The study was calm, eerily so. While the castle roared with distant horns and the thunder of boots on stone, here there was only the scratch of a quill across parchment. The shelves of tomes stood tall and orderly, untouched by the chaos. A single lamp burned low on Alric's desk, painting his face in gold and shadow. He did not look up when Rylan entered.
The boy lingered in the doorway, chest rising and falling, listening to the unnatural stillness. His pulse still carried the rhythm of the chaos outside, yet here it felt as though time itself refused to move. He took a step closer, his boots clacking against the stone tile unnaturally loud.
"Alric," Rylan said, his voice tight, breath still uneven from the run up the hall. "What's happening out there? The horns—the shouting—are we under attack?"
Alric's quill slowed to a stop. He set it aside with deliberate care, as though weighing the cost of his next words. For a moment, he smoothed the parchment beneath his hand, buying silence. When he finally raised his eyes, they were calm. Too calm.
"It will be difficult for you to hear this, lad." His voice was low, deliberate, almost patient. "Your friend—Ori, has turned. He is a traitor to this kingdom. Even now, the soldiers pursue him for acts of treason."
The words hit like a stone to the chest. Rylan froze, staring, searching Alric's face for some sign of jest. The older man's gaze was steady, unyielding. The silence stretched, heavy, almost suffocating. For a moment, doubt crept in. For a moment, Alric thought he had dodged the truth once again.
"I know it pains you," Alric said gently, leaning back in his chair. "To see a friend betray you is no small wound. But better to know the truth than be blinded by sentiment."
A beat of silence. Then—
"You're lying," Rylan said at once, shaking his head. The words rang sharp in the still room. He drew a breath, steadied himself. "That's not true." His eyes narrowed, heat flashing in his chest. "Ori would never. I saw him—broken, beaten down. And I watched him put the pieces back together, for a cause that wasn't even his own. He didn't come all this way just to betray me."
Alric's composure slipped. His jaw tightened, his eyes hardening as he leaned forward on his desk. "Still you cling to faith in fragile men. That... has always been your weakness, boy. Here is a lesson you've been so desperately needing."
He stood up from his chair, hands down on the desk, perfectly sleek, silver hair falling over his shoulders. "True strength, your highness, lies with those who dare to grasp it when others hesitate—those who will bear the weight of choice without flinching."
The words sharpened, spilling past restraint, filling the quiet with the weight of conviction. Until at last—he faltered. Just enough to let the truth bleed through.
"Your father could not make the choices I had to make. Which left me with a heavier choice still."
Rylan's breath caught. His fingers curled at his sides. The quiet pressed in again, thick as stone, until at last his voice broke into a whisper.
"You mean… It was you. All this time. You acted like the savior...coming to my rescue—the kingdom's rescue."
Alric didn't flinch. He met the boy's stare from behind the fortress of his desk, his tone almost tender. "Your father was a good man. But goodness does not win wars. It does not protect kingdoms. This all could have been avoided if not for his shortsightedness."
The Mantle at the back of Rylan's neck burned hot, flaring like fire under his skin. His grimoire tore open on its own, pages thrumming with light.
There were no words. Only a surge of fury.
Alric stepped from behind the desk, hand to his heart. "He could not see what was coming for us all..."
Suddenly—
At the wave of his hand, a jagged crystal spike erupted into being and launched across the room with a deafening crack. It struck Alric square in the chest, shattering through gilded plates and flesh alike. He staggered back, choking on blood as it poured down his tunic, his hands scrabbling against the desk.
Rylan's voice shook with rage, breath ragged between words. "I trusted you. My father trusted you. And all you ever cared about was power!"
Alric collapsed to one knee, clutching the wound. He coughed, crimson flecking his lips, yet when he lifted his face, tears glistened in his eyes. His voice was ragged, but sincere.
"That simply isn't true, lad." His breath rattled, blood pooling at his lips, but his eyes shone with a feverish light. "I cared for you—more than any crown, more than any kingdom. And that is why I chose the burden. Not you. Never you. I will carry it, even if it damns me."
His smile broke, equal parts sorrow and madness, and the tears that streaked his face glimmered in the lamplight like something holy, and utterly fallen.
"No…" Rylan stepped back, disbelief undoing his rage.
"When word of the mysterious attacks reached us, I was visited by a stranger." He coughed as his hand trembled while pressed to the table, steadying him. "He was dark, and unknowable. He showed me…what is to happen to this world. What I saw—was as if the Scepter's light had all but gone away. It was…Hell in its literal form. The stranger presented me with a choice. Fall with the rest of the world, or take their blessings and do their bidding. He made promises of a Mantle…one which could be used as protection against the dark days already upon us. I took the bargain so you wouldn't have to."
"This whole time. You were in bed with the dark army," Rylan questioned, his voice breaking on the edges of grief. "How could you do this, Alric? You were a man of faith—my mentor. When did the Scepter's light abandon you?"
"Did you not hear anything I've said, child?" Alric coughed with frustrated breath. "The Great Sage has forsaken us. His mercy, wisdom, the light from his scepter will all soon be gone! There is no more faith. This…was the only way to save our home—to save you."
Rylan stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists, tears running down his face. "I want to believe you had no choice…that you just couldn't see another way. But this is all too calculated. My father died trusting you. I won't let our people suffer the same. This ends today!"
Alric's eyes darkened. The softness bled away, leaving only grim resolve. "Then you are a fool. You think you can undo this? No, lad. The wheel has already turned. In this mission… I simply cannot fail. I will not see our kingdom fall to ruin for kings who don't know when to STAND DOWN!"
The floor split beneath him. The glow in his wound surged outward, crawling across his skin like molten scripture. The air thickened, oppressive, as if the walls themselves recoiled.
And then Alric roared, a sound not wholly his own, as the Mantle consumed him. His breath came in jagged pulls, each exhale sounding less like a man and more like something breaking apart. The veins around his neck blackened, swelling as though trying to contain the power surging within.
At first, Rylan thought the Mantle was killing him. The air grew thick, pressing against his lungs. The shelves rattled, tomes spilling like leaves in a storm. Gold filigree lines crawled over Alric's skin, searing patterns into flesh, until his features were half-man, half-statue.
Alric's voice trembled, layered, as if two or three voices spoke through him at once. "This… is the price. To hold… what your father could not."
He lurched against the desk, fingers splintering the wood with unnatural strength. His eyes rolled white, then burned molten gold. Dozens of thin, spectral shapes flickered from his torso—at first like smoke, then solidifying into grasping, half-formed arms, clawing at the air as though desperate to seize everything within reach.
The floor cracked. The walls buckled. Light and shadow twisted together, too bright, too dark.
Rylan's body refused to move. Horror pinned him, rooted him to the stone. He couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, couldn't look away as the man who had raised him, guided him, betrayed him, became something unrecognizable.
"Alric…" His own voice came out as a whisper, swallowed by the roar of breaking stone.
A hand closed around his wrist. Firm. Urgent.
"We have to move!"
Rylan spun, startled, and found Kirin at his side—hood drawn, her eyes hard with urgency. She yanked him from his stupor just as the ceiling groaned overhead. Together they stumbled toward the shattered doorway, the world collapsing in fire and dust behind them.
Rylan glanced back once, just long enough to see Alric's body bowing unnaturally, skin tearing with seams of golden light, arms unfurling from the haze in grotesque shapes. No longer a man, not yet a god—something trapped between.
His voice broke in a whisper as Kirin pulled him onward. "These Mantles… what are they?"
Her eyes never left the collapsing passage ahead. "They're wrong," she said simply, and hauled him through as the wall gave way, burying the room in dust and stone.
[Meanwhile—In the city]
The battlefield was already broken when they met—stones split, walls shattered, the night sky red with fire. The chaos of the larger war seemed to draw inward, funneling its fury into this one place, this one fight. And in the center of it all stood Ori, bloodied and bruised, staring down the monster that had once been Captain Vaelen.
Stone dust clung to his lungs. Ori pushed himself up from the rubble, coughing, blood warm at the corner of his lip. His axes lay just out of reach, and every muscle screamed as he forced himself to stand.
The world went quiet for half a breath—too quiet.
Then, red warnings blared in his vision.
DANGER!
He looked up, and with only a spare second to process, the earth split.
Vaelen came crashing down from above, lance first, the impact erupting in a violent shockwave that lit the night with fire and shards of stone. Ori dove aside, the explosion ripping the floor where he'd just been into a jagged crater. Heat licked his back as he rolled and came up in a crouch, panting, one eye refusing to open.
Through the dust, Vaelen rose, dragging the lance free from the shattered ground. His armor was battered, his face a mask of fury, eyes alight with venomous zeal. He radiated pure animosity, each breath like a growl.
The soldiers behind him looked on with fear. They were starting to see the a change in Vaelen, one that didn't sit right with even them. One stepped forward timidly.
"Captain—your arm!" one of his soldiers cried.
Ori's eyes flicked to it. The flesh of Vaelen's spear arm was no longer flesh—it was darkened, plated with ridges of obsidian and gold, veins of fire crawling beneath the surface. Fingers stretched long, claws of living steel.
Vaelen looked down, just once, and sneered. He waved his arm at them wildly. "I said stay back!" His voice cut through the smoke, commanding and mad all at once. He lifted the corrupted limb, brandishing it proudly. "This is nothing. Do not avert your eyes. Tis merely the price of true power. One I pay gladly."
The soldier's faces did not agree. They seemed almost terrified at what the lance was doing to him. The power was unstable, not meant mortal hands. It was slowly, but surely corrupting him.
He leveled the lance at Ori, the air thrumming around its point. "And you—boy king. You've already lost everything. Your kingdom, your crown, your people. What's left for you to cling to? Why continue to oppose your betters?"
Ori's chest heaved, but he said nothing. Vaelen's words, though spoken out of malice, tinged with truth. He had lost everything. Friends, family, kingdom—all of it was gone now. Yet here he was—bleeding for something. At first he didn't understand it. What he thought would be rage or pain toward Vaelen's words turned into something else—something contrary.
Vaelen stepped closer, the lance sparking with malevolent energy. "Perhaps Rylan, then? Once I finally cut him down, at least then you won't be alone in failure."
The statement moved something in him. He'd heard enough of Vaelen's bullshit. He cared little for what Vaelen thought he was going to do to him, but Rylan was innocent. That's when realized it. He'd rather die then let this coward harm a single silver hair on his head.
So what if he'd lost everything? So what if he'd no throne to protect anymore. He had Rylan and the others. And right now, protecting them was all that mattered. The thought of Vaelen walking away unpunished, smug in his cruelty, ignited a fury deep within Ori.
Ori's vision blurred red. A low growl slipped between his teeth as heat surged through his veins. The Mantle at the base of his neck blazed, branding his skin with fire.
"You won't last much longer at this rate. His strength eclipses yours. We should retreat, and find the others." The Mantle warned.
Ori's fingers clenched around his axes. His teeth ground. "Not happening…"
"This fight does not belong to us. We don't have to perish here."
Ori staggered upright, shoulders square, the weight sliding from him like chains. "You're right." His voice broke, then steadied, hard as steel. "This isn't about me. I've carried that weight long enough."
"Finally realized it yet? That you were never worthy of the Mantle?" Vaelen called out, the joy of victory etched on his face. "You were never meant to rule, boy. And soon...all unworthy wretches will submit to our rule. You shall be the first to kneel."
"You're right. I have lost it all, but in my opinion...that makes me very dangerous." His eyes burned as golden fire coursed through his veins, cracks of light racing across the stone at his feet.
"Those who would harm their own people, who twist duty into cruelty for the sake of power… have no right to call themselves kings!"
The ground split as the Mantle roared with him, a violent surge tearing outward. Dust and flame whipped into a storm, golden light flooding his body. The Mantle's voice, no longer warning but almost reverent, hissed through his skull:
"Restraints diminished. Capacity expanded. Twenty percent of a hundred engaged."
Vaelen's smile faltered. He had expected despair, not defiance. The lance trembled in his grip as Ori lifted his axes, Mantle blazing brighter than ever before.
"Emotional override detected. Aggression output increased. Probability of lethal engagement: 94%."
As he convulsed with energy, Ori sighed in frustration before whispering. "In my language please…"
"In simple terms: Readings show that you intend to break him."
Ori flourished his axes, now gleaming with gold and silver engravings, the energy around him now a tempest. He lowered his stance, ready to fight once more.
"As of right now, I can't think of anything I've ever wanted more. I'd say those readings are accurate."
"Careful. You're beginning to sound like me."
Vaelen stood unbothered by Ori's golden blaze. It was unsettling, yes, but he had a Mantle's power fueling his will as well. He leveled his lance, widening his stance as it pointed toward Ori, sword in the offhand. "Finally found your resolve—good. Now let us be done with words."
He disappeared.
The ground around Ori's feet began to crack outward like a web.
Then a blaring "DANGER" warning.
Ori looked up. Vaelen was above, lance drawn back, its pressure releasing even before the attack.
Ori dashed. A green blaze exploded where he once stood. It created a massive crater in the street, sending stone and dirt high in the air. Ori crossed his axes, blocking debris from the blast.
The tip of Vaelen's lance was already at his back, green energy swirling at its end. Before Ori noticed he could feel the heat emitting from it.
Vaelen stood behind him ready to kill, grin stretched to both ears. "Got You."
Ori's instincts screamed. He twisted, axes snapping up in a desperate cross. The lance struck with the force of a thunderclap, the impact hurling him back in a storm of sparks. His boots carved lines in the stone as he slid across the street. Behind him, the building wall erupted, leaving a yawning hole belching dust and fire.
The Mantle stirred with a warning. "I'm Sure I don't need to tell you this, but if he lands one of those attacks, we're done for."
Ori coughed, muscles trembling, eyes burning from the heat. "He wields that thing like a goddamned maniac. " he rasped.
"More like it's wielding him. Vaelen isn't in control anymore. We have to stop this—NOW."
Across the burning battlefield, Vaelen writhed with malicious glee. His arm had completely mutated into something demonic and pulsing with the spear's energy. He swung both arms wide, chest heaving from the strain of the power. It was like he didn't care that the weapon was feeding on him.
"What's the matter your highness? I thought you just had a breakthrough!"
He then unleashed another attack in Ori's direction. A blinding swirl of green flame shot forth from the spear, but the Mantle kept Ori light on his feet. He leapt out of the way as yet another building was demolished. He rolled to a stop, dragging his axes along the ground to kill his momentum. The cries of the townspeople fleeing the wreckage flooded the air.
Ori grit his teeth. "Taunting us now, is he? Real charmer—that one."
"Look alive!" The Mantle cautioned. "More innocents are going to die if we don't act quickly. It won't be enough to just stop him."
"Stopping him was all I could come up with." Ori hissed.
Then he heard a scream from his flank.
It was a young girl—no older than Mina, trapped under a large piece of debris. Ori dashed toward her, Vaelen's attacks just missing him. He scooped the girl quickly before a blast of emerald flame could reach them. He clutched her tight as he rolled clumsily behind another building. He coiled himself around her a just as the building beside them erupted in a massive explosion, the force of it sending stone and glass shooting in every direction. For a heartbeat he thought he had saved her—until he felt her body limp in his arms. A jagged shard of glass had pierced her chest. Ori froze, staring at her lifeless eyes, devastation crushing the air from his lungs.
"No no… no no no." He said, scrambling to raise her up.
"No pulse detected," The Mantle said somberly. "She's gone."
Reality set in with a cruel sting. Gently, he set her down and for a long, ragged breath he simply listened—to the hollow where her heartbeat should be, to the distant screams—and felt the world collapse inward. The warmth beneath his palm had gone cold; tears welled in his eyes, slow and useless. Grief sank into him like a stone, heavy and flattening, and he let it take him for a moment, fingers tracing her greying face as his tears tapped her cheek.
Then, the sound of Vaelen's voice carried through the smoke, mocking and calling him out for the fight. "Stop your hiding, boy king! Is this your strategy for everything? The reason you outlived your kingdom, perhaps?"
Vaelen's words cut deep, but Ori didn't flinch at the pain. Oddly enough, he found truth in them. "Once again he's right. I should be dead." He said to himself. "To hell with all this self preservation bullshit. If he wants to right that wrong so badly… here's his chance."
Ori's grief cracked, anger pouring through the fracture until it sharpened into something else, a hot, precise edge. He took a breath, quelling the emotions swirling within him. "You said killing him isn't enough. So what are you suggesting?"
"To put it simply—" The Mantle's voice paused, more measured now. "We're taking that spear from him."
Ori spat blood, eyes narrowing. "Take it? But it's already corrupting him. Won't it just do the same to me?"
"Not while I'm around. Let me deal with that part. But first—you have to separate it from him."
Vaelen's laughter tore through the smoke, ragged and wild. He staggered, clutching the spear as the corruption hissed through him. "You only delay the inevitable! Just as you linger around corners, so too does your end."
Ori rolled his neck and shoulders as he stepped out into the open to face Vaelen. "We'll see."
"There he his," Vaelen said, his menacing smile widening, blackened vein stretching across his face. "Now stand still. I won't be missing this time."
"He's coming!" The Mantle warned.
Vaelen lunged, corrupted arm driving the lance in a blur of green fire, the air howling with its pressure.
Ori's steeled himself. "Mantle—calibrate all energy to my right arm."
"Warning—system strain imminent. Are you sure?"
"Do it!"
Golden script cascaded across his vision, rerouting every flow of power in his body. His chest hollowed, his left arm burned weak, his legs shook—but his right arm ignited. Veins glowed molten, muscles swollen with light until his hand seared like a forge.
With a roar, Ori raised the axe high and slammed it into the street.
The ground exploded. A golden shockwave ripped outward, cobblestones bursting skyward. The blast slammed into Vaelen's thrust, breaking its momentum in a violent burst of dust and fire.
Vaelen staggered, his stance broken, the lance wavering in his grip. Through the haze, he glimpsed Ori—outlined in golden fire, radiating, eyes blazing like a dawn given form.
"Impossible—" Vaelen spat, teeth bared.
Ori surged forward, closing the distance in a single breath. His axes crossed in a golden arc, cleaving through corrupted flesh. The arm split free in a spray of molten ichor, still clutching the lance as it crashed to the stone.
Ori landed heavy, his right arm trembling from the strain, skin already blooming with bruises beneath the glow. He grit his teeth, forcing himself upright, refusing to falter.
Vaelen fell to one knee, shrieking, his stump writhing as black fire sputtered uselessly. "No—you can't take it! It's mine! It was promised to me!"
Ori ignored him. His eyes fixed on the lance, twitching in the severed hand like a beast trying to rise again.
He dropped to one knee, exhausted. He drove his axe into the demonic arm still clutching the spear, cutting it away as it shriveled and blackened. He took a slow, reluctant breath. Then he reached out, and grabbed the spear.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the shaft, agony surged up his arm. Black fire crawled beneath his skin, veins bulging and splitting into cracks of shadow. His vision blurred—Rylan's face, the city aflame, his father's voice—all swallowed in a storm of whispers.
That's when he heard it. In the encroaching darkness came a voice. It was warped and inhuman. It called out to him.
You are hurting, young king. I can taste it. Give in to my will. Let it claim you… and your suffering shall cease.
Ori staggered, his teeth bared, clawing at his own chest. The corruption lashed at his throat, his eyes, burrowing into his will. He saw himself reflected in the blade—skin cracked, eyes black, a husk like Vaelen.
The Mantle roared through the storm. "Hold on. I can strip it out—but you have to trust me."
"It's—burning me alive!" His scream cracked, half agony, half rage.
"Rewriting it's broken code—I'm mending it. Just hold fast, Ori."
His knees buckled. The black veins spread further, lashing across his face. For one breath, he felt himself slipping, drowning.
"No…" His voice was a snarl, ragged and raw. "I'm not him. You hear me? My pain is mine to bear!"
Golden fire erupted from the Mantle, racing down his arm in jagged veins. The corruption shrieked as the two forces collided—black and gold tearing through his body, searing his lungs. Ori's scream split the night, raw and defiant, until at last the shadow shattered and was consumed.
The spear stilled in his grip.
Ori gasped, his breath ragged. The weapon no longer pulsed with green corruption. Its shaft gleamed with silver trim, golden runes threading its length. At the base of the blade, new engravings spread like wings unfurling, radiant and proud.
The weapon no longer looked like Vaelen's. It looked like something reborn. Something his.
The Mantle whispered, steady and sure. "Corruption subdued. Weapon secured. Armory expanded."
Ori blinked. His vision shifted, as if a curtain had been pulled back. A translucent screen unfolded before him, shimmering with golden glyphs. He saw his axes represented there, his old saber catalogued beside them—and now, a new entry blazing: the spear, purified and renamed by the Mantle's light.
"What… what is this?" he whispered.
"Your armory," the Mantle explained, almost patient. "Every weapon you claim becomes part of you now. They can be called upon as needed. Even the saber you thought lost."
Ori stared, stunned, until the screen faded. He staggered upright, bruised but blazing, clutching the transformed weapon, now fit for the Griffin of the Golden Dawn.
Vaelen lurched forward, ruined stump outstretched, eyes wide with desperation. "No! Give it back! It was mine!"
He collapsed before he reached Ori. The fire guttered out in his veins, leaving only shriveled flesh and cracked armor. His body twitched once, then fell still. The corruption had devoured its vessel; without the spear, there was nothing left.
Ori looked down at the husk that had once been Captain Vaelen, chest heaving. For the first time, he wasn't only enduring—he was taking ownership of his fate.
He tightened his grip on the radiant spear. The Griffin of the Golden Dawn had forged his first relic.
Before Ori could savor the victory, the earth groaned beneath his boots. A thunderous rumble shook the city, toppling shattered walls and scattering loose stone. His head snapped toward the castle.
The grand structure was collapsing, towers crumbling in a storm of dust and fire. From its ruin rose something monstrous—a silhouette vast enough to blot the moon, a creature the size of a mountain forcing its way into the night.
Ori's heart seized. "What in the—"
The Mantle's voice cut sharp in his skull. "Signature match. The corruption's energy is identical to the spear's."
Ori's breath caught, the truth dawning cold and heavy. The monster tearing free of the castle's bones was not some new invader.
It was Alric.
Chapter End—