A rift open like a wound in the sky.
No thunder, No flare, No noise, Just silence—so deep it made the birds stop singing.
And from that silence a figure comes out cloaked in rags that whispered like a void-wind, barefoot on dirt that recoiled beneath its shadow.
Zelf'th, had returned.
He walked on not as a man but something else, something forgotten by time it self eyes like burning galaxies, breath cold enough to freeze fire and make it weep, yet beneath the terrible stillness, the echo of a man still strides.
A name.
A promise.
Helian.
A village forgotten by mercy.
The first scent that reached him was rot.
The second Blood.
He followed the road to what was a once a sacred place, A temple of gods, Its spires now crumble, its halls turned to shadows, Outside, villagers bowed in chains, their back carved by whips held by a man who wore robes stitched with gold and lies.
Priest not on spirit but power.
And behind them unmoving but watching, was Fel.
A Priest draped in a plane gray robe, his eyes tired but kind, his hands filled with calloused from real work, not cruelty. He watched as one child was dragged for stealing a crust of a bread, And tough his fist clenched, he did not move.
Not yet.
Not until he saw Zelf'th.
their eyes meet and fel knew, not who, but what.
This man was wrong, too still, to silent, but not evil.
Not like the others.
The villages paused there mourning. Some started to whisper.
"Did you see his eyes."
"He walks like smoke." whispered an old woman, clutching his rosary with trembling fingers.
Fel stepped forward, pas the leering guards, past the weeping villagers, he spoke with a voice both weary and defiance.
"You're not from here are you. And yet... yet you carry sorrow like a crown."
Zelf'th voice was slow, almost brittle from disuse.
"You serve the gods."
Fel look down.
"I used to."
He glace towards the chained. Towards the Priest laughing behind the walls.
"But they serve nothing but hunger now."
Zelf'th tilted his head.
"And the gods?"
Fel's gaze towards the heaven, then he looked away.
"They watch or they don.t, I don't care which."
Silence again.
Until Fel whispered, almost to himself.
"If there is justice left... it will not come from the sky"
And Zelf'th... smiled.
For the first time in a long time.
"Then it will come from below."
In a quiet after, Fel brought him to a hut just outside the village walls. It was a small, poorly kept, filled with books and broken icons. Candles line in the shelves non of them are lit.
Fel poured water in to a bowl and offer it, Zelf'th took it with out a word, sipping slowly.
"You should not be here," Fel said "the gods will see you."
"They already have. They threw me into the void."
Fel flinched "Then... you are the one they spoke of, The heretic who prayed to the dead."
Zelf'th met his eyes "I was ones a man, a lover, a fool, and now i am something else."
Fel's lips parted slowly. Confusion and awe warried in his eyes.
"voidborn" he murmured. "But... I thought it was just a myth. A warning. No one ever returned. No one was supposed to survived."
Zelf'th nodded "I am the first. and I am the last, there shall be no other."
Outside, bell rang. Another execution. Another soul offered to silence.
Fel rose, fury simmering benaeth sorrow. "There is no hope here. Only survival. They trade in flesh, Rape the innocent. Rob the meek. And call it a Devine law"
Zelf'th stood beside him. "And the gods?"
Fel looked at him, his voice now sharp with disillusionment.
"Silent. Always silent. They reward monsters in robes and strike down the kind. I watched my brothers turn temple gold into chains. I saw girls sold in back halls beneath holy sigils. And when I prayed for justice, all I got was silence."
Zelf'th reached out his hand trembling slightly and touched one of the broken icons on the shelf. It cracked further, dust bleeding from its eyes.
"Then let them hear a new prayer, Fel. One made of ash. One made of vengeance."
Fel did not smile. But he did not look away.
"I will not stop you. I will not stop justice."
Zelf'th turned toward the temple, the whisper of the Void stirring at his feet. The memory of Helian burned behind his eyes her stillness, her stolen voice. Justice would bleed tonight.
"Good."
For when the godslayer walks, even heaven must tremble.