The hills stretched before them, broken ridges of stone and earth carved by ancient wars. The rebels trudged in weary silence, their boots caked with dried blood from Mezalith's cursed rain. Smoke still clung to their clothes, and their eyes were hollow with exhaustion.
Kaelen led the column, though he felt less like a leader and more like a man stumbling through nightmares. The shard at his side pulsed faintly, every beat echoing like a second heart. He could almost hear it now, whispering in a tongue just beyond understanding.
Ren walked close at his heels, no longer the bright-eyed child he had once been. He had seen too much. His silence was heavier than words, but Kaelen felt the boy's trust clinging to him like a fragile thread.
Lyra moved at his other side, ever vigilant. Her armor bore fresh dents, her eyes sharp despite fatigue. She had said little since the Harvester's appearance. But Kaelen knew her mind was racing. He could feel her gaze on him when she thought he wasn't looking, weighing him against her vow to cut him down if he faltered.
The Shattered Hills rose higher, jagged silhouettes clawing at the gray sky. And with each step deeper into the ridges, Kaelen felt something new—a presence vast and suffocating, pressing down on his chest like a mountain.
It was not the Harvester. Not the whispers of the Black Blade.
This was divinity itself.
The first sign came as the wind stilled. No bird cried, no insect stirred. Even the rebels noticed, their steps faltering as silence swallowed them.
Then the earth trembled. Not with the fury of collapse, but with rhythm, like the slow, deliberate heartbeat of something slumbering beneath.
Ren clutched Kaelen's cloak. "Kaelen… do you feel it?"
Kaelen nodded. "Stay close."
Ahead, the path opened into a vast hollow, a natural amphitheater carved into the earth. At its center rose a monolith of golden stone, jagged and radiant despite the gloom. Runes crawled along its surface, alive with light that pulsed like veins of fire.
The rebels gasped, some dropping to their knees instinctively.
"It's a shrine," Lyra whispered. But even her voice carried awe.
Kaelen's eyes widened. No—it was not merely a shrine. The stone was a seal. And something behind it stirred.
The air thickened, charged with heat. The smell of ozone and burning filled his nostrils. His shard flared, searing against his side.
Then the golden stone split.
From the fissure emerged a figure draped in radiance, towering above them all. His body was forged of living flame, his armor molten gold, his eyes twin suns that seared the ground where they fell. His very presence bent the air, and his voice was thunder woven with fire.
"I am Aurelion," he declared. "Firstborn of the Thousand. Keeper of Dawnfire. Witness to the fall of Mezalith."
The rebels collapsed in terror, some crying out in praise, others in despair. A few tried to flee, but the ground itself burned at the edges of the amphitheater, trapping them within a circle of fire.
Lyra drew her sword, though her hands shook. Kaelen felt Ren cling tighter, trembling but silent.
And Kaelen himself stood frozen—not in fear, but in recognition.
This was the god from his dream. One of the voices that had split the sky.
The one whose light had blinded thousands as Mezalith burned.
Aurelion's gaze swept across them like a sun passing over insects. "You dare walk upon the bones of this world, clutching fragments of what was never yours? You carry defiance in your hearts, and for this, you are marked."
His eyes settled on Kaelen.
The shard at Kaelen's hip burned so hot it nearly seared through his cloak.
"You," Aurelion thundered. "Bearer of shadow, thief of the Black Blade's first shard. Do you think yourself unseen? Do you think the gods blind to your path?"
The amphitheater blazed with golden fire, light consuming every shadow. The rebels screamed, shielding their eyes.
Kaelen's chest heaved. His legs wanted to buckle under the weight of Aurelion's gaze. But something inside him—something born of the shard, of the Harvester's words, of Ren's fragile trust—refused.
"I don't seek your throne," Kaelen shouted over the roar of flame. "I don't seek your power. But if you mean to break us, you'll have to bleed us first."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Aurelion laughed. A sound like mountains collapsing, like suns being born.
"Then bleed you shall."
The god raised his hand, and the world turned to fire.
The world erupted in flame.
Aurelion's outstretched hand summoned a torrent of fire that cascaded down like a living sun, swallowing the amphitheater. The rebels screamed as they scattered, shields raised in desperation. Some fell instantly, their bodies reduced to ash before they even hit the ground.
Kaelen threw himself over Ren, cloak snapping around them as the inferno roared past. The shard at his side seared, pulling at his blood, and for a moment the fire bent—not gone, but diverted, curving around him as if unwilling to touch its bearer.
Lyra was a shadow in the blaze, her armor glowing red-hot as she rolled behind a collapsed stone. She raised her shield, shouting orders, rallying what remained of the rebels.
But against a god, orders meant little.
Kaelen rose, pulling Ren to his feet. The boy's face was pale, his eyes wide with horror.
"Stay behind me," Kaelen said, though his voice trembled.
Aurelion strode forward, each step shaking the ground, his body shedding molten sparks. "Defiance," he thundered. "Always, mortals cling to it as if it were strength. But what is defiance before the dawn?"
His hand rose again, fire swirling into a blazing spear. He hurled it toward Kaelen with the force of a falling star.
Kaelen's instincts screamed to run. But the shard pulsed—and his hand moved on its own.
He raised his arm, and from the shadows of his cloak the fragment of the Black Blade flared. Not with light, but with hunger. The spear of fire met the shard's aura—and split apart, scattering embers across the amphitheater.
The god paused.
Aurelion's burning eyes narrowed. "So it is true. The Black Blade still thirsts, even broken."
The shard thrummed wildly, and Kaelen nearly doubled over, the weight of it dragging at his soul. He could feel its will pressing against his own—a hunger for more, for fire, for divinity.
Ren grabbed his arm. "Kaelen! Don't let it take you!"
The boy's voice anchored him, if only barely.
Lyra charged. Her sword gleamed with borrowed fire as she leapt at Aurelion, aiming for his head. The god caught the blade between two fingers. The steel melted instantly, dripping like wax.
Lyra snarled, refusing to let go, even as the hilt burned her hands. "You will not have him!" she shouted.
Aurelion backhanded her, and she flew across the amphitheater, slamming into stone. She didn't rise.
Kaelen's vision blurred with rage. He stepped forward, the shard pulsing like a drumbeat in his blood.
"You call yourself dawn," he spat, his voice raw. "But all I see is ruin."
The god's laughter shook the ridges. "Then look upon ruin's truth."
Aurelion lifted both hands, and the sky itself cracked. From the heavens poured rivers of flame, turning the amphitheater into a sea of fire. Rebels screamed as they were consumed, their cries lost in the roar.
Kaelen stood at the center, Ren clutching his side, the shard blazing with black fire against the golden storm.
And then Kaelen heard it.
Not Aurelion's voice. Not the rebels.
The shard.
"Take me."
The words were not sound, but they filled his skull, his bones, his blood.
"Take me, and I will drink the dawn."
Kaelen's breath shuddered. His hand twitched toward the shard, where the fragment had lengthened, forming the faint silhouette of a blade.
If he grasped it fully, he knew—he would not be himself.
But if he did not, they would all die.
Ren's hand tightened on his sleeve. "Kaelen, no…"
The boy's eyes pleaded, as if he knew exactly what would happen.
Aurelion raised his flaming arm for the killing blow.
The shard screamed in Kaelen's mind.
And for a heartbeat, Kaelen stood on the edge—between man and monster, between defiance and surrender.
He raised the shard, shadows spiraling around his arm, clashing against Aurelion's fire. Black met gold, hunger met dawn. The amphitheater shook as if the world itself could not hold their clash.
Aurelion roared. "So the shadow awakens. Then let us see if it can endure the sun!"
Their powers collided, black fire against golden dawn, tearing the earth asunder. Rebels and stone alike were flung aside, the ridges splitting with the force.
And in the heart of the storm, Kaelen felt himself unraveling. His vision blurred, his skin cracked with black veins, and the shard's voice grew louder—hungry, eager, merciless.
"Drink him. Drink the sun."
Kaelen's scream echoed through the Shattered Hills as the clash reached its peak, light and darkness devouring the world around him.
When the fire finally dimmed, the amphitheater was gone. Only a smoking crater remained, blood and ash mingling in the air.
Aurelion's form flickered, his golden light diminished, cracks of shadow lacing his molten body. He looked upon Kaelen—not in triumph, but in fury.
"This is not over," the god growled, his voice trembling with strain. "You cannot bear that blade. It will break you before you break us."
And with a final blaze of fire, Aurelion vanished into the dawn.
The silence after was deafening.
Kaelen staggered, the shard dimming in his grasp. His knees buckled, and Ren caught him, though the boy's strength was nothing compared to his weight.
Lyra crawled to her feet, bloodied but alive. Her eyes widened as she looked at Kaelen—the veins of shadow still etched across his skin, the fragment of the Black Blade still pulsing in his hand.
"You fought a god," she whispered. "And lived."
Kaelen could not answer. His chest heaved, his vision swam, and inside him the shard whispered still, hungry, patient.
Ren pressed his forehead to Kaelen's arm, tears streaking his cheeks. "Don't leave me," the boy begged. "Don't become like them."
Kaelen forced his hand open, letting the shard's form collapse back into a mere fragment. His skin smoked where it had touched.
He met Lyra's gaze, voice ragged. "We can't run anymore. The gods know me now. They'll hunt us. All of us."
Lyra nodded grimly. "Then we hunt them first."
The dawn broke over the Shattered Hills, its light blood-red against the smoke.
And in Kaelen's chest, the shard whispered again, softer this time, almost tender.
"One god tasted. A thousand yet remain."