Suddenly, six divine avatars appeared beside the elemental sword wielders—beings of radiant light, their presence suffocating.
The Fire Goddess entered with a blaze in her wake. Clad in scorched crimson armour adorned with jagged patterns, her long hair burned like wildfire, and her glare radiated wrath. Her presence was ferocious—raw fury and destruction incarnate.
The Thunder God arrived beside her, his form wrapped in flickering arcs of lightning. A broad-shouldered man with short, windswept hair and piercing silver eyes, he carried no weapon, for his fists alone summoned thunderclaps.
The Water God appeared as a tranquil figure, draped in robes that flowed like a living stream. His steps left pools of clear, glowing water, and his presence calmed even the fiercest winds.
The Wind God hovered slightly above the ground, his cloak fluttering in a breeze that did not touch the others. His form was elegant, with long silver hair and soft, mischievous eyes.
The Earth God stood solemn and quiet, his translucent form solid yet gentle. He wore a simple robe of deep green and brown, and vines coiled around his arms like sentient adornments. His gaze was ancient and unwavering.
The Light Goddess descended last, her form radiant and serene. She wore flowing garments of pale gold, and her eyes were closed as if she did not need to see to judge. Her aura shone not with warmth but with a clarity that stripped away falsehood.
Devastation followed. The moment the avatars appeared, the battlefield fell into despair. Oranyth's soldiers, once ready to lay down their lives, stood frozen. Their hands trembled. Their eyes filled not with courage, but with hopelessness. Against gods, what could mortals do?
It was then that King Caedros strode forward, his voice rising like a beacon through the silence. "If you truly are avatars of the gods, then speak! Tell us what sin we have committed!"
But the avatars remained still, their translucent forms unmoved. No reply came. Their judgment had already been passed.
Caedros clenched his fists, fury burning in his chest. He turned to his soldiers, raising his voice again—not in fear, but in defiance. "Behind us, our mothers, fathers, wives, daughters, sons, and brothers are waiting for our triumph! If we give up now, who will they trust? Who will protect them? The gods have abandoned us—then let us become their protectors!"
A beat of silence—and then a roar. First, from the king. Then from the captains. Then, from every soldier on the field. A war cry thundered across the plains, shaking even the heavens.
Steel clashed against fear. And the battle truly began.
As the battle turned in Solmaris's favour and they neared victory, a figure descended—not from the heavens, but from the veil between life and memory. She wore a cloak the colour of untouched forests, her feet bare, her hair flowing like vines in the windless air. A soft green light radiated from her—not blinding, but soothing, like the early spring sun after a long winter.
She moved among the dying and broken, placing a single hand over wounds that should not have healed, and yet they did. The very ground beneath her feet seemed to awaken. The blood-soaked earth, once a place of carnage, bloomed into a valley of delicate white flowers—fragile and pure, as if mourning what was lost and honouring what remained. She moved among Caedros's soldiers, healing wounds and revitalising broken spirits. Her presence was like spring rain on scorched land.
"Who are you?" one of the divine avatars demanded. "Your presence is not ordained. What are you?"
She said nothing.
"You are not written in the Book of Concord," another growled. "There is no place for you in our design."
She finally spoke, her voice as gentle as falling leaves, but brimming with sorrow: "Then your design is flawed."
The woman stood alone, a solitary figure facing the six gods themselves. Half-translucent and towering in presence, if not form, they radiated power—and yet, she did not waver. No one knew her name, but some whispered she was a fragment of a forgotten god—the Nameless One. Not divine, not mortal—something in between.
The battle raged on for days. By the end, the battlefield was a graveyard. The Kingdom of Oranyth was nearly annihilated. The King of Solmaris gave the final order: "No survivors. End them all."
King Caedros, bloodied and barely standing, still fought. He faced the Earth-element sword user, his blade clashing again and again. But then he heard the marching orders. He hesitated.
The Earth-element user saw his pause and struck. The blade pierced Caedros's heart. He cried out, dropping to his knees. Blood poured down his armour, but he did not let go of his sword.
He gritted his teeth. Water mana surged within his dying body, flooding his sword with light.
"Khar'ven ai'dros, naen shul dravex."
"Let rage rise—let heaven fracture."
The words reverberated across the battlefield like a prophecy denied. The elemental avatars halted. The Earth God took a step back, his voice a shaken murmur, "Where did he learn this language? Isn't this incantation long gone? How?"
Caedros roared. A glowing arc of water-infused energy erupted from his blade. One of the divine avatars rushed to intercept, but the attack cleaved the spirit being in two. The arc streaked toward the Earth-element user, but just before it struck, Caedros's body gave out. He gripped his chest with his left hand. His magic core shattered. His sword lost its power. He collapsed to the ground.
Is there no heaven's mercy? He wondered. What have we done to deserve this?
He was slipping into darkness. But then—a memory. Her face. His wife, smiling softly beneath the shade of the courtyard tree. Her eyes were full of worry the day he left, yet still full of faith. And then, his two children, running to embrace him, laughing as if the war would never reach them. He had promised them. Promised he would return when all of this ended. He would play with them in the garden. Those were the faces that believed in their king.
No. I said I would fight to my last breath...
He tried to rise. His hands trembled. His legs shook. They're waiting for me... I can't give up.
A final blade pierced his back, pinning him to the blood-soaked soil.
With a final groan... King Caedros breathed his last.
Only one remained standing: the mysterious green-cloaked woman.
The six elemental sword users gathered. Channelling all their elements, they forged a single massive sword of pure mana, glowing in six colours. The woman summoned her own ethereal blade, equal in size, shining with nature's grace. The two swords met in mid-air—locked in a brutal, elemental clash. But hers began to fracture.
When the six-elemental blade struck her and her body shattered into motes of light, she did not scream. Instead, her final whisper drifted across the charred battlefield:
"When... will this cycle end?"
There were no tears in her eyes, but her gaze shimmered with sorrow. And as she faded, the wind wept.
In time, the silence became law. A divine ban forbade anyone from speaking or writing of that battle. Any knowledge was punished by heaven. The elemental sword wielders vanished without a trace. History forgot the truth.
Present Day.
A young man, around seventeen, stood alone in a secluded glade. Sweat glistened on his brow. His sword danced in the air—swift, uncertain, desperate.
Unaware that fate, once again, had begun to turn.