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Chapter 6 - Chapter 6: A Blade to Bless the Lie

The sky over Celestria turned the color of bruised iron as night crept in, slow and oppressive. The sun had not simply set—it had bled into the horizon, casting a final, mournful glow across the broken world.

Cael Drayce stood at the edge of the battlefield, his crimson cloak dragging through the dirt. Behind him, the ruined outpost of Windmere flickered with dying torchlight.

He could still hear their voices.

Children.

Mothers.

Soldiers who had surrendered.

They had begged. Some had prayed.

And some had cursed him with their last breath.

His sword—once silver, once proud—was now stained with a darkness that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

He stared at his reflection in the blade.

It didn't blink.

"You're late," came a voice behind him.

Veylan Thorne.

Scarred. Dust-covered. Fury etched into the hard lines of his face.

Cael didn't turn.

"I wasn't expecting company."

"You left no survivors."

"I left no traitors," Cael replied flatly.

Veylan walked closer, boots crunching over bone and ash.

"They weren't traitors," he growled. "They were farmers. Refugees. Some were ours, Cael."

"There are no 'ours' anymore."

That stopped Veylan in his tracks.

He looked at his brother—not by blood, but by bond—and for the first time saw not a man, but a vessel.

"You're not even pretending to fight it anymore, are you?" Veylan said bitterly.

Cael finally turned.

His eyes weren't red yet. But they were empty.

"Fight what?"

"The voice. Her voice."

Cael said nothing.

Veylan stepped closer, chest rising with barely checked rage.

"She's turned you into her sword, Cael. Open your damn eyes. Every time you swing, she sings. You know it. You feel it."

Cael's fingers tightened around the hilt.

"The Goddess is gone," he said coldly. "All that remains is her silence. Diana filled the void. Someone had to."

Veylan's laugh was broken, hollow.

"You don't believe that."

"I don't need to."

"You used to pray before battle," Veylan snapped. "Now you burn temples and call it mercy."

Cael stepped forward, blade still at his side.

"You want to talk about mercy? Mercy got our people killed. Mercy let the Goddess fall. Mercy is weakness."

"No," Veylan said, voice low. "Lies got our people killed. Starting with the one she told you."

Something in Cael twitched.

"Say it," he dared.

Veylan didn't flinch.

"You were never her chosen. You were just the one she could break."

The silence that followed was long and brutal.

Then Cael raised his sword.

But Veylan didn't move.

"Do it," he whispered. "Prove me right."

The air was thick with tension. Wind howled around them, whispering things best left unheard.

Cael's sword trembled. Just a little.

And then—he sheathed it.

"I have orders," he muttered, turning away.

"From her?"

Cael didn't answer.

He walked into the darkness, alone.

---

The road to Delsmere was lined with graves, most unmarked.

Cael rode alone, his stallion black as oil and just as quiet.

The farther he traveled, the heavier his armor felt. The red glow that pulsed beneath the plates seemed to dim with every mile.

And yet… the voice remained.

Dormant.

Cold.

Like coals waiting for breath.

"You are a blade," it would whisper.

"A blade does not ask. A blade cuts."

He didn't remember when it first started.

Only that once it did, silence never returned.

---

Delsmere's temple was said to have been built atop a rift—an ancient wound in the world where the stars once bled into the earth.

It was where the Goddess first whispered the truth into mortal ears.

Now, it was Diana's next target.

"This one knows too much," she had told him. "She clings to the old flame. Burn her. Burn what remains."

---

He arrived at dusk.

The rebels guarding the temple never saw him coming.

Six of them. Trained. Swift.

But not like him.

Not forged in war.

Not remade in fire.

He struck like lightning, each movement calculated, each death silent.

One tried to surrender.

He didn't let him.

---

Inside, the temple was still—an echo of memory.

Statues of the Goddess lined the walls, cracked but not broken. Candles still burned, their flames dancing like dying hope.

And then he saw her.

Beneath the altar.

Old. Wounded. Robes torn.

But her eyes—clear.

She held a scroll, clutched to her chest like it could stop a blade.

"You're too late," she said, voice raspy.

"I always am," Cael replied.

"You've come to kill me."

"Yes."

She coughed, blood trailing from her lips.

"Then listen first. Let the last breath of the old world speak."

Cael stepped closer, blade drawn.

"I served the Goddess," she whispered. "I saw her fall. I heard her scream your name."

He froze.

"I don't remember," he said.

"You do. Beneath it all."

Cael's grip tightened.

"You were hers, Cael. You burned brighter than any of us. She trusted you. And Diana—"

"Enough."

"She feared you," the priestess whispered.

That stopped him again.

"She feared the day you'd remember who you were."

Cael's blade wavered.

She held out the scroll.

"This is her last message. Her last truth."

He didn't want it.

But he took it.

And for a moment—just a breath—his hands stopped shaking.

---

Then the voice returned.

Not Diana's.

Deeper. Colder.

"Burn her. Obey."

Cael's pupils flared red.

The scroll turned to ash.

The priestess's eyes widened.

"No—please—"

Steel flashed.

Then silence.

---

Later, standing among the ruins, Cael watched the temple burn.

Flames climbed toward the sky like they were reaching for forgiveness.

But there was none.

Only heat.

Only ash.

Only orders obeyed.

---

Far away, beneath the palace of Celestria, Veylan knelt beside the chained Goddess.

She was pale, barely breathing, yet divine.

He had tried everything—bolts, sigils, energy pulses.

The chains held.

"One heart still binds me," she whispered.

Veylan's jaw clenched.

"Cael."

The Goddess nodded weakly.

"He was the first flame. Now he is her blade."

---

Back in Celestria, Diana stood in her moonlit chamber.

Eyes closed.

Hand raised to the sky.

She felt the temple die.

She felt the scroll burn.

She felt Cael's soul fracture—again.

"He burns beautifully," she whispered.

"Now let the world follow."

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