The desert ended without warning.
One moment Aurel was walking across endless sand and wind, and the next the ground beneath him turned to marble — black, smooth, and flawless. The temperature dropped instantly. The air became still. Sound itself felt muted, as though the world held its breath.
He lifted his gaze.
The Citadel of the First Light rose before him — an impossibility carved into existence. Towers spiraled into the sky like spears piercing the heavens, runes of gold bleeding through obsidian stone. Light shimmered around the structure not like illumination…
…but like memory.
This wasn't a fortress.
This was a scar.
Aurel dragged himself forward, each step heavy with the weight of what he had done — or what he would do. He didn't know which version hurt more.
When he reached the gates, they opened without touch, without command — as if welcoming someone who already belonged there.
Someone the world once obeyed.
The interior was colder than the desert night. White flames flickered on pillars but gave no warmth. The floor mirrored the sky, and the sky mirrored the floor — walking felt like stepping across infinity.
Every corner whispered something familiar.
Aurel had never been here before.
But the Citadel remembered him.
His heartbeat echoed through the hall — not physically, but cosmically, resonating with walls that once bowed to his pulse.
He stopped at the center.
A throne stood at the far end of the hall — carved from light and shadow, jagged like a wound in reality. Aurel stared at it, without breathing.
For a moment — just a second — he saw himself sitting there.
Not himself now.
The version he feared.
Crown of radiance.
Eyes of nothing.
Aurel stumbled back, fists shaking. Memories threatened again — memories of thunder kneeling, of mortals chanting, of galaxies bending, of—
He forced them away.
He couldn't fall apart here. Not now. Not ever again.
But the Citadel had other plans.
The ground beneath his feet pulsed — and then the throne dissolved into rippling air. The throne room melted into a balcony overlooking a vast battlefield — mountains shattered, oceans boiling, cities burning.
A war that hadn't happened yet.
Or had happened once already.
Aurel fell to his knees as screams from the vision ripped through his skull — a child crying for a mother, wings turning to ash, the sky burning from the inside—
And through the carnage, Aurel saw himself.
Hovering above the battlefield, radiant like a star, destructive like a black hole.
A god of salvation and extinction.
The version of him that Arion spoke of.
Aurel gasped as the vision shattered. He clawed at the floor, dragging breath back into his lungs.
"Not again," he whispered. "I won't become that. I won't—"
Footsteps echoed from behind.
Aurel didn't turn.
He already knew the rhythm of that walk.
Arion
The future Arion stood with his hands behind his back, cloak flowing like a second shadow. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
His tone wasn't mocking.
It was mournful.
"This is the war you will lead. The war that will tear existence apart."
Aurel braced himself. "I came here to stop it."
Arion walked past him, eyes on the battlefield vision still flickering in the air like a projected nightmare. "You came here because you think you can rewrite destiny. You can't. You tried once. It killed us both."
Silence rolled across the hall like thunder.
Aurel forced himself to look at Arion — seeing not the enemy, not the monster, but the best friend he once had… in another lifetime.
"What happened to you?" Aurel asked quietly. "What broke you this badly?"
For a moment, the mask cracked.
Arion's voice softened. "You did. Watching you die broke me. Loving you like a brother broke me. Losing everything because you couldn't control your power broke me."
Aurel froze.
Arion's eyes darkened. "I came back not to hurt you. Not to punish you. But because you are the only thing capable of destroying the enemy that's coming."
"What enemy?"
Arion stepped closer until their foreheads nearly touched — not in affection, but urgency.
"The one even you fear."
Elsewhere — A New Awakening
Far from the Citadel, in a tomb untouched since time began, something stirred.
Chains of starlight cracked, turning to dust. A sigil of broken halos ignited on the ancient stone coffin.
A voice — layered, monstrous, divine — whispered through the cosmos.
"The Godfire returns."
The coffin shattered.
A figure rose — skin like stone, eyes like molten stars, crowned not by glory but by ruin. Each step it took crushed the ground. Each breath warped the air.
It looked toward the Citadel.
Toward Aurel.
And smiled.
"Let the child try."
The world trembled.
The war had already begun.
Back to the Citadel
Aurel didn't know why the air changed — but he felt it. Power, ancient and hungry, waking somewhere in the world.
He didn't take his eyes off Arion. "What is coming?"
Arion didn't answer immediately. He studied Aurel — not with hatred, not with warmth, but with the weight of impossible responsibility.
"Tell me," Aurel demanded.
Arion spoke quietly.
"The First God. The true origin. The creator of divinity… and the destroyer of it. The one who made you. The one who will kill you."
Aurel staggered. "Why would he—"
"Because," Arion whispered, "you were designed to replace him."
The words struck like blades.
Aurel stood frozen, unable to think, unable to breathe.
Arion continued. "You think you are cursed. You think you're broken. But you are neither. You are a weapon — a successor forged to overthrow the very god who made you."
Aurel's voice cracked. "And Lysandra… where does she fit into this?"
Arion looked away, jaw tightening — the first sign of regret.
"She gives you the strength to win. And then the grief to become unstoppable."
It hurt more because it sounded true.
Aurel slammed Arion against the nearest pillar, divine heat flaring around his hands. "If you ever touch her—"
Arion didn't fight back.
"Do you think I want to hurt her?" Arion snapped. "She was my friend too — in the world we lost."
Aurel's grip loosened.
Arion added quietly, "I am not your enemy. I am what you become when you lose her."
Aurel's breath faltered.
That was worse than any threat.
Arion stepped back, gaze cold again. "You cannot save everyone, Aurel. You can save the girl or the world — but not both."
Aurel's voice shook with rage. "I'll save both."
Arion sighed — not mocking, not laughing — just tired. "You said that once before."
Then he vanished.
The Throne Room — Alone
Aurel stood at the center of the Citadel, vision of the war still flickering around him, prophecy bleeding into reality, fear twisting through every nerve.
He wanted Lysandra beside him — not because she made him weak, but because she made him remember he was more than a weapon.
But he had left her behind.
Because the world demanded heartbreak as sacrifice.
Aurel clenched his fist, divine light crackling across his skin.
"I will break fate before I let fate break her."
The Citadel trembled — as if agreeing.
Then a booming voice echoed through the hall, shaking the towers to their foundation.
"YOU DEFY THAT WHICH CREATED YOU."
Aurel spun — and the world went white.
Marble fractured. Space bent. Reality shuddered.
A silhouette materialized at the far end of the hall — towering, terrible, crowned by ruin.
The First God had awakened.
His presence crushed the air, forcing Aurel to his knees. Blood dripped from Aurel's nose. His lungs refused to work.
He wasn't ready.
He wasn't strong enough.
He wasn't—
The First God raised a hand — and the foundations of the Citadel screamed.
Aurel's vision blurred. The last thing he saw before darkness took him was the First God whispering:
"Before the war begins… the girl dies."
Aurel's eyes snapped open in silent horror.
He tried to move.
He couldn't.
He tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
And then consciousness snapped.