I, who had cast away the Divine's blessing, wishes to make a deal with the Witch of Salvation, Mera. A blinding white light flashed before my eyes, and I felt myself being pulled into a realm beyond my wildest dreams. I stood before a throne, facing a woman with no face, her presence both captivating and intimidating. Her voice muttered, "Are you willing to part with something of equal value for that wish?" I nodded eagerly, my voice laced with urgency. "I am willing."
"State your wish," she commanded, her tone firm but curious.
"I wish to live," I whispered, my heart pounding with desperation.
She spoke again, her tone measured. "What are you willing to part with in return? You have nothing to offer, but I shall grant you a wish in exchange. Even if I give you a body without sickness, you can do nothing for me in your world. However, you can embody my creation, Armaros."
Confusion etched on my face, I asked, "What is Armaros?" My mind raced with questions, but I sought answers.
Her voice took on a reverent tone. "Armaros is the accursed hero destined to herald my salvation." The weight of her words settled upon me like a shroud.
Frustration surged within me. "You shall bring us salvation. The only salvation I seek is a body without pain. I shall be your creation, Armaros." I spoke with conviction, though uncertainty lingered.
With a mix of responsibility and farewell, she said, "Time dwindles, my hero. I must dispatch you. Be on your way, Armaros." Her words hung in the air like a challenge.
I exclaimed, "Wait!" Urgency and vexation laced my voice. "At least tell me where you're sending me." But she vanished, leaving me with a throbbing headache and alien memories that swirled like a maelstrom.
As I regained consciousness, I heard a frigid voice. "Armaros, son, you have awoken." I looked up to see Marcus Vi Sinistera, the king of Ignis and my present body's father. My gaze fell on my tiny hand, and surprise jolted through me. I was only a four-year-old child in this new life, with a destiny that seemed predetermined.
Marcus caught me, his grip firm but gentle. "Steady, Armaros. You'll need time to adjust. You just woke up." He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're safe now. You're home." His words offered comfort, but my mind raced with questions.
I nodded, trying to process my thoughts. I am a prince in this life. But why did the witch give me a child's body? And what does it have to do with her creation, Armaros? The mysteries swirled around me like a vortex.
Memories flashed before my eyes - fragmented images of a life I didn't recognize. A life that wasn't mine. But one thing was certain: I had a new life now, and a new destiny to fulfill. The journey ahead seemed treacherous, but I steeled myself for the challenges to come.
As the first and only child of the current king of Ignis, I am next in line for the throne. However, with the memories I've inherited from Mera, the Witch of Salvation, I know her true intentions. She seeks the preservation of this kingdom from its destruction and the conquest of the continent of Avleon. The burden of her goals weighed upon me like a crown of thorns.
Determined to uncover the truth and determine my own salvation, I began my journey as Armaros, the hero of salvation. The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but I took my first step with resolve.
As I stood in the grand hall of the palace, surrounded by opulent tapestries and gleaming marble, I felt like a stranger in a familiar land. The memories inherited from my predecessor hit me like a maelstrom, fragments of a life that wasn't mine. Yet, they felt so real, so vivid, that I couldn't distinguish them from my own.
Marcus, my father, approached me with a warm smile. "Armaros, my son, you look unwell. You should rest. You've been asleep for days."
I nodded, my mind racing with questions. What accident? What happened? I followed Marcus to my chambers, catching glimpses of the palace staff. Their faces were familiar yet unknown, and they bowed and curtsied, addressing me as "Your Highness." I felt like an imposter, a mere child playing dress-up in his father's clothes.
In my chambers, I found a small, leather-bound book on my nightstand. It was old and worn, its pages yellowed with age. As I opened it, a piece of parchment slipped out, carrying a message in elegant script: "For Armaros, the hero of salvation. May the truth guide you on your journey."
The words sent a shiver down my spine. Who wrote this? And what truth did they speak of? I devoured the book's contents, and it revealed a chronicle of the continent's history, wars, and strife. It was a testament to hope and resilience, showcasing humanity's capacity to persevere.
As I read, the inherited memories began to make sense. I saw glimpses of a great calamity, a catastrophic event that shattered the continent. I saw the rise of the Witch of Salvation and her quest to restore the land. And I saw my own role in her tale, the burden that would be placed upon me.
The weight of it all crushed me, threatening to consume me whole. But I refused to yield. I would uncover the truth, no matter the cost. I would forge my own path, even if it meant defying the destiny laid out for me.
With newfound determination, I closed the book and stood up, my heart pounding in my chest. I was Armaros, the hero of salvation. And I would not falter.