Ash clung to the ruins like a second skin.
Rein stood at the edge of the breach in the Citadel, the wind howling through the torn walls. The explosion had left a scar across the sky—one that pulsed with unnatural light. Somewhere beneath the debris, the echoes of battle still vibrated in the stone.
Valen had vanished.
But not by Rein's hand.
And that made everything worse.
He returned to the city in silence. His stolen cloak hid the burns, but not the weight in his eyes. The people didn't speak to him. They never did. But this time, they watched him. As if something in him had shifted. As if they'd seen the light change around him.
He didn't care.
He had only one place left to go.
Isareth met him in the shadows of the ruined temple, just before dawn.
The old priest looked older than before—his hands shaking more, his robes torn from the tremors that had reached even the outer districts. But his eyes were sharp. Expecting.
"You faced him."
Rein didn't speak.
"You didn't kill him."
"No."
"I see."
Rein stepped forward. "You lied to me."
Isareth's mouth tightened. "Not lied. Omitted."
Rein's voice was cold. "Then stop omitting."
They sat by the shattered altar, where the stones still whispered of gods who no longer listened.
Rein asked once.
And this time, Isareth answered.
"Valen was not chosen by any god," the priest began.
"He was forged."
Rein's jaw clenched. "Explain."
Isareth sighed. "When the demons rose and the temples cried out for salvation, the gods were… silent. Some say they were wounded. Others say indifferent. But whatever the truth, no divine hand moved to save us."
"So the temple moved on its own."
"Yes. We took a child—an orphan, born during an eclipse, touched by strange fire. We named him Valen and raised him with one purpose: to become our answer. To make the people believe the gods had not forsaken them."
"But he had no divine power."
"Not at first. We used ancient rites—forbidden rites. We bled the land dry. We tapped into the veins of the world itself. The soil beneath this city is soaked in old magic, the kind that predates even the gods."
Rein swallowed. "Earthblood."
Isareth nodded slowly. "Yes. We carved it from the stone. We distilled it. We infused it into his body. Every ritual, every trial—it broke him, reforged him. Until he could wield fire as if it were breath."
"But that wouldn't be enough to corrupt him."
"No," the priest admitted. "The blood of the Demon King may have tipped the scales. But the true poison… was us."
He looked at his hands. "We fed him lies. We gave him the adoration of a god before he ever earned it. We told him he was chosen. That he was the last light. That he would save the world."
Rein stared at him. "You made him believe he was the only answer."
"Yes."
Silence fell again.
But it was not the silence of peace.
It was the silence of something breaking.
Inside Rein, a quiet fracture deepened.
He had accepted the divine mission without question.
Had taken the blade, the task, the judgment.
He had never asked if they were telling the truth.
"You said the gods were silent," he said. "But Arios came to me."
Isareth hesitated. "That… troubles me."
"Why?"
"Because Arios was one of the few gods who disapproved of artificial heroes. He was a god of balance. Of observation, not intervention."
Rein's voice turned to ice. "He chose me. He gave me the blade. He told me to kill Valen."
Isareth's expression darkened. "Then perhaps even gods are not immune to fear."
Rein stood.
The world shifted under his feet.
"If Valen was forged by men… and I was chosen by a god acting out of fear…"
He didn't finish the thought.
He didn't have to.
That night, Rein sat in the ruins of an old watchtower, staring at the stars above the Citadel.
He thought of Lysaria. Of the blood on his hands. Of the god who had saved her soul only on the condition that Rein damn his own.
He had asked for redemption.
Had he been given a leash instead?
A voice came, soft and echoing.
"You hesitate."
Rein didn't move. "You didn't tell me everything."
A pause.
"You did not ask."
"I'm asking now."
"Valen is a threat to the order of the worlds."
"So are you, if you lie to your chosen."
Another pause.
"You are angry."
"I'm awake."
The air around him trembled.
"You were a broken man when I found you. I gave you purpose."
"No," Rein said. "You gave me a task. Purpose comes from truth. And you gave me none."
Silence.
Then:
"What will you do?"
Rein closed his eyes.
"I'll finish this. But not for you."
He returned to the temple the next day. Isareth was gone.
Only a note remained, written in trembling script:
If you choose to walk this path, know this: the gods are not kings. They are forces. And forces do not love. They only act. Be more than they are, Rein. Be what he could not be.— I
He burned the note.
Not out of anger.
But because he no longer needed a reminder.
He was the reminder.
Somewhere deep beneath the Citadel, the Earthblood still pulsed.
The same that had made Valen.
And now…
It called to him too.