The wind howled through the ruins of Eldenhold like a mourning spirit.
Rain fell in sharp sheets, slicing through the dust of a broken kingdom. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the shattered streets where people huddled in fear—not of storms, but of what had returned.
And at the heart of it all stood Vintrinx , cloaked in soaked leather, eyes burning with defiance.
Behind her, a growing number of Marked gathered—those who had awakened to something ancient within themselves, yet refused to kneel before gods reborn.
They were not ready for war.
But they would be.
Because he was coming.
A Meeting of Gods and Mortals
He arrived with fire in his breath and thunder in his footsteps.
Talen descended from the sky, wings of shadow unfurling behind him, landing silently atop the crumbling palace steps. His form shimmered—part man, part beast, part myth made flesh.
His presence alone sent ripples through the air.
Vintrinx stepped forward, sword drawn.
"You don't belong here," she said.
Talen tilted his head, eyes gleaming like molten stars.
"This world is mine."
She scoffed.
"No. It belongs to all of us."
He looked past her, at the gathered Marked, the rebels, the dreamers who still believed in choice.
"I came to offer peace," Talen said softly. "Not war."
Vintrinx didn't lower her weapon.
"Peace?" she repeated bitterly. "You return from the mountain changed, awaken forgotten gods, reshape the sky—and you call this peace?"
Talen took a step closer.
"I am restoring balance."
"To who? To what?" Vintrinx demanded. "To a world that forgot you? Or just to your memory of it?"
For the first time, hesitation flickered across his face.
The Divide Between Memory and Future
The storm raged around them, but neither flinched.
Talen spoke again, voice calm, almost sorrowful.
"You feel it too, don't you? The pull of what we are."
Vintrinx clenched her jaw.
"I do," she admitted. "But I'm not letting it define me."
Talen studied her closely.
"You could stand beside me," he said. "Lead with me. Shape the new order."
Vintrinx laughed, though there was no joy in it.
"You think I want power?" she asked. "I want freedom."
Talen's expression darkened.
"The gods ruled once because they understood what mortals could not."
"And maybe that's the problem," she countered. "Maybe we don't need gods anymore."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Talen exhaled.
"You're choosing rebellion."
"I'm choosing humanity."
He looked at her for a long moment—really looked.
As if trying to find the friend beneath the warrior.
Then he turned away.
"I gave you a chance," he said. "Now the world will burn with or without you."
Vintrinx watched him rise into the sky, wings catching the wind.
And whispered:
"Then let it burn."
The War Begins
Word spread fast.
Talen had offered peace.
Vintrinx had refused.
Across the land, the response was immediate.
In Kaelmar , temples reopened, and kings pledged loyalty to the returning gods.
In Arkanis , the Drakari split—some pledging fealty to Talen, others joining Vintrinx's cause.
In the northern mountains, the old blood stirred in secret, waiting to choose a side.
And in Eldenhold , the first fires of resistance burned.
And high above the clouds, Talen closed his eyes and whispered a single word: "Forgive me."
Below, Vintrinx lifted her sword toward the heavens—and answered with fire.