The night sky stretched endless over the capital, stars scattered like fractured glass. Azeron stood upon the balcony of the royal palace, his blurred face turned toward the west. Beside him, Liona waited in silence, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight.
Azeron (quietly):"Tell me, Liona… do you know the way to the West Bank of Estrellia?"
She blinked, surprised.
Liona:"The West Bank? It is a dangerous frontier. A land of merchants, scholars, and outlaws. Few kingdoms dare touch it… for it belongs to none."
Azeron's lips curved faintly, almost a smile, though the blur of his face made it impossible to see clearly.
Azeron:"Good. A place without chains… is a place where chains must be forged."
Liona:"You mean to spread your name there?"
Azeron:"No. I mean to carve it into their bones. Estrellia will either remember me… or burn."
By dawn, Azeron and Liona arrived at the West Bank. Unlike the gilded capital, Estrellia was a place of noise and smoke. Markets spilled across muddy streets, caravans rolled in from foreign lands, and whispers of rebellion floated in the air.
Yet the people did not fall to their knees at Azeron's presence. They stared with suspicion, some with outright hostility.
It was here, in the heart of the marketplace, that a man approached. His robes were white, edged with silver, and his eyes were sharp with intellect rather than fear. He carried scrolls under one arm and a staff in the other.
???:"So… the self-proclaimed god finally crawls westward."
Liona's hand went to her dagger, but Azeron lifted a hand to stop her. His eyes fixed on the stranger.
Azeron:"And you are?"
The man smirked, bowing slightly though mockery dripped from his tone.
Dr. Avenza:"Dr. Avenza. Scholar of Estrellia, physician of kings, and—most importantly—enemy of false deities."
The marketplace hushed. Whispers rippled through the crowd.
Merchant (whispering):*"That's Avenza… the man who silenced the priests of three kingdoms…"
Soldier (muttering):"And he dares face him? He must be mad."
Avenza planted his staff into the ground, meeting Azeron's gaze without flinching.
Dr. Avenza:"I have read of tyrants who called themselves gods. I have seen zealots who drowned the world in blood. But I also know this—fear fades. Lies crumble. And men like you, no matter how divine they pretend to be, fall like dust."
Liona snarled, stepping forward.
Liona:"Watch your tongue, mortal! You stand before Azeron, the one who shattered courts and silenced kings!"
But Azeron only chuckled, low and dangerous.
Azeron:"Interesting. You are not like the nobles of Luthendale, trembling in their silks. You dare look upon me without breaking. Tell me, Doctor… do you believe yourself my equal?"
Dr. Avenza (coldly):"No. I believe myself your end."
The air thickened. The crowd pressed back as shadows coiled faintly at Azeron's feet. But Dr. Avenza's staff glowed with faint runes, holding the darkness at bay.
Azeron (smiling faintly):"Then perhaps… you are worth my attention."
The tension hung sharp as a blade. The god who demanded obedience had finally found a man who dared not kneel.
For the first time, Azeron whispered to himself—not in fear, but in intrigue.
Azeron (murmuring):"An enemy worthy of my name."