When Rion awoke the next morning, the flame still lingered in his hand. Small, quiet, obedient.
He lifted it toward the window, and sunlight bent around it instead of burning through. It didn't vanish, it breathed, pulsing like a heartbeat.
He remembered the words of the High Cleric:
> "Every soul bears a Manifesto — the color of its birthright."
Elaria's Manifesto was blue — the color of harmony.
Sirin's was red — the fire of ambition.
Tekyonix glowed orange — invention and progress.
Santomaine, white — purity and divine order.
Corollo, green — nature's law and resilience.
But this flame… this strange *violet* shimmered like dusk refusing to end. It was no mixture of others, no overlap of borders. It was something else.
> "A nation that doesn't exist," he murmured.
When he tried to extinguish it, it spoke again, not in words, but intent.
A single thought pressed against his mind:
> You are not bound. You may choose.
And so he did.
---
The weeks that followed changed everything.
The priests confirmed it, his Manifesto was unheard of. They called it The Radiant Rift, a divine hue unseen since mythic times. Banners bearing violet silk were hung around the capital. Children sang songs of the Savior reborn.
He was given a mansion overlooking the eastern gardens of Elaria's Holy City, granted servants, coin, and status. Rion smiled through the praise, bowed at ceremonies, shook hands that trembled with hope — but deep down, he knew what the violet flame whispered:
> "They worship what they don't understand."
He used the flame quietly, never in public. At night, he wandered the forests beyond the city walls, where weak demons still spawned like lonely shadows. He healed their wounds, fed them discarded fruit, and whispered words of power over their fading forms.
Some ran.
Some stayed.
Some began to follow him.
---
One evening, while crossing the silver marshes beyond the capital, he saw her.
A woman, kneeling beside a mirror-lake, her reflection trembling with stolen beauty. Her hair shimmered pink, her eyes luminous gold — too perfect, too *human*.
But when she turned, he saw the truth.
Her skin was too smooth, her smile too precise, her pupils like melted glass.
A demon — one that had consumed a famous actress weeks prior. He remembered the news: *"Beloved Celestine devoured near Dawnlight Theatre — Demon Purged!"* But here she was, alive and untouched.
She looked at him cautiously. "You are not afraid?"
"Should I be?"
"You should. I am what they call *evil.*"
Rion knelt beside her. "Then perhaps we are the same."
She tilted her head, confused. "Same?"
"I'm something this world doesn't understand either."
He offered his hand. She hesitated, then took it. Her skin felt warm, alive.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
She smiled faintly. "They called her Celestine. I suppose it's mine now."
"Then I'll call you that."
---
From that day, Rion used his newfound position to control the city's "Demon Response Order."
He'd lead the charge whenever a demon appeared, striking with violet light so blinding that the people saw only destruction — never the truth.
In reality, he cast illusions of their deaths, teleporting them back to his estate through hidden sigils in the soil.
There, in the mansion's undercroft, he built a haven — a nest for the hunted. Demons of every shape and origin gathered, afraid yet hopeful.
He taught them language, discipline, and restraint. He whispered to them the same words the flame once spoke to him:
> "You are not bound. You may choose."
And they believed him.
By day, he was the Savior who purified evil.
By night, he was its shepherd.
---
The city thrived under his guardianship.
Demon attacks vanished. Crops flourished. The High Cleric declared him *Rion the Redeemer*, the fulfillment of ancient prophecy.
At festivals, children carried violet lanterns in his honor.
Nobles bowed when he passed.
The world smiled again — not knowing the smile had fangs.
Rion stood upon his balcony one quiet night, gazing down at the glowing city. Behind him, Celestine rested in the shadows, her golden eyes reflecting his flame.
"You've given them peace," she said softly.
"No," he replied. "I've given them ignorance."
He lifted his hand, and the violet Manifesto flared once more — brighter, hungrier.
"Peace built on blindness is just another cage," he whispered.
Below, the people cheered his name, unaware that their Savior's light had already begun to darken.
- THE END