above him, the sound of thunderous cheers rolled like a storm.
Blinking against the sun, Cael raised his head. Before him stretched an open arena, stone walls rising high around him. Nine massive pillars ringed the ground, each carved with the solemn face of what seem an important figure.
From the upper deck, a masked Veyrith stood to preside over the spectacle. Her long vermillion hair flowed like fire, three golden rings binding its tip. She raised a goblet high, and the crowd erupted into a deafening chant.
"Atryache! Atryache!"
At her side loomed an obsidian-clad guardian, armored like a living fortress. At her signal, iron gates groaned open.
From the shadows emerged a hulking beast, dragged forward in chains by a cadre of Veyrith tamers. It snarled, froth dripping from its jaws, but in an instant the chains snapped, with a blur of violence, it clamped its jaws around a handler, tearing the head clean off. The tamers fled in panic, leaving the monster free. Shaking blood from its maw, the beast fixed its gaze upon Cael.
It began to move. A step. Then another. Then a sudden sprint thunder in motion.
Cael scrambled to rise, but his body betrayed him. His legs buckled, Trembling, he stared at his quaking hands. The shadow of the beast loomed, instinct screamed at him to cover his face, to cower, to vanish. He raised his arms, then stopped.
No.
A whisper tore from his lips, weak but resolute. "Wait for me… Aina… my friends… I'm coming for you."
Closing his eyes, he stretched out his hands toward the charging beast, heart pounding as the ground itself shook with its approach.
Swoosh!
A massive force ripped through the air, silencing the roaring crowd. Blood sprayed across the sand. Cael flinched, his eyes snapping open, his trembling hands drenched red.
"I… I'm alive," he whispered in disbelief.
"You okay, kid?" a gruff voice called.
Cael turned. Sunlight cut through the haze like a blade of hope, illuminating the figure standing behind him. His eyes widened, there, lying in the dust, was the beast's severed head.
And behind it stood Arthur.
Sword dripping crimson, he gave the blade a sharp flick, casting blood onto the sand before sliding it back into its sheath. The arena fell into stunned silence. Above, Atryache raised her hand, her vermillion hair blazing in the light. With a single signal, the gates groaned open again.
Another challenge.
From the opposite side, three figures emerged to stand at Arthur's side.
"Yo, old man, don't leave us out of the fun!" boomed a burly man in light armor, hefting a spiked mace over his shoulder.
"Huff. Blood. Disgusting," muttered a pale woman, her eyes shadowed, clad in chainmail beneath heavy spaulders, a crossbow gripped firmly in her hands.
The last, an elegant man in gleaming full plate, drew a longsword from his back in one smooth motion. His voice was calm, refined, "Arthur… to think you were still alive."
Arthur smiled faintly, naming them one by one. "Maviz. Henrietta. Clyve…"
The trio returned the smile, then took their positions, forming a wall of steel and will before Cael.
Arthur's voice grew firm, carrying above the hush of the crowd. "Kid. Watch carefully. Don't turn your eyes away. If none of us can… then you must become the hero mankind needs."
The gates thundered open again.
From the darkness lumbered a grotesque monstrosity, six limbs tore into the sand as it crawled forward, its flesh a patchwork of screaming human faces, its stench enough to choke the breath.
It shrieked and charged, a nightmare given form.
"Hyaaa!" Arthur and his companions roared in unison, rushing to meet the abomination head-on.
Back in their cell, Arthur tended to Cael's battered body, the boy shivered, his skin clammy. Lumps of twisted flesh began to rise along his arm early signs of monsterfication, the stigma spreading faster now. Arthur's eyes narrowed as he pulled back the cloth of Cael's shoulder. The mark had grown, pulsing faintly like a wound that would never close.
From his tunic, Arthur retrieved a small crystal he had hidden away. He remembered how Atryache had tossed it to them as a "Reward" for victory, a token as cruel as it was precious, crushing the shard in his calloused palm, he dissolved it into a cup of water.
"Drink," he ordered.
Forcing the cup to Cael's lips, Arthur helped him swallow, slowly, the boy's convulsions eased, though sweat poured from him in rivers. Exhausted, Arthur laid him back onto the bunk, then slumped against the corner himself. For the first time in days, his body demanded rest, and he drifted into a heavy sleep.
When he woke, the cell was still dark, Cael lay burning with fever, his breath ragged. Arthur tore a strip of cloth from his own sleeve, dipped it into the stale water the guards had brought, and pressed it gently to the boy's forehead, he stayed there, watchful, while time blurred into days.
At last, Cael stirred, his eyelids fluttered, and he opened them to find Arthur staring at him with quiet concern, he jolted upright.
"The… the monster!" he gasped.
Arthur chuckled, then laughed heartily. "You made it, kid. You endured."
But Arthur's smile slowly faded as his eyes drifted to the boy's shoulder. The stigma was still there, faint yet unmistakable, pulsing like an ember beneath the skin. Cael, however, seemed blissfully unaware of it. He could not feel its weight, nor perceive the otherworldly energy that came with it, a rarity in itself. Most who bore the mark knew its torment, its slow descent into ruin. But this boy… this boy was different. Arthur stood, retrieving a ration bowl from the corner. "You need to eat."
Cael wrinkled his nose in disgust and rolled away, retreating back into the bunk. Arthur frowned, scooping a spoonful and pressing it stubbornly to his mouth.
"Eat."
"No," Cael muttered, shaking his head.
Arthur sighed, exasperated but persistent. "Kid, you don't have the luxury to starve. You've got a role to play, whether you like it or not."
He nudged the spoon closer. Cael turned his back, lips pressed tight. Arthur smirked faintly, muttering under his breath as he tried again.
"You're a stubborn little brat, you know that? But I've broken tougher than you."
Cael remained silent, listening. Arthur set the ration bowl on his lap and began to speak, his voice heavy with memory.
"Once… my men and I built what we thought was an impenetrable fortress. With the strength we had found, we drove back mystic beasts and even lesser Veyrith who came to capture us. We stood our ground with our families at our side. For a time… we believed we were winning."
Cael's eyes widened as Arthur's tone hardened.
"Then she came. The White Veyrith."
Arthur's gaze grew distant, grief etching his scarred face. "It was a devastating loss, for us, for all humanity. That being tore through our defenses, we thought ourselves strong… but before a god, we were nothing. Powerless."
He clenched his fists, recalling the final moments. "In the end, we surrendered. I cast my weapon down, not for myself… but to buy time for my people to escape." His voice cracked, but he forced the tears back, staring upward as if to bury the pain.
Cael, moved, finally lifted the spoon, he gagged at the foul taste but forced it down with water, Arthur barked out a laugh, clapping him on the back. "That's it, kid. Don't let it beat you."
For the first time in what felt like ages, Cael smiled. Arthur's eyes softened, life had returned to the boy.
The days that followed were different, time filled not only with survival, but with companionship, Cael trained under Arthur's watchful eye, learning to handle a weapon, he met Arthur's old comrades on the battlefield, the burly Maviz, the cold-eyed Henrietta, and the knightly Clyve. Meals were endured, strength rebuilt, slowly, Cael's frail body regained its form, no longer wasted by starvation.
Arthur kept a close watch on him, the stigma still lingered, faint but suppressed, its progression slowed, as if something within Cael resisted its corruption.
At last, Arthur carved a dagger from bone. He etched Cael's name into the blade, then placed it into the boy's hands.
"Take it," he said with a rare smile.
Cael gripped the weapon, nodding with fierce determination. His spirit, once broken, now burned anew.
The next day arrived. Cael fastened the bone dagger to his waist, fingers brushing the carved name as if to draw courage from it. Arthur gave him a firm nod, the kind only a battle-worn veteran could give, and together they prepared for the trial ahead.
But when the gate opened, silence met them. No beastly groan, no snarling fangs, only a murmur rippling through the crowd.
From the upper deck, a robed figure approached Atryache. Her assistant whispered into her ear, and the masked Veyrith inclined her head.
The figure stepped forward with deliberate poise. Shedding his robe and mask, he revealed fitted white garments trimmed in deep red, golden lines tracing the collar and cuffs. On his left chest, etched with a radiant insignia.
A golden circlet crowned his brow, while pale-pink hair fell neatly around his neck, his mismatched eyes, one orange, one violet, swept across the arena, and the crowd fell silent, struck by the weight of his presence.
Gasps rose from the audience, the Veyrith in the stands stood to acknowledge him, his presence was undeniable, one of the exalted figures carved into the nine pillars that loomed over the coliseum itself.
Cael's breath caught, realization chilled his blood. "One of them, god among gods."
The figure raised his voice, sonorous and commanding. The words twisted, alien, incomprehensible to human ears. Yet his intent was clear enough:
"My fellow Veyrith… the fights have grown dull. Let us give them something worth watching."
Arthur's expression hardened as he braced his companions. "This isn't good," he muttered.
The massive gate groaned again, metal shrieking as it split open. Billowing smoke poured out, tinged with an eerie crimson glow.
And then, out of the haze, a figure emerged.
Cael's dagger hand trembled violently. His legs nearly gave out.
Arthur's eyes widened in shock, fury overtaking him. "You!" he roared.
The smoke cleared, revealing a Veyrith clad in white armor, jagged mask glinting under the sun. He floated forward, as though the arena itself bent to his presence.
Cael staggered back, voice cracking into a whisper. "No…"
The others tightened their stance, weapons raised.
Arthur's teeth clenched, this was no nameless foe. This was the White Veyrith. The butcher of his fortress and his people. The nightmare of Cael's dreams.
And now, the battlefield had brought them face-to-face again.