A stygian emptiness filled his soul, like an awful nothing feasting on the young man's spirit. His mind struggled to make sense of the horrid desolation inside of it as he awoke in this realm for the first time. He had no knowledge of himself, no past or future, nothing but a dreadful soul-crushing emptiness inside him. It was truly a horrifying nightmare like no other, as if the world itself were stealing away everything that made him, him.
And yet, even in his confused and weakened state, the young man's spirit somehow remembered the words he needed to speak.
But as his mouth drifted open, the world around him seemed to come alive with wrath. A dreadful corrupted fog swelled toward him from all directions in a violent rage, as if it had become aware of his intention to fight against its twisted will. The strange fog seemed to be connected to the emptiness inside him, because as it moved closer, so did the nothingness grow stronger.
His tongue was made heavy in his mouth, the strange corrupting mist had stolen all will from inside him once again. But the sacred words are powerful things, and almost as if having a will of their own, they insisted on being known to this new world.
"Vo-Voluntas Lucis!" A tortured grimace spread across his confused features as he forced out the stuttered sounds, his very being straining and cracking against the weight of a burden far heavier than his emptied soul could ever hope to bear.
The angry fog of corruption that filled his vision rippled violently as he forced out each word. As the final syllable sounded out, the stirring corruption began to still and all the world went silent. Then, a small ember of burning will, like a lighthouse in the darkest abyss, ignited in his chest, chasing away the profane nothingness that had taken root inside him. As it did, his very being was slowly returned to him, like a tiny candle melting its way out of a block of ice.
The confusion behind his eyes was chased away next, as the pained grimace slowly fell from his face, replaced with a look of stunned recognition.
"I am… Leor… Sworn son of the house of the flame, ours is the will of the light! Voluntas Lucis!"
As the words of the prayer worked their sacred magic on the young man's will, he began to feel strength fill his body once again. Shaking the unnatural cold from his arms, a deep furrow filled his brow at the sight of the deadly and profane mist-like corruption that had very nearly consumed his soul. By some miracle, he had been spared. To fall so deeply into the embrace of such defilement was a death sentence—how on earth had he survived such a thing?
His confusion quickly gave way to a burning rage, filling his chest with hot anger as he glanced at his dark surroundings.
"How dare you, you disgusting thing?!" he cursed the very realm itself in his rage. "How could a world become defiled in such a vile way, attempting to strangle even the spirit of the very lifeforms that could sustain it? Like a mother drowning her own child! May the flame consume you!"
His memories had nearly fully returned to him now. He was Leor. He had turned seventeen this year and become a junior member of the House of the Flame. He had passed the dreaded soul scrying, proving himself worthy of the orders' trust, and had nearly completed his initiate's training in the ways of his sacred house.
Many thousands of years ago, the greater web of realms had begun falling to defilement. The cause of which was hotly debated, though none could claim to know the certain truth of things. What was known for certain, was that at the same time as the first traces of defilement began to surface, the great immortal beings mysteriously vanished. Elyon, the first son of the light, his was the domain of warmth, humanity, order, and knowledge, and Eres, daughter of chaos, hers was the domain of pure potential, the natural world, the deepest abyss, and life itself. These great beings, first to climb up out of pure potential of light and chaos itself, had always ruled over all creation from the throne of light, and the vast untamed wilds of the natural realms.
Nevertheless, with the great beings gone, and the defilement spreading, one ancient civilization after another had been consumed by this unrelenting curse. Entire realms became fallen hells, their former inhabitants twisted into dark and unholy things.
Luckily, Leor's people were safely tucked away deep in the heart of the Realm of Light. The great will of the flame protected them, making their realmworld uniquely immune to the influence of the corrupting plague that spread unchecked all around them.
Leor belonged to the Volantis Lucis, the Will of the Light, known to many as the House of the Flame. One of the many knightly orders in the realms who made it their sacred mission to fight the defilement. They were warriors, explorers, and fellows of a quasi-religious sect. Their commitment to the Realm of Light, along with their harsh training and strong beliefs, empowered their will, making them strong enough to stand against the defilement.
The final test for all initiates like Leor was to carry their newly developed will through a portal, into a lesser fallen realm, and redeem at least one fallen soul from that place, bringing them back to join the house and strengthen the brotherhood. If the redemption failed, an initiate could also pass the test by cleansing the defilement from a fallen soul whose corruption was beyond the point of redemption, permanently. This also came with benefits. Flames grow stronger when they're fed, so slaying the defiled monsters of a fallen realm was a sure way to grow stronger for the members of Leor's house.
This was a perilous undertaking even in the best of conditions. But something had clearly gone very wrong this time. The last thing he remembered was Master Vale ushering Leor and the other two initiates into the portal while chanting a prayer for their safe return. The very next moment, he was waking up consumed by defilement.
The place he had suddenly awoken was no lesser fallen realm. The defilement that had taken hold of this place was like an abyss, deep and ancient. This realm had likely fallen long before he was even born. But how could that be, how could the House of Flame make such a terrible mistake? It didn't make any sense. The other initiates, Alina especially, would probably better understand the situation. He needed to find them.
However, it was already a miracle that an initiate like him could even recover his sense of self in such a corrupted land. By all rights, he should have died, or been completely consumed by defilement for the rest of time. Leor was quite worried that the others had already succumbed.
A shiver crept up his spine at the thought of his friends bodies becoming twisted husks, filled to the brim with the vile evil of defilement.
The way each realm fell into defilement was unique. Some realms burned with violent fury, consuming the beings who dwelt there in endless conflict and war, twisting their bodies into great demons of battle. Some realms succumbed to dark temptations, injecting every soul within them with an obsession for lewdness and filth, it was best not to think about what these poor souls became.
The ways a realm could fall were endless. What they all had in common, though, was that defilement started off small and weak. So weak that most people simply ignored it, allowing it to fester and grow.
The realm chosen for the initiates' final trial should have been quite safe in the larger scheme of things, with the weakest level of defilement, one that could hardly be noticed by common men untrained in wielding the will.
This dreadful place, however, was so deeply fallen that Leor could hardly see. His own ability to observe the corrupting influence was blinding him. Such a thing should hardly be possible, and yet there it was all around him.
"It's like I've been dropped into the deepest layer of the abyss…" he muttered through shallow breaths, clenching his trembling hands together.
Worse yet, the defilement of this place was uniquely deadly. Filled with a strange soul-destroying nihilism, he could feel it trying to attack his will even now. It wanted to make him forget his own name, his love for his friends, and even his desire to live!
"Even just standing still in this place is risky. What's going to happen when I run into danger?!"
He stood in shock for a moment, staring at the world around him as his terrible circumstances fully sunk in. The defiled mist was so thick he could barely see a few meters ahead. He had some preparation for such things—each initiate was trained in the teachings of the Volantis Lucis. They were taught to empower their own will with the sacred flame and push back against the defiled influence of fallen realms. But he was only an initiate. His will was nowhere near strong enough to contend with such a powerful corruption.
The level of defilement of a realm could be somewhat measured by the density of the corruption. The corruption was the mist-like visual embodiment of the defilement itself, that could be observed by those who possessed the power of will. In a newly fallen world, an initiate's willpower should be strong enough to maintain an extended sphere of willpower, keeping the corruption at a safe distance. That was not the case here.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke the sacred words again, exerting his will as he had been taught. The corruption rippled and flowed, but continued pressing in around him like the weight of a great sea. Gritting his teeth, he pushed with all the might he could muster. Using every ounce of his inner strength, he forced the corruption back another few inches. That was the best he could do, creating a bubble of will only a sword length wide at most.
"Damnable thing!"
A feeling of dread began to fill his chest as he realized the extent of the emergency he was in. If he couldn't even create a proper bubble of will, he had no way of returning home.
He quickly leaned to the side and pulled the leather pack from his shoulders, retrieving a small stone tablet from inside. With all the swiftness he could muster, he pressed the tablet flat against the rocky ground, observing the ornate flaming torch engraved upon it. The holy symbol of the house of flame, it represented the realm of light itself. Such a symbol was like a beacon, used to allow the masters of the Volantis Lucis to hone in on the location of the tablet and open a return portal.
The sight of the symbol he had sworn his loyalty to brought a calmness to his spirit. He gently placed his fingers against the stone tablet and injected his will into it, holding his breath as the edges of the flaming torch began to faintly glow.
The power of his will began to color in the symbol from all sides, as if the stone tablet was a parchment paper, soaking up brightly colored pain. A relieved grin spread across his lips as he watched the willpower fill the symbol. It was going to work!
Just as the dread in his chest began to subside, he noticed from the corner of his vision as the corruption around him began to flow more quickly, and the pressure it exerted against him slowly intensified. He watched in horror as the willpower outside his body was mercilessly crushed and consumed before it could fill even half the sacred symbol.
Gritting his teeth, Leor pushed against the corruption with all his might and tried again, and again, and again. Until a feeling of exhaustion began to spread across his heart from overextending his will.
Each time his attempt to portal home was thwarted in the same way. The corruption was too strong. This was one of the myriad reasons entering fallen realms was so dangerous. The greater the defilement, the more powerful a wielder of the flame needed to be in order to portal home. The defilement would instinctively snuff out any foreign will that tried to take root in its domain. Trying to empower the holy symbol with the will of a foreign realm was like kicking a hornet's nest—the fallen realm would certainly fight back.
He was way out of his depth. He had known it the moment he saw the thickness of the corruption in this realm, he just hadn't wanted to believe it.
Somehow Leor had been sent to his death, into a fallen realm of the deepest defilement. Judging by the thickness of the corruption around him and how heavy it felt against his will, even a team of adepts would struggle to survive here. In fact, it would probably take a group of masters to have any hope of properly exploring this place without being slain by the horrors that surely lingered nearby.
Clenching his teeth so hard they nearly bled, Leor took out his frustration on the ground before him. He pounded his fist against the rocky soil as his anger was slowly replaced by hopeless despair. It was fitting—this was a realm of despair anyway. Pressing his hands over his eyes, his head slouched down toward the ground in defeat. Leor sat like that for a great deal of time, before his troubled soul began to calm. Slowly taking a deep breath and glancing through his fingers at the symbol of the flaming torch still lying on the ground beside him.
As he stared at the sacred depiction, he slowly allowed his hands to fall into his lap and let the breath out of his lungs in one long exhale. A hint of shame blossomed within him at his behavior. Even if he was doomed to death, he had sworn an oath to carry the will of the light to his dying breath. If all hope was lost, he still had a vow to uphold.
Bowing his head toward the flaming torch, he closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips together, steepling his hands and arms into an upward-facing arrow.
"Strengthen my meager soul, and guide my hand, great will of light. Now in my hour of need. Voluntas Lucis." he whispered.
After saying his prayer, he slowly rose to his feet and wrapped his fingers around the initiate's sword that hung by his waist, drawing it from its sheath. Nothing fancy, just a short sword forged from blessed steel, capable of being imbued with a small amount of will. This was a weapon capable of destroying the defilement within fallen creatures. Perfect for initiates.
Then he reached up behind his head and pulled another item from his pack. It looked like a simple brass bar with a grip on one side, but when he injected some of his will into the item, a ghostly white flame rippled to life at the top.
The torch couldn't help him push back the mist of corruption, but it could help him see through it at the very least. If he wanted to find a way through this disaster, he would need to see what he was up against. As the light spread, his surroundings were finally made visible to him, even if the corruption made it difficult to make things out clearly.
As the darkness retreated, He found himself standing near the top of a great hill, rocky lifeless ground spreading out below him, with scattered boulders dotting the landscape. He could just barely make out the glowing moon overhead, by it's place in the sky, Leor could tell that it was close to morning, that was good. Behind him was an endless sea of misty corruption as far as his eyes could see, he could just barely make out the outline of a dark forest at the bottom of the hill. Taking a few steps forward, Leor climbed to the peak of the hill to get a look at the other side, his breath catching in his throat as he beheld the scene for the first time. On the far side of the great hill, lay the ruins of a sprawling and ancient city, rows upon rows of strange and alien buildings. The architecture was sharp but natural, almost as if a natural extension of the forest itself. Many of the luminous magic stones that lined the pathways of the great city still shone brightly in the night, making for a ghostly scene of desolation. Looking at the deserted city through the corrupted fog was an eerie experience, Leor's very soul was warning him of the danger of that place.
This must have been an elven city once, it was obvious by the architecture and luminous stones, but Leor could not even begin to guess at what lost civilization had created this place. It all lay abandoned and lifeless in total silence in the darkness of the night, completely surrounded by flowing oceans of corruption. All except for the towering abomination of twisting darkness that rose from the city's center. A black tower that looked like it was made of interconnecting webs of darkness. Incredibly out of place in an elven city.
The tower at the center of the ancient city was so monstrously large that it dwarfed even the great hill on which Leor stood. It was oversized and out of place, looking almost like a cancer at the center of the sprawling architecture. The great maw at the top of the colossal tower must have been a mile wide at least, and from that gaping mouth poured a steady flow of endless corruption.
Leor's eyes widened as he realized the significance of the monstrous smokestack. A spark of hope finding its way into his heart. The monstrous tower was releasing corruption into the sky! That meant that the thickness of the corruption high up in the air had been artificially increased!
That tinge of hope was enough to spark a flame of desire in Leor's chest, he could feel his will strengthening as he immediately began moving down the slope of the great hill. Even after a few minutes, he could already feel the oppressive corruption in the air becoming thinner! Because of the nature of the corruption released by the smokestack, it was much thicker towards the top of the hill. Behaving as a cloud would behave, it rose into the sky.
This realm was still far beyond anything an initiate should ever have faced, but it might not be as utterly hopeless as he had once feared. There wasn't any hope of surviving a clash against the strongest of terrible creatures that surely inhabited this realm, but maybe he could at least stay hidden from them long enough to find a place where the corruption was thin enough to open a portal home!
"Maybe I can-"
Leor's words caught in his throat, his hopeful heart sinking in his chest as he saw the sudden movement on the hill beside him. He stood frozen in place as he watched a massive slithering form move out from the shadows of a nearby boulder.