After a battle so fierce it felt endless, the monstrous beast finally collapsed. Its massive body floated lifeless on the murky water, muscles that once tightened with terrifying strength now limp and hollow. From dozens of wounds, thick dark-green blood spilled out, spreading into vast patches that turned the flooded cavern into a sea of death. The air reeked—fishy, acrid, and sharp with poison—burning the throats of any who breathed it, as though they were swallowing live coals.
Aerax stood waist-deep in the water, panting hard. Each breath struck his chest like the pounding of hammers, his hoarse gasps echoing against the damp, waterlogged cave. In his grip remained the boar-tusk blade, its once sleek black steel now fractured and smeared with the monster's venomous ichor. His muscular frame dripped with water, streams running down to mix with streaks of his own red blood and the corrosive stains already gnawing at his skin. On his solid arms, the shallow cuts left by the creature's barbed spines burned like open fire, glowing red as if embers smoldered beneath the flesh. Yet his eyes still blazed—exhausted, yes, but fierce, defiant, alive. Facing death only seemed to make the fire inside him burn brighter.
Minoros broke the surface nearby, powerful strokes carrying his broad white body through the tainted water toward Aerax. His frame, usually so noble, was scored with deep cuts, some edges blackened where the toxic blood had eaten into the flesh. But his eyes gleamed with triumph and relief. His soaked face, streaked with sweat and venomous blood, looked painted with eerie, warlike patterns. He managed a weary smile at Aerax—tired, satisfied, as though together they had just passed through the very gates of hell.
Without a word, the two struggled toward the stone ledge where Prince Leos remained imprisoned. But the sight that met them froze them in place. Leos was strung upright against the cavern wall, his pale but strong arms pulled taut by radiant golden chains. These chains were nothing of mortal craft. They shimmered as though forged from the sun itself, each link studded with tiny barbs that dug mercilessly into the prince's flesh.
His body trembled beneath the chill air. The dampness of the cave clung to his platinum-gold coat, every strand of fur glistening faintly in the dim light spilling through the cracks in the stone. His once-proud lion's mane hung in wet strands over his bare shoulders, revealing a frame both noble and fragile. From his brow curved two graceful ram's horns, their sheen catching the faint glow and turning his image into something both sacred and dangerously alluring—a symbol caught between divinity and temptation. In his blue-silver eyes lay sorrow and pain, woven together into a beauty that was almost unbearable.
Aerax frowned and stepped forward. He raised his broken blade and summoned what little strength remained to strike at the chains. Sparks flared, but the weapon rebounded violently, quivering in his grip. Not even a scratch marred the golden links. The echoing chime that rang out sounded like cruel laughter. Gritting his teeth, Aerax tightened his hold.
Minoros came closer, eyes flaring with fury. He hefted his heavy battle axe and swung it down upon a link near Leos's wrist. The sound rang like thunder striking stone, reverberating through the cavern, yet it left only the faintest dent in the divine metal. Panting, face twisted with frustration, sweat coursing down his cheek, he snarled, "These chains can't be broken…" His voice dripped with helpless rage.
But then his gaze darted upward. A spark of hope lit his eyes. Pointing to the ceiling, he said, "If we bring it down… the chains will fall with it."
Aerax needed no further explanation. In a heartbeat, he understood. Together they set to work. With blade, with axe, with fists if nothing else, they hammered at the stone above the chains' anchor point. Metal clashed against rock, cracks began to spread, and dust rained down upon their manes and shoulders.
Their muscles screamed with fatigue, but each strike landed heavy, echoing through the cavern. The waters stirred, trembling as though disturbed by some colossal presence. Leos watched from above, lips trembling, his breathing sharp. Yet in his eyes, a spark shone—no longer despair, but fragile hope.
At last, a deafening crack split the air. The ceiling gave way, a huge section collapsing. The stone column anchoring the chains shattered, dragging the glowing links down with a thunderous crash. Leos cried out softly as he fell with them. His hands remained bound, but he was no longer suspended. His trembling body struck the cold floor, breath ragged, eyes shimmering in the gloom.
But before relief could take root, the heavens themselves seemed to tear apart. From the unseen vault above, a blaze of holy light erupted, fierce enough to drive back the cavern's shadows. This was no natural lightning. It was divine wrath—the spear of Elion, god of the sun. It fell like a miniature star, hurtling straight toward Leos, a punishment meant for one cursed to exist against the god's decree.
In that instant, time froze. Leos's eyes widened in shock. Minoros screamed. And Aerax hurled himself forward, placing his body between the god's fury and the prince.
The spear pierced his shoulder clean through. Its impact was so powerful that the radiant tip burst from his back, blazing before dissolving into nothingness. No blood spilled—only a searing wound, glowing red like molten iron, cracks of brilliant light spreading from it as though his body itself were shattering. Aerax convulsed violently, teeth clenched so hard that blood flecked his lips. The agony raged through him like a thousand knives flaying him from within.
Minoros's cry shook the cavern. Without hesitation, he threw his arms around Aerax, dragging him and Leos into a narrow cleft in the stone wall. There, darkness pressed thick as tar, too deep for the holy light to pierce. Their bodies pressed together, hearts hammering, the cold stone soaking their skin.
Outside, Elion's divine radiance swept across the cavern, scouring every corner—but it could not reach them in their shadowed refuge. Silence wrapped around them, broken only by the drip of water and the hollow moan of wind through the cracks. In the faint glow reflected off the poisoned water, the monster's corpse still drifted.
The rescue was far from complete. The golden chains remained. The threat had only begun. Yet for now, they had survived Elion's first wrath. And in the suffocating dark, something had shifted. Destiny had turned down a path that offered no return.
On the cold stone floor, Aerax clenched his fist, jaw tight. The inferno in his shoulder burned mercilessly, yet his eyes only blazed brighter. Out of that unbearable pain, a new will was forged, as though the god's fire had unwillingly lit a power within him.
Minoros stared at his companion, words caught in his throat. His eyes carried a thousand emotions—grief, fear, admiration, and a fragile faith.
And Leos—still bound in radiant chains, still bare and trembling—looked upon Aerax with eyes no longer clouded by despair. In him, he saw not just a warrior, but a figure that seemed to stride out of legend. In that fleeting moment, amid suffering and peril, a spark of trust was born—small, but enough to change everything.