The sun had begun its descent, casting a golden hue over the marble courtyard behind the Solaris Temple. The wind whispered softly through the high walls as Kaelith sat alone, the heavy silence of post-training still lingering in the air. His muscles ached from the day's relentless sparring, but his mind… his mind was far from calm.
Varn stood nearby, arms crossed, gazing into the distance. His usual stern demeanor was softened slightly, as if something weighed heavily upon him.
"Master," Kaelith finally said, his voice subdued, "you once told me Solaris is light… purity, order. Then how… how can someone who masters it to the limit fall into darkness? How did Vaeron lose himself?"
Varn's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, but his voice, when it came, was low and haunted. "Because there are things deeper than light and darker than shadow, Kaelith. Things that flow not from the world, but from the blood."
Kaelith turned to him sharply. "What do you mean?"
There was a pause—so long Kaelith thought the old warrior wouldn't answer. But then Varn spoke again, slowly, deliberately.
"The curse of Bloodmaris."
The name echoed in Kaelith's mind like a chime from an ancient bell—foreign, yet chillingly familiar.
"Bloodmaris is corrupted mana," Varn explained, "a sickness born not of nature, but of hatred and betrayal. It flows through the royal bloodline—through you, through Vaeron… through every Solmere."
Kaelith's breath caught. "You're saying my brother was… cursed?"
"No. He is cursed," Varn corrected grimly. "Just as you are."
The weight of that truth crashed over Kaelith like a wave. He had always felt it—something beneath the surface, a pressure in his veins, a shadow in his dreams. But to hear it spoken aloud made it real.
"How did it begin?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
Varn closed his eyes, the lines on his face deepening. "A long time ago… there were two royal brothers, much like you and Vaeron. One was noble, dutiful… the other was ambitious, hungry for power."
Kaelith's hands clenched unconsciously.
"The noble brother was to inherit the throne, beloved by the people, chosen by the Solaris Flame itself. But the younger brother betrayed him. Stabbed him in the heart before the coronation. And as the noble prince lay dying, he poured all his grief, rage, and despair into one final act—one forbidden spell that twisted his own mana into a curse. Bloodmaris."
Kaelith's eyes widened. "He cursed… his own bloodline?"
"Yes," Varn said. "To ensure no one in his line would ever reach greatness without suffering the price. That the throne would never bring peace again, only ruin. That betrayal would breed betrayal."
The wind picked up, blowing strands of Kaelith's hair into his face. "So Vaeron… when he tried to push beyond the limits of Solaris… it consumed him."
"It didn't just consume him," Varn said. "It changed him. The curse awakens when one tries to transcend mortality through mana. Your brother didn't fall—he was dragged into darkness by something older than himself."
Silence fell between them for a long while.
Then Varn stepped forward, pulling off his gloves, revealing hands covered in ancient sigils—burn marks that pulsed faintly.
"You need to be stronger than he ever was, Kaelith," he said. "Let me see how far you've come."
Kaelith stood, his eyes hardening. "You want to spar now?"
"I want you to fight me," Varn said, stepping into stance. "With everything you have. No holding back. Show me what Solaris and Lunaris truly mean to you."
Without another word, Kaelith lunged forward. The training was over—this was a duel.
Sparks of golden fire and silver flame erupted around the courtyard as Solaris and Lunaris clashed together in Kaelith's palms. Varn countered with pure force, his strikes precise, powerful, ancient. They moved like two celestial beings—one forged by centuries of discipline, the other by raw, unshakable will.
Kaelith weaved light and shadow, alternating his mana in impossible patterns. He bent Solaris into spears of searing heat and Lunaris into chains of binding frost. His movements were a dance—a blend of grace and fury.
Varn matched him blow for blow, but his attacks began to slow, as Kaelith adapted, twisted, and outmaneuvered. With a final burst, Kaelith released a spiral of dual energy, one that shimmered with golden brilliance and silver calm.
It struck Varn clean in the chest.
The old master fell to one knee, panting, but smiling.
Kaelith froze. He had never seen Varn smile—not once, not even in victory.
"You've surpassed me," Varn said softly, his voice shaking. "As you were meant to."
Kaelith stepped forward, helping him up. "I don't understand. Why… why are you smiling?"
Varn looked at him—not as a master to student, but as something else. Something older.
"Because," he said, "I never thought I'd see the light again… after what I did."
Kaelith's brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"
Varn's body shimmered faintly, his outline flickering like heat on stone. Kaelith stepped back in alarm.
"Master…?"
"I was that prince," Varn said.
The world stopped.
"I was the one who cast Bloodmaris," Varn continued, his voice trembling. "I was the rightful heir… I was the one betrayed… and I was the one who cursed you all."
Kaelith's lips parted, but no words came.
Varn smiled again—this time with pain and guilt. "I took a new name, hid my face, waited for someone… anyone… who could undo the damage I caused. And now I've found him."
"No…" Kaelith whispered. "No, it can't be…"
Varn's form was fading now, dissolving into glimmering light particles. "I'm sorry, Kaelith. Please… fix what your master has done wrong. Free your brother. Save your people."
The last remnants of Varn's figure shimmered in the air, and then—he was gone.
Only silence remained.
Kaelith stood alone in the courtyard, the wind now still, as if the world itself mourned.
He sank to one knee, head bowed.
"I will," he whispered. "I promise."
His voice echoed in the courtyard, not as a vow to Varn—but to the heavens themselves.
"I will save Vaeron… and I will break the curse."
He stood slowly, eyes filled with new fire.
"The Sun Trial awaits."
And with that, Kaelith turned, walking back toward the temple—each step no longer burdened with uncertainty, but driven by a single, unbreakable resolve.
To face his brother.
To free his bloodline.
To end the curse of Bloodmaris.