Deep below the stone castle, in the dark chamber, Jaenor floated in the cold air like a god among mortals. His body glowed with a strange, red light that pulsed with each beat of his heart.
The power that now flowed through his veins was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as if the very essence of creation itself had chosen to dwell within him.
He was no longer just a man.
He was the Origin Bearer.
The chains that had bound him in the dungeon lay shattered far below, twisted metal that could no longer hold one who had transcended mortal limits. His eyes, once the simple brown of earth, now shone like twin stars in the darkness.
When he moved his hand, the air itself seemed to bend around his fingers.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of mountains and the whisper of ancient winds.
"I am free," he said to the night sky, and the words rang out like a bell across the land.
His wounds were no longer visible, they were all healed by the Origin stone.
