The Mark of the Saint
Elijah stepped forward, his youthful face grave, and reached for the shimmering hilt of Ascalon. With a slow, reverent motion, he handed the weapon to George. The moment George's fingers closed around the grip, the chamber was obliterated by a blinding, divine radiance. It wasn't just light; it was an ancient weight, a tidal wave of celestial energy that roared through his veins like liquid fire. George let out a guttural cry as he collapsed to his knees. The sword didn't just sit in his hand; it hummed against his very soul. Slowly, painfully, strange and intricate markings began to enscribe themselves onto George's skin. The glowing patterns cascaded down his arms and across his chest, searing into his flesh with the heat of a forge. He writhed on the cavern floor, his hands and heart throbbing in a rhythmic, agonizing pulse as the sword's aura synchronized with his own.
In the midst of the pain, his mind was pulled into a fractured kaleidoscope of visions. He saw a towering, majestic tree with leaves of silver; a serpent coiling through shadows; a man and a woman standing in a garden of impossible beauty. Then, the name Oscar Hawthorn echoed through the void of his consciousness like a thunderclap. He witnessed a gateway of raw cosmic energy ripping through the fabric of space, followed by a light so pure it threatened to dissolve his very being. Suddenly, the agony broke. The searing heat mellowed into a steady, vibrating warmth. George and Ascalon were no longer two separate entities; they had become one.
Elijah, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and excitement, rushed forward. "Wonderful! The Sword of the Saints has deemed you worthy!" He reached down, helping George to his feet. George was gasping for air, his emerald eyes wide and unfocused, his body still smoking slightly from the transformation. "Child of Eden, today is the beginning of your destiny."
The markings on George's skin faded to a faint, silver shimmer. But before he could steady his breathing, the hum of the cavern changed. The walls began to weep, and a deluge of golden sand started to pour from the ceiling, filling the chamber with terrifying speed.
"What's going on?" George asked, his voice barely audible over the rushing roar of the dunes. He gripped the hilt of Ascalon, his knuckles white.
Elijah gave a faint, enigmatic smile as the sand rose to his waist. "I am returning you to your friends, Child of Eden," he said, his form beginning to blur into the shifting grit. "I will be watching from the shadows of the world."
As the sand rose to George's chest, panic flared. "Wait! I have more questions!" George shouted, reaching out toward the Golem Maker. "What is a 'Child of Eden'? Who am I? What am I?"
Elijah's smile widened, his amber eyes the last thing visible through the storm of silt. "All will be revealed in due time, young hero. For now, the desert demands your presence."
The sand surged over George's head, muffling his cries. Instead of the crushing weight he had felt before, he felt a strange, buoyant force. The living earth grabbed hold of him, dragging him upward through the layers of stone and dust, propelling the new Master of Ascalon back toward the surface and the battle that awaited.