Chapter 6 – The Gathering of Titans
The capital stirred like a hive at dawn. Messengers spread word from tower to alleyway, their voices carrying the decree of the Emperor: a grand trial of warriors. Every champion of the land was invited to clash in the arena. The promise hung heavier than gold: the victor would be granted any wish within the Emperor's power to give.
Thirty names had been called. Thirty warriors sharpened their blades. And among them were the five most feared figures of the empire's martial strength the very titans that people whispered about in markets and taverns.
But before the roars of the crowd, before the sand ran red, the palace was filled with quieter, heavier voices.
Far from the clamor of the training yards, the Imperial Protector, Kaelen Vorath Nemoran, sat beneath the soft glow of lamplight. His armor was set aside, his massive frame wrapped in plain linen. For once, he was not the shield of the dynasty, but a husband and father.
His wife, Liraen, moved gently around the chamber, her hands folding his cloak with the care of someone who had done so for years. Her dark hair brushed her cheeks as she smiled faintly.
"You don't want to do this," she said softly, not as a question, but as truth.
Kaelen's jaw tightened, his eyes falling to the small hand tugging at his sleeve. Their daughter, Seris, no more than seven, clung to him with wide eyes. "Papa, are you going to fight the scary men again?"
Kaelen crouched, his calloused palm smoothing her hair. A rare, tired smile touched his lips."No, little flame. Not for myself. Only because the Emperor asks it."
Liraen's gaze sharpened. "And if you win? He offers anything. Lands, gold, titles."
Kaelen shook his head, his voice like stone grinding against stone. "I have no need for gifts. My oath is enough. If I win, it will be because duty demanded it not greed."
Seris pouted. "But you'll win, won't you, Papa?"
Kaelen chuckled, pressing his forehead to hers. "Of course. I always win."
For a heartbeat, there was warmth. A family bound not by titles or crowns, but by something stronger.
Yet beyond those walls, the empire prepared for blood.
The Chosen Five
Of the thirty warriors, five stood above the rest names etched into the marrow of the realm.
Kaelen Vorath Nemoran – The Imperial Protector. A man of unyielding defense and crushing counterstrikes. His aura of steel could bend the air itself.
Selvara Moongrace – The Blade Dancer. A woman whose twin sabers shimmered like moonlight; her art was speed, her blades moving too fast for the eye to catch.
Doran Veyth – The Iron Tempest. A titan of muscle, wielding a colossal hammer wreathed in storms, each swing shattering earth and sky alike.
Ilyra Fencrest – The Silent Huntress. Bow in hand, she could vanish into shadow and loose arrows that pierced both flesh and spirit.
Vaelor Kynar – The Crimson Monk. Barehanded, cloaked in scarlet flame, his strikes could turn stone to ash.
The people revered them, feared them, adored them. And now, they would clash.
But in another wing of the palace, silence reigned.
Rigorus sat cross-legged upon the cold floor, his body bare save for simple trousers. His eyes were shut, but within the darkness of his mind, battles replayed Kaelvron's laughter, the clash of blood and steel, the moment when his halo had burned red and divine swords rained from the heavens.
He saw himself smiling a smile that wasn't his. Sinister, sharp, alien.
Was it truly me?
His breath slowed. His body stilled. The world around him seemed to fall away.
Minutes became half an hour. His heartbeat thudded into silence. Then light.
It seeped from his skin, glowing faintly at first, then brightening into something too pure, too terrible. A halo unfurled behind him, threads of crimson and silver weaving in the air. His body lifted, weightless, a figure caught between mortality and godhood.
Old scars and battle-worn flesh began to flake like burning parchment. Beneath, new skin emerged, pale and flawless, glowing faintly. His hair shimmered, no longer merely white but silver, molten under invisible moonlight.
The Princess Enters
The chamber door opened with a soft creak. Princess Aelistra Varkhain stepped in, her lips parting, prepared to speak.
"Rigorus, I came to tell you"
Her words strangled in her throat.
Her eyes widened. Her heart stopped.
Rigorus floated in the center of the chamber, his body cocooned in a divine radiance. The halo pulsed, casting shadows like stained glass across the walls. His old skin burned away, drifting like ash, leaving behind a form renewed terrible and beautiful.
Aelistra's breath quickened, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to step closer, yet every instinct screamed to kneel, to bow, to weep.
His silver hair fell in shining strands, glowing faintly with every rise of his chest. His face calm, serene was neither man nor saint, but something caught between.
Her voice cracked, a whisper:"Rigorus…"
He did not move. His meditation was deeper than sleep, his body alive with divine rebirth.
Tears blurred her vision. She pressed her palm to her chest as if to still her racing heart. A smile, faint and trembling, curved her lips.
"Why… why does my heart feel like this for you?" she breathed, so quietly only the silence heard.
And in that moment, she knew whether he rose as savior or monster, her heart had already been claimed.