Arthur Leywin: The Gods' Unwilling Champion
The raw, ancient consciousness of the weirwood grove receded, leaving me gasping, though my Asuran lungs had no true need for air. I stumbled back from the bleeding heart tree, my hands still tingling with the echoes of ancient memories and primal fears. The Cold Hand reaches. It is a sickness. It seeks to still the song of life.
The words weren't spoken aloud, not truly, but they resonated in the depths of my Djinn-attuned aether core with a chilling clarity. The "Old Gods," they called themselves. A collective entity, a vast, interwoven mind built from the spirit of the land and the memory of every creature that had ever lived and died beneath their crimson leaves. They weren't like the deities worshipped in Dicathen, nor the cruel, indifferent "gods" of Alacrya. No, these were something else entirely, a silent sentinel, a desperate plea.
"So this is it, then?" I muttered, the words feeling hollow in the ancient stillness of the grove. My voice, deeper now, tinged with the rumble of my Asuran form, sounded alien even to my own ears. "The universe, or whatever sadistic entity governs its flow, truly has a twisted sense of humor."
I, Arthur Leywin. Once a weak human. Then a gifted mage. A Lance, charged with protecting a continent. A General, leading armies against impossible odds. A Godkiller, striking down beings of immense power. And now? Now I'm apparently the champion of the Old Gods, a protector of a world I barely understand, a world light years from home, and light years from anyone I ever loved.
The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth, sharper than any battle-worn steel. I had spent my last life fighting against beings who sought to control and exploit the very fabric of existence, who saw mortals as mere pawns in their grand schemes. And now, I was being called upon by a similarly vast, ancient power to protect this world from its encroaching darkness. I'd killed gods, and now I was being asked to serve something akin to them, to be their shield against a creeping death that felt eerily familiar to the blight I'd witnessed back home.
What a surprise. Life, or whatever cosmic force was playing this game, truly had a way of kicking a man when he was down, dusting him off, and then throwing him into an even deeper, more complex mess.
The images of the Long Night flashed through my mind again – the gnawing cold, the lifeless husks, the sheer, utter despair. It was a threat that transcended simple warfare, a cosmic imbalance that resonated with the very aether within me. And my Djinn heritage, which had given me an innate understanding of this world's primal energies, was also the very thing that made me uniquely suited to face it.
My immortality, once a cruel joke that doomed me to endless solitude, now felt like a heavy chain, anchoring me to a fate I hadn't chosen. Yet, beneath the bitterness, a flicker of something else ignited. A purpose. A reason to use the power I'd cursed, the very abilities that had led me to this desolate, beautiful world.
I had failed to protect my home. I had failed to save those I loved. But here, in this raw, untamed land, perhaps there was a chance for a different ending. A chance to use my unique blend of Asuran strength, Djinn wisdom, and mastery over both Aether and the elements to avert a catastrophe before it consumed this nascent world.
The Old Gods had chosen their champion, whether he liked it or not. And as I turned back towards the vast, whispering forest, a grim resolve settled within me. The game wasn't over. It had just changed arenas.
How do you think Arthur will act on this new, unwanted purpose? Will he openly reveal himself, or continue his subtle influence?