Then, nothing.
The void was silent—not peaceful, not calm. Just endless, crushing silence.
Then light bloomed around me.
I found myself standing in a vast circular hall suspended among the stars. There were no walls, no floor—only pillars of radiant energy stretching endlessly upward, as if I stood at the heart of the cosmos itself. The air buzzed with ancient power. It felt alive. Aware. Watching.
Four figures emerged from the starlight. Each distinct. Each impossible to mistake.
To my left stood Aone, goddess of warriors. She towered in silver-plated armor, her face stern and resolute, eyes like storm-wracked skies. A massive shield rested in one hand, a gleaming sword in the other. Both weapons hung heavy with purpose, yet she held them with effortless calm. Her presence radiated discipline and strength—a protector forged in the crucible of battle.
Beside her stood Urysus, god of mages, cloaked in azure robes that shimmered like the night sky. His eyes burned with violet fire, and his long fingers crackled with arcane energy, dancing along the edges of a gnarled staff. He spoke no words, yet his voice echoed through my mind—a thousand thoughts layered atop one another. Knowledge. Control. Power, bound only by will.
Across from me lounged Azzolt, god of rogues. He wore shadows like silk. Daggers hung at his hips, and a wicked grin tugged at his lips. His eyes gleamed with mischief and danger in equal measure. He chuckled softly as he studied me, like someone already amused by the ending of a story I hadn't even begun to tell.
And beside him stood Vodia, goddess of healers. Her gown shimmered like sunlight on dew. Her gaze was soft, ancient—the kind that had seen centuries of pain and still chose kindness. Vines and blossoms coiled along her arms, pulsing faintly with life. She watched me not with judgment, but with a quiet, knowing sadness.
They spoke in unison—not with voices, but with something deeper. Something that echoed through my very bones.
"You are not one of ours… yet you carry the mark of us all."
Aone stepped forward first. Her voice cracked like thunder.
"You bear a warrior's fury—but no discipline."
Urysus followed, his tone cold and precise:
"You wield magic, but without study or shape. A raw current, unbounded."
Azzolt circled me like a predator, his smile never fading.
"You move like a rogue—not by choice, but by necessity. Like prey that's learned to run."
And then Vodia, her voice the softest—yet the clearest of all:
"You carry pain. Enough to understand others. Enough to heal… if you let yourself."
Now they stood side by side, their gazes sharp, searching.
"You are Warden.""And that makes you dangerous.""Or necessary.""Or both."
The air shifted. A fifth presence stirred—vast, ancient, watching. It lingered behind them, silent and unknowable.
Urysus narrowed his eyes, for the first time uncertain.
"Your path should not exist."
Vodia's whisper followed like wind through leaves:
"And yet it does."
The light around me began to fade. Stars spun faster. Aone raised her sword—not in threat, but in salute.
"Then walk your path, Warden. But know this: the balance is watching."
Azzolt cackled and vanished into the dark, laughing like a child with a secret toy.
"Hope you survive long enough to amuse us again."
One by one, their forms dissolved into motes of energy, returning to the corners of the cosmos from which they came. And I fell—backward, weightless—into the void once more, a single question echoing in the dark:
Who, exactly, had I become?
I gasped as consciousness slammed back into me like a tide crashing against stone.
The first thing I noticed was the light—warm, golden, soft. I blinked against it, my vision slowly adjusting to the gentle sway of branches overhead. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, honey-colored beams across the treetops. The hush of dawn clung to the world… but something was wrong.
I sat up too fast. Pain flared in my muscles, and my head swam. My breath caught—not from the ache, but from the strange, warped sense that time itself had shifted.
The world looked like morning. It smelled like morning.
But the shadows told the truth.
It was dusk.
I'd been unconscious for nearly a full day.
The river whispered nearby. The campfire lay cold, embers asleep beneath gray ash. And then I saw her—Auralia—sitting beside me, arms wrapped around her knees. Her hair was still damp, tangled from the night before. She hadn't changed out of the cloak she'd thrown on in haste during the attack. Her eyes met mine the moment I stirred.
"About time," she said softly. Half-teasing, half-worried. "I was about to start drawing runes on you just to see if it would wake you up."
The smile in her voice couldn't mask the tension in her shoulders. She hadn't slept. She hadn't left. She'd been watching over me this whole time.
I tried to speak, but my throat was a desert. A coughing fit took hold. She handed me a waterskin before I could even ask.
"Don't try to move too fast," she said gently. "You were—" She hesitated. "—burning, Eiran. Not literally, but… glowing. The tattoos were glowing. And everything around you just—" she made a vague gesture, "exploded."
Flashes surged back into my mind. Goblin screams. Blinding light. Power that wasn't mine—but had poured from me like a dam breaking. And then the dream—the gods. Their voices still echoed faintly in my skull.
I looked back at her.
She was studying me closely now, brow furrowed.
"You're not just a mage, are you?"