The chamber was silent.
Aetheron stood frozen, his breath steadying as the weight of the revelation sank in. His mind still reeled from the vision—the war, the Sovereign, the entity.
And the sealed door before him…
It wasn't just an ancient relic.
It was a warning.
The guardian's presence remained unshaken. "You have seen it now," the armored figure said. "The past. The truth."
Aetheron's grip tightened around his sword. "That thing—the entity. The Sovereign fought it and lost."
The guardian nodded slowly. "He did."
Aetheron's voice was quiet but firm. "Then why did he pass his power to me?"
The guardian exhaled, the weight of centuries heavy in his words. "Because next time… there will be no second battle."
A Fading Guardian
The chamber pulsed softly, the inscriptions on the walls dimming, as if sensing the shift in energy.
Aetheron stepped forward, watching the guardian carefully. "You've been protecting this place for a long time."
The figure didn't deny it.
"But you're fading," Aetheron continued. His eyes flicked to the cracks in the guardian's armor, the faint shimmer of something unraveling.
The guardian let out a low chuckle. "I was never meant to last forever." He glanced at the door. "Only as long as the seal required."
Aetheron frowned. "You make it sound like the seal is failing."
The guardian's silence said everything.
Aetheron cursed under his breath. "How long?"
A pause. Then—"Not long enough."
The weight of those words hit harder than any strike.
What Lies Beyond the Seal
Aetheron turned back to the door. The inscriptions that once shined with unwavering brilliance now flickered faintly.
He could feel it now.
The shift.
The weakness.
Something inside was awakening.
Aetheron exhaled. "If the seal breaks…"
The guardian spoke without hesitation. "The world will not survive."
Aetheron's jaw tightened. He wasn't the kind of person who flinched at threats, but this… this was different.
This wasn't just about protecting a kingdom or fighting some power-hungry warlord.
This was about something far beyond mortal hands.
Something that shouldn't exist.
And yet—it did.
A Choice to Be Made
Aetheron turned back to the guardian. "Then tell me. How do we stop it?"
The guardian's gaze lingered on him for a moment. Then—he raised a hand.
The air trembled.
And suddenly, a second door appeared.
Not a seal. Not a barrier.
But a passage.
Aetheron narrowed his eyes. "What's this?"
The guardian's voice was quiet. "The only path forward."
Aetheron didn't move. He could sense it—this wasn't a normal door.
Beyond it, something waited.
Something meant for him.
The guardian stepped aside. "Enter, and you may yet find the strength to stand against what's coming."
Aetheron's fingers curled into a fist. He didn't like it. Didn't trust it.
But he also knew he didn't have a choice.
So, without another word—he stepped through.
The Realm Between Worlds
Darkness.
But not emptiness.
As Aetheron moved forward, the space around him shifted.
The air was thick, heavy, almost liquid. His vision blurred, then sharpened.
And then—he saw them.
Faint figures in the distance.
Moving. Whispering.
Shadows of warriors long gone.
Aetheron stopped, hand on his blade. "Where is this?"
A voice echoed.
Not the guardian's. Something older.
"The Realm Between."
Aetheron turned sharply, but there was nothing.
Only the whispers.
And then—the ground beneath him vanished.
Trial of the Lost
He didn't fall.
He was simply somewhere else.
A vast, open field stretched before him, bathed in the glow of an unseen sun. The air buzzed with power.
And standing ahead—
Figures clad in the armor of legends.
Aetheron knew instantly—these weren't just warriors.
These were the ones who came before him.
The fallen. The lost.
A voice boomed across the space. "You who walk the Sovereign's path, prove yourself."
Aetheron barely had time to react before—they charged.
Aetheron vs The Legends
He moved on instinct.
The first warrior struck, blade shimmering with pure energy. Aetheron dodged, countering with a rapid strike—only for his attack to pass through empty space.
The warrior was gone.
Aetheron twisted, blocking a second attack from behind. Sparks flew as his sword met another, the impact sending tremors through his arms.
No time to think.
No time to hesitate.
He surged forward, blade flashing in rapid succession. A clash of steel, a dance of light and shadow.
Every opponent was faster, stronger, more precise.
But Aetheron adapted.
Strike. Block. Dodge. Counter.
Each movement refined. Sharpened.
And one by one—they fell.
Until only one remained.
The Final Opponent
Aetheron steadied his breath, his body already moving before his mind could catch up.
His final opponent stepped forward—not a warrior, but a specter.
Its presence was overwhelming.
Not because of power.
But because of who it was.
Aetheron's eyes widened.
It was the Sovereign himself.