"This way."
The voice echoed again—low and steady. It didn't sound like it came from outside. More like a vibration, deep within his bones.
Arthur said nothing.
He just stopped walking and turned toward an overgrown path he hadn't noticed before.
There was no trail in the forest. But in the air, faint and flickering, a thread of gold shimmered—stretching forward into the underbrush.
It wasn't sunlight.
He took a few steps. The light around him dimmed instead of brightening, like the golden thread was swallowing the glow around it, leaving only itself.
He raised his hand. The thread passed right in front of his palm, pulsing slightly as it slipped deeper into the woods.
"You're leading me," he murmured.
No reply.
But as soon as the words left his lips, the thread pulsed brighter.
He pressed on.
The trees grew denser, branches weaving together into an archway of thorns and leaves. He pushed aside a vine—and stopped.
Before him, the ground sloped into a natural basin. In the middle of the hollow stood a structure of pale stone, weathered and cracked. Half of its arched entrance had collapsed. Faded runes were carved along the broken archway.
A temple.
Not the wooden prayer huts of the village.
A true remnant of the old gods.
He stepped closer. The golden thread slid down the slope and disappeared into the entrance, stretching along the cracked steps inside.
He didn't enter immediately. He paused at the threshold, eyes scanning the ruins.
Vines clung to the pillars. The stone walls bore old scorch marks and battle scars. One segment was etched with what looked like melted glyphs—some kind of magical residue.
Arthur reached out and touched it.
A sting shot through his palm.
"Don't try to read our language," the voice said again. "You're not ready."
He pulled his hand back, brows furrowed. "Who are you?"
No answer this time.
The thread curled at the edge of his vision, a faint shimmer urging him forward.
He descended into the temple.
The moment he stepped past the archway, a cold draft seeped up through the stone—carrying the scent of dust and dormant power.
The hallway was long and half-collapsed. Statues lined the sides, most broken beyond recognition. Some had no heads. Others lay shattered across the floor.
Faded murals still clung to the walls, peeling and torn. But Arthur could just barely make out the images—wings of gold, shafts of radiant light.
At the far end, in the heart of the chamber, he saw it.
A shard hovered over a cracked stone altar, resting in the center of a long fissure.
It was small—barely the size of his palm. Jagged at the edges. Like it had been ripped from a larger whole.
And yet it still glowed. Quiet. Steady. Like a heartbeat.
Arthur stood before it, unmoving.
"You led me here for this?"
No answer. But he already knew.
He stepped forward. The golden thread unraveled and vanished.
The fragment hung there, motionless—waiting.
He raised a hand, inching closer.
No resistance. No pull.
Just light. Flickering gently. One beat at a time.
As if asking him:
Are you sure?
Arthur's voice was quiet. "I don't believe in fate."
And he pressed his hand against the light.
The instant Arthur's palm touched the fragment, a pale glow burst from the point of contact, snaking up his fingers and crawling along his arm.
He couldn't move. He didn't even try.
The light wasn't blinding, but it was heavy—crushing. His blood began to heat, and every vein felt like it was being drained and refilled with molten fire.
"Synchronize with me."
The voice returned—not a whisper this time, but a direct strike to the core of his mind.
"Let go of doubt. Let go of resistance."
The glow reached his chest, spreading outward from just above his heart. A golden ring flared beneath his feet, ancient glyphs emerging from the stone floor in expanding ripples.
The temple stirred. Pillars trembled. A low, humming resonance filled the air—not sound, but something deeper. A system. Waking up.
The fragment lifted slightly, spun once, and then dropped—plunging straight into Arthur's chest.
His body jolted. His vision went white.
No pain. No rupture. Just a moment of stillness, like a storm breaking open the fog. And then—a vision.
A vast domed sky, etched with golden script. At its center stood a colossal statue of a god with radiant wings, a scepter in one hand, a hollow carved into its chest.
"The Radiant Main Ring… has fractured."
The voice fell like ash from the heavens, scattering into fragments.
"Fragment 137. Host confirmed."
"Binding complete."
Arthur's vision snapped back. He was still standing in the temple. The glowing ring at his feet faded, and the stones beneath him went still. A subtle heat pulsed in his chest, something new embedded beneath his ribs.
He looked down. The golden mark beneath his shirt was brighter than before, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
The glow around him dimmed. Silence returned. The golden line that had led him here was gone—but he knew this wasn't the end.
It was only the beginning.
He glanced around. The temple was older than he'd imagined, more broken too. But the fragment had still been waiting. And now it had chosen him.
He stepped back, drew in a breath, turned, and left the sanctuary.
The bushes at the entrance swayed aside with the wind. A barely visible path shimmered back into view.
Arthur didn't hesitate.
He stepped onto it.
"Are you going to tell me what comes next?" he asked aloud.
A pause. Then the voice returned—cool, quiet.
"Walk. Find those who want you dead."
Arthur's palm lingered on the spot where the fragment had entered. The cold touch of it still echoed through his skin. A moment later, a faint tingle spread from his fingers, like a trickle of heat responding from somewhere deep inside.
The light began to beat like a pulse.
"Synchronization initiated."
A gentle hum vibrated behind his ears, making his vision swim. He braced himself, trying to pull away, but his hand was fixed.
The fragment rose slowly, hovering before him.
Lines of light spread from its edges, webbing through the air. The moment they touched the stone floor, the entire chamber came alive.
Ancient patterns lit up underfoot. Golden veins streamed through the cracks in the floor like blood flooding a corpse.
Arthur gritted his teeth.
"What… is this?"
Before he could finish, the dome overhead ignited.
A massive illusion unfolded like a waterfall from the center of the ceiling. It showed the sky—not the one he knew, but one lost to time. Clear. Untainted by rot or gods.
From within it, a titanic statue emerged, taller than a tower, made entirely of light. Its chest bore a hollow.
A perfect match for the fragment.
"Main Ring destroyed. Sub-rings broken."
"Fragment 137—connection stable."
Arthur's chest flared. A streak of light shot from the fragment, passed through his shirt, and buried itself in his heart. The glow raced through his veins, igniting every inch of his body from the inside out.
He dropped to his knees, hands on the ground, shoulders shaking. But he didn't fall.
Something inside him resonated.
Voices surged through his mind—broken, ancient, assembling themselves:
"Chosen… Inheritance… Fire… Ruin… Reboot…"
They came faster, clearer. A pulse rolled through the chamber, rattling the pillars, lighting up the walls.
Dozens of broken statues bowed their heads in unison.
Arthur pushed himself upright, teeth clenched, sweat falling from his jaw and sizzling on the floor.
"What do you want from me?" he rasped.
The fragment pulsed again—louder, sharper. The mark on his chest blazed, the glow racing up his neck and spine like molten gold.
"Carry me," the voice said. Clearer now. Not just in his mind—it was the fragment speaking, alive inside him.
"You are my vessel. I am your key."
Arthur coughed, breath ragged. "A key? To what?"
The light around him surged. On the walls, a mural unfolded—ancient skies torn apart, the Radiant God shattered, the divine Ring breaking into a thousand shards, scattered across the world.
"Unlock the gates of slumber. Restart the cycle of divine authority."
The words echoed inside him, the final four repeating like a vow:
Restart the cycle.
Arthur stood.
He stared at the statue, at the cracked stone and faded dust, the weight of it all pressing down on his shoulders. But he didn't break.
"I won't live for you," he said coldly. "But if you're going to use me—then don't let me die easily."
The light in his chest began to dim. The fragment sank deep, fading into him. Gone. But he knew it was still there.
He turned toward the back of the temple. The half-collapsed dome was momentarily whole, patched by golden light. A stone door creaked open, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
A gust of wind blew out from below. Old. Forgotten.
Arthur didn't look back.
He stepped inside—and started down.
He had no idea where it would lead.
But he knew this much.
There was no turning back.