A soft, warm breeze brushed against Asura's face, wrapping him in its gentle embrace. It carried the scent of fresh grass, easing the exhaustion that had burrowed into his mind and body. Though his muscles ached, a deep warmth settled over him that soothed like sunlight spilling from the sky.
Asura slowly opened his eyes. Above him, a brilliant sun hung in the heavens, its radiance neither blinding nor harsh, only comforting. Its golden brilliance bathed the endless plains in light, where tall yellow grass swayed with the wind, dancing from its gentle touch. The scene felt surreal, reminiscent of the peace he had felt in Uriel and Hephestine's gardens.
Stretching beyond sight, rolling hills rose and fell like the lungs of the earth, covered in the same golden sea. Asura attempted to move, to take a step forward, but his body refused to respond. He parted his lips to speak, yet no words left his lips. Before confusion could set in, a voice, rich and familiar, echoed behind him.
"I see you have come, brother." The voice said.
The words rang like a distant memory, a voice he had known since his very beginning. It was a voice that had spoken to him at the moment of his arrival in this world. It carried a harmonious cadence, soothing and unwavering, lulling his very soul. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, yet as Asura turned, he realized something. The voice had not been addressing him.
To his left, a figure draped in a pristine white robe stood beside an ancient well, its face concealed beneath a veil. On his right, another presence towered over his peer. A figure cloaked in flowing black. His cloak lashed, violently whipping like the storm raging at its back, dark clouds crackling with untamed lightning.
The wind shifted. It was no longer gentle, it grew fierce and restless, lashing against the land. The once-inviting grass bent and twisted, rebelling against the tempest that now loomed over the plain, rejecting its presence as if it were a long-banished intruder. The black-cloaked figure broke the silence, its voice smooth yet laced with an unshakable defiance.
"Why must you sound so disappointed?" He asked, a hint of sarcasm lurking behind his tone.
"To come after being exiled is a sin," the white-robed figure replied. His tone was firm, judgmental.
"Ah, everything is sin these days, is it not? To love? A sin." He waved his hand, gesturing to the plain. "To reclaim what is yours? A sin. To defend yourself against those who would do you harm? A sin. Tell me, brother, what joy is left in life if all of it is condemned?" He mused.
"You twist the truth," the figure in white countered.
"But am I wrong?" He asked. His voice grew colder.
"Why have you come?" The figure in white asked, never leaving the well's side.
"There was word of a prophecy." The figure in black's tone darkened, his posture rigid.
"Yes. That is the truth." The other stated.
"What have you seen?" He asked, taking a step toward the other.
The white-robed figure hesitated before speaking again. "You, of all, wish to know? It is amusing that you seek my words after all you have done." Though he carried himself with formal grace, his words barely concealed the disdain lurking beneath.
"Are we not brothers still?" The black-robed figure held his hands out, gesturing as if to hug. "I sought forgiveness, yet you hold the past against me. Is that not how you receive grace?"
"Thy acts cannot be forgiven." The white-robed figure snapped.
"And yet the Lord calls all to forgive." The other retorted, a mocking laugh spilling from his lips.
"Yes. For those who truly repent." The figure in white curtly replied.
"You are too harsh, brother. The past must remain where it belongs. Wisdom lies in learning from it, not chaining oneself to it." He spoke with a silver tongue, his tone alone persuading to the ears.
A soft chuckle broke through the growing tension, and the light sound was effortless. "Brother, I shall play your game." He said. The wind lifted the edge of the figure's robe, revealing the faint glimmer of a smile before it turned to the well. One hand, elegant and deliberate, traced the stone rim before the voice spoke once more.
"This is the prophecy given by Judex Divinum." He grasped the stone, peering into the depths. "There shall be three brothers, none bound by blood, but united through the fire of war. Together, they shall rise as pillars, upholding the will of Judex Divinum." He stated before turning back to the black-cloaked figure.
"The first shall accomplish a feat no mortal can ever dare to overcome. He will strike down a great foe of your making, yet fall by his own hand." The white-cloaked figure folded his hands. "The second shall ascend to become the peak of mankind, a being unmatched in strength. Yet even he will find himself locked away in hell, his fate sealed by the touch of a faerie.
The storm rumbled a thunderous boom that echoed through the field. The black-cloaked figure turned, his gaze fixed on the churning storm. Yet, the other continued.
"The third shall unite the warring kingdoms beneath his banner, leading Judex Divinum's chosen against you. And by your hand, he shall fall. But heed this, brother, his death shall not mark your triumph."
The black-cloaked figure chuckled. "A prophecy in my favor." The white figure tilted its head. "Maybe so. But beware brother, his corpse will be your downfall. Do not mistake the beginning for the end. Draw your blade, bare your teeth, and struggle if you must, but know this, you are fighting against the will of Judex Divinum."
"Hah!" The laughter that followed was sharp, mocking. "Do not speak to me of divine will. Tell me, where was your Lord when the tides swallowed entire villages? When the enemies of man overran their lands? Did he reach down to save them? No." The figure paused, his words seething with rage. "He abandoned them. As he abandoned all of us." The black figure's voice darkened, growing colder. "That is why you all hide, while I do what I must. A new era is here. A new god is coming, one who truly loves his people."
The white figure's voice remained calm, yet there was something else beneath it now, pity. "You call me a fool, yet you are the one who dares to challenge the Creator of all. What strength do you boast, that you think yourself capable of such a feat?" He asked.
"Do not mock me." The air around them grew heavy, a sinister fog crept through. "When I come for you, I will come for thy wings. I will tear them from thy back and cast you to the wolves. You hide within these gardens, yet they provide no protection. I know where all of them rest"
The black-cloaked figure turned, walking toward the storm. "You will remember this when I arrive at the front gates, ready to take your head."
Asura had not blinked once, entrapped by their exchange. Their words, their very presence, held him captive. But in an instant, something shifted. The black-cloaked figure was gone.
No trace remained, no lingering presence, no memory of its departure. Asura's mind struggled to grasp what had changed, but the more he reached for the memory, the more it slipped through his fingers like sand. Something was missing. No, someone was missing.
But who? "What… happened?" he murmured. His thoughts tangled, his mind twisting itself in knots. I remember a conversation... but how can one have a conversation if there is only one party? No... there must be two... I remember... one. There were... one. But the figure spoke to... no one? He thought to himself.
"Do not strain yourself, child." The figure spoke. Asura's eyes snapped forward. The white-cloaked figure was staring at him.
"You… You can see me?" He asked, hesitant.
"Yes." It paused. "But he could not."
"Who?" Asura pressed.
"Do not ask, for you will not remember." It replied before he finished.
"Why not?" Asura asked.
"Because his existence is rejected by all." The figure said. His voice was cold.
"Okay… well that isn't helpful." Asura scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, it may be vague but it is all I can offer. I am merely the one who delivers the message."
Asura exhaled sharply. "Fine. Then tell me, where are we?"
"Mortals call it a dream." He answered as if the concept was foreign.
"So… I'm not dead?" Asura asked, staring out into the field that surrounded him.
"You live." His words were concise, as if not to utter an unnecessary sound.
"Then why am I here?" Asura asked. His brow furrowed.
"To receive a prophecy." The figure curtly answered again.
"The same one you just spoke?" Asura asked, his patience thinning.
"No. That was not for you to hear." The white-cloaked figure gazed into the well once more. "Though the result would have occurred nonetheless."
Asura studied the figure closely. "You're vastly different from your siblings."
The figure's smile returned. "Oh. You understand who I am?"
"I don't know who you are, but I know what you are. You radiated the same mana as Uriel and Hephestine. Any idiot with half a brain could sense that." The ogre placed his hands on his hips.
"Well, I had my doubts when summoning you." The figure jested, cracking a small chuckle.
"Are you calling me stupid?" Asura furrowed his brow, tilting his head slightly. "You're just as bad as that asshole Uriel."
Laughter rang through the air, light, almost musical. "If you were to tell Uriel that, he would throw a tantrum." The figure held its stomach as it laughed. The warmth of the laugh eased something in Asura's chest. But it faded just as quickly, replaced by a tone that carried weight and certainty.
"We have little time left, so listen well." His voice wavered as if recalling a bitter memory. "This is a warning, one that may save many."
Asura's muscles tensed. "A warning?"
"Yes. Heed my words, child, for the fate of many will rest upon them…" The figure let out a sigh, an act that felt unbefitting.
"Each century, Judex Divinum sends a prophet to the land of man. One gifted with the power to alter fate itself. Yet, this prophet is bound in chains, imprisoned for the entirety of his existence. Even in his confinement, he found solace in a single flower, a beauty unmatched in his eyes. With devotion, he nurtured it, pouring his heart into its care."
The cloaked figure cast its gaze downward, gliding a hand across the well's worn stone. For a brief moment, its voice softened.
"But the flower will wither before him, and when that day comes, calamity shall befall mankind. In his grief, he will cry out to Judex Divinum, pleading: 'Lord, Lord, do you not love me? Strike down my enemies, for they have stolen the only thing I cherished. Show no mercy to those who stand against your prophet. I am the one you have sent, reach down your hand and erase my foes.'"
A simmering anger laced the figure's final words. "Yet Judex Divinum did not grant him the power to bring ruin."
The well cracked from his grasp. "He bestowed upon him the ability to shape fate, to create beauty… But still, evil was done in His name. Blinded by loss, hardened by wrath, the prophet could not see the truth. Had he instead called out, 'Lord, Lord, save my flower,' then surely, the Lord would have answered. But because he surrendered to rage, because he chose destruction, the innocent will meet my brother, Death. And in the end, he shall realize, he was the one who killed the flower."
Asura scowled. "What the hell does any of that mean? A flower? A prophet? Who's the prophet, then?"
"I cannot say. It is time for you to return." The figure replied, his tone filled with sadness.
"Can't say?" Asura recoiled in disbelief. "That's bullshit. Just give me the name! Cut the cryptic shit. How the hell am I supposed to stop this if I don't know who it is?" He asked.
"I am not all-knowing, child. We both receive the word of Judex Divinum through means beyond our understanding." He replied as Asura's eyes blurred. The world around the ogre faded, his mind falling back into the void. "Oh, what a load of—"
A warm breeze swept across Asura's face, pulling him from the depths of unconsciousness. He jolted upright as a splitting headache thrummed in his skull, a dull throb pounding against his temples. Groaning, he clutched his head, his vision swimming. The air around him carried a putrid stench, thick and rotten, like sulfur clinging to his senses. "Did I shit myself in my sleep?" Asura asked.
A familiar chuckle echoed beside him. Asura turned his head, finding Wain sitting in a medical bed, surrounded by scattered equipment. The room was lined with soft white beds, and medical carts cluttered with syringes, vials, and tools stationed between them. Large tarps hung from above, shielding the space from view, but the muffled groans and coughs of the wounded made it clear, they weren't alone. In a medical room… like the cathedral, Asura thought.
"I swear, you must have made some kind of deal with Death himself," Wain mused, grinning. "Getting hit by a damn tank and still kicking? You've got immortality and won't share?"
"Ha! I wish. Whatever she hit me with left one hell of a mark." Asura winced, rubbing his temples.
"She is an Archknight, after all." Wain gestured with a nod and a shrug.
Asura froze. "She's the Archknight?"
"Yep. Mel's sister." Wain answered.
"Mel's sister…" He scoffed. "No wonder she's a racist asshole."
"I guess it runs in the family," Wain chuckled, and Asura found himself smiling. It was a relief to see his friend was alive and well. His gaze drifted over Wain's body, noticing the cracks in his skin had vanished. Both of them leaned back against their beds, exhaustion still taking its toll.
"Did Ash at least die?" Asura asked.
"Nope. He's a few rooms down." Wain watched as Asura struggled to prop himself against the back of the bed.
"Damn shame," Asura commented.
"Haha, come on, cut the guy some slack. He did save us with that wall, remember?" Wain replied, the two gazing at the wall before them.
"Yeah, for a whole minute. Then I got pancaked into molten metal." Asura retorted, the memory of the fire against his back vivid.
"If it weren't for that wall, everyone—except maybe you—would've been dead. That means your girlfriend Lydia would've been, too." Wain taunted, pushing Asura with his shoulder.
Asura raised a brow. "Girlfriend?" He awkwardly asked.
"Oh, come on. Don't play dumb." Wain smirked. "I see how you look at her, you meathead. No use denying it."
Asura chuckled, shaking his head. Wain's teasing felt familiar, like the banter between brothers. It was a feeling he'd missed. "You knew it all, huh? That herb showed you the whole plan. Wicked stuff." Asura gestured to his bag at the end of the bed.
"Most of it. It's like a GPS. I knew the destination, but the details were fuzzy. I'm just glad we made it out alive. Who knows what would've happened if it had lasted any longer."
Asura sighed in relief. "Yeah… but you have to admit. It was a wicked fight."
"Wickedly awful," Wain groaned, his body aching. "My body still aches, and I was healed by an Angel. Only a lunatic like you could enjoy something so painful."
Asura laughed, his stomach aching with every shake. "Is everyone else okay?" He asked.
"Yeah… Mary cleaned the city up," Wain replied. "No one got hurt after."
Asura's eyes flickered around the room. "Where are we? A hospital outside the city?"
"No, still in the city." Wain admired the structure of the room. "Mary rebuilt the cathedral, and most of the buildings."
"Rebuilt? There was nothing left." Asura said. His eyes widened at the thought.
"The insurance thing, remember?" Wain asked. He waved a pointed finger to the corner of the room. "Those pillars that stood even after the buildings fell, they recorded everything and restored it, like the training room."
"But Jormungandr left nothing but ash." The ogre couldn't believe the pillars were capable of such a feat.
"Doesn't matter." Wain stated "The pillars turn the ash back into buildings. It's insane. One minute, it's all rubble—next minute, boom, a city. Archknights have crazy amounts of mana. I don't even think she broke a sweat doing it. But…" Wain's voice lowered. "Some things can't be restored."
"Like what?" Asura asked.
"Clothes. Notebooks. Photographs. The small things that made a house a home… Families won't get those back." Wain fell silent. The weight of his words weighed on his own head.
After a moment, Asura dared to ask. "…How long was I out?"
"Half a day," Wain said. His eyes saddened.
"…Rebuilding a city in half a day. That's crazy." Asura was left baffled, trying to wrap his mind around the thought.
"I'm just glad we can. If we couldn't, there wouldn't be a city left at all." Wain let out a heavy sigh. Asura turned to his friend, watching as he stared at the ceiling, his expression hollow. He opened his mouth but hesitated, unsure of what to say.
"…Do you know how many died?" Asura asked. His voice barely rose above a whisper.
Wain pressed his hands against his face, wiping at his cheeks. "A lot."
Asura looked down. He understood. Wain bore the burden of protecting those who had no blessings, those who never stood a chance. Thousands had perished in the breath of a monster. Who knew how many had survived?
The silence was broken by Wain's sudden question. "Who was Brontes?" He asked, searching Asura's face. The ogre froze, his eyes meeting Wain's. For a moment, he hesitated. "A friend. A brother I grew up with."
"…I'm sorry for your loss." Wain softly replied.
A faint smile flickered across Asura's lips. "Thanks for caring."
"Of course." Wain paused. "What happened to the orc?"
"You mean Ullrac?" Asura shifted in the bed.
"Yeah, sorry—I forgot his name." Wain said, his tone apologetic.
"Don't worry about it…" Asura lifted his arms behind his head, stretching out his stiff biceps. "He died. In another war."
"Oh… I—sorry for bringing that up." Wain's voice drifted into a whisper.
Asura shifted against the headrest. "Quit apologizing. I know you don't mean anything by it."
Wain waited another moment, allowing the two to sit in silence before asking. "…You were fighting with The Temple in that memory, weren't you?"
"Yeah," Asura replied, his eyes distant, as if recalling the memory once again. "Man and ogre, side by side."
"Why?" Wain asked.
Asura let out a deep exhale. "A lot of reasons. But mostly? The humans asked, and our king answered… though the bastard left us to do all the dirty work."
"I can't believe it." Wain turned his head to study Asura's face. "We hate your kind so much, and yet you fought for us in a war. Why don't we have any records of it?"
Asura laughed. "Because The Temple doesn't want you to know."
"Why not?" Wain's brow furrowed, perplexed by the statement.
"There were records at some point in history. If they don't exist anymore, that means someone erased them." Asura met Wain's gaze. "If you go around spreading this story, talking about how I was some saint who helped the humans, what do you think would happen?"
Wain frowned. "You think someone rewrote history?"
Asura smirked. "Wain, I've lived a lot longer than you think." His tone was matter-of-fact. "Wars have been fought for dumber reasons. The Temple isn't as grand as you believe." Asura turned his gaze away, looking to the door. "Even I, who hasn't seen humans in God knows how long, can see that. Hell, I haven't even seen my own kind in years. You think the old man doesn't trust The Temple for no reason? That he just woke up one day and decided, 'Yup, fuck them'?"
Wain stayed quiet. Asura simply leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Asura exhaled, spitting out a stream of white flames onto the floor. The fire crackled and twisted, its glow flickering as its life slowly faded into embers. Wain watched it burn, his expression unreadable.
"…Why would they do this?" he asked, his voice low.
Asura shrugged. "No idea. Just how the world works. Someone, somewhere, is always hating someone."
A heavy silence settled between them before Wain spoke again.
"…Thank you."
Asura raised a brow. "For what?"
"For everything, man. You fought for us back then. You fought for us now. And all we've ever done is treat you like shit—calling you a demon."
Asura met his gaze, a slow smile spread across his lips. Wain wasn't just saying it, he meant it. His voice was sincere, a quiet respect in his eyes.
"Don't go getting all sappy on me now," Asura teased. "We're homies. It's what we do for each other. But if you start appreciating me too much, I'll take advantage of it. I'll steal more money from your wallet and buy myself some ice cream."
Wain snorted. "You still owe me for last time."
"I don't get paid, so good luck with that."
Laughter filled the space between them, easy and unforced. They leaned back against their beds, savoring the rare moment of peace after a battle that had nearly claimed their lives.
The quiet didn't last long. It never did. The muffled sounds of coughing and pained groans drifted through the makeshift medical ward, voices of the wounded reminding them of the price paid. But for once, Asura didn't mind the noise. It was proof that their fight hadn't been in vain.
Despite the destruction, despite the losses, there were still survivors.