A heavy silence hung in the strange, otherworldly realm Eliar had plunged into. The air shimmered faintly, like heat rising off hot stone, yet there was no warmth—only a cold stillness that crept beneath the skin.
He stood on a platform of cracked obsidian, suspended in a void that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. The stars above didn't twinkle—they pulsed, like a heartbeat, ominous and slow.
And before him stood it.
A man-shaped shadow, not entirely solid, not entirely smoke. The entity's eyes glowed with a lightless white, like ancient suns long extinguished. Eliar had no words for it—only instinct.
Fear.
Vael'thar emerged beside him, the dragon's wings folding tightly as he landed, snarling low. "This place reeks of old power," the dragon murmured. "And that thing… it is no mere illusion."
The shadow finally spoke. Its voice echoed—not in the air, but inside Eliar's thoughts.
"So… you are the descendant."
Eliar narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"I am your test."
That was all the shadow said before the air shattered like glass. Eliar didn't see the movement—only felt it. In a blink, he was thrown across the platform, landing hard on the obsidian. Vael'thar roared and unleashed a torrent of fire, ancient and blue.
It did nothing.
The flames passed through the shadow as if it were air, not even forcing it to blink. Vael'thar charged with his full strength, claws glowing with runes, wings igniting in light.
The shadow didn't move.
Vael'thar's body was stopped mid-air. It froze, suspended as if time had halted for him. The shadow lifted a finger—and the dragon was hurled to the side like a broken toy, sliding across the obsidian, unconscious.
Eliar's blood ran cold.
He clenched his fists, system glowing faintly as he summoned his [Dreamborn Edge], the blade forming from light and thought. He struck forward, each swing faster, stronger, sharper—
But the sword never landed.
The shadow raised its hand. Eliar's blade shattered.
"Too slow. Too blind. Too late," the shadow said, stepping forward now. Its feet never touched the ground—it glided. "Your potential is vast, but time is not on your side."
Eliar dropped to his knees, panting. "Who... what are you?"
The shadow paused. "I am the reminder. Of what awaits if you fail."
And then, suddenly, a burst of silver and blue light tore through the void. The platform shook. A figure appeared, landing in front of Eliar like a thunderclap.
He wore silver robes, embroidered with symbols that shifted with every blink. His eyes were piercing gold, his aura immense—like a storm barely held in check.
The shadow flinched.
"You have no place here," the man said.
"Nor do you," the shadow growled.
And then they clashed.
The air ignited. Energy flared as the man
—for who else could he be—moved with godlike speed. His blade struck the shadow with enough force to tear the air apart. Their clash created ripples that shattered parts of the void.
Eliar staggered back, barely able to stand.
Vael'thar groaned behind him, stirring slowly. "That… power… it's not of this world."
"I know," Eliar said, staring ahead, unable to move.
The fight ended as suddenly as it began. The shadow retreated, its form dissipating like smoke caught in wind.
"You're late," the silver-robed man said, turning to Eliar.
Eliar's eyes widened. "Who… who are you?"
The man studied him with deep, sad eyes. "You already know. You've felt it. Heard my voice, haven't you?"
Eliar's heart stopped. "That… was you?"
"I called you here. A fragment of me did. I had hoped you'd arrive sooner."
"But I don't understand—why did your voice feel familiar? I've never met you before."
"Because memory is not bound by time," the man said cryptically. "Blood remembers."
Eliar was silent.
The man nodded. "This place… is not life. But not death, either. It is where we remain, when the world still needs us. I am here only as a flicker of what I once was."
Eliar stepped forward, urgency in his voice. "Then tell me! Who are you? What am I supposed to do?"
"You are a Thorne," the man said. "But that name means little now. What matters is why you carry it."
"Tell me." Eliar said.
"I can't. Not yet. You are not ready. You are late. Had you arrived sooner, perhaps more could have been revealed. But you've come far, and so, I will give you this—"
He extended his hand.
A seed of light formed. It hovered before Eliar.
"This will awaken only when you truly understand your purpose. Guard it well. It holds truth. But truth is a blade—too soon, and it cuts without reason."
Eliar took the seed. It pulsed, warm, in his palm.
The man looked at him, pride and pain both in his gaze. "Gather your strength. Build your team. You will need them. Even the gods fear what lies in the Fifth Quadrant."
"The Fifth Quadrant?"
The man didn't answer. The void around them started to dissolve.
"Wait!" Eliar called. "What's your name?"
The Man paused.
"In your time… you may call me Aerion."
And then the world cracked apart, light pouring in—
Eliar fell.
And the last thing he heard before the dream shattered was:
"He wakes."
---
[End of Chapter 17]