The wind struck him first.
Not with force, but with freedom — a scent of ash and pine, of salt and ruin. A breeze that had never touched the crypts below now tangled in Nael's hair like fingers through forgotten memories.
He stepped beyond the great gate.
And saw the sky.
It was not as he remembered — but that was the problem: he remembered nothing.
No sun shone overhead. Only a veiled, gray light filtered through a wounded sky, fractured like stained glass. Clouds rolled like waves of bruised parchment, too slow, too heavy — as if the world above had aged while the tomb below slept.
Nael shielded his eyes. The light stung.
Elaria emerged behind him, quiet as always. The wind caught her cloak, and for a brief moment, she looked like a ghost — a fragment of the past that had clawed its way into a future that didn't want her.
"We're above," Nael whispered.
"No," she corrected. "We're between."
"Between what?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't need to.
The world was not as it should be.
The land stretched in broken veins, cracked ridges of black stone stitched together by withered trees and bone-white roots that pulsed faintly beneath the surface. Far off, jagged towers of stone spiraled into the sky — not buildings, but graves. Some floated. Others sank slowly into the ground, as if consumed by the earth itself.
A broken civilization, half-swallowed by time and silence.
"No cities," Nael said. "No fires. No birds…"
"There hasn't been war in centuries," Elaria replied.
"Then what happened?"
She looked at him, eyes dark with something he couldn't name.
"Peace."
They walked.
Every step echoed with things that weren't there. The crunch of ash underfoot. The whisper of wind against rusted monuments. Even the trees — if they could be called that — bent away from their presence, like survivors flinching from old wounds.
Elaria led in silence. Always a few steps ahead. Never touching. Always watching.
Nael tried to speak once, but his words crumbled in his throat.
What could he ask?
"Who was I?"
"Why do I remember your death?"
"Why do I miss a world I've never seen?"
Instead, he asked:
"What do you see?"
Elaria paused, her eyes on the horizon.
"Places where gods were buried."
"Places where they were forgotten."
She turned to him, voice low.
"When a god dies, the world doesn't scream. It doesn't even whisper. It just… heals. And pretends nothing happened."
Nael clenched his fists.
"But the scars remain."
She nodded.
"Yes. And so do we."
They came upon a ridge overlooking a valley of shattered monuments.
Massive stone heads half-buried in earth, their faces cracked in divine anguish. Wings carved in gold lay rusted and torn. A hundred thrones crumbled into dust, circled by obelisks bearing names that no longer meant anything.
Nael approached one of the thrones. His fingers brushed the stone.
It burned.
A vision surged through him — not a memory, but a sensation.
He saw fire.
He heard the cries of mortals rising up. A blade plunged into a god's heart. The betrayal of something holy. Not by darkness — but by justice.
And a voice.
Low. Female. Powerful.
"Let the sky remember what fear feels like."
Then silence.
The vision faded.
Nael staggered back.
"Who said that?"
"One of us," Elaria said. "A long time ago."
"You?"
She hesitated.
"No. But I watched her fall. I held her hand as her blood soaked the sun."
Nael turned toward her.
"What are you, really?"
She looked at him for a long time.
"A shard," she said. "Of someone who dared to defy them."
"And me?"
Elaria smiled — a sad, exhausted smile.
"You were the one who taught her how."
A low rumble shook the valley.
The earth groaned.
Elaria snapped her head west.
"We need to move."
"Why?"
"Because something else just woke up."
Nael glanced back at the cracked throne.
Its surface was glowing now — faintly, like a pulse.
"You said the gods were buried…"
Elaria drew her cloak tighter.
"I said they were buried in time."
"So what happens if time breaks?"
Her voice was almost a whisper.
"Then the dead remember who they were."
The wind died.
Not faded — died. As if something had stolen it.
Nael and Elaria stood frozen on the ridge. Below them, the valley of thrones no longer felt like a grave. It felt like a warning.
"It's coming," Elaria murmured.
"What is?"
She didn't answer. She listened.
And then they heard it — a sound that didn't belong to any living thing.
Not footsteps. Not breathing.
But something… dragging.
A deep, rhythmic pulling, like chains through stone.
Nael turned toward the far edge of the valley, where the fog had thickened into something unnatural. The earth bent in its presence. The sky above flickered with black lightning — silent, hungry.
And then he saw it.
Something walking through the fog.
No — crawling.
It was massive.
Not in height, but in weight. As if it carried the memory of an entire pantheon on its back.
Once, it might have been a man — robed in celestial gold and silver. But time had peeled away the divinity. Now, flesh barely clung to ancient bones. The crown it wore was fused to its skull. Its mouth hung open, not in agony — but in something worse: hope.
Chains trailed from its limbs, embedded into the stone of the valley. And where it stepped, the world did not break — it aged. Grass turned to ash. Trees withered. Even the light seemed to recoil.
Nael's throat tightened.
"What… is that?"
Elaria's voice was sharp. Cold. Reverent.
"That," she said, "was once the Herald of Dawn."
Nael swallowed.
"A god?"
"A servant of one. The gods fell… but not all their creations died with them."
"Then why is it alive?"
She turned her eyes to the being, voice flat.
"Because he refused to forget."
The creature stopped before the central throne — the one that had burned Nael earlier. It bowed before it, despite the chains. Despite the wounds. As if greeting a king long since turned to dust.
And then, it spoke.
Its voice was wind and fire. Broken, yet clear. A prayer spoken from a soul that no longer had a god to worship.
"My king. I have returned.
The world is silent… but I remember.
I remember."
Nael took a step back, heart pounding.
"It's talking to the throne—"
"No," Elaria whispered. "It's talking to you."
Nael froze.
"What?"
The creature turned.
And in that moment — despite its decayed form, its hollow eyes — Nael felt it.
Recognition.
The Herald looked at him as one might gaze upon a long-lost sun.
"You have awakened…" it rasped. "At last."
Nael shook his head.
"You… you're mistaken—"
The Herald sank to its knees.
Chains clattered like thunder.
"I failed you.
I tried to hold the light.
But the others… they buried it. They buried you."
"Stop," Nael said, backing away.
But the Herald crawled forward, reaching out with trembling hands.
"Let me serve again, my king.
Let me remember for you."
Nael felt the runes on his arms burn. Not with pain — but with memory. Echoes flooded his mind. Visions of this creature in armor of gold, wings of flame unfurled, calling stars from the void and cleaving time itself in war.
But it was too much.
Too fast.
He collapsed to his knees.
Elaria knelt beside him.
"Don't let it in," she said urgently. "Its faith is too strong. It will consume you."
Nael looked up at the Herald, voice trembling.
"Why do you think I'm him?"
The Herald bowed its head.
"Because your light is still inside me. Because when I see you… I remember my purpose."
Nael turned to Elaria.
"What should I do?"
She hesitated.
For the first time, she seemed unsure.
"If he binds himself to you… he'll die.
His soul is too old. Too anchored.
Your presence is a flame — it will burn him away."
"And if I don't?"
"Then he'll keep walking this valley for eternity… looking for a master that doesn't remember him."
Nael stared into the Herald's hollow eyes.
And saw something that should not exist in a creature so broken.
Loyalty.
Nael stepped forward.
"I don't remember who I was. I don't remember what you served. But I promise you… I will not bury the truth."
He placed a hand on the Herald's crown.
The chains shimmered.
The runes ignited.
And with a sound like a sun collapsing, the Herald smiled — and vanished into light.
Not dead.
Not erased.
Integrated.
Nael gasped — as power flooded him. Not strength. Not speed. But clarity.
He saw the sky shift.
He saw the names of the thrones below.
He saw the war that came before everything — and the woman who died to save him.
Elaria touched his shoulder.
"You accepted him."
"He deserved peace," Nael said.
She nodded.
But her eyes darkened.
"Then prepare yourself. Because now… the others will feel it too."
"The other Heralds?"
"No."
"Then who?"
Elaria turned to the horizon.
"The usurpers."
Nael stood in silence as the last flicker of light from the Herald faded into his skin.
The valley was still.
But he was not.
Something in him had changed — not just power, not just knowledge, but… remembrance.
It began slowly.
A flicker of white flame in his chest.
A name echoing through blood and bone.
Not spoken. Not read. Felt.
"Nael?" Elaria's voice was cautious.
"He called me king," he said. "And I… I didn't deny it."
She took a step forward, eyes narrowed.
"You remembered something?"
He nodded.
"A throne of light. A war between stars. A name the world burned to forget."
"What name?"
Nael turned to her — and for a moment, his eyes were not his.
"They called me… Aurelion."
The ground shuddered.
Elaria's face went pale.
"You weren't just a god."
She stepped back.
"You were the Last Sovereign of the Pantheon."
The sky split open.
Not with thunder — but with song. Twisted. Metallic. Terrifying.
Above them, the clouds tore like fabric, revealing something alive inside.
A mouth.
Not one of flesh — but of will. A great, churning halo of runes and steel, rotating like a broken crown.
From its center, a voice dripped through the air like oil:
"Aurelion… lives?"
Nael clutched his head. The voice stabbed straight into thought.
Elaria raised her arms. Runes spiraled from her wrists, forming a barrier of violet light.
"They've found us," she hissed. "Too soon—"
"Who are they?" Nael groaned.
"The ones who survived the Fall… by betraying us all."
A beam of dark light crashed down from the halo above.
Where it landed, the stone didn't break — it evaporated.
Reality bent.
A figure emerged.
Not a god. Not mortal.
Something crafted. Designed to mock divinity.
It wore no armor. No face.
Only an ever-shifting cloak of mirrors, each one reflecting a different sin. A different failure.
"You… do not belong here," the entity said, voice layered with hundreds of whispers. "You were buried."
"So were the others," Nael said, stepping forward, fire flickering at his heels. "But I am not like them."
The creature tilted its head.
"We ensured your death."
"You ensured your fear."
The being raised a hand.
The mirrors turned — and for a heartbeat, Nael saw himself in each one.
Dying.
Falling.
Bleeding stars into the void.
A king forgotten. A god undone. A man betrayed.
"I remember now," Nael whispered.
He raised his hand. The Herald's power surged through him.
A rune ignited on his palm — the same that had been carved into the ancient throne.
Aurelion's crest.
The mirrors shattered.
The creature screamed.
Not in pain — in recognition.
"He awakens!"
"He will bring the Skyfire!"
"He will bury the world again—!"
Elaria struck first.
A spear of violet energy spiraled from her hand, slamming into the being's chest. It staggered. Writhed. Screamed.
Nael followed with a wave of searing white flame — not burning, but purifying.
The creature disintegrated mid-cry, vanishing in a burst of broken reflection.
The sky closed above them, but the silence it left was heavier than before.
Nael turned to Elaria.
"Why did they call me the Gravekeeper?"
She looked at him with new fear. And awe.
"Because you weren't just a god."
"You were the one who buried the rest."
The valley behind them was quiet.
But the world ahead was waking.
Nael looked to the horizon — where other thrones waited, other voices whispered, and older sins stirred in silence.
He had a name now.
He had purpose.
But with it came a truth heavier than memory:
If the gods return… it will not be to rule.
It will be to finish what they failed to destroy.
Him.