In the forgotten folds of the Avalonia continent, where the winds whispered secrets and the stars seemed to mourn, there stood a simple hut nestled in the nameless region—a place untouched by maps and unclaimed by kingdoms. The hut, modest and weathered, bore no sigils or banners, yet today it held the attention of the continent's most formidable figures.
Inside, seated upright on a straw-stuffed bed with his back against the cracked wooden wall, was Elarion.
His body was a shadow of its former glory. Shoulders once broad and proud now jutted out like broken wings, the bones beneath his skin pressing against the fabric of his upper garment.
His face, pale and hollow, bore the unmistakable signs of sleepless nights and a body ravaged by an incurable affliction. Cheekbones protruded sharply, as if the flesh had long abandoned its place. Even through his clothes, the outline of his ribcage was visible—like a cage barely holding in the last embers of life.
Yet his eyes… they defied the decay. They blazed with a fire that refused to be extinguished. A light that spoke of battles fought, friendships forged, and a soul that had not yet surrendered.
Before him stood three figures, each a legend in their own right.
Soren, the Emperor of the Hesperia Empire—one of the great three empires of Avalonia—was a man of regal bearing and striking features. His silver-streaked hair and sharp jawline gave him the aura of a seasoned warrior, but today, his eyes betrayed a vulnerability few had ever witnessed.
Beside him stood Kellen, a young boy with eyes too old for his age. A famed Magus, his mastery of the arcane arts had earned him reverence across the continent. Yet now, he bowed his head, his posture heavy with guilt.
And Eleanor, radiant and resolute, the High Priestess of the Church of Goddess Adeline. Her beauty was matched only by her strength, both physical and spiritual. She stood with grace, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Outside the hut, more than twenty individuals from various regions of Avalonia waited in silence. Warriors, mages, priests—each cloaked in power and mystery. Their auras were heavy, their reputations fearsome, yet in the presence of this humble hut, they were subdued. Fear and reverence mingled in their gazes, as if the air itself demanded silence.
Inside, the tension was thick, almost suffocating.
Soren stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "How are you feeling, brother?"
Elarion's lips curled into a faint smile. "I'm okay," he said, though the words were a lie both he and Soren could see through.
Soren's throat tightened. He could feel it—Elarion's end was near. The man who had once stood beside him in countless battles, who had saved his life more times than he could count, was fading.
His eyes grew misty, and he turned slightly, ashamed of the tears threatening to fall.
If anyone saw the mighty Emperor of Hesperia like this, they would be stunned. But here, in this hut, titles meant nothing.
Soren steadied himself and spoke again, voice thick with emotion. "Is there anything you need?"
Elarion reached beneath his blanket and pulled out two blades—his cherished weapons, forged in the fires of ancient wars. He extended them toward Soren with trembling hands.
"Just take care of these," he said softly.
Soren accepted them with reverence, gripping the hilts as if they were sacred relics. "I swear on my empire, I'll protect them. Always."
Kellen stepped forward next, his knees bending into a deep bow. "Master… forgive me. I've failed you. I couldn't find a cure. I searched every corner of the continent for five years, but…"
Elarion raised a frail hand and placed it gently on Kellen's shoulder. "You've done more than anyone could ask. You've wandered the world for me, sacrificed your time, your growth. Who is luckier than me to have a disciple like you?"
Kellen's eyes brimmed with tears. "Because of me, you couldn't focus on your magic. You're still stuck at the bottleneck."
Elarion chuckled weakly. "And yet, you say that as if it's a burden. For me, you would walk through fire. Don't feel guilty, Kellen. You've given me hope when I had none."
Eleanor stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Master… I too have failed. As a high-level healing mage, I should have found a way. I beg you… punish me."
Elarion's hand rose again, this time with more strength. "No. You've done all you could. I won't let you carry this weight."
The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. They all knew—Elarion wouldn't survive past sunset.
Eleanor had confirmed it. His life force was vanishing, slipping away like sand through fingers.
Yet Elarion smiled. He looked at the three of them—his sworn brother and his two beloved disciples—and his heart swelled with gratitude.
To break the tension, he tilted his head and smirked. "So… how's the progress between you two?"
Kellen and Eleanor froze. Their faces turned crimson, eyes wide with panic.
"M-Master!" Eleanor stammered.
"I-It's not like that!" Kellen added, voice cracking.
Soren chuckled, the sound rich and amused. "Ah, young love. Always entertaining."
The mood lightened, laughter echoing softly within the hut. For a moment, it felt like old times—when Elarion was strong, when they were just comrades sharing stories and dreams.
Elarion turned to Soren. "If I'm not here… support them. They'll need guidance."
Soren nodded solemnly. "I will. They're like my own."
The sun dipped lower, casting golden hues across the hut. The light touched Elarion's face, making his eyes gleam one last time.
Soren's tears finally broke free. "Take care of yourself, brother. And maybe… find a companion in your next life. You're still single, after all."
Elarion laughed—a soft, raspy sound. "I'll consider it."
He looked at the three faces he cherished most. Soren, his comrade in arms. Kellen and Eleanor, his precious disciples. His heart was full, even as his body failed.
"I must go," he whispered. "My time has come."
He took a deep breath, then spoke louder, voice filled with love. "Live long. Be happy. Always."
His eyes closed. His chest stilled. Silence fell.
Eleanor broke first, her cry piercing the air. Outside, the gathered warriors stirred, alarmed. Who had dared to make the High Priestess cry? But the oppressive aura around the hut held them in place.
Kellen, silent but grieving, placed a hand on Eleanor's shoulder. She turned, and they embraced—two souls mourning the same loss.
Soren stood still, eyes locked on Elarion's lifeless form. Tears streamed silently down his face. He whispered a prayer for his friend's next life, then gently lifted the body from the bed, cradling it like a sleeping child.
"At least he passed without pain," Soren said, voice thick with sorrow. "That's something."
He turned to the others. "We'll bury him here. Beside the hut. So we'll always remember."
And so, as the sun vanished beyond the horizon, the continent lost one of its brightest flames. But in the hearts of those who loved him, Elarion's fire would never die.
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Author's Note:
How's the first chapter, my readers. More Emphasize on the dialogues so u can enjoy with not so or little sophisticated English. Add it to ur library if u wish to support me.