The Vornshade Clan base was in ruins—broken walls, black smoke curling up into the snowy sky. The cold wind howled through the wreckage, dragging ash and frost in its wake.
At the top of the cliff above it all stood a lone figure. Silent. Unmoving. Watching.
The man's silver hair fluttered with the wind, the strands gleaming faintly under the dying light. His long beard framed his face and ran down his jaw like threads of ancient steel, covering part of his mouth and giving him the look of a timeless being.
His chest was bare, muscles carved sharp and perfect. Around his waist hung a long white skirt that shimmered even in the weak light of the storm.
Two lion-head shoulder guards rested on him, both sculpted with fierce precision. Their eyes glowed faint blue, as if the beasts themselves were alive and breathing frost.
A silver crown sat upon his head, glinting softly through his hair—no torchlight touched it, yet it shimmered on its own. In his hand, he held a trident. The middle spike pulsed with bright azure energy, humming faintly with restrained power.
The air around him was heavy, almost crushing. Like a god overlooking the fall of his own creation.
Above him, the sky churned with dark clouds. Lightning flashed, but no thunder followed—just light, silence, and the man standing still at the cliff's edge, gazing down at the shattered clan below.
This man was Jovisrax—one of the nine divine beings who ruled over Earth and its neighboring worlds.
He stood silent at the cliff's edge, the wind howling around him, his silver hair shifting lightly. The glow from his trident pulsed against the storm clouds above. Then, his eyes lifted—he had sensed something.
Moments later, two figures cut through the air, descending fast. Their silver armor shimmered with faint blue runes, and their capes whipped behind them as they landed on one knee before him.
Between them was an unconscious man—Lucius. His clothes were torn, his skin pale from blood loss and frost. Even while passed out, his body twitched now and then, like pain was still chasing him through his dreams.
"You were right, Holy One," one of the knights said, his voice echoing softly through his helmet. "We found this man deep in the mountains, barely alive."
Jovisrax's gaze didn't waver. His presence alone made the air feel heavier, divine pressure sinking into the knights' bones.
"Wake him," he ordered—his tone deep, calm, yet impossible to disobey.
One of the knights lifted a hand. Electricity flared to life, thin arcs of blue light dancing between his fingers before he pointed them at Lucius. The lightning struck.
Lucius jolted violently, his body arching as his eyes snapped open. He gasped, chest heaving, confusion mixing with raw pain. His voice broke into a groan, and his knees buckled again.
Before he could collapse, one of the knights caught him, gripping his arm to steady him.
Jovisrax moved closer. He stopped in front of Lucius, eyes narrowing.
His gaze dropped to Lucius's arm—the wound there was spreading fast, dark lines crawling up like veins of death itself. Jovisrax's expression hardened.
"You've been struck by something far beyond your understanding or strength," Jovisrax said, his deep voice cutting through the cold wind. His tone carried no sympathy.
"This is what happens when a mortal body is touched by a dragon's raw energy."
He glanced at Lucius, then at the knights beside him, his expression calm but sharp, as though he were delivering a lesson to children.
"Unless a dragon itself chooses to heal him," he continued, "that wound will never recover. No medicine, no spell, no divine blessing will change that."
The knights stiffened, their hands tightening on their weapons. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of the wind scraping across the rocks.
Jovisrax turned his head slightly. "Amputate his arm," he said at last. "It's the only way he has even a chance of surviving."
The order was clear, cold, final.
Without hesitation, one of the knights summoned a sword—its blade forming in a shimmer of silver light, humming softly as divine energy ran through it. He raised it high.
Lucius barely managed to lift his head before the sword swung down.
Shrrk!
The blade cut clean through his shoulder. His arm dropped into the snow with a soft thud, steam rising as blood sizzled where divine energy had sealed the wound.
Lucius's body jerked. His eyes flew open wide, breath hitching as the world spun. But strangely—his pain lessened. The burning in his veins dulled the moment the corrupted arm was gone.
For a second, all he could do was stare at the spot where his arm used to be. The air smelled of burnt flesh and lightning. His mind struggled to make sense of it.
Then, realization hit.
He turned toward Jovisrax and the knights. Weak as he was, Lucius forced himself to kneel, trembling, head bowed low into the snow.
"Great Jovisrax—the Mighty Storm…" His voice cracked, shaking with both fear and reverence. "Forgive me… for not recognizing your presence earlier."
His body trembled uncontrollably, part from pain, part from the overwhelming divine pressure pouring down on him. He could feel every heartbeat against the snow, every breath like it might be his last.
Jovisrax didn't answer right away. He simply looked down at Lucius, his expression unreadable—like a god deciding whether a mortal still deserved to live.
"Now, that's none of my concern," Jovisrax said, his voice rolling like distant thunder. "What is my concern is how a Stage Seven warrior like you managed to sustain such an injury."
Lucius's body shook as the question hung in the air. He didn't know where to begin—or if he even should. His throat felt tight, his mind scrambling for words.
But before he could speak, the two knights flanking him raised their hands. Sparks of blue lightning crackled around their palms, casting brief flashes across the snow.
"Don't you dare keep the mighty Jovisrax waiting," one of them warned.
"And don't even think about lying," the other added, their voice cold through the helmet.
Lucius's heart raced. He swallowed hard. There was no point in hiding anything now.
He began to speak—his voice weak but steady. He told them everything.
He spoke of the Vornshade Clan, their base buried in the frozen north, their leader, their dealings in the shadows.
He described how he had been caught in a fight he didn't plan for, how his mission went wrong, and how he ended up facing opponents far stronger than he'd expected.
He talked about their strange energy—how it felt different, foreign, dangerous. He recalled their clothes, their fighting style, even their numbers. Every word came out with effort, every breath a fight against the pain eating through his body.
When he finished, silence filled the cliff. The wind whistled past, carrying the faint smell of burnt snow and ozone.
Jovisrax stared at him for a long time. His glowing eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't care what this Vornshade Clan has been doing here," he said finally, voice low and steady. "What I'm more interested in… is the people who attacked you."
Lucius looked up weakly. "You mean—" He hesitated, his voice trembling. "—the Pendragons?"
Jovisrax's gaze sharpened. "So you do know of them."
Lucius nodded slowly. "They're the ones the Nine Divine Beings placed a bounty on… right?"
For the first time, a faint smile tugged at Jovisrax's lips. "You managed to survive an encounter with them," he said, his tone carrying both curiosity and amusement.
"That makes you different from the others," he continued, his voice dropping lower, almost like a growl. "Very few have crossed paths with a Pendragon and lived to speak of it."
"I'll advise you this… if you ever see someone like them again, don't engage," Jovisrax said, his tone low but firm. Lightning flickered around his hand, and a small glowing card began to materialize above his palm.
"You know what to do with this," he said, tossing the card toward Lucius.
Lucius, with his only good hand, caught it awkwardly. He stared at it in disbelief. The thing pulsed faintly with divine energy, warm to the touch yet weightless, like it was alive.
His lips trembled. He'd only heard rumors about divine cards—never thought he'd hold one himself.
Before he could say a word, Jovisrax turned away. The two knights followed behind him, their boots crunching into the snow as they walked toward the cliff's edge.
"Your holiness," one of the knights spoke, his voice echoing inside the metal helm. "The man said the people he fought against… it was just a child."
The second knight turned slightly, his tone cautious. "That doesn't make sense. The remaining Pendragons should have grown by now."
Jovisrax stopped. He looked out across the frozen horizon, his silver hair swaying with the wind. "You're right," he said quietly. "Which means only one thing…"
The air grew heavy as his voice deepened. "The Pendragons have increased in number again."
The two knights exchanged uneasy glances.
"They're getting stronger," Jovisrax continued. "And if they've started attacking small clans like this, it won't be long before they turn their eyes toward the larger ones."
He turned his head slightly, his glowing blue eyes sharp as blades. "Return to the faction. Tell them to prepare all allied clans. War is coming."
"As you command, Holy One," both knights said, bowing deeply.
A blinding pillar of light shot down from the sky, swallowing the three figures whole. The snowstorm scattered violently under its pressure.
When the light faded, the cliff was empty. No footprints, no trace—just the howling wind and Lucius, still kneeling in the snow, clutching the glowing card in his trembling hand.